Burn Me Like the Sun

The first week of May is always the worst at London Met. Not only is every last student on a perpetual caffeine high, running on little to no sleep and just a little bit of alcohol poisoning, and congesting the refectory when all I want to do is grab a coffee, but everyone’s looking for a distraction from impeding exams and final projects and all the stress that comes along with the end of term. And little did I know that a photo spread of my snog with Louis in Hello! would be the perfect diversion.

Admittedly, there’s something well nerve-racking about becoming famous overnight.

Maybe famous isn’t the right word considering the handful of looks I got on my way to Lassiter’s class Monday morning. And even though there weren’t a lot of looks, it still felt like I was constantly being watched. Most of them were double takes, and then there were a few suggestively raised eyebrows. The worst ones were the dirtiest – expressions so foul that it made my insides curl sourly as though every person that glared in my direction actually had the chance to get to know me before coming to the widespread conclusion that I was a sour twit with no filter.

Up until then, the only pictures of me that the media ever got a hold of were nothing but blurred snapshots where my face always seemed to be hidden behind something or out of focus. Fran told me that I was lucky at the very least. Two months and not a single decent shot of my face was a feat akin to pulling off an underwater escape stunt blindfolded. No one knew me or how I had met Louis or even my name of all things, and I let myself bask in my rocky anonymity without a second thought as to what would happen when someone would get a proper photo and do a little digging and find out who I was.

But I couldn’t hide anymore, not while there were a handful of pictures taken on someone’s mobile from Saturday night of Louis clinging to my side and burying his face into my neck as we walked down the street outside Austin’s. Not with every gossip magazine worth its salt flaunting photos of our early morning snog and every innocent kiss after. And now, with my very own article and photo spread in the middle of Hello!, I was no longer the nameless ginger that had been spotted with One Direction a few times over the past couple of months. I was Blake Eaton, the redheaded Geordie, the movie addict, the cater waiter, the university student, Louis’s girlfriend.

And with the weird looks I’d been getting all morning, it seemed like everyone knew.

Those looks didn’t wane by the time I got out of Lassiter’s class, not even when I ducked into the refectory to grab myself a well-deserved cup of coffee before heading back home. I could practically feel the stare of the girl in some weirdly asymmetrical flowery top standing behind me burn holes into my skull.

I had just squeezed my way out of The Rocket with my watered-down coffee in one hand and my rucksack firmly grasped in the other when my mobile went off in my pocket. I jerked sideways at the sudden trill of horns from the Star Wars theme, thankful I didn’t ram into anyone since the morning rush was thinning out, leaving the footpath nearly empty save for a few stragglers. I dug out my mobile and flipped it open, then brought it up to my ear.

“’Lo?”

“So when were you going to tell me that not only did you make up with Louis, but you also decided to have a nice romp while you were at it?”

I stopped mid-step, hauling my rucksack onto my shoulder as I frowned. “I thought you were the one who told me not to pay attention to the media.”

Harry laughed lowly. “Well, when you have a publicist that calls you in the middle of the night just to freak out about a photo – one that isn’t even of you – that advice sort of goes out the window.” He gave a snappy laugh and continued on at a leisurely pace. “I can’t exactly ignore Giles. He’s about one more picture of Lou’s walk of shame away from having a proper stroke.”

I brought my coffee to my lips and took a sip, taking my time as I listened to Harry rambling on the other end. His voice was crisp and clear for half ten in the morning, but still soft and just the slightest bit teasing.

“Did you talk to Louis?” I finally asked, continuing my walk as I cleaved to the mismatched buildings that crowded Holloway Road. “It would save me a lot of explaining if you did.”

“I did. But I’m not worried about Louis. He knows how to take care of himself. I just want to know if you’re doing okay. I know the media can be a bit… invasive.”

I hummed. “Well, other than all the shameless stares I’ve gotten since I stepped out of my flat this morning, not to mention my very first autograph request that I had to suffer through while waiting in line for coffee just now, I’ve got no complaints.”

“You seem like you’re taking this in stride.”

“The paps give me the creeps to be honest. I hate them. But there really hasn’t been much to worry about so far. Thankfully.”

That was mostly true. The only thing that worried me about the paparazzi – since I hadn’t seen but one on my way to class that morning since kissing Louis yesterday – was that they bothered Fran more than they did me.

She woke me up that morning when she decided to sneak into my room to get a glimpse out of my window to check if there were any photographers mingling outside of our building. That would’ve been all well and good except my room had already turned into a proper pigsty just twenty-four hours after Fran had dusted and vacuumed and cleaned it to perfection. She ended up tripping over a stack of DVDs I had left by my bedside table in the dark, and the ensuing dominoesque crash was just enough to disturb me from my ginger-scented slumber.

Unlike Fran, however, I still hated the paparazzi. That morning outside of Forbidden Planet was the worst yet. I felt helpless and trapped. My ears became fuzzy like I’d stuffed cotton inside them and it hurt to breathe, as if my lungs had been lined with shards of ice. Even with Louis’s arm fit securely around my waist, all the photographers clambering for a photo made me feel cornered, and I still hadn’t been able to shake that feeling. Even though there was just the one paparazzo this morning, nothing but a frail little man with wispy hair and an unkempt beard, it felt as though someone had bound a ball and chain around my brain. I couldn’t think about anything other than keeping my feet moving forward, and even then it felt like a chore.

I hated the attention, like the quiet life I once took for granted was an art museum and each photographer was a lone child throwing a temper tantrum, hitting their fists against the polished marble walls as they sobbed. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to stay out of the spotlight forever – I mean, that was the end goal, to get noticed. I knew it would eventually happen, so all I could do was hope it wouldn’t get any more difficult than it already had been, but even then it would still be worth it.

“I don’t know how you boys stand it, though. The attention…” I sighed and shook my head. “It’s just insane.”

“Are you doing alright?” The worry pinched his words, slowing them down to the consistency of pudding. “Do you want me to call Dadrian? I’m sure Giles can set something up if—”

“No, no.” I rushed my fingers through my hair restlessly. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Actually, em, Giles wanted to meet with Louis and me next week, so we’ll see how that goes. But I’ll let you know if it gets to be too much to handle, yeah?”

He hummed softly, and the sound soothed the nerves that had crawled under my skin, if only for a moment. The thought that someone else knew how I felt was enough to nearly make me forget how much the paparazzi troubled me in the first place. “I would’ve expected a bigger reaction, you know. At least considering the handful of Tweets I glanced at this morning.”

I scoffed. “What, your fans proper freaked that Louis is moving on so quickly?”

He grunted once, suddenly sounding stiff. “They’re not the only ones.”

I stopped at the corner of the street, waving on a car that stopped for me to cross. I staggered towards the lamppost near the edge of the footpath and leaned my shoulder against it, taking a sip of coffee as I stalled.

“We’re not dating, Harry.”

“Oh, I know. But your plan seems to be working.”

I shot up straight, pressing my mobile closer to my ear as a copper drove past, his siren blaring. “What are you on about?” I finally stuttered out, my brow furrowed tightly.

“Vic came by earlier. Had one of those magazines with her. She was angry.”

I winced. “Was Louis home?”

He paused. “Yeah. They were up in his room, but I could hear her yelling from the kitchen.”

The tips of my fingers suddenly grew still as a familiar prickling sensation washed over my skin. “Is he alright?” I finally stammered, the muscles in my chest straining.

“I wouldn’t know. He hasn’t come down from his room since.”

I clenched my teeth hard enough that I could feel a muscle jump in my jaw as it ached. “Did you happen to catch what the prat said to him?”

He sucked on his teeth. “No,” he replied, his voice too light and quick for my liking.

“You’re lying,” I snapped. “What did she say? Go on, then.”

“I don’t…” He sighed. “It’s not my place. You should ask Louis if you’re so interested, Blake.”

I huffed once, a quiet growl pulling at my throat, then spun around and leaned back against the streetlamp, wrapping my arms around myself as I ducked my head. “Harry, stop it. Just tell me.”

“No. I’ve already said quite enough.” I was about to protest – either with an insult or some sort of empty threat, whichever would get my point across – when Harry spoke again, his words coming out quicker than I could’ve ever imagined possible. “I promise you that if you ask Louis what happened, he’ll tell you.” He sighed hard enough that it nearly blew out the speaker in my mobile. “You’re one of his best mates, Blake. There’s nothing he would hide from you if you just asked.”

And oddly enough, I knew Harry was right.

He huffed shakily before he spoke again, his words back to the soothing consistency of honey and his voice comforting. “I just don’t want to meddle between the two of you. I care about him – and you, for that matter. If you haven’t realized it yet.”

I fell silent and chewed on my lower lip, then looked up at the small pub in front of me, the doors of which were chained shut. The neon OPEN sign was shut off, hanging precariously by a thin chain in the window with grubby velvet curtains hung up behind it. I pushed myself forward, inching up to the glass. My breath fogged it up, clouding up my reflection.

“How do you feel about grabbing a pint?”

“What, now?” Harry laughed. “It’s hardly noon, love.”

I smiled, then turned back around and continued on my walk home. “Of course not. But when this all blows over, yeah? After the media’s had their fill and I haven’t got such a fuckin’ frenzy riding on me back. I can’t imagine the headlines if we were papped at a pub together. Same goes for Niall, the poor bloke. I owe him a proper pint.”

Even over the phone, I could still hear his dimples pulling at his cheeks, and he hummed contentedly. “First round’s on me, then.”

“Alreet. Got anything else you wanted to say before I hang up? I’ve got a full day of coursework ahead and finals are coming too quickly for my liking.” I scoffed, but let the smile that had been tugging at my lips finally break out. “I can’t spend all day havin’ a gab, mate. No matter how much it pains me to admit it out loud.”

He offered up a chuckle then paused for a moment, and I could barely hear him breathing, he was so quiet. But then he finally spoke up, his words coming out like sugary maple syrup.

“I’m so glad you stole Louis’s mobile. I can’t imagine how boring it would be without you here to snog the fuckin’ daylights out of my best mate. Even if it is just for show,” he added belatedly just as I opened my mouth to shush him.

“You’re a little shite.”

Harry laughed again, harder this time. “And you absolutely love me for it. I’ll ring you later, yeah?”

I only smiled before saying goodbye.

By the time I reached my building and climbed up the four flights of stairs to my floor, I was about ready to take a nap on the couch before going about my day, holed up in my room and studying for upcoming exams while I tried to fight the urge to continue with my kung fu movie marathon Louis had interrupted Saturday night.

Summer term was always the worst, and not just because it was shorter than both the autumn and winter terms. Something about the warm weather outside always made me feel restless, like I was missing out on something spectacular when instead I was locked up indoors, listening to lectures that could lull even the most audacious scholar to sleep. Studying seemed harder because of that constant feeling of emptiness, because while everyone seemed busy with settling into a new routine during autumn and winter was chock full of snow and the holidays, summer felt like an endless sea of opportunity to just do. So being the shut-in that I usually was, focusing on my notes or inhaling my textbooks while squeezing in a few films every now and then when I actually had some free time, made me feel useless somehow. Like I could be better off spending my time doing a million other things that I still hadn’t thought of yet.

I collapsed against the wall next to the door before I even slipped my key in the deadbolt, my breathing heavy from my rushed climb up the stairs. Just as my bum landed on the floor, my ears picked up on a set of voices on the other side of the wall, hushed and agitated. Since there was no melodramatic string orchestra in the background like the one that usually played during Hollyoaks, I could only guess that Fran had a guest over.

Even after our talk in the basement yesterday, she had still been unusually quiet about her date on Saturday. While I didn’t put it past her, as even just a snog outside our flat was unheard of for Fran (who had a strict four date no-sex rule), I would’ve expected her to combust with the need to rant and rave about her night to me, especially since the bloke earned himself a nice little kiss. So I waited and waited all day Sunday for her to attack me with a recount of her entire date, from the second her feet stepped out into the corridor to how well this bloke kissed down to the jokes he told, but it never came.

Needless to say, I was a little surprised and maybe somewhat upset. Well, surprised, upset, and anxious, because if she was still keeping her mouth shut about this chap after twenty-four hours, then he just had to be an absolute treasure.

I was still debating whether or not to go inside or to wait for Fran’s secret man to leave when my mobile went off in my pocket, blaring the Star Wars theme yet again. I struggled to flip it open before Fran heard it through our notoriously thin walls, but before I even held it up to my ear, our front door was pulled open and my flatmate stuck her head around the corner, her own mobile pressed to her ear.

“Oh,” she squeaked. She shut off her iPhone and beckoned me towards her with her free hand. “There you are. Come inside, you silly girl. I was wondering when you’d get home.”

I flipped my mobile closed and stuffed it into my pocket before I got up, struggling not to spill my coffee as I balanced my rucksack back onto my shoulder. I shut the door behind me and followed Fran into the living room, eager to finally meet her mystery blind date.

But instead, I was faced with Liam Payne.

“Ah, there you are!” he chimed, shooting up off the arm of the settee. He scampered across the room and enveloped me in his arms, squeezing me tight before I even had a chance to push him away. He had a mug of tea in one of his hands, and I was scared for a moment that it might spill onto my t-shirt as he pressed me closer, the scent of his expensive cologne invading my nostrils.

“Get. Off. Can’t. Breathe,” I mumbled against his shirt, shoving my hand against his shoulder.

“Oh!” He brought his arms back, then took a step back, admiring the sight of me like I was a newborn child as he took a pull from his mug. “I feel like I haven’t seen you girls in weeks.”

“Missed you, too,” I mumbled, hiking my messenger bag back over my shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll keep the hugs to yourself next time.”

His face fell slightly, and he brought down his mug from his lips. “Not much of a hug person?”

“Not much of a touching person,” Fran corrected from the doorway to the kitchen, sticking her head out as she smiled knowingly.

“You know,” I called after her once she disappeared back around the corner, “I thought you had your hot date over from the other night, not some pop star. I was eager to finally catch a glimpse of the bloke.”

Liam twisted around, shooting Fran a haughty smirk. “Hot date, huh? You never told me that.”

“Stop prying, the both of you.” She batted her hand at him from the doorway then retreated back to the stove, a few scraping sounds following soon after.

“Wait, wait, why are you here? Where are the rest of the boys?”

Liam pulled a face, then headed for the kitchen. I followed close by, still waiting for his answer until he spun around in place once his feet hit the tile.

“We’re not Siamese quintuplets, love,” he mused. “We’re not exactly attached to the hip.” Then he reached out and grabbed me by the arm, not even caring that I still had yet to drop off my rucksack on the coffee table or peel off my shoes, and dragged me into the kitchen with him.

“I invited him over,” Fran said, flipping over a slice of leftover French toast on the skillet. “Not only did I miss the chap, but I thought you could stand to see a friendly face that you hadn’t violently snogged just yet.”

Liam lips twitched, and he ducked his head, taking another sip of his tea as he settled onto the stool behind the island. I dropped my rucksack onto the kitchen counter, quirking my eyebrow at Liam.

“So I take it you saw the photos, then?” I said. Liam nodded, his nose still stuck in his mug. “What’s that face for? Are you surprised or something?”

He pulled a disgruntled face, setting down his mug on the counter as he crossed his arms in front of him. He fixed me with a serious look, his brow furrowed in the middle, his impression of a somber dad readying himself for a scolding catching me off guard.

“I suppose,” he muttered as he played with the teabag string hanging over the lip of his mug. “But I’m more confused than anything.”

I glanced over my shoulder at Fran. She was just switching off the cooker, the frying pan in her other hand still sizzling, when she forced out an obviously fake puzzled expression, rolling her eyes for effect. My gaze slipped pointedly to the living room, and she got the clue, nodding once before shuffling around in the corner of the kitchen as she searched the cupboards.

When she finally scuffled out of the kitchen, a plastic fork and paper plate the only dishes she could find with me rushing her out with just a look, I finally looked back at Liam. He was relaxed, his hands folded in his lap as he stared at his tea.

I took him in, from the neatly folded sleeves of his t-shirt to the patchy stubble sprouting against his cheeks. He looked stuck somewhere between a peaceful calm and whatever odd spell of insomnia had left his eyes bleary and wet and his hair mussed up in the front. His spiky bedhead could rival even my worst mornings, making him appear frazzled and jumpy, but like he was completely fine with it.

I cleared my throat, and his head shot up. He fixed me with another one of his steady looks, and I matched it with ease.

“And you’re confused because…?”

He rubbed his lips together, then went back to staring at his lap. His voice was calm as it rumbled from him. “The last time I saw you, you were crying.” He looked back up, his eyes softer now, like two mellow orbs of melted chocolate, the swirls of brown leaking into a stare that frankly left me feeling exposed. “You were crying, and you tried hiding it from me, but I still noticed.”

I winced. Of course he noticed. It wasn’t like he couldn’t hear me sniffling next to him the whole ride back to my flat.

“Liam…”

“No one just jumps from hating someone to, to…” He shook his head like he was trying to get water out of his ears. “To kissing them in the span of two weeks.”

I frowned at the realization that Liam still didn’t know the kiss was a complete farce.

“You’ve just missed a lot,” I offered after a moment, feeling the need to shut him out. The less people knew, the easier it’d be.

“Then fill me in,” he begged, sounding so genuinely eager that it was almost hard to say no.

I bit down hard on my lower lip as I looked down at my feet. I couldn’t look at Liam, not anymore, not with all that pity radiating off of him and blinding the part of myself that was emotionally mute.

“What do you want to know?” I finally ceded, still unable to look him in the eye.

“Well, I kind of got confused when Zayn told me that you had decided to start speaking to Louis again.” He licked his lips, offering me a shrug. “I mean, the last time I saw you near him, you called him an ungrateful, loathing, self-centered bastard to his face.”

He tried his best imitation of my voice, his Geordie accent coming out damn near perfect. I would’ve commended him too if the same scene that came to mind from that morning on Louis’s porch hadn’t frozen me in place, leaving a fresh void in the pit of my stomach.

“At least, I think that’s what you called him.” He cleared his throat, and I finally looked back up, blinking away the glaze clouding my eyes as I dragged myself away from the memory. “Can’t really remember.”

I scoffed, the sound ripping through the silence in the kitchen. It was getting more and more difficult for me to think clearly when Liam was inching so close to a part of myself I didn't want or need him to see.

“I…” I sighed gruffly, then tried again, softer this time, “What the hell do you want from me?”

He reached up to massage the back of his neck, glancing at his feet before he bought his gaze back up to me. “I just want you to be honest with me, Blake.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, rushing my fingers through my hair as I fixated on Liam. “About what?”

“When your feelings for Louis changed.”

I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry. “I am, though! It was nowt but… but a silly little kiss! Okay? Like, stop trying to suss something out of me because I’ve got nothing to hide.” I pointed straight at him, huffing once from my nose. “And assuming I do makes you that much more infuriating.”

His face crumpled like the quid notes Fran always found in my jeans after pulling them from the dryer. “You’re lying. Right now, you’re lying to me when I just know that there’s something else going on. I always knew you were closed off, but I didn’t realize you had a billion more layers to get through too.”

My cheeks burned shamefully, and I whipped my head to the living room when I heard Fran belt out a laugh at the telly.

“She told you, didn’t she?” I asked quietly.

“Told me what?” He licked his lips, one quick sweep of his tongue, then pegged me with his stare again, his voice coming out sharp but all at once quiet and insistent. “Fran hasn’t told me anything. In fact, she’s been quite loyal. Wouldn’t budge when I asked her what’s been going on with you and Lou. She hasn’t said a single word.” He sighed. “Just—I’m worried about you, love.”

I doubted it, but I wouldn’t say that to his face. I didn’t need another reason for him to think I was shutting him, even if I basically was. As much as I wanted to keep him out, I wanted to spare his feelings even more. “If you’re so worried, then why are you acting like this?”

“Hey, hey, acting like what?” he pressed softly, not even the least bit offended but more confused, like he was eager for me to explain. He let out a mellow sigh and pushed himself out of his chair, the legs squeaking against the tile. He circled around the island, watching me as he spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m just worried about you, Blake, that’s it. Kissing your best mate like that, in front of the paparazzi. It’s not making any sense to me. It’s just so…”

“So what?” I bit out. I crossed my arms and nodded at Liam as he stilled to a stop in front of me, his hands on his hips. “Not normal?”

Liam flinched, then looked off to the side, revealing a blush that had crawled up his neck.

“What, is that what you were gonna say? Tell me, Liam. Enlighten me. What’s so unusual about me helping out a friend?”

I was breathing hard, my breaths turning shallow once I realized I’d just admitted why I’d kissed Louis. Liam turned and looked at me, a disappointed frown curling at his mouth, and crossed his arms as he clenched his jaw. For a moment, the sounds of my haggard breathing and the commercials coming from the telly were the only things my brain could register as the anxiety burning the hot pulse through me wore down.

But then I heard footsteps, so soft that at first I didn’t notice them, and Fran flounced into the kitchen. She pushed herself between Liam and me on her way to the sink, her plate empty and sticky with maple syrup.

“Wow, it’s tense in here. Feels like I just walked onto the set of America’s Next Top Model in the middle of a scripted showdown or something,” Fran announced quietly as she washed her plate off, her back facing Liam and me. “Should I be concerned?” she asked innocently, glancing at the two of us over her shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, crossing my arms and shooting Liam a sour look.

I felt cornered, trapped, and almost a little bit threatened. What five minutes ago I thought was just tea with a mate I hadn’t seen in weeks turned out to be a guerilla intervention. I already felt cornered with the spike in attention I’d garnered over the weekend, but now I felt weighed down with Liam forcing his stare onto me, so much that I could feel my shoulders actually slump forward under his spotlight.

“This… Blake, this isn’t just nothing!” Liam finally burst out, blushing like mad. I rounded on him, my eyes wide and my mouth slightly ajar, as Fran turned around to watch us, her back against the sink and a carefully blank look on her pretty face.

“What are you on about?” I balked. “Go on, then. You’re practically convulsing with the need to lecture me, so get it out already.”

His face fell. “Blake—”

“Oh, please.” I scoffed bitterly, crossing my arms and matching his pose, adding on a deep scowl for effect. Liam nearly shriveled up at the sight, his gaze falling to the ground as he buried his hands deep inside his pockets. “And here I thought you didn’t even know what’s been going on.”

Something shocked Liam back into his brilliant impression of a cold marble statue, and he straightened up, glancing at Fran next to him before he fixed me with an empty stare.

“I didn’t know,” he said, his wary front crumbling as he crossed his arms against his chest, his sleeves riding up and exposing his tensed muscles. “At least not until Louis told me yesterday.”

I swallowed hard, my interest piqued. “And what did he say to you?”

“He told me it’s all been for show. That you’re just giving Vic a taste of her own medicine. Embarrassing her. Using the paparazzi for payback. Throwing a little, what did he call it? ‘Red wine on her perfect reputation.’” He stated this rather factually, his voice no longer quiet and meek nor tightly wound, but cold and distant and so not Liam.

“You make it sound awful,” I finally forced out, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. “I don’t know where you got the idea, but that’s not what we’re doing, Liam.”

“I want to believe that. Because when he explained it, what you two did at the BBC event, what you said to him yesterday about trusting him…” My breathing stilled as Liam stopped suddenly, looking off to the side and giving himself room to think over his words. Fran was still staring at me, her eyebrows cinched together in thought. “But do you know what surprised me the most?” He paused, watching for my reaction, but I plastered on a blank expression. “How Louis hasn’t quite noticed that you’re just going along with what he wants because you don’t want him to leave.”

My face paled as my insides hiccupped violently. I looked between Liam and Fran, my eyes darting as I felt another weight push at my shoulders, making me slump forward with exhaustion. My mouth was parched and I couldn’t speak, and every last coherent thought I’d had dried up along with my throat.

Liam clearly noticed he’d hit a soft spot with the weight of his words (whether they held an ounce of truth or not, I was still at a loss and far too distracted to even give it some proper thought). His forehead wrinkled as he pressed his lips together, then he ducked his head shamefully, like a bloody scolded puppy. Fran’s arms fell to her sides as she drank in my shocked expression, and she chanced a step forward, her shoulder brushing Liam’s. “Blake—”

“No,” I forced out, my voice still embarrassingly shaky. “Just don’t.”

“You’ve been left before, yeah?” Liam guessed after a moment, looking anywhere but my eyes, as though he couldn’t bear to get caught under my gaze without withering. “It just doesn’t make sense, love. What he did, it… it hurt you. You can’t just get rid of that. And I know you’re not doing this for his approval because you certainly didn’t care about what he thought before you found out he was… well, you know.”

I forced out a gruff sigh, and I could feel my nostrils flare. Slumped and sour, I circled around Liam and Fran to the island, my jaw clenched as I pinched crescent moons into my palms.

“You’ve absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” I finally spat, taking Liam’s empty seat on the barstool. I folded my arms on the countertop and pressed my chin into my elbow. “What I’m doing for Louis has nothing to do with what happened – whatever you think happened. So I’d really appreciate it if you could stop making assumptions about me and my life and fuck off.” I punctuated this with burying the rest of my face into the crook of my elbow, suddenly weighed down by all the tension around me.

I heard footsteps, which were followed by a sigh, and then I felt the awkward sting of skin against skin as someone gently pressed their hand into my shoulder. But I shoved them off, too annoyed to be able to feel any sort of comfort from such an innocent gesture.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Liam offered quietly, his voice strained as he inched closer. “I want you to be okay. I’m sorry.”

“I’m just fine, alreet?” I lifted up my head, my eyes shut tight. “I’m fuckin’ fantastic, I’ll tell ya what.” I sniffled once, then sat up fully, letting my gaze drift over the countertop. I glanced at Liam over my shoulder after a moment as he shifted next to me. He planted his hand on the counter as he stared at the side of my face, his expression gaunt. Fran had been standing across from me at the end of the island, but when I sat up, she rushed to my side, brushing her fingers through my hair even after I tried swatting her hands away.

I felt crowded, but something about the way the two of them me made me feel at ease.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said again, quieter this time, as he slunk to my side. He rested his forearms against the counter and leaned forward, watching me warily as Fran continued playing with my hair. “I shouldn’t have—I just, that was a dick move. I shouldn’t be pushing you. I shouldn’t be so invasive. I just worry that there’s another reason you’re helping Lou out like this and I don’t think you’ve even noticed and I just don’t want either of you getting hurt in the end.”

“What kind of reason?”

Fran’s hand stilled at the same time Liam opened his mouth to answer, but a quiet chime came from my pocket before he could utter a word. I sighed once, reaching for my mobile and dragging it out of my pocket as I shot him an apologetic look.

I flipped it open and read my mum’s text.

We need to talk.