November
"Are you seriously telling me you're wearing that to a date?"
"It's not a date, Rory," she told him for the thousandth time, but he wasn't listening.
"You could have at least worn a dress," he grumbled. "What's the point of wearing jeans? Why do you insist on wearing denim all the time?"
"I promise you Harry'll be wearing jeans too," she said, but she looked in the mirror above the mantelpiece nervously now, adjusting her shirt. "Probably ripped ones, too."
"How did he rip them?" Meera asked pensively, looking up from the papers on the table.
"He bought them with rips in," Isabel said with a laugh.
Meera frowned. "Well he should have taken them back."
Isabel glanced over to Rory on the sofa and they exchanged a smile.
"Are you nervous?" Rory asked, frowning as she looked back at the mirror.
"No," she mumbled, swallowing loudly. "I don't know. Maybe. No."
It was a half lie. She wasn't nervous about seeing Harry, but she was nervous about this date situation. As much as she was telling Rory and Meera it wasn't a date, it kind of was.
It had been three weeks since the marathon, and she and Harry had only seen each other a handful of times. Harry had been busy with his exhibition, as had Isabel with the film festival, and they'd both agreed it was best to give each other space. And then at work, things were tentative between them, shy smiles and playing with each other's fingers under the table. That's as far as it had progressed: there'd been no proper kissing. Not yet anyway.
On the weekend they hadn't spent any alone time together either, just gone to the pub or slobbed about at the boys' house with the others. And as much as Isabel loved being with everyone, she'd wanted some privacy with Harry as well. Neither of them knew what things would be like now they were together, but she wanted them to figure it out and not have their only moments together be in the suffocating confines of the shoe booth, or in the car home from work, or a few seconds alone in the kitchen before someone bounded in.
The only respite was that they texted constantly, sometimes even when they were in the same room. They peeked over their phone screens, smiling at each other in silent delight, and they texted way into the night, until Isabel's thumbs hurt and her eyes burned from the brightness of the screen in the dark of her room. It felt like a secret somehow, like they were fourteen and had school in the morning, and in those texts Isabel learned more about Harry in three weeks than she had in eleven months. It was all silly things - that he was listening to Muse's Hysteria the first time he kissed someone, the fact that he hated broccoli more than anything, the story of when he had his first ever asthma attack during the 100m sprint on sports day in Year 4. And she told him, too, about the time James whacked her over the head with a branch and she had to get stitches in her eyebrow, about how she and Louis had got together, about how scared she was of graduating. It went on for hours, and they both knew everything they were saying was unimportant and trivial in the grand scheme of things, but somehow that made it even more exciting, like each fact or story or secret was a gift that the other pressed into their skin until it was embedded there forever.
There was only one instance in three weeks that she and Harry had been alone together out of choice, and that day had come nearly a fortnight after the marathon. That day was also Adam's twenty-fourth birthday.
It had been setting out to be a fairly uneventful Thursday when Isabel answered the phone to Harry and accepted without hesitation his request to come to the pub that evening. The pub around the corner from Liv and Caitlin's house had been so often frequented by their group that the landlord gave them free drinks if they stayed past twelve, and it didn't seem like there was anything special about the invitation at all.
It was only when Isabel met the others at the pub that evening, having come straight from the library with a bag so heavy it landed on the floor with a crashing thud, that she realised this was not just a Thursday, but it was an occasion. Because it was 8pm and Harry was already drunk.
This might not have been especially alarming if it weren't for the fact that the rest of them were tipsy at best, and as soon as Isabel walked in she knew they all knew something she didn't. She sat down opposite Harry and smiled at him, and he grinned back, his eyelids drooping and his skin flushed, and when Liv slid her phone across the table towards Isabel with the words 'Adam's bday today' typed in on a note, Isabel's mouth dried up.
Harry was quiet, just drank until he ran out of money and then stared dazedly at the table for the rest of the evening. The rest of them humoured him, chatted and kept up a jolly pretence like they hadn't noticed he was completely out of it, like they hadn't stopped drinking about two hours before him. And when they left, Harry slung his arm around Isabel's shoulder and leaned into her as they said goodbye to Liv and Caitlin, walking unsteadily down the drizzly road back towards the boys' house.
"Annual tradition," was all he said, and then he didn't say anything more.
When they got back to Harry's he asked her to stay over, and she didn't have any classes the following day so she agreed, mumbling her answer, her heart thumping. Finally, they were alone - just the two of them in his room with the door shut, but Harry didn't seem to have noticed. It took nearly ten minutes for him to wriggle out of all of his clothes, giggling like a child when his jeans got stuck around his ankles and he nearly toppled headfirst into the wall. Isabel was already in bed by the time he was ready to go and brush his teeth, and he tripped back after a long while with a wet mouth and chest, like he'd managed to throw water all over himself in the process. He kissed
the tips of his fingers and muttered "Happy birthday, bro", pressing his hand to the wall of the chimney breast to steady himself as he swayed on his feet, before finally collapsing face first onto the bed next to Isabel.
"Okay?" Isabel whispered after she'd turned the light off, yanking the covers from underneath Harry and throwing them over his back. He nodded into the pillow.
Adam had died on the twenty-first of October, just over three weeks before his twenty-fourth birthday. There was no way Harry was okay, but Isabel nodded back even though he wasn't looking at her, and then she burrowed down under the duvet next to him. He was breathing hard, like there wasn't much oxygen in the room and he had to gulp in order to get it, and she smoothed her hand across his back gently in an effort to make him feel better. She wasn't sure whether it even helped a little bit, but she did it anyway.
"I feel like..." Harry started after a while, his voice muffled by the fabric his face was pressed into. He shifted so that his cheek was pressed against the pillow and his face towards Isabel, but he kept his eyes shut. "I feel like this day'll al–" he hiccoughed "–always be sad even when... even when I stop being sad all the time."
Isabel was surprised by how sophisticated this statement was given Harry's inebriated state, and so it took a moment for her to respond. Perhaps for the first time, Harry seemed to recognise that getting over Adam didn't mean he could never be sad again, and Isabel's heart lifted, positively brimming with hope.
"I think you're right."
"Y'know when you eat loads," Harry went on, reaching up a hand and wiping over his mouth roughly before letting it fall on the pillow beside him, "and you think fuck, 'm never gonna eat again. 'nd you can't remember what being hungry's like."
"Yeah?"
"'s what being sad used to feel like," he said. He sighed heavily, his eyes still shut, and Isabel shut hers too. "Doesn't feel like that anymore. Is that bad?"
"I don't think it's bad at all. I think it's so good."
Harry hiccoughed again, before adding in a small voice: "Don't wanna forget him."
"You won't," Isabel said firmly, and by the time she'd thought to tell him that the people we love never leave us and that people live forever in our memories, Harry was asleep.
So when Isabel said she wasn't nervous about the apparent date between her and Harry, it was a half-lie. Because she was excited about seeing Harry when they weren't working or drunk or surrounded by other people, but she was scared too. This felt like the first proper step after weeks of tiptoeing, the first proper conversation after weeks of typed ones, however constant, on a little screen.
Isabel took one last look in the mirror and then went to sit in the armchair across from Rory. "He'll be here soon, I think. He said he'd ring me when he's outside."
She bit down on her nails and looked at the pair of them lounging across Rory's sofa. It was just past six and she'd come over to Rory's straight after her afternoon seminar to do last minute film festival organisation before the big event tomorrow. Isabel couldn't remember ever being more stressed about anything in her whole life; she'd lost so much sleep over this film festival that even Millie had noticed she looked tired, but the three of them had resigned themselves to the fact there wasn't much else they could do and had ended up discussing how Meera's boyfriend had invited her to stay at his parents' house this Christmas, and how Isabel's outfit was not date appropriate.
"If it makes you feel any better," Meera started, "on me and Luke's first date he took me to Alton Towers and threw up after we went on Oblivion."
"So as long as you're not sick, you've done better than Luke," Rory added with a laugh.
Somehow, this wasn't encouraging, but before Isabel could reply, there was a knock on the door. Rory barked for them to come in, and then the door opened and Harry's head popped around it, grinning at Isabel and mouthing 'hello' before stepping properly into the room.
She'd only seen him once since Adam's birthday, an evening at work that had been so busy she'd barely had a moment to look at him, so she drank him in now, her eyes raking over his face like she'd never seen him before. Her heart sped up in her chest like it always did, drumming a quick rhythm against her ribcage like it was reminding her it was there, and when Harry smiled at Rory and Meera, Isabel smiled too, like there were strings at the corners of his mouth that were connected to hers, like her body was wired up to his. That's what being in love is, Isabel thought, her palms sweating. It's finding yourself smiling like a fucking idiot for no reason other than that they're smiling.
"I hope it's all right that I came in," Harry said, extending his hand politely towards the pair of them. "Your housemate let me in, Rory. He was naked."
"He does that a lot," Meera replied with a serious nod, taking his hand. "I'm Meera."
"Is has told me all about you," Harry said, licking his lips a little. "It's brilliant to meet you."
Isabel thought for an alarming moment that Rory wouldn't take Harry's hand, but he did, looking at Harry with a steely glint in his eye. "Rory," he said bluntly.
Harry nodded and glanced over at Isabel nervously. "So, um. What have you three been up to, then?"
"We were doing last minute stuff for the festival," Isabel replied, gesturing to the papers that were strewn on the floor by Meera's feet. "But we gave up and got distracted."
"What by?" Harry asked, sitting on the arm of the chair beside her.
"We were talking about –"
"Wearing ripped denim," Rory interjected, eyeing the hole in the knee of Harry's jeans. "On a date."
Harry coughed into his fist. "I um - well, I guess I didn't think about it. I don't own anything other than jeans."
Rory didn't bother to reply.
"He's being grumpy, ignore him," Isabel told Harry, knocking her knuckles against his thigh as he gulped, his cheeks reddening. "If we did things his way I'd be wearing a floor length ball gown."
"Excuse me for trying to bring some romance to proceedings."
Isabel snorted. "He's been watching too many Garry Marshall films," she said to Harry, before glaring at Rory. "And for someone who dishes out a lot of advice, you don't follow it well. When was the last time you actually properly went out with someone?"
Rory jumped to his feet. "Off you go on your date now," he grumbled, but he struggled to keep a straight face smile when Meera and Isabel laughed at him. "Go on, get out."
"It was lovely to meet you," Harry said again as they made their way out. "I'll see you both tomorrow I'm sure."
Isabel hugged the pair of them, giving Rory a harder squeeze than necessary so that he yelped. "See you tomorrow morning," she said. "I'll text you later to make sure everything's ready."
"Don't think about it too much, don't worry yourself," he replied, patting her fondly on the arm before practically shoving her out of the door.
"They seem nice," Harry mused when they got outside, slipping his fingers through hers without hesitation as they walked to his car.
"Rory's an idiot," Isabel replied, and then she glanced up at Harry, smirking. "Still jealous of him?" Harry screwed up his face, his cheeks colouring for the second time in minutes, and Isabel laughed. "What are we doing this evening, then?"
"My mum finished work at 4:30 and my dad picked her up from there, so they should get here at nine-ish," Harry replied, rubbing his thumb against the back of her palm. "So we have about three hours."
"We could run another marathon?" she suggested with a laugh, and Harry raised his eyebrow.
"Well, if we're taking New York as the standard, I could actually run more than one, if we're being picky."
"Yeah, if we're being cocky."
He laughed and shoved his key into the passenger door of his car, opening it for her before going round to the driver's side and getting in himself. It took several attempts to start the ignition, and Harry swore under his breath, knocking his fist against the steering wheel.
"Car's fucked," he explained quietly. "I reckon the next trip up to Cheshire will kill it."
"Oh," is all Isabel replied, because there wasn't much she could say. She anticipated that the day the car finally died would not be a good day by any stretch of the imagination.
Once the ignition finally started, Harry looked up at her, pinching his lip between his fingers and blinking at her with wide eyes.
"What?"
He gulped nervously. "We're not doing anything special," Harry told her, drumming his hands against his knees, and Isabel got the impression this wasn't what he'd wanted to say. "Just going back to mine."
"That's perfect."
"I, um," Harry started, holding her gaze apprehensively. "I was just wondering about something."
"What?"
He gulped. "Is this... are you - you're my girlfriend, yeah?" Harry asked.
For a moment, Isabel was taken aback. But then she registered the anxiety painted across his entire face, the longing in his eyes for her to say yes, and she was sure that he'd been thinking about this far too much in the three weeks since New York, working himself into a state. If there was one thing Harry would never be, it was worry-free - he'd never stop overthinking things, or winding himself up in his anxiety, or being a little shy sometimes - but that's who he was, who he'd always been, and she wouldn't have him any other way. And so, it was only after a moment's pause that she rolled her eyes and said, "Of course I am, you idiot."
Harry smiled, his whole face lighting up, the skin by his eyes bunching up. "Oh. I mean, okay. Good." He laughed nervously and she laughed too. "Thank you."
There were a million things Isabel could have said to that, her breath catching in her throat for a second as he squeezed her knee in what seemed like actual gratitude, but she held herself back before she got emotional in the record time of five minutes.
"You're welcome," she said, and he laughed brightly as he released the handbrake and drove off.
~~~
"Sorry it's a mess," Harry said as they walked into his kitchen, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I'll just clean this shit away."
"What's this?" Isabel asked, looking at the things strewn across the table. There was an A3 size map of Europe at the centre of the table, a red jagged line drawn across the continent in marker pen, and Isabel spotted a list written in Harry's handwriting before he drew her attention back to him.
"It's just, uh, my plans for summer," Harry muttered, his hands fluttering over the table as he started to tidy it up. "My parents are buying me an interrail ticket for my twenty-first. Gonna go all around Europe."
"That's so cool," Isabel said, leaning back against the counter, and Harry looked up at her quickly.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, definitely. I'd love to do that."
Harry paused, looking at her for a moment before he smiled, gathering everything in his arms and hugging them to his chest. "I'll go shove these upstairs. D'you wanna make tea? I think Zayn's here too, I'll just see what he's doing tonight."
Isabel set to it but Harry returned before the kettle had even boiled, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder, kissing her neck. Her whole body jolted, like he had pressed an anatomical on-switch, and she was suddenly aware of the blood pumping hot under her skin and the ferocity of her nerve-endings, how they sparked in the places he touched her.
"They're going on a date later," Harry laughed into her ear.
"Who?"
"Zayn and Niall. They're going to the cinema so we can have the house to ourselves." Harry tucked her hair behind her ear and then went over to the fridge to get the milk out. "And when I say ourselves, I mean with Phoebe and Cally too."
"Oh good, I thought I was gonna be stuck with just you all evening," Isabel teased, and Harry pouted as he came back with the milk.
"You better be nice to me so I'll go easy on you," he said as he poured the milk into the tea. Isabel's heart did a somersault, her mind racing with endless possibilities as she blinked at him in alarm.
"Huh?"
"I'm about to thrash you at a board game of your choice," Harry explained, grinning wickedly at her. "I'm being deadly serious, by the way, I'm good at all of them."
"Which ones can I choose between?" Isabel asked, praying for Cluedo. She was the unbeaten Cluedo champion in the Allen household.
"They're all in here," Harry said, passing her a mug and opening one of the cupboards to reveal a selection of haphazardly stacked games.
"Why on earth do you have board games in the kitchen?" Isabel asked, laughing as the Jenga box fell out and smacked Harry on the chest. "Why do you have board games at all?"
"They make sick drinking games," Harry said, rubbing at his chest and flinging the Jenga box to the side. "Honestly, we'll play Monopoly one day, it goes on forever so you get smashed, and there's always lots of throwing money about and embezzlement. And strip Articulate is fun too."
Isabel nodded but was barely listening, her eyes zoning in on the Cluedo box. Harry followed her gaze and smirked. "You sure about that one?"
"Oh, yeah," Isabel said, sitting down at the table and cracking her knuckles. "This is my forte."
"Well, all right," Harry conceded, pulling it out of the cupboard and bringing it to the table. "Just don't get angry when I win."
Harry set up the board, choosing Colonel Mustard as Isabel selected Professor Plum for herself. Apart from the questions they asked each other, they played in relative silence, and Isabel watched Harry with a smile pulling at her lips, trying her best not to laugh at him. He was
frowning, pinching at his lip furiously and scribbling on his paper much more than seemed necessary, and every time she answered a question he'd nod seriously like she'd just presented him with a particularly difficult maths problem.
"Got it," Harry said quietly after a ludicrously short amount of time, and Isabel raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief.
"Pardon?"
"It's Miss Scarlett, in the dining room, with the lead piping," Harry told her, opening the envelope calmly and displaying the cards one by one. Lo and behold, he was right.
"How did you do that?" Isabel spluttered, looking down at her own paper. She'd guessed it was Miss Scarlett and she was certain it was either the lead piping or the rope, but she didn't have a clue about the room yet.
Harry shrugged, already reshuffling the cards at lightning speed. "You're easy to read. I told you, I'm good at this game."
They had four rematches. During the second Isabel thought she nearly had it only for Harry to beat her to it, quietly announcing the three cards with confidence and then turning them over and grinning at her. After that, though, she got into her stride, learning how to read him and the little moments of triumph in his face when he worked something out as well as he was able to read her, and they were in a moment of particularly heated competition during the fifth game when Zayn loped in. He took one look at the two of them sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, poised over the board with matching faces of intense concentration, and gagged.
"You two make me sick," he announced, staring between them incredulously. "Aren't you meant to be like... having make-up sex or something?"
Harry put down his pencil in indignation, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what's wrong with Cluedo, Zayn?"
"You're not eighty, for starters."
"Clearly you've never played Cluedo with Harry, Zayn," Isabel told him, grinning at Harry as Zayn looked at the pair of them gloomily, "it's absolutely wild."
Zayn blinked at them blankly as both of them laughed, and then he shook his head, running a hand across his face tiredly. "Okay, whatever, I'm not gonna pretend I understand how the pair of you work." He shuffled off to the fridge and withdrew a bottle of water. "I'm just saying, I didn't endure months of Harry moaning for you two to end up as the most boring couple in the world."
Harry tilted his head to the side curiously. "So are you saying you would prefer to have walked in on us having make-up sex on the table?" He raised his eyebrows when Zayn scowled. "Well, bit voyeuristic of you, Zaynie."
Zayn flashed him his middle finger. "Fuck you. And I'm off out, see you later." He made his way towards the hall, muttering over his shoulder, "Don't do anything too crazy, like watch a film rated 15, or sit with your knees touching on the sofa."
"Have fun on your date!" Harry replied, calling cheerfully to him as he made it to the hallway. "Make sure you sit in the back row so when you give Niall a blowjob nobody sees!"
Zayn's only response was a loud slam of the door, and Isabel laughed. "He's in a great mood."
"He and Caitlin had a massive fight yesterday and now she's not speaking to him," Harry explained, running a hand through his hair and holding her gaze for a moment before looking down at his paper.
"Reverend Green, the kitchen, the rope," he offered, beaming, and after looking at the cards she sighed and silently accepted defeat, shuffling off to the sofa with a pout. Harry followed her with a smile on his lips, collapsing down next to her and trying his best not to look smug.
"If you say 'I told you so', I'll kill you."
"Never," Harry said sincerely, but he smiled as he leaned across and kissed her cheek.
"Next time I'll have you."
"'Course," Harry said without sarcasm, pulling at the corner of her mouth with her finger until she smiled and batted his hand away. "What do you want to do now?" Harry asked, brushing his fingers across her knee. "We have forty minutes before I should order the pizza."
"I don't know," Isabel replied, smiling as his eyes flickered to her lips and his fingers paused on her knee before he extracted them and coughed into his fist, looking away from her. He'd been so good over three weeks, never once trying to make a move on her or being in the least bit suggestive, but his cheeks were flushing and the temptation to tease him, to voice the exact thought that was evidently whirring through his brain, was too much. "What could we do in forty minutes?"
~~~
"Let's watch the film now now!" Cally suggested, shoving the DVD at Harry. Isabel peeked at the title that was just about visible between Harry's fingers and laughed. The Princess and the Frog.
"Harry knows all the words," Phoebe told Isabel helpfully.
"This is true," Harry said, glancing at Isabel and catching the smile on her face. "Of course I do, who do you think I am?"
Cally wriggled around beneath the duvet. "Will you sing it for us, Harry?"
"Oh yes, please do, Harry?" Isabel pushed with a smirk.
"Not a chance," Harry grinned, inserting the DVD into the player before turning to face the three of them wrapped up in the duvet, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised. "Where am I meant to go?"
"At our feet like a dog," Isabel suggested, and Harry mock-scowled when they all laughed.
"Don't gang up on me," he grumbled, crawling up the sofa and muscling his way between Cally and Isabel, clambering under the covers awkwardly and then pulling them up to his chin.
Before his family had arrived, they'd ended up lying on the sofa for their spare forty minutes talking about Harry's interrail trip across Europe, their legs tangled, their faces close together on the armrest. Despite Harry's frequent examinations of the map, his proposed route didn't make sense geographically to Isabel, so she suggested a different one: instead of starting in Amsterdam and going straight across to Italy before wending his way back to Spain, Isabel said he should start in Barcelona and work his way north before heading out east to Italy. Harry nodded solemnly, absently plaiting her hair strands of her hair as he listened, and occasionally he'd ask a question - "is Vienna worth visiting?" "Do you think Switzerland will be too expensive?" "Do you think I should go to Rome or Venice?".
When he'd exhausted his questions, they'd somehow found themselves whispering about their respective Christmases, only three and a half weeks away now. Harry had dismissed his with a shrug and a surly "it's fine", much more interested in what she would be doing.
"I'm at my mum's Christmas Eve," Isabel had told him, playing with the hem of his sweater between them. "It's Swedish tradition on Christmas Eve to open our presents, then we go to the pub."
"The pub?" Harry had asked, smiling gently.
"Yeah, then on Christmas Day me and James and Georgia are going to my dad's. We don't do much, just go for a walk then watch TV, really."
"So we can FaceTime on that day then," Harry had said quietly, not a question but a fact, and she nodded, her breath halting when he ran his thumb across her lips. "That'd be really nice."
And it was then that she was absolutely certain she would have kissed him had the doorbell not chimed, announcing his family's arrival.
"How come you like this film so much, Cally?" Isabel asked, leaning over Harry's torso to look at him. Cally frowned as he thought, and for a moment he looked so much like Harry that she smiled.
"It's got frogs," he said eventually. "It's not all icky love stuff."
"Harry likes icky love stuff," Phoebe piped up.
"True," Harry said quickly, his eyes flickering over to Isabel for the briefest moment. "You're missing the film! It's already late, Mum said you should be in bed by now."
"Harry likes all the Disney movies," Cally continued, sitting up on one elbow to speak to Isabel and ignoring him entirely. "He likes Beauty and the Beast the best, that one's rubbish though."
"All right," Harry grumbled, but neither of them was done. "Mum's gonna be mad when she gets back."
"Harry always watches Tangled with me, as well," Phoebe said, pulling on Isabel's hand to get her attention. "He says I look like Rapunzel."
"You do," Isabel smiled, and Phoebe shrugged in an attempt at modesty.
"Harry loves love stuff," Cally continued, resting his palm on Harry's stomach so he could lean closer to Isabel. "It's disgusting."
"He loooooooves love stuff," Phoebe grinned, and Isabel realised they were teasing him now, they had to be, because Harry had gone slightly red and he wasn't looking at any of them.
"I'm trying to listen to Tiana," Harry said loudly, catching Cally's fingers with his and wrestling with them as Cally tried to yank them away, but Phoebe wasn't done.
"Harry loves Disney."
"True," Harry said. "Okay Phoebe, listen –"
"And he loves flapjacks, we always make them."
"True, but –"
"And he loves driving."
"True."
"And art."
"True."
"And he loves reading and his phone."
"True."
"And he loves you."
"True," Harry said automatically, and Phoebe's hand flew to her mouth as Cally squealed and slapped his hand onto Harry's chest.
"Knew it!" Cally shrieked. Harry just swallowed, unsure what to say for a moment as Isabel stared at him, and then he shrugged.
"True," he said again, avoiding Isabel's eyes as he attempted to push Cally off him, but he was worked up and over-excited now, and the pair of them ended up wrestling about next to Isabel, Harry wincing dramatically as Cally aimed kicks at Harry's stomach which can't have hurt at all.
"I knew it," Phoebe whispered elatedly to Isabel, slipping her hand through hers. "He talked about you in summer."
"He did?" Isabel whispered back, more to humour her than anything, but still her heart soared all the same.
"Yeah," Phoebe nodded. "And this one time we were in the garden, I heard him telling Mum that he loves you."
Isabel's mouth dried up for a moment, and before she could reply Harry roared: "you made me miss the best song!" and promptly rewound the entire scene.
They watched the rest of the film without much interruption. Harry and Isabel were pressed right up next to each other with the backs of their palms brushing, and the entire time Isabel thought about Harry speaking to his mum about her. Isabel knew Harry's relationship with his mum was rocky at best, but he'd gone out of his way to make voluntary conversation about her. It made her insides feel funny, like they were being turned inside out.
As the credits rolled, Harry made his way out of the duvet gingerly, and when Isabel looked over at him she realised Cally was fast asleep, his mouth hanging open and his eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Harry smiled at Isabel before picking Cally up carefully, his head lolling against Harry's chest, and giving a nod towards the stairs for Phoebe to indicate she should follow.
When Harry came back downstairs a few minutes later dressed in a grey t-shirt and sweatpants, he clambered back into his spot right next to her despite the fact there was lots of empty space beside them now, nestling under the duvet and switching the TV over to a Friday night quiz show as he shuffled as close to her as possible.
"I was thinking, are you nervous about tomorrow?" he asked gently as she pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them.
She wanted to see yes, but she didn't want to bring the tone down by complaining, so she shook her head.
"You sure?" Harry pushed, squeezing her side. She looked at him for a moment, replaying the way he'd shrugged and said "true" in response to Phoebe's "and he loves you" again and again, and she wanted to tell him how truly terrified she was about the film festival, but she couldn't. She was sure telling him and letting out all of her anxiety would make her feel better, but she felt silly for worrying about it when they'd had such a nice evening together, and although it was really important to her, and she'd invested so much time into it, and she'd never been responsible for anything she'd cared about so much before, that didn't detract from the fact it was just a little film festival, after all. She felt a lump forming in her throat, her heart hammering, and then he was pulling her into his lap, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyebrows pinched together.
"Nothing."
He smiled softly. "You can tell me, Is." She said nothing, just burrowed her head into his shoulder and inhaled him as he ran his hand up and down her back. "Was it because I didn't sing? Should I serenade you now?"
"I think I'm all right," she mumbled into his shoulder, and he laughed. "You're shit at singing."
"'S never stopped me."
"Oh, I know."
He pushed her shoulder back gently so that she was facing him again. "What is it?"
Isabel swallowed, quickly deciding on a topic that was equally important but detracted attention from her. "You talked to your mum about me?"
For a moment, Harry blinked at her in total confusion, before he realised what she must be referring to and his cheeks coloured slightly. "Oh. Oh, yeah. Phoebe knew?" She nodded and he coughed into his fist, his eyes darting away from hers. "My mum and I are on good terms now," he said, his lips barely moving he was speaking so quietly. "We talked about a lot of stuff in summer."
"Really? That's so good, Harry."
"Yeah." He ran a hand through her hair and smiled slightly. "I used to think she hated me, because she always got so upset with me when I was being an idiot after Adam's accident. I mean, how could I blame her? But I did at the time. And she used to think I hated her because I was so horrible to her."
"But you're okay now?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Hope so." He paused and bit down on his lip, a contemplative look on his face. "My parents aren't like yours. I don't swear in front of them or - or talk about sex or anything like that. They're not like that. So I think when I was being an arsehole for the best part of two years they didn't - they weren't sure what had hit them. I feel so bad."
"Anyone's parents would have struggled with what you all went through. And they're not gonna hold it against you, Harry. They understand better than anyone what you were going through."
"Yeah," Harry said after a moment's hesitation. "Yeah, my mum and I went to visit Adam together, and we talked about loads of stuff. We'll be ... fine, I think."
He smiled, swiping his tongue across his lips, and just as Isabel thought he might kiss her, he pressed his lips to her forehead instead. "I liked hanging out today," he said with a shy smile.
"Same," she agreed. "We should do it again soon."
He nodded, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. "So, is this... officially our First Ever Date?"
"Do you think it is?" she replied. He cocked his head to the side in thought and then nodded decisively, grinning at her. "Well, then I guess it is."
"How'd you find it?" Harry asked, tucking his hands underneath her jumper so his palms were resting flat against the bare skin of her waist. "I don't really know how dates are supposed to work."
"You're doing fine," she assured him, rubbing her thumb across one of his eyebrows. "I don't really know either, but I like this." She leaned forward to brush her lips across his, a careful flash of heat and soft skin before she pulled away. "Thank you, Harry."
"'Sokay," he mumbled, licking his lips before leaning forward to catch her lips again. He sighed contentedly and pressed another kiss to her lips softly, his hand stroking up her back beneath her jumper as his lips parted and his tongue curled against her upper lip.
"Harry..." she started with a nervous laugh, drawing back. She'd been the one to insist they take things slowly, but less than a minute of kissing and she was just about ready to throw herself at him. All she wanted was to lie on the sofa and kiss him for hours, and the thought nearly had her shaking.
He nodded, withdrawing his hands from the back of her jumper and letting her off his lap without protest. She sat beside him, her hands folded conservatively in her lap and her cheeks hot as she stared blankly at the TV screen, her mind wandering dangerously.
"Heath."
"Huh?" Isabel asked, blinking at him in confusion.
"Heath was prime minister during the Oil Price Crisis," Harry answered, gesturing to the screen.
"Oh," Isabel replied absently. She followed his gaze, watching as Harry's correct answer flashed green on the screen. She nodded. "Cool."
He laughed, his hand grazing her knee under the duvet. "Cool, yeah?"
She wanted to knock his hand away before she started squirming about, but she liked it there too much to bring herself to move it so she did nothing, trying to ignore the fact that her palms were sweating a bit now.
"It's either Churchill or Blair I think," Harry said, pinching his lip with his free hand and frowning, and Isabel blinked harshly at the screen.
Post-1945, which prime minister achieved the largest seat majority in a general election?
"Harry, what the fuck are we watching?"
"But it could be Macmillan," he went on with a frown, scanning the four options that were displayed beneath the question and ignoring her, but his hand inched higher until it was resting against her thigh. "Not gonna be Thatcher, surely."
"What is this?" Isabel asked hysterically, leaning across him to grab the remote. "Why are we watching this shit?"
"Hey!" Harry said loudly. "This is improving our general knowledge!"
"Fucking politics is not what I had in mind for this evening," Isabel replied, switching it over to the next channel. Big Brother was on, which wasn't exactly what Isabel had in mind either, but at least it would be more distracting.
"It's only this round that's about politics," Harry replied with a pout, taking the remote back and putting the game show back on. "Ah!" he cried and Isabel jumped. "It was Blair!"
"How do you fucking know this?" She yanked the remote back and flicked it over to Big Brother.
"I watch the news," he replied with a raised eyebrow.
"So do I," Isabel cut back. "I make sure I read the BBC app everyday at the very least."
"Always room for improvement, clearly." He prised the remote from her fingers and changed it back.
"Don't take the piss!" Isabel snapped. "This is old politics, it doesn't come up on the news now does it? It's history."
Harry laughed. "You do history as a degree!"
"Fuck off, Harry." She stole the remote and switched the TV off in protest, burrowing under the duvet and pulling it up to her chin. "Just because you're fucking weird and spent a couple of days on Wikipedia one summer doesn't give you a pass to act like a smart arse."
He laughed again, this time a little incredulously. "You know, that is actually exactly what I did."
"I know," she replied, unable to stop herself grinning at him. "Such a loser. I know you."
"I know," he echoed, squeezing the top of her leg, so high up that she did start squirming about, puffing her hair out of her face and balling her hands into fists. "Are you gonna turn the TV back on now, Is?"
"I think I'm good," she replied, trying her best to ignore his hand and the way he was staring at her.
"Hmmm," he said, finally removing his hand although he didn't look away from her. "So what did you have in mind for this evening?"
She looked over at him then, blinking slowly.
"Remember we had sex on here once," Harry said, a grin spreading across his face when she gulped.
"Yes," she replied haughtily, trying to sound as though she hadn't been thinking about that for the past fifteen minutes.
"Mmmm, me too," he went on, licking his lips. "Well. Good memories, eh?"
"Fuck off."
He tucked her hair behind her ear, trailing a finger down her neck gently. "I'm not trying to have sex with you."
"Oh right, good to know."
"I just wanna" – he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek softly – "kiss you."
"We already did."
"I know."
He trailed kisses along her jaw, scraping his teeth lightly across her neck. "Do most people kiss on the first date?" Isabel asked, gripping the duvet between her fists.
"I don't know," Harry replied, whispering right into her ear, his lips grazing it. "Most people aren't actually together by the first date, though. We're actually together."
"Yeah?" she managed, quite unable to say anything more because it was far, far too late and she knew it. If he didn't kiss her in a second, she thought she might explode.
He nodded sincerely, pulling back and holding her gaze. "You're allowed to kiss your boyfriend, you know," he said, pulling her back onto his lap so that her legs were resting either side of his and smiling as he ran his hands up and down her thighs. She smiled at the use of 'boyfriend' too, and for a moment they just grinned at each other. "Let's just kiss," Harry went on after a moment. "If you want to."
She chewed on her lip and blinked at him, wondering how he could even entertain the possibility she might not want to when she felt as though she might burst into flames at any second, but her hesitation confirmed something for him and his face fell.
"Okay, it's fine –" Harry started seriously, edging back away from her in concern, but she fisted his t-shirt before he could get far, yanking him forward and pressing her lips to his.
He pulled away and grinned before tucking his hand underneath her hair to grasp the back of her neck and leaning in to kiss her again, nipping her bottom lip when she slid her fingers into his hair before dipping his tongue into her mouth and exhaling into her mouth when she reciprocated.
Harry's free hand was still on her thigh, but it didn't take long before it slid round to squeeze her bum and then crept up the back of her jumper so he was stroking the skin of her back again. She whined a little and shifted in his lap so that he inhaled sharply, grabbing at her waist to attempt to stop her squirming. His other hand didn't stop, though, unable to settle in one place as he clutched at different parts of her, the pair of them kissing and groping like drunk teenagers, until she was fidgeting so much he could barely breathe.
"Jesus," he moaned into her mouth, dropping his arm from around her waist and palming her ass with both hands instead, shifting his hips up to meet hers and groaning when she tugged at his hair.
She grappled with the bottom of his t-shirt, wanting to feel the bare skin of his chest, and he yanked it over his head, throwing it across the room and pulling her so close to him their chests were almost flush, his breath hot on her mouth when he kissed her again. She gripped his bare shoulders, groaning against his tongue when he jolted his hips up, and now he was the one pulling at her jumper, about to lift it up over her head when -
"Harry? We're back!"
Harry shoved Isabel off his lap so quickly she nearly fell off the sofa, yanking the duvet up so that it concealed his crotch as his parents strolled into the room.
"You okay?"
"Yeah we're great," Harry replied huskily, clearing his throat as his cheeks burned red. Harry had given his parents his key to let themselves in when they got back, but one look at him now, with his arm clamped over his lap and a blush so strong it must have hurt, made it clear he regretted this decision.
"What were you two up to?" Harry's mum asked politely, taking off her coat to sling it over the edge of the sofa.
"We, uh – we were just watching..." he trailed off dumbly as everyone's gaze followed his arm pointing to a very blank screen.
"Ah," Jane replied after a moment of awkward silence, biting back a smile. "Yeah, I meant to catch that programme too." She mirrored Harry's gesture to the TV and raised her eyebrows as Harry grinned sheepishly and, out of pure embarrassment, Isabel found herself struggling not to laugh.
Jane followed Ted towards the kitchen and Harry flopped back into the sofa cushions, pressing his hand to his face.
"Harry," Isabel whispered, but he shook his head at her.
"Don't even speak to me," he replied, his hand clamped over his face. "Give me a minute."
That did provoke a laugh, and she kicked her way out of the duvet and shuffled off to the kitchen. She threw Jane an awkward smile, her cheeks flushing, and Jane just laughed and shook her head.
"Tea, Isabel?"
"Yes please."
Isabel leaned against the counter and was engaged in polite conversation by Ted and Jane about her job with Harry at the bowling alley. The pair of them smiled as she told them how busy Fridays were, glancing at each other and recounting the days of "working our arses off for minimum wage" Ted had grumpily pointed out, with lips that quirked up at the corners, that their situation now wasn't much different, and Jane laughed brightly, smacking him on the chest with a tea towel and telling him off for complaining.
Isabel smiled as she watched them. She wondered whether Harry would ever be able to properly laugh about his economic situation like they did. She didn't doubt that there were times when they were inconvenienced, embarrassed, maybe even a little ashamed by it, but they could laugh about it together, and there was something so nice about that.
Harry came over after a little while, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his shirt back on and his cheeks significantly less pink. He leaned against the counter next to Isabel, yawning loudly before reaching for her mug to sip her tea.
"How're you getting home, Isabel?" Ted asked.
"Niall said he'd drop me when he and Zayn get back from the cinema."
"Their date," Harry mumbled under his breath and Isabel giggled, glancing at him as he grinned against the edge of the mug.
"What was that?"
"Nothing much," Harry replied jovially.
The four of them chatted for a while about Jane and Ted's evening, and Harry yawned so much that Ted teased him about setting his bedtime earlier to match Cally's. Isabel leaned into Harry's side, thinking how lovely it was to see Harry in an exchange with his parents where nobody was tense or upset or offended, and for a moment she wasn't worried about tomorrow at all.
"Are you nervous for the festival tomorrow?" Jane asked. And there it was.
Isabel hesitated before shaking her head. She'd rather walk over hot coals than start moaning to Harry's parents, who'd been through more than she could ever even begin to imagine, about something as essentially trivial in the grand scheme of things as her little film festival. So she kept her mouth shut, and attempted to comfort herself with the debatable knowledge that a shake of her head wasn't really lying.
Jane frowned but didn't question her. "Are your friends coming? Would be nice, for moral support."
"Of course her friends are coming," Harry butted in. "Zayn and Caitlin and that lot are coming."
"They're coming," Isabel clarified. "My other ... my housemates said they would come, too."
As a result of pure curiosity, Scarlett and Millie had started speaking to Isabel again when she returned from New York, and since then the atmosphere in the house had been politely frosty, an exchange of frivolous questions about the weather and laughing when they brushed past each other on the way to the bathroom. It was Lydia, Isabel was sure, who had persuaded - or more likely, forced - the other girls and Liam to agree to making an appearance at the film festival, because Lydia was the only one able to hold a conversation with Isabel long enough to know it was happening in the first place. And so, they were coming, and although Isabel was apprehensive about them being there, she couldn't help but be a little excited that her oldest friends at uni were finally taking an interest.
They all finished their tea with light conversation before Harry went and showed his parents to Niall's room; to add to the hilarity of the date situation, Niall and Zayn were sharing Zayn's bed tonight so that Harry's parents could have Niall's. When he came downstairs, yawning massively and stretching so that his t-shirt rode up, Isabel was already tucked back under the duvet.
She reached her arms out for him and he smiled tiredly, rubbing his eyes before grabbing her hands.
"Come here," she whispered and she pulled him towards her, lying back on the sofa so that he followed and rested his head in her lap.
She ran her fingers through his hair, scratching on his scalp gently until his eyes fell shut and he exhaled loudly through puffed out lips.
"Thanks for kissing me," he said, his voice small, and she smiled even though he couldn't see her.
"That's okay," Isabel said, playing with the curl by his ear.
He peeked at her through barely open eyelids. "Are we still going slow?"
"Yep. That was just a relapse."
"Okay. That's okay. Whatever you want."
"We should do that again soon, though."
"Please," he exhaled. He pressed his face into her lap and then fell silent, breathing out through his mouth so that his breath came out like a series of small little sighs.
"You're so sweet," she said to him quietly, watching as he curled up into the fetal position and tucked his hands into his chest, but he didn't hear her. She ran her fingertips up and down his spine through his t-shirt and listened to his breathing get deeper and steadier, certain he would be asleep in a minute.
"Harry? Are you sleeping?" she asked softly, twirling her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.
"Mmm," he mumbled. "I wanna lie here forever."
"That's fine with me," she said with a smile, and he nuzzled his head further into her, sighing again sleepily. "Why're you so sleepy?"
"Been doing exhibition work," he muttered. "Secrets. Painting secrets. Tired."
She nearly said "me too" but she didn't, just brushed his hair away from his face and listened to his breathing get louder and steadier, felt his head getting heavier and heavier in her lap until she was certain he was asleep.
But all the way home in Niall's car, and all the while she was getting ready for bed, and once she was finally under her own duvet with the lights out, she realised she was so nervous she wasn't going to get much sleep at all.
3 more chapters left!