Crooked Heart

“Niall, what’s your strategy for avoiding girls you’ve slept with on campus?”

“I don’t avoid them, Fiona—”

“Yes you do. Now tell me how you do it.”

They were sat in one of the smaller libraries on campus that didn’t get as much foot traffic, having snagged a table earlier that morning and spread out their study materials across the surface. Exams started next week, and in order to force themselves to get some actual revision done, they’d gone where there were no televisions, blocked distracting websites on their laptops, turned off their phones, and gone to the quietest, least-known library on campus.

But Fiona had narrowly avoided a run-in with Oliver right outside the building, when he was on his way out of it and she and Niall were on their way in, and now she couldn’t concentrate. Though she’d only been on campus twice since coming back from London, she’d seen Oliver both times, which was only disconcerting because the university wasn’t even officially open yet. Sometimes it was from a distance, but she’d endured a very awkward conversation with him outside the English Department that she desperately did not want a repeat of.

“I know where they go, usually, and I don’t go to those places.”

Fiona stared at him, lips pursed. Niall had been awfully eager to join her at the library; he’d been avoiding the flat just as much as she was. In her own view, Fiona had a much better reason for it, because the person she was avoiding actually spent a decent amount of time there. But the person Niall was avoiding was only ever there when Fiona had invited her over. He had also been frequenting Costa instead of Starbucks, which couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Is that what you’re doing with Allison, then?”

Niall’s head shot up from his work, eyes wide. “Is that the reason you asked me?”

“No, that’s for something else. I just realized you’ve been avoiding Allison.”

“She didn’t tell you what happened, did she?”

“Of course she did, she’s my best mate,” Fiona said, rolling her eyes. She put her forearms on the table over her book, leaning toward him. “What concerns me is that you haven’t said anything yet. It’s been 2015 for nearly a week and you haven’t brought it up once.”

The Irishman squirmed under her gaze, chewing nervously on his thumbnail and his knee bouncing beneath the table. “When did she tell you?”

“What does it matter?”

“When did she tell you, Fiona?”

Fiona sighed. “She called me from the Tube.”

“So, right after?”

“Yes, Niall. Right after.”

“And you didn’t tell me you knew?”

She eyed him, leaning back in her chair with her arms folded over her chest. She didn’t think it mattered that Allison had told her right away, because they were best fucking mates, and that was the sort of thing you did. Then again, Fiona hadn’t told Allison that she’d fucked Oliver or kissed Harry, but she knew she could be a hypocrite, so she decided not to focus on that.

Right now was about Niall, and why he hadn’t told her.

“I was waiting for you to say something,” she said, watching him carefully. “Well? Are you gonna say something?”

There was a pause. A long one, during which Fiona could’ve finished annotating the rest of the chapter she was on and gone for a cigarette. But instead she sat patiently, waiting for Niall to explain his side of the story. “Did I do something wrong, Fiona?”

“Why would you ask me that?”

“I’ve never had a girl run out on me like that before,” he said, oddly quiet. Like he wasn’t very distressed about it, just confused and a little hurt. Fiona tugged on a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, twirling it around her finger. “I was being a proper gentleman and everything! So maybe I was a bit drunk, but I’m Irish, Fiona, she must have realized that by now. And she wasn’t sober either, so I don’t see why it was a reason to just leave like she did.”

“I don’t think it was because you were drunk,” Fiona said.

“Then why’d she look at me like I was mad! She kissed me, Fiona, I was only doing what any lad would do by kissing her back!”

“You took her back to the hostel, Niall.”

“Hey, I don’t think I read the situation wrong. I’ve done this a few times, I think I know what I’m doing. But as soon as I tried to take off her—”

“I don’t need to hear that,” Fiona said, grimacing. She’d gotten enough of an account from a drunk and panicked Allison that night, and didn’t need it from Niall as well. “Look, I wouldn’t let it bother you too much, yeah? She probably just realized that she wasn’t doing something she wanted to be doing, and she removed herself from the situation.”

Niall frowned. “Then why’d she kiss me?”

“Just because a girl kisses you doesn’t mean she wants to have sex with you.”

“Do you…” Niall began, conflicted. His eyes flicked up to Fiona’s briefly before darting away again. “Do you think she’s really upset with me? I don’t want that.”

“No, I don’t think she is,” Fiona said. Yesterday at Wednesday lunch, Allison had confessed that her crush on Niall possibly gotten stronger, even if she thought she’d made a fool of herself at New Years. But Allison had no idea how to proceed, and she’d been avoiding Niall just as much as he was avoiding her. And it seemed to Fiona that Niall didn’t know what he was doing either.

The whole thing sounded awfully confusing and awkward to Fiona, who hated both of those things and wanted nothing to do with them, but was stuck listening anyway because she wanted to be a good friend.

Niall sat back in his chair, relieved. “That’s good. She’s a nice girl, Allison, I was worried I’d done something to hurt her.”

“You’re doing just fine, Niall,” Fiona assured him. “Just don’t go and try to shag her again when you’re both too pissed to walk straight, yeah? Both of you will regret it.”

He gave her a mock salute. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There was a brief pause, then: “You’re sure she’s all right?”

“Maybe a little embarrassed,” Fiona said, looking up from her work. She hadn’t been able to focus all afternoon, so the conversation was a relief, in a way. “Nothing to lose sleep over.”

Niall nodded, but still wasn’t satisfied. “But do you—”

“Do you fancy her?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Niall.”

He sighed, tossing his pen onto the table. “I don’t know.”

It was the most she’d ever gotten out of Niall regarding an emotional connection to any of the girls he’d been with. Fiona wasn’t sure what to make of it, or if she should tell Allison. She was hardly an expert on romantic matters.

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t know what to do,” Niall said. “It’s not like asking someone to go home with you. You’ve got to do it right or it’ll all be ruined. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Romance is shit, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

While Niall somehow managed to get back to work, Fiona’s mind had gone even further off track. Thinking about New Years had gotten her thinking about Harry, something she’d been trying not to do and desperately failing at for the past week.

It wasn’t that she regretted kissing him. Fiona would kiss Harry again in a heartbeat, over and over and over again, until her lips were sore and she’d touched every bit of him that she could get her hands on. She wanted him, and it was terrible, because she was afraid of what would happen after. This wasn’t like with Oliver or Stephen or anyone else, Fiona couldn’t just stop being close to Harry, or avoid him forever, or try and go back to how it was before. She wasn’t even sure she could do any of those things after just a kiss, and she didn’t want to, which made it so much worse.

There was a space for him now, one she put up a fight against. But it was there all the same, making her wonder if his job was going all right or consider texting him to see if he needed anything from the chemist when she stopped there on her way home. These were things she’d begun to associate with Harry; simple things that probably didn’t make much of a difference either way but still somehow managed to remind her that it was different now.

Which was why she couldn’t bear to hurt him. She would kiss him again if she could, but he didn’t deserve the rest of it. The stuff that always seemed to come later, after the rush died down. Fiona already knew that she and Harry were very different when it came to romance, and that this would have consequences. She wanted to avoid them before they had a chance to form.

Fiona knew she wasn’t handling it well. Just looking at Harry was difficult, especially now that she caught him staring more than usual, and she wanted to explain to him that she’d done the right thing, even if it didn’t seem that way. But telling him she’d only get bored sounded horrible, and Fiona didn’t want to make things worse. He’d probably try to argue, even if only for the sake of arguing, and she’d have to tell him how it always ended the same way and she didn’t want that for him.

The same thoughts swirled in her head, reminders and reassurances that it was in everyone’s best interests if the kiss faded into distant memory. Because even if she wanted more of him, it was still just a kiss to her. And Fiona knew — and should’ve known on New Years — that it was never just a kiss for Harry. He wouldn’t return it otherwise, and thinking about that made her head and her heart hurt.

So she tried not to, but it didn’t work.

When Fiona and Niall arrived back at the flat, Harry wasn’t in the kitchen. Instead, he was sprawled across the sofa with his journal held aloft, pen skating across the page. Fiona could see smudges and bits scratched out, along with a doodle of a roast chicken. But then Niall cried out about being famished after all the studying they’d done, and Harry (who’d been deep in thought and hadn’t noticed them) snapped his journal shut and sat up straight.

“I haven’t made anything,” he said, looking at Fiona.

Niall didn’t notice how Harry’s eyes lingered on her, or how she was meeting his gaze with an apologetic look of her own. He strolled over to the fridge, dumping his rucksack on the table as he went, and threw open the door. “What did we have yesterday? Jesus, mate, you’ve got me used to eating high class every night. I’d probably turn down Nandos for that chicken you made the other day.”

“Then I’ve done my job right,” Harry said, standing up and sliding the journal into his back pocket in one smooth movement. He strolled over to stand behind Niall, but seemed to be aware of Fiona moving to the green sofa and hauling a cushion into her lap at the same time. “I froze some of the soup that—”

“Soup!” Niall exclaimed. “I can’t survive on soup!”

“There’s spaghetti bolognese in the blue container at the back,” Fiona said.

Both boys spun around to stare at her. It was not often that Fiona contributed to conversations like this. A second later, Niall turned back around and fished the container out, claiming the entire thing for himself, and put it into the microwave.

Harry had come over to Fiona and sat on the arm of the sofa opposite, hands clasped between his knees. She didn’t want to stare at his mouth, but when it moved to form words it was very difficult to look away. “Did you manage to get any work done at the library?”

“A bit.”

“Are you going back tomorrow?”

“Why?”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Because a few weeks ago you said I could go running with you, and so far we’ve gone once since then.”

“Oh,” Fiona said. “I was gonna go in the morning, if you want to come along.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded, grinning. “Can we do a longer route this time?”

Fiona frowned at him. “No. Not until you start running properly. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The surprise in his expression was quickly taken over by mischief. “Looking out for me, Fee?”

“Yes,” she answered, because even if she couldn’t kiss him again, she wanted to try and be a better friend to him. The kind of friend he deserved. “If you injured yourself, how would you work? It’s not like you’ve got the most forgiving of employers, there must be a lot of competition for the job you’ve got. Not to mention Niall would probably go back to surviving on crisps and beer alone and nobody wants that.”

“Hey!” Niall said, as he came over with his spaghetti and flopped down in the middle of the sofa. “But she’s got a point, mate.”

Harry waited a long while before responding. “Fine,” he conceded. “But I still want to go a different way. I need to pick up Zayn’s birthday present.”

“His birthday do is in two days, Harry,” Fiona said. Zayn’s actual birthday was on a Monday, but it was also the first day of exams and nobody wanted to have a party then, so they’d settled for Saturday night instead. There were less than thirty people invited and Zayn was adamant about not making it a big thing, but with Niall and Louis helping to organize the whole thing there was bound to be a great deal of alcohol, and a day of recovery was necessary.

“And?”

“How have you not bought it already?”

“You’ve gotten yours?”

“Of course,” she said. “I got it in London.”

“S’where I got mine,” Niall added.

Harry looked between them. “How, out of the three of us, am I the least prepared?”

“You dropped out of uni, mate. Lost all your time management skills,” Niall shrugged.

“And what is ‘out of the three of us’ supposed to mean?” Fiona asked, sitting up straighter. “Are you saying I’m not a capable person?”

“Obviously that isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Harry rolled his lips together. “You’re a bit… impulsive, is all.”

While the nature of his words was lost on Niall, Fiona understood it completely. They hadn’t talked about New Years, but it was bothering him just as much, if not more, than it was her. But a conversation (or argument) riddled with hidden meaning was not something she was in the mood for. If they were going to talk about it, she didn’t want anyone else to be there, and for it to be honest.

+++

There was a superhero film marathon going on in the living room, spliffs being passed around outside (Harry was adamant about a no smoking policy in the house when he signed the lease, even for parties, and Zayn and Louis had reluctantly agreed to it), and a massive amount of food to satisfy any craving. Most if it was junk, lots of crisps and sweets, and Harry gave Fiona the most offended look when she strolled out of the kitchen holding a hash brownie in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other, her beer tucked into her elbow.

“What?” she asked.

“You were wearing those on our run this morning,” he said, looking down at her lilac running tights.

The truth was that she gotten only a few hours of sleep in the past three days, and her body was running on empty when she arrived back at the flat. She’d collapsed into bed and slept the entire day away, then didn’t bother to change fully before coming to the house, simply swapping her top for a baggy jumper and applying dry shampoo to her hair. She knew she wasn’t dressed for the occasion, but eating crisps and watching Iron Man didn’t really scream ‘full party attire’ to her. Zayn had even been pleased that she took the low-key aspect seriously.

“What of it?”

“You aren’t looking to go home with someone tonight, then.”

Fiona raised her eyebrows and took a bite of pizza. “I’m not going to answer that because it’s a stupid assumption, and also this is Zayn’s bloody birthday party. Even if I wanted to go home with someone, why would I do it here?”

“Niall will.”

“Well he lacks in a sense of decency,” she said. “Now, I’d like to enjoy my food, but I’ll wait if you’ve thought of more ways to insult me.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“You know, I really thought we were past this, Harry.”

She went past him into the living room and took a seat on the floor in front of Cassidy, balancing the brownie on her knee and quickly finishing off her pizza. But no sooner had she taken a sip of beer was Harry positioning himself next to her, attempting to pretzel his long legs before giving up and sprawling them out before him. He leaned his palm next to her hip, leaning in so he could talk to her without disturbing the film.

“I said a stupid thing,” he began, eyes searching hers. “I didn’t mean for it to come out how it did, and I made it worse but not saying sorry right away. You’re just… I never really know where I stand with you.”

“Shhh,” hissed the boy sat on Cassidy’s left, who Fiona was fairly sure worked at the graphic design studio with Zayn.

“I don’t need you to play Devil’s Advocate anymore,” she told Harry, who furrowed his brow. Perhaps it was because he didn’t know about her conversation with Zayn, or how she’d been trying to piece together how his mind worked. “I’d just like you to be—”

“Yeah?” Harry prompted.

Fiona stared at the pout of his lips, how impossibly pink they were, and how much more distracting now that she knew what he tasted like. “A friend.”

The pout shifted into a frown. “Right.”

The boy next to Cassidy didn’t need to tell them to be quiet again, because Harry got up almost immediately and stalked off. Fiona scowled at the screen, not even in the mood to eat her brownie anymore, and offered it to Niall instead on her way out of the room.

Cassidy caught up with her in the corridor. “Has something happened between you and Harry?”

“No, he’s a dick,” Fiona answered, while trying to remember where she’d left her coat.

“Come on, Fiona, I was sat right behind you. The way you were looking at each other…”

“He’s probably told Zayn by now.”

Cassidy folded her arms over her chest. “Zayn doesn’t say owt to me about Harry.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” she said, laughing at Fiona’s disbelief. “Now will you tell me what happened?”

Nobody knew aside from her and Harry, except perhaps Zayn. But Fiona wasn’t sure if she wanted anyone to know, because it would only get in the way. “There was just a bit of… confusion between us. We’re trying to be friends, or at least I am. I have no idea what he’s thinking half the time.”

“Seems to me he doesn’t really know what you’re thinking either.”

“I told him where I stand. It’s up to him now,” she shrugged. “I’m going for a smoke. You want to come?”

“No, you’re all right.”

Rather than going to the garden, where half of the party was, Fiona made her way out front and walked past the gate, finding a spot beneath a lamp post that seemed about as clean as a bit of pavement could get. It was cold, colder than it had been all winter. Fiona zipped up her parka and brought her knees up to her chest, the hand holding her cigarette splayed out to the side while the other was wrapped around her legs.

She could tell that Harry was hurt, and it made her feel awful. But she didn’t know how else to manage the situation without cutting him out entirely. Considering how terrible she was at this part, the after (though they hadn’t had much of a before or a during), Fiona thought she was handling it rather well. The problem was that she wasn’t totally sure where Harry stood, only that it was in a different place from her. One where actions were emotionally-driven and full of passion. Fiona might have let her emotions get in the way at times, but she was guided by her head in the end, instead of her heart.

It was not something she’d learned about herself alone. It had taken a number of people to tell her that she was inattentive, detached, and more than a little bit moody. And maybe they were exaggerating a little bit, but Fiona couldn’t deny that sometimes she had to encourage herself to be involved. She was always too tired or too stressed, a little too much of something that held her back. She was selfish and hypocritical, able give out advice when she had it but somehow never able to follow it herself.

Fiona wanted to be better. If not for herself, for the other people in her life. She wanted to be better for Eli, Allison, Niall, Zayn, even Harry. After seeing how she was at her worst, when she didn’t want to see or talk to any of them and hardly left her room, they were still around. Fiona didn’t think they would leave or shut her out; they weren’t like her parents, who refused to accept the person she was, and not the daughter they hoped for.

She knew that things would be easier, that her limbs wouldn’t feel so heavy and her mind wouldn’t keep running in circles, but getting there was the difficult part. She didn’t know how to get more sleep or not go out for that cigarette when she really wanted it. She didn’t know how to stop analyzing people and things or think more positively about herself and the world.

But that didn’t mean she shouldn’t try.

All of the guests had filtered out by midnight. Niall had disappeared while Fiona was in the kitchen getting more food, but Louis informed her that he’d left alone. Harry was noticeably absent as well, and another inquiry toward Louis told her that he’d gone up to bed because he had to be at work extra early the next morning. Sundays were the busiest day for the pastry kitchen.

Fiona found herself stretched across the big leather sofa with a blanket thrown haphazardly over her lower half (thanks to a high Louis, who’d informed her very loudly that it got cold at night and she’d probably die without a blanket), Zayn and Cassidy curled up on the loveseat, and Thor 2 on the telly. She wasn’t paying very much attention to the movie, drifting in and out of sleep, but she could hear Louis (the only person actually fully awake) complaining about the Dark Elves and Zayn quietly making comments along with him.

“You gonna stop here tonight?”

Her eyes flew open, and she noticed the credits were rolling and Louis was gone. Cassidy lingered by the door, rubbing her eyes and smiling sleepily. It was Zayn who’d asked if she was staying over, standing at the other end of the couch.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Course not. See you in the morning.”

“Happy birthday.”

He grinned. “Thanks.”

+++

The next time she woke up, it was still dark outside. There was a light coming from the kitchen, and someone was banging around in there without much concern over their noise level. When Fiona saw the time, she knew it was Harry in there, because it was just a little bit earlier than when he usually left the flat for work.

Most of time, she was already awake to hear him leave. But a combination of all the bad food she’d eaten, beer, and yesterday’s nap being her only actual sleep for the last three days had left Fiona in a drowsy state.

There was something digging into her back. Once she noticed it, it was all she could notice, and Fiona wriggled around before finally giving up and getting to her feet. She wrapped her arms around herself, padding barefoot through the house, toward the sounds of Harry in the kitchen.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, pausing in the doorway to rub the sleep from her eyes. The bright light made her squint, and she could just make out Harry spin around and stare at her.

“Coffee,” he croaked, his voice riddled with sleep. Fiona ignored the zip it sent up her spine, and took a few more steps into the room. “Were you sleeping on the sofa?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, properly sleeping?”

“Yeah.”

Harry stuck out his bottom lip and nodded, turning back to the coffee machine. “How is it you can’t sleep in a regular bed but you can sleep on that death contraption?”

“What makes you think I can’t sleep in a regular bed?” she asked.

“Perhaps it’s all the times you’ve woken me up at two am,” Harry replied sarcastically.

Fiona leaned against the counter, hugging herself tighter. It was cold in the house, and the vinyl flooring under her feet colder still. Her jumper was thick, but after being curled up under a blanket every bit of her felt a chill.

While the coffee brewed, Harry turned around and mimicked her position. He had on a jumper too, but his was rolled to the elbows. “Did I wake you up?”

“You were being loud.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, staring at his feet. “If you wanted to sleep some more, you could… I mean, I’m not using it, so it’s empty and it’s on the third floor so there’s nobody up there who would snore or anything. Zayn says that I snore but obviously I’m not going to be sleeping there with you so that’s not—”

“What is your point, Harry?”

He cleared his throat. “You could sleep in my room, if you like.”

Offering up a bed to sleep in was something friends did, so Fiona took it as a good sign. If he were still upset with her he might have just grumbled and said something irritating, but Harry was guaranteed to be irritating in any scenario, so she had to tread lightly. Fiona didn’t want to expect anything of him; she was the one who’d made a mistake, and now she had to make up for it.

“Okay,” she said.

“Yeah?” Harry said, surprised. “Okay. Um, do you need me to go up there with you or…”

“I think I can find it all right.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry nodded, slumping back against the counter. “I’ll just, um, I’ll be here.”

“Have a nice day at work,” she said over her shoulder.

Harry’s ‘thanks’ didn’t come until she was halfway up the first flight of stairs.

The first thing Fiona noticed about Harry’s room was how neat it was. Unlike her own bedroom, which was littered with coursework and books and bits of clothing, Harry’s room was remarkably bare. There was a closet, a bed, and two bookshelves. The bookshelves were small, and when she went over to see which books he had she was surprised to see that it was mostly poetry and a few classic novels. Fiona rolled her eyes at all of the Bukowski, but was pleasantly surprised to see T.S. Eliot and Byron in there too. Niall had said Harry was an English student before he left uni, so she guessed that a lot of the novels were for school.

One of Fiona’s favourite things to do was to read before bed, so she scanned the shelves for something familiar. Instead, she noticed that one of the lower shelves was made up entirely of worn, fat Moleskines.

One glance at the orange one on the end told her that these were Harry’s journals, the ones he always seemed to have on hand. Though a warning voice in the back of her mind told her she shouldn’t, Fiona grabbed one at random — it had a red jacket covered in crooked shapes and scribbles — and went over to Harry’s bed. It was all in white, so different from her mismatched sheets and handmade wool blanket, and Fiona stripped off her leggings and removed her sports bra before climbing in. She was instantly enveloped in Harry’s scent, the only absent note from the times she’d been close to him was alcohol.

With light, tentative fingers, Fiona flipped the Moleskine open. There was a date in the corner of the first page, indicating that this had been his journal in March of last year. Under it was a little note, marking where and when he’d bought the journal. It was from a store Fiona knew, down near the river.

A couple just walked past me and the bloke had one of those watches that beeps on the hour. I’m reminded of yesterday at the pub when I overheard Fiona said something about being crooked, not in the ‘not straight’ sense (note to self: make not straight/crooked joke to Fee), but in that she’s got a crooked sort of heart that doesn’t work the same as other people’s. I don’t think her heart is crooked, but she made me think of that Auden poem about Time and lovers and the river.

I’ve just looked it up and the last bit is the one that I was thinking of.

“It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.”

The next page had a recipe, and there was a post-it with an idea for another one on the other side. Fiona flipped to the middle of the journal, a page with distinct line breaks catching her eye. It was another poem, but not one she recognized. Then Fiona noticed the lack of quotations. All of the other poems she’d seen in the journal, mostly single stanzas or even lines amidst reflection passages (she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised at his recall of exact phrasing, since he’d quoted poetry to her before), had little quotations around them. She read the poem again, and found that the voice was familiar to her.

It was Harry’s.

Though the recipes and personal notes, which was what she’d assumed filled the Moleskine, hadn’t seemed like reason enough to keep it hidden, Fiona understood now why Harry snapped his book shut whenever someone entered the room. She suspected that not only was his writing a secret, but his reading was too. There had been flickers of recognition on his face whenever she talked about poems or books, and she sometimes thought that he caught her references when the others didn’t. Not to mention the quoting and the remarks he’d made about the sort of books she had in her own personal library.

But she didn’t think he should hide it. Another skim of the journal and she found three more poems — an ode to asparagus made her grin — some more carefully thought out and structured, and others free of form. It was an outlet she never would have expected of Harry, but that she found fitting all the same. He was thoughtful and observant, and it came out in his words.

She didn’t read the more diary-like pages. But she didn’t go back to sleep either, and grabbed another older journal from the shelf. The ones closer to the present felt untouchable, regardless of how curious she was. It was enough of an invasion of privacy for her to read the poetry he kept hidden, and looking for a hint of what he thought of her felt much worse.

Fiona spent the rest of the morning reading, then tucked the Moleskines back into their rightful place on the shelf. Downstairs, Zayn and Cassidy were cooking breakfast while Louis sat at the table and told them they weren’t doing the sausages right.

“Thought you’d left,” Zayn said, when she entered the room.

“I ran into Harry earlier, he offered up his room for me to sleep in.”

“I didn’t think you liked Harry,” said Louis, barely lifting his head from the table.

Fiona sat down next to him. “He’s all right.”

+++

Despite her efforts, Fiona ran into Oliver after one of her exams, outside the hall. He looked to be in a rush somewhere, but stopped as soon as he saw her and came over. Fiona was tired from revising and not sleeping and wondering if Harry was working on a poem every time she saw him with his journal.

Oliver looked good, with his hair swept up around his head in utter chaos that didn’t quite match his smart jacket and shirt. If he weren’t a TA and she weren’t still thinking about kissing Harry then Fiona might have considered going out with Oliver again. He wasn’t for her in the long run, but he was cute and he seemed to like her. That was all she really needed.

“Funny how we keep seeing each other,” he said, smiling widely.

“Hilarious,” Fiona replied dryly.

“How have you been? Did you have a good holiday?”

She thought about her parents and grimaced. “It was fine.”

“Are you still uncomfortable with this?” he asked, misreading her expression.

“Oh, no, it’s not you. I mean, it’s still a bit weird but I think I’ve adjusted to it now.”

“Brilliant,” he said, and stepped closer. He bit his lip, making her gaze flick to his mouth, which she remembered to be very nice indeed. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m still interested if you are.”

She regretted sleeping with Oliver before. It was a reckless decision, and not shutting him down properly was causing her problems. But even so, she was still attracted to him. And with how often she’d been thinking of Harry (the morning she’d spent in his bed reading his journals hadn’t helped at all), Fiona was in need of a distraction.

The consequences were weighing on her mind, plaguing her with indecision.

“I might be,” she told him, and Oliver’s eyes brightened. “Give me a few days, yeah?”

He nodded. “Of course, yeah. See you around, Fiona.”

“Bye,” she said, and watched him stride off toward the English Department building.