Crooked Heart

Fiona’s birthday fell on a Sunday. She didn’t get much sleep the night before, and ended up taking a nap in the middle of the day before she had to leave for her shift. When she woke up, still feeling tense and tired, Fiona rolled out of bed and grabbed her cigarettes, going straight out onto the balcony. It was cool enough outside for goosebumps to rise on her bare legs, but she didn’t bother going back in to change.

Halfway through her second cigarette, Niall — who she hadn’t seen all day, because this was the first time she’d left her room and for once he didn’t barge in — came out and gave her a hug from behind, so she couldn’t shake him off. “Happy birthday!” he exclaimed, a little too close to her ear. Fiona groaned and dropped her head, elbowing him so he’d move away. He leaned back against the railing next to her, grinning. “The big 2-0! You aren’t a teen anymore!”

Fiona didn’t respond. She took a pull from her cigarette, watching the city beyond through the smoke that drifted out from between her lips. It looked like it might rain.

“C’mon, aren’t you excited?”

“No.”

Niall sighed, folding his arms over his chest and shaking his head at her. “You’ve been in a really shit mood since you and Harry got into that fight.”

“Thanks for letting me know, I really appreciate it,” Fiona said, rolling her eyes. She stubbed out what was left of her cigarette and went inside, hoping he’d leave it alone.

But it was Niall, and he probably didn’t care that she didn’t want to talk. “Fiona,” he said, following her over to the kitchen. She put on the kettle, intent on keeping her back to him. “It’s obvious that you want him here. Why not tell him that?”

“You’re the one who said we were better off as friends,” Fiona snapped.

“See, I’ve been thinking about that, and I was wrong. You’re much better when Harry’s around.”

Fiona whirled around, mug in hand. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” he began slowly, pushing a hand through his hair. “I mean, you’ve been sort of… I dunno, Fiona, you haven’t been very nice since you two had that row and he stopped staying over here. So there’s clearly a connection.”

“My moods don’t revolve around Harry,” Fiona snarled, detesting the idea.

Niall’s expression was strained. “In this case? I think they do.”

Fiona put her back to him again, roughly setting her mug down on the counter and throwing a tea bag in. She wanted to tell him what for, that she wasn’t some desperate girl who couldn’t be happy without her bloody boyfriend, no matter how it seemed. That wasn’t the situation, but of course Niall would jump to conclusions.

Fiona knew she was in a mood. She wasn’t stupid — it was like everything annoyed her more, the lights were too bright, there was a constant thrumming in the back of her head, her muscles ached. But being aware of it and having other people tell her were very different things, and Fiona despised the latter. She wasn’t just going to be nicer, that wasn’t how it worked. Fiona had a strict policy of not apologizing for who she was, and suddenly deciding to pretend she was happy and content with the state of her life just wasn’t part of her agenda. She was going to be as miserable as she wanted to be, and Niall could go fuck himself.

When she told him this, he just sighed in resignation and went back to his room.

Fiona stomped back to her own bedroom, grabbed the nearest book, and threw herself onto the bed. It wasn’t about Harry. She wasn’t going to let it be about him. It wasn’t like their fight had ended on a bad note, anyway, but it hadn’t exactly ended either. Their solution had been for him to leave, to remove himself from the situation so it wouldn’t get worse. But sometimes, in order for things to get better, they had to get worse. Fiona just didn’t know if that was some silly thing people said or if it was actually true.

Not much later, she had to leave for work. Fiona shouted out a goodbye from the door out of habit, shutting it before she heard Niall’s reply.

Because she hardly talked to them on a personal level anyway, nobody at work knew it was Fiona’s birthday. She wasn’t even friends with any of them on Facebook, because she only added people she liked (there’d been a standing friend request from Harry for months because of this) so there was no chance they’d find out that way. Over the course of her shift, Fiona nearly forgot it was her birthday, which she supposed was the whole point of not celebrating. Only halfway into her break, while she stood outside with a cigarette hanging between her fingers, did she remember she hadn’t called her mum like she’d promised.

Fiona fumbled for her phone, dragging it out of the pocket of her jacket and bypassing the texts she’d been receiving throughout the day. She tapped on her mum’s name, taking a drag of her cigarette while she waited for the line to go through.

“Happy birthday!” Frances chimed when it did.

“Hi, Mum.”

“What, no thank you?”

Fiona tapped her cigarette, watching the ashes crumble off the end. “I’m not really celebrating my birthday this year.”

“Why not?” her mum asked, and Fiona could practically hear the frown in her voice.

“Cos I don’t want to.”

“Well, that’s—” There was a pause, and then her mum sighed. “I suppose that’s your decision. But know that I’m thinking of you, and Eli’s insisted that we have cake tonight in your honour.”

“Of course he has,” Fiona muttered. “Tell him ‘hi’ from me, yeah?”

Frances hummed affirmatively. “Now then, I know your brother and I just came to see you, but we were talking over dinner the other night and we’d like for you to come down to London soon for a visit.”

“You know I’ve got exams right now,” Fiona said, extinguishing her cigarette against the building. She strode over to the nearest bin and tossed it in. “Then it’s summer hols. I’ll visit then.”

“For more than just a weekend, though.”

“Yeah, a proper visit.”

“All right,” Frances said. “Fiona, I’d like for you to talk to your father when you come. I think… I think it’s time for that conversation.”

Whenever it was brought up, Fiona’s stomach twisted into knots. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I could give it a go,” she admitted. “Dunno how well it’ll go, though. Who knows if he’ll want to listen. God knows if it’s taken him this long…”

“Don’t confront him,” Frances suggested. “You know your father doesn’t respond well to that. I know you probably don’t see it as your responsibility to educate him, seeing as he’s supposed to be the one teaching you, but in this situation, he’s not going to get there on his own. But I know he doesn’t want to lose you, dear, and it’s only going to get more difficult the more time passes.”

It was strange hearing her mother speak so candidly about her father, particularly his stubbornness regarding Fiona’s sexuality. Fiona knew it was still going to take time for her mum to start using certain words, to be fully comfortable with the idea, but she didn’t seem afraid of it anymore.

“I know. Perhaps if I had a girlfriend to parade around the house he might actually have to accept the idea that I like them just as much as boys. More than, most of the time,” she replied, a little disdainfully.

There was concern in Frances’ voice the next time she spoke. “Is everything all right with Harry?”

“Oh, yeah, fine.”

“Good.”

Fiona tried not to think about what might happen if she and Harry were to break up, if she started seeing someone new, someone not male, how things might be different. But it would never stop bothering her; not until the way she was stopped bothering them.

When she got home that night, later than usual because she’d gone to the pub for a pint in a last ditch, solo birthday celebration (though the guy sat next to her didn’t seem to accept the idea that she wanted to be left alone until she threatened to dump her drink over his carefully coiffed hair), Fiona found the flat dark. There was light coming from under Niall’s door, and she guessed he was in the midst of exam revision.

She took a quick, hot shower, then returned to her room to find something sitting in the middle of the bed. Eyes narrowed, Fiona strode over, holding her towel to her chest. It was a tupperware container filled with her favourite biscuits: gingernut. Taped to the lid was a folded piece of paper with her name scrawled across it in what was unmistakably Harry’s hand.

She sat down on the mattress, carefully removing the paper and unfolding it. He’d torn it out of his journal.

i went back to that bookshop, your favourite place in the city,

the man behind the counter looked up

and said ‘ah, i get it now’

when i asked what he meant, he said

he can look at a person and know if they’re a goner

the second they step through the door and see

the maze of literature before them

we’re goners, you and i

ah, i get it now, i think when i see you this morning

still yawning from the sleep you didn’t get

the taste of nicotine lingering on your lips,

you smile at me and i know

the thing i’ve known all along

but never admitted

i’m a goner for you

i have written poems about you before

more than i care to confess,

but this one is for you

out of my mind and into your hands

and it comes with a simple question

are you a goner for me too?

Fiona read the poem three more times before she noticed how her hands were shaking. All she could think was that she didn’t deserve this boy, this remarkable human being, and she couldn’t quite believe that he was hers.

Because she’d never been very good at expressing herself this way, Fiona was sort of relieved that Harry wasn’t there in person. She had time to collect herself, to think, to get her phone and compose a message — one that could never really encapsulate how she felt. Fiona didn’t know how to use words like Harry. She couldn’t make them bend, didn’t know how to pick just the right ones, and if she was being honest with herself, Fiona was afraid of them. Words were powerful — she’d learned that in her own life and through what she studied, and in certain situations they could mean the world. Because she wasn’t confident in herself, her ability to use them, Fiona pulled away from situations where they carried weight.

The conversations that mattered were the hardest of all. Those were the ones she didn’t want to fuck up. With her father, her mother, even Eli. But even those were easier than the future conversations she faced with Harry. The ones she knew she wasn’t ready for, didn’t know anything about except what she felt in her own heart and thought in her own mind. The only consolation was that she had learned she wasn’t alone in this struggle, that Harry had certain subjects he shied away from too, even if he was still better at talking about them than her. Fiona knew she would always be more held back than Harry was.

Her message was short and simple, but Fiona hoped Harry would understand how much his gift meant to her.

thank you. I think I’ve been gone for a while now.

It didn’t take long for Harry to reply; she wondered if he’d been up waiting for her to contact him.

I’m glad it’s you.

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, and decided to leave it be.

will I see you tmr?

Bright and early for our run

oh god I forgot about that

See you at 6 :)

+++

It was strange seeing Harry in the daytime more than at night. Because classes were done and all of her mornings were free, he drove over to the flat and they went for a run or had breakfast together. Sometimes he’d drive her to campus, where she met with Liam to study, sometimes he’d stay and spend time with Niall. Fiona didn’t dislike it, but the awareness that she hadn’t been sleeping as well without him slowly crept up on her.

The morning Niall pointed out she’d been drinking coffee instead of tea was when it really hit her. Up until that point, he’d been saying things like ’you’ve been in a constant bad mood’ and ’you look even more tired than usual’ constantly, and other than Niall becoming a massive pain in her arse, she hadn’t thought much of it. It wasn’t exactly news. But Fiona didn’t like coffee. The only times she drank it were in dire emergencies, when she needed a serious caffeine boost. But for the last week, the box of teabags had gone untouched in the cupboard while she poured herself a cup from Niall’s coffee maker.

Louis had stayed over the night before, having escaped his non-study oriented house to get some proper work done at theirs (unsuccessfully). He wandered over from the sofa, blanket still draped around his shoulders. “You have done,” he said, agreeing with Niall. “If it’s any consolation, it’s bloody weird having Harry at ours so much. The whole house is tidier, and there’s actually food in the fridge.”

“Seems like it’s working in your favour,” Fiona muttered, grimacing as she took a sip of coffee. She didn’t like the stuff, and yet there she was, drinking it anyway.

“Fuck no, I like it better when he’s here,” Louis replied. “He did my laundry. That’s fucked up.”

Niall sighed wistfully. Fiona knew Harry had done his laundry a few times, and Niall really appreciated it. “Is he coming over tonight? Harry, I mean.”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Fiona snapped. “I’m not his keeper.”

“Guess I will then,” Niall said, giving her a funny look.

Fiona ran a hand over her face. “Sorry,” she said. “I have an exam tonight, and I didn’t sleep.”

“Is it the one you were worried about?”

“I’m worried about all of them, Niall.”

Fiona’s revision wasn’t so much about needing to know the material. She simply didn’t test well, and it helped to ease her mind if she walked into an exam feeling like she’d done her utmost to prepare, but further down there was a constant thread of anxiety that she could never seem to shake. It interfered with her sleeping pattern, made it difficult to focus, even when she was comfortable with her level of knowledge about a certain subject.

“Don’t you get, like, perfect marks?” Louis asked, sounding a little bit jealous.

“No. I do better with essays and that. I’m shite at exams.”

“See, I’m the opposite,” Niall jumped in, his expression thoughtful. “That says a lot about us, doesn’t it?”

“I’m shite at both,” Louis said.

“How did you get into law school, again?” Fiona asked, leaning against the counter.

Louis squared his shoulders, but didn’t look very intimidating with a fuzzy fleece blanket around his shoulders. “I am capable of taking my education seriously, Fiona. I just don’t, most of the time.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I studied a lot more in undergrad.”

“Ah,” she said, sipping her coffee. It didn’t get any better the more of it she drank. “Right, I’m supposed to meet Allison in an hour. She’s got an exam tonight as well. Niall, try and get Louis to do more work than last night. You two were awful.”

“We studied!”

“Barely.”

“Barely’s not nothing,” Louis said with a grin.

Fiona shook her head at them. “I have to remove myself from this situation, I don’t want your slacker attitude to rub off on me.”

She left the flat twenty minutes later, freshly showered and starving, to meet Allison for brunch. They’d missed Wednesday lunch last week because Fiona had an exam, and this coming Wednesday wasn’t going to work either because Allison had picked up an extra shift at work, so they had settled to meet on Monday at a cafe that Harry claimed served excellent breakfast food. Even though she knew he hardly went out to eat, Harry seemed to know all the best places to go in the city, and could recommend a restaurant based on the restrictions he was given (usually, when Fiona asked, price was a major factor).

The Nook was aptly named, a tiny cafe crammed between residential and commercial spaces, easily missable when walking past. Somehow, they managed to fit a decent number of tables in without making it too crowded, and the exposed brick walls had been painted white and were adorned with lots of mirrors and black and white photographs, making the space look bigger. Fiona was directed to a little table in the back corner where it would’ve been dark had they not painted the walls and installed a grid of lights hanging from the ceiling.

While she waited, Fiona got out the review pack she’d printed out a few nights before, highlighted and marked up as she revised. She’d been trying to study in different ways, hoping it might help, but had yet to find a method that she felt happy with. It all depended on the subject — she studied for poetry-centric courses in very different ways than she did for prose-centric ones — and the sort of exam, along with what she knew about what the professor seemed to focus more on earlier in the term.

“Have you even relaxed since January?” Allison asked, throwing her things down onto the floor and sliding into the chair across from Fiona. “You don’t look like you’ve slept since then!”

“Why does everyone have to point out how tired I look?” Fiona sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I know I haven’t been sleeping. I don’t need reminding.”

Allison sat up straighter. “Why haven’t you been sleeping?”

“It’s nothing out of the ordinary,” Fiona said, waving a hand. “Let’s order. I’m absolutely starving.”

“Tell me what’s going on first,” Allison prompted, leaning forward. “Fiona, you know it isn’t good to ignore things. I thought you were working on that.”

“You sound like a counsellor. Or worse, my mum.”

“Fiona.”

“Can we order?” she asked, but Allison raised an eyebrow and kept her mouth set in a firm line. Fiona sighed. “I don’t know what it is. It’s lots of things. I told you, not out of the ordinary.”

Allison didn’t seem convinced. “I don’t know how it’s been going for you, but Fiona, the last time I saw you like this was August.”

“Thanks for not sugarcoating it,” Fiona muttered, slumping in her chair. “I told you, it’s fine. My sleep’s been bad. It just happens to be going on at the same time we’ve got exams, so I’m stressed about that on top of it. The timing’s all wrong and I’ve got the worst luck, apparently.”

“Well, have you tried—”

“Can we just… not right now, okay?” Fiona asked, her voice strained. “My head’s too full with exams, I don’t want to get into this.”

“You aren’t going to ignore it, though? It’ll only get worse if you do, and I know you don’t like it when I say stuff like this, but really, Fiona, if it does get worse, you’re gonna have to do something serious about it. See someone.”

“I won’t,” Fiona said shortly. “It’s not bad. I promise.”

Allison’s eyes were sharp as they examined Fiona’s face, the set of her shoulders, how she’d arranged her limbs. She seemed content, for the moment at least, with what she saw. “Do you talk to Harry about it at least? He should know if you’re having trouble sleeping and stuff.”

Fiona thumbed the corner of her revision pack. “We, um, whenever he’s around—we’ve been taking things sort of light, lately. I think we got too serious too fast, and it’s been… god, it’s been like, two weeks since we slowed things down? But it’s okay.”

“Is that why you aren’t sleeping?”

“I—” Fiona rubbed her cheeks, her hands moving to cover her mouth before she clasped them together and let them fall to the table. “Maybe. I dunno how I feel about—I mean, if it is him, that doesn’t… I don’t like that. I don’t want it to be like that.”

“I’m not going to pretend I know anything about your relationship or what you’re going through,” Allison began, stretching a hand across the table to cover Fiona’s clenched fingers. “But you know you’re allowed to be vulnerable, right? Nobody’s going to think any less of you for it.”

But that was just it. Fiona’s struggle with admitting the root of her problems, or that she had problems at all, or even simply admitting things about herself, was that people had thought less of her for it. Important people. Her own fucking parents.

“Are you ready to order?”

Fiona slouched lower in her chair as the somber and intimate air around their table snapped, dragging her hands out from under Allison’s. “Could I get the bacon and egg buttie please?” she asked.

“Sure thing,” the waitress nodded, turning to Allison.

“Veggie breakfast, please.”

“Oh, and a coffee as well,” Fiona added, avoiding Allison’s surprised look. “Cheers.”

“I’ll be right back,” the waitress spun on her heel and went over to the counter.

“Coffee?” Allison inquired.

“Don’t ask.”

+++

Harry had brought Zayn, Cassidy, and Louis over to the flat with him because he wanted to cook everyone dinner. He’d told Fiona to ask Allison as well, but she had an exam in the morning and didn’t want to risk staying up too late. While everyone was sitting around talking — Harry across the room in the kitchen intently focused on whatever he was making for them — Fiona had claimed a spot at the table with a book, her mobile buzzing every few minutes with a text from Liam, who also had an exam in the morning and wanted Fiona to come over and quiz him. It was for a course she wasn’t even in, so she didn’t know how she’d be any help, but apparently all his housemates were useless tossers and she was his favourite study mate.

I’m busy

Come on please??? I NEED U

you’ll do fine

it’s an essay exam too isn’t it? why would you need quizzing for that?

Because I don’t know any of this! I always fell asleep in lecture :(

that’s your own fault then

I really can’t come over there’s people at mine

technically I’m ignoring them right now to talk to you

Right on cue, Zayn called out to her from the sofa and asked why she was sitting so far away. But before Fiona could answer, Harry had turned around and pointed a wooden spatula at Zayn. “She wants to be closer to me!”

“What he said,” Fiona agreed, returning her attention to her book. But it was short lived, because Liam had already texted her back.

Fine

I will have to survive without u

that’s the right attitude to have

uni is all about self preservation Liam

Does our friendship mean nothing to u?

grow a pair

That’s rude

well you’re interrupting my reading I don’t care

Jeez what’s gotten into u lately?

Every time we talk it’s like ur in a terrible mood

Fiona stopped replying, even after he apologized five minutes later. She turned her mobile off and left it, along with her book, at the table, and went over to Harry. He had turned down the oven heat, and was taking a quick peek inside to see if whatever he was baking was going well.

The first thing she noticed was the massive cast iron frying pan, coins of sausage sizzling inside it, and then the gnocchi sitting to the side. There were chopped up cherry tomatoes and fresh basil on the cutting board, and the only spices she could see were salt and pepper.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, sensing she was nearby, and the corner of his mouth curved up, dimple indenting his cheek. “This recipe is easy. You can help, if you want.”

“You’ll let me near the food?”

“I’ve already chopped everything up,” he said, waving a hand over the tomatoes and basil. “You’d just be throwing ingredients into the pan, really.”

She grinned. “That sounds like something I could manage. What’s in the oven?”

“Gourgères. They’re basic French pastry, just with cheese added.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“Everything sounds fancy in French,” he pointed out.

“Where did you get this pan?” she asked, standing next to Harry as he pushed all of the sausage into a corner and turned up the heat.

“Dinner will be ready in a few!” he called out. Niall gave a particularly loud cheer. “It’s from work.”

“They let you borrow it?”

“I did three double shifts last week. Now, that is pretty standard in kitchens as busy as ours, but I’m still fairly new. Sophie convinced the head chef, Nathan, to let me take this and practice some recipes. They’re really encouraging me to try all these different things, learn through practice, y’know? I’m very lucky that they’re so supportive of it.”

She bumped his hip with hers. “It’s cos they see how good you are.”

Harry ducked his head, and if his hair hadn’t been tied up it would’ve shielded his face, preventing her from seeing his smile and slight blush — though that could’ve been the heat from the pan. “Thanks, Fee. Could you, er, it’s time to put in the tomatoes.” She moved to his other side, waiting for further instruction. “Right, so, they’re supposed to go on the pan with the skin down. I’ll do a few, then you can do the rest. Just be careful, cos it’s really hot. The oil or the juice from the tomatoes might splatter your hands, if you don’t like it then I can take over. Okay?”

“Got it,” she nodded.

Harry placed a few of the halved cherry tomatoes on the hot skillet, then shifted over so Fiona could have a go. He was right about the splatter, but after flinching away the first couple times she managed to ignore it. When he deemed the tomatoes had cooked enough, he handed her the wooden spoon to mix it all around. The bottom of the large pan was already crowded with just those two ingredients, and it would be filled to the brim when they added the gnocchi.

“You buy such posh ingredients,” she said, flipping one of the sausage pieces so the other side could get brown. “How do you even afford all this?”

“That’s, er, sort of part of the practice thing I mentioned,” Harry said. He picked up the gnocchi, slowly pouring it into the pan as Fiona stirred. “I pay for most of it, but Sophie gave me twenty quid to get the gnocchi and sausage from this special deli. The restaurant makes all that stuff themselves, but that place is the best alternative. I’m going in early to work with the prep cooks next week to learn how to make a bunch of stuff from scratch.”

“She gave you money out of her own pocket?”

“Twenty quid’s not much,” he shrugged. “She gave me fifty once so I could practice some of the more technical cakes we have to do for special events, cos they require a lot of expensive ingredients like vanilla beans and stuff. Sometimes I use kitchen ingredients, but the manager doesn’t like it.”

“Twat,” Fiona muttered.

Harry rested a hand on her lower back. He moved a little closer, lips ghosting over her temple. “I pulled those double shifts to get back in his good books,” he said quietly. “He doesn’t scowl whenever he sees me, so I think it worked.”

Fiona looked up at him. “I’m sorry you had to do that because of me.”

“Are we really going to have this discussion again? It wasn’t because of—”

“Let’s not have it then,” she interrupted. “Not now.”

Harry rolled his lips together, nodding, but not looking very pleased. He was right back to being the one who wanted to talk, and she wondered if it had to do with the smaller amount of time they’d spent together over the last two weeks. He was able to collect his thoughts, get a better idea of his position and the situation. “Okay,” he said.

They finished preparing the meal, and Harry carried the heavy skillet over to the table while warning Niall and Louis repeatedly not to touch it because it was too hot. He got the gourgères out of the oven and put them on a plate, bringing that over as the rest of them sat around the table and Zayn opened a bottle of wine. Louis made a quip about how adult they were being, and Cassidy informed him that he was the only one in the room who thought it was weird or funny enough to point out. For the rest of them, a good meal (usually prepared by Harry) and a bottle of wine was a regular occurrence, with a dinner party of sorts going on at least once a month.

“I’m older than all of you!” he exclaimed, indignant.

Cassidy grinned at Fiona, who was rolling her eyes. “It’s a wonder we don’t invite you,” she muttered.

“Now, listen—” Louis started.

“We really should eat this immediately,” Harry interrupted, effectively ending the argument before it could begin.

Because there were six of them, there was only enough of the gnocchi dish for one serving each. But everyone had at least five of the gourgères, and laughed along while Cassidy and Zayn practiced their wine conversation (there was a function coming up at the gallery that she was dragging him to, with only art collectors, gallery sponsors, and the like invited), exaggerating their enunciation and amping up their sophistication.

Fiona started clearing up while the conversation was still going at full tilt, stacking plates and utensils and carrying them over to the sink. She was rearranging the stuff on the counter so it wasn’t as cluttered when she glanced over her shoulder and saw Harry watching her, Niall muttering in his ear. Harry was frowning, which made her curious, but almost as soon as their eyes caught he broke into an easy smile. He said something to Niall, their whole exchange drowned out by the others talking and the music Zayn had put on earlier, then got up and walked over to her.

“What do you think,” he began, leaning his hip against the counter and folding his arms over his chest. “About me staying over tonight?”

“Sounds good, yeah,” she said, her attention on the dishes.

“It’s been long enough, right?”

At that, she did look up at him. But she didn’t say anything, just nodded. Harry grinned, his hand slipping under her hair as he pressed his mouth to hers. Fiona leaned into the kiss, her lips parting against his, but he pulled back just as she was getting into it. He brushed his nose against hers, a smile playing at his lips, and his hand dropped from the nape of her neck.

“Don’t want to get carried away,” he murmured.

“Please,” Fiona scoffed, then adopted Louis’ Yorkshire inflection. “We are adults.”

When everyone had gone, and Niall was in his room, Fiona and Harry found themselves about to share a bed for the night for the first time in two weeks. He was already stretched across the mattress, stripped down to his pants, drumming his fingers on his stomach. Fiona wasn’t dithering, but she kind of was, checking her schedule to see when her remaining exams were for the millionth time, deciding between t-shirts to wear to bed, taking extra care in removing her makeup and brushing her teeth.

By the time she actually approached the bed, Harry had taken note of how long she was taking. “Is everything all right, Fee?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

She pushed aside the sheets and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. “Well, it’s—the thing is, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“How long’s this been going on?”

At that, she hesitated. She was still pointedly ignoring the connection. But then she felt Harry’s hand on her thigh, his eyes searching her face. “A couple weeks. It’s fine, though, I’m fine. I’m handling it.”

“Are you?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” she replied, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Inside, she was panicking. The implication that she might sleep better with him there weighed heavily on her mind, and Fiona wasn’t at all okay with it.

Rather than let the conversation go any further, Fiona closed the gap between them, carding her fingers through his hair, throwing one leg over his torso and straddling him so he wasn’t leaning over so awkwardly. She kissed along his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, with a determined sort of focus, dragging her hands down his chest and smiling when he gripped her hips a little tighter.

“Fee, stop.” Harry’s hands on her hips were still strong, but it wasn’t in the way she’d first thought. Fiona sat up, pushing her hair back with both hands. “As much as I enjoy having sex with you, I don’t want it to be the thing we do to distract ourselves from what’s actually going on. It isn’t a tool, Fiona.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, starting to move off him.

But Harry’s hands held her in place. “When you’re ready, we’ll talk, yeah? Promise?”

“I promise.”

His grip slackened and she lay down next to him, unsure about how she was supposed to act when he’d essentially just turned her down. Harry was the first to move, reaching across to pull her over, so she lay with her cheek to his chest. It was usually the reverse, but Fiona didn’t mind being the one cuddled this time around.

+++

Fiona walked out of her last exam in a happier mood than she’d gone into it with. It had also been raining all morning, but when she got out the rain had stopped, which added to her high spirits. She caught the bus home, hoping that Harry wouldn’t have left for work yet. If she was going to have a serious talk with him, she didn’t want to start it already feeling miserable. This was just the right time.

She spotted Harry’s car across the street from the flat, and she hoped he hadn’t suddenly decided to walk to work that day. Upstairs, she unlocked the door and toed off her trainers, padding down the corridor in her socks toward the sound of the news and voices.

“All I’m saying is, I’m glad you’re staying over again,” Niall was saying. Fiona frowned, pausing at the end of the corridor, where she was still out of view. “She wasn’t doing well, mate.”

“You really think it’s because I wasn’t here?” Harry sounded unsure. Worried, maybe. Fiona couldn’t tell without seeing his expression.

She wasn’t so dim as to think that her friends didn’t talk about her when she wasn’t around. Everyone did that. But that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“She’ll never admit to it,” Niall said. Fiona could practically hear him shrugging, trying to pass off how serious their conversation was. “But I think so.”

“I guess… I mean, I’m glad you told me before,” Harry said. Fiona — who’d been slouched against the wall, her skin feeling hot as she eavesdropped — stood up straighter. “When you said I should start staying here again because I made her better, I didn’t really get what you meant. I think I do now, though.”

Fiona couldn’t take it any longer. She stepped out of the corridor, hands balled into fists, her heart beating fast. “Oh, that’s what you think?”

The boys, who’d been casually sprawled across the couch as they discussed her wellbeing, shot up and stared, wide-eyed, like deer caught in the headlights. “Fiona—” Harry said.

“You know what? I’ve heard everything I need,” she said, glowering at them. “For the record, though, this attitude you lot have? Thinking that just because I start acting differently or I’m in a bad mood or whatever, that I need a boy to fix it? It’s ridiculous. I expected better of you,” she was looking at Niall, but turned her gaze to Harry. “Both of you.”

And with that, she strode back to her room and threw a few things into a holdall, tugged on her shoes at the door, and dialled Allison’s number on her way out of the building. Her friend picked up after two rings. “Hiya.”

“Can I stay at yours?”

“What? Why?”

“Because boys are twats.”

There was a pause. “Yeah, of course. Both my roommates have already left for summer hols, anyway. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”

“Brilliant. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Wait, you’re already coming?”

Fiona awkwardly fished her travelcard out of her pocket on her way to the bus stop. She knew the schedules fairly well off the top of her head, the next one would be coming along soon. “Yes. Problem?”

“No, of course not, I just wasn’t expecting—it’s fine. See you soon.”

“Cheers,” Fiona sighed, and hung up.

In the span of twenty minutes, after getting out of her exam, Fiona’s positive mood had been trampled to dust. She sat at the back of the bus, ignoring as texts started chiming in on her phone, turning the whole thing off before she reached the stop nearest Allison’s.

Once she was off the bus, Fiona paused to light a cigarette. She smoked it on her way to Allison’s, loitering outside the building while she finished, then stamped out the embers and tossed the end into a nearby bin.

Allison had one exam left; it had been scheduled quite late in the exam period, but she wasn’t going to be leaving the city in the summer because she’d gotten a job on campus, so she wasn’t too bothered.

“Hey,” she said when she opened the door, dressed in joggers and a wrinkled t-shirt, the ends of her hair wet. Fiona guessed she’d just gotten out of the shower — or was about to get in it when Fiona called — and that was her concern for such a quick arrival. “Is everything okay?”

“I know you have to study, but d’you want to watch films all day instead?” Fiona asked, ignoring the question.

Allison smiled softly, waving a hand. “Studying can wait till tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said, stepping into Allison’s open arms. They hugged for a full minute, Allison rubbing soothing circles over Fiona’s back. After changing into more comfortable clothes, Fiona met Allison in the living room and they set up for an afternoon of Netflix.

But before they could even pick something to watch, Fiona caught Allison staring at her. She ignored it for a minute, focusing on rearranging the cushions so she was more comfortable, but as more time passed and Allison’s eyes still hadn’t left her face, Fiona started to get irritated.

“All right, ask me.”

“What?”

“You’re clearly worried. Just ask.”

Fiona settled against the sofa, pulling her legs up to her chest, and waited. “Did you have another row with Harry?”

“No.”

“Niall?”

“It wasn’t so much an argument as it was me shouting at them,” Fiona admitted.

“Them?”

Fiona leaned her cheek against her knees, inhaling slowly. “I’d just got back from my exam and I heard them talking about me, so I stopped to listen. Harry only started staying over again because Niall had asked him to, because he thought it’d make me happier.”

“Well, did it?” Allison asked with a frown. “You were in a pretty bad mood the last time I saw you.”

That had been a whole week ago. Because she’d seen more of Harry in the daytime, Fiona realized that she and Allison had hardly spent any time together in the last few weeks. She felt bad immediately for prioritizing her boyfriend over her best friend, but wasn’t sure how to make it better.

“I mean, I guess, but…” Fiona sighed again, shutting her eyes. “Like I said before, I don’t like the idea of being dependent on him. Because I’m not, I know I’m not. But when I heard Niall talking about how mean I’ve been, and how much better it is when Harry’s around… god, it just makes me feel awful.”

“That’s a horrible thing for him to say,” Allison admonished, shuffling closer so she could put an arm around Fiona’s shoulders. “I see what you mean now. Like Harry’s somehow going to fix you, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t… I don’t need fixing,” Fiona said slowly, lifting her head from her knees and staring across the room. “Certainly not by Harry. I think maybe cos it’s been a while since I felt like this, and he’s forgotten what it’s like. And I mean, Harry does make me happy. He’s lovely, and way too good for me. But that’s not happy, y’know? It’s just temporary. Surface happiness.”

“I know,” Allison said. Fiona didn’t doubt that she did — Allison had read far more about what was going on with Fiona than she had herself, but that wasn’t the same as feeling it, so she could only understand so much.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Fiona decided. “Let’s just… what’s going on with you? Have you made any progress with Niall? Are you even still interested in him? I can’t remember what happened last time we talked about it.”

Allison fell back against the sofa, exhaling sharply. “It’s gone absolutely nowhere. Honestly, I don’t even know how I feel anymore.”

“Just tell me what you’re thinking. It might help to say it out loud.”

“Whenever I see him on campus, or with you, I just… it’s awful,” Allison lamented, turning to look at Fiona. “I mean, he’s been with so many girls. I haven’t… I don’t have any experience. God, what if that’s why I’m attracted to him? Cos he knows what he’s doing? That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“It’s not totally unheard of,” Fiona shrugged. “But I mean, it depends what you’re looking for. D’you want to date him?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. What do you—do you know what he’s interested in? If he likes me at all?”

“God knows,” Fiona said. “I wouldn’t want to presume what’s going on in Niall Horan’s head, but you never know, he might be confused too. The thing is, I don’t think Niall’s the relationship sort.”

Allison pressed her lips together in a tight line. Then she glanced over, brows raised. “You weren’t either. A relationship person, I mean.”

“Well,” Fiona lifted one shoulder. “You’ve got to find the right person.”

“So… Niall isn’t the right person?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, Harry and I are the furthest thing from perfect. Look at us. And it took us several tries just to get together in the first place.”

“And how did you do it in the end?”

Fiona took a moment to figure out her answer. Instead, she came up with a suggestion. “You aren’t gonna learn anything from comparing my situation to yours. What might help you to figure out what you’re feeling, as well as what you’re ready for in terms of a relationship, is to quit talking to me about it and ask him out on a date.”

“What?” Allison squawked.

“Listen,” Fiona persisted. “Rather than a drunken almost hookup at a party, if you actually talk to the guy you might realize whether or not you’re compatible. Cos right now, it’s just attraction, right? You need more than that. Besides, once you’re more comfortable around him, having the sex talk might be easier.”

Allison’s brow was furrowed, but she snorted at ’the sex talk,’ which Fiona took as a positive sign. “That’s actually really good advice.”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Fiona mused. “Now, can we watch something? I vote Gone Girl.”