Unbreakable

The young woman before him was most definitely a beautiful human being. Very easy on the eyes, well-mannered enough, but God, she was annoying.

Harry shot her a grin, nodding as she spoke about something tragic that had happened to her earlier in the day. (It wasn't that tragic. She got a tear in her favourite skinny jeans. That was it.) He was so uncomfortable, but apparently he was a good enough actor for her to not notice how he grimaced at every high pitched squeal she seemed to let out whenever she got just a little excited. But then again, he saw the episode of iCarly he and the other boys were on. Made him question why he ever agreed to do that because he just made it known to everyone what a shit actor he really was.

The thing about his date (if you could call it that) with Blair – the young woman sat across from him – was that it was something he'd done for Gemma. Blair was friends with Gemma in college, and apparently she'd seemed sweet enough for Gemma to agree to set her up on a date with her little brother. Blair really was sweet, though, only... Even a blind person could tell that she only wanted to be seen with Harry in public because she wanted to make it big as a model.

How did Harry know this?

Simple. That was all she'd talked about since he met up with her at the front of the restaurant. (He was going to be a proper gentlemen and pick her up, but she said she'd meet him at the restaurant, so he just went along with it.) Everything she said was sure to contain a little sentence about her becoming a model 'preferably a Victoria's Secret Angel, duh' and how she'd be famous and shit.

When Blair got up to go to use the toilets, he heaved out a giant sigh of relief. Harry pulled out his phone, working as fast as his thumbs could move as he typed out two separate texts to two different contacts.

to Gemma
Fame whore. Wants to be a model. Hasn't shut up about it since we met up.

Because Gemma had asked him to text her about Blair, since she didn't really know the girl all that well. They'd really only ever heard a few conversations and that was it; so Gemma really didn't know what Blair was like and what type of person she was sending her little brother on a date with.

to Arabella Sykes
Call me in five minutes. I'm begging.

Harry slid his phone back into his pocket the moment he hit the send button, and it was lucky that he did; since Blair had just walked out of the toilets and was approaching the table once more. They'd already had their meal – that was Harry's favourite part of the evening, sad to say – and they were currently sipping on wine as they chatted.

Well. The term 'chatted' was use very loosely, since Blair interrupted him almost every time he'd just started to tell her something – no matter how small or insignificant.

She started talking again as soon as her bum touched the seat. Something about doing a nude photo shoot because she knew she had the body for it (Harry almost spat out his drink at that) and then how she reckoned that maybe one day she and Harry would be able to work together. Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably, pulling his lips into the most genuine smile he could muster – though he was certain it looked more like a grimace than anything – as he nodded, saying that "anything could happen, yeah?"

He actually really just up and leave, tell her that the date wasn't working out. Tell her to not try and get his mobile number from Gemma since she had introduced them in person and she didn't have his number, or vice versa. But Harry was raised better than that. He respected a woman enough to not just ditch her because he literally could not feel any physical or mental attraction to her.

She was drop dead gorgeous, yeah, definitely. But she didn't seem to be that nice of a person. Maybe to someone else, she'd be nice. But to Harry – he was just someone who would give her the 'opportunities' she wanted.

Five minutes seemed to drag on for too long, till his phone finally started vibrating madly in his pocket. He bit on his bottom lip, trying to hide the relieved smile that threatened to break out onto his lips as he pulled his phone out of the pockets of his skinny jeans.

"I'm really sorry," he started, frowning at his screen when he really wanted to laugh. How could he not, though? The contact picture for his best friend was absolutely ridiculous. She had her bottom lip pouted and her tongue acting as her upper lip – making it seem like she had the biggest lips in the whole world – and her big, blue eyes were cross-eyed. "I have to take this."

"Oh," Blair blinked. "Sure," she nodded, waving him away to go answer the call as he slid out of the seat and walked away from the table to get some privacy, though he was still standing in the restaurant.

"Hello?"

"What?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean what do I – oh. Bad date?"

"That's terrible," he spoke, turning so that his back was to Blair and he started to shake his head.

Arabella chortled on the other end of the line. "Can I take a guess? Is she... Rude? No table manners? Doesn't laugh at your dumb jokes? – "

"I can be there in ten minutes," he interrupted her mid-sentence, rolling his eyes as she laughed on the other end of the line. He lowered the volume of his phone, bringing it to his chest as he made his way back to Blair, who was watching him with a small frown and an over-exaggerated disappointed pout on her painted lips. "I'm sorry, love, but I 'ave to go. Can I call you a taxi?" Harry offered kindly, ever the gentlemen.

She shook her head, getting to her feet. He had already paid the bill, before they got their wine; so he didn't have to worry about that. "It's alright. I had a lovely night," she smiled coyly at him as he walked her to the door – helping her into her coat before pulling on his own even though his best friend was still on the phone that was now slid into his back pocket.

"I'm glad," he responded – not really lying. He was glad at least one of them had a good time. "Are you sure I can't call you a taxi?"

She shook her head again, "I can manage that," she insisted. "Maybe we could this again sometime?"

"Uh... Maybe," Harry settled on replying. Then he pretended like his mobile was ringing again as he brought it out of his pocket. "I really 'ave to go. I'm sorry for ending the night early," he spoke quickly – quicker than he ever did – as he leaned in to gently kiss her cheek and then he was scurrying away, bringing the phone to his ear and pretending like there really was an emergency, when all that was on the other end of the line was the faint sound of chatter and music. "Ara?"

There was no answer, and he frowned as he unlocked his car and slid into the front seat – sighing in content at the warmth that began to fill the car. "Ara?" He sing-songed this time.

"Arabellaaaaaaa?" He called as he turned on the radio. "Arabella's got some something-something boots and a something-something and I reallydon'tknowthewordstothissong," he sang the song half-heartedly as he fiddled with his radio and figured out just exactly where he was going.

"How do you not know the words to an Arctic Monkeys song? Come on, Haz. They're my favourite band," Arabella's voice finally spoke back to him and he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as he connected his phone to the car so that he could drive and talk.

"They're your favourite band?" He scoffed, "Yeah right. No, they're not."

"Oh yeah?" She scoffed back. "Then please do enlighten me on who my favourite band is, dear Harry."

"Simple. It's Hands Like Houses. You had their bloody album on replay when it came out for, like, a month straight, and you don't even know any of their members or what they look like. You're in it purely for the music because they write the most amazing songs that you could never get sick of."

She was silent on the other line before she hummed, "Fine, you're right. Whoop-dee-doo. Can I hang up now?"

Harry laughed, grinning to himself as he drove. "Where are you? I wanna come chill."

"Contrary to popular belief, I actually do have other friends."

"Can I come chill with you and your other friends? Please?"

"No. A couple of the guys here are actually cute and I would like to flirt with them without you breathing down my neck about being stupid. Go home."

"Araaaaa," he whined childishly.

"Harryyyyy," she mocked, and he chuckled.

"Fine," he relented. "Don't do anything stupid. If you get pregnant from a one-night-stand, so help me God I will – "

"– stab me with a plastic fork and then proceed to castrate the bloke that got me pregnant," she interrupted him in a bored tone that made him grin, despite how much he wanted to be mad at her for mocking him when all he really wanted was for her to be safe. Like, really safe. Like, safe sex and also not get killed or something. Safe. "You've given this speech to me twenty times, or more, before, Harry. Stop worrying about me so much. I'm not a kid, I can take care of myself."

"I know that," Harry mumbled. "But you're still my best friend and I don't ever want to see you hurt or," he sighed. "I'm allowed to worry."

"And I'm allowed to get laid."

Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes even though she couldn't see him. "Would you just let me worry?"

Arabella breathed a chuckle, "Worry away. But for now: worry by yourself. I'm going to go chat some blokes up and see if any of them think I'm worthy enough for them to take me out on a date." Harry frowned. He opened his mouth to say something, when she spoke again, "You're a beautiful girl, Ara, any bloke would be lucky to have you," she mocked in what was presumably Harry's voice, making him chuckle. "Goodbye, my love."

"Goodbye, my darling," he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as the line went dead.

There were honestly times when Arabella made him feel like he needed to protect her, because of how she was. It was in her character, and she couldn't change – no matter how much she (and he) wished she could. Arabella literally just could not think highly of herself. If she was at, say, a club with her boyfriend and he happened to let his eyes wander around to land on a specific girl more than a couple number of times, Arabella would just let it go, because she'd tell herself that that girl was prettier, probably smarter, probably funnier, probably just ten times better than Arabella could ever be. The only reason that she was a willing participant to casual one-night-stands from time to time whilst having the contents of (maybe) one beer bottle in her system, was because she figured no one would want to stay with her anyway.

Most of the time, Harry just wanted to grab her two cheeks and look her in the eye and tell her exactly how gorgeous she was – how she had beautiful bright eyes, how she had soft hair, how she had nice lips – and tell her that she was the dream girl of a large amount of blokes because of how she was funny, intelligent, laid-back, caring, and also kind of perverted (considering the amount of sexual innuendos and/or dirty jokes that she and Harry could have in one conversation).

And to be honest, Harry actually did do those things. Whenever she was having a bad day and just not talking or doing anything; he'd tell her all of those things. But the only response he'd get would be a crack of a smile before she was quiet and all brooding again.

Arabella was his best friend in the whole entire world, and she always found a way to make him okay again after he'd had a bad day. So it made him feel so lost because he couldn't even help make his best mate feel better.

Harry blew out a sigh between his lips as he pulled up into the car park of his complex, cutting the engine and then stepping out of the car. He was home alone tonight; Louis had gone back to Doncaster to see his family and go back to his part-time/other career a.k.a. being the defender for the Doncaster Rovers. He didn't particularly mind being home alone. It usually meant that he could do his laundry whilst dancing around naked to The 1975, or Nirvana, or something; and not have to worry about Louis coming home with Eleanor and catching him in the midst of that.

So he did just that – turning up the music and then stripping down till he was completely free, before he started on his laundry since he knew that there was only so many more times that he could use the few clean tops and jeans that he had before they started to smell and people started noticing that he was wearing the same clothes over and over again.

Fast forward two hours later and the curly-headed lad was sat in his joggers, an empty cup of tea on the table by the sofa and half a grilled cheese resting idly on the plate next to the cup as he watched The Avengers for the fiftieth time, probably. A knock on the door to his flat made him frown lightly; his eyes darting to the wall clock hung up above the telly in the lounge.

Quarter past ten.

Harry rolled his eyes, pulling open the door and raising a brow at the person on the other side. "Thought you had other friends?" He mocked and she rolled her eyes back at him, poking him in the stomach to make him take a step aside.

"I do," she shrugged. "Didn't feel like drinking anymore, and then I realised that I left my house keys behind, so that's cool."

"How could you leave your house keys behind?" Harry asked incredulously as he shut the door and followed her into the lounge where she'd just plopped herself down onto the sofa.

Arabella chuckled then, "Finn had a girl. That means he's hiding out in my flat tomorrow morning, so I just threw him my keys without thinking it through. Forgot that I'd need them to get home tonight."

"Wow you're an idiot."

"I know," she sighed, shaking her head.

He joined her on the sofa, giving her a once-over with narrowed eyes, "Did you have sex?"

"What does it matter?"

"Did you or did you not?"

"It's, like, half ten at night, Haz," Arabella snorted. "Do you think I had sex?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "Maybe. I dunno. Never really researched your... Sexual activities."

She laughed, "No, I didn't have sex with anyone. There were the blokes I told you about though?" She asked in reference to what she'd told him over the phone earlier, and he nodded. "Yeah, there were three of them. One was already sloshed when we started to talk, the other was eyeing another girl by the bar and the other... He doesn't even swing my way."

Harry threw his head back, laughing amusedly. "Tonight's just not our night, is it?"

"Yeah, hey, I wanted to ask you about that," she brought one leg up so that it was on the sofa as she turned so that her body was now facing him. "What happened earlier?"

"Gem set me up on a date with her... Friend? Schoolmate?" Harry shrugged, "Fuck me if I know. I know that she knows her and bla bla bla, I asked her out since she seemed nice enough. But you could guess what happened."

"Five minutes of fame?"

"Wannabe model," he corrected and she hummed in response. "I don't know why Gem even introduced us, though. Like, I thought she loved me," he fake sobbed and Arabella chuckled.

"Maybe it's a thank-you."

"Thank you?" He repeated in a questioning tone with a raised eyebrow. "What for?"

"Introducing her to Ashton," Arabella smirked, and he snickered.

"I never saw that coming, though. Honestly."

"Bit weird, though, innit?" She blinked at him, a little cheeky smirk coming unto her lips. He blinked back at her in confusion. "He's one of your best mates and he's banging – "

"– banging the drums! Banging the drum set! And the cymbals! The drums! Drum set! The. Fucking. Drums. That's what he's banging. The drums."