Crooked Heart

“You came back.”

Harry rubbed at his eyes, yawning. “You were taking too long,” he said, his voice scratchy, and Fiona remembered what Zayn had told her about Harry being impatient. He seemed to focus on her then, his eyes adjusting. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re here,” she said. “Of course you are, I’m such an idiot.”

Harry snorted, a grin curling the corners of his mouth upward. It was all Fiona needed to spur herself forward. She tackled him, both of them sprawling across the couch, her knees ending up on either side of his hips. “You came back,” she repeated, and Harry’s grin widened. “I’m sorry, this has all been so terrible, I should have explained why I acted the way I did instead of just leaving you with nothing to go on, I’m so sorry.”

“All right, calm down. It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” Fiona repeated.

“Please stop saying that, it’s weird coming from you,” Harry said. Fiona still felt pressure in her chest, this time from a truth that didn’t want to be held back any longer. “I don’t mean that in a bad way, it’s just you’re more the sort to show rather than tell and I understand that now, with—”

“I love you.”

Fiona wondered if this was how Harry had felt after he said it. The silence seemed loud, somehow, and she started to move off of him, worrying that she’d done it wrong, said something wrong, that it was all wrong.

But then Harry’s hands found her face and he pulled her back down, their mouths crashing together in a desperate mess of lips and teeth and tongues. Fiona almost laughed, the worry slipping off her as Harry kissed her over and over again and reassured her that it was going to be okay. The horribleness of the past week seemed far away now that she was here, and it was all over.

She propped herself up on Harry’s chest, rolling her lips together. He didn’t seem too pleased for the snogging to be put on hold, but he didn’t start complaining, so she figured she had a few seconds. “You know this wasn’t about you, right?” she asked.

Harry’s eyes were sad, but he smiled nonetheless. He ran a hand up her arm, brushing the hair off her shoulder. “Let’s not talk about it now, okay? This week has been hell, I just want to celebrate the fact that it’s finally done with.”

“But in the morning?”

“Over tea and whatever greasy breakfast you like.”

“I want to be able to tell you things,” she said. Harry grabbed her hand on his chest and gave it a squeeze. “It’s part of being honest, right?”

“It’d certainly help if you told me what was going on up there,” he replied slowly. “But I guess I realize now that I can’t just expect it to happen when I want it to.”

Having discussions about being open and honest was one thing. When it came to being open and honest, the subject matter and situation really determined whether or not they’d be able to do it. Fiona couldn’t really predict when her anxiety would hit, or if a certain topic would make her shut down, sometimes things brought up memories or bad feelings without her knowing. But Harry had seen that now, and she hoped he’d be patient with her if it happened again. This was never really going to be fixed, it was just about building trust and understanding, both of which she knew they could do, even if it went against their past actions. The scales might have been unfairly tipped towards her in terms of needing support, but maybe it was just about finding the person who could handle that.

Fiona sat up, still straddling Harry’s hips. He let out a gust of breath and pushed his hair back. “You’re sure we should wait until the morning?”

In one swift movement, Harry sat up and wrapped his arms around her, their faces close. “Fiona, nobody wants to have a proper conversation more than I do, but right now, my mind is…ah, not in the right state for it. Y’see, the girl I’ve been in love with since November has just said she loves me back, so you’ll forgive me if my brain is a little preoccupied at the moment.”

“November?”

“Well,” Harry said, suddenly sheepish. He shifted underneath her, hands sliding down her spine to rest, locked together, across her lower back. “That’s when it started.”

“I kept you waiting for ages!” Fiona was incredulous, and it made Harry laugh. “Oh my god, Harry, are you serious? November? I still thought you were a twat in November!”

“I managed. Didn’t you wonder why I was constantly making you tea? It was a declaration of love.”

She narrowed her eyes, a smirk spreading across her lips. Harry ducked his head, his lips grazing her jaw. “I knew there was something up with that. You always have an ulterior motive, don’t you?”

He met her gaze, and she saw a flash of the mischievous boy who used to drive her up the wall. “Maybe, but it’s not the kind you expected, is it?”

The moment felt like it was happening in slow motion. Fiona carded her fingers through Harry’s hair, eyes gliding over his face. She wanted to commit all of this to memory, while everything was perfect and pure. There weren’t a lot of moments like this one.

“Nothing about you is what I expected.”

His smile was gentle at first, hands shifting from her back to her sides. Fiona’s lips grazed the corner of his mouth, then his dimple when he grinned, and continued along his jawline. She nipped at the soft skin below his ear, and Harry’s hands tightened on her waist. Before she went any further, Fiona tugged on the collar of Harry’s t-shirt, helping him out of it.

“Wait, before we do anything else, my knees are getting stiff.”

Fiona, expecting Harry to just turn with her in his lap until he was sat properly on the couch, had to fling her arms around his neck when he suddenly rose to his feet, a firm hold on her thighs so she didn’t fall. “What the fuck,” she said, earning another grin from Harry.

“I’m not having sex on that couch,” he said. “I’ve slept on it enough times to know that my back would never forgive me.”

“You do have a terrible back,” Fiona agreed. She bit her lip, humming. “What about…the kitchen?”

The suggestion made Harry actually stop walking for a moment. “That’s very unsanitary.”

“But it’d be hot.”

He seemed to consider it, but then kept on going down the corridor. This could have been because he could only hold her for so long, though.

“Ooh, what about the shower?”

“What’s wrong with your bed? It’s a good bed.”

“It’s a boring bed. This is a big moment, we should do something new and exciting.”

“We’ve had sex in the shower.”

“Yeah, but that was ages ago.”

“Fee,” Harry said, stopping again. “I have an idea.”

She knew his arms had to be dying by now. “What?”

“Let’s have sex in Niall’s room.”

“He’s definitely had sex in mine, it’s about time I get him back for that.”

“I didn’t think he’d have the courage to go against you like that,” Harry said, putting Fiona down at last in front of Niall’s closed door. “We should change the sheets, though. I don’t think he washes them.”

“He does, actually, every single week. Niall’s actually a clean freak when it comes to his bed. I think he did it before he left.”

Fiona walked up to the double bed, which took up much of Niall’s smaller room (there was a desk in the corner, a single bookshelf, a small dresser, and a closet), placing her hands on her hips. She thought she should feel weirder about this, but the kitchen would’ve been more exciting.

Then Harry came up behind her, palms sliding around her waist and settling over the high waistband of her leggings. He kissed her shoulder, then her neck, humming against her warm skin. “So?”

+++

In the pastel haze of morning, Fiona sat on the balcony with a cup of tea in hand, knees drawn up to her chest. Half a dozen gnarled remains of matches were strewn around her, one still emitting a lazy spiral of smoke. When she got out of bed half an hour earlier, only a few hours of sleep under her belt (which was mostly due to the fact that she and Harry had been rather preoccupied with each other, instead of an inability to sleep), there was an all-too-familiar knot in her stomach. It was the sort of feeling that used to send her outside for a cigarette so that she could feel settled again. Now she lit matches and let them burn down as far as she could manage without hurting herself.

After all, Fiona still needed her habits.

The door creaked as Harry stepped out onto the balcony, barefoot and shirtless, but in his favourite pair of shabby skinny jeans. He sat down next to Fiona, stretching out his legs, then put a hand on her knee and drummed his fingers over her bare skin.

“Have you been lighting matches?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. Then, “Okay.”

“My hands need something to do,” she said.

“Perhaps you should take up knitting.”

Fiona smacked him.

Harry yelped, but he was laughing too. “What? It’s just a suggestion!”

“A stupid suggestion,” she muttered.

“Maybe you could crochet…”

“You should shut up now.”

Harry rolled his head toward her, smiling. It was a taunt. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Aren’t you scared of me by now?”

“Oh, terrified. I just like to exude confidence as a distraction.”

“Doesn’t admitting it defeat the point?”

Harry ran his hand along her leg, squeezing her thigh. He leaned in close, smirking. “Maybe, but you looove me, so you can’t hurt me.”

“That’s just shit logic, mate,” Fiona informed him. “You’d better watch yourself.”

“Please. If you haven’t killed me by now, it’s not gonna happen. Besides, you love me, so you’ve got a reason to keep me around.”

She couldn’t look at him. After she’d blurted it out last night, Fiona hadn’t said ‘I love you’ again. The weight of the moment had pushed her over the edge, finally getting those words she’d been thinking out into reality. It was going to take time for her to be comfortable saying it regularly, like she saw other people do. And here was Harry, teasing her like it was nothing.

“I do,” she said quietly. His hand on her leg stilled, then reached over to wrap around hers, which had been clenched into a fist. Harry loosened her fingers and slotted them between his own, their palms barely touching. “Are we talking about this now?”

“If you like.”

Fiona had a sip of tea to steady herself. This was the conversation she’d been practicing in her head for a week. “The biggest difference between us is how we express ourselves. And by that I mean: you actually express yourself. I’m just all in my head, or that’s how I’ve learned how to be, because whenever I get the courage to be anything, show anything, other than this bitch I am on the surface, things have a habit of going to shit. You know I actually loved Wren for a while there? Or I thought I did, because we were both angry, and maybe it’s because of her that I got the person I am on the surface all mixed up with all the stuff I don’t—with the rest of me. But I’m terrible with relationships and I don’t know how to love someone, and I think that messed things up too. Anyway, I loved her, and she still left, so don’t say stuff like ‘I’ve got a reason to keep you around now’ because it’s not true, all right?

“And I hate it when you remind me of her, cos we weren’t good for each other and it’s supposed to be in the past now. But then you…you told me how you felt and it was happening all over again, except you were me. And I still fucking walked away cos I couldn’t deal with it, cos all I could think about was her and how I’ve never been able to do this right. My head was in a bad space and then you came out here and…god, Harry. You know you’re in love with a broken person when they hurt the best thing that’s ever happened to them cos they can’t say three words like a normal fucking human being.”

Over the course of her speech, Harry’s grip on her hand had gotten firmer. His frown was deep, and his eyes weren’t focused on her face for once as he stared at the ground. “It did hurt,” he admitted, after a minute or two. Fiona put her other hand over their clasped ones, running her thumb along the little tattoos on his wrist. “I was so ready, I’d been saying it in my head for weeks. It felt right then, y’know? I got caught up in it, thinking we were moving at the same pace. But that was stupid of me, because nobody falls in love the same way. All the fucking poetry I’ve read, I should know that. There’s a million different ways it happens.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing to me. I thought I knew a thing or two about love before I met you, y’know, but then that got thrown out the window. Now it’s happened again, and so I have to start over. Learn something new from all this. We fall in love in different ways, and so of course we tell each other in different ways too.” Harry inhaled deeply, and finally looked over at her. “You don’t have to say it like a ‘normal fucking human being,’ whatever that means, you can say it in whatever way that doesn’t make you feel so horrible. I don’t want ‘I love you’ to be something bad for you. That’s a fucking tragedy.”

The next breath Fiona took was uneven, her vision blurring with tears. Harry leaned in, laying his forehead against hers.

“If it’s all right with you, though, I’ll keep telling you I love you in the boring way,” he continued, his voice slow and warm like syrup. “Because I’ll go mad if I can’t, so we’re going to have to compromise with that.”

She laughed, but it was more of a shudder. “Okay.”

“I’ll tell you all the time. It’ll be so annoying, those stupid words will have no meaning in, like, a week. You’ll forget all about the shit they remind you of, because all you’ll be able to think about when you hear them is how annoying and in love with you I am.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she said, but she was smiling. “But that does sound nice.”

“We’ve got a deal, then,” he replied, and kissed her. “I love you.”

Then they went inside and Harry made breakfast. It was greasy and unhealthy (except for the spinach he threw in before Fiona could stop him), and the best breakfast she’d ever had. They ate on the couch, mindless television as their background noise. It was strange to think that this was what they were doing not half an hour after what was one of the most honest conversations of Fiona’s life. Many of those other honest conversations had been with Harry, in part because that was one of the only things he asked of her. Honesty was important to him, and Fiona wanted it to be something she could give without a struggle. That was an uphill battle, after years of hiding behind anger and sarcasm, but it was getting easier and easier to open up to him every time they had a serious conversation.

“What are we doing for Niall’s graduation?” Harry asked, taking his and Fiona’s plates over to the sink.

“I was thinking of having everyone over here for a night of heavy drinking.”

“We should invite his Model UN friends.”

This was a good idea, but Fiona didn’t know any of Niall’s Model UN friends. That was a whole other part of his life that rarely intersected with the part she was in. “How are we supposed to get in touch with them?”

“This is the twenty-first century, Fee,” Harry said. “We find them on Facebook, obviously.”

“But how do we know which ones are his friends?” she inquired.

“We can just invite the committee or whatever they call themselves,” he replied. “They’re the ones he spends the most time with. Then they could probably tell us who else he gets on with, and invite them too.”

“Everyone’s going to have to split the bill for the alcohol, though, there’s no way I’m paying for all of it.”

“I’ll talk to Louis and Zayn,” Harry said. “Is there anything else you wanted to do?”

“Yes, actually,” she said. Harry sat back down, and Fiona turned toward him with a smile. “I want you to make a cake.”

His eyes lit up. “What kind?”

“Why are you asking me that? You’re the cake expert here. But can you imagine his face when we bring out a cake? That’s the entire reason for doing it. He’d go mad.”

“He’d love it,” Harry agreed, reaching for the red Moleskine notebook on the coffee table that Fiona had bought for him two weeks ago. “We’re doing the party the night he gets back, yeah?”

“No, he’s coming back for the ceremony, and he said he’s gonna be with his parents in the evening and won’t be in the mood for a party. So I told him we’d do it the next night.”

“Sounds good.”

Harry started to doodle ideas for Niall’s graduation cake in his notebook while Fiona fetched the Alice Munro book she’d been reading for the last few days. Sometimes she needed a break from novels and other long books, and when she wasn’t in the mood for poetry, she had a few short story collections in her library to choose from. Some had a number of authors within the same collection, and others were like Munro’s, with five or six stories, all by her. She sat with her back to Harry, leaning against his shoulder.

After a few minutes, she felt him reading over her shoulder.

“Quit it,” she mumbled.

“It’s interesting,” he replied. “If you don’t want me reading like this then you’re going to have to read aloud.”

“I’ll just lend it to you when I’m finished.”

Harry grunted, not very satisfied with this response. “Where do you find all these books?”

“This is the twenty-first century, Harry,” Fiona said, tilting her head back so she could smirk at him. “I find them on the internet.”

+++

After it became clear that there were going to be way too many people to fit inside Fiona and Niall’s flat for his graduation party, the event was relocated to Harry’s. Fiona was slightly concerned about running out of alcohol, but then Louis returned from the store with three flats of beer and another two bottles of cheap vodka. At least half of the Model UN club was there, after Fiona had instructed one of the club secretaries to invite those Niall was closest with (this turned out to be, as she had sort of expected, a lot of people). There were some other Political Science graduates that she knew through Niall, and the rest of the party consisted of anyone she’d been able to find who was friends with him. Many of these people, incidentally, had also invited their other friends.

“I think we should eat that gorgeous cake you made for breakfast instead,” Fiona said, nudging Harry’s hip with her knee.

He reached a hand over subconsciously, curling it around her thigh. “Yeah,” he said, a crease between his eyebrows as he watched someone open up the fridge. “Oi! You take anything, I expect it to be replaced.”

The kid flipped Harry the bird, but didn’t take anything from the fridge.

“You’re acting like a dad,” Fiona muttered, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Have a drink and chill out.”

“If someone eats the expensive food I buy for my recipes, they have to pay me back for it,” Harry said, indignant. “I’m not a bloody millionaire! If they can’t tell the difference between prosciutto and serrano ham then they don’t deserve to eat it.”

Fiona kissed his temple, keeping her face close. “You know I can’t tell the difference, right? Those words mean absolutely nothing to me.”

“Remember the pizza we had at that really dark restaurant?”

“It was delicious. Wait, is this the place with the creepy waiter?”

“Yes. The pizza had prosciutto on it.”

“The thin meat?” she asked, and Harry nodded. “My food education continues.”

Cassidy strolled into the kitchen, looking as refined as ever in a sleeveless shirtdress and heels. She got herself a drink and then came over to Fiona and Harry, leaning against the counter to Fiona’s left. “How’s the party going?” she asked.

“Harry’s on high alert for food bandits,” Fiona said.

“He does buy very expensive food,” Cassidy replied, looking around Fiona at the boy in question. “Anyone mistaken the mascarpone for whipped cream yet?”

“They wouldn’t even get close enough to do that,” Fiona said, while Harry scoffed.

“Mascarpone and whipped cream are completely different, only a fool would—”

Fiona couldn’t help herself. “What’s mascarpone?”

Cassidy laughed, knowing that Fiona was just teasing. Harry probably did too, but he still got into a fuss — moving out from under her arm so he could stand in front of her, hands on his hips. “Food education lesson number 72: mascarpone is a variant of cream cheese from Italy, most notably used in tiramisu.”

“72?” Cassidy piped up.

“He just makes up random numbers,” Fiona supplied. “The last one was number 328.”

“Was it?” Harry asked.

With a wide smile, Fiona reached for the collar of Harry’s loudly printed shirt. “I’ve been paying attention.”

She draped her arms over his shoulders, fingers tangling in the curls that swept past the nape of his neck. Harry responded accordingly, situating himself between her legs and looping his arms around her. The height of the counter allowed Harry to rest his head in the crook of Fiona’s neck without it being uncomfortable, and he let out a sigh against her collarbone that sounded a lot like ‘I love you.’

“You two are one of the most cuddly couples I know,” Cassidy observed, sipping her drink.

“It’s his fault,” said Fiona. “I used to hate those couples that were always touching each other. Now I’ve got this to deal with.”

“And yet you don’t push me away,” Harry pressed a kiss to her neck, humming again. “Tell me if someone tries to eat anything that isn’t from the designated food area.”

“Well, now that I know how to differentiate my hams and cream cheeses, I’m sure I’ll be able to do that,” Fiona replied dryly.

Zayn wandered in, mumbled something in Cassidy’s ear, and the two of them took off. Fiona didn’t mind being separate from the energy of the party — the kitchen had a nice lowkey tone in comparison to the other active rooms of the house, which were for beer pong, dancing, and other loud party activities. She used to like being in the busiest room, dancing with strangers, taking smoking breaks when she needed to.

But having a spot, away from the action where actual conversation could be had, was fun in its own way. Her friends would filter in and out, stopping to chat while they refilled their drinks or grabbed a snack. It had also occurred to Fiona that she was now one of Those Couples who remained attached at the hip for the entire party, who drew people’s attention and sometimes got called out for excessive PDA. She and Harry had been together for long enough to be recognized as An Established Couple, rather than two people dating. It was a kind of status she’d only ever achieved with Wren before, and even then half the time people didn’t realize they were actually together, having put on their heteronormative glasses on when they left the house.

With Harry, who many more people knew despite the fact that he wasn’t in uni anymore, Fiona was now The Girlfriend. The rest of her identity, regardless of how important other aspects of it were, had been washed away by this one thing. Similarly, to her acquaintances that Harry didn’t know, he was now The Boyfriend. It only ever really hit her that this was the case when someone she didn’t know very well came up, and the entire conversation centred around her and Harry’s relationship. People wanted to know things that Fiona didn’t want to tell them, so she pursed her lips and let Harry and his better people skills handle the talking.

“Fiona!”

Harry detached from Fiona so that she could talk to Allison without her voice being muffled by his erratic hair. His mouth quirked when he spotted the person being dragged along by Allison: Liam Payne.

“Hey, guys,” Fiona said cheerfully.

Allison and Liam’s relationship was only a week or two old; they had finally started dating regularly after a few casual meet-ups. And unless Liam had brought Allison to a party at his place that Fiona didn’t know about (this seemed unlikely), then this was their first as a couple. Liam, who was just as friendly and open with people as Niall, waved and smiled at a few other people in the kitchen, but stayed with Allison instead of going off to chat.

“There’s so many people here!” Allison exclaimed. “We could hardly get through the door!”

“Yeah, I saw some freshers, what’s up with that?” Liam asked.

“They’re here to celebrate Niall. Let them have their fun,” Fiona shrugged. All three of the others scoffed at her. “What?”

“You hate freshers,” Allison said, and Liam nodded along.

“You do complain about them a lot,” Harry said.

“Well, if this was my party, there wouldn’t be any. But I am containing my hatred for one night in honour of my wonderful Irish friend.”

Harry smiled, shaking his head. “I’ll make a note for next year,” he said thoughtfully. “No first years.”

“Thank you.”

But Allison cut in. “Hey, we’re having a joint graduation party, remember? What if I want to invite first years?”

“Just don’t become friends with any,” Fiona told her.

“Oh, yeah, if I meet a first year I like, I’ll remember what an inconvenience it is for you and reject their friendship,” Allison joked, smiling and rolling her eyes.

“Good, I like that plan,” Fiona said, and everyone laughed.

“Shots! I need a round of shots!” Niall hollered, crashing into the kitchen with three other people on his heels, including Louis. Niall and Louis been destroying everyone at beer pong for most of the night. When Niall spotted Allison and Liam, Fiona expected him to shrink into an awkward, quiet version of the loud drunk he was now. But instead he grinned happily, jogging over and throwing his arms around them. “The happy couple! Congratulations!”

“They aren’t getting married, Niall,” Fiona said, rolling her eyes.

Niall, flapped a hand at her, still hugging Allison and Liam, who were both stuck in a mix of confusion and amusement. “It’s just so great,” he mumbled, finally leaning back with a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’m glad that you found each other.”

Liam, who definitely had no idea what was happening, just smiled and thanked him. But Allison understood, and she and Niall shared a deeper look. “Thanks,” she said quietly. Niall, in much more muted fashion than he had been acting up until that point, nodded and stepped back.

“Shots!” he yelled, not two seconds later. “Liam! You’re having shots with me!”

Liam allowed Niall to put a shot glass in his hand. Although Niall had singled him out, everyone ended up with a shot of some kind. Cassidy and Zayn returned just in time to join in.

“To me!” Niall exclaimed, and the rest of them chimed in with cheers of ‘To Niall!’

After one more round, Niall wandered off to celebrate with more of his guests, and the kitchen went back to its subdued atmosphere. Fiona was distracted by Harry’s hand on her waist, his thumb brushing featherlight against her ribs and making her shiver, but she kept her gaze on Allison and Liam, who were over by the food. They seemed nervous about doing anything more than holding hands, and kept on looking at each other and smiling excitedly. Being together was still so new to them, and it was cute to watch.

Fiona used to roll her eyes at happy couples, thinking their enthusiasm was frivolous. But now that she was half of one of those couples, things didn’t seem so silly. There was a real person who made her, Fiona Kingsley, with her semi-permanent scowl, smile without thinking about it. Things with Harry had been good ever since she told him how she felt, and even though she hadn’t been able to say it again in the weeks since, the pressure she felt before was barely noticeable now. It was still there, but she didn’t feel like she was drowning in it.

“Were we ever like that?” she asked, sort of directing her words at Harry but also at Cassidy and Zayn, who had come to stand next to them. Fiona was talking about Allison and Liam, who weren’t paying attention to anyone else around them. Fiona didn’t think she’d ever seen two (sort of) grown adults giggle so much.

“You were, and still are, much worse,” Zayn stated, without remorse. He motioned vaguely at Harry, lifting his drink to his lips. “You’re like a fucking limpet.”

Harry tried to look offended, but his expression was closer to one of smugness.

“Like I said, very cuddly,” Cassidy added. “Moreso now than you were when you first started dating. But you two didn’t go about it like Allison and Liam have, did you? I’m not sure they’ve even kissed yet.”

“Oh, they have,” Fiona informed her, and Cassidy smiled at this development. “I got a fucking novel-length text about it.”

“At two in the morning. Not very considerate,” Harry muttered, scrunching up his nose. Fiona whacked his chest with the back of her hand, and he grumbled to himself, rubbing the spot. “If you keep hitting me in the same place I’m going to get a bruise.”

“Sorry, I’ll elbow you in the ribs next time.”

This made Zayn chuckle, though Cassidy looked concerned. “Keep your limpet in line,” Zayn quipped.

“So, is there going to be cake? I heard there was going to be cake,” Cassidy said, changing the subject.

“We’re saving it for breakfast.”

Harry sniffed. “Niall wouldn’t appreciate it tonight, what with all the drink he’s had.”

“I’m sure his hungover ass will be much more cognizant of all the flavours,” Fiona said dryly, earning a grin from Zayn and a sigh from Harry.

“He had better,” Harry said. “That’s the best fucking cake I’ve ever made. My buttercream is ace, you know.”