Left My Heart Out

When I get to the coffee shop the next day, Niall’s already there.  He’s sitting at a table by the window, his stuff spread out over only half of it, and even though there are other empty tables, I go over to his.  He looks up at me and smiles, and my heart beats loudly in my ears as I sit down across from him.  I’m wearing his scarf again: that’s part of the plan.  I need to set things straight between Niall and I, and I need to do it today.  

I don’t say anything as I unpack my bag, taking out my architecture history textbook and my music theory notes.  But I can tell Niall’s watching me, and I’m sure he’s noticed the scarf.  I almost want to take it off, but instead I leave it hanging around my neck, even when I slip off my coat and hang it on the back of my chair.  I wonder if he can tell just from looking at me that I’ve spent the past 24 hours thinking about him, wondering about what it is I’m doing with myself.  He was my first thought when I woke up this morning, and if that’s not a sign that I’ve officially lost it, I don’t know what is.

“Q,” Niall finally says, breaking the tense silence, which may or may not be all in my head.  “Is that my scarf?”

“You said I could have it,” I say, recalling that he was drunk at the time, and maybe he didn’t mean it.  I’m suddenly anxious, worried that he’s going to ask for it back right now.  “Do you want it back?”

Niall stares at me for a moment, thinking, his head cocked to the side like I’ve seen puppies do.  Then he smiles, dimples making craters in his cheeks.  “No, that’s okay.  It looks good on you.”

I want to deflect the compliment, but instead I find myself blushing.  I look down at the table, and at the splash of coffee that somebody didn’t clean up earlier, and mutter, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Niall says.  I swear I can hear him smiling.

I open up my music theory notes and try to read them over in preparation for a quiz I have on Friday, but I can’t focus.  I’m still not sure that my interest in his laugh and his scarves and the way he smiles mean that I like him.  Maybe I’m just oddly fascinated with the minute details of his being.  But I know that I can’t wait any longer.  I have to know for sure.  I have to cut this thing off before it grows any bigger.  And by “this thing,” I mean my heart, and its feelings toward the bloke sitting across from me right now.  

After 15 minutes of not getting anything done, I decide that I can’t wait any longer.  I have to ask him, and I have to ask him now.  So I look up and tell myself to stop blushing as I ask, “Niall, why does Liam think I like you?”

Niall’s head shoots up.  He was reading, and his finger hovers over the line where he stopped.  After a few seconds of staring at me, he folds over the corner of the page and closes the book.  “What are you talking about?”

“He told me that I have permission, that it’s okay with him, if I like you.  But I never said–”

“Oh,” he says, blushing.  “I can explain that.  It’s because I asked Liam if it was okay if I asked you out.”

“You were going to ask me out?” I ask.  My stomach flutters, and my mouth is doing something, but I can’t tell yet if it’s a smile.

“Yeah, I was.”  He shrugs, biting back a smile.  “And I’m still going to.”

“You are?”  I mean, I know I’ve been obsessing over this for the past 24 hours, but that doesn’t mean I thought it was real.  I’ve been known to create romantic fantasies in my head before – my entire relationship with Liam, for example.  I remember what Lila said, that Niall obviously likes me, but I have no idea how she knew that when I didn’t even know it until right now.  Lila’s never even seen the two of us interact, and she knew.  “Is that why you’ve been hanging around me so much lately?  And why you keep buying my coffee?”

“I was trying to flirt with you,” he says, still blushing.  He says it like he shouldn’t even have to say it, like I should already know.

“Well, you aren’t very good at it,” I say.  “I thought you were just being annoying.”  

“I’m great at flirting,” he says, crossing his arms on top of the table.  Even through his jumper, I can see how well-defined his biceps are.  “You’re just bad at receiving it.”

“Well,” I say.  I’m almost convinced that Niall’s attraction to me isn’t just something I made up in my head, except one thing’s stuff bugging me: Niall used to be the biggest arsehole on the planet.  “But you used to hate me!  You called me a whore and you made me wait in the corridor!”

Niall winces at the memory.  “I think I was being a jerk to you because I like you,” he says.  He leans forward across the table, and I didn’t realize it, but I’m leaning forward too.  He’s a bit too close to me, too close because he’s Liam’s flatmate and somebody who used to be an arse to me, too close because I shouldn’t want him this close.  But I do, and I can’t help it.  “And I was jealous of your relationship with Liam, because I didn’t think he deserved you.”

I shake my head.  “That’s not true.  I don’t deserve him.  Liam might be an idiot, but he’s a good person.”  At least, I think he is.  Despite what he said about me having his permission to move on.  He’s, like, 85% a good person.

Niall rolls his eyes, not wanting to argue with me.  “Maybe you two don’t deserve each other.  Point is, I didn’t like the way he was using you.”

“I was using him too.”

“Would you stop putting yourself down?” he says, a hint of a growl on his voice.  I hate to admit that I like it.  “I’m trying to give you a compliment.”  That makes me blush more than the actual compliment does when he says it again.  “You’re too good for him, and you’re too good for me too.  You’re so good, Quentin.  You were so good to me in the lift that day, and I’ve got a whole load of shit to make up for, I know.  But I can’t help it, I like you anyway.”

“Well.”  I know he’s waiting for me to say something, but all I can do is cross my arms over my chest and shift back and forth in my seat.  There are a million things running through my head right now, the loudest one being, I like you too!  But I don’t think I should say that right now.  “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

He smiles slightly.  “I’m not sure I want you to say anything.  I know you just got out of this thing with Liam, and I don’t want to be your rebound or whatever, so I’m willing to… I was just hoping you’d give me a chance.”  

“A chance to what?” I ask, wanting him to keep talking.  I like the sound of his voice.  It’s soft and rhythmic and suddenly I long to hear him sing again.  

“A chance to be good to you.”  He looks up and his eyes meet mine, and they’re soft and deep and brown and I almost want to say yes right then and there.  I want to wrap my arms around Niall and let him hold me and make me feel safe and warm, but I know that wouldn’t be fair to any of us.  To him or me or Liam.  

So I keep my arms crossed on my chest and I say, “Can I think about it?”

I can tell he’s trying not to let his face fall, but it does anyway.  “Yeah.  Of course.”  

He smiles again and turns his eyes back to his book, and suddenly I realize that I’m still in the coffee shop, and that there are people everywhere, just feet away.  Someone probably overheard our conversation, and they heard me crush him like a bug.

Except Niall doesn’t seem to think that, because he spends a whole hour more sitting across from me, reading his book and looking up at me every once in awhile and smiling.  And I always smile back.  When he gets up to leave, he says, “See you later, Q” under his breath and slips out the door.    

I text Lila as soon as the door shuts behind Niall’s back.  I push my notebook out of the way and put my elbows on the table, lifting my mobile up to my face so that no nosy onlookers can look on.  My fingers fly over the screen of my mobile like I can’t type fast enough.  I contemplate adding an emoji onto the end of my message, but I can’t decide which one fits.  The blushy smiley face?  The open mouthed one with x’s for eyes?  The screaming cat?  Or maybe all three?  

But then I realize how ridiculous I’m being, and I let the message go without any adornments:  niall told me he likes me

The bubble with three dots appears, telling me that Lila’s typing, and I tap my fingernails against the table, impatient for her response.  I already know what she’s going to say, but I have to distract myself from the way my heart’s thumping in my chest.  Niall’s scarf, the one that’s mine now, is sitting on the chair next to me, and I reach for it, pulling it into my lap so that I can weave my fingers through the stitches.  

After what feels like hours, Lila’s words appear on the screen.  

told you.  you’re such a lollipop, why didn’t you believe me?

a lollipop?

a lovesick fool who’s so ooey gooey with love that she’s melted and stuck to the bottom of her own shoe and now she can’t go anywhere because she’s stuck in one place

I read Lila’s message several times, blinking at my mobile as I try to decipher her words.  It’s only not anywhere near dinner time, and it’s Wednesday, but I suppose Lila could be drunk already.  She’s never been one to do what society tells her.

are you drunk?

A second later, my mobile begins to vibrate in my hand and Lila’s picture appears on the screen.  I lift it tentatively to my ear.  “What?” I ask, half-expecting Lila to begin yelling at me.  She’s always extraordinarily loud on the telephone, which is why I never call her.  I mean, I never call anyone on the telephone, but especially not her.  I would never choose to put myself through that ordeal.  

“I’m not drunk,” she says in her lecturing tone, the one she saves for special occasions, in particular for when she thinks I’m being especially daft.  “But you’re an idiot.  What’d you say?”

“What’d I say when?”  I shut my notebook on the music theory notes that I’ve been staring at unsuccessfully for the past few hours and begin to gather up my things.  The sun’ll be setting soon, and I can revise just as unproductively at home with nothing but my thoughts of Niall’s shiny blue eyes to disturb me.  

“When he said he likes you!” Lila squeals.  “Did you reach across the table and grab his collar and snog him right there in the coffee shop?  Did you have a whipped cream mustache?   Because–”

“Of course I didn’t,” I interrupt, unsure whether or not to comment on the mustache.  “I just broke up with Liam, like, two weeks ago.”

“Two and a half,” Lila says.  “And what does that matter?  You weren’t actually dating him, remember?  You were just pining.”

“Pining still counts,” I object, feeling a bit like a child arguing with her mother.  I balance my mobile between my ear and my shoulder so that I can sweep my things off the table into my backpack.  I zip it and shake it up and down a couple of times to make everything settle, and then I put it down on the chair so that I can put on my coat.  

“Counts as what?” Lila asks, but I only half hear her, because I’m too busy picking up Niall’s scarf and turning it over and over in my hands like it has an answer for me.  I’ve only been the owner of this scarf for a few weeks, but in that time, a lot has changed.  I lost my coat, I ended a relationship that wasn’t healthy for me, I got my coat back…  It was a rollercoaster of a month, really.  “Quentin, are you still there?”    

“Mm-hm.”  I wrap the scarf around my neck and grab my backpack.  When I push the door open and the wind hits me, I walk straight into it, not even feeling the cold.  “It still counts as heartbreak.”

Lila huffs.  “Well, fine.  But Q, I don’t think you’re heartbroken.  I think you’re relieved that things didn’t work out with Liam, because he doesn’t even know that your favorite ice cream is vanilla.  And he only gave you his hoodie because he was an idiot.  Niall gave you his scarf because he’s a nice guy, and he wanted you to feel better.”      

“It’s just a scarf, Lila,” I tell her, although I absolutely do not believe that it’s just a scarf.  I know that it’s not just a scarf.  I know that Niall loves his sister, and he loves his scarves, and even though he said he has millions, he wouldn’t part with one easily.  So it means a lot that he’s letting me keep it.  It means a lot that he thinks it looks good on me.  And it means a lot to me, too.  

“You’re completely missing my point.”  

I’m at the corner now, and I stop to wait for the light to change so that I can cross.  It’s starting to snow, in tiny little flurries that I’m sure will melt by morning, but I stare up at the sky and watch them fall down anyway, trying to think up a clever metaphor about snowflakes and my heart.  I bet Niall could think of one; he does study literature, after all.

“Quentin, are you listening to me?”

“Mm-hm.”  A snowflake lands on my nose and melts, dripping cold onto my cheek.  “I’m missing your point.”

“You are,” she says.  The light changes and I step into the street, treading carefully so as not to slip on the wet pavement.  “I’m trying to point out that Niall is a better guy than Liam, and he likes you and you’d be an idiot not to take this chance–”

“I thought I was a lollipop.”  

“Quentin,” she huffs.  “You’re being ridiculous.  You can be an idiot and a lollipop.  And you need to stop sabotaging yourself and realize when something good is right in front of you!”

“I’m not–” I start to say, but I’m interrupted when I trip over the curb, literally falling head over heels into someone’s arms.  All my careful walking so as to not slip on the wet road was apparently all for nought.   

For a second I think I’ve blacked out, and then I realize I’m just squeezing my eyes shut really tightly.  I open them, and I’m in somebody’s arms, one of my feet kicked out in the air behind me and my backpack digging painfully into my right shoulder.  It’s quite the compromising, not to mention ridiculous, position.  

“Quentin?”

I know that voice.  Oh, shit, do I know that voice.  For a second, I wish I were Harry Potter so that I could apparate the fuck out of here right now.  But then I remember that I’m Quentin Presley, and I am unfortunately ordinarily human, and the only thing I can do right now is open my eyes.

“Hi, Liam,” I say, opening my eyes and returning my foot to the ground.  Once I’m back semi-solidly on two feet, I get a decent look at him.  He’s wearing his leather jacket and looking at me like I’ve lost it, and standing right next to him is his new girlfriend.

I mean, I don’t know for sure that she’s his new girlfriend, but she’s the same brunette girl I saw him with at that party a few weeks ago.  The same party where Niall gave me his scarf, the one I’m wearing right now.  

“Are you okay?” Liam asks, raising an eyebrow at me as I straighten myself out.  “Hey, is that Niall’s scarf?”

I run my fingers through the fringe.  “Oh, yeah, he gave it to me.”

“Oh.”  Liam lifts up a hand to scratch his head, and then he smiles.  “Well, that’s good then.  It was nice running into you, Q.”

I nod, feeling a bit dumbfounded, almost as dumbfounded as Liam’s new girlfriend, who’s been standing by his side looking annoyed for the past few minutes.  As she takes his arm and they continue up the road, I wonder if maybe she’s mute.  Maybe he likes her because he gets to listen to his the sound of his own voice so much.

But that’s mean, I realize, and then I remember my mobile.  It’s still clutched in my hand, and I raise it slowly to my ear, ready for Lila to yell at me.  “Lila?  You still there?”

She sighs deeply.  “I thought you died, Quentin.  What the hell happened to you?”   

“I tripped.  And I ran into Liam.”  I start walking again, though I’m not too sure where I’m going.  I should go home, shouldn’t I?  That’s where I was going before I ran into my best mate who isn’t my best mate anymore because we started sleeping together and then he broke up with me.  Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life.   

“You ran into Liam?” Lila repeats.  “Are you okay?  Was he a jerk to you?”

“He was fine,” I tell Lila, making it across the street.  “His new girlfriend was with him.  He seemed glad to see that I’m wearing Niall’s scarf.”  

“You’re still wearing Niall’s scarf?” Lila exclaims, as if this is life-changing information.  “That’s great, Quentin!”

“Why is that great?  It’s just a scarf.”  I spot the tube station and go toward it, keeping my head down because I’m pretty sure I’m blushing.  

“We’ve already established that it’s not just a scarf, Q.    

“Fine,” I say, and then I hang up on her before skipping down the steps into the tube station.  I tap my oyster card and go wait for a train, and while the platform fills up around me, I think about Niall’s whispered “See you later, Q,” as he left the cafe, and the warmth in my cheeks as I watched him slip out the door.  I hold onto the bar above my head with one hand and feel the soft fringe of the scarf with the other, and I wonder what I should do next.  

Because maybe it isn’t just a scarf.  And even though I told Niall I need time to think about his question, maybe I don’t.  Maybe I need to stop questioning my feelings.  Maybe I know exactly what it is that I want.  

And maybe, for the first time in my life, things are finally falling into place exactly as they should.