Needle and Thread

9

Insomnia has become a recent late night visitor of Harry's. It keeps him awake well into the early hours, pawing at him like an excitable puppy overflowing with an abundance of restless energy. Sunlight doesn't deter his wakefulness, nor does it ward off his unwelcome guest.

Harry has found that there is no real way to beat his insomnia, but there are ways to distract himself from it. Reading, music, compilations of movie kiss scenes on YouTube - Harry's done it all and seen some more.

Above all, however, the most effective distraction is one that lasts into the wee hours of the morning, all the while providing measures of entertainment unseen by any other means. In a word: parties. They're few and far between where Harry's attendance is concerned, but he does attend when the occasion calls for it.

After the somewhat life altering day he's had, Harry thinks he's entitled to a night of subdued chaos and a few sneaky sips of Alex's dad's homebrewed beer. Harry is beginning to regret that last part, though, because he's fairly certain that he has never tasted a worse beer in all his eighteen years of life. Not that he's a beer connoisseur or anything, but he has tried his fair share, and enough to know what's good and what is unpalatable. Mr Cane's beer is definitely the latter.

"God, what did your dad put in this stuff," Luke grimaces, pulling the bottle away from his lips with an audible pop. "It tastes how I imagine piss would."

Alex's own face creases into a disgusted frown following a particularly lengthy sip. "Man, who knows. I wouldn't be surprised if he added motor oil for a deeper flavour."

"Deeper flavour?" Brandon parrots. "When did you become an expert?"

"When I became my dad's personal guinea pig," Alex sighs; a horrible, long suffering sound.

Harry chooses to just sit back and watch. His grandmother always tells him that if he has nothing important to say, then he should just shut the hell up. Perhaps he's taking her advice a little too literally, but again, today has been weirder than most.

Music thuds, teenagers chatter, and Harry is merely a spectator to it all. His friends are somewhere in between their second and third drinks, a happy-medium level of tipsy that allows for easy laughter and jokes of a slightly less dignified manner.

Well, that is until the fourth beers make their appearance.

"Who invited him?"

Brandon's gaze has drifted over Harry's shoulder, focused with laser like accuracy on an unknown and rather unfortunate victim. Him. Brandon almost spits the words out, like it's nothing more than flavourless, rubbery gum.

"Who?" Alex cranes his neck above the crowd, squinting through the handsy couples, drunken football players, and Mina's huddle of dancers. She meets Harry's eyes from across the room and offers him a sweet smile he finds himself unable to reject.

"Him," Brandon says again, jerking his chin. "I can't remember his name."

Harry can't say he's not surprised when he turns his head and spots Jj standing by the fireplace with a drink in hand and a faint scowl on his face. In all honesty, Harry hadn't expected him to accept his pseudo invitation, and certainly not to the extent of actually showing up.

"Jj."

Harry doesn't even realise he's spoken until all eyes are on him and Brandon fixes him with a frown.

"What?"

Confident or cowardly. Harry must pick one before he can decide how to answer his friends oddly threatening query.

"His name is Jj."

Confidence. Huh. An unusual but apt choice, Harry thinks. Or maybe that's just the beer. The really, really bad beer.

Brandon, however, does not seem to be nearly as impressed by Harry's newfound boldness. He folds his arms across his chest and raises an inquisitive brow. "And how do you know that?"

Harry shrugs, trying to ignore Alex and Luke's wide eyed expressions, obvious with their surprise. "Because I invited him."

"Why would you do that?" Alex asks, only he sounds genuinely intrigued rather than inquisitory.

Harry can feel himself beginning to lose his nerve, each question chiselling away at his confidence, chip by chip. The only way to maintain his front is by standing his ground. "Why wouldn't I?"

Unfortunately, Harry's last stand is also Brandon's last straw.

"You know what, Harry? You've been acting really weird recently," Brandon goads, clutching his beer in a white knuckled grip.

"Got anything you'd like to tell us?"

Harry kisses his teeth, frustration building beneath his skin, sparking like a live wire. He'd rather he didn't accidentally set himself alight.

"Not that I'm aware of," He says, slamming his drink onto the nearest coffee table, "but I'll make sure to keep you posted."

With a forced smile and an apologetic shrug directed towards Alex and Luke, he springs out of his seat and storms towards Jj, fuelled by his simmering anger and something else - something he can't and won't identify.

Jj catches sight of him when Harry is still halfway across the living room, and if he's surprised, he's awfully good at hiding it.

"Jesus, you look happy," He says once Harry is within hearing distance. "Must be one hell of a party."

"Hell is right," Harry mutters, tossing a careless gaze over his shoulder to where his friends still sit, frozen with shock (Alex and Luke), and seething (Brandon).

"Your friends are looking... friendly," Jj snorts, eyeing the three boys warily over the curve of Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah, friendly as a mountain lion," Harry deadpans, only to match Jj rueful smile with one of his own after the passing of a medial second.

"It's good to see you," Harry adds once their smiles fade and the music grows louder, surprising both himself and Jj with his honesty.

"You didn't think I'd come, did you?" The elder says knowingly.

Harry shakes his head, shocked to find himself smiling for a second time in the space of a minute. "Not in a million years. I'm expecting five quid in compensation."

"Fuck," Jj tuts, "if only it was guaranteed I'll live that long, then I'd be able to turn that bet into a promise."

It almost scares Harry how easily they slip back into their old ways. He recalls the bickering matches of their childhood with unmatched vividness, like a film captured in technicolour. Everything seemed to be brighter back then. Prettier. Easier. Not like now.

It almost scares Harry. Almost, but not quite.

"D'you want another drink," Harry offers, gesturing to Jj's empty cup.

"You could at least buy me dinner first," He snickers, smirking when Harry lets out a sigh of his own, one of exasperation rather than mockery.

"There's cold pizza in the kitchen."

"Lead the way."