Crooked Heart

Fiona had a night class that she was actually looking forward to, for the first time ever, because they were finally going to be analyzing her favourite part of Canterbury Tales. She actually wanted someone to argue with her, because she hadn’t seen Harry since his birthday and he was usually game for a good row. It had left her in a constant state of frustration, which nobody but Harry was accustomed to dealing with. Fiona felt bad for snapping at Allison during their Wednesday lunch earlier in the week and at Liam at least six times on separate (and pointless) occasions.

The fact that she kept on seeing Oliver on campus wasn’t helping much either.

Throwing open the door to her room, Fiona went out into the corridor with her book tucked under one arm and her cigarettes held to her chest. But at the exact moment she did so, she walked straight into Harry.

She managed not to drop anything, but one of her palms lay flat against his chest and Harry had grasped her upper arm to stop her from falling. They both muttered an apology and sprang apart, and an awkward silence fell over the corridor. Fiona stared at her feet, twirling a strand of hair around her finger nervously, hating how tense it all was. How she could feel Harry’s eyes on her but couldn’t manage to look up, how her insides were twisting into knots, how none of this had ever happened to her and she definitely didn’t want it to start happening now.

Things were certainly different; she had been right about that.

“What’s that you’re reading?” Harry asked. Teeth clamped down firmly on her lip, Fiona lifted her eyes to Harry’s and showed him the book. He spared it a brief glance before looking at her again, hesitancy clear on his face. “Everything all right?”

Fiona didn’t feel all right, she felt conflicted and frustrated. Not to mention the fact that she was still drawn toward Harry, even more so now, but she didn’t know what to do about it. “Fine.”

“You’ve got a class, yeah?” he asked, and she nodded. “Shall I make you a cuppa?”

As he headed down the corridor, Fiona caught sight of the black journal sticking out of his back pocket. It had to be new, judging by how thin and shiny it was, but all Fiona could think about were the scribbled pages she’d read back in his room, all the lovely words she was only just beginning to see had been part of Harry all along, hidden behind his dimpled grin and cheeky remarks.

“I could whip you up a sandwich as well, if you like,” he said, putting on the kettle.

Fiona leaned against the counter, rearranging the book and cigarettes in her hands. “I’ll just eat when I get home.”

“But it’s a three hour class, Fee.”

“I’ll get a muffin or something on campus,” she shrugged.

Harry was adamant, throwing her a stern look as he fetched a mug from the cupboard and milk from the fridge. “I’m making you a sandwich.”

“Harry, you don’t have to—“ Fiona broke off when Harry turned around, grinning. She tried very hard not to smile back. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“Happy to be of service.”

“I’ll be…” She motioned toward the balcony, annoyed at how amused Harry was, and went for a cigarette.

Just as she lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply, her mobile buzzed from her back pocket. Fiona drew it out, seeing Liam’s name on the screen, and exhaled as she swiped his name across the screen to read the message.

It was just a string of emojis, which she’d come to expect from Liam since giving him her number almost a week ago. After missing class and having to get the notes from him, he had a very sound reason for needing her number so they could communicate in future if one of them wasn’t going to be in class.

By what he’d sent her, Liam had spent yet another night getting drunk with his friends. Though he wasn’t in her night class, he was apparently in the midst of a very serious assignment (this was indicated by the paper, books, and double exclamation mark emojis) and still hungover from the night before.

The door to the balcony opened and Harry stepped out, grasping a steaming mug that looked tiny in his hand. He must have seen Fiona scoff at her phone, because he asked who she was texting as he handed the mug over.

“Oh, it’s just Liam. He’s hungover again.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You text Liam now?”

“Yeah,” Fiona said, taking a sip of tea. “I had to cave and give him my number after I missed class the day after your birthday. He got the notes for me.”

“That was nice of him.”

“He’s nice. I didn’t expect it, but he is.”

“D’you like nice?” He glanced at her innocently through his lashes, and it made her feel much more than it probably should’ve.

Fiona felt warm, but she blamed it on the tea. She took a drag of her cigarette, exhaling away from Harry. “Not like that.”

“What do you like, then?” Harry asked casually. “Like that?”

Fiona tilted her head at him, and Harry’s expression stayed the same. “I don’t really know. It just sort of… sneaks up on me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and he ducked his head, his hair falling forward and shielding his face from view.

+++

Ever since New Years, Allison had been avoiding Fiona’s flat like the plague. They’d hardly studied together, because Fiona didn’t like it at Allison’s dorm, and she was sick of the library and always seeing Oliver outside the English Department. But after convincing her that Niall was an idiot and didn’t know what was going on, Allison finally came round.

“You know you’re either going to have to confront him or forget anything ever happened, right?” Fiona said. They were driving back to her flat from campus, after finishing classes at the same time.

Allison chewed on her lip, rolling to a stop at a red light. “I guess.”

“Because he’s probably not going to do anything. I don’t think he even realizes that sleeping with that other girl was a dick move before you two got proper closure.”

Fiona knew what sort of dick move it was, because she’d done it herself.

“He’s not as stupid as you think he is, Fiona,” Allison said defensively.

“Okay, he’s not stupid,” Fiona said, rolling her eyes. “But he is an idiot.”

“Fiona!”

“I’m not going to apologize! I knew he was going to be like this, and you didn’t seem to listen. Niall isn’t going to just magically figure out that you like him, Allison. He’s a boy, for christssake.”

“Does that same logic apply to Harry?”

Fiona didn’t think it did, because Harry wrote poems and knew exactly how she liked her tea and had a cute little smile that he probably didn’t even realize was on his face. He was some rare form of boy that was in tune with their feelings and wasn’t lame about it. Well, maybe a little bit.

“See?” Allison said, when Fiona didn’t answer. “Let me do this my way, okay?”

“Because avoiding him has worked so well thus far.”

“Have you even spoken to Harry since his birthday?”

“Yes.”

“About your feelings?”

“Ugh,” Fiona groaned, banging her head against the headrest. “Can you not ask it like that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Nothing has progressed since his birthday.”

Allison sighed, pulling into a parking space where she didn’t need a permit. She didn’t drive as often as Harry, so she didn’t mind that he had Niall and Fiona’s permit for the spots on the building’s street. As it was, they had to walk a block in order to get to the flat, but it was better than a ticket.

“And why is that?”

“Because I was a nice person and now everything is awkward.”

Allison laughed, climbing out of the car. She met Fiona’s gaze over the hood. “You must hate that.”

“It’s terrible,” Fiona agreed.

On their way to the flat, Fiona got a call from her mother. They hadn’t spoken since she’d been in London for Christmas holiday. Fiona tilted the screen so Allison could see who was ringing, and she urged Fiona to answer it. “She wants to understand, remember?”

“Yeah.” Fiona hit the green button, falling a step behind Allison as the line connected. “Er, hi. Mum.”

“Fiona,” the voice on the other end breathed in relief. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Fiona paused, and Allison nearly got all the way to the building before she noticed Fiona wasn’t following her. “I kinda figured it would be a while before you wanted to talk to me again.”

Though there was traffic and wind, Fiona could still hear her mother’s shaky breath on the other end. “Oh, Fiona, I’ve been a horrible mother to you.”

It sounded as though she were either close to crying or the tears had already started to fall, and Fiona squeezed her eyes shut. “Mum, it’s fine. Please don’t cry. I’m not angry with you, I promise.”

“That doesn’t mean I haven’t made mistakes,” Frances said. “After you left, I just felt terrible. I forgot that being a mother means you love your children no matter what, and I’m so sorry.”

She’d forgotten it for years. Even though she’d tried, Fiona knew she had, Frances had never been able to accept her daughter. Fiona wasn’t sure what had made this fight different from the others, because there had been worse ones, but she was so relieved that the rest didn’t matter.

“Thank you, Mum.”

“I love you, Fiona.”

“I—” Fiona started, and her voice cracked. Allison had come back over, her eyes wide, and she grabbed Fiona’s hand. “I love you too.”

“You know it’s been years since you said that?”

“Yeah.”

“I won’t be mad if you don’t mean it,” Frances said softly. “I would understand if you didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t say it unless I meant it,” Fiona replied. “And you’re my mum, of course I mean it.”

Frances laughed breathily, her voice disappearing as a strong gust of wind came from behind Fiona. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything, I’ve been meaning to call you for weeks but I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.”

“You should have called,” Fiona told her, and Frances hummed. “Mum, how’s Dad?”

“I tried to speak to him, but he wasn’t listening to me,” Frances said. “But I think he’ll listen to you.”

“He hasn’t before.”

“But I think he wants to now, dear. I think he’s realized that we won’t get you back next time.”

Fiona didn’t know what to make of that. Her father had been this impassive, ignorant figure for so long that thinking of him as opening his arms to her as she was now seemed impossible.

“I’ll wait till I’m in London,” she said. “Dad was never good over the phone.”

“No,” her mother agreed.

“I should go now, Mum, but I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah?”

“That sounds wonderful, dear.”

“Thank you again. It means a lot.”

“Thank you, love, for forgiving me. I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t.”

“Well, I’m trying out this new thing,” Fiona said. Allison was smiling at her. “Being more honest. And I don’t want to fight with you, or Dad, anymore.”

“Neither do we,” Frances replied. “Speak tomorrow, dear. Bye now.”

“Bye.”

Fiona stared at her phone long after the calling screen disappeared, still hanging onto Allison’s hand. She wanted to call Eli, to see if he knew or had played a part in her mother’s change of tune. If anyone was able to knock some sense into her, it was probably him. Eli was always honest, the kid that he was, and he wanted to see their family repaired more than anything.

“That was really good,” Allison murmured.

“I’m still recovering,” Fiona said.

“Come on, I think you need a drink.”

“God yeah.”

The flat was empty when they got inside. Fiona found an unopened bottle of wine in the cupboard and Allison grabbed the glasses. They decided to go ahead with their actual plans for the evening and simply add wine, and Fiona folded up her wool blanket and put it in the closet in case any of it was spilled. She could handle a wine stain on her sheets, but not on the blanket her grandmother had made.

Fiona arranged her books and notes around her on the bed while Allison sat at the desk, since she had an essay to write and got priority. After a candle had been lit and one of her favourite soundtracks was playing, Fiona felt more at ease. A weight had lifted off her shoulders, and the conflict with her mother had left a much greater impact than she realized. She could still feel her father’s disappointment, and would until she saw him and made him listen, but there wasn’t the same overwhelming anxiety as before. Something more like determination had replaced it, buoyed by Frances’ apology.

“Hey, tell me if this makes sense,” Allison said, reading out part of her introduction. Fiona sipped her wine, listening carefully to Allison’s wording.

“Yeah, it’s good,” she said. “Just try to avoid using contractions, yeah?”

Allison resumed typing, flipping through her notes simultaneously. Her essay wasn’t due until the middle of term, but they’d already gotten the assignment and it was due at the same time as three other papers and she wanted to do as much as possible beforehand. Fiona usually spent too much time reading and putting off the actual work part, so she admired her friend’s ability to get things done.

Twenty minutes later, Fiona was stuck on a line from a Coleridge poem and it was mostly due to the amount of wine she’d had to drink. Allison had been too busy with her paper and wasn’t drinking anything, so the majority of wine had been consumed by Fiona, and she was starting to regret that decision. She was about to get up and go for a cigarette and a glass of water when her bedroom door flew open and Niall stumbled inside, his hair wild from the wind and his shoulders spotted with rain droplets.

“Fuckin’ storming out there,” he said. “Got inside just as it started.”

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Fiona said, frowning at him as he leapt onto her bed, his dirty trainers hanging off the end and his head using her notebook as a makeshift pillow. “I always hear you come in.”

Niall shrugged, turning his gaze to Allison. “How’s it going?”

She furrowed her brow and spun around on the chair, hunching over her laptop. Niall didn’t seem to notice the very obvious negativity she was exuding and sighed happily. “I had the best day. Do you want to hear about it?”

“No,” Fiona said.

“It started out when this girl spilled her coffee on me, which I realize sounds like the start of a terrible day, but I got her number out of it, so it was really just a show of my brilliance,” Niall said, looking pleased with himself. From the desk, Allison scoffed. Fiona raised her eyebrows, amused by her best friend’s behaviour. It wasn’t often that Allison was rude, and though she had a pretty good cause for it when she was, Fiona always got a kick out of it. Allison was terrible at being mean. She could be sarcastic and serious without trouble, but actual anger was, in Fiona’s opinion, absolutely hilarious.

“So,” Niall continued. “Then I had to go to class with this big coffee stain on me shirt, and the professor is a mate, so he was like, ‘Niall Horan! What happened?’ He always calls people by their full names, it’s hilarious.”

“That’s not funny.”

Niall tilted his head up to stare at Allison. “What?”

“Calling people by their full names isn’t funny,” she repeated.

“You had to be there,” Niall said, waving a hand. “Right, so I told him about the coffee because there weren’t many other people in there just yet. And, get this, he tells me that it’s basically how he met his wife! Not that I think I’ll marry the girl who spilled her coffee on me, of course. But wouldn’t that be a great story? Then in my next class, I managed to charm the professor into giving me an extension. I think she likes my accent.”

“She shouldn’t give you an extension because she likes your accent,” Allison muttered.

Niall didn’t appear to hear her. “What was that?”

“You totally heard me,” she said. Niall shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows. “Oh my god, I’m not repeating myself.”

He looked at Fiona. “What’s gotten into her?”

Allison looked furious. “I’m sitting right here!”

“You brought this on yourself, mate,” Fiona shrugged.

Niall looked utterly lost. “What did I do?”

“You slept with that girl!” Allison shouted, and his face paled. Fiona wanted to hide behind her book, but it was a measly little paperback and didn’t offer much protection. Her quilt and was out of the question, too, since Niall was still sprawled across them. Allison’s anger wasn’t so entertaining this time.

“I don’t understand. You’re the one who—who ran off! A whole month before! I didn’t get off with anyone in that month, Allison, d’you have any idea what that was like?”

“No, Niall, I do not.”

“Well it was fucking difficult. And a man’s gotta do what—“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Fiona interrupted. “On second thought, you can finish it. But wait for me to leave the room first.”

She gathered up her things and left, shutting the door behind her. She would have rather kicked them out, but removing herself from the situation was easier. The last thing Fiona wanted was to get in the middle of a fight between her two best friends.

Though it seemed that Allison was doing most of the fighting, based on what she could hear from the green couch. Fiona put in her headphones, refilled her wine glass, and got back to work. The Coleridge poem wasn’t getting any easier, though, and she found herself frustrated all over again.

While the evening had started out well with the call from her mother, Fiona realized it was only going downhill when she heard the front door open and four voices join the ones shouting from her bedroom. A moment later, Harry appeared, with Zayn, Cassidy, and Louis behind him. Fiona might have been able to get her coursework done alone, if she stopped drinking and started paying attention, but there was no way she’d finish anything now.

“What’s with the shouting?” Harry asked, hooking a thumb back at the door. He was holding reusable bags, probably filled with groceries.

“Allison and Niall decided to have a row in there,” she said, scowling at her book.

“In your room?” Louis asked.

“Obviously, Louis.”

“What about?” Zayn asked.

“I don’t really care,” Fiona snapped, exasperated.

“Okay,” Harry said carefully. “I got to make pasta at work today, and I was able to take some home with me. I thought we could have it for dinner.”

Fiona hunched back against the couch, bringing her knees up to her chest and resting the book on them. “Whatever.”

“Cassidy, d’you think you could give me a hand with this?” Harry asked, glancing at Fiona one last time before moving into the kitchen area.

As someone who rarely did any school work, despite the fact that he was in a competitive and demanding program, Louis didn’t seem to care that Fiona was trying to read and put on the telly, turning up the volume to drown out Allison and Niall, still arguing in Fiona’s bedroom.

Growling in frustration, Fiona stacked all of her things into a pile and went out onto the balcony for a cigarette. She leaned against the wall, safely out of the rain, and covered her lighter to shield it from the wind. The balcony wasn’t blocked off enough to deter it, and her hair floated around her shoulders whenever a gust came past.

Fiona’s cigarette was halfway spent when Zayn came outside. He hunched against the wall next to her, quickly lighting up and then shoving his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie. They smoked in silence long enough for Fiona to finish her cigarette and crouch down to put it out.

“So, Harry told me,” Zayn said.

Fiona turned her head around, still crouched over the ashtray, and peered at him. “Hmm?”

“About his birthday.”

“Oh.”

“I think he’s waiting for you to do something, Fiona,” he said as she stood up.

Folding her arms over her chest, Fiona sat down in the chair. “Yeah, I know.”

“Are you going to? Cos if you don’t, after what you said to him…”

“I know.”

“D’you know what you’re gonna do, then?”

“At the moment? No.”

Zayn dropped his cigarette into the ashtray and stepped toward the door. “Don’t wait too long. He’ll take it the wrong way.”

“But,” she said, tugging on a loose strand of hair. “You understand, right?”

“I think you should just ask him out on a date.”

Fiona laughed loudly, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Zayn was watching her, amused. “I’m sorry, that’s um, that’s great advice. I’ll consider it.”

“Have you ever asked someone out before?”

“I’ve been asked out, does that count?”

Zayn chuckled. “No.”

“Then I haven’t.”

“Give it a go with Harry then.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Fiona said, fiddling with her lighter. “I was just gonna wait for the right moment and, like, kiss him or something.”

“Waiting isn’t a good idea, Fiona.”

“Yeah well, I don’t know how to ask him out so…”

“It’s a pretty simple question.”

She glared at him. “Don’t make fun of me, Zayn.”

“Don’t wait, Fiona.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She flicked her lighter again, letting the flame linger for a moment before releasing her thumb. Zayn had gone back inside, and she could hear him and Louis arguing over which channel to put on.

A few minutes passed before Fiona got up, pushing back her damp hair. But as she reached for the door she saw Allison through the glass on the other side, about to come out. Fiona took a step back to accommodate her, and Allison emerged looking drained.

“I just came out here to tell you I’m gonna head home,” she said.

“Didn’t work it out with Niall?” Fiona asked, and Allison shrugged noncommittally. “Harry’s made pasta or something, I could ask him to pack some up for you to take.”

“No, that’s all right.”

Fiona surveyed Allison’s crossed arms and sad eyes, feeling guilty. “What happened?”

“He apologized, eventually,” Allison sighed. “But it doesn’t really mean anything, does it? I just couldn’t stop thinking about what you said about this being how he is, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault. You were right,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “I told him we were fine, and apologized for overreacting or whatever. I think we’re gonna be okay, like friends or whatever we were before, but I just don’t want to be around him right now.”

“Okay,” Fiona nodded, stepping forward to rub Allison’s arm. “I’ll walk you out, yeah? D’you have your stuff? I can get it for you if you wanna wait in the corridor.”

They went back through the flat, and Niall was sitting on the big couch with Louis, laughing, but he stopped and looked at them as they walked past with concern written across his face. Fiona put a hand to Allison’s back, glancing involuntarily toward the kitchen. Harry had turned around from the cooker, his face set in a frown. Conflict in their group of friends was unusual unless it was between Fiona and Harry, and she suspected that he wanted to try and fix it but knew that he wasn’t the right person for the job.

Allison grabbed her stuff and Fiona followed her all the way down to the lobby, not bothering with shoes. She told Allison to call her tomorrow so they could grab something to eat before they both had to work, gave her a hug, then headed back up to the flat.

Nobody was acting like there had just been a fight, because they all knew that Niall would bring it up if he wanted to. Forcing him to talk was pointless, because he’d shrug and mutter and pretend like it had never happened. He was only ever forthcoming with information when it suited him, which always seemed to be when Fiona was busy with something else.

They wouldn’t all fit at the table, so they crowded onto the couches instead. Cassidy helped Harry distribute the plates, filled with pasta and a fancy looking salad, then took the last spot on the big couch next to Zayn. Louis had moved over to the recliner, leaving Harry to sit with Fiona on the ugly green couch. He stole the orange pillow from behind her and set it on his lap as a makeshift table, then grinned in response to her frowning.

“I was using that,” she said.

“My purpose is better.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“No bickering!” Niall hollered, and pointed at the screen. “I’m trying to watch the news here!”

Fiona flipped him off, stabbing a piece of pasta with her fork. Harry had explained the dish to them already, and though she’d been suspicious of butternut squash, goat cheese and sage, it made a delicious bite.

After dinner, Harry was more interested in looking through Fiona’s notes than watching the telly. He seemed to find her messy annotation of the Coleridge poem of particular interest, and flipped through the multi-page work in her anthology.

“I didn’t know you liked poetry, Harry,” Louis teased. He was way across the room, but Harry had leaned back against the couch as he read, the cover visible for everyone to see.

Harry laughed and set the anthology down on top of Fiona’s notebook. “I did English for a year, remember?”

“Yeah, but you dropped out cos it’s lame.”

“Oi!” Fiona exclaimed.

“The poetry’s a bit ehh…” Harry wiggled his hand, grimacing. Louis laughed, throwing a smug look in Fiona’s direction. She was only confused, because from what she’d see on his bookshelves, Harry read a lot of poetry. He even wrote it. But apparently he didn’t want anyone to know that. “But you can learn a lot from books. The fictional ones, I mean.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Come on, we both know you only did it so you could impress girls by quoting Shakespeare or whatever.”

Harry shrugged, avoiding Fiona’s gaze. “That’s not entirely true.”

“Is that why you did English, Harry?” Fiona asked. She knew he was good at quoting poets, and that some girls might be impressed by that (including herself, usually), but she’d thought he was more interested in literature than that.

“I did get my first uni girlfriend by reading her some Pablo Neruda,” he admitted.

Her jaw dropped. “You did not.”

“I did.”

“Neruda?” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

Fiona was struck with the sudden desire to have Harry quote Neruda to her, because his voice was perfect for reading poetry. “I wish I could’ve seen that,” she said at last, her gaze staying locked with his.

“Oh no, Fiona,” Louis lamented, and both of them looked at him after some hesitation. “Don’t tell me poetry’s a turn on for you.”

“It totally is!” Niall exclaimed.

“That was a private conversation, Niall,” Fiona said, glaring at her friend. “Do I get to tell everyone your weird turn on now?”

“I don’t think poetry’s a weird turn on,” Harry muttered, low enough that only Fiona caught it. She glanced at him and he blinked slowly at her, fighting a smile.

“Nobody cares what you think,” she informed him, and Harry brought his hand up to his mouth, tugging his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, in the exact way he knew distracted her. Fiona narrowed her eyes at him, determined not to kiss him in front of everyone — they were in the furthest possible situation from what she wanted their first proper kiss to be in — and faced everyone else. “Niall gets turned on by glasses.”

“Like, just glasses?” Zayn inquired, his arm draped across Cassidy’s shoulders, fingers plucking at the sleeve of her jumper.

Niall shrugged. “I dunno what it is about a girl with glasses, but I’ve always found it sexy.”

“That’s fair enough,” Cassidy said.

“Poetry is definitely a lamer turn on,” Louis added.

“Fuck you,” Fiona snapped, making him laugh. “You’ve probably got a really weird one. Like… fucking football kits or something.”

Louis beamed, and she rolled her eyes. “I do love it when a girl shows an interest in football.”

“Predictable,” Fiona muttered.

Neither Cassidy or Zayn was particularly eager to tell people their weird turn on, and Harry just smirked at everyone and shrugged, so the subject died after that. Nobody wanted to keep watching the news, either, since Niall was the only one who didn’t get bored of the repetitive cycle. He complained about wanting to watch the political programme that was on next but Louis found Casino Royale while flipping through the channels and half the room shouted for him not to change it.

It was one of Fiona’s favourite films, but she found it hard to concentrate when the lights had been switched off and Harry was sat right next to her. It felt like he’d moved closer, though she hadn’t noticed him do it, his shoulder just a few inches from hers. The green couch wasn’t directly facing the screen, so she was already turned toward him a little bit in order to see properly, and his face was right in her periphery.

He was playing with his lip again, though this time it didn’t seem like he realized he was doing it, because he was too busy staring at her. Fiona’s gaze flicked over and Harry quickly faced the telly, pretending he’d been watching it the entire time.

It happened three more times before she decided to get up and fetch her wool blanket. Fiona took her books with her, not looking at Harry as she stood up and headed down to her bedroom. She tossed her things onto her bed and opened up the closet, quickly switching out of her t-shirt and into a jumper.

There was a soft knock at the door just as she grabbed the blanket out of the closet and slid the door shut. Fiona hugged it to her chest and pulled open the door. Harry stood there, glancing down the corridor like he was worried someone had followed him.

“Hi,” she said, getting his attention.

Harry’s face snapped front, but he wasn’t smiling.“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“Can I come in?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, stepping aside. Harry sauntered into the room, rubbing his palms together and glancing around. He hadn’t been in her room in a while, and it was like he was looking to see if anything had changed. Aside from a few new books, Fiona didn’t think anything had.

“Are you waiting for something, or…?” Harry asked suddenly. “Cos we have definitely been flirting the past few days, and I’m sort of confused as to what’s happening.”

“I wasn’t really going along with some master plan,” she told him, knowing she was being unhelpful. “I told you, I’m not—“

“Not good at this, yeah, I remember. That’s a shit excuse, you know?” Harry said, raking a hand through his hair. “Look, we don’t have to talk about it now, if you aren’t ready to. I just thought you were.”

He nodded, more to himself, and sighed. Fiona stared at him for a moment, making a decision. She steeled her shoulders, gripping the blanket in her arms tightly. “I get off work at eight tomorrow.”

Harry looked up, a smile edging it’s way onto his face. There was a moment where Fiona thought that maybe she could do this, that it wasn’t impossible like she’d thought, but then Harry’s smile shifted into a look of chagrin. “Oh, fuck, I’ve got a work thing. There’s this big event at the hotel tomorrow night and it’s all hands on deck.”

If it weren’t for the conflicted look on Harry’s face, Fiona might have felt completely hopeless. “No, yeah, I totally get it.”

“What about the day after tomorrow?” he asked, not ready to give up yet.

Fiona pressed her lips together in a thin, apologetic smile. “I’m supposed to study with Liam, and I’ve got a full day of classes.”

“Okay, er, well… I’ll think of something.”

“You don’t have to, I mean, don’t worry about it.”

“Fiona,” Harry said firmly, his eyes bright. “I’ll think of something.”