Take My Breath (KShaw)

Chapter 6

Harry's mum calls him on Monday, between his second and third class of the day, when he's walking to the coffee shop to get something to wake him up. He tugs his phone out of his pocket, reads her name on the screen, and hits 'talk' immediately. "Hey, sweetie," she says brightly. "How's my genius son?" Harry smiles, stops to plunk himself down on a bench. He pulls his cigarettes from his bag while saying, "Hey, mum." "Are you smoking?" she demands, just as he flicks his lighter. "I thought you quit." Harry groans, putting the smoke back in the pack. "I'm quitting," he corrects. "Slowly. School is stressful." "But you're keeping up your grades, right? You're attending all your classes, not slacking off?" "Of course," Harry says instantly.

Like he could slack off. If he slacked off he'd lose his scholarship, and they don't have a lot of money, his family. In fact, he's the first to go to university, or college. He can't afford not to bust his ass. Can't afford to slack at all, to miss classes or get behind on his work. If he loses his scholarship, he loses his future. Not just the distant one, but the immediate one. He'd lose his monthly funding, he'd lose his dorm room. He'd be so, so fucked. And everyone would be so disappointed in him. He remembers, when he got accepted, full ride, how proud everyone had been of him. How his mum had cried and his dad had slapped his shoulder and said, "I always knew you could do it." How his parents had thrown a huge party, invited all their closest friends to brag about it. How they'd saved up for months to get him his laptop and other supplies. He'd be disappointed in himself, too. And it would have all been for nothing.

The past four years of pushing himself to exhaustion. Of giving up those years of high school where he was supposed to be a teenager. Where he was supposed to go to parties and hang out with friends and skip class to smoke weed underneath the bleachers. Years he'd instead spent doing homework. Doing extracurriculars because they looked good on applications. Years where he'd missed out on school dances and that one party he'd been invited to.

Not that he hadn't made some friends, only they were like Harry. They worked hard, and they were too busy planning for the future to live in the now. So while he didn't sit alone at lunch, while he had someone to work on projects with in classes, to bitch about the other kids with, he didn't have someone to hang out with after school. Didn't have someone to call him in the middle of the night just to talk about their parents fighting, or their girlfriend breaking up with them. Except for Cal but, really, Harry doesn't like to think about Cal all that often. When he'd graduated, left home, he'd left that part of himself, too. It's easier this way.

"That's good, then," his mother says, her voice getting thicker. "I'm so proud of you. You know that, yes? We're all so, so proud of you." "Mum," Harry whines. "Don't cry, okay? I've been gone for months. I thought we talked about this. No getting emotional." "I'm sorry," she blubbers. "just love you, and I want the very, very best for you. You deserve that. You deserve more than that." "I have to go," Harry says abruptly. His own eyes burn, and the girl who walks past him gives him a funny look. "I have class. I'll talk to you soon." "You better!" his mum says. "I love you." "Love you. Tell Josh and Rosie I miss them, and tell dad I love him, too." "Will do," she promises. "Bye."

When he's got his phone in his pocket, he puts his cigarettes back in his bag and heads for the coffee shop. He still has about twenty minutes before class, which gives him enough time to wait in the always impossibly long line for a drink and maybe something to eat. As predicted, the shop is packed. The line is to the door, and every single table is filled to the point of brimming, extra chairs pulled around the edges just to fit people in. It's the only place on campus, aside from the cafeteria, to get anything to eat or drink. Which means that, unless you have a car or a lot of time to spare, it's your only option.

"Harry!" He almost doesn't react to it. Unless it's Ethan, or Tobi, hardly anyone really talks to him. But he turns, finds Simon two people behind him in line, and hesitantly smiles. Next thing he knows, Simon's line hopping, butting in front of people to stand beside Harry. "You just saved me, like, five minutes," he says. Behind them, people grumble about Simon jumping ahead. "Thanks." "Uh, no problem," Harry says, but he didn't really do anything. Simon nods. He's got a backpack hanging off one shoulder, sunglasses on his face even though they're still inside. He's also wearing his jersey, and Harry distantly remembers someone mentioning the game on Thursday. Or everyone, really, because sports is a big thing around here, and it's all anyone can talk about most of the time. Plus, he rooms with JJ, which means he gets an unofficial game schedule.

Around game days, JJ turns into a ball of nerves and angst. He wallows nervously around the room, working out more than he should, blasting his music until Harry or their neighbours complain, and then he'll put in his headphones and stomp out of the room. He gets extra moody, snapping at Harry for the most miniscule things, even ones that he's aware are stupid and petty. Like turning over in the middle of the night, or his alarm going off in the morning to wake up for class.

"You should come," Simon says, like his train of thought is running on the same track as Harry's. "To the game. I don't think I've ever seen you at a game." Harry snorts, he can't help it. "How would you even know? Hundreds of people attend those games. There's no way you'd have noticed me if I went." "True," Simon says, "but JJ says you never go." "Not my thing," Harry admits. They shuffle forward a few feet. "Don't really have the time, most days. And it's not my scene. I don't really like sports." "School pride, though!" Simon says loudly."You gotta attend at least one game, dude. You should come Thursday. Bring your friends. Afterwards we always have a big party at Josh's house. It's different than the last one we went to, promise. It's more laid back. The whole team goes." Harry makes a face. "I don't really think that-" "Seriously," Simon says lowly. "Some people would kill for an invite to that party. You realize that, right? It's hard to get in if you're not on the team. But I want you to come."

Harry is aware of the fact that Simon has no idea how much of a douche he sounded like, saying that. He knows it wasn't meant to be malicious or 'We're better than everyone' but it sort of was, acting like Harry should be jumping at the opportunity just because it was a 'cool' party for 'cool' people or whatever. But Simon isn't like that, he knows. He's just... a little naive, maybe.

"I don't know," Harry eventually says. They're almost at the counter now, and he's grateful. "I'll think about it?" Simon grins. "You should. Let JJ know what you decide." Simon's eyebrows draw together. "Actually, don't do that. He'd probably not tell me because he hates you. Just, uh, let me know. I'll give you my number." "That's really not-" Simon's already pulling a pen out of his bag, grabbing Harry's arm to scribble his number down."You don't have to," Simon adds when he's done, recapped pen safe and sound in his bag once more. "If you really don't want to, don't feel bad. But if you decide you do, just text me. Or text me whenever, for any reason." "Okay," Harry agrees, a little too stunned to do much more. "I- I will."

"Good Morning! How can I help you?" the barista asks, and Harry rolls his sleeve back down and orders himself a coffee.