Take It or Leave It

It wasn’t until the next morning when I woke up half underneath a warm and very naked body, when I realized what had happened. What I’d done.

And then it all came flooding back to me. Harry showing up crying. Getting very, very drunk. Him finally opening up. And then the sex. The deep kisses and nervous giggles and desperate touches and needy whimpers and heavy breaths and what had I done?

There were bits and pieces that were missing, like how much we’d actually drank or how we ended up on my mattress or why he’d kissed me in the first place. But all the big pieces were still there, burned into my brain.

I’d fucked my best friend. Gotten wasted and hooked up with him and now I was tangled up on my mattress with him. And everything was going to go to shit because of it. I was horrified.

Before I could think of the most painless way to off myself without disturbing the boy on top of me, he was stirring. My eyes clamped shut and I tried to even my breathing and prayed he couldn’t feel my racing heart.

“Your feet are freezing,” his voice was a half whine, half mumble. Like he wasn’t fully awake.

“S-sorry,” I whispered sheepishly, hoping he’d fall back to sleep. The inevitable conversation was suffocating me, not his weight on top of me.

I wasn’t sure how he’d react. If he’d pretend it never happened. If he’d want to talk about it. All I knew was that he was going to regret it. There was no way he wouldn’t.

“You alright?” he sounded a bit more awake, concerned even, as he pushed his face further into my neck to block out the light streaming in because I’d apparently never shut the shades.

“Y-yeah,” I knew I sounded like I was trying to convince the both of us.

“You sure?” his voice was thick with sleep as he pressed what was probably meant to be a reassuring kiss to my shoulder. It took me by surprise. He clearly had some recollection of the night before. But he couldn’t be awake enough to form coherent thoughts about it.

I nodded, trying not to focus on his warm hands still cupping my hips, “Y-yeah. D-do you remember last night?”

There was a pause before, “D-do you not want me to?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t really sure what I wanted. And I hadn’t really considered what I wanted or didn’t want to be a priority. What mattered was what he wanted. What I could do to salvage our friendship.

“N-not if you don’t want to,” I gave him an out. But I wasn’t sure I wanted him to take it. I’d come to realize, as much as I didn’t want to admit, I quite liked kissing Harry. I thought maybe I wanted whatever he’d give me. But fuck knew it wasn’t as simple as that.

“I want to,” his voice was a whisper, “But not if you don’t want me to.”

We were both good at that. Not being able to tell or ask for what we wanted. Dancing around definite answers because neither of us were used to putting ourselves first.

I let out a sigh because neither of our answers were getting us anywhere, “Do you regret it? I-is this like, going to fuck it all up?”

I wanted to die. Wanted to fall through the floor of my apartment and have the ground swallow me whole. It was a stupid question. Of course it was going to fuck it up. Not even in cheesy rom-coms did fucking your best friend ever allow things to go back to normal.

“Honestly?” his voice was still soft and his thumb was absentmindedly tracing circles into the skin on my hip. I couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or a bad sign. Or what either of those consisted of.

“Honestly.”

“No,” he let out a breath, “I don’t. A-and I know tha’s selfish but ‘s the truth. I like you, A. A lot. A-and I don’t want this to fuck us up b-because I know you’re not looking for anything a-and I’m like, me but. But I just want you to know.”

It was a lot to take in anyway, but I hadn’t even been expecting any of it. Never even considered it a possibility that someone like Harry would ever like someone like me in any way. Physically, emotionally, none of it. And then it was hitting me. That maybe I liked him too. I’d subconsciously tried to bury it and pretend it wasn’t there, but what I felt for Harry, whatever it was, was more than just friends.

I liked how his laugh made my stomach flip and his smile could light up my whole fucking apartment. I liked how he slept with his mouth open and his eyebrows knit together. I liked how his hair stuck up in a million different directions in the morning and how he always remembered what alcohol I did or didn’t like. I liked how he called when he said he would even if he always fell asleep first and how he never made me feel like a burden when I was anxious and how I could tell him absolutely anything. I liked him. Plain and simple.

“I-I like you too,” was the most intelligent response I could come up with as my head still tried to process what he’d just confessed to me.

“No,” he shook his head and I felt him pull away to look at me, like he didn’t think I understood, “Like fancy you. Like actually crazy about you. A-and I know ‘s selfish and it wouldn’t ever work with work and that but I do. I like you. Very much,” he let out in a big breath. “A lot. And I want you to know that it wasn’t like, me just wanting sex.”

He seemed to rush it all out in one breath, like he couldn’t explain himself or get his thoughts together fast enough. His big eyes were sleepy and far too awake all at the same time. His lips were pink and a little chapped. I still wanted to kiss him again. I had no idea how I’d ended up in bed with someone that still looked just as pretty with a hangover as he did when he was sober.

I blinked at him with pink cheeks, taking in the desperate tone in his voice like he needed me to understand, before a small smile spread on my lips, “Very much a lot, huh?”

He let out a flustered and frustrated breath but before he could say anything else, I was pulling him closer and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He was too much sometimes. So unreal I couldn’t help but wonder in the back of my mind what the catch was, because there had to be one.

“I’ve never,” he mumbled between kisses, “Had anyone,” another kiss, “Like you,” and another, “In my life before.”

“‘M not that great,” I mumbled back when he pulled away to look at me. My cheeks were bright pink. I wasn’t sure why he of all people thought I was some spectacular being. He’d seen every bit of me. Literally now.

Harry just shook his head with a sad sort of smile on his lips, “Can’t tell you the last time someone didn’t care that ‘m like, Harry Styles or whatever. ‘S always like,” he paused and sighed, rubbing one eye tiredly, “I like someone. A-and I tell them or ask them out or whatever a-and maybe we go out once or twice but. But they’re always like, ‘Okay… But what about this, this and this?’ A-and I don’t blame them,” he shook his head quickly, like he didn’t want me getting the wrong idea, “I just. Dunno. ‘S nice to feel normal again. You make me feel normal again.”

My chest tightened for him. And as much as I wanted to blame the alcohol that felt like it was still in my system or the way he was looking at me like he wanted to kiss me again for what I said next, I couldn’t.

“I’d date you,” I swallowed harshly and tried to cover it up with a casual shrug, “Like, if the circumstances were better.”

His still bleary eyes, blinked at me, “W-what do you mean?”

I shrugged again, trying not to look at his pretty lips or the way his hair was sticking up in a million different directions, “Like. If you were in one place for more than a week and I was in a better headspace, I guess.”

And I wasn’t just saying it. Because as much as I’d apparently subconsciously tried to suffocate any feelings for him before I could acknowledge them, it was true. I liked Harry, in whatever way that was. He was my best friend. And I sure as hell liked kissing him. But there wasn’t any chance in hell that we would ever turn into anything so it felt safe to say. The circumstances wouldn’t ever get better. And even if they did I wasn’t sure I’d ever be in the right headspace for a proper relationship again.

But then he was kissing me again. And I was forgetting all about it.

And it went on like that for a while. Just innocent kisses and soft words and light giggles. He tasted like stale wine and bliss.

Until an alarm was blaring loudly under my back.

And all of a sudden it was like the trance had been broken. My little living room didn’t seem like a cocoon anymore. My apartment didn’t feel like a cozy little safe haven. We were being snapped back to reality.

“Shit, shit,” I mumbled as we pulled apart, all wide eyes and parted lips like we’d just had the same realization. That it wasn’t this simple.

Despite the fog in my brain, things were coming back to me. I was Alivia McCarter, it was a Sunday, I was naked in bed with a pop star, and I definitely had a shift that I’d completely forgotten about. And that wasn’t okay.

“W-what is it?” Harry asked timidly, still propped up on one elbow as I pulled the sheet up to my chest with one hand and dug around with the other. I was suddenly too aware that I was wearing far too little clothing. None actually.

“Work,” I mumbled, “Fuck, I’ve got work.”

“Shit,” he breathed out, running his free hand through his hair, “I-I’m so sorry, A. I-I didn’t even think. I-I shouldn’t have just showed up again. Especially like that. W-was unfair of me and-”

I shut the alarm off with one hand and pulled him closer to cut him off with a kiss with the other.

“Stop,” I mumbled even though my head was reeling for a million different reasons, “I just. I’ve gotta get up. A-are you staying? D-do you have meetings or something?”

“I, uh, y-yeah,” he breathed out, like he was trying to collect his head too, “Go back to London Wednesday morning.”

“You’ll be here when I get back then?” I asked as if it were even really a question as he flopped back onto his back, “‘M just covering a half shift for someone,” I explained and sat up, head pounding as I kept my chest covered and scanned the room for any sort of clothing, “W-we can talk more then?”

“Y-yeah,” he breathed out, sounding relieved like he maybe he thought we wouldn’t talk about it ever again, “Y-yeah, course.”

I nodded, a bit relieved myself that he seemed like he wanted to talk about it, and swallowed nervously, “C-could you hand me those please?”

He looked over at where I was nodding, my bra and underwear from the night before laying on top of his sweatshirt. My cheeks were pink.

He just nodded, his own face tinting, “O-oh, yeah. R-right, sorry.”

And it was strange. To suddenly be so nervous and unsure around each other again. But this time it was different than when we’d first met and I couldn’t exactly pinpoint it. It wasn’t because he was a pop star and I was a college student. Or because he was H and Harry. But because we were used to being best friends, completely comfortable with telling each other everything. But now it was something different altogether.

“Here you go,” he gave me a shy little smile as he handed me my bra and underwear. Along with his grey sweatshirt.

“Thank you,” I mumbled softly.

I didn’t even have to say anything more. He just nodded and smiled and rolled onto his stomach, pushing his face back into his pillow and shutting his eyes.

I took that as my cue and took in and let out a deep breath before pushing myself off the mattress. I kept an eye on him as I pulled on my mismatched lacy, navy underwear and peach colored bra. (x) Not because I didn’t trust him, but because even with a hangover he looked fucking gorgeous and for the first time in what felt like ages, I was self conscious around him.

“You’re good,” I mumbled with pink cheeks as I grabbed my phone off my pillow and tugged the hem of his grey sweatshirt down my thighs a bit more. It was soft and warm and big but didn’t even reach my mid thigh.

I watched as he turned his head to rest his cheek on his pillow and blinked his eyes open again sleepily. Even with a hangover, he looked ten times better than he had the night before. Younger and lighter and more at ease. I knew it wasn’t just the light streaming through the living room or the bright colors of my floral sheets.

“Dunno if ‘m allowed to say this right now,” a sleepy smile tugged at his lips, “But you’re fucking beautiful. Even with a hangover.”

My face went from pink to red in a split second.

“You’re not allowed to say that because my hair looks like a bird’s nest and my bra and underwear definitely don’t match,” I mumbled, too aware of his eyes on me as I pulled my hair out of the neckline of the sweatshirt, “Not because we don’t know what we’re doing.”

His smile turned into a grin, all dimples and white teeth and sleepy eyes, "Do you remember what you said last night?"

My heart stopped for a second, "N-no..." I trailed off, "Oh god, what did I say? I-I'm sorry, whatever-"

I didn’t have a tendency to humiliate myself when it came to alcohol, unless I was completely gone. Which I definitely was the night before.

"N-no, no," he let out a little laugh, like he knew something I didn't, and shook his head, still grinning, "Y-you didn’t say anything bad.”

“You’re laughing!” I cried, wanting the floor to swallow me up.

“I-it wasn’t bad!” Harry tried to assure me, still laughing, “Y-you were just going on about that... A-about how your bra and knickers didn’t match.”

"Oh my fucking god," I groaned and instinctively covered my face because I couldn't look at him. I didn't even doubt that I'd said something like that. Let alone carried on about it.

“Y-you wanted to go change at one point,” he continued through his little laughs, “I had to convince you I definitely didn’t care.”

“Stopstopstop,” I covered my ears, “Please pretend that never happened. Oh god.”

“Alivia,” he shook his head, grinning widely, “‘S fine, it was-”

“No,” I hissed and forced myself into the kitchen, “Do not be nice about it. Fuck, you are not allowed to be nice about it. Tea? Coffee? Aspirin?”

“I-I’m ‘not allowed to be nice’? What does that even mean?” Harry sounded amused as he sat up straight on my mattress, sheets falling to his hips. I tore my eyes away.

“Tea? Coffee? Aspirin?” I asked more firmly as I opened a cabinet and reached for a mug.

“I-I, uh, tea. Please,” all of a sudden his voice sounded a bit strained.

I glanced over at him as I pulled out my mug. His cheeks were pink and his eyes darted away from me. Like he’d been caught.

But it didn’t matter because then his phone was ringing.

“Shit,” he mumbled and dug around in the bed for it. I pulled out another mug and told myself he definitely hadn’t been looking at my ass.

“Alright?” I mumbled carefully when I heard him ignore the call. The weight of the night before was coming back to me despite my aching head and muscles.

“Work,” he answered quietly. My stomach turned uncomfortably.

“Y-you can take it in my real room if you need to,” I nodded towards the hallway, trying to look like I wasn’t analyzing every detail of his expression.

He shook his head quickly, looking up from his phone, “N-no, no. I, just. Y-you said there’s a smoking area upstairs?”

I knit my eyebrows at him, “Y-yeah... Since when do you smoke?”

“Since every other phone call I get makes me want to jump off the Empire State Building,” he sounded like he’d meant it as a joke but he was standing up with no care in the world that he was wearing absolutely nothing. So instead of telling him it wasn’t funny, I quickly looked away to fill the kettle and let my hair fall in my face, hoping to god he couldn’t see my red face.

“Right…” I managed to mumble, “You can just sit on the windowsill. My landlord’s a bit. Out there. He won’t care.”

“Thank you,” he answered quietly. I could hear the faintest hint of a smile as he pulled some clothes on.

Ten minutes later I found him on the windowsill, pulling at his hair and lighting another cigarette. The late morning light streaming in made his eyes shine despite the bags under them. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, only in his boxers, staring out the window.

“Slow down,” I mumbled and set our mugs down along with the aspirin I’d found before plucking the cigarette out of his hand and bringing it to my lips.

He looked at me with knit eyebrows, “Since when do you smoke?”

I shrugged and took a drag, pushing the aspirin at him before hoisting myself up on the windowsill too, “I don’t anymore. Junior year was rough but everything’s too damn expensive here so I quit.”

He nodded and picked up the aspirin, “Thank you.”

“You alright?” I nudged his knee. It always seemed to be like that lately. Me carefully asking if he was alright, but never asking any more. I didn’t want to push it. Or him.

He popped two pills into his mouth and took a sip of piping hot tea before giving me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Just peachy.”

*

October was one of the strangest and happiest months of my life. It was filled with work and new friends and Harry.

Nearly three times a week he was flying between New York and LA. Every week. And every time he showed up he looked more drained than the last. Sometimes we talked about it, sometimes we didn’t. And when we did there was alcohol involved. Always.

What we never talked about was ‘us’ or whatever the idea of ‘us’ consisted of. We had danced around it the first time it was brought up and ended up getting drunk and fucking again. So that was what ‘us’ had become. Best friends that fucked. Nothing more.

October was also my first real holiday away from home. Halloween. Which wasn't really a real holiday, but back home it was. Filled with haunted hayrides and candy apples and trick or treaters with bags of candy bigger than them.

I'd been nostalgic for home a few times since I left. Usually triggered by something that reminded me of my family or my town. But not like this. Not to the point where I'd avoided making plans with my new friends. Not to the point where I'd drawn myself a hot bath and sunk in and stooped to the lowest of lows.

I reactivated my Facebook.

Fifteen minutes in I was a sniffling mess and going through my older brother’s tagged pictures. He’d dressed up as Batman. For the sixteenth year in a row. I suddenly very vividly remembered why I’d deactivated it when I left home in the first place.

It was stupid, and I knew that. I’d never been happy there. But that didn’t seem to make a difference.

arcatfire:
weak we ak i am soo weak actual scuM

#this isnt even a real holiday #why am i homesick?? #i was /never/ happy there

It was less than five minutes before someone was Facetiming me. Harry.

I rejected it and sent him a text.

‘if you didn’t see my post: i’m out for drinks’

‘if you did see my post: i’m having a bubble bath and it’s not my strongest hour but probably i will be okay’

‘1. I did see your post’

‘2. That sounds like an even better reason for me to Facetime you’

‘KIDDING’

‘Kind of. Mostly worried x’

‘i’m working my way towards ugly crying trust me it’s not a pretty sight’

‘also it’s like almost eleven by my calculations you should be well on your way to shitfaced by now’

‘Work things. It is not acceptable to get shitfaced on work time I’ve been told x’

‘Also if you’re not going to answer my call, I need to know your feelings on Italian ASAP please’

‘food? films?? fashion??? boys???? specify please’

‘FOOD’

‘good?? idk if there’s anyone that doesn’t like italian food?? where is this coming from??’

‘Good as in you would settle for it or good as in you would choose it?’

‘depends on the specific food i think. please elaborate i am so lost’

‘this isn’t cheering me up, it’s making me hungry’

‘TOP THREE ITALIAN FOODS GO’

‘STOP YELLING’

‘chicken marsala’

‘stuffed shells’

‘lasagna?? idk what other italian foods even are there i’m from a small town i am not cultured or worldly’

‘RAVIOLI I LIED RAVIOLI OVER LASAGNA BUT ONLY THE CHEESE KIND’

‘THANK YOU’

‘thank you?? that’s it?? no elaboration???’

I didn’t get any elaboration. Not for a while. Just corny jokes and stupid, (meant to be) inconspicuous selfies of funny faces. It pulled me out of my head though. Got me to log out of Facebook and scroll through Tumblr for a bit.

Two hours later I was curled up on my mattress, not as sad as I had been, half watching Friends reruns but mostly cuddling Pickles. He seemed to know when something was off, always found me and wiggled under my arm or curled up against my chest.

Part of me should have expected it when there was a knock on my door. I should have put the pieces together but I’d been too upset to even consider it a realistic possibility. He’d told me he was doing work things. Not flying across the world.

But my heart jumped and my stomach twisted like it did every time I heard his familiar knock and I was at the door in record time, despite the fact that I wasn’t wearing pants. You could say we’d gotten over that in the times he’d visited me in the past month.

I was worried though, more than I usually was. A third of the times Harry had come to visit me, he’d been upset. The other two thirds he just looked completely drained and worn out. I could never tell what to expect.

What I didn’t expect when I flung the door open with shaky hands, was a beaming Harry holding a big bottle of wine and what appeared to be a shit ton of Italian take out.

“I’m ready.”