Crooked Heart

I’m near the cinema do you need a lift?

who is this?

Harry

who the fuck gave you my phone number?

Niall

I'm gonna kill him

He said you'd be mad

And that I could only use it for emergencies

And not to tell you he was the one who gave it to me

now I'm DEFINITELY going to kill him

Chill out. Do you want a lift or not?

not

It’s raining.

fine

I’m parked outside the H&M :)

Fiona glared at the messages on her mobile before dropping it unceremoniously into her bag, tugging on her jacket as she left the staff room. When she got into the lobby and saw the torrential downpour outside, she was suddenly relieved that Harry had texted. At least she wouldn’t have to wait in the rain now, even though it came the hefty price of being in a car with Harry for twenty minutes.

Nothing had happened since the art show. Fiona wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or suspicious, because with Harry, one never knew what he had up his sleeve. He might start acting like the whole thing had never happened and go back to the way it was in the summer; or he might keep on ignoring her. She’d asked him to keep trying, but she didn’t know what that meant. It had just come out; drawn by her muddled thoughts, lingering frustration, and that disastrous little flutter.

All she did know was that at this moment, she was furious with him, not to mention with Niall.

Fiona did not give out her phone number. The only people who had it were ones she contacted regularly, people she spent time with outside of a group setting, and those she needed to talk to directly. Louis still didn’t have her number, but she didn’t have his either, and it had yet to be an issue. Although Liam had asked several times, Fiona was holding out. She had a feeling that he, like Niall, was the type to send constant messages. Fiona was used to ignoring the Irishman by now, and adding Liam to the mix would just cause unnecessary effort on her part.

Fiona spotted the silver vehicle parked outside the H&M as promised, behind a shiny Mercedes that made Harry’s rust-bucket of a car look even more shit than usual. She held onto her hood and ran across the street, wanting more than anything just to be out of the rain.

“How long have you had my fucking phone number?” Fiona demanded, the second she got into the passenger’s seat.

Harry smiled widely. “Well hello, Fiona, it’s lovely to see you as well. You’re welcome, by the way, for offering to give you a lift.”

“How long have you had my number?” she asked again, eyes narrowed.

He pulled out from the curb, checking over his shoulder twice. “Calm down, Fee, I’ve had it for months.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“No, because you’d get all stroppy about it like you are now,” Harry said calmly. “Like I said, Niall gave it to me in case of emergency.”

“I don’t know what your definition of emergency is, but picking me up from work doesn’t really qualify.”

Harry glanced over. “Would you like me to drop you off so you can walk, then? The bus isn’t going to be round for at least twenty minutes and there isn’t a shelter.”

“No,” she huffed. “But I want you to delete my number. I don’t like knowing you’re able to ring me whenever you please.”

“I’ve had it for nearly a year and this is the first I’ve texted you, Fiona,” Harry reminded her. “I’m keeping it, all right? And put your seatbelt on.”

Fiona heaved a sigh and clicked on her seatbelt, glaring at the rain pelting down on the windshield. The finicky wipers didn’t appear to be doing much in the way of keeping the road ahead visible; the world was like a blurry version of itself.

For a few minutes they sat in relative silence, with nothing but the university radio station (it was probably the most diversified station Fiona had ever encountered, with shows that featured music from different cultures, genres, and decades) playing quietly. The night shows were usually some kind of deep electronica that Fiona could never get into, but tonight it was a little more mellow, the perfect background noise for driving through the rain. If only her present company didn’t manage to both infuriate and confuse her at the same time.

“Why were you even at work so late anyway?”

“I, um,” Harry frowned at the road ahead. “I had a meeting.”

“How exciting,” Fiona mocked.

“It was a bit, yeah.”

“What, seriously? A meeting? What did you talk about then — the most efficient way to chop an onion without bursting into tears?”

Harry grinned, but kept his eyes on the road. “No, not that.”

“I hate guessing games,” Fiona informed him, folding her arms over her chest. “So if that’s what you were planning on, it’s not going to happen.”

“You never would’ve gotten it anyway,” Harry said.

“Oi! I could’ve.”

“Not if you give up before you’ve even started.”

“Just tell me what the meeting was about, you tosser.”

Harry grinned again. “Keen on knowing about my life, are we, Fee? What’s gotten into you?”

“If you’re going to be such a git about it, I don’t care,” Fiona replied, turning toward the window. For the moment, it seemed, he was back to his old self.

“So you cared before?”

Fiona groaned. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Harry.”

“All right, all right. Proper serious now,” Harry said as he made a left. “It’s not totally set in stone just yet, but I’ve been given a promotion.”

“Shit,” she breathed, turning to look at him. Harry, who was apparently far more serious about his driving than she’d expected, given Niall’s stories about how Harry’s driving skills were just as shit as his car (though the awful weather played a significant role in his constant attention on the road in this particular case), glanced at her quickly before returning his focus forward. Her reaction wasn’t as contained as she would’ve liked it to be, and she felt the need to reaffirm her stance on all things Harry-related: indifferent and with a hint of derision. “What’re you doing now, then? Is there such thing as an exclusive vegetable cook? You’re good at chopping veg, I figure that’s right up your alley.”

“You have a very limited idea of what my job entails,” Harry said. “Don’t you?”

“Do I look like I know anything about all that cookery nonsense?”

“You’re too stubborn to try and learn. I’m cooking at your flat all the time and neither you or Niall has picked up a thing.”

“Don’t take it out on poor Niall, he makes a brilliant fry up.”

A muscle in Harry’s jaw jumped. “This matters to me, Fee. I know we both make fun of each other’s jobs but yours isn’t really the same as mine in the end, yeah? This is my career — my life.”

Seeing him like this struck a chord with her. He was right; it was his life, and although she made fun of it out loud, she did respect him for knowing what it was he wanted to do and to have dropped out of uni to pursue it. Fiona couldn’t say that for herself — she didn’t know what she wanted.

“Okay,” she said, and his shoulders loosened. “So tell me what it is, if it’s so fucking important to you.”

She wasn’t trying to take the piss this time, but whenever they had ‘proper serious’ conversations, they tended to make Fiona feel a whole variety of things she wasn’t sure she was ready to be feeling. Or, rather, a variety of things she most certainly did not want to be feeling if they were directed toward Harry fucking Styles.

But he seemed to get that she was just being her usual disagreeable self, and managed to crack a smile. “You know how I used to work in a bakery?”

“Only because you never shut up about it. Honestly, Harry, bread isn’t that exciting.”

He furrowed his brow at her. “Anyway, they’ve asked me to be the assistant to the pastry chef.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, mostly just to humour him. If it was important to Harry, she at least had to respect that, even if she very much did not want to care.

“Because of the size and reputation of the restaurant — and the hotel, obviously — we’ve got an executive pastry chef who designs the menu with the executive chef. She’s in charge of high tea and all that as well. Her last assistant just got hired down in London to work for some posh bakery, so they’ve been looking for a replacement. There’s other cooks that work under her who also do the regular food service, I’ve done a few shifts myself, but her assistant works exclusively in the pastry kitchen and has a lot more responsibilities. I’d be working a lot more, especially in the mornings, but it’s a brilliant opportunity. Working in that bakery when I was in school paid off, I guess.”

They were coming up to the flat. “Am I the first one you’ve told about this?” she asked.

Harry nodded.

“Why?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “You’re the first person I’ve seen. ‘S not like this is something I’d tell people in a text. I probably wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if you hadn’t asked why I’d been at work late.”

He had a point. Harry never talked about his job unless someone directly asked him about it.

“Did you think I had a reason for telling you first?” he asked with a smirk. “Some ulterior motive?”

Fiona stared pointedly out the window. “You always have an ulterior motive.”

“But do you actually have a problem with me telling you?”

“I guess not,” she sighed. “Congratulations and all that.”

Harry found a spot across the street and checked that the parking pass was on display, then the two of them got out and ran toward the building through the rain. Fiona cast a sideways glance his way as she unlocked the front door and pushed it open with her shoulder. “Since you won’t be working nights as often does that mean you’ll actually be living at your own house?”

“Actually, I have to be at work earlier with this new job, so I’ll probably be staying here more,” he replied, following her into the lift.

“Wonderful,” she sighed.

Niall was either asleep or not in, and Fiona immediately announced she was going to bed. After she’d shut her bedroom door, she could still hear Harry fumbling around in the foyer, removing his coat and his boots. He certainly didn’t dress like he worked in a fancy restaurant, but she suspected he kept a change of clothes there rather than going around in a cook’s uniform every day. He probably had to wear some God awful shoes that he wouldn’t be caught dead in outside of the kitchen. She grinned at the thought of Harry in loose black pants and a chef’s jacket that was probably too big for him, rather than the stretched thin t-shirts and ripped skinny jeans he always wore.

Fiona shook out her wet hair and changed into a pair of joggers and a loose black cami. Once the overhead light and the fairy lights twisted around her bed frame were both off, Fiona climbed into bed. It was wishful thinking that she’d be able to fall asleep so quickly, despite the long day she’d had, and within ten minutes Fiona was restless and tired all at the same time.

When she left her room, she could see that the lights were on in the living room, so Harry was probably still awake too. Fiona pulled her cardigan tighter around her body and rolled the cigarette between her fingers around, slowly making her way out. Whether it was the angle of the sofa or the fact that he was bent over scribbling in his journal, Harry didn’t notice her right away, and kept on writing with a slight frown on his face. Fiona tried to see what it was he was writing, but he was too far away, and it just looked like a mess of blue and black ink from where she stood.

Because he seemed to be deep in thought, pen hovering just above the page, Fiona didn’t think he’d notice if she put on the kettle. But the second she turned on the tap she heard the snap that meant he’d shut his journal in a hurry. Fiona pretended that she wasn’t paying attention to every single sound that came from him, her curiosity about the little orange Moleskine making her brain whirr, and kept going through the motions of preparing a cup of tea. While she waited for the kettle to boil, Fiona dragged the lighter from the pocket of her cardigan and went out onto the balcony.

The edge was splattered with still pelting rain, but Fiona managed to keep dry if she kept close to the wall. One arm wrapped around her middle, Fiona lifted the cigarette to her lips and inhaled, her eyes drifting shut. They snapped back open almost immediately, because the balcony door had opened and Harry was stepping out with a mug in his hands. He stepped a little too far, rain hitting his arm, and jumped back with a frown. “‘S cold,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “Tea?”

Eyes narrowed, Fiona took the mug from his grasp. “This is becoming a habit of yours.”

“A bad one?”

It was the perfect brew, as it had been the last few times he’d made it. “No, s’all right.”

“Good.” He was smiling at her, all twinkly eyes and dimples, and Fiona felt the need to reaffirm her irate disposition toward him all over again.

“Just don’t expect me to start being nice to you just because you’ve made me a cup of tea. You’re still a wanker.”

Harry kept on smiling. “Does it freak you out a bit? Kindness?”

She flicked the ashes off the end of her cigarette. “When it comes from you, yeah.”

“Excellent.”

“All right, piss off. You’re annoying me now.”

“I wasn’t before?”

“I said piss off, Harry.” Fiona scowled at him, just for good measure.

Harry opened the balcony door and started inside, until just his head remained. “Good night, Fee.”

“Yeah. yeah.”

+++

The wind whipped Fiona’s hair into a tangled frenzy as she walked along the riverbank. Though the near-constant rain of the last few days seemed to be holding back on this particular Wednesday afternoon, Fiona had brought an umbrella along with her just in case. It might start up again after she and Allison ate, or sometime during her seminar later. But despite the lack of rain, the sky was still overcast and the wind was brisk, making it seem a lot colder than it really was. Fiona walked with her chin tucked to her chest and her arms folded, narrowly missing a speeding cyclist going the opposite way who’d expected her to step to the side and had to swerve at the last minute.

Allison had a tendency to arrive before Fiona, and today was no different. She sat at their usual table, the top half of her ombré hair twisted into a bun and her nails painted a vivid magenta. “Hiya,” she greeted with a cheerful smile, when Fiona came over after placing her order. “How’s life?”

“Dull as ever,” Fiona replied dryly. “Talked to Eli the other day.”

“Yeah, how’s he?”

Fiona fiddled with the salt and pepper. “Thinks that our parents have stopped fighting cos I’ve been answering when Mum rings.”

“Can you blame him? You went for weeks at a time without talking to her, Fiona,” Allison said carefully. “If the fighting’s stopped at the same time as you and your mum start talking, there’s gotta be some connection there, yeah?”

“I just don’t know how me and her being on speaking terms is in any way a positive thing for my dad,” Fiona said, leaning on her forearms. She reorganized the condiments over again. “If anything, I’d think he would be more annoyed with us talking.”

“Why?”

“Cos I’m a plague on his household and all that.”

Allison’s brow furrowed. “He’s your dad, Fiona. Just because you’ve got different ideas about stuff—”

“Like my entire fucking lifestyle.”

“—doesn’t mean he wants nothing to do with you. Eli loves you to death, and your mum is coming around. It’s just gonna take a little longer with your dad.”

Fiona started sorting the sugar packets by colour. She raised an eyebrow at Allison. “I really do need to keep you around for my daily dose of optimism.”

“I think Niall covers that,” Allison replied. “You need me to keep you from burning all your bridges.”

The lady came over with their food. Allison doused her chips in malt vinegar making Fiona wrinkle her nose at the strong smell. After a full two minutes of silence on the part of her best friend, Fiona knew something was up. Allison was never good with silence unless she was studying, so there had to be a reason she was reluctant to talk now that they’d covered Fiona’s recent events.

“Right then,” Fiona said, dropping the chip between her fingers back onto her plate. “Out with it.”

“W-what?”

“You aren’t the only perceptive one in this friendship, Allison,” Fiona said. “Just because I’m the insomniac with mental health issues doesn’t mean I can’t help out when you’ve got shit on your mind.”

Allison frowned at her. “Why do you talk about it like that? All dismissive, like it doesn’t matter?”

“I was trying to be upfront about it, actually, but I guess I can’t say anything without sounding cynical.”

“You read that article I sent you?” Allison asked, surprised.

“About breaking the taboo or whatever? Yeah. Some of it was shite, I don’t like people telling me how to fix myself. I’m not mad, I don’t need fixing, I just need—”

“Sleep?” Allison suggested.

Fiona snorted. “Among other things.”

“I’m glad you read it,” Allison said, smiling across the table at her friend. “I know you don’t like me intruding on your personal stuff. But I’m sort of the only…the best one to do it, y’know? Like, you don’t want Niall going round saying you should be seeing a doctor about your insomnia.”

“It’d just give me another reason to kill him. The list is getting quite long, I should really just get it over with,” Fiona muttered, tearing off a bit of fish. “And no doctors.”

“If it gets worse, you might have to—”

“Well that’s why I’m trying so fucking hard not to let it, aren’t I?”

Allison rubbed her temple. “Yeah.”

“Can you tell me the thing you don’t want to tell me now? All this me talk is getting exhausting.”

The other girl glanced up a Fiona with a frown on her face. “I got asked out.”

“What? By who?”

“Just this guy in one of my lectures,” Allison said. “It isn’t a big deal.”

Fiona leaned forward on her elbows. “Well, what did you say?”

“I didn’t know what to say! How is it that I can do loads of things confident people can do, but when it comes to romance, I’m completely lost? I’ll never get a boyfriend at this rate.”

“Boyfriends are overrated.”

Allison raised her eyebrows. “You’ve got a bit of a biased perspective, Fiona.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not right,” Fiona shrugged, gesturing at Allison with a fry. “Besides, it shouldn’t matter whether you’ve been with loads of people or none at all.”

“But it does. Uni is stupid that way. Especially the boys.”

Though she had a point, Fiona didn’t like it when Allison thought she was doing things the wrong way, like there was some kind of magical correct path to be followed. If there was, Fiona certainly hadn’t heard of it. “It’s all about finding someone you like, really.”

“You dated Stephen,” Allison pointed out. “He’s a prick.”

“That wasn’t dating.”

“Still, you spent time together.”

Fiona sipped her drink, then shook her head. “You and I different, though. Comparing our dating lives doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, the difference is that you have one.”

“Not at the moment,” Fiona said. “I haven’t even come close to—”

Well, she’d come close to something. Just not in the way she wanted anyone to know about.

“Just don’t think you need to prove anything, yeah?” Fiona finished, giving Allison was she hoped was a supportive expression. In Fiona’s experience, she’d never been very successful with those.

Allison sighed heavily. “This conversation really isn’t making me feel any better.”

“Look, Allison, all I can say is you’ll know when you find it, yeah? If it hasn’t happened yet, then it hasn’t happened yet. You don’t have to have a lot of sex just because that’s what other people are doing. I mean, look at me and Niall. We’ve both slept with dozens of people, but we’re different about it. I’ve actually had proper relationships, even if they haven’t lasted, but he just fucks around. It’s just…it’s not something you can decide on, yeah? Everyone does the whole romance thing differently.”

“That’s pretty sage advice coming from someone who’s dismissive of dating in general,” Allison said, a slight smile on her lips. “With a few exceptions, of course.”

“I do a lot of reading.”

“God, remember that boy you dated in our second year at college? He was twat too,” Allison said, making a face.

Fiona raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I do have a type after all, just not centred around their gender.”

“Perhaps that’s your problem,” said Allison, suddenly bright with an idea. “Try getting off with a nice person for once, maybe you’ll have some kind of revelation.”

All Fiona could think about was how Harry had asked if kindness freaked her out, and how it did when he was the one showing it. He was in his very own box in her mind for so long, the dickhead that annoyed her to the point of wanting nothing to do with him, pushing her away rather than drawing her in. But that was changing now, in large part due to her own acceptance that after Liam’s party it was never going to be the same, even if nothing had really happened, that there was something there now. Something drawing her in, making her see things she hadn’t noticed before.

+++

After a boring three hour seminar in which Fiona wanted to smack half her classmates over the head with the hefty anthology they were required to bring to every session, she shuffled out of the room and into the corridor. Fitting all her books into her bag was like a puzzle, but once she got it, Fiona was on her way. Much to her satisfaction, the rain hadn’t resumed just yet, so she didn’t have to search for her umbrella underneath all the other things she’d just put in her tote.

Fiona had been planning the rest of her evening during the final hour of her seminar. It involved lots of tea, sound-cancelling headphones (perhaps her most prized possession), the jasmine scented candles she’d found in the flat with no memory of purchasing, and the essay she had to finish for next week. She was going to barricade herself in her room and get the whole thing done, so she could go back to watching Buffy and reading the teen dystopian novels Harry had somehow noticed on her shelves. Everyone had a weakness; Fiona’s was YA lit.

She made it down to the main floor of the building just as another class was getting out. The bus would be crowded now, and walking wasn’t an option since the English building was very conveniently located on the furthest possible part of campus from where Fiona lived.

The second she spotted the snapback and unshaven jaw, Fiona made a beeline for the door. But Liam had already spotted her, and he cut his way through the other students until they were walking out into the cool November air side-by-side. “You weren’t in my class, right? I think I would’ve noticed before,” Liam said, frowning at her.

“No, I had a class upstairs.”

“Oh, right. Hey, how’s your paper coming?”

“S’all right.”

Liam scratched his cheek, an anxious smile on his face. “I’m having some trouble with mine. What do you say to dinner in exchange for helping me out?”

Fiona thought about her plan of mysteriously-appearing jasmine candles and boatloads of tea while she worked on her own essay, which was far from complete. She’d promised Liam not to be such a bitch, though he was always quite polite about it, even when he was asking her out all the time, and now she had a chance to show that it hadn’t just been empty words.

But the dinner offer felt deceptive. “Where would this be taking place?”

Liam smiled. “We can go wherever you like. Personally, I was thinking we’d grab sandwiches from the Common Room and then go the library.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and Liam chuckled. “The library?”

“Yeah. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, the library’s good.”

They got their food and managed to find an unoccupied table in the basement of the library where they could talk quietly without bothering anyone. Fiona was surprised that she hadn’t started feeling irritated with Liam yet, because usually that would have been the first thing on her mind after more than five minutes in his company, but it was oddly easy to be around him. He didn’t press her to talk or chatter endlessly during the walk in between the Common Room and the library, and he didn’t so much as blink when she grabbed a packet of crisps and tea along with her tomato and mozzarella toastie.

Fiona figured she might as well work on her own essay too, rather than just helping Liam with his, and went to pull it out when her mobile started to buzz from the depths of her tote. Fiona grabbed the laptop first, sliding her food out of the way to make room for it on the table, then rummaged through the books and papers for her mobile. There was a series of messages waiting to be read, all of them from Harry. So much for only using her number in case of emergency.

There’s no one here to enjoy the wonderful meal I’ve made

And you’re usually home by now

It’s delicious braised chicken and lots of vegetables!

Fiona rolled her eyes, typing out a response with one hand while she opened up her laptop with the other.

I’ve got tea sorted sorry

not sorry

Mature

Have you got a date too?? Why does no one tell me these things until they’re already out?

what?

Niall’s texted me from some pub that he’s out with a girl.

did you tell him not to bring her back to the flat? I don’t want to come home to that

Of course I did. I’m not stupid.

You still haven’t said whether or not you’re on a date…

wouldn’t you like to know

“Who’re you texting?” Liam asked, starting to turn his own computer toward her.

“Someone incredibly annoying,” Fiona replied, pressing the button on the top of her mobile to shut it off. Though her reply to Harry was bordering on flirtation, Fiona was too busy being pleased at how frustrated she was probably making him by not giving a straight answer. She promptly set her phone to ‘do not disturb’ mode, ignoring the reply from him that had already popped up.