Left My Heart Out

It doesn’t take me very long to accept that I really like Niall and that I want to date him.  

It takes me a lot longer, however, to find him again.

“Why don’t you just go over to his flat?” Harry asks me one Thursday night. It’s been approximately 6 days since I’ve seen Niall, even though I’ve been going to the coffee shop every day and ordering a hot chocolate and sitting in view of the door so that he’ll know I’m there as soon as he walks in. But he hasn’t been coming in.

“I can’t just do that,” I tell Harry. “That would be rude.”

It would be, and also, it’s Liam’s flat, too. It’s Liam’s flat, and it’s where I had my first kiss with Liam, and it’s where I first shagged him, and it’s where we broke up. So I can’t just show up there and expect Niall to open the door and then snog him right there in the the entryway. What if Liam sees? Worse, what if he doesn’t, and then I have to lie to him about my feelings for Niall? I know he said he’s okay with us dating, but it still feels weird.  

“No, it wouldn’t,” Harry says. We’re in the library, and he’s reading some textbook, barely looking up at me as he speaks. “Niall fancies you. He’d be flattered. A nice surprise, that sort of thing. Especially if you don’t wear a bra.”

“And then he’d be weirded out as soon as he remembers that Liam is his roommate,” I say, ignoring Harry’s last remark. Niall is going to start thinking about me and Liam in bed, on the couch, up against the wall, and it’s completely going to turn him off. Even more than that, he’ll probably start hating me. “In fact, that’s probably why he’s been avoiding me all week.”

Harry looks up at me, skepticism written all over his face. “Q, didn’t you tell him you needed time to think about it?”

I bite my lip. “Yeah, but–”

“And didn’t he completely respect that and not try to force you into anything?”

“Yeah, but–”

Harry sighs dramatically and slams his book closed. Then he calls me by my whole name, and I know he means business. “Quentin, you’re being ridiculous. Niall’s just giving you space, because you asked him for it. Stop overthinking it and make the next move.”

I’m trying to think of an answer when Harry stands up from the table and shoves his book into his backpack. “Where are you going?” I ask him.  

“Home,” he answers, zipping up his coat. “I have things to do, and you’re being annoying.”

“You’re annoying,” I spit back. Harry just rolls his eyes at me.

“Call me when you’re sane again,” he says as he turns to walk away. “I’m going to a party on Saturday. You can come, but only if you promise to stop being such a lollipop.”

My eyes go wide. “Did Lila–”

“Yes, she told me, and you’re doing it right now,” he says. “Bye, lollipop.”  

I glare at his back as he walks away, but I know that he’s right. I’m being really ridiculous about this. I need to do what I did with Liam, just grab Niall’s hand and catch him by surprise and snag him right then and there. Except I won’t do things exactly like I did with Liam. This time I’ll say what I’m feeling, and hopefully Niall hasn’t changed his mind since the last time we saw each other and he’ll reciprocate.

Hopefully.

The worst that can happen, I guess, is that Niall isn’t interested in me anymore. But at least I’ll know, and I’ll be able to start putting my heart back together much sooner than I did with Liam. And maybe it’ll hurt less, because there isn’t really anything between us yet. But then again, maybe it’ll hurt more, because this feels more real. This feels like it has the potential to go deeper and last longer and end up with both of us happily ever after.

As I leave the library, I text Harry: i’m up for the party on saturday.

His response rolls in almost immediately, in two separate messages:

good.

niall is supposed to be there.  

good.

I hit send and try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. I’m not scared. Not of the way he might look at me or what he might say when I tell him what I’m feeling or how many loop-de-loops my stomach might do when I see him. I wonder what color scarf he’ll be wearing, and if I should wear the one he stole from me so that we’ll match. God, that’s such a stupid thought. I am a lollipop.   

As I pull my hood up against the wind, my mobile buzzes in my hand with another text from Harry: stop stressing. you’ll be fine.

If only I believed that.

+++++

The night of the party, Harry meets me at my flat. He’s wearing shiny black boots and a look on his face that tells me he’s already regretting inviting me. He asks me twice if I’m sure I wouldn’t rather stay home, but I assure him that I want to go. I’m already nauseous, but I try not to let it show as we walk to the party. I don’t say a word about Niall, even though he’s all I’m thinking about.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” Harry asks as we turn the last corner. I can see the building where Harry’s mate’s mate lives up ahead, clearly identifiable by the small crowd of people smoking on the pavement outside it.

“Isn’t the weather lovely tonight?” I say in response, even though I’m thinking, Yes, yes I would love to go home. “Great weather for a party.”

Harry just rolls his eyes. As we climb two flights of stairs inside, I try not to let my hands shake. The butterflies in my stomach are going to war, fighting over which of them is going to make me vomit first. I’m rooting for none of them.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Harry asks as we step onto the landing. The long corridor is mostly empty, but when someone goes into the flat at the end, I can hear laughter escape from the open door. I think one of them sounds like Niall’s, but I can’t be sure.

“Of course.” I square my shoulders and step forward. “We didn’t come all this way for nothing, did we?”    

I can hear Harry sighing, and a second later he begins following me down the hall. “You’re a handfull, Q. I hope Niall’s ready for you.”

All I can think is, I hope so too. And then I open the door.

The first thing I see is Niall, and the first thing I hear is his laughter. He’s laughing, full-bodied, bent over at the waist with a hand on his stomach, at a joke somebody is telling. He looks good, and I instantly want him to be laughing at something I’ve said. I turn toward him, but then I feel Harry’s hand on my shoulder, and I remember that it’s only 8 o’clock and if something goes wrong, it’ll be much too early to duck out of the party without somebody noticing.

So I follow Harry into the kitchen, where people are crowded into the small, narrow space, and talking so loudly that I can’t hear what Harry’s saying to me. I accept the beer that he holds out, though, and take a sip. God, I hate beer.  

The party is full of computer science nerds, so I’m not sure why Niall’s here, but I don’t question it. Instead of talking to anyone, I follow Harry around the flat, ignoring him and admiring the view.  We’re in a high-rise on the river, and every single window has instagram-worthy views, so I decide I’d better take advantage of it. But I don’t take any pictures; I’m mostly just waiting for Niall to spot me.  

After an hour or so, I head for the loo just to give myself something to do. I spend too long washing my hands, and then, as I’m walking back to where I left Harry, I realize that I can’t see Niall any longer. My heartbeat picks up as my mind races. What if he left? What if he gave up on seeing me and went home? Or, what if he didn’t realize I was here and left because he was bored? What if I never see him again?

The word lollipop bounces through my mind as I make my way back to Harry. Even though I know I’m being silly, I can’t stop looking for Niall.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry asks as I crane my neck over a group of first-years who are the definition of computer science geeks; they’re wearing graphic t-shirts with maths jokes and calculators with faces printed on them and snorting as they laugh.  

“Nothing,” I say as I look between their unbrushed heads. I’ve managed to lose Niall sometime during the brief time I spent in the loo – I managed to lose Niall, though Harry is still exactly where I left him, leaning against a wall and talking to Ashton, his elusive roommate.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks as I put my hand on Ashton’s shoulder and use his height to propel myself upward. I still can’t see anything. “Did you drink something weird?”

“I’m fine,” I say, settling back on my feet and crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m just being impatient.”

Harry lights up like a neon sign, and I know he’s about to tease me. “Is this about Niall?” he asks, leaning forward and whispering Niall’s name conspiratorily.  

“Who’s Niall?” Ashton asks. Who’s Ashton? is a better question, I think, glaring at him. I swear I’ve only seen this boy three times in my life, and he’s lived with Harry for two years now.

“The bloke Q’s crushing on,” Harry explains, talking to Ashton over my head. “He studies literature and footie.”

“You can’t study footie,” I say. “You play it.”

“I thought she liked Liam,” Ashton says, answering over my head. This is definitely one of the downsides to being petite: conversations happen over my head all the time. Usually they’re not about me, though.

“I’m right here, you know,” I say, not crossing my arms over my chest because that would make me look like a petulant child, and even if I’m petulant, I’m certainly not a child.

Harry ignores me. “That’s over with, mate. You’re way behind. See, Liam dumped Q before she had the chance to dump him and then–”

“Harry!” I grab hold of a bit of his stomach through his t-shirt and pinch him. He sucks in a breath and looks at me. “Finally. Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Do you want to explain to Ashton why you’re being such a numpty, then?”

“I’m not being a numpty,” I say, spitting the word back at him.

“Then why are you stretching your neck out looking for Niall when you could just go talk to him?”

“Because he’s not in here,” I say. “And you think I’m a numpty.”

“Um, Quentin.” It’s Ashton, suddenly asserting that he has a voice. “Isn’t that Niall over there?”

I follow his pointing finger across the room, where, indeed, Niall is standing, talking to one of the computer nerds. Our eyes meet, and I think, finally and blush like a total lollipop. He smiles, and I start to make my way toward him.

“I thought you didn’t know who Niall is,” Harry is saying to Ashton. “I’m so confused.”     

I don’t turn around. I’m walking toward Niall, and then I have an idea: I spot the sliding glass door that leads to the terrace. There’s no one out there, considering it’s the middle of winter, which means it’s a perfect place to talk to Niall. I don’t know what exactly I’m going to say to him yet, but I can feel it. And I can feel him following me.

When I get outside, I slide the door shut behind me, but not all the way. I can hear the party leaking out, screams and laughter and chatter. The cold wind hits me, making me shiver, and I pull Niall’s scarf tighter around my neck. I lean my arms against the railing and look over the dark river. A boat passes underneath me, lit up with twinkle lights, the laughter of the passengers rising from the river to meet me.

Finally, Niall comes out. I hear the door sliding and his footsteps on the terrace, and I know it’s him even though he doesn’t say anything because I can feel the air around me change.  Suddenly, there’s electricity in it, and it makes my heartbeat speed up. I listen as Niall walks across the terrace and comes up next to me.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet in my ear. He leans his forearms on the railing like I’m doing and looks out over the river, but I know that he’s not here for the view. “Quentin. What are you doing out here?”

“Thinking.” Thinking about you, thinking about me, thinking about Liam. Thinking about how we could possibly start fresh when we have all this shit behind us, inside us, between us. We can’t just pretend none of it ever happened. Even though I know that, I still want to try.

“Did you think about what I asked you?” he asks carefully, speaking slowly, as if to give me a chance to interrupt him before every new word. A chance to give myself an out.

But I don’t need one this time.  

“Yeah, I did,” I say. I turn to look at him, cocking my head and studying his profile, the sweep of his nose and the redness in his cheeks and the way his hair curls over his ear. “I thought about it.”

His mouth twitches, almost as if it’s trying to smile but isn’t quite ready yet. “You wanna tell me what you thought about?”

Then he does something I don’t expect. Niall puts his hand on top of mine on the railing, his wide palm and long fingers dwarfing my own. I turn my hand over and interlock our fingers. He’s warm and comforting and exactly what I need right now, a I stand out here shivering in the wind. I wish he would put his arm around me and surround me with his warmth, but I know it’s too soon for that.

“I am, I think,” I say. “Interested in you. In that date. But I think I’m gonna need some time.”

The words hang in the air for a second, and that second seems to stretch on forever and ever, into the distance like the River Thames, out to places I’ve never been and will never see. And then, finally, just as I’m considering throwing myself into the river below us, Niall speaks.

“I thought that might be the case,” he says. When I look over at him, he’s smiling widely, clearly pleased with my answer despite its caveat. And then he says something that surprises me.  "Does that mean I can’t kiss you right now?“

I feel his gaze burning into mine and his hand heavy in my own, and I shake my head. My heart beats wildly in my ears. "Nah, I think you can do that.”

It’s clumsy for a first kiss, nowhere as smooth as my first kiss with Liam was (although I was drunk that time, so maybe I’m misremembering). It takes me a second after his lips touch mine to unwind my hand from his so that I can use it, but then I slide it into his hair, so soft beneath my fingers, and stand on my tiptoes to get a bit closer to him. It’s different from kissing Liam: there’s less musculature in his back and more bone, which I can feel when I slide my hands down to his neck and slip them beneath the collar of his shirt, and he kisses me through a smile, his lips curving upward, constantly teasing me with their escape. His hands are heavy on my waist, keeping me right where he wants me, right where I want to be.

“Not bad,” he says when we break apart. I feel breathless, a bit dizzy even, but he seems completely unaffected. “But I can do better.”

“Plenty of time for that,” I say, grinning up at him. But then I think, might as well start now.