The bell rings obnoxiously as you enter the small cafe you always frequent. While at first the noise had been headache-inducing - loud and unnecessary above the entrance to such a small place - now, you couldn't imagine walking inside without hearing it. And you welcome it, today especially - a comforting sound amongst your otherwise nerve-wracking day.
Your face is buried behind your thick woollen scarf, bobble hat almost falling off your head thanks to the wind and the way you'd rushed to get here. Dirt and dry leaves fall off your thick winter boots after walking through mud earlier to get around a large group of girls in a quicker time. Your cheeks are frost-bitten, hands sweating in your cheap gloves that you'd bought last-minute a couple of days ago after losing your favourite pair of mittens. You haven't had a chance to replace them yet. Your back feels sweaty, as does your neck, and overall you feel a little bit gross.
Last Christmas plays quietly through speakers from every corner of the tiny room, filling it with sad Christmas lyrics contrasting against a soundtrack of chirpy jingle bells. You tune it out, eager to forget it.
The place is full, as always, with every table occupied by holiday-makers and locals and tourists alike, hunching around steaming mugs and piping toasties, the smell of cinnamon and warm bread mingling in the air. It makes your mouth water. But the small room is not loud. Never loud. Hushed conversations creep but never meet your precious ears. Not once in this tiny eatery have you ever overheard someone else's private conversation. It's like they've managed to seamlessly soundproof every small table.
You wave to the barista, who you've come to know quite well, as you stomp your heavy boots into the welcome mat, avoiding the spread of dirt through your favourite place to visit. Shannon waves back, and points to the cramped table in the far corner where your coffee date is already waiting. You follow her direction, your beaming smile still hidden behind your scarf as your eyes scan over your often absent friend.
Harry is always smiling, just like now. Straight white bunny teeth gleaming through soft pink lips, green eyes shining like seaglass, clear as day from well across the room, and cheeks flush with the heat in the room - a stark contrast to the bitter December weather. He's dressed for the weather, too - wrapped in his own merchandise, which has always made you laugh. He is his own biggest supporter, but you've never said there's anything wrong with it. The strings on his grey hoodie have been pulled tightly and tied in a little bow, his light-wash straight-leg blue jeans are rolled up twice, brushing against his staple (and dirtied) white Vans. The shoe with pink laces is looking a little worse for wear. His curls hide under a bright pink beanie, but his dimples don't hide for anyone.
The second that you're across the room, you're in his arms. And he's warm, as always. There has never been a time when you've known this boy to not radiate heat. It's why you won't go near him in the summer or visit him in hot countries. He's your own personal sauna. Except he's not yours.
"Christ, I've missed you." Harry says almost the second he's got his arms around you, words spoken in jest around light giggles.
You groan outwardly, the noise muffled by your scarf. "I know, I've missed you, too."
He wiggles you both from side to side with his excitement, and leaves a swift chaste kiss to the exposed part of your forehead. "I got y'a coffee, and just how you like it."
You glance to the table, two hot mugs sat opposite one another on the top. One's piled with whipped cream and marshmallows, and the other is just black. "Oh, thank you. Sorry I'm late, by the way."
"It's no biggie, love." He brushes the matter as he sits back down, keeping his eyes on you as you peel your coat and your scarf off. "Although... you do look like you've seen a ghost or summat. You feelin' alright?"
"Ugh," you grunt as you sit, exhaling heavily the second you're comfortable. "I'm fine. I just saw him on my way here."
Harry cringes, producing a noise somewhere between "oh" and "ew".
"I don't care," you shrug, "forgot all about it the minute I saw your pretty face." You tease with a subtle wink.
He giggles again, looking towards the window as his cheeks flush more. "That's not fair, you know I can't wink."
The reminder of your ex-fiancé today was unexpected and unwanted. Sometimes it's hard to avoid him given you still live within two miles of one another, but you have to try. You also have to try and forget what he did, especially at this time of year.
You remember it vividly, too. Going home in the middle of December one night last year, finishing work earlier than usual and having the opportunity to surprise him. So you were digging around the wardrobe for something extra special, when you came across a ring box in the pocket of one of his nicer jackets. And you, being the foolish girl you are, had assumed it was for you. Because who else would it be for? You'd been together nearly five years.
He'd come home just then, as you were gawking at this beautiful piece of jewellery you hadn't meant to find, and when he didn't immediately say anything - too fraught with what you thought at the time was shock, you asked him if it was for you. And he was very quick to say it was. So, for the next twelve hours or so, you'd been inundated with utter joy.
Joy never lasts long, though.
Sometime the next afternoon, while you were traipsing around your shared home in next to no clothes after a morning of bliss, you saw his phone blowing up on the coffee table. Not thinking much of it, assuming it to be his needy mother, you picked it up and unlocked it. You found yourself looking at a string of texts from a girl you can't remember the name of, all asking similar variants of "have you told her?" and "where are you?" and "what's taking you so long?". After scrolling up a bit, because you'd never heard of this girl in your life, you became swaddled by a number of explicit texts and graphic images shared between the two.
Long story short, he and his side piece are now engaged, and you are completely and utterly alone.
Today was the first time you'd seen him in about six months, the last time being in the park in the summer. He was always one of those men that took his shirt off in public the second the weather starts warming up. Looking back, you can't quite believe you were with him so long. He was with a shirt today, and a coat - fully clothed, actually - prepared for the weather. And, unfortunately, with her. Yes, contrary to popular belief, where once a cheat, always a cheat - he and his affair are going strong, or at least that's what it looked like as they clung to one another in the middle of the market on the highstreet. There's still time, though.
"Did y'talk to him?" Harry's warm voice interrupts your reverie.
You shake your head calmly, picking off a mini marshmallow and popping it into your mouth. "Only briefly. I was already late as it is and I didn't want to stand there watching them fuss over one another like grooming monkeys."
Harry snorts, bringing his mug to his lips. "I'm glad I weren't there."
You hum, contemplating what might've happened if he was. Though the thought of Harry getting verbally defensive over you (or anyone for that matter) is fairly amusing, you can't particularly see it happening. Harry had never liked your ex. Even though he never admitted it in words, it was always obvious, and everyone knew it.
"Humour me," you lightly tap the table, and swipe your index finger through the top of the cream, collecting a small peak onto the tip, "what would you have done?"
Harry's brows pull, gaze far too invested in the way you wrap your lips around the tip of your finger. Blood rushes to places it shouldn't. He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. "Er, I don't know, ignored him probably."
You laugh, grin wide as you dig around the pot in the middle of the table for a tea spoon. "Thought as much. Never really have had a very defensive nature, have you?"
"No, not really." He pouts. "But we all know you're perfectly capable of defending yourself with that mouth of yours if you need to."
You scowl, dragging the spoon through the cream, and taking a marshmallow with it. "I don't know what you're talking about - I'm a lovely person."
"Oh," he nods in agreement, lips still pursed, "very lovely. Also very honest and very brash, too."
You scoff. "Well, I never..." You utter, shoving the teaspoon into your mouth. "Anyway, are you glad to be back for Christmas?"
"Always. S'really the only time I ever get to come home, innit?"
You sigh, and it's somewhat weighted; sad. "If we're not careful it's the only time of the year we'll ever see each other. It'll just be an annual thing and that's it."
Harry tips his head, hands fiddling with the menu prism in the middle of the table. "Plenty of ways around that." He muses, rolling the card around his long index fingers.
"You know it's not that easy for me to just visit London. Or New York, or LA or wherever you're always bloody going." You ramble, filling your mouth with another sweet spoonful.
"I know," he says over a heavy exhale, "I know."
It's silent for a minute, with Harry gazing out the window at the passers by, and you trying to figure out how stingey Shannon had been with your marshmallows. While you pine over your sweet treats, you listen. Before either of you speak again, the song changes once, the bell above the door rings three times, and the noisy ticket machine behind the counter prints five different orders. You can feel a chill in the room every time the door opens.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asks as he intently studies the menu with a soft frown, probably because he's smelled the baked potato served to the man who's always writing at the next table over.
You squeak lightly, shrugging. "I could eat. Why, d'you want a jacket spud?"
He rolls his lips into his mouth as he sets the menu back upright on the table, and then meets your gaze. "Yeah."
See.
"Cheese and beans?"
He smirks, licking his lips with his already watering mouth. "Yeah."
You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. "Fuck it, go on then."
"What do you want?" He asks as he stands again, patting his pockets for his phone where he hides his card in the case.
"Oh, I thought we were sharing." You chuckle. "M'not that hungry."
Harry scrunches his face up in a childish pout. "I'll... just... ask her for a bigger one, then."
"Good answer."
He rolls his eyes, mooching away to join the end of the short queue on the other side of the room. As he does, you turn your head over your shoulder to watch him. He never notices when you do this, because you know when he's standing in line for something, he'll look at his phone to stop drawing attention to himself. He likes to think he's a chameleon. He's not. Not with a face like that.
Believe it or not, you actually came here for a reason today. To see Harry, obviously, but with more of a purpose. Even though you don't see each other in person often anymore, the past year you've talked more than usual. Whether it's because you're both a little lonely, you're not sure, but you've gone from the odd text maybe once a month, to nearly every day. Sure, there are days where one of you is too busy, but you even call each other more than usual now, too. And, in a way, it's been good.
But you've also developed a wee crush on him.
Sounds stupid, falling for your friend. You've known each other for such a long time and read enough stories that you should probably know better. But you can't help it. Somehow managing to stay friends this long when he lives the way he does is a real achievement, or so you think. People are in and out of his life faster than the holiday season starts and finishes, but you've been in it for a solid ten or so years now. You're not childhood friends, you'd probably struggle to see him the way you do if that were the case, but you're getting closer rather than drifting apart, and it's reached a point where he's your only confidant. Telling anyone else the things you've told him sounds like a dangerous thing to do, and you know he'll keep your secrets, because he knows how valuable his own are.
Sure, at one point in your life you never imagined having anything with Harry that breached the line of friendship, but now you're frustrated that it only seems to be that. Selfishly, you want more.
So, over the past couple of weeks, since you knew he was coming home for Christmas again, you've been building yourself up to it. You don't know how he'll answer, but you've told yourself that if he's not into it, you won't make it awkward for the two of you. He might, but that's his choice. You'll just pretend it never happened. Like with everything else.
Turning back to your coffee, you stir in the last clumps of whipped cream, and make a dent in the now lukewarm concoction. As you're polishing it off, Harry sits back down, leaving the ticket number by the edge of the table.
"How many marshmallows did you steal?" You ask calmly, messily licking your lips.
His brows raise, arms folding across his chest. He stutters for a moment, before huffing. "One or two."
You blink slowly; unsatisfied.
"Or... five."
Your laughter comes like a cackle, head thrown back towards the ceiling. "I knew I was missing some, you cheeky fucker."
"In my defence-,"
"I was late and you paid for it." You finish for him with a flat smile.
He blinks twice, shoulders eventually slumping a little. "Yeah."
You giggle, resting your elbows on the table with your chin in your palm. "You're funny."
He hums loudly; irritated. "Sometimes I swear you know me way better than I know you."
"Probably do. Doesn't really matter though, does it?"
"Matters to me."
"Why?"
"'Cause it's hardly fair."
"I think... you're makin' this a little deeper than it needs to be. They're just marshmallows. I can ask Shannon for some more."
He sends you a sidelong glare. "Let me whine for a little bit, will ya?"
"No, that's my job."
He huffs again, twisting back to face you. "Where are those mittens you've had for ages?" He points to the replacement gloves you've left on the table.
"Oh," you pout, "I lost them like, last week. Haven't had chance to get a new pair yet."
"Can do that after this, if you like." He suggests, back to himself again, it would seem.
"Sounds like a plan." You nod slowly. "Have you got any other plans for the day?"
Harry shakes his head. "Nope. Reserved it especially for you."
"Oo, lucky me," you jest.
It falls silent between the two of you, and you're back to listening to the room while Harry stares out the window once again. The song changes twice this time, the bell on the door only ringing once, and the ticket machine three times.
You're putting it off, and if you don't do it today like you planned, you'll spend the entire holiday period hating yourself for chickening out. You chew on your lip as you try and work out the best way to start. You take a deep breath before you do, straightening in your seat a little. You're conscious someone's about to interrupt you with your food.
"Harry, I wanna talk to you about something."
He looks to you with a calm expression, eyes light and pupils narrow after staring into the bright day for so long. "What's that, love?"
After another long inhale, you carry on. "This year has been a weird one for me, you know, suddenly being on my own for the first time in my adult life, and having my heart broken by someone who I thought was my soulmate. It's been... well, pretty shit.
"This is gonna sound really lame, but being able to talk to you even when you're halfway across the world has been a sort of saving grace for me. And I know we were literally just bickering about not getting to see each other enough, but I actually do want to see you more. A lot more, actually..."
Harry's brows lift gently, eyes a little wider than they were before. "You do?"
You breathe a laugh, lips pressing together. "It's been a year since I got quite savagely dumped, and... I can't believe I let it happen because I'm usually not like this, I don't move on from things so quickly. But I think... I don't know H, it's you. I think you're my someone special."
He continues to watch you for a moment, a pensive look about him as he produces a soft and high-pitched hum. He takes a breath, swallowing thickly before he leans forwards over the table. He takes your hand gently, turning it over so your palm is facing upwards, and he begins tracing the lines there with his fingers.
"Was weird, right," he starts, voice even yet warm, "'cause a few months back I spoke to you on the phone and you were more chatty than usual. And I don't think I said anything for a solid twenty minutes because you were just going on and on and on. And it wasn't a bad thing - far from it, actually.
"I had this weird feeling, and I don't think I'd ever had it before you, where it just felt kinda... normal? I'd have listened to you chat shit all fuckin' night and never get bored. I can still remember exactly what you were bitchin' about and I didn't care. And then after that, every time your name came up on my phone I got that funny feelin' in my stomach. And I made sure that if there was a day we had where we could talk on the phone rather than text, I'd call you. 'Cause it just felt way better to hear you talkin' bollocks for hours."
Too invested in the lines on your hands, he misses the way you grow sheepish, which is unlike you.
"So, I think I know exactly what you mean." He concludes with a breathy laugh, turning your hand back over to hold it in his. "'Cause all I want to do every day is listen to you. And I'd rather do that with you actually next to me."
You press your lips together again, but this time because you're desperate to hide just how big your smile is. You clear your throat, unable to take your eyes off the way he holds your hand. "So... What do we do now?"
"Well, I think we're gonna share this jacket potato-,"
"No, I didn't mean now, Harry." You laugh, cheeks warm.
"Yeah, I weren't finished!" He stresses over a chuckle, and squeezes your hand. "We're gonna share this jacket potato, and then we're gonna trash the shops for a new pair of mittens because I'll be damned if I see you in a pair of gloves again. And then... we... go back to... yours?" He finishes slowly, unsure of himself.
"Okay..." You laugh, now stroking his hand with your thumb. "And then what?"
"I don't know. Whatever you want. But I have, like, one tiny request."
"What's that?" You cock your head.
He grins coyly. "That I've had at least one kiss from you by the end of the day."
You laugh, nerves overpowering you. You feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush all over again. "Yep," you clear your throat, "yeah, could probably arrange that."
Your food arrives then, finally, and you both push everything towards the window so that you can have the plate sat in the middle. You already miss Harry's absent hand in yours.
"How much cheese do you want?" He asks as he slices the potato down the middle.
"Are we talking literally or figuratively?" You question, already staking a claim on a forkful of baked beans.
"Er... both?"
"All of it." You answer quickly, smirking. "I want all the cheese, all the time. Just like a Christmas song."
"That, my dear," he points at you with his fork, smile matching yours, "can certainly be arranged."