I Don't Want It, I Just Need It.

I smiled gratefully as a fresh pint of Stella was set down in front of me, mumbling a small 'Thank You' under my breath as I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass. The barman nodded in reply and scooped the three pound coins I'd lined up, from the sticky bar.

I could see my phone flashing, I could hear it vibrating against the counter. But I continued to ignore it. Instead, bringing my drink gingerly to my lips before chugging back half of the pint in one.

"Ye might wanna slow down Ol"

I heard a scrape of a stool against the the battered, aged floorboards of 'The Crown'. And a familiar scent of vanilla mixed with cigarette smoke tickled my nostrils. "'M not gonna carry ye home later"

I turned to face Verity at the very moment she leant toward me, her lips puckered to lay a soft kiss on my cheek. Her lips landed awkwardly at my left nostril, and an uneasy chuckle escaped my lips. This wasn't us. We fitted together perfectly, seamlessly. Pieces of a puzzle, peas in a pod. Awkward wasn't us.

"'S nice t' see ye answerin' ye phone" She sighed as it buzzed once again; seemingly unphased.

Two new voicemails.

Eleven missed calls.

Six unread text messages.

I shrugged as she reached for it and mumbled the 'stats' under her breath. And continued tracing her name in the condensation of my glass with my fingernail.

"Ye sweet, ye know that"

I felt the heat creeping up my neck, the blushing of my cheeks. As she caught me scrawling a heart around the faint letters.

"Can I 'av a double Jack, straight up" My cheeks flushed even more as she noticed me mouthing her words silently along with her. "I'm predictable, aye"

I chuckled softly and took a more reserved swig of my drink. Smacking my lips together, savouring the sickly sweet taste lingering, tingling on them. "Ye anythin' but Verity Ann"

Her body stiffened at her full name; the name I know her Father had insisted on. And she sighed as I caught her wrist before she had a chance to fetch her purse. My hand that wasn't cradling her wrist fishing a crumpled five pound note from my pocket and chucking it onto the bar.

"A'ways the gentleman" She smiled, grabbing herself a small black straw from the pot on the counter and placing it between her lips. She always did this backwards, straw between lips before straw in drink. And she always drank her Jack on the rocks with a straw.

I watched her sip her drink slowly. The smallest things she did captivated me, mercilessly.
And I couldn't help but smile along with the dozy grin creeping across her lips.
I knew the smile, I knew the burn of the warm liquid hitting the back of her throat. I knew the rush.

I also knew that whisky would serve only to blur my mind, and numb the senses I so desperately needed at this moment.

"Did ye go see..."

"A' we gonna talk about las' night?"

"Are ye gonna tell me why he ignorin' ye phone?" My mind said touché, but I bit my tongue.
And an exasperated sigh escaped the both of us. Two pairs of eyes fixed stubbournly to the drinks in front of them. Our silence lasted a few seconds longer than was comfortable. Only to be broken by Verity drumming her fingernails against the bar.

"Did ye not even think about me when ye..."

"Ye all I think about Oliver" She mumbled, cutting me short. "Ye know that"

I nodded unconvincingly and wiped the condenstion clean from my glass. The heart, her name dissappearing beneath my open palm. I caught the fall of her smile from the corner of my eye, I hadn't meant to... "Did ye think about..."

"Us?" she questioned.

Verity Ann Palmer knew Oliver Scott Sykes inside out.

"Were, all I think about Ol" She sighed. "Ye..."

"I know that" I smiled weakly, "But...Vee, 'ow can ye even think of movin' t'merica? 'ow can ye..."

"'ow d'ye know ye bands not gonna blow up?" She retorted, a little hot headed. I wasn't the only one shocked by her brash tone. Or so the way she grabbed my hand and laced her fingers quickly with my own, told me. Her stare was unflinching, she barely blinked as she examined every inch of my face. And I couldn't help but mirror her stare. Right back into her wide, chocolate brown eyes. "'ow d'ye know ye not gonna get 'it by a bus tommorow, 'ow d'ye..."

"I hope" I guffawed, "I 'ope I don' get hit by a bus. An' the band? Barely takes me past Stoke Vee. 'M not gonna be jet settin' aroun' the world anytime so..."

"But... Ol. I mean...ye know what I mean. I don' wanna hold ye back, an'... An' I hope ye'd not wanna 'old me back neither"

"I didn' know this was us 'oldin' eachother back. I thought 's was..."

"'S love Ol. This is it"

It was as if her words echoed. As if she'd spoken them through a megaphone. I could hear nothing but her, and I could feel nothing but anxious.

"'S no need t' look so shocked Ol" She chuckled uneasily, as the colour continued to drain from my face. "We both know ye jus' 'avent got the balls t'...."

"I love ye Verity. I'm in love with ye. 'd shout it from the fuckin' rooftops if I weren't afraid of 'eights! But! the fact that ye can even consider leavin' me t' move t' merica makes me think I'm wron..."

"Ye goin' on tour Ol" She interupted, sliding my phone toward me. "F' a month. Ye hackin' of Johnny Truant worked, they're takin' ye on the road" She smiled awkwardly at my raised eyebrow, and pulled her hand from mine. Rubbing it vigorously against the thigh of her jeans. "An' I rejected m' place in LA after ye stormed out las' night"

I opened my mouth to speak, but she pressed her index finger to my lips. "Ye'd know all this if ye answered ye phone"

"Vee 'M sorry, I..."

"Ye best find a rooftop Sykes"