Exposure • h.s.

CHAPTER27.

Mabel Donovan.

I'd dare anyone to remain unruffled when faced with a situation like the one I just stumbled into: Harry Styles having a chat with my ex-boyfriend, dragging him for how stupid he was for never going down on me.

This encounter is now etched in the book of nightmares, guaranteed to haunt my thoughts for years to come – moments like these are the kinds of visions that pop into your head out of nowhere, like when you're grocery shopping or taking a shower, and they make your skin crawl with embarrassment.

These moments are just the worst.

I hate them as much as I hate the nonchalant way Harry basically threw me into the spotlight in front of everyone.
And that trademark half-smile of his, the finishing touch to his little speech... I hate that too.

I wish I could hate him with just the same intensity.

I'm about to step in, trying to break the tension with a forced "he's joking," muttering it more for my sake than Bradley's, because right now, the rage I feel towards him is so intense that if I could, I'd bulldoze right over him.

But in this room, with its red lights piercing through everything, the atmosphere shatters like glass.

Everyone seems to collectively hold their breath after Drew's words. Even in the dim lighting, I can sense the stunned looks from those around us, their gaze fixating inexorably on Harry. He tenses up visibly, his shoulders subtly retracting under the fabric of his white t-shirt, almost managing to quell the storm of anger and wounded pride that's raging beneath my chest.

Based on what Fran had told me, I understood that the guys didn't want to be seen, but Harry still had something in mind to burst Drew's bubble and ruin his night. However, the panic in their faces, which now resemble disgruntled theater masks, tells me that this probably wasn't the way to go about it.

"Harry," Zayn calls out again, almost like a retreat signal. Harry doesn't bat an eyelid, he stands there frozen under a layer of icy bewilderment.

I glance around: Bradley, to whom Harry whispered something inaudible after poking fun at his supposed lack of sexual interest in me, looks like he's exuding pure hatred.

He's looking at Harry like he's someone who just shot him in the side and then dashed away, leaving no room for retaliation.

Liam and Niall seem concerned, and they've fallen into complete silence. Zayn is breaking into a cold sweat.

Meanwhile, I'm just standing there, looking like a complete idiot.

The crowd bursts into a confused chatter, and I can hear people behind us calling Harry's name, which is echoing repeatedly throughout the room.

Harry takes a deep breath; I see his chest slowly rise, then he lets out all the air he had inhaled. He closes his eyes, furrows his brow, and bites his lip, clenching it between his teeth.

Then... he flashes a smile.

An actual smile.

He turns around, his profile irradiated by red led lights, sporting a somewhat embarrassed grin.

He clasps his hands as if to say, "thank you guys," and blows kisses here and there to some people who seem to be greeting him.

Mentally, I connect the dots to make sense of what's happening.

It's a brief moment, a dense instant where the tangle of my thoughts unravels.

In an instant, I think of many things.