Crooked Heart

Fiona yawned widely as she descended the stairs, bypassing Zayn and Louis’ rooms on the first level to get to the kitchen on the ground floor. She could hear Harry and Cassidy, the only other people awake thus far, chatting away down the corridor when she reached the bottom step and followed their voices through to the kitchen.

Predictably, they were both eating muesli, yogurt, and fruit. Harry smiled widely at Fiona when she entered the room, but didn’t offer to fix her a bowl. He knew how she felt about muesli. Instead, she poured cornflakes and milk into a bowl and put on the kettle, settling in next to Cassidy at the island. They’d only just got new stools, thanks to Louis’ mum, who apparently took one look around and decided that they needed quite a few new pieces of furniture. Though she was glad for it, Fiona didn’t understand how new furniture would help Louis with his spiralling uni career, which she hoped his mum was at least aware of.

“Did you sleep well?” Cassidy asked, taking note of the dark circles under Fiona’s eyes.

They were always there, so she didn’t think that Cassidy should be taking note of anything, but she would anyway. “Okay,” she replied, eyes flicking up to Harry.

His back was to her, but he must’ve been listening because he glanced over his shoulder and smirked. He brought over a cup of tea and placed it on the island next to Fiona’s cereal a minute later. “Fiona slept excellently.”

“Ah, I see,” Cassidy grinned.

“No, he’s being a twat,” Fiona interjected. “He gave me a massage. Knocked me right out.”

“You were so tight, Fee.”

She grimaced at the impish expression on his face. “Please shut up.”

“I mean, I really had to get in there,” Harry continued. “Work it out.”

“I’m going to hit you,” she warned.

“Hit on me?”

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, covering her face with her hands. “I really hate you sometimes.”

It was exactly the sort of conversation that used to get her riled up, until she was practically spitting at him to just ’piss off already’ because she wanted nothing to do with him. This time around, all she felt was weary of his ridiculous comments, and a little bit embarrassed when Cassidy laughed at Harry waggling his eyebrows and smirking like a devil. Fiona didn’t get embarrassed, she got annoyed, so this was only more new territory for her.

“But not right now,” he said, crossing his forearms on the counter and leaning forward. She peeked between her fingers, then her hands slowly lowered to her lap. “Other times, I get it.”

It’d been over a week since their fight and subsequent reconciliation, but things were still shaky. Fiona was back to staying over at his every few nights, and he slept in her bed more often than not, bringing her tea while she studied late and making sure she ate at regular intervals (even if it was a reminder text from work to ensure she had dinner), while Fiona worked her way back to being fully comfortable with him again.

She knew they needed to do something, get back to being themselves again, to being together and okay. Fiona had an idea in mind, but she was having trouble finding the right day for it. With exams approaching in a few weeks and Harry working every night while she was in class all day, they were already barely able to see each other in the daylight hours, coming together when they went to sleep and going their separate ways just after breakfast.

“How’s next Saturday looking for you?” she asked Harry.

He’d been listening to Cassidy go on about some superfood, Fiona cutting in during a pause in the conversation, and switched his attention over to her. “Saturday?” he asked, the word coming out garbled because of the spoon that was still in his mouth. Fiona raised her eyebrows, waiting. “Er, I’m working the brunch service, I think. I have the evening off, though.”

“Can I pick you up?”

“You don’t drive.”

“We don’t need a car.”

“Okay then,” he agreed, shovelling muesli and blueberries into his mouth. After a moment, he looked back at her with narrowed eyes. “Fiona Kingsley, are you taking me on a surprise date?”

She rolled her eyes. “Considering I just told you I’m picking you up from work, what else could it be?”

He beamed. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah, all right,” she said, trying not to show the fuzzy feeling she got from seeing him smile.

"I gotta say, I never expected you two to be this cute," Cassidy mused.

"Oh no," Fiona groaned. "No, I refuse to be cute. Harry, stop bloody smirking at me like that or there won't be any fucking surprise date."

The smirk dropped immediately and Harry shoved another spoonful of muesli into his mouth, and then it was Fiona’s turn to grin triumphantly.

+++

There was approximately a week-long lull before the awareness that exams were coming up set in and the flat went into revision-mode. This mostly consisted of Fiona actually doing revision while Niall faffed about because the fact that these were his final exams of uni had hit him and he was too stressed to actually do anything.

Fiona was finally making progress on her most troublesome course on post-1750 literature. It wasn’t so much the content, but the professor that Fiona was having problems with. They were stuck in a state of disagreement which had persisted throughout the whole term, making her dread going to class because it was like the professor wanted to argue with her, given that he always chose her to speak at some point during the two-hour long lecture. Fiona didn’t mind a bit of back and forth, but she left the class exhausted most days, hating that she nearly got into shouting matches with somebody three times her age who refused to acknowledge that she might actually have a different opinion.

But since she found out he wouldn’t be grading their exams, she’d relaxed a little. Her TA actually listened to what the students had to say (many of which she argued with just as much, and even louder than she did with the professor, until Liam told her to chill out and not threaten anybody, since it was the class they had together) and wouldn’t fail her for saying something controversial or even just different from what they were told in lecture.

She realized she was making unnecessary angry red lines in her book with a pen just thinking about the class and inhaled deeply, craving a cigarette for a brief moment before she suddenly remembered something Harry had said to her ages ago: “Next time you want a cigarette, think about why. Now ask yourself if it’s worth it.”

Her passive aggressive idiot of a professor certainly wasn’t. So she stayed where she was, reaching for the cup of tea sitting on her bedside table instead.

While she worked on her study review, Fiona fielded texts from Liam on whether or not she’d come to his party on the weekend (she couldn’t, because she and Harry had their surprise date on Saturday), if they were both going to die in their exam (they weren’t, because their professor wasn’t grading it and they had a nice TA), and whether or not he should ask out some girl in their seminar (Fiona had no idea who the girl was, since she didn’t even know the names of half of the people in their class but had sent a single thumbs up emoji in response). Liam didn’t talk to her about his dating life, the only discussion they had on the subject since the whole ‘lesbian mishap’ was Liam teasing her about Harry. Fiona just assumed he’d been pulling all this time, but if she was wrong about his personality she wouldn't be surprised if she was totally off on his romantic tendencies as well. Given that he’d pursued her for several months despite being let down every time, and somehow managed to switch into being one of her good friends with only minor bumps along the way, Fiona had absolutely no clue what to make of Liam. In that way, she was relieved that they never talked about it. Until he sent her that text asking about Willow somebody, that is.

She was contemplating a response to his latest message when Niall flew in through the open doorway (he’d run into the door twice already this week, so she’d been keeping it open for safety purposes at Harry's advisement) and sprawled across the end of her bed, nudging her foot with his elbow.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

Fiona looked up from her phone. “Are you referring to before or after you got here?”

“Revision not going your way?” Niall reached over and grabbed the notebook from the quilt next to her hip, skimming the pages. “This Lord Byron fellow sounds like a right git.”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” she sighed, snatching it back. “Why is it I can’t get an hour’s work done without you coming in here or Liam texting me about what bloody jeans to wear on his date?”

“Liam’s going on a date?”

“He has to ask her first,” Fiona said. “But from what he’s been telling me, she’ll probably say yes.”

Niall slotted his hands behind his head. “She in your program? What’s her name — maybe I know her.”

“Maybe you’ve fucked her, you mean.”

“Well, yeah.”

“It’s Willow something.”

Niall’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated the name, then they widened. “Willow Jones?” After checking her messages from Liam, Fiona nodded. “He definitely should. She’s great.”

“Great as in nice or great as in a good lay?” Fiona inquired.

“Both. We went out twice — last year, I think.”

“How is it you remember every single girl you’ve gone out with and yet you forget to pick up milk on your way home?”

“It’s a totally different kind of memory,” Niall informed her smartly. “My short term memory’s shite, but I’ve got near perfect long term memory.”

“Right,” she said. “Did you come in here for anything or were you just going to bother me with useless information about your memory?”

Niall stretched out on the foot of the bed. “Well, it’s exams coming up, which means your birthday’s also right around the corner.”

She looked over at him. “I told you, I don’t want to do anything this year.”

“I know, I just thought we could—”

“No, Niall. Besides, I’m working.”

At that, he bolted upright. “What? On your birthday? Fiona, you hate that job. Why’d you put yourself through a shift on your fucking birthday?”

“Because it guarantees that you won’t be able to drag me out to some do I don’t want to be a part of.”

He frowned. “I was only going to recommend we go to the pub.”

“I don’t want to do that either.”

“But we got pissed on your birthday last year before exams and it was brilliant! Perfect way to take the edge off the most stressful time of the year.”

“Well, you can still go out.”

“It won’t be the same without you.”

“It’s my birthday,” she reminded him. “I get to do what I want.”

Niall leveled his gaze. “And you want to work.”

“Yes.”

“I just don’t understand it,” he shook his head.

Fiona shrugged. “I’m not expecting you to.”

The conversation ended, with Niall picking at Fiona’s wool blanket and humming tunelessly while Fiona continued her revision.

Last year, Fiona’s birthday had been brilliant, just like Niall had said. They’d all gotten fabulously drunk at The Gallery and then crashed some party near Liam’s — it might have been Liam’s, but Fiona didn’t have a clear memory of what had happened past midnight — and Wren had gone down on her in one of the bedrooms, then again when they got home. It was such a good time that Fiona had completely forgotten her stress over the exam she had to sit three days later.

Though it sounded like fun to do something like that again, Fiona couldn’t bring herself to get in the mood for another wild night. Her exams meant more this year, and even if she had no idea what she wanted to do with her future, having shite grades wasn’t going to help in the least. If anything, she wanted to save the wild night for after exams, when they were free to do as they pleased and not worry about what would happen the next day. She contemplated suggesting it to Niall, but when she looked up from her notes he’d already left.

+++

Fiona had never been to The Franklin before. She hardly even went into that neighbourhood, unless she wanted some posh stationery or she’d been dragged there by Cassidy, who needed a new dress for some gallery event. She forgot sometimes that the hotel and restaurant weren't really that far from where she lived, because the neighbourhood where the old building was located bordered the park across from her building, but the areas were so different it was easy to think it was on the far end of town. It was hardly the place Harry would invite her to, and given that he rarely spoke about the restaurant in the first place — something about liking his personal life and work life to stay separate — Fiona walked into the lobby of the luxury hotel feeling absolutely out of place.

Everything was too posh for her taste, with monochrome decor and the occasional accent piece, not as gaudy as she’d expected but still obviously expensive. The entrance to the restaurant was off to the side, and there were people everywhere, since brunch had only just ended. The kitchen technically wasn’t open through lunch, though the restaurant was and people could still get tea, coffee, and a few cakes and things they kept on hand, and then the kitchen reopened for the evening service at five. Not really knowing where to wait, Fiona sent Harry a quick text before wandering over to the open French doors and peeking inside.

It was hard to tell why Harry liked working there, though she knew that the dining area wasn’t a good representation of the kitchen atmosphere, but the place just screamed stuffy and old money and Fiona didn’t like it one bit. Everyone who worked there stuck up their noses at her trainers and jeans; a few of the female wait staff gave her particularly nasty looks, like her presence alone was bringing down business (not that they needed more business, every table was filled and there were more people waiting). When she’d been stood there for five minutes and Harry had yet to appear, Fiona decided to ask someone to tell him she’d arrived. He probably couldn’t check his phone, anyway, even though his shift was supposed to have ended fifteen minutes ago.

She approached the podium where a young blonde stood, a practiced smile on her demure pink lips and not an ounce of discomfort on her face from standing in heels all day. “Hi, d’you think you could pop into the kitchen and tell Harry that Fiona’s here?”

The girl raised an eyebrow, recognition in her eyes telling Fiona that she knew who Harry was. After a quick glance up and down Fiona’s frame, the blonde only looked less enthusiastic about doing anything for her. “Who are you, then? Harry’s working at the moment, and in case you weren’t aware, this is a professional environment. I can’t just go in and tell him some girl’s here to see him.”

Fiona pursed her lips, gritting her teeth. “I’m his girlfriend, and his shift was over fifteen minutes ago. If you’d go and get him for me, I’d really appreciate it,” she said, trying to stay polite. She didn’t want to go and start a fight in front of all these stockbrokers and businesspeople.

“Girlfriend?” the blonde echoed, looking something other than mildly disgusted for the first time since Fiona had gone up to her. “Excuse me.”

But she didn’t go into the kitchen. Instead, she caught up with another girl — a waitress — heading toward the kitchen doors and whispered something to her, both of them glancing back at Fiona. A minute later, a waitress came out of the kitchen carrying a full tray of food and the girls spoke to her as well. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on, and the fact that Fiona was already frustrated by the rude hostess wasn’t exactly helping things.

Fiona understood then why Harry liked to keep the personal and professional separate. Working with these gossips would be absolute hell, and Fiona already suspected that the blonde fancied him by her scowl when Fiona said the word ’girlfriend.’

The two waitresses went back to their jobs after a minute or two, while the blonde returned to her podium at the front. She fixed Fiona with a haughty look. “I’m sorry, is there something else?”

Fiona knew she could be a bitch, but this girl was on a whole other level. There was nothing condescending or holier-than-thou about Fiona’s rudeness, which didn’t make it any less inconsiderate, but she was only really mean when provoked. She’d done nothing to this girl, and yet somehow, she thought it was perfectly all right to be a complete twat in return. Fiona wanted to tell her that the world didn’t revolve around her, along with a few other choice statements, but then she caught sight of Harry weaving through the tables toward her.

In order to teach the blonde a lesson, and maybe because she was buzzing with fiery energy, Fiona grabbed Harry’s cook’s jacket and pulled him in for a deep kiss. She could hear the hostess ‘hmph’ with irritation, but then there was another disgruntled sound that made Harry leap back and wipe his mouth, his ears and cheeks going pink and his eyes ashamed.

“Harry,” said a stern voice. Fiona glanced at it’s owner, a middle-aged balding man in an impeccable suit. “I should hope I don’t have to remind you about remaining professional in the workplace. While I’m sure you’re quite happy to see your…” The man looked at Fiona and wrinkled his nose at her trainers and tatty white tee. “…friend, we are a high-class establishment with zero tolerance for this behaviour. If Sophie and Nathan didn’t speak so highly of you, this might not just be a warning, all right?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll be going now.”

“Right,” the man nodded. He looked at the blonde, who was smirking at Fiona and looking far too pleased at what had just occurred. “Stephanie, surely you have something else to—”

Fiona didn’t hear the rest, because Harry was dragging her by the hand out of the restaurant. They didn’t stop until they were out of the hotel and at the end of the block, at which time Harry took off his cook’s jacket and stuffed it into his bag.

“What just happened?” she asked, her voice coming out quieter than she meant it to.

Harry stared stonily across the road. “The manager is a bit of a tightarse,” he replied. But it was more than that, and they both knew it. Fiona felt guilty, because she’d kissed him just to piss off that horrible hostess, not caring about consequences of her actions.

“I’m sorry for snogging you in front of everyone.”

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.”

“That place is just so fucking posh, Harry, and in the worst possible ways. How can you stand to work there?”

He fiddled with the strap of his bag. “It’s different in the kitchen. The best chefs in the city are working in there. I’ve got a really good shot at making a name for myself in this business by being there and learning from them.”

“Shit,” she raked her hair back. “I had no idea about any of that and I’m—”

But he cut her off. “It’s fine, Fee. What is it you wanted to do now?”

She pursed her lips, not liking his dismissive attitude. Harry was always the one going on about how talking about your feelings was good, cleansing and all that, and here he was bottling it up. But she wasn’t sure how to get him to open up just yet, because she was accustomed to honesty, so she decided to watch and wait.

There was a bookshop just outside the posh area where The Franklin was that Fiona had been going to ever since she stumbled across it one rainy day in March. It was the best kind of bookshop, a total maze of shelves and stacks upon stacks of books of all kinds. The place was sort of organized, with signs that read things like ‘lying autobiographies’ and ‘Romantic twaddle’ and ‘that Bill fellow.’ Fiona absolutely loved it there, but what really made it great was Norman, the proprietor, who was even more of a grouch than she was. He could tell a real booklover the moment they walked through the door ‘just by the look in their eyes’ and though he didn’t tell anyone to leave who didn’t have the right look, he was especially gruff with the non-booklovers. Suffice to say, Fiona aspired to be like Norman. She’d asked for a job once, but he didn’t get enough business to hire on someone else. His wife, Emma, ran the shop on the rare days he took off.

On the way there, Fiona sidled closer to Harry and found his hand, loosely connecting their fingers. She gave them a squeeze, but he didn’t respond.

The bookshop didn’t seem as special with Harry distracted. He went off to wander while Fiona approached the counter, curious to see what Norman’s opinion of Harry was. He possessed observation skills Fiona could only hope to have, and could tell someone’s character with one glance.

“Well?” she asked.

Norman leaned on the worn wooden countertop, scratched and marked with various pens and markers over the years. “Lots of layers, that one. Hard to tell.”

“Really?” Fiona supposed it wasn’t that surprising. She hadn’t known Harry at all for an entire year, had him pegged wrong, but that was her. Norman was meant to have a nose for these things.

Predictably, she found Harry in the poetry section. One of them, at least. Norman had divided up the poetry between works from ancient civilizations to modern poets and everything in between. “Harry, about what happened at the restaurant—”

“Have you ever read Rumi?” he interrupted. He’d cracked open a paperback at random and his eyebrows knit together as he read the page. “I think I’ll get this.”

“If you’re going that far back in time, pick up Sappho as well,” she said, wearing a frown. Fiona didn’t understand what was happening. “But I wanted to say that I shouldn’t have done what I did, at the restaurant.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I kissed you, Harry. Fuck, I basically jumped you. How is it not my fault?”

“Because I let you,” he said quietly, in a self-admonishing tone.

Fiona scoffed. “That’s shite.”

They stayed at the bookshop for another half hour, but it wasn’t the same. Fiona tried to suggest picking up some takeaway on the way back to the flat, but Harry just mumbled and kept reading the Rumi book he’d purchased. A selected works of Sappho was tucked away in his bag. Though she hadn’t liked The Franklin one bit, that restaurant smelled divine and she’d been vaguely hungry ever since they left.

Fiona had to grab his arm so he wouldn’t keep on walking when she stopped in front of a kebab shop. She’d had plans for that afternoon and evening for the two of them. They were supposed to spend ages in the bookshop, browsing the complicated mess of shelves and stacks and talking to Norman about books. They were supposed to go restaurant; small, Italian maybe, and Harry would critique the food even if it was perfect. A walk afterwards, because it was a nice night, and everything was fine.

But instead she was ordering a kebab and Harry was loitering near the entrance and her blood was beginning to boil. He was being ridiculous, and she didn’t understand. He hadn’t gotten into trouble, not really. But perhaps she and Harry had different ideas of what trouble with authority figures really meant.

They sat outside, and Fiona refused to speak to him. She ate her food in stony silence while Harry rambled about things he liked in the book so far, certain lines, imagery, metaphor, only really speaking to fill the void between them. It wasn't like Fiona wanted his manager to walk by, she'd just hated the haughty look on the hostess' face and made a selfish, perhaps not properly thought through decision. Once more, her actions had had consequences she hadn't intended or considered, from acting too rashly in the moment. Harry must know that about her, he knew practically everything else, so she couldn't figure out why he wouldn't just let her take the fall for this one. Fiona was well accustomed to being the one at fault, she could handle it.

"Let's just go home," she said, getting up to toss her plate and napkins in the bin.

"Really?" Harry asked, like he hadn't noticed how awkward the entire non-surprise date had been so far.

"I'm not really up for a romantic stroll, so yeah, unless you're going to stop being a dick," she replied sharply.

Harry looked at his lap. "I—I'm sorry."

"It's clear this whole night has gone to shit. We should pack it in before it gets worse, right?"

A defeated expression came over Harry's features. "I've ruined it, haven't I?"

Fiona sighed. "We both did, Harry."

They began the walk back to the flat, only fifteen minutes away. Fiona knew it was bad for her to be stewing in her frustration, it was only going to build unless she and Harry talked it out.

"I mean it's not like Barrett's Books is my favourite place in the city or anything," she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"You didn't mention that," he said quietly.

She shrugged. "Didn't think you'd listen."

His sigh was more of an exasperated groan. "I do listen, Fee. You just... you don't understand."

Silence reigned over them the rest of the way back to the flat. The incident at the restaurant and what had happened afterwards swirled in her head as she tried to figure out what his angle was. Not only had the hostess been a bitch to her, but the manager obviously didn't approve in Harry's choice of company. Fiona hated that place and their stupid standards. She didn't care how talented the kitchen staff was; nobody should be able to treat people the way they'd treated her and get away with it.

When they got upstairs, Fiona dropped her things and headed for the kitchen, Harry trailing behind. He was still reading the Rumi, and it was starting to annoy her. But she didn’t know how to be angry at this Harry, he wasn’t teasing her or provoking her, just the opposite in fact. Like he was trying to push the issue under the rug — out of sight, out of mind. It was so unlike him.

“Is it because it’s your career?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the cupboard instead of Harry.

There was a soft sound as he shut the book and placed it on the table in the middle of the room. “Yes,” he sighed.

Fiona hummed, grabbing two mugs. Harry wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but he liked hot water and lemon after a long day. “But,” she continued, finally turning to face him. “It’s still my fault."

“Fiona—”

“No, you have to let me talk,” she insisted. Harry’s lips clamped shut and he stared at her, unwavering. It was clear she’d have to do a lot of convincing to get him to switch sides. “What were you going to do? Push me away? That would’ve made you look rude and even a bit violent, which is way worse. I kissed you because that girl and her waitress friends were being rude and refused to tell you I was there, and admittedly, I was being spiteful and a little selfish. I wasn’t thinking! I’m sorry your manager walked by, and that he’s a tightarse. No, that man is a fucking pretentious dickhead. I don't know how you stand him. But it really isn’t your fault and you shouldn’t act like a moody sod just because you’re blaming yourself for something I did.”

“Two people are involved in a kiss, Fiona, so it isn’t just your fault. I know that restaurant, I know how the people there think. Agreeing to meet there was a stupid decision, but I’ve never had somebody as close to me as you are before, or as involved in my life, and I didn’t think about what would happen if my girlfriend showed up in a place where professionalism and high-quality work are the only things that matter.”

But his words, no matter how many layers there were, warped in her ears and only one thing came out. “You’re ashamed of me. You saw the way those people looked at me, heard what that arsehole of a manager said. And you didn't say anything, because you agree with them.”

Shock crossed Harry’s face, followed by utter confusion. “Where the fuck did you get that idea?”

“You’ve seen the house my family lives in. I don’t fit in there either. Of course I would stick out in that fucking hotel — I’m not blonde, I don’t wear dresses, I’ve got this permanent scowl on my face,” she went on, her voice getting steadily louder with each word, as Harry’s eyes widened further and his lips parted so he could fight back. “You want to be one of them, and I’m holding you back.”

“Okay, stop,” Harry cut in, stepping forward. “Just stop talking, you’re mad if you think I’m fucking ashamed of you.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

“You heard what Michael said. If the kitchen didn’t speak so highly of me, I could’ve been fired. Fucking sacked, Fee! For a kiss! Believe me, I don’t have a problem with you grabbing me like that. If we’d been in a pub somewhere, that entire situation would’ve turned out differently. But that hotel and the restaurant inside it are the best in the city, and I’m way out of my league working there. It’s a fucking miracle I was promoted. Don’t you understand that?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “No, because you hardly talk to me about it. The only time you’ve mentioned work is when you were promoted, or when your shifts changed.”

“You don’t talk to me about your job,” he pointed out.

“Because it isn’t my life, Harry. And by the way you’re talking, that kitchen is yours.”

He tugged on his lip, conflicted. “It’s… complicated,” he said.

“No, it isn’t,” she disagreed. “Your career is the most important thing to you. That’s fine, I get it. But don’t try and tell me that getting scolded by your manager had nothing to do with the fact that I was the one kissing you. If it’d been one of those ridiculous waitresses and a dainty kiss on the cheek, he probably would’ve asked for an introduction.”

Harry scoffed. “That’s a completely different situation!”

“Okay, say you’d been snogging some pretty blonde in a fucking floral dress then.”

“Why’ve you suddenly got some complex with your appearance?” he asked, exasperated. "I don't even think about anyone but you. Those other girls... fuck, I can't even tell them apart some days. And for fuck’s sake, Fiona, why does it matter to you if I don’t want to blame you for what happened?”

She couldn’t think of an immediate response and they were caught in a staring contest, both exhausted with the fight and each other. Fiona was in desperate need of a cigarette — this time it was worth it.

Before either of them could say anything else, Niall came in. Fiona didn’t even know he was home. “Has anyone else noticed how much quieter and easier it was around here when you two weren't dating?" he asked in a shockingly casual tone, strolling over to the fridge. He looked at each of them in turn. “Not only because you weren’t constantly making out all over the place, but you argued a lot less.”

“That’s not true,” said Fiona. It couldn’t be.

“It’s worse now,” Niall said with a shrug. He pulled out a beer from the fridge and opened it on the countertop, tossing the cap into the bin before taking a swig. “I mean, before it was you trying to rile her up. Now you’re both proper mad at each other. I really don’t see how it’s better this way.”

It didn’t sound like he wanted them to break up, but the thought was there. Fiona couldn’t even imagine it herself — she was frustrated with Harry, irritated that they were at an impasse, still confused about the entire situation at The Franklin — but she wanted to fix it, not throw it all away just because things got tough. Harry had been right in saying he knew those people, and what he’d implied when he said it: that she didn’t.

“Would you just piss off?” she asked, not kindly, at the same time Harry ran a hand through his hair and told Niall to “leave it alone.”

Fiona looked at Harry in surprise, but the frustration had gotten to him too. Niall shrugged again and left, probably not looking to get in the middle of anything anyway. But when he was gone and Fiona looked back at Harry, all she could see was weariness. “He has a point,” he said after a moment.

“What? Are you saying we should break up?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he stumbled forward to put his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs dug into the hollow space above her collarbones, and he licked his lips anxiously. “No! Jesus, of course not. But the fights we’ve had, they're worse. Not bigger, really, but don’t you just feel horrible? Last time a bit of time apart did us good, yeah? Maybe we should just, like, slow down a little. We did sort of jump into this.”

“We’re practically living together,” Fiona muttered, leaning against the counter. Harry’s hands fell to his sides.

“That’s it,” he said. “I’ll just sleep at mine more often. So we don’t get sick of each other, yeah?”

Fiona didn’t think she could get sick of him. Angry at him, definitely, but she didn’t want him to leave. But she agreed, and let Harry kiss the crown of her head, his hand lingering at the base of her neck, before he withdrew from the flat.

She smoked three cigarettes out on the balcony and sat there until midnight, when Niall came to check on her. He didn't say anything about earlier, just gave her shoulder a squeeze and reminded her that they were studying on campus with Allison the next day. That made her start thinking about exams, and how she was working on her birthday because all she could think about was how different (but not necessarily better) things had been this time last year, and her mood only worsened.