Broken Things

I hadn’t seen Harry in a week, which was odd, considering I was living with him. It seemed I had seen more of him living with Declan, which was completely backward and left my head reeling as I lounged about in his luxurious home.

The boys usually were on tour during these summer months, but after a break in which Zayn and Perrie began working on actual marriage plans and the rest of the boys spent time with their families (information I found via Google, not from actually asking Harry, lest he get the idea I was interested in his life), they were finally reuniting in L.A. to get their album together.

This apparently meant Harry basically lived at the studio, me only catching him briefly in the down time between appearances at clubs or concerts, actually recording the album, and spending time writing with the boys. With a deadline approaching (according to Wikipedia), things really only started getting busy for him once I moved in, something he apologized for in notes left on pizza boxes. I crumped the notes, but ate the pizza gratefully.

Mostly, this gave me a grand opportunity to do what I do best: snoop. I wasn’t sure really what I was looking for, proof maybe that I had at one point known the boy I was currently sleeping across the hall from, but regardless I knew better than to step foot in his bedroom. The rest of the house, however, was fair game.

Harry’s house had four guest rooms, two and a half baths, and far too many linen closets for its own good. The guest house held even more mystery for me, but it seemed Harry hadn’t been lying about rennovations being done; I’d almost shat myself in fright one morning when I’d spotted one of the workers crossing the yard through the large bay windows in the living room. Wearing nothing but a sports bra and a pair of cotton shorts, I’d scrambled to pull the blinds while I tried to regain my wits.

I began my work with the guest rooms. I was currently residing in one, and the other I’d passed by the night of the party, so that left two in question. The first was beside mine, and when I pushed open the door, I was surprised to see it so lived in. Various items of clothing littered the ground, though the bed was made. There was a distinct feminine scent, and I would have been more taken aback if I hadn’t immediately recognized Gemma’s belongings. It must have been her designated room for her sporadic visits to the states. A moment later I shut the door again, not daring to disturb it, though I knew she wasn’t staying there currently.

The other guest room was at the end of the hall. I made my way there quietly, despite there being no one in the house to be quiet for. The knob stuck when I twisted it from disuse, but a moment later it freed and the door swung open. A wall of boxes was directly at the other end of the room, and though it felt like invading privacy, I crept my way over to them.

The boxes weren’t taped, rather folded onto each other. Tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear, I reached forward and pulled one open. Standing on tip toes, I peered in to see a collection of gifts, apparently fan-made, mixed in with various letters and notes. I smiled despite myself, and closed the box up the way it had been before moving on to the next. This one was filled with photo albums and school awards, the sort of thing I would assume his mum would have kept track of. I couldn’t fathom what it was doing in a box in his guest bedroom, but I wasted no time in reaching forward and grabbing one, quickly leafing through the pages.

Harry grinned up from nearly every photo, in every stage of his life. Baby photos taken hovering over a crib, printed on film in a 24-hour pharmacy were placed beside digital prints from his early secondary school days. Pre-teen Harry and Declan on a trampoline was placed beside a photo of Harry blowing out the candles on his sixth birthday cake, wearing a Spiderman tee shirt. After I finished with the first album, I set it back in its place, opening the box beside it.

I’m not sure what I expected, but I certainly didn’t think I’d find my own face staring back at me, a photo I’d snapped of the two of us on his shitty flip phone lying in a frame on top of a pile. Brows knit together in perplexion, I reached forward to dig around in the box, my fingers brushing over a dried flower from some dance we’d attended together. Beneath that was a Ziploc bag of notes we’d exchanged during classes we’d shared. I drew a sudden breath when my eyes landed on a scarf I’d lost years ago, one I must have left at Harry’s house by mistake. I’d spent weeks looking for it in the days after he left to no avail.

My stomach turned and I shut the box quicker than I’d pried it open. Taking a deep breath, I turned and exited the room, shutting the door behind me. I needed desperately to distract my mind from what I’d just seen. I couldn’t begin to fathom why Harry had a designated box for things we’d shared years ago here in his L.A. home. It was time to take my business elsewhere, somewhere safer. I decided on the bookshelves beneath the staircase, the ones I’d been drawn to the night of the party.

Harry had a record player, an impulsive hipster buy undoubtedly, and I rolled my eyes at it but dug through his record collection just the same. Landing on The Smiths, I gingerly pulled the vinyl from the paper and set it on the player, guiding the needle to the record. Only when <i>Panic</i> began to play did I turn, satisfied.

I made my way over to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and digging around until I found a strawberry banana yogurt and a bottle of water. Singing along to the record, I peeled off the top of the yogurt and threw it in the bin before searching a drawer for a spoon. Successful, I began to dig in as I walked back into the living room.

“Burn down the disco, hang the blessed DJ,” I sang around mouthfuls of yogurt. I did a spin in my socks on the hardwood floor as I plopped another spoonful into my mouth, looking up for a brief moment to get my bearings. It was enough to make me realize I was no longer alone.

Startled, I tried to stop my spin and ended up falling on my ass. I could hear a burst of laughter, but I was too busy trying to hide my absolute mortification and focusing on the throbbing ache the fall had caused on my tailbone.

A moment later, a tattooed hand was offered in my direction. I inspected the henna-style blossoming flower warily before accepting the aid. Standing to my full height, I muttered a thanks to the dark-haired boy who helped me. Glancing over by the doorway, I recognized the chuckling blonde as Niall.

“Sorry for startling you,” Zayn apologized in his thick accent, a hand raising to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “We’re so used to it being just Harry, we didn’t think twice about just walking in.”

“It’s okay,” I replied lamely, still trying to recover. Niall had, at the very least, pulled himself together on the front mat. Straightening, he hopped down the few steps into the living room.

“You must be the famous Sawyer,” he said.

“I suppose so,” I sighed, then a moment later, “Why? What have you heard?”

It was a legitimate concern of mine, but it had the two boys in another fit of laughter. I blushed a deeper shade of crimson, and I hadn’t even realized yet I was still in my pajamas. Self-consciously, I ran a hand through my hair.

“Is Harry here?” Zayn finally asked. I frowned.

“No. Is he supposed to be?”

Niall shrugged, plopping down on a couch like he owned the place. Zayn took a seat beside him, and I sat in an armchair opposite for lack of any better idea.

“We just thought he might be. Borrowed a guitar of mine and I want it back,” Niall answered.

“I figured he’d be at the studio with you,” I said, watching as Niall absently pulled out his phone and began typing away.

“We had the day off. He’s probably with Jeff or something. He’ll turn up,” Zayn assured me, leaning forward as he folded his hands together. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling scrutinized.

The idea of meeting Harry’s bandmates had always been there somewhere, in the back of my mind. After all, he spent ninety percent of his time with these guys, they were bound to turn up eventually. But after Harry showing up unexpectedly in my life only a month and a half ago, I never would have thought I’d have this run in so soon. Or at all, really, if I got my shit together fast enough to move out. Naturally, I felt completely out of my element in an oversized band tee shirt and a pair of joggers sitting across from Zayn Malik and Niall Horan, two boys half of the world only dreamed of meeting.

“Are you okay, Sawyer?”

“What?”

I snapped to attention, realizing suddenly that I’d been staring blindly at a spot on the wall behind them. Niall was even eyeing me above the touch screen of his smart phone. It rang with a new message, but his gaze didn’t stray. Zayn cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I only mean Harry told us about what happened. With the fire and everything. Are you all right?”

I wondered what else Harry might have told them, but didn’t voice this concern aloud. I wasn’t about to get his band members involved in my petty drama, and regardless they’d only walked through the door ten minutes ago.

Truth be told, I wasn’t okay. I’d moved to L.A. to get away from the depressing ambiance that came with having your only living relative die in a small town, only to have the past catch up with me in the form of Harry on Declan’s doorstep. If that hadn’t been enough, I’d lost in the fire the small amount of things I’d begun to collect in order to rebuild my life again. For the second time in less than a year, I was back at square one.

But I couldn’t tell Zayn or Niall that. They’d met me a grand total of ten minutes ago.

So I plastered a smile on my face and nodded. And then I excused myself to my room to put some clothes on, and maybe pull myself together a little bit.

Digging through my closet, I found one of the shirts Gemma had picked out for me. Pairing it with a pair of jeans, I felt much better as I wrangled my hair into a ponytail and applied a touch of make-up. Giving my own reflection a nod of approval, I pulled open the door only to run straight into Harry, guitar in hand.

“Oof,” I huffed, throwing my hands out behind me to catch my fall as I stumbled against my doorframe. Harry dropped the guitar, reaching out to steady me at my waist. The result was an awkward pose on the door with Harry’s hands on my lower back. I hoped my foundation hid the redness flushing in my cheeks.

“Hi,” Harry breathed.

“Hi,” I grumbled in reply, pushing myself up. Harry’s hands fell from my person and he smiled sheepishly as he reached for the guitar laying on the floor.

“I see you’ve met Niall and Zayn,” he said, running a hand through his hair as he began to make his way toward the stairs. I followed behind, fixing my shirt from where it had bunched up during my tumble.

“Scared the hell out of me,” I answered honestly.

Harry threw me a cheeky grin over his shoulder, pausing momentarily in his steps. “I think you could use a little less hell.”

With a scoff, I smacked the back of his head. He only laughed as he tried to duck out of my reach, bounding down the steps before I could get a proper hold of him. He was out of breath when he handed the guitar to Niall, who was watching our exchange amusedly over the back of the couch. Zayn smirked beside him and I crossed my arms over my chest indignantly.

“Sorry mate,” Harry apologized as Niall took hold of the guitar. “Totally forgot I had it.”

Niall muttered something insulting in response and Harry rolled his eyes before taking a seat on the couch opposite. Awkwardly, I slowly sunk down in the vacant spot beside him.

“Sawyer, are you coming to our gig tomorrow night?”

I cocked my head to one side, frowning at Zayn. Beside me, Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“I hadn’t really invited her,” Harry admitted slowly.

Now it was my turn to feel uncomfortable. Zayn raised a brow at Harry, who was shaking out his hair as an excuse to hide his face. Niall’s eyes shifted from Harry to me and back.

“We’re playing this festival on the beach in Santa Monica tomorrow,” Zayn explained. “It’s more low-key since we don’t have an album to promote quite yet, but it should be fun. You should come.”

I began to shake my head, rejecting the notion, but Harry cut in before I could voice any thoughts.

“I was honestly going to invite you, but we’ve been missing each other these last few days. It’ll be fun,” he shrugged.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” Niall rejected. “Besides, Declan’s coming. He’s bringing that girl from the party.”

I raised my brows at him before turning to look at Harry. He was rubbing his neck uncomfortably, but nodded to confirm this information. I tried not to be hurt that Harry found the time to invite Declan and Ashley, but hadn’t really spoken to me in days.

“Truly, I’ll be okay,” I persisted.

“What are you going to do, Sawyer? Sit in here and listen to The Smiths discography on vinyl?” Harry chided. I turned to glare at him, but his expression was softer than I expected. “Please come,” he finished earnestly, and he looked so sincere that I had to avoid his eyes. Instead, I found I was under the scrutiny of two other pairs.

“Sure, why not?” I sighed. Niall winked at me.

“Well now that that’s settled,” Zayn clapped his hands before pushing up from his seat. “Let’s get some food.”

“Third Street?” Harry suggested.

“Barney’s,” Niall answered. I watched on as the three boys stood. After a moment, Harry turned to look at me, raising a brow.

“You coming?”

I made no reply as I stood from the couch. Taking this as a sign that I was, indeed, coming, Harry led the way toward the front door. I found my bag on the floor and threw it over my shoulder before slipping on a pair of shoes and following behind.

Harry’s Range Rover was parked in the driveway beside a vehicle I assumed to belong to either Zayn or Niall. When Harry reached for the handle to his own car, I circled around to get in the back.

“You can have shotgun,” Zayn offered.

“I’ll sit in the back. Don’t worry about it,” I answered.

“I insist.”

With that, Zayn moved behind me and lightly guided me forward with a soft push of his hand on my lower back. Slightly startled, I blindly found myself sliding into the passenger seat. Niall crawled into the seat behind Harry.

When Harry turned the key in the ignition, the radio hummed to life as well. It was an oldies station, and I rolled my eyes at his grandfather-like antics as I settled into my seat. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw Harry half-smile as he threw the car into reverse and backed out into the street.

The boys held most of the conversation as we made our way toward the beach in Santa Monica. I didn’t mind as my eyes followed the palm trees and houses that passed by, the sun casting a pink-orange glow over the city. When Landslide came on the radio as we reached the Santa Monica exit, I absently reached forward to turn it up and the boys fell silent. Harry mouthed along with the words, not daring to overpower the sound of Stevie Nicks. I felt content as I leaned my head against the window and he guided us down the street toward a parking garage.

I felt nervous as he parked and I undid my seatbelt, pushing the car door open and letting my sandals hit the concrete. Zayn ran his hand through his hair as he shut the door behind him and offered me a million-dollar smile. It was meant to calm me, but instead made my heart race as I realized I was about to walk the streets of Santa Monica with three-fifths of the world’s most popular boy band. I felt distinctly out of place as I joined Niall and Harry around the other side of the car and fell into step between them.

“I’m confused,” Niall finally admitted as we exited a dimly lit stairwell to the sidewalk that led toward the Third Street Promenade. “Don’t you hate Harry?”

Harry took a moment to reach back behind me and knock Niall hard in the shoulder. I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched him stumble into Zayn, who was ready to break Niall’s fall should it come to that. When he’d regained his balance, his blue eyes refocused on me unapologetically. I’d just met Niall, but he had an open and honest way about him I admired, so I decided to go ahead and answer him.

“I didn’t hate Harry,” I answered. “I was angry with him.”

“Why?”

“Let’s not, mate,” Harry stepped in. I offered Niall an apologetic smile before fixing my eyes ahead. We were approaching the Promenade.

It was a Sunday evening, and the shops were all getting ready to close. Still, there was a decent amount of people around, engulfed in one of the many street performers or otherwise milling about. It didn’t take long for us to be spotted.

Niall glanced uneasily at Harry, who gave him an encouraging smile as a large group of people practically stampeded in our direction. It was Zayn who spoke, apologetically informing them they weren’t able to take photos at this time. The girls seemed downtrodden, but didn’t challenge this when spoken so gently by a member of their favorite band. I noticed more eyes than I was comfortable with lingering on me as I kept pace with the boys, secured between Niall and Harry.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, looking over at me.

“Fine,” I answered, but I wasn’t sure if that was true. An unfamiliar staccato beat pounded in my chest, and I felt panicked. Harry looked as if he wanted to reach for me, but then glanced uneasily at the pack of teenagers following behind us with camera phones and thought better of it. I mustered up my most reassuring smile as we reached our destination, a pub called Barney’s Beanery. Niall strode confidently up to the hostess, who looked dumbfounded at his approach. Zayn followed behind the blonde, and Harry lingered behind, making it obvious he wanted me to go first.

The hostess showed us to a table in the basement, a corner booth near the door to the kitchens. We thanked her as we settled in, Niall and Zayn on one side with Harry and I on the other. The space was tight and Harry’s thigh pressed to mine. I busied myself with a menu.

“Shite,” I heard Niall mutter, and I looked over at him to see his eyes fixed on Harry. Beside me, he was immersed deeply in whatever was playing on the television hoisted above patrons on the opposite side of the room. There was a loud commotion as I watched a hockey player in a black and white jersey slap a puck into a goal. The other patrons yelled their victory, and Harry couldn’t refrain from throwing a fist in the air. I rolled my eyes and Zayn laughed empathetically.

“Not a hockey fan?” he asked.

“Not really a sports person at all, really,” I replied.

“I’m not sure Sawyer could diffrentiate the difference between American football and football everywhere else,” Harry offered, and I elbowed him in the side. He didn’t bother to look offended.

“What are you into then, Sawyer?” Zayn asked.

I paused a moment, contemplating this. Honestly, I wasn’t sure anymore. There was a time in my life when I’d answer without hesitence that I liked to go out, but as of late that didn’t ring very true. I’d become sort of reclusive, really only going out when Declan forced me to. In England my mum and I used to spend a day every week baking and listening to music, but I’d lost the heart to do it without her.

Niall furrowed his brows as he watched me try to formulate some type of response. Luckily, I was saved any additional embarrassment as the waiter arrived, introducing himself as Andrew. He stood tall, athletically built with a handsome face and strawberry blonde hair. His eyes skimmed over the table with recognition to the boys, but his gaze lingered on me. I bit down on my lip self-consciously as he asked for our drink orders.

“I’ll take an Arnold Palmer,” I answered quickly when it was apparent he was waiting for my answer before everyone else’s. Niall surpressed a smile, his eyes moving back and forth between Andrew and Harry, who had tensed slightly beside me. When I looked over to him he was watching me with a peculiar expression. Immediately, Harry turned back to our waiter and asked for a water. Niall ordered a pint and Zayn stuck to a Coke.

“Jesus,” Niall breathed when our waiter disappeared. “Zayn, can I borrow a knife to cut the tension with?”

Beneath our table, Harry’s leg moved. Niall cursed, jolting upright in his seat before glaring over at his bandmate. “That was my bad knee!”

“I know,” Harry stated as he lifted his menu.

Confused, I turned to Zayn who shrugged apologetically. Niall huffed and spared Harry one last glare before getting back to his own menu.

A moment later, Andrew arrived with our drinks. I smiled a thanks at him, which he returned warmly. Harry’s eyes followed him suspiciously as he set the rest of the cups down.

“Are you ready to order, or do you need more time?” he asked.

“I’m ready,” Zayn answered as he looked around for confirmation. I nodded, sure I would land on a burger before it came to be my turn. Niall went first, asking for a chicken melt. Zayn ordered nachos, and I cursed quietly as I tried to decide between two appetizing choices. Andrew chuckled and I looked up at him sheepishly.

“What are you stuck on?” he asked.

“Um... I’m not sure if I want a Juicy Lucy or the Cali Burger.”

He smiled easily at me, leaning over Harry to see the differences in the menu. “A girl who goes all out,” he commented. “I like that.” Blushing, I watched him scribble something down on his pad. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Unsure of what this meant, I offered a thanks and fell silent. When I glanced over at Harry, he was watching Andrew with an incredulous look on his face. It was only when Andrew pulled his eyes from me that Harry realized he was being addressed next.

“I’ll have an order of ribs,” Harry muttered.

Andrew smiled heartily at him, not writing anything down on his pad.

“I don’t think we just have ribs,” he said. “We do have something right here that’s sort of like it...”

He was joking, but Harry looked furious. “I’ll have ribs,” he repeated.

“Yes, but what are they called?” Niall joined in, grinning from ear to ear as he watched the exchange take place. I’d never seen Harry look so murderous. Zayn lifted both hands to his face to rub at his eyes, as if he were embarrassed that such a thing was taking place. I looked on with interest.

When Andrew didn’t relent, Harry sighed. “I’ll have Baby’s Got Back Ribs.”

With a wink at me, he wrote this down and disappeared. Niall was still overcome with laughter as Harry muttered, “Wanker,” beneath his breath. Zayn smiled, but made no comment. I took a long drag of my Arnold Palmer for lack of anything better to do.

“You’re from Cheshire, aren’t you?” Zayn continued, as if nothing had just taken place. I felt grateful for the reprieve.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“What brings you to L.A.?”

Harry wetted his lips beside me, obviously uneasy with the topic of discussion. I shrugged, unbothered. “I just needed a change.”

Sensing Harry’s discomfort and in lieu of my unspecific answer, Zayn pushed no further. Instead, he steered the conversation in a different direction.

“Do you like L.A. so far?”

I hesitated a moment to answer this. It had been a rocky start thus far, and even now I stood on a shaky foundation. Still, it hadn’t been all bad. And it seemed Harry and I were at least beginning to get along again in the very least.

“I haven’t really decided yet,” I said. “The weather’s always nice and it’s generally a cool place to live, but it’s not Holmes Chapel.”

“I feel you,” Zayn said. “It’s always nice to go back to Bradford for a couple of days.”

“I’m practically the king of Ireland,” Niall chimed in with a cheeky grin before he took a long drag of his beer. I couldn’t help but laugh, and his eyes lit up at my response.

“Do you still have family in Holmes Chapel?” Zayn asked.

I froze, my smile dropping instantly. Beside me, Harry drew a large breath. Zayn frowned, trying to figure out where in the conversation he’d gone wrong while I scrambled for some response.

It never gets easier to say.

Just as I opened my mouth to make a response, Harry threw an arm around the back of the booth and stepped in. “Besides my mum, her family’s all here in L.A.”

I rolled my eyes, but gave him a grateful nudge in the side. He returned it, and it felt like you’re welcome. Our food arrived a few minutes later, putting an effective end to the conversation.

“One chicken melt, one Not Yo Mamma’s Nachos, one Baby’s Got Back Ribs...” Andrew listed off, saying the last one with a good-hearted chuckle. Harry glared at him in distaste. “And one Cali Juicy Lucy for...”

“Sawyer,” I answered. He smiled, setting the plate down in front of me.

“Sawyer,” he repeated.

There was a beat of silence in which he stood there a moment longer, smiling kindly at me. Harry cleared his throat and Andrew looked over at where he was being glared at. With a slight blush, he asked if we needed anything else.

“Looks great, thanks,” Zayn stepped in. A moment later, Andrew disappeared again, Harry watching after him with distaste.

“What is wrong with you?” I hissed at Harry.

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked incredulously. “He’s looking at you like you’re a piece of meat and you’re mad at me?”

“He’s being nice!”

“He’s flirting.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Harry pinched at the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed, but he didn’t answer. Niall bit into his chicken melt as his eyes followed our conversation like they would a ball in a tennis match. Zayn carefully picked at his nachos, respectfully avoiding his gaze. With a huff, I got to work with my burger while Harry began cutting apart his ribs.

The conversation was nonexistent now that the food had arrived, the only noise being the scraping of forks against plates and the squirt of the ketchup bottle for my fries. Harry kept his eyes trained on the TV screen to watch the Kings play, but his heart wasn’t in it. His leg jittered up and down beneath the table, and I found myself reaching out to stop it. He turned to me, surprised, but I dropped my hand and my gaze simultaneously to finish my chips.

When Andrew arrived again, it was with the check. Harry accepted it, sliding his card in without even bothering to look at the price.

“I have cash,” I offered, beginning to dig for my purse.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry replied, handing the black plastic book back to Andrew, who was lingering awkwardly.

“No seriously,” I insisted, but he grabbed my wrist before I could grab a hold of my bag.

“I’m getting Zayn and Niall’s, too. Don’t make it a big deal. Just say thank you,” he said.

I sighed, pulling my wrist out of reach. His gaze held steady and I muttered a half-hearted thank you. His answering smile was warm.

“Have a good night, guys,” Andrew told us when he returned with Harry’s card and reciept. Harry took both and slipped them quickly into his pocket before standing. Throwing my crossbody over my shoulder, I scooted out behind him and he offered a hand to help me up. I accepted despite the fact that we’d been bickering throughout dinner.

Niall led this time, Zayn and Harry trailing behind me. When Niall held the door for me, I thanked him quietly as I ducked beneath his arm. The sun had set and the Promenade looked distinctly less busy. I followed blindly beside the boys as they led the way down the street. When I turned to head back to the parking garage, Harry reached out to grab my arm.

“We’re supposed to stop by the setup for the stage for a bit,” he explained, guiding me back toward the sidewalk. Zayn and Niall were a bit further ahead at this point, and I fell back into step beside Harry as we crossed the street toward the beach. The pier was still in full swing, but the stage was set up in the sand. I shivered at the cool ocean breeze.

“It shouldn’t be long,” Harry told me as we began toward the beach. “They’re just giving us our schedule for tomorrow and a setlist.”

I made no response as we neared the edge of the sand. Instead, I reached for his shoulder to stop him from going further as I slipped off my shoes. He stood stoically beside me as I balanced my weight on him. When I stood to my full height again, he was watching me with an amused expression.

“Better?” he asked.

I took a step and sighed.

“Much.”

Rolling his eyes, we began our way down the beach. A horde of security lingered near the entrance, allowing us access through a gate to the huge stage set up. Zayn and Niall sat cross-legged on the edge of the stage and Harry hopped up easily beside them. A man who I assumed was in charge approached them with a few papers, and I took this as my cue to take a seat elsewhere. I chose the corner seat in the front row, pulling my legs up to my chest as I watched the waves roll in in the distance. It was hard to see the stars with the lights and smog, but it was a rather clear evening and the moon was easily visible. With the soothing sound of the crashing waves, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, inhaling the smell of salt.

“Sawyer!”

The voice calling my name, surprisingly, didn’t belong to Harry. My head snapped up to watch Zayn as he jogged toward me, his papers folded beneath his arms. In the distance behind him, Harry was chatting with the important-looking guy from before while Niall lingered beside him, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to whatever they were talking about. It seemed lighthearted enough.

“Hey, sorry,” he breathed as he took the seat beside me. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier, with the questions about your family and all that. I didn’t mean to bring up anything uncomfortable.”

“You’re fine,” I dismissed immediately. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Still, I feel proper bad about it.”

“No need,” I told him as I offered a smile. He returned it kindly before glancing back over his shoulder to look at Harry.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Zayn said next.

“We’re not...” I began, but he cut me off.

“No, no. I know. I just mean you do him good.”

I frowned, not sure where he was taking this. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, and I bit on my lip as I prepared for what he was about to say. He chuckled in response before continuing. “You just seem like a complicated kind of person. You give him hell, and he needs it. For a guy who has the world handed to him on a platter, it’s good he has you to challenge him.”

I tilted my head to one side as I considered this. It seemed Harry had finished with his conversation, because he appeared suddenly behind Zayn.

“Ready?” he asked.

Zayn stood and I rose to my feet beside him. I nodded a confirmation.

“What were you two talking about?” he asked.

“You,” Zayn answered, unashamed.

Harry narrowed his eyes at this, his gaze shifting between the two of us. “What about me?”

“Something about giving you hell,” I answered.

Harry groaned, giving Zayn his most convincing glare. “Don’t encourage her,” he said.

“You love it,” Zayn teased, and Harry rolled his eyes but said no more. I watched his face, but his expression was carefully composed as he ran a hand through his hair and kept his eyes fixed ahead.

In my years of knowing Harry, I’d learned his silence was usually one of two things; either biting his tongue to keep from saying something rude or a confirmation on something he felt was embarrassing. I wondered which this was, and hoped for the latter.