Bloom

February

“He’s going to think it’s ridiculous.”

Jillian rolled her eyes at me for the eighth time that evening. “He won’t,” she repeated, also for the eighth time. “It means something to you. He’ll appreciate that.”

I frowned at the rectangular package in my hands, my gaze flicking up to Jillian, who’d given her seat to an elderly man two stops ago and was standing over me in platform heels that made her so tall she had to stoop in order to keep her head from banging against the ceiling. We probably would’ve been around the same height if she hadn’t decided to put those damn things on last minute, since I had made the decision to wear heels as well, only realizing once we were halfway there that I wasn’t going to be taking them off once I got to Harry’s.

Shopping for his birthday present this morning had been absolutely awful, thanks to less than three hours of sleep and not enough coffee, and Jillian talking my ear off the entire time. I was still nursing a headache from the ordeal, but at least I’d gotten him a gift that — Jillian was right — meant something to me. Quite a lot, in fact. I adjusted the bow again, just for something to do, and hoped that Harry would understand why I picked it.

“How many people are going to be there?”

Jillian shrugged, not looking at me, her attention focused on the compact mirror in her palm as she checked that her eyeliner was even. “Knowing Nick and Aimee, probably everyone and their bloody mother. I expect the models will be there as well, out of courtesy, but Harry won’t like that. The entire Radio 1 crew, even though they’re more Grimmy’s friends than Harry’s, along with some people from Modest and maybe Syco? I think Gemma’s in town, so she’ll be there. The rest of his family have a do up in Holmes Chapel, probably later in the month if they haven’t done it already.”

It was a more detailed answer than I was expecting. “I haven’t met Gemma,” I murmured.

Jillian shut her compact with a snap and tucked it back into her purse. “She’s lovely,” she said. “You two will definitely get on.”

Once we were off the Tube, gifts tucked under our arms, Jillian and I ascended out into the cold. The walk from the station to Harry’s was burned into my memory, and I hardly had to think about which way I was going.

Just getting near Harry’s house was like going through the nine circles of Hell. Since he had a restraining order against the paps, they weren’t right outside the gate, but they were on every corner approaching Harry’s block. A dozen flashes went off in our faces with every step we took, arms linked and heads bowed.

Soon enough we crossed the boundary of the restraining order, and the flashes fell into the distance, but then the fans started to converge. I was more recognizable than Jillian, due to being in the paper a lot more than she was, and she put a protective arm about my shoulders for the last block to keep me as hidden as possible. They asked questions anyway, wondering how we knew Harry and if we’d sneak them into the party, and a few other things I really didn’t need to hear.

There was a guard stationed outside the front gate who recognized us, but checked our IDs anyway before letting us through. With the door shut behind us, we could still hear the fans calling out, but it was more like white noise now. Stan was stood at Harry’s front door, and he smiled amicably as we approached. “Evening, ladies,” he greeted, opening the door for us to step through.

“Aren’t you cold?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Stan turned out his collar, revealing the shiny thermal lining inside. “I’m just fine, Imogen. You enjoy the party now.”

Jillian’s prediction of the number of people crammed into Harry’s house turned out to be pretty accurate. I hardly recognized half of the people there, but wasn’t surprised that they’d met Harry at some point or another. We left our coats in the foyer with all the others, but kept our purses and gifts with us.

“Come on, let’s find Harry,” Jillian said, dragging me by the wrist through the house.

“I really don’t think that’s—“

“Harry!”

“Hiii,” grinned a suspiciously chipper Harry, accepting Jillian’s hug greeting with enthusiasm. Then he turned to me and I was suddenly very aware of how bare my arms and legs were, that I probably should’ve worn a cardigan or a sweater to balance out my miniskirt instead of a spaghetti strap tank top, that my hair was messy from the wind and my lipstick needed retouching, and how if Harry told me I looked beautiful anyway that I’d probably spontaneously combust right there in the living room.

There was a (very awkward) moment of hesitation where both of us decided whether or not we should hug, but then Harry’s smile eased and he slid his arms around my shoulders, burying his face in my neck. I had to react quickly, bringing my arms around his waist so that the present wouldn’t jab us both in the stomach, and felt an involuntary shiver when Harry’s hand travelled down my spine to rest on the small of my back.

“You smell nice,” he murmured, lips brushing against my ear as he stepped back. It wasn’t a ’you’re beautiful’ but it was equally as startling because of his proximity, his voice low and gravelly and just for me to hear.

“So do you,” I replied, because he did, and returning the compliment somewhat lessened the anxiety of the situation.

Our eyes hadn’t left one another yet, and Harry looked like he had something to say. There was something different about him today and it wasn’t just the alcohol, although that probably had something to do with his heightened mood — being drunk seemed to amplify Harry’s behaviour, and since he was miserable most of the time it made him intolerable — and I desperately wanted to know what had changed to make him seem…happier. I’d seen Happy Harry before, but his smile never really reached his eyes, and today it did.

Then again, it was his birthday, so maybe he was just pleased to be out of his teenage years.

“Harry!” a voice called out from deeper into the house, and Harry, somewhat hesitantly, broke eye-contact with me. He excused himself, gaze flicking too quickly between Jillian and I, and disappeared into the crowd of people.

“Does he seem different to you?” Jillian asked after a moment.

“You noticed it too?”

She nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Harry in a genuine good mood,” said Jillian, lips pursed in concentration. “Fucking weird, that is. Come on, let’s see where we can leave these presents and get something to drink. I wanna do shots.”

There was a stack of gifts of varying shapes and sizes in the corner of the living room, and we left ours there before heading to the kitchen. Seeing Matt stood next to the fridge, beer in hand, chatting with Aimee almost gave me a heart attack. It had been so long since I’d last seen him, and it hadn’t actually occurred to me that he’d be here tonight. I was walking over before I could even think it through properly and throwing my arms around his neck, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Um, Imogen?” Matt asked, patting me awkwardly on the back. I pulled away, feeling the heat rise on my cheeks, and tucked my hair behind my ears nervously.

“Sorry,” I muttered, staring at my shoes. “I just…I missed you.”

He smiled. “I missed you too.”

“So, it’s—we’re fine, right?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” he nodded, reaching out to squeeze my bicep. “Thanks for giving me time. Really, it helped to be able to think without you running around the flat like a lunatic.”

“Speaking of the flat,” I said, smiling hopefully. “Think I could come by this week? I haven’t gotten any work done at all, it’s awful.”

“You must be suffering, not being able to do maths.”

“I’ve got, like, a permanent migraine from trying to study in the library.”

Aimee looked between us, eyebrows raised. “You clever people are so strange,” she sighed, walking off probably in search of more interesting company.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to see two people getting on,” Jillian said, arriving as Aimee left. She had two shot glasses in hand, filled with amber liquid, and passed one to me. “You are getting on, yeah?”

Matt threw me a sideways grin. “Best mates.”

“Thank God,” I said, clinking my glass against Jillian’s and downing the shot. “Fireball, nice choice. Let’s get another.”

Next to me, Matt chuckled. Jillian and I went to the other side of the island in the centre of the kitchen, where various bottles of alcohol were laid out for anyone to take their pick. On the ground next to the island were the stacks of lager and cider, bottles and cans alike. I’d never been to a party with so much booze readily available, but considering the sort of pay checks the people here got, footing a bill this size without blinking an eye wasn’t all that surprising.

“Pour me one, would ya, Jillian?”

“Hiya, Niall,” Jillian grinned, grabbing one more shot glass and filling it with Fireball. We clinked them together and drank. Niall insisted upon one more, and my mouth was burning after it went down.

Niall went around Jillian and stood next to me, dropping one of his arms about my shoulders. “If memory serves me,” he began, his voice louder than usual. “You haven’t met all the lads yet.”

“Let me make a drink first. I refuse to leave this room empty-handed.”

I surveyed the selection of bottles, fingers tapping the lids until I landed on a sizeable bottle of Gordon’s. Gin hadn’t been my friend in the past, but I’d avoided it for a good month now, so I figured it was about time I dove into it again. Jillian passed me a glass (no plastic cups here, God forbid) and I mixed my drink, dropping in a slice of lime and a few ice cubes from the bucket on the countertop. Whoever had assembled this bar station knew what they were doing — there were oranges, lemons, limes, mint, ice, every kind of chase imaginable, and of course all of the best alcohol.

If Niall hadn’t kept a steady arm around his shoulders — there had to be something in his Irish blood making his alcohol tolerance extremely high, because he’d definitely been drinking before taking shots with Jillian and I — I probably would've been falling all over the place while we went through the house in search of the two members of One Direction I had yet to meet.

Louis was outside with Zayn and a few others, passing around a spliff. Niall took a drag but I simply passed it on. “Lovely to meet you,” Louis said, once Niall had introduced us. I waved at Zayn and he smiled crookedly back, before quietly inquiring after Jillian.

After a rather mellow exchange, Niall and I headed back inside to find Liam. We found him very quickly, sitting on the sofa chatting with some people I didn’t know.

“Liam, mate, this is Imogen.”

“You’re Imogen?” Liam said, giving me a once over before he got up and stuck out his hand for me to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You say that like you’ve heard things,” I said, eyes narrowed.

Liam smiled and rubbed my arm, squeezing my elbow before his hand dropped back to his side. “Nothing bad, I promise. Harry never tells us anything, so I didn’t even know you existed until I saw the chaos on Twitter. We literally had to sit on Harry to get him to talk about you.”

“It’s true,” Niall interjected, nodding enthusiastically. “Louis nicked his favourite headband as well.”

I glanced between them, still a little suspicious. “There’s nothing going on between Harry and I, you guys know that, right?”

“‘Course we do, love,” said Liam. “We’re happy he’s happy.”

“Harry’s happy?” I’d been thinking it was a trick of the light or something.

“As of about a week ago, he’s been pretty cheerful,” Liam informed me. “We just guessed it’s something to do with you.”

The only event to do with me I could think of in the timeframe Liam had provided was the Waffle Agreement. If that was what was making Harry happy, then maybe being just friends was what he’d wanted all along. Whatever confusion we’d gone through had just been the result of hormones and a lapse in judgement, and we floundered about for a few weeks before getting back to the place Harry had always wanted to be in. All this time I’d been fighting with growing feelings for the idiot, and he was trying to stop them from developing at all.

“I’m just going to…” my voice drifted as I stepped out of Niall’s grasp and away from him and Liam. My chest was tight and the room was too crowded, and I needed to get out of there.

I found myself heading upstairs in search of a quiet place to breathe, and wished that I’d had the forethought to take that bottle of Gordon’s with me. There was nothing like gin to get my mind off of things. As I reached the second floor landing, a girl was coming out of the bathroom, tucking a makeup bag into her purse. My first thought was that she didn’t need makeup, because this girl had perfect bone structure and insane eyebrow game, and I’d never seen anyone with light hair have such thick, dark eyelashes.

She smiled when she saw me, and then something must’ve clicked in her memory, because she started looking at me like she knew exactly who I was even though we’d never met before. “Hi,” she said, her voice the perfect combination of raspy and soft. “You were smart to come up here, people always forget there’s two more bathrooms.”

“Oh, I wasn’t—“

The girl flipped her flaxen hair over one shoulder, her smile all-knowing. “Harry’s room is just there.”

She pointed to a closed door at the end of the hall. “Um, actually,” I laughed awkwardly. The look she was giving me was making me anxious, because I had no idea who she was and thought that I probably should. “I just wanted to get away from the craziness for a bit. I’m really bad around large groups of people.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she said, stepping toward me. She placed a hand on my shoulder, her expression sympathetic. “I’ve only heard lovely things about you.”

“From who?”

“Tatiana,” she replied. “She keeps me informed, since I’m not exactly welcome these days.”

“Imogen?” A voice, unmistakable, called from the staircase. “Niall said you ran off, is everything all right?”

The girl’s hand dropped from my shoulder, and for the first time, she was the one that looked nervous. It disappeared in a second, though, and then Harry was behind me, his eyes on this mystery girl. There was no mistaking the fury in his gaze and the tense set of his jaw as he stared at her, ignoring me completely.

“What are you doing here?”

“Tatiana invited me.”

“Who told her she could do that?”

“Harry—“

“Get out.”

She rolled her eyes. “Calm down, I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Then you shouldn’t have come at all,” he seethed, stepping around me and blocking my view. “Get out of my house.”

“It’s been eight months, Harry, get over it,” she snapped.

“Believe me, I am.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re fucking Darcy Collins now, aren’t you?” The girl laughed, shaking her head at him. “While you keep around this lovely girl for the public to tear to pieces. That is what you’re doing, isn’t it? Shagging Darcy while you parade Imogen here all over England to keep management happy?”

Harry growled, raking a hand through his floppy hair. I didn’t catch what he said next, but turned on my heel and returned downstairs. The second floor landing had become even more claustrophobic than the crowded main floor, thanks to the argument between Harry and that girl.

On my way to the kitchen I drank all of my gin and tonic, my heart beating erratically as the gorgeous blonde girl’s accusations sank in. I was learning a lot of things about Harry tonight; none of them from the man himself. I could understand the relief over the Waffle Agreement, but this most recent development just didn’t sit right with me. He may have made some questionable choices, but Harry wasn’t a cruel person. I was certain of that, so why did her words sting so much?

I refilled my glass, switching the ratio of alcohol to chase so that the only indication there was tonic at all were little bubbles rising to the top. I threw in a lime wedge with a little too much force, making the clear liquid splash onto my hand. On the other side of the room, Silas was watching me with concern. The last thing I needed was his honest wisdom, so I went out the other door and down the hallway, past the queue for the bathroom and into the laundry room. It seemed a little silly to have an entire room for laundry, but Harry definitely needed it, judging by the mountain of clothing heaped next to the washer. I kicked a few flannel shirts aside and hoisted myself up onto the dryer, then took a long, burning drink.

While the alcohol had done its toll on my body — stumbling through the party was no easy feat — it was only just starting to affect my brain, vacuuming up all of the mess and leaving me floating. I was about to hop off the dryer, now that I felt like I could handle the party, when the door to the laundry room flew open. Harry heaved a sigh of relief when he saw me, gently shutting the door behind him and pushing back his hair.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said, frown out in full force as he crossed the room in a matter of seconds, stopping so close that my knees just touched his stomach. “Why did you run off like that?”

“You were fighting with some girl,” I said, because to me, this was a very obvious reason to vacate oneself from a situation. “It was awkward for me to just stand there while you two shouted at each other.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows at me. “You…don’t know her?”

“No,” I replied, sipping my drink. “She’s very pretty, though. Nice eyebrows. Did you kick her out after a one-night stand, or something? I would think she’s hot enough for at least two nights in your illustrious company.”

“You’re drunk, and you just used the word ‘illustrious’ in a sentence,” Harry stated, avoiding my question. I smiled at him, because apparently Harry hadn’t seen me drunk enough to know that I was astonishingly coherent when intoxicated, and had the habit of ranting about supernovas to anyone who would listen. “Great, that’s great. We’ll talk in the morning, yeah? I’ll lend you something to wear…” His voice trailed off as he glanced down, as if suddenly realizing how close he was standing. Harry stepped back, clearing his throat, and his hand flew up to his hair once more. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs.”

I raised my eyebrows. “The party — your party, is still happening. It’s, like, 1AM! You haven’t even opened your presents. Why would I go to bed now? Why would I go to bed here?”

He blinked at me, like the thought of me sleeping elsewhere hadn’t crossed his mind. “Yeah, of course, that makes no sense at all,” he muttered.

“I will, however, leave this room. I need to find Matt.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to tell him what I got you,” I said. “We weren’t talking, so I couldn’t get his help, but I think he’d get it — the gift — and I didn’t think to tell him earlier. Besides, I was a little unsure about it, and I’m hoping he can give me better reassurance than Jillian did.”

Harry stopped me from leaving the laundry room, throwing out a hand and blocking the door. “You got me something?”

“It’s your birthday, idiot,” I rolled my eyes.

“You didn’t have to.”

“We’re friends, I think you’re cool, aside from some of your more questionable fashion choices, and Grimmy would never let me live it down if I didn’t buy you something. These are all reasons why I would get you a gift.”

“I’m going to get it. Wait here.”

“But I want to find Matt.”

Harry was growing increasingly impatient. “Imogen, I’d like to open the gift — with you, in here. Is that all right?”

“Then I can find Matt?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Then you can find Matt. Now, what does it look like?”

“Green box with white ribbon.”

Harry nodded, ducking out of the room. He was a back a minute or two later, holding my present, and we went back over to the laundry machines. I hopped up onto the dryer, but Harry leaned against it next to me, his hip right up against my thigh and his elbow intruding on my personal space. The points of physical contact were causing licks of warmth to spread across my skin, making me want to get even closer, but a tiny rational part of my mind that was still sober reminded me that this was not the sort of thing I should be thinking about my friend.

Harry placed the ribbon on the washer next to him, then turned the gift over in his hands. “It’s a book,” he stated, glancing sideways at me. A smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, dimples indenting his cheeks. “You got me a book.”

“Just open it,” I said.

He unfolded the corners carefully, set the wrapping aside, and peered at the cover. “Death by Black Hole. This is a sciencey book, Imogen. Am I going to understand it?”

I shrugged. “Maybe not everything, but I can help you with the more complicated stuff.”

Once he’d read the back, Harry studied my face carefully. “Why this book? Clearly you didn’t get it because you thought I’d enjoy the physics stuff.”

“When I was trying to figure out what area of space science I wanted to study, I read the works of the prominent scientists in each field. In Astrophysics, the area I ended up picking, this one is my favourite.”

“Thank you,” he said, setting down the book. He turned and wrapped his arms around me, and I patted his back awkwardly from the strange hugging position we were in, my shoulder digging into his chest and his arms not quite settled on where they should be. One of his hands dropped onto the dryer, palm flat, his arm blocking me from getting off. Harry’s head was bowed toward mine, our noses almost touching, and he was frowning, eyes fixed on my lips.

“Harry,” I breathed, involuntarily leaning in. My breath caught in my throat, and I wanted desperately to close the tiny space left between us, but the little rational voice was back, telling me that we’d made an agreement and we were supposed to stick to it, because if we didn’t, one — or both — of us was going to get hurt. “I have to find Matt.”

His eyes fell shut and he let out a heavy sigh, stepping back and allowing me to get down. Once I was back on my feet, I tucked my hair behind my ears and attempted the most genuine smile I could. “I hope you like the book.”

Harry sucked his lower lip between his teeth and nodded, unable to keep his eyes on mine for more than a few seconds. The air grew tense, and I realized that if I stood there any longer things would only get more awkward, if that was even possible.

“Okay,” I sighed, starting towards the door. “Um, Happy Birthday.”

I was searching for Matt when I saw Darcy, and it made me stop in my tracks once I realized where she was going. It didn’t matter that Harry was generous and kind, he wasn’t ever going to change. So while the world saw the two of us taking road trips and having lunch and made their assumptions, he would be with her. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to be jealous, because we were friends and that was it, but that didn’t stop my heart from being angry while my brain screamed for it to stop feeling.

After scouring the kitchen and the backyard and the foyer, I found myself in the living room, where Nick was manning a DJ booth I suspected he’d set up while already drunk. Silas was next to him, staring at the man who he may or may not be back together with like the happiest person on the planet. That was when I finally found Matt, sat on the couch nursing a beer and looking very bored. I made my way through the dancing young adults and stood in front of him, arms folded.

“I was thinking of leaving, if you were ready it’d be nice to have a travelling companion.”

Matt smiled. “Yeah, sounds good.”

We didn’t tell anyone, just grabbed our coats and got out of there. The temperature had dropped about ten degrees, and I stepped closer to Matt and linked our arms, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“All right?” he asked.

“No,” I said, figuring I might as well be honest about it. “But I will be.”

“Okay.”

“Really? You aren’t gonna ask me questions?”

“You said you’d be fine,” Matt replied. “I believe you.”

“Thanks,” I said, lifting my head from his shoulder to look at him properly. “I needed that.”

We got off at the same station, and on the sidewalk at the top of the stairs Matt asked if I wanted to come over.

“What, now?”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s almost two in the morning?”

“Are you tired?”

“Well, no.”

“Right. So come over. We’ll blast some Arctic Monkeys and catch up. I feel like we haven’t had a proper chat in days.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “That’s because you refused to speak to me.”

Matt shrugged. “Are you coming or not?”

“Sure,” I said with a grin. “Hey, have you still got any chocolate chips?”

“You’re the only one that uses it,” Matt reminded me.

“Excellent. I haven’t baked anything in weeks, and I have a sudden craving for brownies.”