❝Life's too short to even care at all.❞ ▬ Anonymous.
CHAPTER SEVEN
At first, I'm startled by how different Harry looks to when I last saw him, which was a little over two years ago. Put simply, he has grown up. Gone is the puppy fat and the boyish style in which his unruly hair used to flop across his forehead; his curls are now pushed back beneath a grey beanie, his forehead visible and dotted with a small splattering of teenage zits, crumpled as his thick, expressive eyebrows knot together. He has shot up in height, too, and stands looking down at both Niall and I.
But it's not just that. The Harry Styles I knew was dorky and cheerful, rarely seen without a dimpled smile on his youthful face. This one retains a darker, almost sinister aura; I feel myself moving closer to Niall, subconsciously feeling safer pressed to his side. Harry stares at us, and I wonder if he's waiting for me to say something; wave a friendly hi, perhaps?
Here's the thing: you can be wrong about people. Horribly, horribly wrong. First impressions are never one-hundred percent accurate. And this is what I realise when Harry's face softens and, all of a sudden, he breaks out into a huge, heart-warming grin. Relief floods over me but before I can return his smile, he's pulling me and Niall into a hug.
The three of us don't exactly fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, but I can feel Niall's arm wrapped around me, holding me tight, and suddenly I don't care about awkwardness. The hug lasts mere seconds. When we pull apart, Harry shakes his head in disbelief. "I never thought I'd see you two again," he says, and why am I so surprised to find that he sounds the same as he always did? You could close your eyes and pretend that nothing has changed, and I guess that's what has startled me. "Sorry about giving you evils. You probably thought I was going to beat you up or something. I've had a rough night, is all. Took me a few moments to register what was actually happening." Same old Harry, I think: always able to read peoples' minds, always apologetic, and always ready to provide an explanation for his wrong-doings.
"It's just, I haven't seen you two in ages," Harry continues. "Anna, it's been years. And you..." He turns to Niall and trails off.
"Niall," the Irish boy reminds him -- or is he simply informing him? I can't be sure. Niall gives a small shrug, meeting Harry's gaze. "It's been a while."
"Right. Like, three months." They stare at each other, taking each other in. Then, Harry frowns and shuffles his feet, timidly slipping his hands into his large jacket pockets. "I guess you're kind of mad at me for leaving you like that."
Niall pauses, considering what to say. "I was a bit surprised, at first. But you saved me. You gave me the strength I needed."
"Well, you're looking better than ever," Harry says. He glances at me, then back to Niall. Takes a step closer. "I mean, you're standing here on a warm summer evening with a gorgeous girl by your side. It doesn't get much better than that, does it?"
A vivid blush creeps upon my cheeks and I roll my eyes to hide it. Niall laughs and lazily throws an arm across my shoulders. "It sure doesn't," he grins.
"So, how are things? Where are you living? Did you follow my ever-so-wise advice and get a job?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.
Before Niall can answer, I turn to him and, looking up at him in confusion, hiss: "What's going on?"
Harry doesn't seem to acknowledge my perplexion. Niall is just about to respond when the curly-haired boy interjects, a little excitedly, "How about we go get a drink somewhere? We have a lot to catch up on."
"Yes!" Niall says eagerly, just as the words no freaking way pop into my brain. The reasoning behind this comes from two main facts: firstly, I haven't seen Harry in two years and this is all so strange and sudden, and second, I don't want Niall finding out how Harry and I know each other. That would be awkward and embarrassing to explain, and would force me to remember parts of my past I've often tried to forget.
"Oh, um, I don't think I have enough money left," I say, feigning dismay. I pull my purse from my handbag and unzip it, briefly peering inside before looking up at Niall. I try to ignore his blatant disappointment. He looks like a puppy that's just been kicked. "Nando's wiped me out," I add for good measure, guilt washing over me the second the words leave my lips.
"No worries -- I'll pay," Harry says, smiling, and I watch as Niall's entire face lights up. "Come on, I know a great little pub. You'll love it, Niall. It's all Irish and that."
Niall looks at me, clearly unbeknownst to how I'm feeling; there's a grin on his face a mile wide and he looks so excited that I simply can't bring myself to refuse Harry's kind -- albeit annoying -- offer. So I simply nod and force a smile. "Let's go."
As Harry leads the way, I realise that I should be thankful: a free drink and half an hour with two attractive boys? Most girls would kill to be in my situation right now. So why am I not chattering excitedly like my companions are right now? Why am I not smiling and happy and eager to get there? I feel bad for lying about the money, but I tell myself that it doesn't matter. If Harry's willing to spontaneously buy drinks for three, then he must have lots of cash to spare.
We arrive at the aforementioned pub, 'The Lucky Leprechaun' -- a name which Niall laughs hysterically at for about ten minutes, and is still chuckling about when we slide into a booth in the corner of the dark room (to which Harry replies, "I knew you'd like it!") -- and the curly-haired lad goes up to the bar to order some drinks. I can't help but watch him as he charms the female server, flirting excessively and making her laugh; she flicks her hair behind her ear and blushes, and it's about five minutes before she actually starts making the drinks. I'm startled at first because this is not the Harry I knew years ago; the shy, silly one who was friends with everybody but rarely romantically involved with girls. But then, all of a sudden, he turns and gives me a wink and it's a surprise that I ever thought he was incapable of such a thing. In fact, it seems like he's being doing this his whole life.
He sure looks the part, too, with dark skinny jeans and a casual unbuttoned black jacket, his t-shirt loose and scooped low to reveal the tips of two black tattoos on his chest; birds, I think. As he returns to our table, I ask him how many tattoos he has.
"Oh, a lot. Over forty." Harry says this as if it's no big deal, but to me, it's a massive shock. The Harry of the past was bare all over.
He puts the drinks down on the table -- three pints of some kind of beer, to my annoyance, because I'd asked for a Diet Coke -- and slides into the booth next to me, so that I'm squished between him and Niall. "My first pint!" Niall says cheerfully. He reaches out to take it. "Thanks, mate."
"No problem, bro. Almost forgot -- do you want some crisps?" Mate? Bro?
"Yes please," Niall says eagerly, and before walking back to the bar, Harry flashes Niall a toothpaste-advert grin -- dimples and all. "Wow, he's really nice," says Niall, watching him as he walks off.
"Careful, Niall, you'll start drooling," I tease, and Niall tears his gaze from Harry, focusing it on me. Our faces are mere inches apart.
"And so are you. Apart from when you're poking fun."
I tilt my head to one side, raising an eyebrow. "How am I poking fun?"
Niall simply rolls his eyes, but when he winks at me, I can tell he doesn't mind. I guess that means we're friends. We can tease and joke and not get offended. I'd forgotten what having a real friend felt like.
I scoot closer and, my eyes on Harry, whisper to Niall, "So how do you know him?"
Niall pauses. Takes a gulp of beer and wipes the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. "It was a long time ago. Three months. I was in a really dark place, and Harry helped me out." He swallows another mouthful of booze and says, "Ah, that's good. You should drink some of yours."
I laugh. "You know, you didn't exactly answer my question."
"I was getting to it," Niall chuckles. "So, basically, I was poor. Like, even poorer than I am now. And hungry. And I didn't have a home or any form of shelter. I was close to death and, one day, along came Harry. Brought me here from London on a train, gave me the strength to not give up, and voila: here I am, alive and well." It takes me a few moments to process his words; he speaks in such a quiet, rushed tone that it feels like I'm being bombarded with information. "It was a complete act of kindness. Before that, I'd never seen him in my life." Niall shrugs and brings the pint to his lips; mine, however, remains untouched.
I sit and process the information, staring around the room at tacky green paint and posters of the green meadows of Ireland, which adorn this pub a little excessively. "Do you miss home, Niall?" I find myself asking.
He inhales and exhales slowly. "Yeah. Of course I do. But this is my home now."
Seconds later, Harry returns and chucks two packets of crisps across the table; our conversation instantly comes to a halt. "So, Niall, how's your first pint?" I ask as he eagerly attacks a packet of Ready Salted.
"I feel like a man now, Anna," Niall replies with a grin.
"You'll be growing a beard next," says Harry.
"And speaking with a really deep voice," I say. "Like Harry," I add, referring to the curly-haired boy's raspy tone.
"Hey!" Harry exclaims, chucking a packet of crisps at my head. I swiftly dodge it and it falls to the seat beside me. I reach over to retrieve it and, all the while, Niall roars with laughter. That loud, unforgettable sound, which I've come to adore so much, echoes through the otherwise-quiet pub and a few people begin to stare. But Niall doesn't care, and neither do I.
I catch Harry's eye and we exchange small smiles; I can tell that we're both thinking the same thing. We're both extremely happy to have made Niall laugh, to have contributed to his contentedness. We both feel we need to protect him; we know how broken he is, and just how much he needs to be fixed. And I think, together, we'll try our hardest to do just that.
After that, I bond with Harry a lot better. It's almost easy to forget about our history, especially seeing as this Harry is different to the one I once knew. But it's a good different. He's gone from shy and dorky to confident and hot; he's still friendly and kind and funny, and I bet he always will be. After all, some things simply don't change.
We met two years ago, when I was seventeen. My aunt, Susan, lives alone in a small part of Cheshire called Holmes Chapel, and Mum organised a holiday there, just for a rainy week in February. I remember being bored out of my mind, sitting around with nothing to do, sad and lonelier than ever before; so, when the sun finally appeared from behind the dull clouds, two days into our getaway, I grabbed the opportunity to explore and ran with it. I strolled up through the town, eventually coming to a vast, seemingly empty field, and there -- beneath the bright sun and with the smell of new flowers and freshly cut grass floating under my nostrils -- was where I met a tall, skinny dork named Harry.
The first thing I noticed about him was how odd he was; after all, he was lying in the grass, arms outstretched as if creating a snow-angel in non-existent snow. His eyes were closed, a blissful smile placed upon his face; I didn't want to disturb him, so I turned away, feeling like an intruder. Seconds later, however, his voice followed after me: "Hey!"
Apprehensively, I turned. "Hello," I said shyly, as the boy got to his feet. Brushing himself off, he walked towards me.
"I'm Harry. What's your name?"
"Anna," I replied, and before I knew it he was sticking out his hand, eagerly shaking mine.
"You new around here? I haven't seen you before."
"Just here for a holiday," I admitted.
"Well, let me show you round." And it was simple as that. A bond had been formed, perhaps a temporary one, but a bond nonetheless, and I found myself falling into a comfortable friendship with Harry, a boy whom I'd never even spoken to before. We found ourselves meeting up every day, him taking me to the bakery in which he worked, even showing me a secret place down by a river where, as he recalled, he'd had his first kiss. It was weird how quickly we'd bonded and I found it weird, to say the least.
At first, I thought perhaps this place had changed me somehow, made me more confident, but as the days rolled by and I unmasked more and more of what made Harry who he was, I realised that it was all down to him. He was the kind of person to make friends with everyone, giving out no exceptions; I was still shy, screwed-up, lonely and painfully insecure, but to Harry, none of that mattered. Anyone in the world could be his friend, unless they personally wronged him in some way; I admired that about him, that immediate acceptance of everybody around him.
This was reiterated when he invited me to his birthday party, on the last Saturday of my holiday. There were so many people there. So many, and my insecurities were taking over, and all of a sudden I felt judged, ridiculed, disliked by people who I'd never met before. I'm better now, but back then, I couldn't stand being around large groups of people. The music was loud but over it I could still hear laughter, and my instant reaction was that they, whoever they were, were laughing at me. That's what insecurity does to you. Consumes your mind and eats away at you until you can't bear to face the world, let alone the people in it.
I managed to escape upstairs to Harry's bedroom. I was tearful, scared, and a little drunk. So, when Harry entered the room and came over to me, wrapping his arms around me, I couldn't help but relax into his warm embrace. I had no idea what was going on -- after all, I was in pieces -- but when he leant his head forward, I reached up and found myself pressing my lips to his. It was completely spontaneous and I wasn't expecting him to kiss me back, but he did. I still remember his mouth, warm and soft against mine, a little hesitant but nice nonetheless.
"Anna?" Harry says now, and I snap from my trance, blinking. He raises his eyebrows at me. "You haven't touched your drink."
"N-no, I haven't," I stutter, wrapping my fingers around the cool glass. I stare at the liquid. "It's just, I don't drink beer."
"All the more for me!" Niall laughs, reaching over to take my glass -- his is already empty -- and as our fingers brush together, I try to tell myself that the past doesn't matter. What matters is the present, and that's right here, right now. I won't tell Niall about mine and Harry's kiss. I won't tell him how we found ourselves laying down on his bed, our lips moving in harmony. I won't tell him how, in the heat of the moment, I, a naive seventeen year-old girl, began to unbuckle Harry's jeans. And I certainly won't mention how the next day, things between Harry and I were unfixably awkward, and I went home hating myself more than ever.
I won't tell Niall how, on that cold February night, when I was drowning in my own emotions, I lost my virginity to Harry Styles.
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