Eight | W2S

FIFTY FOUR.

It had been said that the week in between Christmas Day and New Year's Eve had no proper concept of time. And it was true — the days merged into one long, timeframe.

I didn't even realise it was New Year's Eve until messages from my friends asking if I'd be attending the party had come through on my phone — something I had avoided since Christmas.

Harry and I were still in a relationship. Things had been...tense, to say the least.

His revelation on Christmas Day had been encouraging, and it was enough to bring us back together, but those feelings weren't going to change overnight.

It was clear we were two people with very different ideas about our futures, but it seemed as if he was willing to adapt his future to fit with mine.

Even that brought up difficult feelings to comprehend, because it made me feel as if I was forcing him to sacrifice a huge part of his life, and the guilt that accompanied was tremendous.

On top of that, we hadn't told anyone about our argument, per se, and tonight was going to be the first time seeing all of our friends since it had happened.

"Hey," Harry's voice called out, the door to my apartment opening.

He'd left early this morning, and had only just returned, naturally piquing my interest.

"You were gone early this morning," I reply, looking up to see him carrying a few bags on his arm. "You went...shopping?"

"I - uh, yeah. Things have been a little...awkward this week. I know you know what I'm on about, and I'm sorry for contributing towards the awkwardness," he starts, and this is definitely not the conversation I want to have on the last day of the year.

"Harry -" I start, in a tone that alludes to me not wanting to continue the conversation.

"No, I know. I just wanted to give you a gift. I bought you a dress, for the party tonight. You don't — you don't have to wear it, if you don't like it. In fact, I can return it if you don't like it," he rambles, holding out the designer bag.

My face changes into a genuine smile, the first one since Christmas Eve, and I walk over and take the bag from his arm.

"Thank you," I tell him appreciatively. "I'm sure it's lovely. I'm going to start getting ready for the party now, we need to leave soon. Are you getting ready here or at yours?" I ask, because he had spent a lot of time in his flat after the Christmas debacle.

"Here, if that's okay. I also...bought some overnight stuff. I thought, you know, because we'll both be really drunk tonight, it would be easier to crash here."

I hated how he posed everything as a question, or a suggestion. It was a stark reminder that things were not completely one hundred percent.

"Harry," I stress, my tone changing into one that is more firm. "You are my boyfriend. Just like before, you're welcome round here anytime. That won't change," I tell him, looking at him in his eyes, my arm resting on his.

He nods, blinking back any sign of confusion. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm being so weird. I guess I'm just worried about seeing our friends after everything. You know, if they ask how our Christmas was. I don't particularly want to announce to everyone we broke up for a day because we couldn't agree on having children," he says dryly.

He was worried about the exact same thing I was, and somehow it made me feel more connected to him than ever.

I smile at him, squeezing his hand. "It's no one else's business unless we make it theirs. I don't feel the need to tell anyone, do you?" I ask, posing the question genuinely, wanting his opinion.