Crooked Heart

There were a great many things in this world that Fiona did not like. Near the top of the list were presumptuous, thick-headed boys. Perhaps the only exception to this was Niall Horan, because he was actually quite lovely under the chortling idiot exterior. Unfortunately, going to a big uni meant dealing with a lot of presumptuous, thick-headed boys on a daily basis. Most of them backed off with one of her signature glares, but Liam Payne had to be commended for his persistence.

Fiona was sat in seminar, not listening to whatever Caroline Bishop was saying about the ode they had to read for this week. There were only ten minutes left, and Fiona had to stop off at Starbucks to give Allison the notebook she’d left behind night before, then rush to the cinema for her shift at six. But by the look Liam was giving her from across the room, Fiona knew she’d be at an even greater risk of being late than she was before. She had tired of his advances after only two attempts, and tried to make it clear that she wasn’t interested, but he kept on asking anyway.

When the instructor dismissed them, Fiona threw her things into her tote and dashed out the door, making it a total of ten feet before Liam caught up with her. He was dressed like he was heading to football practice even though there wasn’t any today (Fiona was ashamed to admit that she knew Liam’s football schedule, since he played at the same club as Louis) and his beanie barely covered the top of his head.

“Hey, Fiona,” he said as he fell into step beside her, like she’d invited him along.

“Liam,” she replied in a clipped tone.

“How’s your essay coming?”

It wasn’t going well, but Fiona wouldn’t tell him that. Doing so would result in a study date invitation, which was to be avoided at all costs.

“It’s fine.”

“I’m having a bit of trouble with mine,” he said. Fiona pursed her lips and pushed open the door to the stairwell, not holding it open for him to follow. He did anyway. “I wondered if you might want to come over before my party on Saturday. Maybe we could help each other out?”

Fiona reached the ground floor, once more failing to hold the door open for Liam. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” he said, not missing a beat. “You’re still coming to the party, though, yeah?”

That was the thing about Liam Payne. No matter how much she disliked him, he could throw a fucking mental party. Since everyone and all their friends went, there wasn’t much chance of Fiona getting out of it. She’d have to dodge Liam all night, but the free booze and easy hookups were definitely a plus. She was never going to get over Wren if she didn’t at least try and see other people, as Zayn and Allison constantly reminded her.

“Er, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Ace.” Liam smiled. He made his way over to the front doors, then turned around and gave her a wave on his way outside.

Fiona made it to Starbucks with twenty minutes left before her shift, and five minutes until the bus she needed to get into the centre of town was due to arrive. Allison was busy behind the counter, cups lined up and waiting to be filled. She somehow managed to interact with each customer, whether it was a passing smile, an offhand compliment, or a micro-conversation. How someone so naturally polite and friendly managed to deal with her on a daily basis, Fiona would never understand.

“Are you aware that there’s toothpaste on your jumper?” Allison asked, not even looking up from the cappuccino machine.

Fiona stood next to the counter, notebook in hand. “Yeah, but I didn’t have time to change. I’ve been in a rush all day. Now take this so I can get going.”

“Work?”

“Yeah.”

“All right,” Allison nodded, handing a cup to a waiting customer before snatching the notebook out of Fiona’s grasp. “We still on for tomorrow?”

“It’s Wednesday. ‘Course we are.”

Every Wednesday, Allison and Fiona went to a little restaurant down on the riverbank. It had been in the same family for three generations, and Fiona was certain that the fish and chips hadn’t changed since they first opened.

Fiona hurried out of the coffee shop, bolting across the street just in time to catch her bus. She dropped into a seat at the back and put in her headphones, avoiding the gazes of the other passengers. The ride into the heart of the city was sleep-inducing, and the mellow tones coming through her earbuds didn’t help one bit. Fiona leaned against the glass, staring at the grey sky overhead, and felt her eyelids grow heavy.

Some weeks, when her insomnia was bad, Fiona found herself in a semi-conscious state when she should definitely be alert, like on the bus. Those weeks were generally terrible anyway, with her irritability level high and her homework neglected because she was too tired to concentrate, but Fiona hated the idea of being caught off guard in a public place. She was more comfortable with her defenses intact at all times. It wasn’t like being drunk at a party, where she had friends around to keep an eye on her.

The staff room was quiet, with a boy who worked in concession napping on the stiff sofa in the corner. Fiona took a left into the locker room, where she encountered one of the ticket girls. They didn’t exchange a greeting, and the girl rushed out before Fiona had even opened her locker. She threw on her work shirt and attached her name tag, twisting her hair into a bun before she put on her visor. It made a dent in her hair if she didn’t put it up.

The boy was still fast asleep on the sofa when Fiona emerged. She rolled her eyes and made sure her shirt was properly tucked into her mandatory black jeans (she was glad, if anything, that the cinema didn’t supply trousers in addition to their unflattering polos) before heading out to start her shift.

+++

A crisp wind was coming off the river when Fiona made her way over from campus. She had another class later that afternoon, and her bag weighed her shoulder down with the books, notes, and computer inside. The plus was that the massive portion of fish and chips she would be consuming would keep her through until tea, and she wouldn’t have to run to the nearest Starbucks in the short break during her seminar.

Fiona paused to light a cigarette before continuing her walk, boot heels clicking against the paved path. There were pubs and little shops along the riverbank in the ground floors of large, former-industrial buildings and narrow, multi-storey houses. One of these houses was navy blue, with clusters of rickety tables out front and a fish-shaped neon sign that indicated the restaurant on the bottom floor was open. It’s yellow-and-white striped awning was old and in need of replacing, but Fiona suspected that the sentimental value it carried meant that the family wouldn’t be doing so any time soon.

When she saw Zayn’s slender figure slouched out front, smoke wafting from his lips, Fiona bristled. This was her and Allison’s time; inviting anyone else was an unspoken rule between them. Not even when Fiona was seeing Wren had anyone else come along to Wednesday dinner.

“Hello,” Fiona said casually, one eyebrow raised at Zayn as she took a drag of her cigarette. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Don’t be mad.” Zayn lifted himself off the wall, flicking the end of his smoke to the street and stomping on it with the heel of his shoe.

“Oh, it’s not you I’m angry with,” Fiona assured him.

“Well don’t be angry with Allison, either. She only thought you could use some different company. Apparently you haven’t seen anyone other than her and Niall all week.”

Fiona sighed. “Don’t forget Harry.”

She put out her cigarette and the two of them went into the tiny restaurant. To her relief, Allison was sitting at a table near the back, which meant she hadn’t completely abandoned tradition. She and Zayn ordered their food and headed over to the table, Fiona sending a glare in the brunette’s direction as she slid into her chair. Zayn sat down next to her, slumping forward until he was satisfied with his poor posture.

“How was work yesterday?”

“Horrible, as usual.”

Zayn flicked a strand of hair from his face and looked over at Fiona. “If you hate that job so much, why don’t you quit?”

“It pays good,” Fiona answered. “Besides, not all of us get jobs in our field of study right away.”

“I didn’t know they’d hire me,” Zayn retorted. “It was an internship.”

“You’re still just proving my point.”

He huffed, shaking his head and staring at the wall instead. “You’ve gotta find opportunities, Fiona. They aren’t gonna come out of nowhere. If you aren’t trying to find something better, you’ll be stuck working at that cinema till you die.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Well, you need to get your shit together. Nobody else is gonna tell you to do it, they’re all too busy with their own stuff.” Zayn did look at her then, amber eyes dead serious beneath long lashes.

Across the table, Allison coughed. “So, er, I’ve been thinking of getting my teaching degree once I’m done with this one.”

Fiona was grateful when the conversation shifted to focus on Allison instead. She’d been the subject of discussion far too often these days. Even when they weren’t talking about her, there were sly glances her way, like she was some ticking time bomb ready to explode at any second. It had yet to happen. And if Fiona was determined enough, it never would.

Allison explained her decision to pursue teaching, something she’d been thinking about since college. There wasn’t much else in the way of History degrees, anyway, according to her.

“I think you’d make a great teacher,” Zayn said, once Allison was finished.

“Yeah,” Fiona agreed. She gestured at Allison with the chip in her hand. “You deal with me on a daily basis, so you’d be brilliant with bratty kids.”

“You aren’t a brat,” Allison frowned.

“Thank you, but I know I can be. I’ve just accepted it at this point.”

Zayn scooted back from the table, phone in hand. “Sorry, it’s Cass, I’ll be back in a second,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear and murmuring ‘hey, babe’ as he walked toward the door.

“God, what I’d give for their relationship,” Allison sighed.

“Zayn and Cassidy are, like, the perfect couple. I think they’re a statistical anomaly,” Fiona said. The lady brought over their food, and Allison thanked her for the both of them. Fiona grabbed a chip, wrinkling her nose as she watched her friend douse her entire plate in vinegar. “I have no idea how you eat that.”

Allison grinned, shiny white teeth between ruby red lips. “Because it’s delicious.”

“Malt vinegar is a scourge upon this earth,” Fiona grimaced. “It’s probably worse than Harry Styles.”

“Do you really hate him that much, Fiona?” Allison asked, brows raised. They didn’t discuss Harry often. Fiona made a point not to bring him up in conversation, just thinking about him got her blood boiling.

“It’s not like he’s tried to be my friend,” was Fiona’s answer. She had no idea why Harry acted the way he did, but he had never been anything other than a prat to her, so she really didn’t see why she should try and like him. “I mean, the first thing he ever said to me was an insult.”

“Really? What did he say?”

Fiona broke off a piece of cod and dipped it into her tartare sauce. “Have I never told you about that?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well,” Fiona put down the piece of fish so she wouldn’t fling tartare sauce at Allison accidentally. “I was in my room reading — this was about two weeks into term — and there’s a knock on the door. I went up to answer it, and it’s Niall with some tall bloke who’s got a ridiculous scarf ‘round his head. Before he even said anything I thought he was a complete knobhead for thinking the scarf thing looked cool. They were going to the pub and wondered if I might join them. Since I didn’t actually know Harry yet, I said yes and went to grab my jacket. As I’m getting my shoes on, he takes one look ‘round my room and goes, ‘bit pretentious, innit? Have you even read half these books?’ Can you believe the nerve? We hadn’t even been introduced and he’s already assumed I’m some wannabe trying to look clever. He was the one with a fucking floral scarf in his stupid hair.”

“Jesus.” Then, because she was always the diplomat, “Well, to be fair, if I didn’t know you and saw all the books you’ve got I’d probably think you were putting on a bit of a show. Not many people our age have read James Joyce.”

“It’s not like I had Ulysses or something,” Fiona said, popping a fry into her mouth. “I mean, I’d understand the judgement there. But Dubliners is a whole different thing. And it was for one of my courses!”

Zayn sauntered back to the table, eyes lighting up when he saw that a plate piled high with chips was waiting for him. “What’re you talking about?” he asked, sliding into his seat.

“Fiona’s just been telling me how she and Harry met.”

“He was a dick to you, if I remember correctly.”

Fiona and Harry’s first meeting had only gotten worse after the book comment. Zayn knew the story, since he was at the pub that night. It was the first time him and Fiona had met as well, though they’d gotten along almost immediately after he spotted the lightsaber tattooed on her finger. That first night had been like a glimpse into the future, showing how their relationships would turn out. Fiona and Harry spent half the night arguing, Zayn took a lot of smoking breaks, and Niall went home with a girl.

On their way out of the chip shop, Fiona got a phonecall. It was her mother, probably wanting to continue the very short conversation they’d had almost a week ago, when Fiona fulfilled her promise to Eli and made a quick call on her walk between classes.

She slowed down so that the other two were walking a few steps ahead, and hit accept. “Hi.”

“Fiona,” her mother breathed, like she was surprised the call went through. Fiona didn’t doubt that she was. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good,” Frances said. “And school?”

“Same as always.” Fiona had her head bowed as she walked, watching the scuffed toes of her black suede boots as they came and went from her line of vision.

“Good.” There was a very long pause, while they both wondered how to continue the conversation. “Did Eli tell you about his football match this weekend?”

And that was how it went. Fiona’s little brother was really the only thing they could talk about without getting angry with each other. They would eventually, of course, because Fiona couldn’t remember a single conversation in the last three years she’d had with either of her parents that didn’t end in some kind of disagreement. Sometimes it was an premature hang-up over the phone, other times it was a full-blown shouting match. The latter usually happened with her dad, who’d always seen things differently than Fiona, even before the whole ‘gay thing.’

+++

After a tedious seminar, which mostly consisted of her classmates arguing over which story in The Canterbury Tales was the best, Fiona finally made it back to the flat, only to find it empty. Being home alone didn’t happen so often, what with Niall taking fewer classes this term and Harry always hanging about. Fiona wanted to bask in the solitude while she could, but she also had an essay to write, so she decided to fix herself some tea and settle onto the ugly green sofa with her laptop and the dog-eared, annotated copy of Metamorphoses she’d been pouring over for two weeks.

The conversation from the chip shop was still ringing in her ears while she rummaged through the cupboards for something to eat. The truth was, Fiona had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She was doing English Literature because she loved to read, whether it be poetry or novels or something in between. It wasn’t something she’d ever tire of. But the future was a vast, empty space waiting to be filled with her hopes and dreams. Fiona was okay with not having any solid plans; she had never been good at setting goals for herself, she worked herself up over making things perfect, and didn’t realize until college that the way she’d been approaching school and life maybe wasn’t the best for her health — mentally, physically, and emotionally.

But the sudden change in attitude caused those around her to worry, mostly out of concern that she’d drop out of college and get stuck in a dead-end job. She did the subjects she liked best, not the ones her parents wanted her to take. She went out on weekends, got a boyfriend (only to realize a few months later she’d like to have a girlfriend just as much), drank pints, and smoked her first cigarette. Fiona’s dad thought she was rebelling because he’d been too strict, but Fiona had done it for herself more than anything. Most of their disagreements lay in that area, where he couldn’t comprehend Fiona’s choices being for her own good, when he thought they made her situation worse.

Some leftovers from the roasted chicken Niall made (off a recipe from Harry, naturally) the day before were in the fridge. Fiona filled a plate with potatoes and vegetables, and picked off some meat from the chicken, then heated it up. Cooking her own meal was a bit of a scary prospect for Fiona; she had a habit of burning everything. Food in hand, Fiona sat sideways on the sofa with her laptop on the cushion in front of her. She didn’t put on any music, preferring the silence of the empty flat.

Fiona’s essay was far from finished when she decided to call it a night. She had tomorrow morning off, so she could work on it then. It was just after ten, and strange that Niall — or Harry, for that matter — wasn’t home yet. The flat was starting to feel too quiet now, the novelty of rare silence wearing off, and Fiona flinched when her plate clanged against the edge of the sink and the noise reverberated across the room. Despite being a lover of the quiet, living with Niall had somehow altered Fiona’s perception of sound, making her uncomfortable when there was actual silence.

There was no better way to end a stressful day than with a long, hot shower. Fiona stood under the water long after she finished scrubbing her skin clean and washing her hair. The clean lemon scent of her body wash lingered in the steam, mixing with her rose shampoo and making everything smell and feel fresh and calm. After almost five minutes she finally shut off the water and stepped out. Once she’d dried off, Fiona wrapped the soft blue towel around her body and pushed the tangled hair from her face, then threw open the bathroom door.

She came face to face with a very startled Harry. The scent of lemon and rose clung to her, still strong, and she watched Harry swallow and take a step back, hand flying up to his mouth to worry at his bottom lip. “Uh, sorry,” he said, eyes darting up and down her frame and pausing where her hand gripped the towel tightly to her chest. “I, er, shit. I wasn’t, like, standing out here like a weirdo. You just opened the door and I was just, like—”

“Harry,” Fiona interrupted. “Shut up.”

“I, er, yeah. Sorry.”

Harry looked everywhere except her, but for some reason stayed rooted in his spot. Fiona waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, she made a move to go around him. The second she stepped closer, Harry leapt back, like if they touched he’d be burned. Then it occurred to her why seeing a girl in a towel (even one he wasn’t attracted to) might be making Harry so nervous. “When was the last time you had sex?”

“What?”

“Niall’s always talking about how you’re practically celibate,” she continued. It was rare that Fiona provoked Harry. She was usually the one on the defensive. “Are you?”

Harry blinked. “Uh, no. I just...haven’t got time for a girlfriend.”

“I’m not talking about a girlfriend. I’m talking about sex.”

“I don’t do that,” Harry frowned.

“Have sex?”

“No, I meant, shit—” Harry dropped his hand and fiddled with the ragged hem of his flannel instead. “I don’t do the casual thing. I can’t sleep with someone where it doesn’t matter. It matters...to me.”

“Huh.” Fiona appraised him with new eyes. Harry was a wanker, but maybe less of one than she thought. “That actually makes a lot of sense now. You never pick up girls at bars. Unless...you aren’t gay, are you?”

“Er, no,” Harry said.

“Good choice. Guys make shit boyfriends. That’s what I started dating girls.”

Harry frowned at her, perhaps not realizing that she was joking (sort of). Then Fiona grinned and rolled her eyes at him, making the effort to swing her hips as she went past him to her room. She didn’t know what she expected Harry to do, but felt an odd zip run up her spine when she glanced over her shoulder and saw him staring after her with a dazed look in his eyes.

When she emerged some time later, in joggers and a t-shirt, Harry was sprawled out on the sofa flipping through the channels at a rapid pace. It was nearly eleven and Niall still wasn’t back from his Model UN meeting, which meant he’d either gone out with the lads or there was a cute new girl that he wanted to impress with his superior knowledge of diplomacy and the international political economy.

Once the kettle was on, Fiona sat on the ugly green sofa and criss-crossed her legs. She hadn’t intended to stare at him, but Harry’s shirt was not only minimally buttoned, it was also riding up on his stomach to reveal a strip of tattooed skin. Fiona had seen Harry shirtless before and hadn’t cared, and maybe it was their earlier conversation influencing her thoughts, but the leaves inked over his hipbones were suddenly more distracting than they had been before. As soon as she realized this, Fiona switched her focus to the television and removed any thoughts on Harry’s potential attractiveness from her mind.

“Do you really prefer girls?”

The question was so out of left field, but at the same time, it wasn’t. The only real weird part was that it came from Harry. Fiona had been asked similar questions dozens of times before, since she came out over a year and a half ago. Some were more judgemental when they asked, but Harry didn’t come off that way. He’d never made many comments about her sexuality before, just teased her for her choice in partners. According to him, Fiona had a penchant for arseholes.

“What’s it to you?” came her default response.

Harry shrugged. Or tried to, in his horizontal position. “Just curious.”

“You’ve been more curious lately.”

“You’ve been more interesting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, then realized it was exactly what she’d been thinking about him. But she didn’t say it; she wanted to know what his response would be.

“Forget it,” Harry said, returning his attention to the telly.

The kettle whistled and Fiona got up, sending one last puzzled look Harry’s way. She didn’t know what was happening between them, but she didn’t like it.

Instead of rejoining Harry, Fiona took her cup of tea to her bedroom. There was a loud slam a few minutes later, followed by a groan of despair, and Fiona prepared herself for the incoming invasion of her personal space. Shoes and jacket still on, Niall burst into her room and flung himself down onto the bed, nearly banging his head on the corner of her laptop. Fiona cast a withering look his way, calmly setting down her tea and closing her computer. “What is it?”

“I almost got off with a fresher,” Niall whined.

“What’s the big deal? You’ve slept with dozens of first years.”

“Yeah, when I was in second year. Now I’m in third, and it’s creepy.”

“What was that noise?” Harry was stood in the open doorway, brow furrowed. Fiona pointed at Niall, and Harry smiled.

“Harry, I almost had sex with a fresher!” Niall exclaimed, his blue eyes wide and distressed.

Harry looked at Fiona before he crossed the threshold into her room, asking silent permission. She knew Niall would want Harry included in this discussion, so she gave a shrug. Laptop set aside, she grabbed her tea and took a sip, trying not to think about the fact that someone she despised was sitting on her bed, albeit the furthest corner away from her.

“You’ve done it before,” Harry said.

“But this time it’s different! You know the rules, mate.”

“Actually, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Niall’s rules are bullshit,” Fiona muttered, and got ignored by both of them.

“Age is everything! If there’s three years difference or more, someone could be taking advantage.”

“I don’t think that applies to everyone, mate,” Harry replied.

Niall didn’t seem consoled. “I said could. Say Fiona here sleeps with a thirty-year-old. What would you think?”

“Um, I don’t—”

“It’d be weird,” Harry answered, interrupting her mid-sentence. “Like, if I didn’t know him, I’d wonder what his motivation was.”

“Maybe he just likes me,” Fiona said, just to see how he’d react. “What then?”

“Then maybe it’d be all right.” Harry met her gaze briefly before returning to Niall. “But that’s completely different from you sleeping with a fresher. You’re only three years older. That’s not that bad.”

“It’s a maturity thing.”

Fiona snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

To her surprise, Harry grinned. It made Fiona uneasy, and she scowled at him for good measure. But this only put Harry in a better mood, which she should’ve seen coming. He loved it when she was cross; he thrived off the anger.

“Whatever happened with Marissa?” Harry asked.

Fiona raised an eyebrow at him. “You must be new here,” she said. Harry just looked confused, and probably for good reason. Technically, she was newer to friendship with Niall than he was. “Niall, when was the last time you went on more than three dates with the same person?”

The blonde boy struggled to answer. “Er...when I was sixteen, maybe? I had a girlfriend back then. Reagan. You’da liked her, Fiona, she was feisty.”

“Never so much as imply that I am feisty ever again.” Fiona shot Niall a warning glance over the rim of her cup. He raised his hands in defense, but he was grinning.

“I think you’re quite feisty, Fee,” Harry said. Fiona flipped him the bird.

“Back to the important stuff, here, guys,” said Niall, glancing between them. “What if this girl comes onto me again? We’re both gonna be at meetings and stuff now that she’s in Model UN. Oh God, what about the conferences?”

Fiona really didn’t see what the big deal was. “You’ve never had a problem with this sort of thing before.”

Niall still wasn’t content. “Yeah, but that’s when I’ve slept with them. Me and this fresher girl, we almost shagged. Big difference there.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded. “Right, last time I nearly slept with someone, it was this bloke at one of Liam Payne’s parties way back in March. So—”

“You were with Stephen in March.”

Fiona glared at Harry for interrupting her. Again. “I was never with Stephen, it was a casual relationship. Anyway, with this guy, I was hanging around with him because Liam was being more obnoxious than usual, but I didn’t wanna go home with him. I ended up leaving him in a bathroom with his pants down, saying that my friend had just had been sick in the toilet upstairs and I had to go and help.”

“Nice one!” Niall grinned, clapping a hand over her ankle and laughing. Harry managed a half-hearted snicker before quieting down.

“Next time I saw him it was pretty awkward, but we were all right after that. Had a chat about how we were both drunk and it was just a bit of miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication,” Niall repeated, eyes lighting up. “That’s good.”

“Just try and be nice to the girl,” Harry added. “You never know, she might like you.”

Niall’s face scrunched up. “Fucking hell, what if she does?”

“I’m sure if you don’t accidentally insult her or anything when you tell her you aren’t interested it’ll all be fine.” Fiona put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Niall seemed better.

“Thanks, guys. Who knew the pair of you would give such good advice, eh? You work pretty well together when you aren’t bickering.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Fiona said. “Harry didn’t give you any good advice.”

“Being nice to someone is a very important piece of advice!” Harry exclaimed. “Probably the most important.”

“If it’s so important, when have you ever been nice?”

“I’m nice all the time!”

“To Niall, sure. I can’t think of a single thing you’ve ever said to me that’s nice.”

“That’s because nice isn’t what you need!”

“Who doesn’t need people to be nice to them?”

Harry broke their staring match and frowned at the bookshelves on the opposite wall instead. “Just forget I said anything.”

“You can’t just say that when we’re in the middle of a conversation!” Fiona hated it when people who tried to get out of admitting something. Lying, or dodging questions, got you nowhere. The truth wasn’t always pleasant to hear, but it was important nonetheless. Fiona was honest if she got asked about something, but her semi-permanent scowl usually stopped people from asking in the first place.

“Conversations don’t take place at this decibel level,” Harry muttered.

“Fine, don’t tell me why you’re such a fucking—”

Suddenly, his head whipped toward her. If she wasn’t already leaning against the headboard, Fiona might’ve shrunk back from his burning gaze. It was like Niall wasn’t in the room at all, much less sitting between them.

“You’ve got all these people being extra careful and sympathetic around you and you hate it,” Harry’s voice was low and seeping with frustration. “Tell me I’m wrong. Go on.”

“Get the fuck out,” Fiona spat, her voice just as unsteady as his. The truth hurt sometimes, but it was important nonetheless.

He didn’t protest. But he didn’t look pleased with his triumph, and slumped out of the room with his shoulders and head bent like he’d just been defeated instead. A tense silence fell over the room, radiating out from Fiona. Niall glanced from her frown to the door, then slowly got to his feet and left without a word. When Fiona heard his bedroom door click shut a few seconds later, she grabbed her cigarettes and marched through the flat with a clenched jaw, not even sparing a glance in Harry’s direction when she passed him on her way onto the balcony.

Fiona was too angry to sit down, and she lit a cigarette with quivering fingers before leaning on the railing. In her haste, she’d forgotten a jumper, and the midnight air was crisp. Goosebumps prickled her skin, and Fiona went back in as soon as she was finished. She let out a sigh when the balcony door was shut behind her, half out of relief of being out of the cold. She wasn’t any calmer than she had been before, and when she noticed Harry watching her carefully from the sofa she almost shouted at him.

Then the day hit her, and weariness overcame her anger. Fiona settled for a haughty glance that probably came off more exhausted than scornful, and headed to her room.

It wasn’t often that Fiona slept the whole night through. But when her alarm went off at seven so she could go on a run before class, Fiona reached out blindly and managed to turn it off on the first try. Her body didn’t feel refreshed, just sore from the awkward position she’d fallen asleep in, alongside her usual tense muscles and drowsiness. Allison was always advising some kind of sleeping medication or anxiety pill — Fiona could never keep track of what it was that day, week, month. She didn’t like doctors and prescriptions; it made things seem worse than they were. If whatever it was could be fixed with a run or a cigarette, depending on her mood, then Fiona would stick with that.

She went into the kitchen for some water before heading out and spotted Harry stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep. The soft light streaming in from the windows made it easy enough to see, and Fiona filled a glass from the tap and drank it in one go, gently placing the glass in the sink to avoid making too much noise. With the way her shoulders and neck were feeling, dealing with Harry before she’d had a chance to ease her mind and body was probably not a good idea.

But he was awake when she turned around, propped up on his elbows and staring at her with tired eyes, his mouth pulled into a half-pout, half-frown. Fiona was still for a moment, waiting to see if he’d say anything. But instead of making some remark about her neon blue running tights, Harry rolled over and tugged the crochet blanket Niall’s mum had made over his head. Maybe he was still feeling bad about their row last night, though Fiona couldn’t imagine why. Harry lived to annoy her, that and cooking seemed like the two things he enjoyed most.

It was a cool morning. Fiona hadn’t been out for a run in over a week, and her legs were reminding her of that. She cut over to the park nearby, where a few other joggers and dog-walkers were doing their own circuits. Fiona didn’t like the boring loop around the park, and soon found herself heading across the street and between the big old factories that had been converted into overpriced lofts. Niall was always talking about moving into one, but neither he or Fiona had the money for it. In theory, they could save up and be able to afford a nicer, bigger flat than they had now (because it really was quite small). But all of Fiona’s spare cash went to cigarettes, and Niall had quite a fondness for pints.

Without realizing where she was going, Fiona ended up outside Wren’s flat. When she recognized the building, with it’s wrought iron fire escapes and domed windows, Fiona tripped over her own feet out of surprise. She hadn’t spent very many nights at Wren’s, since she lived with her sister and they didn’t get along very well, and Fiona’s was closer to campus. But the brick building was still able to stir up something in Fiona, though it was well past time for that sort of thing to be happening. She switched to a louder, more energizing playlist on her phone and kept going.