Bloom

November

At least once a week, Matt and I studied together in his apartment. The combination of our coursework, blasting loud music, and eating habits during this time caused Silas to not be anywhere near us, so he usually ducked out as soon as I arrived. Today was no different, and he planted a peck on my cheek before wishing me luck and dashing out the door.

I dropped my tote and backpack on the floor next to the coffee table, furrowing my eyebrows. “Why did Silas just wish me luck?”

Matt shrugged, coming in from the kitchen holding two bags of chips and a few cans of soda. His books were already strewn across the coffee table, along with a few of Silas’s novels and empty mugs. “No idea. Oh, but we’ve got to cut our studying short today. There’s a match on later.”

“Who’s playing?”

“Man U and Arsenal,” Matt supplied, flopping onto the couch. He grabbed one of the bags and tore it open, popping a few chips into his mouth. “Some mates are coming over.”

I dropped down next to him and opened my backpack, grabbing my Mechanics notebook. I had a problem set to finish for Monday, and I’d only gotten a third of the way through. While I flipped through my textbook for the appropriate page, balancing my notebook in my lap, Matt munched on chips and did absolutely nothing. I side-eyed him, glancing between his chip-filled hand and the paper splayed across the table.

“You gonna do work then?” I asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I was working before you got here, Imogen,” he informed me. “This is my break time.”

“You take more breaks than anybody I know.”

“Not all of us can do coursework for four straight hours.”

“It was interesting!” I defended. “I hardly knew anything about thermal physics when I came here, okay? I was a general sciences student at Columbia, remember?”

“Still don’t understand why you transferred,” Matt said offhandedly. “Columbia’s a fucking ace school.”

“I always wanted to study in the UK,” I lied. “But you need to do a year at an American school first in order to qualify.”

This was the explanation I’d given when people asked why I was at UCL when I’d been studying at Columbia back in New York. The real story was more complicated than that, and I wasn’t going around with the intention of telling people why I was really here. It wasn’t even a full lie either, I did always want to go to university in the UK, I just didn’t see it happening so soon. Sometimes it felt like my life had been put on fast forward. 

Matt, who'd heard those same words on multiple occasions, simply nodded and grabbed another chip. While he ate half the bag, I started on my Optics worksheet. We'd just finished our first week back from reading break, and I already had assignments for every class. Silas and Jillian liked to make fun of the course load that Matt and I had, but I knew for a fact that they spent more sleepless nights than us from essay writing alone. And I wasn't against all the problem sets and labs; like Matt had pointed out, I could work for hours and not notice because I liked the content of my assignment. Whenever I got stuck on a question, which happened more often no that I was in a specialized field rather than general science and I wasn't as familiar with the content, I tended to fixate on it until I'd solved the problem. Jillian told me this was a problem, but I liked to think of it as dedication. 

Dedication didn't stay within the confines of school, and I sometimes found myself completely focused on solving a problem in my personal life. According to my mother, this was the scientific, analytical part of my brain (which I got from my dad) pushing its way into the social side (apparently this was her influence on me, but my mom's social skills were less than exemplary. She prefers paint to people.). That was why I'd spent the last four days dwelling on the disaster that was brunch with Harry. I wanted to prove to him that I wasn't some inconsiderate, slightly socially awkward girl he'd walked into at a party. If not for that one offhand comment, meant to lighten the air, then maybe the two of us would be getting along famously by now. Perhaps the most important conclusion I'd come to in the last few days was that my desire for Harry to like me had nothing to do with the fact that he was Harry Styles, billionaire pop star, but because I wanted to prove to him (and to my self, just a little bit) that I was where I belonged. After two months in London I was finally starting to feel like everything was going to be just fine, that the things I'd run from in New York weren't going to haunt me anymore, and a lot of that had to do with the people around me. They made me feel like the gaping hole in my chest was slowly closing up, and there were fewer and fewer days where I felt like I couldn't breathe. But Harry had a way of making me feel like maybe I'd spoken too soon, that I wasn't in the right place, even though I knew he probably wasn't aware of it. I didn't blame him for thinking I was a little weird, but I needed to show him that there wasn't anything wrong with that. Now I just needed to figure out how to show him that without coming off as a total jerk. 

I didn't even realize that I'd been staring at the wall with my pencil caught between my teeth until Matt tapped on my knee. "Alright there, Imogen?" he asked, cracking open a Coke. 

"Hmm?" I blinked owlishly at him, not really registering he fact that he'd asked me a question. 

"You totally zoned out there. What's up?" 

"Just thinking," I replied, figuring Matt would tell me that I was overreacting. Matt gave me a look that said he didn't quite believe me, but was relived he didn't ask for any further explanation. "It is way too quiet in here. Why isn't there music blasting?" 

Matt immediately stood and retrieved the iHome from his bedroom. It was synced with the fantastic speakers (courtesy of Silas's parents) positioned on either side of the flat screen (also courtesy of Silas's parents, who unfortunately hadn't thought that decent kitchen appliances were worth purchasing for their son and his friend) and allowed Matt to blast whatever band he was listening to that week at top volume. If they got complaints from the neighbours, I'd never heard them. Once he'd placed the iHome at a strategic place on the coffee table between a half-empty cup of tea and a copy of Slaughterhouse-Five, The Black Keys started to thud through the speakers, and the two of us ceased talking and got to work. This was how we usually spent our study sessions, with the occasional bathroom or food break. I usually only stopped for coffee or if I needed to pee, but Matt found endless excuses to get away from his coursework. I knew that he loved Biochemistry, so I'd just come to understand that this was Matt's studying style. He still got a decent amount of work done despite all his breaks, so I wasn't going to call him out for being lazy. 

At around half past four, I got up to make a pot of coffee. While I was waiting for it to brew, leaning against the counter and picking at the thread coming loose from my tank top, Matt sidled in with an apologetic expression. "The match starts in a bit," he said, stopping halfway between me and the door. "You're welcome to stay, but I doubt you'll get much done with the lads shouting at the telly."

But I knew that I would have more luck here than at Astor, where Jillian would surely try to break my door down to get me to go out with her, and I didn't feel like making the trek to the library. So I shrugged at Matt and grabbed a mug from the cupboard, fingers tapping a beat against the countertop. Matt nodded, asking if I'd pour him some coffee too before he headed back into the other room. 

Two mugs in hand, I sat down next to Matt and folded my legs up onto the cushion. I brought my notebook up onto my lap - for the last hour I'd been reviewing Mechanics notes - and balanced my coffee in one hand while flipping through the pages. Matt put on some indie band I didn't know the name of and nodded his head along to the beat, scribbling down formulas in his notebook. The coffee table was completely covered by our collective coursework, not an inch of the dark wood visible. When Silas came home and we were still hard at work, he couldn't stay in the same room with all the math and scientific formulas splayed out in front of him without getting a headache. I'd never met anyone who hated science as much as Silas did. 

I was absorbed in my notes, one of the formulas we'd learned in this week's lecture had been giving me particular trouble, and I didn't so much as blink when somebody knocked on the door. Pencil stuck between my teeth, I leaned forward and put down my coffee on a worksheet - definitely leaving a stain - and rifled through my Mechanics textbook for the relevant page to the problem. I dragged my finger down the formula outlined on the page, trying to find whatever I'd missed in my notes. Matt was at the door, still holding his own coffee, and I could hear voices. 

"Sorry about the mess lads," Matt said, leading whoever he'd invited over further into the apartment. I glanced up, my eyes skimming right over the smiling blonde and landing on an unamused Harry. I wanted to scream at Matt for not telling me, but it was sort of my fault for not even bothering to ask who was coming over. It made sense now why Silas had wished me luck earlier; he must've known Harry was coming over. I wanted to plan my reintroduction into Harry's life, and crashing match night with the boys definitely wasn't what I'd had in mind. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me sat on the couch with my hair unbrushed and my face free of makeup, which wouldn't have been so bad if not for the massive pimple on my chin. At least I was wearing a pair of semi nice jeans and there weren't any food stains on my person. I was in my natural element; doing coursework and drinking coffee. 

"This is Imogen," Matt said, directing his words to the blonde. 

"I'm Niall," the blonde interjected, his voice decidedly Irish, crossing over to the couch to shake my hand. 

"Hi," I replied, still focused on the fact that Harry hadn't stopped frowning since he arrived. "I should probably get going."

"What? You can't!" Niall exclaimed, throwing a searching look towards Matt. "Mate, tell your girlfriend she's got to stay." 

"I'm not-" 

"We're just-" 

Niall narrowed his eyes while Harry just sighed. I got the feeling that I needed to remove myself from the situation, so I downed my coffee, grimacing as the hot liquid burnt my tongue, and escaped into the kitchen. While Matt explained to Niall that the two of us were just friends, I steeled myself against the counter with one hand and refilled my mug with the other. 

"Do you always run from confrontation?" 

I spun around to see Harry lurking in the doorway, frantically chewing a piece of gum and thumbing the lapel of his coat. He stared at me openly, and I could see the judgement written clearly across his face. There was something else there too, like curiosity, but I couldn't be sure. "What was that?"

"Do you always run from confrontation?" He repeated, looking a little irritated that he'd had to ask twice. 

"No," I answered, and Harry raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think that was confrontation just now."

Harry's tongue darted across his lips as he took a step forward. I would've taken one back, because the determination on his face was daunting, but I was already backed up against the counter. "So it's just me you run from then. I've got to say, that's a first," he didn't sound particularly upset, more observant. The muscles in his jaw worked as he chewed his gum, watching me pensively.

I frowned. "I'm not running from you."

"The fact that you look for an exit strategy whenever I show up says otherwise."

"I don't-" I started, but realized he was right. Harry smirked in triumph. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm a bit weird or whatever, but it's sort of hard to stick around when you're glaring at me like the gum on the sole of your fucking boot. I can only be nice for so long, okay? So you've got to start pulling your weight here,

It seemed as though the trend of things not going as planned was going to continue. Harry's eyes widened slightly, and I started to wonder if he was going to snarl back at me for being rude (which would be hypocritical, but I really had no idea what to expect from this guy). To my utmost surprise, he ducked his head and nodded. But he didn't say anything, he just stood there looking at me with furrowed brows like he wasn't quite sure how to act now that we'd silently agreed to be civil to one another. I grabbed my mug off the counter and started toward the doorway, and Harry, offering him a small smile as I went past. In the living room, Niall and Matt were sprawled out on the couch and Niall was flipping through my Mechanics notebook. The pre-match show was on TV, and some player was being interviewed. 

"I always hated maths in school," Niall said, dropping my notebook onto the coffee table. It landed on top of the Optics worksheet I'd been doing earlier. I nearly spilled my coffee in the rush to set it down and clear away my work, so that Harry wouldn't see it. Usually explaining the whole Astrophysics situation was saved for later in the friendship. 

But he was already leaning over my shoulder, eyes scanning the pages as I rifled them into a makeshift pile, probably taking some of Matt's notes on accident. He hadn't bothered to clear them away just yet. "I think I probably could've liked it, but it was school I had a problem with."

"Did you even go to college, Harry?" Matt asked like he already knew the answer.

But I interrupted before Harry could answer. "Wait - American here. College? Is it something different here because you," I looked over at Harry. "Can't have been old enough to do college in the American sense before the whole boy band thing started. We're the same age."

It didn't feel weird admitting that I knew how old Harry was, because most of planet Earth knew anyway. He didn't even blink when I shelled out the information, but did look a little surprised when I said we were the same age.

"College is like pre-uni," Matt explained. "You finish school at 16, then do two years at college."

"Huh," I said, perching on the edge of the sofa to shove all my notes and textbooks into my tote. The couch was large enough to fit the four of us comfortably, because Matt and Silas figured that buying one massive couch was better than two smaller ones. While I put my things away, I was acutely aware of the fact that Harry had sat down next to me and removed his coat, leaving him in a flannel and a white t-shirt. The wingtips of the swallows on his chest were just peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and I was momentarily distracted by the little doodles on his left hand.

Once everything was tucked away, I sat back with my coffee and crossed my legs, my knee just brushing Harry's thigh. He was sitting a lot closer than I realized, especially in comparison to Niall, who I had intentionally sat a respectable distance from considering we didn't know each other. But Harry, who previously gave off the impression that he likened me to a disease, was barely a foot away from me with his legs spread and his hands clasped between his knees. He was hunched forward, obscuring his height, and staring intently at the screen. The game was just about to start, and Niall let out a whoop. Realizing that we were sat here with no beer, Matt leapt up and disappeared into the kitchen.

If I'd looked away a second earlier, then Harry wouldn't have caught me staring. But I was too wrapped up in the fact that I didn't feel awkward or tense with him next to me, and he appeared just as calm.

"What is it now? Do you want me to move?"

"What? No, you're fine. It's fine."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Niall didn't even seem to notice that there was a conversation going on to his right, and had his fists on his knees in anticipation as some player made a pass on the TV. "You don't stare at me like other people do," Harry said suddenly, his jaw stilling as he stopped chewing his gum.

"Um," I paused, trying to understand. "Yeah, no, I've got nothing to say to that."

"Most people, when they're staring, it's like they want something. You just seem curious, like you're looking at an experiment rather than a person."

"I still can't tell if you're insulting me or not," I replied honestly, and actually managed to coax a smile from Harry.

An amused one, no less. Now my awkward comments were funny? Not annoying? It was hard to keep up.

"If we're on the subject of staring, you tend to frown when you do it."

Harry, predictably, frowned.

"If you two are gonna talk the whole time, take it somewhere else! I'm tryin' to watch a match here!" Niall exclaimed just as Matt returned with three beers. I was content with my coffee, still unaccustomed to drinking before nightfall. And besides, if I wanted to keep on working when I went back to Astor later, I'd need the caffeine to keep awake.

My heart swelled when Harry and I shared a grin, like we had some connection between us now. Just like at Café Augustin, the moment I saw a genuine smile on his face all I wanted was for it to happen more. Harry had a handsome, adorable, boyish sort of face that could light up or bring down a room with just the twitch of a muscle.

Due to Niall's insistence that all conversation pertaining to non-match related subjects was unacceptable, Harry and I dropped our conversation. I didn't have much interest in the game (unlike the boys, who were totally absorbed in it) and figured that I could leave at halftime without causing much of a disturbance.

I tried not to stare at Harry and mostly succeeded, except for a few stray glances in his direction. He was absorbed in the soccer game, calling out at a lower volume than Niall whenever he didn't like a call or a particularly impressive pass was made. It was immediately obvious that all three of them were cheering for Manchester United, and when Arsenal scored a few minutes before halftime they all leapt to their feet and complained that the player had been offside or committed some other foul.

Once the added time had run through and the halftime show started, I got to my feet and grabbed my bag. "While this has been fun, I've got a shit ton of work to do for Monday. Matt, would you tell Silas to stop texting me in the morning? Mornings are for sleeping."

"You got it, Imogen," Matt replied, already on his way to the kitchen for more beers. "See you later, yeah?"

I nodded and waved to Niall, which he returned enthusiastically, and gave Harry a nod. I didn't expect him to follow me to the door, much less offer to give me a lift home. "What?"

"I'm not going to ask again," Harry replied in exasperation. "You need to stop being surprised by what I say to you."

"I don't live very far," I informed him. "I can walk."

"Just let me drive you, okay? I want to ask you something."

If he needed to drive me home in order to ask, I got the impression it was something he didn't want overheard by Matt or Niall. Without telling them he was leaving, Harry shrugged on his coat and followed me out the door. When we got onto the sidewalk, the sun was getting low in the sky. Sunset couldn't be far off; it had been earlier and earlier every day.

There was a Range Rover parked down the street that Harry started toward, and I had to remind myself that celebrities owned cars like this. I wasn't even used to knowing people who drove - here or in New York - so this was even more strange. But I kept my comments to myself and climbed in, nearly getting in the driver's side without realizing. Harry cast me yet another amused look over the console before he pulled out onto the road.

"What did you want to ask me?"

Harry didn't look directly at me, he kept his eyes on the traffic ahead. "I'll ask you after you tell me where I'm going."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I'm at Astor College, it's a residence hall. Just take the next left."

"I guess I just want to apologize," he started, switching into the other lane to avoid a parking car. "A lot of girls I meet are looking for something from me, whether it's sex or money or just attention. You were just trying to be nice. I'm sorry for being rude to you."

"You never know, I could be looking for sexual favours from you."

"Based on the fact that you called them sexual favours, I seriously doubt it."

"Good point. I say stuff sometimes and don't really think about it. It's my fatal flaw," I kept my voice light, hoping that our conversation would stay easy and positive. The last thing I wanted was to upset Harry when we'd spent a good two hours being perfectly nice to one another. "I kinda just want you to like me, to be honest. I don't like it when people hate me for no good reason."

"How do you know I haven't got a good reason?" He asked, throwing Devil's Advocate right back in my face.

But I was ready for it. "Because you can't hate someone that fast. You can dislike them, sure, but you gotta know them to hate them. You and I don't really know each other, do we? Take the next right. Astor's just a few blocks down."

"I'd like to know you, if you'll let me," Harry said quietly, his low voice rumbling. He took a right, his eyes darting from left to right for the residence hall.

"To be honest, I thought I'd be the one to ask that. You don't seem like the friendly type. You don't even laugh at my jokes."

"They're worse than mine," Harry said, smiling.

I gasped. "You? Telling jokes? Alert the media."

"Please don't. They'll spin the story and make me look like a twat. It happens every time."

His voice had taken on a serious note. I wondered what had happened to make him hate the paparazzi so much, other than the obvious annoying factor. "Okay. I promise not to tell people you make bad jokes if you have lunch with me next week."

It was a bold move, and I wasn't expecting much, but he was the one who'd said he wanted to get to know me. Harry pulled up outside Astor, a slight frown on his face. I unbuckled my seatbelt and looked over, my eyebrows knit together. But, "I can't." was all he said.

"Oh. Okay," I felt a little (okay, a lot) deflated at his rejection. "I wasn't going to tell anybody about the joke thing-"

"No, I physically can't have lunch with you. I'm in America next week." 

"Oh," I breathed. "Where?"

"LA and New York."

"I'm jealous. I miss home like crazy."

"I'll see if I can make it out to the Flea in Brooklyn while I'm there," he said, and I smiled. He'd remembered my excitement about my hometown at brunch. "I can give you a ring when I get back and we'll have that lunch."

I grinned, taking his phone and adding my number. It was still strange that we'd taken a complete 180, but I was starting to realize that with Harry, things weren't going to happen like I expected. This wasn't some math problem I could see the solution to after a few familiar steps, this was diving into the abstract and the theoretical, and I was completely out of my element.

And I liked it.

Harry bid me a good night, wanting to get back to Matt's before he missed too much of the second half. I shot him one last smile, which he returned, and headed into Astor. About ten minutes later, I received a text from Harry.

I really hope you didn't give me a fake number just to mess with me. - H

I'm sorry, who is this?

Jk jk it's Imogen. Sorry

This is either going to be hilarious or a total disaster. Probably both.