Take It or Leave It

arcatfire:
things i should be doing:
-studying
things i am doing:
-listening to the lion king soundtrack while i wait for pictures i took today to import
#is anyone surprised?? #probably not

It was a week later, a Monday night, the night before Harry left, and I was curled up in my arm chair avoiding schoolwork. The past week, after our week of marathoning TV and eating too much take out and pizza, had been filled with classes for me and meetings for Harry. But somehow, every night, he’d ended up on my mattress.

Whether it was five in the afternoon or nearly midnight, somehow he ended up at my apartment. Always bearing alcohol and wonderful company. I didn’t understand it at first, he was Harry Styles and certainly he had better things to do and more interesting people to see, but eventually I just accepted it. He either really had nothing better to do, or somewhat enjoyed my company. And as I accepted it, I thought less and less of him as Harry Styles and as just Harry, just H.

It was almost nine when I got a text similar to the one I’d gotten every night that week. I was still actively avoiding schoolwork and thinking about it being Harry’s last night in New York, distracting myself with Tumblr (which thankfully both Harry and I had returned to as if nothing had happened). It was Harry casually asking if he could come around like he hadn’t slept on my mattress every single night.

So while I waited for my pictures and Harry, I continued procrastinating and answered asks.

anonymous asked:
a are you warm?? is your belly full?? are you content?? i’m worried)):

arcatfire answered:
hello yes i am all of those things pls don’t worry i’m sorry i’ve been so busy w school and my two friends//:
#i have two whole friends #can anyone believe this?? #i also hope all of you are warm and full and content #i’m waiting on pictures to import rn #but after tomorrow i’ll be on more bc one of my two friends is going home kinda sigh

anonymous asked:
theoretically speaking how much would i have 2 wire u 2 write this english paper on gender roles in the media for me?? my brain hurts//:

arcatfire answered:
theoretically speaking if i wasn’t procrastinating my own schoolwork rn i would do it for free but you’d probably fail bc it would turn into a rant w a shit ton of expletives ://
#i was /that/ girl in high school #i still am who am i kidding #i got faith in u tho anon #crush the patriarchy w ur keyboard #how did i get into nyu

anonymous asked:
is that friend you were talking about in the tags a boy?? >:))))

arcatfire answered:
a friend that is a boy yes
#idk how much i’m allowed to say about this?? #bc he has a blog and like #u know

anonymous asked:
aaaaa how is pickles??

arcatfire answered:
v good!! he’s batting around that dumb jar atm maybe i’ll get him to sit still and post some pictures soon he’s gaining weight and he’s looking healthy and happy i’m so!!!!!!
#i fucking love you guys

anonymous asked:
oH YM GOD IS IT H????? HES TRAVELLING FOR WORK RN ISNT HE????? HE DIDNT SAY WHERE?????

That was when I had to close my inbox. Harry and I hadn’t talked at all about telling anyone online that we’d met and I had no idea what he was comfortable with. There was no way I was pushing it.

Twenty minutes later there was a tired, but still grinning, Harry Styles at my door holding the two biggest bottles of wine that I’d ever seen with his leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder. All of which combined probably cost more than my apartment.

“You know some might say you have an alcohol problem,” I raised my eyebrows at him when I’d opened the door.

“Oh, hi Liv, nice to see you. Yeah, my day was great,” he answered sarcastically with a grin as I let him in.

“Don’t be a shit,” I rolled my eyes, unable to hold back my smile. My only class had been horribly boring and even though I didn’t want to admit it, I’d missed him. Even if I’d seen him that morning.

“Rude,” he scoffed, “I came bearing alcohol and this is what I get in return.”

I shook my head and locked the door as he set the two bottles on the counter, “When are you not bearing alcohol?”

“True,” I could hear the grin in his voice and then he turned around, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I smiled back and before I knew it, big arms were wrapping around me and pulling me into a tight hug with a kiss to my temple.

It probably should’ve been weird that in the past two weeks I’d grown comfortable with how affectionate Harry was. Especially when it still felt like we were in some weird sort of trial period of our friendship. But in a way it was nice.

“How was your day?” he asked, like he had every day he came over, and kicked his scuffed up boots off by the door. Before either of us knew it, Pickles was at his feet, rubbing up against his legs. They’d taken quite a liking to each other after Pickles got over Harry’s loud laugh and Harry stopped laughing at how Pickles walked sort of sideways.

I shrugged and picked up one of the bottles to examine it, “Boring mostly. Went to class, took pictures, procrastinated on the internet. You?”

“Hiii bud,” he leaned down to pet the cat that was covering the bottoms of his black jeans in gray fur. He shrugged looking up at me as he tried to kick off his right boot without tripping over Pickles, “Alright. You look nice.”

Another thing I’d learned about Harry was that he never talked about work, unless it was positive. He rarely complained anyway and it made me wonder if he ever complained about work at all. Surely having girls screaming at you and following your every mood had to become somewhat annoying at some point.

“I can never tell if you’re being a sarcastic shit or not,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks heat up at his compliment. I could also never tell if Harry was a naturally observant and kind person and had no idea he sounded like he was flirting or he just liked to watch my pale skin turn pink. I tried to focus on the label on the bottle of wine. I was only wearing a Pink Floyd baseball tshirt and cream silk shorts with gray socks. None of it matched. (x)

“Excuse me!” he exclaimed after he’d managed to get both of his boots off, “I’ve been here for five minutes and I’ve been called shit twice! I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”

I giggled, looking up from the wine, “Gotta make up for what all those screaming girls do to your ego.”

“I haven’t got an ego,” he shot back with a grin, “You do look nice though.”

My face heated up but I managed to mumble, “You too.”

Harry grinned even wider and nodded at the bottle in my hand, “Wine?”

*

An entire bottle of wine later we were sprawled out on my mattress, as usual, and well on our way to more than tipsy. We were half listening to whatever song came on Harry’s phone and mostly staring at the ceiling, talking and laughing about anything and everything.

“What do you think the point is?” Harry asked suddenly, words slightly slurred as he passed the almost empty bottle to me.

“Of what?” I had no idea what he was talking about, which wasn’t unusual anyway because he had a tendency of forgetting he was thinking instead of talking and then asking a question without realizing I had no idea what his train of thought was. It happened more under the influence of alcohol.

“Like, I dunno,” he shrugged as I took a sip of wine, arm brushing against mine, “Life. Living. All that.”

“Oh god, you’re one of those drunks, aren’t you?” I asked, smile tugging at my lips as I passed the bottle back to him, “All deep and philosophical and cliche.”

He downed the last of the wine before turning to prop himself up on his elbow, facing me, “First of all, ‘m not drunk.”

“You’re well on your way,” I snorted, looking at his hazy and half lidded eyes, unable to hold back my smile anymore.

"So are you," he raised his eyebrows, "You didn't answer the question."

"You can't say 'first of all' and only have one point to your argument," I rolled my eyes at him.

He sighed, it only took him a second to come up with another point, "Second of all 'm always deep and philosophical and intelligent."

"I called you cliche!" I shoved at his shoulder.

His lips pulled into a cheeky grin, "That wasn't what I heard," I gave him another big eye roll as he flopped back onto his back, "But really what do you think?"

"To just live I think," I shrugged, my arm brushing against his warm skin again, "To live and find what makes you happy without shitting on everyone else. And to help everyone else that doesn't have it as good as you. What about you?"

Harry was silent for a minute, just steady breathing, "Y-yeah, I think that too."

It went on like that for a while; Harry asking questions that required thoughtful and deep and detailed answers and me scrambling to come up with a semi intelligent answer despite the alcohol clouding my brain. It was nice though, to have someone I could just lay on my mattress with and talk about absolutely anything and everything.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t know yourself?” We were starting in on the second bottle of wine and Harry’s voice was softer than usual, almost inaudible. And it took me second to even be able to process what he’d asked. I’d never considered the possibility that someone felt like I did.

“Everyday,” I admitted honestly, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

“It’s like, sometimes it feels like there’s too many version of me and I-I don’t know which one is actually me,” it sounded like it was taking all his strength to push the words out.

“Y-yeah,” I felt like he’d sucked the air out of my lungs but managed to take a sip of wine and swallow, “‘S scary. Like you almost want to ask people what they think of you b-but they’d only tell you what you’ve shown them and sometimes that’s not really you either.”

“Yeah, god yeah,” Harry breathed out and I passed the bottle to him. He sounded like he needed it.

We were quiet for another few minutes, the only sound coming from the music on Harry's phone.

But my mind was buzzing.

I’d been avoiding thinking about it, trying to push it as far back in my mind as I possibly could. But every time I thought I’d buried it, either with class or the internet or now alcohol, it dug it’s way back to the surface. And it didn’t just claw it’s way to the front of my brain, it suffocated everything else. Including me.

"Harry?" I hated how my voice sounded timid. I was scared. But I needed an answer. And if the only way I could get it out was because my brain was too hazy to be anxious and my body felt warm and almost invincible, then so be it.

"Hm? Harry hummed, sounding like his eyes were shut. I wanted to sit up and ask another question so I could see his eyelashes fanned out and the pink tint to his cheeks that the wine had given him, but then I realized what I was thinking and what I was trying to avoid again.

I swallowed harshly, grateful for the alcohol in my system to give me courage to ask quietly, "A-am I ever gonna see you again?"

"W-what?" I felt him tense up next to me as the word tumbled out. My eyes automatically screwed shut and my hands curled into fists in an attempt to keep myself together. I was stupid, so fucking stupid.

"N-nevermind," I could feel my heart start to beat uncomfortably fast and I suddenly felt much too sober, "N-nevermind. Sorry. I just thought since you're leaving tomorrow and. No. Fuck, that was stupid. Nevermind."

I was an idiot. Harry wasn’t just H. He wasn’t just the boy who liked my writing and brought me nice alcohol. He was Harry Styles. The boy known by all and adored by just as many. I had no claim on him. We’d only known each other in person for two weeks. That was what I had to remind myself even if it made my chest hurt.

"N-no, no," Harry's words were more drawn out because of the alcohol in his system and he propped himself back up on his elbow to look at me, all wide eyes and pink parted lips, "Of course, A. I just. Didn't think you'd want to see me after this."

"Why wouldn't I want to see you?" I mumbled, eyes flicking from the ceiling to him, "You're my best friend."

It was true. As fast as it all had seemed to happen, he was the best person in my life. He knew me better than any of my classmates or Annie or my family or my old “friends”. He got my stupid sense of humor and didn’t mind that more things made me anxious than not or that my cat walked sort of sideways. He was my only constant.

His tired and hazy eyes lit up and his lips curved up a little, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I tried to tell myself my cheeks were pink because of the wine and not because of the look he was giving me. Like I'd made him happy. Like I was important to him too.

His lips pulled into a full grin, "You're my best friend too. I come to New York a lot, y'know."

I looked up at him, sort of surprised by both of his answers, “Y-yeah?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. Especially right now,” he hesitated and flopped onto his back again, “With like. Not being on tour. And all.”

That was the most I’d ever heard about Harry’s job. I’d never pushed it though, didn’t question why he always had a thousand and one meetings or what they were about. I kept it general; ‘how was your day’s and ‘were you meetings alright’s. It was easier that way, to pretend he was just H not Harry Styles. Which was probably selfish and wrong but. But it was easier. So even then I didn’t call him out on it. It wasn’t any of my business.

“R-right,” I nodded.

It was quiet again.

“This sucks,” Harry spoke up, words longer and more drawled out. I heard him clumsily pick up the half empty bottle of wine and bring it to his lips.

“What?” I asked, staring at the ceiling. He nudged my arm and passed me the bottle. I took a big gulp.

“Like,” he paused and let out a long breath, one that sounded like it had filled his whole chest, “I finally actually, properly meet you and you don’t hate me and I have to leave. It’s shit.”

“Yeah,” I sighed too and passed the bottle back to him, “It is.”

“A?” I heard him set the bottle down and roll onto his side to face me.

“Hm?” I rolled over on my side to face him too. My limbs were heavy but I managed.

“Y-you know, like, we don’t have to make this work if you don’t want,” his voice was nervous, but his expression made me feel like this was a conversation he’d had to have too many times, “Like being friends and all. Cause I get it. ‘M not around a lot and timezones are shit and people are nosy. Just. You hafta promise to tell me, yeah?”

“Harry,” I said seriously, studying the way his eyes seemed to be searching mine in an attempt to see if I’d tell him the truth, “Why would any of that affect our friendship?”

“Because it affects everything,” the honesty in his tone and bleary eyes made my chest ache.

I shook my head, “You can’t control any of that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he gave me a sad sort of half smile, “It always does.”

“It won’t with us,” I shook my head, trying to resist the urge to hug the hurt out of him, “I promise.”

“You can’t control it,” he insisted, “No one can. Tha’s why ‘m warning you that ‘s probably gonna happen. A-and I won’t hold it against you if it’s too much.”

“Okay,” I mumbled, “But it won’t.”

“A-”

“Nope,” I cut him off and shook my head with a little smile, “Who else would bring me alcohol?”

A small, but real, smile appeared on his face, “That all ‘m good for?”

“You’ve got alright music taste too, I guess,” I shrugged with a teasing eyeroll.

His big green eyes got wide and his jaw dropped in mock horror, “I’m offended!”

“I’m sure,” I giggled and rubbed my eyes, “I take it you’re staying?”

“O-oh, uh, I mean, like if tha’s okay? I didn’t-” he began, sounding nervous.

“H,” I was giggling again because he was chewing at his bottom lip and he had no reason to be nervous, “That wasn’t why I was asking. I was just making sure.”

“Oh, right,” his expression went from nervous to relaxed to one of realization in just a few seconds, “You’ve never actually called me that before.”

“Oh, shit,” I hadn’t even realized the nickname had slipped out, “S-sorry I didn’t-”

“A,” he cut me off in the same tone I’d used with him, smirk on his face, “That wasn’t why I said it. I was just observing.”

*

When I woke up I wasn’t quite sure what time it was or even when we’d passed out, sometime after all the TV channels had switched to infomercials but before the sun rose and lit up the living room, but I knew my head was going to explode. Because an alarm was going off. And then, right. Harry.

I managed to blink my far too heavy eyelids open, completely disoriented, to find myself tangled up with a warm body. Harry.

We were still on our sides, facing each other, with our legs tangled and arms draped over each other, my head tucked under his chin. I probably should have pulled away. But I was too confused and my head hurt way too much.

I had no idea if this was the first time we’d woke up like this because Harry always woke up before me, usually left before I even noticed with a note on the counter apologizing about his millionth meeting that week and some sort of breakfast pastry. So I spared both of us the embarrassment and shut my eyes again, trying to steady my breathing for when he would inevitably shut the alarm off and deprive me of his body heat.

Except he didn’t.

It was a good three and a half minutes of trying to block out the sound of his alarm before I decided I was going to have to embarrass us both and wake him up, no matter how we were laying.

“Harry,” I grumbled into his soft t shirt, “Wake up.”

He made some sort of protesting noise in the back of his throat and still didn’t move.

“Harry,” I resorted to whining, “Your alarm’s gonna explode my head.”

“Fuck,” his voice was thick and raspy, “Sorry.”

I felt him shift to shut it off and I expected him to pull away and either get up or untangle himself from me but again, he didn’t. He moved right back to his previous position, arms a little tighter around my waist and all.

I wasn’t going to complain though, he was warm and blocked the sunlight pouring into the living room despite my shitty blinds. Plus if I moved I was 100% sure I was going to die.

“Harry,” I mumbled again.

“Shhh,” he whined sleepily, “Hit snooze. Another nine minutes.”

“Okay,” I felt a smile tugging at my lips, “Just wake me up before you go, okay?”

“Kay,” he hummed, pulling the covers up further.

“‘M serious,” I yawned because I wanted to be able to say goodbye to him before I didn’t see him for god knew how long, “Promise?”

“Promise,” he confirmed.

Satisfied, I pushed my face into his neck because at that point I couldn’t be bothered to care. He was warm and I was going to miss him.
It felt like five minutes later when there was someone shaking my shoulder softly and whispering, “A, wake up.”

“Hm?” I knit my eyebrows and screwed my eyes shut even more. It was too bright.

“‘M going,” my aching brain registered Harry’s voice, “You asked me to wake you up. There’s ibuprofen and cinnamon rolls on the counter. I’ll text you when I land, yeah?”

My eyes managed to open then, because he sounded like he was actually leaving right that second, “You’re leaving now?”

He was crouched by the side of the mattress wearing a flannel and beanie and I took in how exhausted and hungover he looked. I felt terrible.

He nodded, “Hit snooze too many times. ‘S like half nine.”

“Fuck,” I yawned and rubbed my eyes, he’d told me his flight was at eleven and he’d wanted to be at the airport by nine, “Lemme walk you out.”

He smiled softly and shook his head, “‘S alright. Go back to sleep.”

“No,” I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, “Want to.”

He gave in then and helped me stand up and get to the kitchen without dying. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was making him even more late as he handed me a cold bottle of water and I downed the ibuprofen, but I couldn’t be bothered to care. I was selfish and I wanted to soak up the last few minutes I had with him.

But eventually we were stood in front of the door. His duffel bag was slung over his shoulder again and my arms were crossed over my chest, partly because it was chilly but mostly because my chest hurt. This was it. For however long. If he even still wanted to make our friendship work when he got back home.

“You got everything?” I nodded at whatever he was holding in his left hand.

He nodded and held it up for me to see, “Passport, boarding pass, phone, keys.”

I nodded, trying to avoid his eyes because I didn’t exactly want him to be able to tell that I felt like my chest was being cut open, “Good. Sorry you’re hungover and late.”

“It was very worth it,” and then before I knew it he was pulling me into a warm, tight hug, “‘M gonna miss you, A.”

I fucking hated goodbyes. I always had. They made my eyes sting and put a lump in my throat whether whoever was leaving would be gone for a few days or for some long and unknown amount of time.

“I’m gonna miss you too,” I squeezed my eyes shut and wrapped my arms around him so tightly he probably couldn’t breathe, “Lemme know when you land okay.”

I could feel him nod before pulling away enough to press a kiss to my cheek and look down at me, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was anywhere near as hard for him as it was for me, “No goodbyes though. I’ll see you soon.”

I nodded and swallowed when he pulled away, forcing myself to keep the tears at bay, “Right. I’ll see you soon.”

Then with one more quick hug and a string of ‘see you later’s, he was gone.

And I was left alone to curl back up on my mattress with Pickles, who wasn’t nearly as warm as the body who’d been pressed up to mine all night.