Bloom

February

It had become abundantly clear to me that nothing was going to get better if I was around Harry. So I kept my distance, and I managed not to see him for over a week. It just so happened that Harry was busy with meetings and photo shoots and all the other things he did when he wasn’t on tour, so finding time was impossible anyway. He still texted, because he was still Harry and his phone was always with him, but he didn’t badger me when I didn’t answer right away. I had a feeling that my behaviour at the pub the morning after his birthday was influencing this, because Harry was nothing if not perceptive, and he could be courteous enough at times to wait until the other person was ready to talk.

Unfortunately, my hermit-like behaviour this week had also caught everyone else’s attention. They weren’t as polite about it as Harry was, though. As I was coming back from class, bundled up in a chunky knit sweater, big coat, and boyfriend jeans, I stopped halfway down the hall when I saw the three of them crowded outside my door. Eyes narrowed, I approached slowly, hugging the Mechanics textbook in my arms closer to my chest like it would shield me from their questions and concerned gazes.

“How are you?” Matt was first to ask.

“Fine,” I muttered, unlocking my door and stepping inside. Naturally, all of them followed me, and my room suddenly felt a whole lot smaller than before.

“Been busy?” Silas asked.

I dropped my things onto the bed and took off my coat, turning around to look at him with narrowed eyes. “Y’know, sometimes when a person doesn’t make an effort to communicate, it’s because they want to be left alone.”

“Right, this is stupid,” Jillian said, throwing her arms up in the air. “Imogen, something’s happened. It’s pretty obvious that you and Harry had a row, because now you aren’t talking to anyone and he has to ask us why that is.”

“He’s asking you guys about me?” I scoffed, shaking my head.

Silas sighed. “The poor boy has no idea what he’s done to upset you, Imogen. Apparently he thought that he was fixing everything, but then you ran off and now he confused again. But he’s not going to try and interrogate you about it, because obviously that doesn’t work. He’s trying to give you space, after he saw how well it worked for you and Matt. He said that you can forget what he said, he just wants his friend back.”

“What did you two argue about anyway?” Jillian asked.

I was too busy processing Silas’s secondhand account of Harry’s words to even hear her question, my feet carrying me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed and I sat down. Brow furrowed in concentration, I balled up the cuffs of my sweater in my fists and ignored everyone entirely, which was a lot easier with a week of practice under my belt.

“Hellooooo, Imogen, are you still with us?” Jillian asked a minute or two later, waving her hand in my face. I blinked, my eyes flicking up to hers.

“Huh?”

Jillian shared a disdainful look with Matt and Silas, then sat down next to me. “Right. You’ve been acting like this for far too long. We’re—“

“It’s been a week!” I protested. “I’m allowed to focus on school, Jillian, did you forget that I’m studying Astrophysics? It’s a lot of work, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s been eleven days, actually. And Reading Week starts Monday, so why can’t you just do work then?”

I scowled at her, because she did have a point, and there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to get out of whatever they had planned. “It’s a Thursday.”

“Thursdays are great for going out,” said Matt, smiling amicably. I wanted to slap the cheerful expression off his face. I looked at each of them in turn, arms folded over my chest.

“Fine, but I’m not changing. I’ve had a long fucking day and getting drunk sounds nice, but I refuse to put on a skirt when it’s almost freezing outside. And it’s probably raining by now.”

At the end of my sentence, I eyed Jillian’s absurd ensemble (I mean, come on, who wears high waisted shorts and sheer tights in February?). She responded by flipping me off, then standing up and striding over to my desk where she proceeded to pout and sit on my notes because she knew it annoyed me.

After about fifteen minutes of Matt telling me about some pub he wanted to go to and Silas trying to get Jillian off my lab prep for tomorrow, we were off to get curry at the Indian restaurant just off campus. Apparently Matt had been planning this outing all week, and Thursday just happened to be the day that everyone he’d invited was available. When I tried to ask who was going (while my brain loudly reminded me that Harry was definitely going to be there), Matt kept his lips sealed. I had a feeling it was going to be an odd group, considering Matt had several friends at UCL that the rest of us hardly ever saw, and you could never be sure how many of our more distinguished friends would show up since Nick couldn’t come because he had to do the Breakfast Show tomorrow morning.

That was the only assurance I had gotten, and it came from Silas, who had been texting the radio host the entire time and kept grinning like an idiot. I hadn’t ever seen him so happy, but I guessed that this was the version of Silas that existed before I arrived in London, the last time he was dating Nick Grimshaw.



When we arrived at the pub Matt wouldn’t shut up about, The Wishing Well, a few members of our group had already snagged a large booth at the back. For a Thursday night it was surprisingly busy, but Matt said something about student deals on Thursdays, which explained the ratio of twenty-somethings to middle-aged men, who usually frequented this sort of place on weeknights. Once we’d gotten ourselves a round of drinks and squeezed into the booth (it was mostly Biochemistry students, so my guess about Matt inviting his uni friends was correct), I let myself relax a little. Harry wasn’t here.

“You look like you don’t really want to be here,” said Niall (who, upon hearing that we were going to a place that had more than three kinds of beer, had hopped right on the bandwagon). He sipped his pint and smiled at me with flushed cheeks, and I wondered how long he’d been sitting here drinking before we arrived.

“I was ambushed,” I said, taking a long pull of the beer Matt had insisted upon ordering for me. It was less bitter than I anticipated, and I gave my friend a thumbs up across the table. He’d finally started listening to me when I told him what sort of beer I liked.

Given the change of location — from the VIP area of a club to an open, crowded pub — I wasn’t very surprised when a few people came up and asked Niall for a picture. I didn’t doubt that if Harry were here our table would never be left alone. Niall was charismatic, sure, and had an infectious laugh, but Harry was like a magnet. Everyone flocked to him, regardless of their age, gender, or whether or not they even liked One Direction. He was Harry, and people wanted to be around him, even when his personality resembled that of a storm cloud.

“Heard you and Harry had a row,” Niall said. He was probably trying to keep his voice at a whisper, but failed miserably and attracted the rest of the table’s attention to me.

“Uh,” I stammered. I had about half a pint left, but I downed it and set the glass back down while trying to look inconspicuous. “Would you look at that, I need a refill.”

A few other people did too, so a few of us left the booth and went over to the bar. But then they saw somebody they knew at some other university and left me to chat with their friends. I’d hardly known them anyway, and I was still reeling from the fact that Niall, of all people, had brought up Harry. I guess it was understandable that Harry told his bandmates about the confrontation, they were best friends, but having Niall mention it made the whole thing weird. It made me realize that Harry actually talked to them about me, which I’d never really thought about before, and how there must be all of these conversations between him and the band that I had no prior knowledge of (and still didn’t really now, but I’d already made a massive list of the various things Harry could’ve brought up in my head). I glanced back at Niall and wondered if Harry had told them about New Year’s, or the weeks of confusion that followed, or Manchester and Holmes Chapel. I took the glass that the bartender placed on the coaster and downed a third of it immediately, ignoring the knowing look that she directed at me.

“You might want to slow down there, love,” said an unfamiliar voice to my left. I whirled around, formulating an excuse about getting back to my friends, when I met a pair of startling blue eyes.

“Why?” I asked. He did that thing that some boys do, where they lick their lips and then bite down on their lower lip while they give you a once over, and it’s an early warning sign, because they could be nice, but usually they’re a waste of time.

“An American,” he said, his voice slow but not as slow as Harry’s (I immediately wanted to kick myself for letting my brain make that connection) and he stepped closer. “What brings you to London, babe?”

“School,” I replied, because even if I had no intention of going through with whatever the blue-eyed boy had on his mind, I hadn’t flirted in a while and he had nice eyes and, as usual, I was trying to stop thinking about Harry. The fact that he was keeping me at the bar and away from Niall with his stupid questions was a plus too.

He set down his drink on the bar, angling his body toward mine ever so slightly, and I watched the muscles in his shoulders, letting the contours beneath the fabric of his t-shirt distract me. My gaze travelled lazily back up to his face, taking in his strong jaw and the wisps of auburn hair that curled around his ears, the slightly arrogant set of his mouth and his nose that I suspected had been broken at some point, finally landing on his eyes.

“I’m Thomas,” he said. Of course the moderately attractive, too confident for his own good, pet name using boy was called Thomas.

“Imogen.”

I didn’t even really get why he was hitting on me when there were girls like Jillian walking around in shorts and tops that actually showed they had boobs, while I was standing here drowning in my sweater and not even wearing heels. Maybe he thought my careless attire meant my self-esteem was down, because guys like Thomas probably thought like that, and hooking up would be easier. Or, and this was the more likely reason, he’d come up to me because I was the only girl in here not eyeing up Niall Horan.

“Why don’t we find somewhere else to sit, Imogen?” asked Thomas, picking up his pint.

I glanced back over to my friends and saw that the table had thinned out, with only Jillian, Silas, and a few others remaining. I spotted Matt and Niall talking to some girls a few feet away and grinned. When my eyes skimmed back over the booth, I caught Jillian’s curious stare. She raised her eyebrows, an amused smile edging its way onto her face, and her reaction was enough to make me entertain Thomas for little while longer.

“Sure.”

After depositing me at a small table all the way across the pub, Thomas brought a fresh round of pints and sat down across from me, crossing his forearms on the table (definitely to show off his biceps) and smirking. “So, Imogen, I’m curious — were you forced to come out tonight?”

I raised my hands in surrender. “You caught me. What gave it away? It’s the sweater, right?”

Thomas sipped his pint, his eyes playful over the rim of the glass. “I saw you earlier, sitting with your friends, and you didn’t look like you were having a very good time. That’s why I came over, thought you could use some fresh company.”

So maybe he wasn’t entirely despicable, even if I was still ninety-nine percent sure he wanted to go home with me. “Well thank you, Thomas. I appreciate it,” I said, trying not to sound too cynical.

“Are you messing with me?” he asked. So much for that.

“Not at all,” I replied with a smile.

“You’re definitely messing with me.”

“I’m not!” I exclaimed, grin widening. “I’m genuinely honoured that you have chosen me to hit on tonight.”

Thomas chuckled. “Y’know, when I saw you, I didn’t expect you to be funny. Girls as gorgeous as you don’t usually need to be funny.”

“My outstanding sense of humour is my best quality, thank you very much.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. “Even in that jumper, you’re the hottest girl here.”

I put a hand to my chest. “And here I thought you were only talking to me because you felt bad for me.”

Thomas looked like he was about to reply, then his gaze went past me, toward the door, and he let out an incredulous scoff before looking back at me. “You were sitting at the same table as that bloke from One Direction, which means you must know him, yeah?”

“Niall? Sort of,” I shrugged, sipping my drink.

“But you aren’t into him, else you wouldn’t be sitting here with me.”

“Um, I guess?”

“So, hopefully you won’t be abandoning me now that Harry Styles has shown up, yeah?” Thomas asked, pointing over my shoulder.

“What?”

As discreetly as possible, I looked over one shoulder, spotting Harry amongst a crowd of (mostly) young women, smiling as they took photos. After not seeing him for over a week, I almost forgot how broad his shoulders were and how long his hair had gotten — I swear it’d grown at least an inch since his birthday. He looked tired, more than usual at least, and I was fairly certain he hadn’t changed his jeans since last week. He was wearing all black too, except for the pink beanie over his curls. As a connoisseur of black clothing, I could help but be envious at how good he looked in all black, and how every single time I saw him dressed that way he only seemed to look better.

But he didn’t see me, and he got all the way over to the booth and took off his coat, revealing the black sweater underneath, before sliding in next to one of Matt’s uni friends. I watched openly now, because there was no way Harry could spot me through the sea of people, and wondered absently how I’d let him get this far into my head.

“You can go, if you want,” Thomas said, sounding disheartened.

I very reluctantly tore my gaze from Harry and reached across the table to squeeze Thomas’s arm. “I’m not gonna leave,” I said. His eyebrows shot up, the surprise clear on his face. “But, you should know that I’m not gonna have sex with you.”

He looked away for a moment, and I realized with a start that he was trying not to laugh. He caved eventually, and he raked a hand through his hair while he chuckled away. “I think I can deal with that. As long as you get coffee with me next week.”

“Fine, but I get to pick the place.”

“I look forward to your choice,” he said, and slid his phone across the table. “Put your number in there and I’ll give you a ring. And don’t give me a fake number, a’right, because I think that we could be very good friends, you and I.”

“Just not friends with benefits,” I replied, narrowing my eyes at him in what I hoped was a threatening manner before handing his phone back.

“You’re the one that keeps bringing it up, babe. I haven't said a word.”

I set down my third pint of the evening, half empty, feeling the beginnings of a buzz at the edge of my senses, and grinned over at Thomas. “Oh, so all that stuff about me being the hottest girl in here, that was just playful banter?”

“‘Playful banter?’” he repeated, looking at me like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of my mouth.

Groaning, I sat back in my seat. “Am I doing the thing where I talk like I’m in the wrong century again?”

“It’s fine,” said Thomas, placing both palms flat on the table. “Right, I’ll get us another round, yeah?”

“Let me,” I insisted. “This isn’t a date thing, so you don’t have to pay.”

Thomas nodded as I got up, realizing halfway toward the bar that I needed to get some more money from my coat, because I only took enough for one drink when I stalked off earlier. I hesitated for a half a second, then raked both hands through my hair and took a steadying breath. I could do this. I could go up to that table where Harry was sitting and get my things and walk off, no problem.

However, I hadn’t factored Jillian into the equation.

I got to the table, managing to look past Harry with nothing more than a nod and a quiet hello, and asked Jillian if she’d hand my coat over.

“You’re seriously going home with him?” she asked in disbelief. There was a choking noise from across the table, and we both looked over to see Harry coughing into his elbow.

“Yes, he’s just so hot and I can’t restrain myself,” I said flatly, turning back to Jillian. She glared at me, unamused. “He’s actually kinda nice. Accepted the fact that I won’t sleep with him with surprising grace. You’re welcome to him, if you like.”

She looked around me at Thomas. “He’s got nice eyes.”

“Right? That’s the only reason I let the conversation continue past — ‘Hey, you’re looking lonely over here.’”

Jillian shrugged. “Bring him over.”

I saluted her, once again sparing the briefest of glances toward Harry (who appeared to have recovered) before getting two pints at the bar and taking them over to Thomas.

“So, if you’re still looking to score tonight, I have a friend who might be interested.”

“Really?”

“Unfortunately, it requires us going over there,” I said, motioning toward the booth.

Thomas sighed. “Where Harry Styles is sitting.”

“Oh, don’t worry about him. The chances of Jillian and Harry getting together are in the negative. She tried it once, didn’t work out, you’re all good.”

“Let’s go over then,” Thomas replied, motioning for me to lead the way.

Of course, and I should’ve seen this coming, Thomas sat down next to Jillian after introductions had been made, leaving me to either squeeze in on the end or sit with Harry. While Jillian and Thomas were already wrapped up in conversation, ignoring the other people at the table entirely, I hovered at the end and finally looked at Harry properly. He’d taken off his beanie, and his hair looked like it could use a wash, pushed back from his forehead and curling at the nape of his neck, making me want to run my fingers through it even though it was tangled and messy.

“Hey,” I said, rolling my lips together. “Mind if I sit?”

Harry gave me this look that told me he thought I was being ridiculous and patted the cushion next to him, taking my coat when I handed it over and placing it over his. I greeted the other two at the booth, a couple of Matt’s friends who were texting and hardly looking up from their phones, and sat down, hands wrapped around my glass.

“So,” I said, dragging out the word. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, shifting so that his body was directed toward mine, one of his arms draped across the back of the booth. Our knees bumped, and when I didn’t move Harry took that as an invitation to slide a little closer, and soon our hips and thighs and knees were connected and I was having a very hard time not thinking about it. “I shouldn’t have sprung something like that on you. I should know you well enough by now to have realized that you wouldn’t react well. So I’m sorry. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

“Sure,” I agreed, a shiver running down my spine when he smiled.

“This week was terrible,” he informed me with a sigh. “Do you realize how hard it was for me to give you space? I think I deserve an award for self-control.”

I glanced down at the faded blue fabric of my jeans, moulded against his black ones. “Your restraint is to be commended,” I said, wondering if he’d pick up on my mocking tone.

Then he dropped his forehead onto my shoulder, nose brushing against my neck, his breath hot against the hollow of my throat. “I missed you,” he mumbled, and I was trying to detect the alcohol on him, but then I looked at his drink and only saw water. The hand in his lap shifted toward me, and I thought for a second that he was going to curl his fingers around my thigh and drive me completely insane, but he stopped and made a fist, and I could feel his jaw work against my collarbone.

My hand moved of its own accord, slipping onto my lap and travelling slowly, hesitantly, toward Harry until my fingertips grazed his wrist, tracing the anchor tattooed there. Maybe it was the buzz of alcohol or the atmosphere in the pub, but I’d been pulling away for so long and it was more difficult every single time, and now he was right here breathing against my neck and I couldn’t do it anymore. I could have one night — hell, ten minutes would be good enough — pretending that nothing else mattered and we could just be near each other without worrying about the rest of the world.

“Harry! Mate!” cried Niall, appearing at the booth with his arm around a girl. Harry lifted his head from my shoulder with jolt, blinking himself out of a daze. I paused, staring at the other little doodles inked sporadically around the anchor.

“You all right, bro?”

“I see you’ve made up,” the Irishman grinned. “Where’s yer drink? Don’t tell me you’ve come to a pub and not ordered a pint! What is that?”

“It’s water,” Harry said. He was leaning toward Niall, like Harry always did when he was talking to somebody, but since I was sitting between them, Harry’s upper half was pressed against my side, and I was basically elbowing him in the gut with my hand on his wrist but he didn’t seem to notice at all. His body temperature was high, in spite of the lack of alcohol in his system, and I chalked it up to how crowded the pub was.

“Water? What the fuck is wrong with you, mate? I’m getting you a pint right now.”

“I’m driving, Niall.”

“Get Stan to drive you home! It’s his job!”

Harry sighed. “Just piss off and let me drink my bloody water,” he muttered, but of course Niall didn’t hear him, and stalked off to the bar with the girl on his arm to get Harry a pint, complaining loudly all the way. “I love Niall, but there’s something about that Irish brain of his that doesn’t understand why somebody wouldn’t want to have a drink. We don’t all need to be pissed to have a good time.”

“It certainly helps,” I tried to shrug, but Harry was still leaning on me and I could only move one shoulder.

“Are you drunk?” he asked. “You don’t seem drunk.”

“A little drunk,” I admitted, walking my fingers up his arm toward the rose.

Harry furrowed his brow, his gaze flicking down to my hand on his arm for a moment before returning to mine. “If you hadn’t had anything to drink, would you be letting me sit this close to you?”

“Probably not.”

He exhaled slowly and leaned back, adjusting his hips so that our bodies weren’t connected anymore. It was enough for me to take the hint, and I returned my hand to my lap, not sure how I should be feeling. The buzzing in my ears was louder, making it hard to think. I went to ask Jillian if she’d go with me to the bathroom, because I needed somebody else to unravel the mess in my head, and blinked in surprise when she wasn’t sitting across from me. Thomas was gone too.

“Where—“ I started, not asking anyone in particular.

“They left before Niall came over,” Harry said, looking at me with a steady, blank expression. “Are you okay?”

“‘M fine,” I mumbled, finding it hard to look at him directly. “I need another drink.”

“I think you’re done,” Harry said firmly.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” I was about to slide out of the booth when I realized that I didn’t have any money on me, and turned toward Harry. My coat was on his other side, taking up the space between him and the texting girl (how she was ignoring Harry Styles completely was beyond me). “Can I, um, could you pass my coat?”

Harry frowned immediately. “You’re leaving?”

“No, I just want another drink,” I said. “I think there’s some coins in my pocket, if I can—“

He was sitting there staring at me, not moving at all, and so I leaned over him and grabbed the lapel of my coat, dragging it into my lap while I sat upright. Harry was staring at me with lips slightly parted, looking way more confused than the situation justified for. “You’re just going to ignore me, then?”

“What?”

“I said you should stop, and now you’re going for another drink,” he stated. “Does my opinion matter at all to you?”

“You’re way overreacting, dude,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“And you’re being extremely frustrating!”

“How? How is me wanting another beer frustrating to you?”

“It isn’t about the bloody beer,” Harry sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

“Then what is it?”

He stared at me, exasperated. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do here,” he said. “I thought that maybe…”

“Maybe what?” I pressed, curious now.

Harry tugged on his lip. “What I said to you before, sometimes it seems that maybe you—but you don’t, and I’m just trying to figure out how this is supposed to go. This hasn’t exactly happened to me before.”

I held up a hand, stopping him before he could confuse me even more. My brain, which had a hard time keeping up with Harry when I was sober, was stumbling along ten steps behind. “Okay, hang on. What are we talking about?”

“Imogen,” he breathed, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

“No?”

“How’s it going over here?” It was Silas, who’d been hanging at the bar, probably watching Harry and I interact with a long list of judgements brewing in his head.

“Everything is just fine,” Harry said in a forced voice. “I’ve got to go. Early start tomorrow. Imogen, would you mind?”

“But we were in the middle of a conversation,” I said, frowning at him.

“And now I’ve ended it. Now let me out, yeah?”

I bit my lip, holding back another objection, and slipped out of the booth so he could get up. Harry nodded at Silas, frowned at me, and stopped three times to take pictures with people before he was gone.