Bloom

January

Harry was frowning at me. The confused, intense expression on his face was so similar to the one he’d been wearing when we first met at Alexa’s birthday party that I wanted to pinch myself just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I didn’t even want to know what sort of face Matt was making, so once I realized that Harry wasn’t going to return my New Year’s greetings I got out of there.

It seemed a little predictable to go back to the same guest bedroom, so once I’d swiped a bottle of Gordon’s off of the counter I sought refuge in a dark corner of the terrace. There was a haze around the smokers, who mostly stayed near the sliding glass doors, and they didn’t really care that I was sat a few feet away nursing a bottle of gin. It was freezing out, and I realized belatedly that I’d forgotten to grab my coat. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tipped the bottle to my lips and drank.

I felt numb all over. It helped with the guilt — though I didn’t know how deeply I’d cut, since I was too cowardly to look at Matt — and the cold January air. The kiss itself didn’t even really matter; it was the intent behind it that was making me feel so terrible. I could’ve done anything else to dissuade Matt. A simple ‘no’ or a friendly kiss on the cheek. But no, I just had to go and kiss Harry fucking Styles in front of everyone.

The act itself had largely gone from my mind. I remembered soft, surprised lips, the feeling of Harry’s jaw beneath my fingertips as I pulled his face down to mine, but the memory was purely sensory; no emotion came through.

Keeping my fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle, I brought up my knees and leaned my cheek against them, sighing heavily. Here I was, not wanting anything to change, then going and throwing a wrench in the plan all by myself. But the frustration and guilt felt far away — still there, just out of my reach. I liked the feeling, it was better than the overwhelming weight I’d probably be bearing tomorrow.

The smell of nicotine filled the air around me, and I switched to the other cheek to see who’d come over, hoping it wasn’t some drunk radio person wanting some of my (Nick’s) gin. Unfortunately it was Jillian, which was even worse.

“What?” I mumbled, shifting my eyes away from her face. I focused on the burning cigarette in her hand instead, the tobacco and carcinogenic substances slowly turning to ash before my eyes.

“Did you think that kissing Harry was going to solve all of your problems?” she asked, taking a drag of the cigarette. She didn’t sound particularly angry, but I refused to look her in the eye, so I wasn’t really sure what expressing she was making.

“No,” I replied quietly. “I just didn’t want to kiss Matt, and Harry was standing right in front of me. A few hours ago I thought that Harry was the only guy I’d never have to worry about, because he always said that we were just friends, but now I have no idea what to think.”

“What are you talking about?” Jillian sounded genuinely confused this time, unlike the false surprise she’d attempted earlier.

“Silas said that Harry’s attracted to me,” I said miserably. “And, under different circumstances, I’d be like ’fuck yeah,’ but he’s my friend and he’s kind of a dick to girls, and I’m not even looking to be with someone right now.”

Jillian laughed to herself. “Babe, just because Harry’s attracted to you doesn’t mean he wants to date you. He probably just thinks you’re fit, which you are, so it’s not a big deal,” she said with a shrug. “And you were right when you said that you two are just friends. Since Sasha, he’s not properly dated anyone. He’s not ready for it, just like you aren’t. But instead of avoiding the opposite sex like you do, he goes around shagging anything with high heels and no brain.”

I caught a flash of Darcy’s silvery dress through the glass doors and grimaced, lifting the bottle of Gordon’s to my lips. Before I’d even swallowed, Jillian snatched it from my grasp and took a long pull, alternating between the gin and her cigarette. I wasn’t the best at handling my liquor, but when she got her hands on the hard stuff (especially without any chase) Jillian was gone in minutes. I wondered if there was any of the appetizers left that Harry had mentioned earlier so she could use some bread and cheese to soak up the alcohol. But I didn’t care enough about Jillian’s intoxication level to go inside and look, so I took the bottle back instead and drank.

When our breath became visible, I decided it was time to head in. Jillian was going to black out any minute, with the way her eyes remained unfocused and she kept on slumping forward then jolting back. I could see the goosebumps dotting my exposed arms and the strip of leg uncovered by the toga, but I didn’t feel cold. Upon returning to the heat of the apartment, I concluded that it was much nicer outside, because the alcohol heating up my body only amplified the already stuffy apartment.

The majority of Nick’s guests had left, with only the core crowd remaining. I saw Silas still glowering in his corner and followed his line of sight. The leprechaun from earlier had yet to depart, it seemed. Matt was noticeably absent though, along with Tatiana and Darcy. For a moment I thought that Darcy had left with Harry, but then I spotted his striped t-shirt and unruly curls on the couch, Nick’s dog sitting contentedly in his lap. Harry had abandoned his beret and neck kerchief at some point, and looked perfectly normal compared to the rest of the room.

As the sliding door clicked shut, Harry’s eyes snapped to me. I was still holding the bottle, now half gone, and supporting a half-conscious Jillian. Her much taller frame was awkward for me to bear, and I shuffled across the room to put down the bottle. When I straightened my spine and adjusted Jillian’s arm across my shoulders, I felt a wave of vertigo and had to pause, steadying myself. I thought that maybe Silas would notice that I was struggling and come over, but he was too distracted by Nick and the leprechaun.

Then there was a tattooed arm lifting Jillian’s arm off of me and onto another set of shoulders, and a striped t-shirt with an untidy head of brown hair was leading Jillian down the hall. I followed, keeping a hand on the wall to steady myself. We checked both guest rooms, but there were bodies occupying the beds. People had taken up the couch after Harry vacated it, so that wasn’t an option either.

“Could you take her for a second?” Harry asked, his face blank as he looked at me.

I nodded silently, accepting Jillian’s deadweight into my arms. Harry took out his white iPhone, the corners scratched and chipped, and fiddled about on the screen for a moment before lifting it to his ear. A few muttered sentences later, he was sliding the phone back into his pocket and taking Jillian.

“Stan’s on his way. D’you know which coat is Jillian’s?”

Nodding again, I followed Harry to the door and put on my own coat. Then I helped Jillian into hers, grimacing as she threw her arms around my neck and leaned heavily on me, muttering in my ear about wanting to go to sleep. Stan arrived within a few minutes, so I guessed he’d been nearby, and Harry waved aside my suggestion that we say goodbye to Nick.

“He won’t care that we’ve left,” Harry said, watching Jillian with interest. She was snoring into the fur collar of his aviator jacket, and I suspected she would start drooling at any moment.

The street was empty, save for the cars parked along it. Harry’s Range Rover was right out front, and Stan had come down the stairs to help with Jillian. It took ages to get her up the steps and into the back seat, but once she’d made contact with the leather she curled up and promptly fell asleep. Harry got into the front, leaving me to maneuver around Jillian’s long legs in my toga, which was no easy task. I wanted to tear the thing off, it was starting to itch and bunch up in the worst places.

The alcohol in my system allowed me to stare out the window and think about nothing, especially not the boy sitting in the front seat. It was a quiet drive down to Astor, save for the muted conversation up front. I shut my eyes, focusing on Harry’s low drawl and allowing the gravelly tone of his voice to lull me to sleep.

My timing, it seemed, wasn’t the greatest. As soon as I’d drifted off the back door was opening and a rush of cold air was startling me into dizzy awareness. My eyes landed on Harry, staring blankly back at me. I didn’t like Indifferent Harry. He was, I concluded, even worse than Frowning Harry. At least I could work with that, try to make him smile or laugh, and forget about whatever was plaguing his thoughts. Indifferent Harry was new, and I didn’t quite know how to react to him just yet.

Harry dismissed Stan’s offer to help Jillian inside and dragged the blonde out of the back seat himself, securing an arm around her thin waist. I walked a few steps ahead of them, digging through the pockets of my coat for my keys. Harry watched me with a frown — I tried not to smile, knowing that my dawdling aggravated him and had caused a reaction — as I pulled out gum wrappers and receipts and change, finally grasping the set of keys on their plain keyring. Harry muttered something about my ridiculous pockets, which I chose to ignore as I opened the door for him.

Once we’d gotten Jillian out of her coat and into bed, I stepped out into the silent hallway (if there were parties still going on at this hour, they certainly weren’t on our floor) and blinked owlishly at Harry. He was frowning in way he always did, the little crease between his eyebrows and the pouty set of his too-pink lips, looking like I was a colossal headache to him and dealing with me wasn’t worth the trouble. After tonight, I didn’t really blame him.

Matt was one of Harry’s best friends. According to Silas, Matt went to Harry for advice about me. What would happen now that I’d kissed Harry, adding a whole other confusing element to the mix? Granted, it was a two-second, closed mouths, emotionless affair, but the message was clear.

“‘M sorry,” I murmured, flicking my eyes up to Harry’s. They were like spring grass beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, too many thoughts and feelings muddled in the green depths that I couldn’t begin to comprehend what was going on in his head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. Not like that.”

Harry’s frown deepened and his pupils started to dilate. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, probably trying to be sarcastic or confident or something, but sounding more strained and false than anything else.

Another wave of vertigo hit me when I sighed and let my eyes drift shut for a moment, and I shot out a hand to steady myself. But instead of reaching for the wall, I grabbed a fistful of Harry’s striped t-shirt. His eyes widened as he placed one hand on my elbow, the other on my shoulder, steadying me. I knew immediately that the movement was instinctual, because the second my grip on his shirt loosened, Harry’s hands dropped to his sides.

“I hate gin,” I said, more to myself, and started toward my own door. I turned the key, glancing over my shoulder at Harry, who hadn’t moved. “Why are you still here?”

He blinked, one hand tangled in his hair. “Why did you kiss me?”

My hand fell from the doorknob, key still sticking out of the lock. “Because I didn’t want to kiss Matt.”

“But why me, Imogen?” Harry asked, his voice low and rusty as usual, but his eyes pleading. “Was there any other reason?”

“Because you were there,” I answered. “I thought you would be the easiest one to kiss. You aren’t a stranger, you have no romantic interest in me, you—“

“You could’ve just not kissed anybody.”

“Obviously I didn’t think of that,” I said, growing frustrated. “Look, I knew Matt was going to do it and I didn’t want him to, and you were just standing there doing nothing, despite the fact that you’re you and there had to be at least fifteen people around who wanted to kiss you.”

“I wasn’t doing nothing,” Harry muttered.

“You were standing in the middle of a crowd staring at a wall on New Year’s Eve, Harry, while everyone else was making out and celebrating.”

He stared at the ground. “I was looking for you.”

“I—um,” I tried to form coherent thoughts, but they were all blurring together. My skin was on fire and my throat was dry, and Harry Styles was standing there having basically just admitted that he wanted to kiss me at midnight. “Why?”

Harry shrugged. “You seemed pretty upset about Matt fancying you, so I figured I’d kiss you instead.”

“Oh, sure, because it’s just like a favour between friends, right? ‘Hey, Imogen, I know how you’re trying to figure out how you feel about Matt and you don’t want to confuse things, so why don’t we make out instead?’ That’s just great, Harry, totally clears things up for everyone.”

“You bloody well kissed me!” he exclaimed, finally looking at me. “If you could even call it that. I don’t even remember it happening, just the look on Matt’s face after you did it.”

Then, a few doors down, somebody stuck their head out and scowled at us. “Shut the fuck up!” he shouted at us, not even noticing that Harry Styles was standing in his dorm hallway, and slammed the door.

I sighed, raking a hand through my hair. “Look, why don’t you just go? I’m too drunk and tired to deal with this.”

“We aren’t finished,” Harry said bluntly. “We need to figure out what we’re going to tell Matt.”

I unlocked my door and flicked on the light, taking in the disaster zone that was my room and trying not to wince as Harry looked around curiously. I didn’t bother with picking up the clothes and shoes that littered the floor or clearing away the textbooks and notes spread across my desk. “So, why do we have to tell Matt anything?”

Harry, who’d been inspecting my Physics notes, set down the paper and crossed the small room to me. “Well, for starters, he thinks you fancy me now.”

“Fantastic.”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Fancy me,” Harry stated, his voice making it sound like this were some business transaction.

“No?” I said, because I was pretty sure that I didn’t, even if I found him absurdly good looking and a semi-decent human being.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Was that a question?”

“Uh,” I stammered. “No?”

“Imogen,” Harry said, taking another step. “Please don’t say you fancy me.”

“I do not.” I said, more firmly this time. “You’re a very attractive person, but I don’t want to date you. No offence.”

“None taken,” he replied, visibly relieved.

Silas’s words echoed in my head: “It means that you’ve got two boys who want in your pants, but one of them won’t admit it to himself.”

“Do you…?” I left the question open ended, feeling incredibly awkward, and stared at Harry with wide eyes.

“No,” he said immediately. Then, upon realizing that he’d answered far too quickly, cleared his throat. “That is, you’re a very attractive person, but I don’t want to date you. No offence.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Way to be original with the rejection, dude.”

At least Jillian and Silas had been right about one thing. Harry definitely wasn’t interested in dating me. There was still a grey area between us, not as vast and intimidating as before, but noticeable enough for it to bother me. I wanted black and white, crisp boundaries, otherwise I’d be in my least favoured state: confused and grasping for some semblance of structure.

Harry was staring at me, as if he knew I wanted to ask him something else. When I met his gaze, he raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Do you wanna break your rule?”

There was no clarification needed. Harry looked me in the eye for a moment, then his gaze flicked down to my mouth and back up again. “Sometimes,” he said.

“Like right now?”

It was obvious in the way his pupils dilated as his eyes went down to my mouth again. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” Harry asked, and I shrugged. “Imogen. Okay what?”

“If I’m going to let Matt go around thinking I like you,” I began, keeping my eyes on Harry’s. His lips were far too distracting, though I did let my gaze slip down once or twice. “I might as well give him a better reason than that stupid kiss at midnight.”

It wasn’t going to solve any of my problems by far, but Harry’s voice and his eyes and the buzz of alcohol had let me think that there couldn’t be any harm in a little bit of fun between friends. Because that’s what we were, and that’s what we were going to be in the morning.

Unlike the last time I’d pressed a kiss to his mouth, Harry reacted. He grasped my hips around the bundled material of the toga, fingers pressing into my sides and pulling me close. The soft closed lips I’d encountered before were hot and hungry, like he’d been waiting for this moment all along. I wondered if he had, and back when he was being Indifferent Harry he was just playing some game to get my attention. In any case, it’d worked.

I slid one hand into his hair, tangling my fingers in the curls. The other trailed down to his chest, resting there, where I could feel his erratic heartbeat beneath my fingertips. Harry had grown impatient and was struggling to undo the braided belt holding the toga in place while still kissing me, his lips leaving mine for the briefest of moments while he glanced down and swore. Then he reconnected our mouths, all lips and teeth and tongues and uneven breathing.

He pulled back to take off his coat and lift the striped shirt over his head, quickly crashing back into me and making both of us go backward. I was too preoccupied in exploring the newly exposed skin with my hands to notice where we were going before the back of my knees hit my bed. I stopped Harry before he could manoeuvre us down, palms flat against his chest. Then I dropped my hands to my waist, quickly undoing the belt he’d struggled with earlier. It, along with a clip on my shoulder, held the whole thing together. I tossed the belt aside and then removed the clip, my heartbeat kicking up a notch when the sheet tumbled to the ground.

When I looked up at Harry, I didn’t see the expression I wanted to see. His green eyes were wide and dark, but it wasn’t lust or attraction reflected back at me. It was panic and guilt. All this time he’d been a jumble of emotions that I didn’t understand, and now I knew why. In order to figure out how he felt, Harry needed us to go too far and cross the line he’d put up. Now that we had, it seemed that the rule would remain unbroken.

“I can’t—“ Harry said, stumbling back. He scrambled to put on his shirt, avoiding my eyes. “It’s too much. You’re—“

“It’s okay,” I interrupted, not wanting to hear whatever excuse he’d thought up.

Harry blinked. His cheeks were flushed and his hair in even more disarray than before. “I don’t want this to change anything.”

I swallowed, smiling tightly. “It won’t. We’ll just be friends who’ve made out now. I’m sure you have plenty of those.”

I knew that he didn’t, because Harry didn’t mix things. Except now he had, and it was going to change things. I told him it wouldn’t to convince us both that everything was fine, and in the morning we were going to be friends.

“Right,” Harry said, his voice strained. “Um, bye. I guess.”

The smile on my face was forced, and Harry knew it. The air between us was thick and tense. I felt so awkward and embarrassed that I wanted to scream. When Harry was gone, I waited a few extra minutes for him to get a safe distance down the hallway, then leapt onto my bed and let out a long, loud scream into my pillow.

I had a list of New Year’s resolutions at this point, all of which had to do with Harry some way or another. Had I known two months ago that I’d have my ex-boyfriend thinking I was dating Harry Styles, one of my best friends thinking I fancied Harry Styles, and possibly having ruined a great friendship with Harry Styles, then I wouldn’t have tried so hard to get the damn guy to like me in the first place.