Crooked Heart

Fiona lay on her back, book in hand — this one wasn’t for school, just some light reading to keep her sane while she plowed through odes for her Forms of Poetry class — tapping an uneven rhythm against her bare stomach with her pen. She was only partially dressed for the party, but wasn’t in any rush to rummage through her closet for a top. Her hair was still wet from her late afternoon shower and she’d only gotten as far as putting on a bra, knickers, and jeans before leaping onto her bed to read.

Most people probably considered reading a strange pre-party activity. But it was the best way Fiona knew to pass the time if she wasn’t in the mood to browse Netflix. There wasn’t much else to be done then, because Niall had something on until six and Allison wasn’t coming over until eight-thirty, just before they’d leave as a trio for Liam Payne’s house. She’d been all alone in the flat since Harry left, with nothing but time on her hands. Despite her brilliant full night to sleep, Fiona’s body was drained after Harry’s departure. So she’d decided against a run and settled for sequestering herself up in her room.

Though she was tired all over again, she allowed herself a little bit of pride for not getting into a full fledged shouting match with him. Keeping her temperament in check was a huge achievement, especially where Harry was concerned. The only problem was, she realized long after he left the flat, where would her anger go now? Fiona couldn’t exactly have a row with the wall. The idea of it being stuck inside of her, brewing, only made the possibility of an explosion greater.

Maybe with a little bit more sleep and a little bit less stress she wouldn’t be angry at all.

But that was wishful thinking, and Fiona knew it.

Ten minutes before Niall was due home, Fiona finished getting dressed. As soon as she’d put on a top, she leapt right back into bed and picked up where she’d left off in her book.

There was a grunt and some rustling in the foyer when Niall arrived. Fiona guessed he’d picked up takeaway on his way home. Instead of going down the corridor, Niall came straight into Fiona’s room and dumped the paper bag unceremoniously on the bed between her legs, the receipt stapled to it indicated he’d gone to their favourite Chinese place. “Fiona Kingsley!” he cried, clapping his hand on her foot, right over the crown tattoo. “How’s me favourite girl?”

One of her eyebrows quirked. “Since when am I your favourite?”

“There’s never been a contest,” Niall replied, perching on the edge of the bed. He opened up the bag and pulled out a box, offering it to Fiona. “Egg roll?”

She propped herself up against the headboard before taking one. “Cheers.”

“Are you ready? This party’s gonna be mental, I just know it.”

“Every party you go to is mental because you get drunk off your arse,” Fiona reminded him with a grin.

Niall eyed her suspiciously. “You’re in an awfully good mood today.”

“Working on it.”

“Really?” Niall’s eyes were big, blue, and full of hope.

Fiona shrugged. “All I needed was a couple nights of decent sleep to remind me how exhausting it is being angry all the time. Obviously I’m never gonna be like you, you fucking ball of sunshine and happiness, but I can be a little be more like me, with time.”

Niall was beaming, like the literal ball of sunshine he was. “This is the best news I’ve had in weeks! I bet Allison will be dead proud of ya, Fiona. Zayner too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Stop it or I’m gonna kick you.”

Despite the very serious threat, Niall let out a whoop. While they ate on Fiona’s bed, Niall rambled on about his day. For the last three hours he’d been in a meeting with the other Model UN Chairs, and had a rather awkward run-in with the first year girl he’d nearly slept with, since she was someone’s assistant or intern or something. Fiona stopped listening then, uninterested in Niall’s uncanny ability to fuck it up with every girl he met, and manage to get away with it anyway. Before he could get into the specifics of the tutoring session with this first year who was a second Niall Horan in the making — being tutored by this Niall Horan had only cemented his future, in Fiona’s opinion — she cut him off with the announcement that they’d be missing the evening news if they didn’t get their arses into gear this second. It was a very effective strategy with Niall, since he was obsessed with being up on current affairs.

Relocating themselves and their food into the common room, Fiona put on the kettle and waited in the kitchen with a box of fried rice and watched Niall watch the news. He managed to look interested in the economic report, and even put down his food to pay close attention when a foreign correspondent came on to talk about something happening in America.

Long after Fiona had made her tea and eaten her fill of takeaway, Niall sat and watched the news. He was still in there when Allison arrived an hour later, earlier than she’d said she would. By then Fiona had done her makeup and was back to reading in her room, headphones in and film scores blasting to block out the loud TV two rooms over. Since her door was cracked open, Fiona saw Allison in the same moment the other girl knocked. She took out one earbud and offered up a smile, adjusting her posture and shutting her book with a pen as a bookmark. Even when it wasn’t for school, Fiona had a habit of annotating her books. Harry had teased her about this a few times, bringing up Gilmore Girls references of all things, because apparently Fiona made an excellent female Jess.

She couldn’t even bring herself to be offended.

“Hi,” Allison gave Fiona a wide, red-lipped smile, and slid into the room. She was dressed for spring, not autumn, in a loose cream dress made of at least three different fabrics, none of which Fiona knew the name for, a denim jacket, and the ragged black oxfords she wore absolutely everywhere, regardless of the weather. “Have you eaten?”

“There might be some extra takeaway, if Niall hasn’t eaten it all,” Fiona said.

“Back in a second.” Allison disappeared, and Fiona faintly heard Niall and her converse over the telly. She was back a minute later, picking leftover dumplings out of the box with her fingers. Her nails were painted a murky olive green today. Fiona wondered how Allison had the patience to paint her nails so often, then realized what a silly thought it was. Allison had the patience for everything. “What did you get up to today?”

Fiona held up her book in response, and Allison raised her eyebrows knowingly. “I also made some important life decisions.”

“Niall mentioned something about not being so angry all the time?” Allison said, taking a bite out of a dumpling.

“Seems like it’d be less tiring,” Fiona replied.

“That’s good,” Allison said. But then she frowned. “Has it been worse than usual? I know it was bad after the break up, but I thought things might’ve improved with time.”

Fiona stared at her hands. “Not much better, but not the worst. My neck’s been feeling a bit wonky, but I think I might just need a new pillow or something.”

Allison made a face. “You could see a doc—”

“No doctors,” Fiona said firmly.

Running a hand through her honey brown hair, Allison heaved a sigh and let the subject drop. Instead, she told Fiona about work and her acute hatred for all things “pumpkin fucking spice,” which she considered to be the most useless flavour of all time, especially when it didn’t even contain pumpkin.

“You sound like me,” Fiona observed, once her friend’s rant was over.

“Pumpkin bloody spice deserves it,” Allison muttered, and ate another dumpling.

Because Allison was early, they lingered in the flat until a more reasonable time to arrive at Liam’s. Niall was adamant on the benefits of pre-drinking, so they did three rounds of shots and headed out.

Liam’s house was at the heart of the student residential district, closer to campus than where Niall and Fiona lived. There were dorms right on the edge of campus, and the houses beyond that, while not official, university-approved housing, were mostly populated by students anyway due to the proximity to classes and non-students not wanting to live there because of all the partying. There were some, like Fiona and her friends, that lived further away for that same reason.

Though she doubted he was the only one who lived there, everyone always referred to it as Liam Payne’s house, Liam Payne’s party, like he was some kind of brand. It was impossible to know how many occupants there actually were, anyway, because several of the doors were locked whenever a big party was thrown. It was a sizable house, the biggest on its block. As was the nature of student housing, it wasn’t as nice as the ones further away from campus, especially with all the ruckus that went on inside.

They’d timed their arrival well; bodies were already packed inside when Niall threw open the front door. A drunk boy stumbled out of the way in the foyer, throwing a dirty look at them as they left their coats with all the others and made sure nothing valuable was left inside. Niall was gone almost immediately, spotting someone from his course in the front room, where music thudded from an elaborate speaker system and echoed through the rest of the house. Fiona and Allison silently decided they needed more alcohol in order to accept the fact that they were now surrounded by people that they mostly did not like (the difference being that Allison was much more polite about it) and made their way to the kitchen, the traditional spot for all things beverage-related.

Fiona and Allison found Louis in the kitchen, chatting with a few of his law school friends. Fiona could tell they weren’t his football friends, because these lads had that clever, privileged air to them she’d come to associate with law students. The ones Louis was friends with, at least. The footballers were usually rowdier and almost always arguing about, predictably, football.

“All right?” Louis said, when the girls walked over.

Fiona shrugged and Allison graciously ignored one of Louis’ mates who was eying her bare legs in a not-so-subtle manner, in a way that Fiona herself would never be able to do.

“No Zayn?” Fiona asked, accepting the beer Allison had grabbed for her.

Louis shook his head. “He’s got a work thing that needs finishing by the morning.”

“And Cassidy didn’t feel like coming without him?”

“She’s visiting her parents,” Louis explained. “Just us tonight.”

At that, Fiona’s eyebrows shot up. But it was Allison who asked, “What about Harry?”

“Oh, well, Harold’s here,” Louis said. Fiona grimaced before taking a long drink. “Been stuck talking to some girl for the last half hour, as far as I know. I haven’t seen him since she dragged him off. He looked proper miserable about it. I think they used to go out or something.”

Suddenly, Fiona felt a lot better. The idea of Harry in his own personal hell — talking to a girl, the horror — caused a flicker of pleasure in her. Besides, if he was stuck with this girl all night, it’d be much easier for her to avoid arguing with him. “Maybe she’ll keep him occupied,” she said hopefully.

Louis shrugged, starting to turn back to his mates. “Maybe.”

Once they’d finished their drinks, Fiona and Allison returned to the front room and joined the pack of bodies swaying along to the music. It was some kind of club music, exactly the sort of thing Fiona expected Liam would listen to. While they danced, a few boys tried to come between them, usually going for Allison with her red lips and short dress. But, as with many things between them, it was an unspoken rule that Fiona kept those boys away. Though Allison was perfectly capable of defending herself if it came down to it, Fiona was simply better at it. A glare was usually enough, but some of them needed a more physical alternative. If they were smart enough, they left after that. There had been a few instances of Fiona’s least favourite kind of person (presumptuous, thick-headed boys) not getting the message even after she’d elbowed them in the ribs, but the two friends didn’t like to talk about that.

While they danced, Fiona could feel the tension in her muscles loosen just a little bit. Enough that she didn’t feel like she was so tightly wound that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from snapping in two. It was a brief feeling, but a nice one, sort of like how she’d felt this morning after a restful sleep. Fiona wondered — as she gently turned herself and Allison around with a hand on the other girl’s waist, away from Louis’ friend from earlier who’d appeared out of nowhere — how long it would be before the feeling lasted longer than an hour.

Across the room, Fiona found Niall’s gaze. He’d already seen them, a look she didn’t quite understand on his face. But when their eyes met the expression cleared, and the usual cheerful Niall smile returned. With a subtle (or as subtle as Niall could manage) shift of his chin and raising of his eyebrows, Niall directed Fiona’s attention to the corner, where Harry had one shoulder slouched against a wall. Though the expression on his face didn’t show any particular emotion, he was leaning toward a girl that Fiona might’ve flirted with if she wasn’t already talking to Harry, and drinking something that must’ve been very strong by the way his forehead wrinkled whenever he took a sip. Niall looked impressed, he probably would’ve gone after the girl too, but Fiona was just pleased that Harry was preoccupied and couldn’t bother her.

“—loo,” Allison said, making Fiona’s attention come back to her. “I’ll find you in a few, yeah?”

“Sure.” Fiona decided when her friend had vanished into another room that she was done with dancing, and was set on acquiring another drink. She managed to squeeze her way out of the makeshift dance area, frowning at a girl who knocked into her and didn’t even bother to apologize.

She turned back around, and suddenly she was standing right in front of him, like he’d stepped in her path just so they’d have a conversation. Fiona wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk to Stephen — their conversations since the break-up had been tense and clumsy, filled with awkward silences and heavy sighs, like it usually went when you were trying to find some kind of balance with the person who’d seen you naked on numerous occasions but with whom you didn’t really have anything in common — but here he was, smiling at her in an innocent, friendly way. Fiona knew Stephen’s moves well enough by now to recognize that this was not one of them, and breathed an internal sigh of relief.

“Fiona,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Stephen wasn’t the tallest of blokes, but he had a charming smile, lovely dark hair, and expressive eyebrows that definitely made up for it. “You look good.”

“So do you,” she said, because he did.

“So, ah,” Stephen reached back to rub the back of his neck. “Are you seeing anyone?”

Fiona raised her eyebrows. “No. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“I actually wanted to thank you,” Stephen told her. “I didn’t realize I wanted a girlfriend. Then I met Anna, and she’s the opposite of you. She’s—“

“Okay, you’re insulting me now, so I’m gonna leave,” Fiona interrupted.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Stephen took a step, blocking her path again. Fiona folded her arms over her chest, one eyebrow quirked as she waited for him to say whatever he was going to say. “I just meant — it took you to make me realize the sort of girl that’s right for me. It’s not like I’m right for you, either, yeah?”

“Right,” she had to agree. “Nice to see you’re happy, Stephen. I’m glad you grew up.”

He frowned as she clapped him on the arm and went past, probably missing the sarcasm in her words. He’d grown up enough to stick to one girl at a time, it seemed, but not enough to be more thoughtful about his words.

Grabbing a drink, Fiona hid herself away in the corner instead of finding someone to talk to. She hadn’t seen Liam yet, which was a relief, because she didn’t want to tarnish the fairly good mood she was in and the pleasant buzz in her brain. Even the encounter with Stephen hadn’t been all that bad, she got out before he’d said anything too irritating.

“Thought I saw you sneak in here!” Niall exclaimed, striding through one of the two kitchen doors and coming up to her. “Where’d Allison go?”

“Loo,” Fiona supplied.

“You saw Harry with that girl?” Niall asked, though he knew she had. He just wanted to talk about it. Fiona nodded, sipping her lager with a smirk. “She was well fit. Dunno why he looked so distraught.”

“Who knows why Harry does anything,” Fiona said.

Niall tapped his drink against hers. “Cheers to that.” Then, because her back was to the other door to the kitchen, she didn’t see Harry coming right up behind her. Niall did, though, and broke out into a grin. “Where’s your girl?” he asked. Fiona glanced over her shoulder and groaned, because Harry was practically leaning on her with how close he stood. He stunk of something spiced, probably rum, along with the ever-present scent of spearmint gum, which she hadn’t been able to associate with anything other than Harry since she’d met him.

“Waiting for me back there,” Harry mumbled, the alcohol making his speech even more elongated than usual. “Needed another drink.”

“Cheer up, mate, you’ve found the fittest bird at this party,” Niall said, in an effort to be helpful. It made Fiona scowl, because he was right, and also because Harry was the one going home with her.

Harry, having poured himself something that was entirely composed of spirits, glanced quickly at Fiona before looking to Niall. “Doesn’t matter, really. ‘M not going home with her.”

“What?” Niall was genuinely shocked. Then, the got a mischievous look on his face. “Mind if I…?”

“Have at it,” Harry said, and Niall let out a whoop before running off. Fiona cursed him for being such a boy and leaving her with Harry. “How’s your evening been, then?”

It wasn’t an argument. Not yet. “Shit. Yours?”

“Shit,” Harry agreed. He stepped into Niall’s place, shoulder against the wall in much the same way he’d been in the other room. Fiona kept her eyes on the rest of the kitchen, chin tucked to her shoulder. “Listen, about this morning—“

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry looked surprised when she met his gaze, brows wound high on his forehead and eyes wide. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

“Something annoying, probably,” Fiona said dismissively. She was doing well, she thought. Nobody had shouted yet and she hadn’t felt the need to slap him.

“You don’t even look annoyed,” Harry observed. “I may have to change my tactics.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “You have absolutely no responsibility to argue with me, Harry. You made that up entirely on your own.”

Harry simply stared back at her, unflinching. “Someone has to,” he said.

“There you go again!” she huffed, glowering at him. “I don’t wake up in the morning thinking: ‘hmm maybe I’ll have a nice row with Harry today.’ You’re making it sound like you’re sacrificing yourself so the angry girl has someone to shout at, when you’re the one causing all the trouble! Why do you have to be so — ugh!”

“If you’d like to unload some of your frustration on a different victim,” Harry said, gesturing toward the door with his drink and a drunken smirk. “I think I saw Liam go into the back earlier.”

“Victim?!” Fiona exclaimed. She really did want to slap him then, but instead she shut her eyes and forced herself to take a calming breath. “I’m not doing this.”

Then she walked away. It felt too easy, like it had this morning. And if he hadn’t learned anything then, how was she supposed to know if he had this time? Soon after leaving the kitchen Fiona found Allison, and pulled her somewhere they could talk without having to shout over the thudding of the speakers.

“Woah, what’s happened?” Allison asked, standing close beside Fiona by the wall she’d just slumped against.

“Harry’s just being a twat, as usual,” Fiona muttered. “And Stephen bloody Evans! I can’t believe I ever slept with him.”

“I’m sorry it’s not been a good night for you,” Allison said, leaning the side of her head against the wall. “D’you want to leave?”

“No, I just need a minute.” Fiona closed her eyes, rubbing her palm over her forehead. “Jesus. This not arguing thing is bloody difficult.”

“It’ll be worth it. Harry’s got to give up sometime.”

Fiona scoffed. “He saw that I was trying not to fight with him and he didn’t even care. Said he had to ‘change his tactics,’ like something bad’ll happen if we don’t get in an argument.”

Allison considered this. “Well, maybe he’s got a point. God knows the planet might explode if you two start getting on.”

They laughed, and Fiona felt that same fleeting relaxing in her shoulders. Maybe if Harry’s change of tactics involved making her laugh, she’d be in a better mood. It was easy to think the solution was as simple as that when her mind was fuzzy with alcohol. Fiona’s sober brain knew that Harry wasn’t the sole reason she was always angry, always tired, just the most present and annoying one, and the easiest to blame.

“I’m gonna dance again,” Allison said. “What do you think?”

“I’m good here, not ready to be around people again. You’ll be careful, yeah?”

Allison gave her a look. “I’m always careful. Maybe I’ll dance with Niall — he’s terrified of you, so he knows better than to try anything.”

Fiona grinned and raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

While the other girl disappeared into the crowd, Fiona remained on the fringes of the party, picking absently at the fraying cuff of her cardigan and avoiding eye contact whenever someone went past her in search of the toilet. One of the reasons Liam’s parties were so successful was that the house was made for all kinds of party-goers, from the ones that wanted to stay in the thick of it all night long to those who needed a quiet corner to breathe when the crowd got to be too much. It was fairly easy to slip away if you knew which corridors to avoid, where there was more foot traffic. Fiona, who loved a good party but also appreciated silence, had acquainted herself with all the places to have a moment to yourself in her first few visits.

At first, Fiona wasn’t certain the couple that had just wandered past was who she’d thought. Mostly to ease her own suddenly electrified nerves, she edged back into the fray and tried to catch sight of that blonde head again.

Her hair was darker than it had been in the summer, her hips and thighs fuller, more toned, like she’d finally started listening to Fiona’s suggestion to take up running. The other girl wasn’t what Fiona expected, and maybe that was what made her angry, because Wren was always talking about what sort of qualities she looked for in another person, and this girl was none of those things.

Maybe it was the fact that Wren had moved on first. Fiona was very much aware of her competitive side, and it usually resulted in her brooding outside with a cigarette whenever she lost. But it had never really shown itself with Wren, they were always on the same page, seeing the same things, thinking the same thoughts.

Or, Fiona had to admit, that’s what she’d thought anyway.

Before Wren spotted her, because Fiona’s staring wasn’t very subtle, she ducked out of the room and went to fetch her coat from the pile by the front door. It took a bit of digging, but she finally found the parka beneath a sea of leather jackets. Shrugging it on, Fiona went back through the house and out the back door, into the garden.

There was a sizable patio, absent of chairs or any other kind of outdoor furniture, that cut off abruptly where the lawn began. Near the far fence, an eclectic mix of people were passing around a joint. Fiona walked to the edge of the patio and sat down, stretching her legs into the grass. She bent over to light her cigarette, then dropped her purse and lighter onto the tile next to her while she exhaled toward the sky.

If she was being honest with herself, seeing Wren all snuggled up to another girl bothered Fiona more than it should. Wren was the one who'd broken up with her, who was ready to move on, so of course she'd be seeing new people. Fiona realized that it wasn't even the fact that Wren had someone new, it was that Fiona herself didn't. It had been over two months since the breakup, and Fiona hadn't been on a date. To be completely fair, Fiona had never been one for dates, but she hadn't slept with anyone either. The attempts she had made in the last few weeks to get over her own misery and just fuck someone for the hell of it, like she used to, were halfhearted at best. She gave up too easily, told herself that it wasn't the right night. When, in reality, any night was the right night if you weren't looking for anything in the morning.

She contemplated going inside and finding someone to go home with, but soon came to the conclusion that after Wren, she wasn’t going to be able to just pick a random person out of a crowd. It hadn’t been obvious until now, but she’d changed too much; the girl she was in first year didn’t exist anymore. And if she wanted to have sex tonight, the number of people in that party she’d be willing to go home with had dwindled significantly.

To about zero.

Fiona’s anger at the whole situation might have fizzled out if Harry Styles hadn’t decided that was the perfect moment to drop onto the patio next to her, smelling strongly of mixed drinks and mint gum. He was both the best and the worst person to appear at a time like this. The worst, because he was Harry, her least favourite person ever. The best, because Wren didn’t like him either, so if there was anyone at this party that would piss her off to see Fiona with, it was Harry. Just sitting here together would be enough to irritate the other girl, on the off chance that she looked outside.

“You’re drunk,” she stated, watching in amusement as he attempted to get his limbs in order. Harry was uncoordinated at best when sober, so alcohol only amplified his inability to get his feet to do what they were supposed to. After his musings earlier about alternative ways to annoy her now that she was pursuing a path of indifference, and her subsequent disinterest (which she thought adequately proved her point of not caring about anything where he was concerned), Fiona thought she’d been done dealing with Harry for the night.

“‘It will be worth it, if in the end I manage to blank out whatever it is that is doing the damage,’” Harry said, using words that she immediately recognized were not his own.

It took her a moment, brow furrowed as she tried to place the quote, but eventually she got it. Though she had zero creative ability herself, Fiona had an excellent memory for verse. It came in handy in class, when she didn’t have to shuffle through her notes for the lines she wanted to use in a debate or discussion, but rarely in daily life. Fiona was a lover of verse amidst those who thought it was a waste of time. Or so she’d thought.

But the surprise at Harry quoting poetry to describe his state of intoxication was drowned out by his choice of quote. “You know that’s about getting old, right?”

“Sounded good in my head,” Harry said, swivelling his head round to look at her with half-lidded eyes. “Would you prefer: ‘in that drunken place you would like to hand your heart to her and say touch it but then give it back’?”

His eyes were deep and thoughtful, but not in the faux-philosophical way that alcohol sometimes caused. The mintiness of his gum and the smell of whatever vile concoction he’d been drinking surrounded her, blurring with the lingering scent of her since stubbed out cigarette. He’d sat down awfully close to her, his body angled toward her and leaning in, palm flat against the tiles to keep himself upright. Fiona knew that Harry had no problems with proximity while he was drunk, she’d seen him tackle Niall or Zayn often enough, but he’d never come this close to her. He’d never shown any sign of wanting to. But then she remembered: change of tactics.

The thought burst the complicated bubble of feelings that had been growing inside her. For a moment, Fiona couldn’t believe she’d let Harry draw her in with his curious, parted lips and vexingly accurate recitation skills. From the moment they’d met, Harry’s primary goal where Fiona was concerned had been to do the opposite of what everyone else was doing, to throw her off her guard and strip away the carefully constructed walls she’d built around herself. And this, this was a whole new level of diabolical.

But in the back of her head, she could see Wren throwing a fit if she saw them sitting out on the patio, mouths centimetres apart and not even arguing. So she stayed where she was, ignoring the warning in her head and the annoying little flutter in her stomach when she glanced down just in time to catch Harry’s swallow.

She made a face. “Bukowski, really? Do you only read misogynists, then?”

Harry, ignoring her, licked his lips and then pulled the bottom one between his teeth. With the knowledge that it was all just an act now on her side, Fiona made the split second decision to see how far he planned to take this. Harry did have an awfully nice mouth, after all.

“I read what’s real,” Harry murmured, very close now. She could feel his breath on her lips, and the haphazard collar of his shirt was practically begging to be tugged so they’d crash together instead of all this tentative nonsense. It was a test, a test to see which one of them would pull away first.

“What makes those guys more real than, say,” Fiona paused to think. “Keats?”

“You can’t even compare them.”

“Oh, so it’s easier for you to relate to what assholes like Bukowski write,” Fiona concluded.

Harry chuckled, gaze flickering down to her mouth. “Not what I meant.”

“You really gotta be clearer about these things,” Fiona told him, as Harry’s eyes came back to hers.

“I’ll work on that,” he replied, and she thought she saw the beginning of a smile on his face. Not the cheeky one he usually wore, but another, more secret smile. One that felt like it had been saved just for her.

Then, the moment he made the final move and his eyes fluttered shut and his bottom lip grazed hers and his fingers were touching her jaw, someone called Fiona’s name.

Fiona leapt away from Harry and caught herself from toppling backward just in time, her heart beating much faster than her brain thought it should. Harry was still caught in the almost kiss, his hand frozen in mid-air, and he threw her a confused look before following her gaze toward the door, where a frantic Niall Horan stood.

“Fiona, there you are,” Niall caught his breath as he strode over and sat down in the minimal space between them. “Been looking everywhere.”

“W-what is it?” Fiona asked, a little flustered, avoiding Harry’s searching gaze.

Niall ignored him as well. “Wanted to check on you, I saw Wren in there with that other girl and had to know you were all right.”

“Oh, that,” Fiona raked her fingers through her hair. “Yeah, it was...weird, I guess. She usually only came to these things because of me, I guess I didn’t really expect to see her.”

“With another girl,” Niall clarified.

“Er, yeah.” Fiona’s eyes flicked to Harry, whose confused expression had shifted into one of frustration.

He muttered something she didn’t hear but was certain contained a variety of curses and got to his feet, not bothering with a goodbye before stomping inside. “What’s up with him?” Niall asked, as though noticing for the first time that Harry had been there at all.

“Dunno,” Fiona mumbled. She wanted another cigarette to take away the whisper of mint and rum on her lips, reminded her of a stolen opportunity.

Fiona realized, with sudden certainty, that she definitely wouldn’t have stopped him.

“Everything’s fine, then? You aren’t angry about Wren?”

“A bit annoyed,” Fiona admitted, already with an unlit cigarette between her lips that she had to speak around. She cupped a hand over the end and lit it, passing the stick off to Niall once she’d had a pull. “I was more angry about being angry about it.”

Niall frowned. “What?”

“Nevermind.”

He took one last drag, then gave the cigarette back. “I’m going back in.”

“Niall?” Fiona said, when he was on his feet.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“If you’re gonna get yourself laid tonight, go to her place, yeah?”

He saluted. “Will do.”

Fiona finished her cigarette and left the end in the bucket/ashtray by the door. It had done well to erase all traces of Harry on her, and another drink would do the same neat work to her memory. Once she got a beer, Fiona put her coat back at the front and began the search for Allison. Maybe the other girl would be in favour of moving the party back to Fiona and Niall’s flat, where they could watch movies and drink cheap wine instead of the shit beer she was currently consuming.

Instead, she found Liam Payne.

“Fiona!” he exclaimed, removing his hat to scrub at his hair before putting it back on and tilting it just so. “Where’ve you been hiding?”

“Everywhere and nowhere,” Fiona replied.

Liam laughed, like she’d made some hilarious joke, and moved a little closer. Fiona thought of Harry quoting poetry as he leaned in and stared at her mouth with those dynamic eyes of his — fucking Bukowski, the bastard — and sipped her beer. “How’s your night been?”

Fiona squinted at the logo on his hat and sighed through pursed lips. “Just fine, Liam.”

“‘S a bit loud in here, don’t you think?” he asked, though most of the noise was coming from the speakers another room over. The terrible music hadn’t stopped playing since she arrived, all they needed were some strobe lights and sparkly clothing.

“Listen, Liam, I think you should know,” Fiona began, thinking of the promise she’d made to herself to be less angry. She’d been putting off properly saying no to Liam for a long time now, and doing so now would save her hours of irritation — albeit mild irritation, but irritation nonetheless. But then he leaned forward to hear her better, and Fiona rolled her eyes before dragging him from the room and into the corridor. The bathroom was there, no one queued up outside. Fiona tried the knob and found it open, signalling for Liam to go in ahead of her. The surprise and eagerness on his face was tragic. Fiona shut the door and leaned against it, setting down her drink on the counter. “I’m a lesbian.”

So maybe it was a lie, but she had a feeling he just wouldn’t get it otherwise.

“Oh,” Liam’s eyes widened. “But I’ve seen you with guys before.”

“Yeah, see, it’s really not for me anymore. I’m sorry for leading you on or whatever, but it was never gonna happen.”

Liam scratched the stubble on his cheek, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Yeah, of course. I, ah, no, yeah, I totally get it.”

“Brilliant,” she grinned, and reached for the door.

“We’re still friends though, yeah? I mean, when I asked you to study all those times, it wasn’t just because I wanted to get with you. I do like you, Fiona, as like, a person.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling bad. “Sorry for being unnecessarily rude, then.”

Liam shrugged and smiled. “Nah, you’re all right.”

They left the bathroom and Fiona promised to at least consider it the next time he asked her to study or grab coffee. “I am curious to see what this place looks like in the daytime,” she admitted, as they passed a snogging couple in the corridor.

“Fiona! There you—oh, Liam.” Allison’s face was a mask of confusion. “What—er, good party.”

“Cheers, love,” Liam said with his trademark Liam Payne, Host Extraordinaire smile.

“Hey, you wanna go?” Fiona asked, having seen the look on Allison’s face before she spotted Liam. Allison nodded, and they said their goodbyes and grabbed their coats, shrugging them on once they were out the door. “Something happen?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, there were just too many bloody couples and people snogging. Can I stop at yours tonight? My roommates are all gone this weekend, and I hate having the place to myself.”

“‘Course.”

“Cheers. Hey, do you wanna get some chips? I’m dying for some chips.”