Crooked Heart

December

“That advice you gave me really payed off, Fiona, thank you so much,” Liam said, catching up with her outside class with his essay folded up in his hand. She’d stashed hers away in her bag already, the comments and grade yet to be read. The final week of classes had been a flurry of assignments coming back and advisement from professors to study for exams over winter break.

“‘S not a problem,” she replied.

They headed down the corridor, lined with post-graduate student offices, toward the stairwell at the end. This was by far Fiona’s least favourite building to have a class in, and she was glad she only had to step foot in here once a week. The lighting was always either too bright or too dim and the heat was turned up uncomfortably high, even during the warmer months. The corridors were narrow, and there was a chance of getting hit every time someone opened a door.

Down on the main floor, a lecture was getting out. Fiona recognized the wispy blonde quiff amidst the crowd immediately, and realized he was headed straight for her. She wasn’t sure if he’d seen her yet or if he was just coming in her general direction, but she knew she couldn’t run into him here, especially not with Liam. Explaining why she’d slept with some older guy when Liam thought she was a lesbian was a situation Fiona wanted to avoid at all costs.

“I’ve got to use the loo,” she said quickly, giving Liam’s arm a squeeze and waving in the general direction of the toilets at the other end of the hall.

“Do you want me to wait for you?” he asked, since they usually took the bus together. He made her sit at the back so the accessibility section was clear, even though other students crowded on at the next stop and getting to the door was a pain. But things with Liam were going well and she didn’t want to muck it up, like she had with all of the other new things in her life, so she suffered at the back of the bus and kept her complaining to a minimum.

“No, that’s fine,” Fiona said, as her gaze locked onto Oliver’s. His eyes widened a fraction — he was conversing with a girl who had the look of a fresher with a crush on her teacher, who couldn’t be anyone but Oliver, much to Fiona’s horror — and he gently excused himself and made a beeline in her direction.

Fiona got into the stairwell seconds before Oliver. He didn’t look upset or angry with her, just mildly surprised. “Fiona,” he said, smiling crookedly. “I was wondering when we’d run into each other.”

“Were you in a first year class just then?” she asked, because it was the first thing on her mind.

“Oh, yeah, I’m TA’ing it,” he said with a casual shrug.

“A TA? So you’re…”

Oliver smiled. “Doing my PhD.”

She’d figured him for a Master’s student at most, definitely not pursuing his doctorate. “In English?” she asked with a frown.

“Yeah, what else would I be doing?” he asked with a laugh. “I guess I didn’t tell you that, did I?”

“Definitely not,” she muttered, tugging on a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun. “You do know I’m only in second year, right?”

“My guess was third,” he replied, and tucked his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “Are you all right with it? With me?”

Fiona pressed her palm to her forehead, taking a few steps back. She was glad for the large, empty stairwell, even if their voices carried. The heels of her boots clicked against the linoleum floor as she got closer to the wall, echoing loudly. “I don’t know. I mean, obviously I knew you were older. But I guess I didn’t actually expect to see you here. Now all I can think about is how you might have TA’ed one of my classes in first year and…well, that does freak me out a bit.”

When she turned back to him, Oliver hadn’t moved. His satchel hung from his shoulder — some expensive leather thing that matched his brogues. She suspected his jumper was cashmere, maybe angora. It looked soft. “It was just one night, though, yeah?” he said. She nodded; it was the only thing stopping her from having a full on freak out. The whole thing with Oliver had been pushed to the back of her mind, replaced by the terrible date with Joshua and the looming train ride back to London on Saturday. She might have been worried about Harry too, if she’d seen him for more than ten minutes in the last week. But he’d been giving the flat a wide berth since she told him to leave her alone on the balcony. The fact that he’d actually listened to her was surprising enough in itself.

Only this time she wished he hadn’t, because she felt worse every single day for what she’d said to him.

“So, what now?” Oliver asked.

She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

Oliver took a step closer, and Fiona was immediately suspicious. “Well, I’d like to see you again. I know what you said before, but I thought that maybe I’d be able to convince you if we ever ran into each other. You never gave me your number.”

“Yeah, I don’t really give it out,” she told him, folding her arms over her chest. “And I don’t think it’s a good idea if we see each other again.”

“Too weird?”

“No—” she started, then grimaced. “A bit, yeah.”

She was also not as attracted to him as she had been before, and a lot of that had been due to the alcohol coursing through her system and making her think that shagging a nice bloke in fancy shoes would do her good. The shoes made her wrinkle her nose now, like Harry did whenever he got near a cigarette.

“That’s fair,” he nodded. “But if you change your mind…”

She nodded and got out of there as quick as she could, catching the next bus off campus. Without thinking, she took a seat near the back. Fiona was sliding in her earbuds when a man in a wheelchair came on and the two kids seated in the accessibility section got up and moved. She bit back a grin, thinking of Liam, and slid down in her seat.

+++

“D’you think we’ll have time to go to the Saatchi Gallery?” Allison asked. “I really want to see the African art exhibit they’ve got on right now.”

“Shhhhhh,” Fiona groaned, for the third time in the past half hour. She shifted in her seat, grateful for their nearly empty compartment. They’d even managed to get a table. She had her feet propped up on the seat opposite, arms folded over her chest, the most comfortable position she could get into on a train. “‘M trying to sleep.”

“Serves you right for going to that party when you knew we had an eight o’clock train,” Allison said.

Fiona didn’t open her eyes. “Liam asked me to. Though I don’t suppose it matters now, he thinks I’ve betrayed him. I swear, his vocabulary gets much more elaborate when he’s drunk. Here I was thinking he was some idiot who shouldn’t be doing English, and he goes and accuses me of being ’mendacious’ and ’negligent.’ I would be proud if he weren’t being such a tosser about the whole thing.”

“What happened?”

“Can I tell you after I’ve had a bit of a kip?” Fiona asked hopefully.

“Nope,” Allison replied. “Not when you’ve managed to burn yet another bridge the second I leave you alone. Do we have to have another discussion about how you destroyed the friendship Harry had been trying to build — the one that you were actually starting to be all right with — with one sentence?”

Fiona scowled out the window at the countryside they were speeding past. “It was more of a command.”

“Fiona.”

“Fine. I might have told Liam that I only fancied girls in order to get him to stop asking me out,” she said, and Allison rolled her eyes. “And then last night he saw me snogging some bloke. I think it was one of Louis’ football mates, too. God,” She rubbed her forehead, emitting a long sigh. “Then I tried to explain it to him, but he wouldn’t hear it. Kept going on about how I should’ve just told him no, even though I’d done just that for months and he never listened. Said that our friendship was built upon lies — that’s where the ‘mendacious’ comment came in. I left after that and got even more drunk at home off of some wine Harry had left behind, hence the headache. I swear, I never get hangovers from anything else.”

“Why did you even kiss that other guy in the first place?”

Fiona shrugged. “Hell if I know. He was probably fit and I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“You’re reminding me of Freshers Week, Fiona,” Allison said, and she made it sound like this was a very bad thing.

“I don’t remember Freshers Week.”

“Exactly.”

Fiona groaned. “God.”

“When we get back, we’ll figure out how to fix things with Liam. He’s much nicer than you give him credit for, he doesn’t deserve to go around thinking you’re nothing but a lying bitch.”

“He never called me a bitch,” Fiona pointed out.

Allison smiled. “Well there you are. We’re already halfway back to friendship.”

Fiona rolled her eyes.

“And while we’re at it, perhaps you can try to be a bit nicer to Harry when the lads come down for New Years?”

Unbeknownst to Allison, Fiona had been planning on doing exactly that. Well, perhaps she wouldn’t be nice to him, but she wasn’t going to be rude on purpose again. She had come to the uncomfortable and unsettling truth that she actually liked having Harry around the flat, and chalked it up to his cooking and impeccable tea-making skills, because she didn’t want to consider any other reasoning.

“I’ll be civil,” Fiona told her friend.

Allison accepted this answer as the best she’d get, and let Fiona sleep for the rest of the ride down to London.

Having grown up in the same borough, Fiona and Allison made their way from Euston Station to West London, which involved a lengthy bus ride and a transfer. Fiona was happy to be out of bustling Central London quick as she could; she’d never been a fan of the packed streets and sea of tourists, even if the parks and architecture were lovely.

Fiona’s stop came before Allison’s. “Wish me luck,” she muttered, allowing Allison to give her hand an encouraging squeeze before she got off.

The crisp air cut at Fiona’s cheeks as she made her way down the road. Her family lived in a three-storey terraced house on a fairly quiet street, surrounded by families with young children just like themselves. Fiona thought they fit into the neighbourhood much more after she’d gone off to uni. When she reached the right street and took a left, Fiona could see her dad’s car parked out front. It was Saturday, so he was home, but probably in the office doing work. Fiona couldn’t remember if Eli had something on or if he was home, but she hoped he was. She didn’t want to spend her first few hours back in London stuck with her parents.

It felt odd just opening the front door and walking in, but Fiona quickly brushed it off and discarded her boots, duffle bag, and tote in the foyer, striding down the corridor. Taking a left, she came into the drawing room, which was empty. Fiona glanced to her right and saw her mum in the kitchen, putting on what she suspected was the second pot of coffee of the morning.

“Hi,” Fiona said, because Frances still hadn’t noticed her.

When she did, Fiona’s mum gasped and put a hand to her heart. “Oh! Fiona, why didn’t you shout when you got in?”

“Sorry,” she muttered, wandering further into the kitchen. It was just as pristine as ever. Fiona wondered if they still had a cleaner come in every so often to make sure there wasn’t a speck of dust in the place. She was suddenly very aware of the hole in her sock and the balsamic vinegar stain on her top (no thanks to Harry), neither of which she would’ve been allowed to keep if she’d still been living at home. After a year and a half on her own, much of which spent in the company of Niall Horan, Fiona had become far less concerned with how she looked. She no longer cared if there were loose threads on her jumper or tears in the knees of her jeans, or if she’d worn the same shirt three days in a row.

Frances waved it off, setting down her mug and striding over to Fiona. She put her arms around her in a light hug, patting Fiona’s back gently. “How was the train?” she asked, when she pulled away.

“Fine.”

“And you got here all right from the station?”

“Obviously.”

Frances’ smile had gone tight. “Well—”

“FIONA!” came a cry from behind them, and then a body was colliding into Fiona and arms were wrapping tightly around her waist. She lifted her hands, swivelling her head around to try and see Eli, but he’d buried his face in her side and didn’t look to be letting go any time soon. She settled for ruffling his hair, which was longer and messier than she remembered. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” she said, unable to help the smile that stretched across her lips.

Eli finally let go, but he quickly grabbed her hand and was dragging her out of the room and to the stairs. They went up to the second floor, past the master bedroom and office on the first. The best part about their house set up was that Fiona and Eli had the second level all to themselves. When he was small, they put their beds against the same wall and knocked before going to sleep and when they woke up the next day. Sometimes Eli would knock in the middle of the night (Fiona was almost always still awake to hear it) if he’d had a bad dream, and she would go and stay with him until he fell back asleep.

It surprised her that Eli hadn’t opted to take Fiona’s larger room, with its big windows that faced the street and slanted roof he could stick his glow-in-the-dark stars to. But she supposed that it was still her room, even if she didn’t live there anymore. The books she’d grown out of still sat on the shelves, old clothes hung in the closet, knickknacks sat on every surface, things she didn’t even think about anymore.

Eli’s room had changed. His interests were rapidly shifting, moving away from little boy stuff to Lego and comics and even school, which she was still surprised by. They sat facing each other on his bed, and Eli began to pepper her with questions. A lot of it she’d told him already over the phone, but he insisted upon hearing it again in person.

“Well, Wren and I broke up,” Fiona said, in response to his query on her romantic life (she didn’t understand why he wanted to know, but suspected he was running out of questions), scratching the crown tattoo on her left foot absently. “You remember her, yeah? From all the Skype chats we had?”

“Yeah,” Eli nodded. “What happened?”

“We just weren’t right for each other.”

Eli frowned at the green quilt beneath them, picking at a loose thread. “Dad said that you were with her to try and prove something, and Mum said you were confused. You weren’t confused, right? Because you told me that it wasn’t important that she was a girl. You’re always saying that the most important thing is to be yourself, even if Mum and Dad don’t like it.”

“That’s still true, kid,” Fiona said softly.

“But then why don’t Mum and Dad let you do that? I don’t understand, Fiona. They’re always talking about you and Dad gets upset about you liking girls. But you’re just being yourself, right?”

“I know it’s hard to understand right now. Mum and Dad… it’s hard for them to accept that I’m not the daughter they always wanted. That’s why they put so much pressure on you, love, because I’ve disappointed them.”

Eli frowned deeper. “That’s not fair.”

Fiona was furious about it, but she didn’t like Eli seeing that. He got enough of it from their dad, the person she’d gotten her temper from in the first place. “I know it isn’t. Allison says they’ll come round some day, though. And it seems like Mum might be nearly there. You said they were fighting less since I started calling her, yeah?”

“They still talk about you loads, though. Mum thought… she thought you’d gotten over your confusion. She said you had a date with a boy. I wasn’t supposed to be listening, her and Dad were talking and I was hiding in the hallway cupboard reading. But I couldn’t help it! Don’t tell them, please, Fiona.”

“I won’t,” she told him. “And that was just Mum being selfish, thinking this is something that just goes away. But I know she’s trying, cos she’s making some attempts at being supportive. I think she might be afraid I’m going to cut her out of my life completely.”

“But you won’t, right? You can’t.” Eli pleaded, grabbing her arm.

She squeezed his hand. “Never.”

He nodded, reassured. “Okay,” he said, and then his face brightened. He reminded her of Harry with his quick mood changes. “Can I show you my science project?”

+++

At dinner that night, Fiona ignored the stern looks from her father and tried to focus on Eli's chatter about school. He still had a week before his winter break started and was complaining about the amount of work his teachers were piling on. But the looks were only getting more unsettling — Peter had barely said two words to her since she got home. Fiona should've expected this, of course, because ever since she moved for uni her father had reverted to the silent treatment. He argued with her mum plenty, according to Eli, but he seemed to have realized that it was pointless to try and shout her back into heterosexuality or to pursue Business instead of English.

So it was up to Eli and Frances to fill the void with meaningless conversation. By the end of it, Fiona was dying for a cigarette. The second she finished her plate she excused herself, dashing upstairs to her old room. She contemplated going back down and smoking out front on the steps (she’d definitely get shouted at for leaving ashes in the perfectly manicured back garden) but decided to open up a window instead.

Fiona managed to get into a comfortable position on the windowsill, the hand holding her cigarette braving the cold to keep the smoke out. She’d thrown on a jumper, but her fingers were still freezing. Pulling out her phone, Fiona sent a text to Allison. Her evening was probably going much better than Fiona’s.

save me

Is it really that bad?

the only thing he’s said to me since I got back is ‘hello Fiona’

honestly I’m surprised he hasn’t come right out with it and gone ‘still gay are you?’

He wouldn’t do that. Would he?

I don’t know him anymore, so I can’t answer that question

I’m sorry

Do you want me to come over?

I think I’ll survive the night

but Eli’s asked if we can spend tomorrow together maybe we could take him to the Saatchi gallery with us?

Would he like it? Might be a bit boring.

if we go to the natural history museum after I think he’ll be fine

Okay! See you!

Fiona tossed her phone onto her bed and leaned through the window, taking a drag of her cigarette and watching the smoke spiral up toward the sky. It was overcast; she hoped it wouldn’t rain for their trip into Central London the next day.

“Fiona?”

“Hey, kid,” she said, gesturing Eli over. He clambered onto the sill and sat facing her, his back against the window frame opposite.

“Isn’t that bad for you?”

Fiona smiled. “Terrible. Don’t smoke.”

“I would never. It smells awful.”

“A friend of mine is always telling me that,” she told him. Only after she’d said it did she realize that she’d called Harry her friend without a moment’s hesitation.

+++

“This weekend is gonna be legendary,” Niall said. The lads had just disembarked their train at Euston Station. Niall, Harry, and Zayn were staying at a hostel near St. James’ Park while Louis was crashing on his mate’s couch.

“It’s Tuesday,” Fiona reminded him.

There was a plan for the four days that they would be in town, concluding with the whole lot of them (Fiona and Allison included) leaving together on the second of January. Fiona wasn’t sure which she was looking forward to the least, the massive New Year’s rave that Louis had demanded they all go to because some of his mates (though not the ones with the sofa, apparently) were throwing it, or tonight, when Niall would be coming over for tea.

On second thought, it was definitely tea. At least Fiona could get drunk at the rave and snog someone at midnight.

“Still, legendary,” Niall repeated. “Oh, Fiona, I’ve been meaning to ask. Is it all right if Harry tags along tonight?”

“What?” Fiona asked, at the same time she heard muffled arguing in the background.

“He’ll just sit at the hostel otherwise,” Niall continued, ignoring both her and the person on his end, presumably Harry. “Zayn and Louis have got something on that he doesn’t want to go to. Your parents won’t mind, right?”

Fiona glared at her ceiling. “I don’t know, Niall.”

“It’ll be fine,” he told her, though he really wouldn’t know. Niall had never met Fiona’s parents, even though they lived together. While his parents had visited on multiple occasions and even helped them move in, her’s had never come up from London. “Gotta go, our train’s here. See you at six!”

Fiona mumbled a reply that he didn’t hear, having hung up a second earlier. “Bloody hell,” she sighed, the hand holding her phone falling to the mattress with a thud.

Much to her displeasure, Frances only seemed more pleased that Niall was bringing Harry along. “This is the one that works in the restaurant, is it?” she asked, even though Fiona had never mentioned what Harry did. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Eli told me. He also called this Harry your boyfriend.”

“He’s not even—” Fiona began her usual response whenever someone mentioned Harry, then realized it was not the right one anymore. “He’s just a friend, Mum. Eli only thought that because I’d never mentioned Harry to him.”

Frances hummed and checked on the pasta.

On her way back up to the second floor, Fiona saw that the door to her dad’s office was open. He’d spent almost all his time at the house in there, and she wasn’t sure whether it was just to avoid her or because he actually had work to do. As she rounded the corner and started to take the stairs up to the next level, she heard him call out to her. Fiona’s heart stopped in her chest — was the fight, the one she’d been dreading, finally here?

Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, Fiona sauntered toward the office, but only took a few steps past the threshold. “Yeah, Dad?”

“When will your friend be here?”

“Six. And, um, he’s bringing another friend of ours along, Harry, he’s—”

“That’s fine,” Peter interrupted. He looked up at her from his laptop, his expression permanently miffed behind his wire-framed glasses. “I went upstairs earlier. Your room smells of those horrible cigarettes. I checked, and there are ashes on the roof. Have you been smoking inside, Fiona?”

“Technically it was out the window, but—”

“If you insist upon keeping up with that disgusting habit, you cannot do it inside the house,” he continued, like she hadn’t spoken. Fiona didn’t let her gaze drop; if he was going to scold her, he had to look at her while he did it. “On second thought, I want you to go off the property to do it. I will not have the remnants anywhere near the house.”

“Fine,” she muttered. It was fair to tell her not to smoke out her window, but off the property entirely seemed a little overkill.

“You may go now.”

Fiona gritted her teeth at the condescending tone her father insisted upon adopting whenever he spoke to her, and stomped from the room.

She was standing out on the sidewalk feeling like an idiot when Niall and Harry appeared at the corner. Niall jogged the rest of the way over, wrapping her in a hug. He’d worn a nice shirt without any stains on it, but there were holes in his jeans. Her mum wouldn’t like that.

“How was your Christmas?” he asked with a bright grin.

“Shit. Yours?”

“Ate too much.”

“Hiya, Harry,” Fiona said, tossing her cigarette to the pavement and stepping on it. She leaned down and picked it up, returning it to the pack. She knew that if she tried leaving them there for her father to see when he went to work in the morning that she’d only get shit for it, so she made the greener choice.

Harry spared a brief glance her way, nodding as he did so. His jeans didn’t have holes in them and he had on a clean black t-shirt, but he was wearing boots that had seen better days. At least he’d have to take them off at the door and there was a higher chance her mum wouldn’t get to tut over them.

“Well, I guess we should head in,” she said, rolling back on her heels. “I apologize in advance.”

“I bet your family is just as lovely as you are,” Niall said cheerfully, throwing an arm over her shoulder as they went through the gate.

Fiona snorted. “I really should have prepared you better for this.”

Eli was on them almost immediately as Fiona had opened the door. “You’re Niall!” he exclaimed, breaking out into a grin, two missing teeth and all.

“That’s me!” Niall cried back, putting his hands on his knees so he was at Eli’s eye level. “You must be the infamous Eli. Good to meet you, mate.”

Fiona watched the interaction with a smile on her face, but felt someone watching. She glanced over and saw Harry. As soon as their eyes locked, the curious expression he’d been wearing vanished.

“Harry,” said Eli, coming up and offering his hand, all business. Fiona raised an eyebrow.

Harry responded accordingly, shaking Eli’s hand with a matching serious expression. “Eli.”

“Mum!” Eli yelled. “They’re here!”

“You’re right, I’ve no idea how you’re related,” Niall said, when the boy had run off.

Fiona rolled her eyes at him, then led them further into the house. She tried to ignore Niall muttering to Harry about how clean it all was — ‘like hospital clean, mate, there isn’t even any dust’ — the total lack of books, and the shocking first sight of Fiona’s mother, in her slacks and tasteful cardigan, setting a casserole down at the perfectly set dining table. Frances turned to them with a polite smile, discarding the potholders on the counter so she could shake their hands.

“Hello,” she said, offering a hand to Niall first. “You must be Niall.” She had insisted that Fiona show her photos so she wouldn’t call anyone by the wrong name.

“Hi, Mrs. Kingsley,” Niall replied. Once Frances had been introduced to Harry, they all went to the dining table. Fiona was surprised that Frances hadn’t insisted upon drinks or something else beforehand.

“Eli, dear, would you tell your father we’re sitting down?”

“Yes, Mum.”

Niall sat down next to Fiona and Eli had claimed the seat across from him, leaving Harry across from Fiona. They both tried to avoid each other’s gazes, which only ended up in them looking at each other more. Fiona resisted the urge to kick him under the table — she was supposed to be civil.

“Are you all content with wine?” Frances asked. The two boys chorused their agreement and Fiona murmured along, watching over her shoulder as her mum put her back to them to fetch a bottle from the kitchen.

“Blimey, Fiona,” Niall said, quiet enough so that only she and Harry could hear. “Who are these people?”

“I told you,” she said.

“I can see why you never talk about them, I’d never have believed you if you said you lived in a place that looks like this.”

Fiona chewed on her lip, dreading the moment Peter decided to come in. She didn’t know if she’d be able to handle another meal of him ignoring her in favour for whoever else was at the table, especially with Niall and Harry around.

This was a terrible idea.

“I like your brother,” Harry said quietly. Fiona’s eyes shot up. He was watching her with that curious expression again, the one she used to catch him looking at her with when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

“Me too,” Niall agreed.

A second later, Eli was racing into his seat, excited by the presence of new people. He liked hiding in the hallway cupboard where he could read his comics, but he liked new people even more. Whatever extrovert gene he’d gotten was stronger than the one Fiona had.

But that meant her dad had also arrived. It was Harry who saw him first, because he was looking toward the kitchen. Fiona saw him get to his feet and hold out his hand, and then Peter was shaking it across the table. His seat was the furthest from Fiona’s at the other end, and he shook Niall’s hand on his way there. Then Frances was distributing wine, and nothing had blown up yet. Fiona didn’t relax.

Through the meal, Frances and Eli carried the conversation. They were particularly interested in Niall’s role in the Model UN club, and even Fiona’s dad jumped in to question him about it.

“Fiona doesn’t get involved enough,” he said, when Niall had finished describing the event the club had held just before break. “Too busy with her nose stuck in them books.”

The last thing she wanted was to snap at him in front of Eli, so she stabbed at the casserole on her plate and pretended he hadn’t said anything. The only problem with that was the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the table, filled only by the click of cutlery against dish ware and gulps of wine (and water for Eli).

“This casserole is lovely,” Harry said suddenly. The tension at the table subsided almost immediately for everyone but Fiona and her dad, for whom it never seemed to settle. “I like the addition of basil.”

They managed to avoid any more awkward pauses through the rest of the meal. Harry deflected a lot of the questions directed at him, the complete opposite of Niall, who loved talking about himself. Harry offered to help clear the dishes, and Frances hinted that Fiona and Eli should lend a hand as well. Due to his surprisingly adept ability at dealing with her parents through dinner, Fiona didn’t feel bad letting Niall move with them into the sitting room alone.

“Harry, do you really work in a posh restaurant?” Eli asked, while the two of them brought plates over to Fiona for her to put into the dishwasher.

“I do. It’s a very fun job, I’m lucky to have it,” Harry said. His eyes flicked to Fiona’s as he handed her the half-empty casserole dish, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. She was still simmering from her dad’s comment earlier, and couldn’t bring herself to return it. “I get to do what I love all day.”

They brought the last of the dishes over, leaving the wine glasses next to the sink. Frances was very adamant about hand-washing them. “Fiona says it’s important to do what you love, no matter what anyone else says,” said Eli.

“Does she?” Harry asked, glancing over at her. The smile reached his eyes now. “That’s good advice, mate.”

“I think so,” Eli nodded.

“Why don’t you tell me more about that science project?” Harry asked, leaning down to look at Eli properly. “Sounded well exciting.”

“I can show it to you!”

Harry’s face split into a grin, and he held his arms wide. “What are we still doing standing here?”

As they raced off, Fiona felt the same warmth from when she saw Harry’s secret smile, the one he made after she’d complimented his cooking. Quite suddenly, it wasn’t a matter of fulfilling her promise to Allison that she’d be civil to him or to have him start coming round the flat again anymore. Fiona wanted to patch things up with Harry so they could be friends. Proper ones, this time.

But when she got into the sitting room and found her parents interrogating Niall, Fiona’s little bubble of happiness popped, because they were asking him about Wren.

“Would you say they were in love?” Frances asked.

“Er…” Niall stammered, his eyes flying to Fiona.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Oh, Fiona,” Frances said, a strained smile on her face. Next to her on the love seat, Fiona’s dad looked even more disappointed than he had at the table. “We were just talking to Niall about you, it’s nothing—”

“You were trying to find out if it was real,” she said, her voice coming out much weaker than she’d intended. There was a creak of the floorboards behind her as Harry and Eli returned from upstairs.

“We didn’t think you were lying about it, of course,” Frances said hurriedly.

“This is unbelievable. Asking Niall about my personal life?”

“We’re your parents, Fiona,” said her dad. “We have a right to know, and to tell you when you’re making the wrong decisions.”

“It isn’t a fucking decision!” she cried.

Behind her, Eli gasped. Fiona spun around, an apology already spilling from her lips. He nodded, staring at the floor. Next to him, Harry wore a frown, but it wasn’t directed at Fiona. He was looking past her, right at her father.

“Eli, would you please go up to your room?” Frances asked.

“I’ll go with you, mate, I wanna see those comic books,” Niall offered brightly, hopping out of his seat and striding across the room. He led Eli out with a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Fiona—” Frances began, once they were out of earshot.

“I need a cigarette,” she said, fleeing the room. She’d left her pack in her coat pocket, and shrugged the wool moto jacket on before donning her boots and out the front door. Even though the sidewalk was cold, she dropped down onto it anyway in the absence of an actual seat, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her lighter was nearly out of fluid, but she managed to get a flame after a few attempts.

Fiona was staring at the house across the street, wondering how many people lived there and what sort of problems they had, when Harry sat down next to her.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” he muttered.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and saw that he was only in his flimsy t-shirt. “Why didn’t you put on your coat?”

“Clearly I didn’t think this through.”

Fiona exhaled upward, the smoke curling out from her lips even more visible in the frigid air. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you,” she said after a moment, unable to look at him. She tapped her cigarette against the curb, watching the ashes crumble off the end.

“I think I know why you were, so it’s okay,” Harry replied.

Fiona frowned at her feet. “What d’you mean?”

“Well, you sort of have a tendency to throw your anger at whoever’s closest. I just happened to be there.”

“That wasn’t—“ she started, falling short. “I was a bit mad at you, but it doesn’t justify how I acted. It was just a bad night.”

“I know, I figured that out. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Harry nodded, looking a bit disappointed. Even as they lapsed into silence, he stayed put, gooseflesh prickling his arms.

For once, Fiona didn’t mind his presence. She remembered the whispered conversation she’d had with Zayn, about Harry doing what he thought people needed. Maybe he’d left her alone on the balcony that night because he cared, and he knew she’d only make things worse if he’d stayed. “Can I ask you something?”

Harry tilted his head toward her and brought his knees up, his arms tucked between his thighs and torso. “Of course.”

“When did you decide I was worth it? All the effort?”

“You were always worth it, Fiona,” Harry replied. “You’re just too stubborn to notice.”

His expression was soft, open, and she had to look away. She took a drag of her cigarette to calm her racing heart, which shouldn’t have been beating at that speed — not around him, not after a few simple words.

“Can I ask you something now?” Harry asked.

Fiona blew the smoke above their heads again, but Harry wrinkled his nose anyway. “I can’t promise I’ll answer.”

“Your dad…he seems pretty set in his ways.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “Has it always been like that with you two? Not talking? And that passive aggressiveness? Jesus.”

“Oh, no, there used to be a lot of shouting.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, right?”

“You want to know if it’s because I’m…” She tried to find a word she was comfortable with, one that felt right, and couldn’t. “Not straight, right?”

“Yeah.”

Fiona nodded, staring at the cigarette between her fingers. It was nearly spent. She stubbed it out, placing the end atop her pack to throw away when she went back inside. Her heart had slowed down to a resting pace again, but Harry hadn’t stopped staring at her. Fiona found herself talking, telling a story she’d never told anyone before. It shouldn’t have been so easy with Harry, nothing had ever been easy with him. And yet, it was.

“Dad came up to me one Sunday, just after Eli was born, and said that we were going to have a day just for the two of us. He didn’t want me to start feeling left out now that there was a baby in the family. So Sunday became our day. We'd go for ice cream, into the city, to the park — he always had something fun for us to do. As I got older it changed, of course, we’d go to a football match or the museum.

“I came out to my parents on a Saturday morning over breakfast, and I knew it’d be difficult, but I guess you never really know how people are going to react, yeah? Mum just shut down, and Dad tried to convince me that it was just teenage hormones or some bullshit. The next day, we were supposed to go see this exhibit at the Tate Modern that I was really excited for, but when I went to tell him I was ready to leave, he gave me this crap excuse about a presentation he needed to work on. I tried for the next couple Sundays after that to get him to spend time with me, but after a string of bad excuses, I stopped asking.”

At some point during her story, Harry’s hand had found her back. “I know nothing I can say will make it better,” he said softly. “But I’m sorry they didn’t do what any decent people should’ve and supported you.”

“I just,” she began, staring up at the sky. “They’re my parents. And ever since then, it’s like nothing I do is good anymore. Like it’s all been ruined because of this one thing that doesn’t even have anything to do with what career I choose or where I work. And yet he thinks it’s all connected to some desire within me to disappoint him in every way possible. It has nothing to do with him, for fuck’s sake!”

“Have you told him that?”

She pushed her hair back, sighing. “He doesn’t listen.”

Harry’s hand hadn’t left her back through all of her ranting, and continued to slide slowly up and down her spine. She shivered under his touch, and Harry’s hand flew off her. He lay it flat against the porch behind them instead. “Sorry,” he muttered. She was about to tell him that it was fine, but he started talking before she could get a word out. “I’m sure your dad will come around eventually.”

“Not everyone’s as eager as you to be my friend, Harry,” Fiona replied, casting a sideways glance at him.

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I am remarkably resilient.”

When she didn’t turn away, Harry’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I’m not very good at showing it, but I… I like having you around. So next time I tell you to go away, don’t listen to me. I don’t know what I’m talking about, because you’re… you’re good for me, I think.”

It was the best she could do, and Harry understood that. He ducked his head to hide his smile, his hair flopping down over his forehead. “I promise not to listen to you, Fee.”

“Good.”