Falling In Manchester

Chapter Twenty-Three - Harry

This is really short, but the next one will be much longer. Promise :)

Also, Ai is a fkn bitch

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Harry had intended to go the gym straight after his lecture, so he had packed a light backpack, and he showed up to class in his gym wear—washed, of course. He had his glasses on, curls pulled back into one of the buns Louis had grown so fond of.

He listened intently as his teacher went off about how to write a great novel, and, of course, by the end of it they were given a new assignment. Normally, Harry didn't mind, but he was getting obsessed with writing his story. Any other assignment was an annoying have-to-do.

That was also why Harry had printed two copies of what he had written so far. He had used the library's printer before the lecture, intending to give a copy to Louis and one to Miss Olsen. The two people whose meaning meant the most to him when it came to his work. He had only written thirty thousand words so far, but it was a beginning.

When the lecture ended, Harry walked to Miss Olsen. He held the papers close, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth. "Miss Olsen?" he spoke.

The women looked up, smiling kindly. "Harry, hi. What can I help you with? Do you have any questions regarding the assignment?"

"No." Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't. I was actually wondering if you wanted to read some work of mine. Like, that I wrote in my spare time."

Miss Olsen looked at him in surprise. "I would love that, actually," she said, her face breaking into a kind smile. "Do you want me to just read it, or also tell you what you should do differently?"

"I would like that, yeah," Harry said. He held the papers out from his body. "This is it, well, it's what I've written so far. I'm still far from finished."

"It would be a pleasure to read it," Miss Olsen said, taking the stack of papers from Harry's hands. "I'll begin tonight. Thank you."

Harry bid her goodbye and then left the grounds of the university. He settled into a run, his backpack bouncing slightly against his back, but not so much that it bothered him.

It didn't take long before he was there, his body warmed up, even in the cold. He stepped inside the gym, and—

"Zayn?" he asked, surprised. "Hi."

Zayn was standing by the Leg Curl machine, and at Harry's words, he looked up, equally surprised. "Harry? What a pleasant surprise."

"You don't say," Harry said. "Didn't know you went here."

"Began a couple of weeks ago," Zayn said, "though I'm mostly here in the evening. Didn't know this was where you go."

Harry wet his lips. He had never been alone with Zayn before without Louis to lead a conversation. "So... do you use this machine?" He gestured to the Leg Curl machine.

"Yeah," Zayn said, nodding, "but I'm resting. You can take a set. We can switch, if you'd like."

"Thanks," Harry grinned, sitting down on the machine. He changed the weight.

Zayn let out a whistle. "Damn, you gotta have some strong arse legs."

Harry shrugged. "I guess." He began his set, his shins burning. When he finished, he stood up, and Zayn sat down in his place.

"How's things with you and Louis going?" Zayn asked. "I haven't gotten to talk that much to him lately. He hasn't been home that much—you steal him away quite often." Zayn winked, so Harry knew it meant no hard feelings with it.