Harry - you turned around slowly, an all too familiar voice sounding out and clicking something uncomfortable in your ears. You turned towards the easy smile he gave you, and green eyes glistening with your heart he’d never given back, “(Y/N), wow…” he cleared his throat, “what are you doing here?”
"Um, Steven and I…" you nodded next to you, squeezing Steven’s hand a little tighter, "we just came out for dinner… what are you doing here?"
"Same thing," he chewed on his bottom lip. You swallowed something tight, like a knot in your throat, when she made her way over to Harry’s hand entwining fingers, rubbing the same knuckle you’d always favoured. She smiled shyly, the same way you guessed you were.
"Well," he extended his free hand, "you… you look great, (Y/N). You really do," he swallowed thickly.
"Oh, thanks. You too," you bit back on any other word testing your tongue, tasting sour.
"Oh, damn," Harry remembered himself, "sorry, this is Tanya, by the way…"
"Nice to meet you," you smiled, and took her hand. You flickered your eyes back to Harry, "you, um, you remember Steven, right?"
"How could I forget…" Harry pressed his lips together, extending his own hand with fingers stiff to something you couldn’t understand. You crossed eyes past Harry when he left Steven’s hand, so he lent his gaze down awkwardly, before he took it all up again, “hey, why don’t we… why don’t we put two tables together? Have a meal, all four of us…”
You shook your head, rocking your heels back from the idea, “I don’t know. Steven and I might just go somewhere else…”
"Come on," Steven shook your arm, smiling, "it’ll be okay. It kinda sounds like fun."
"Babe, I…" you murmured to him privately. You caught Harry’s eyes watching your lips when you spoke, so you shifted yourself away from him. He glanced away quickly, smiling down at Tanya, kissing her cheek, "I don’t know if this is a good idea," you finished to Steven.
"It’ll be fine," he shrugged the worry, "so how about it?" He turned back to Harry and Tanya, "we getting those tables then?"
Liam - you yawned, fisting one hand to keep it in. You turned the second last page, willing those words larger for your eyes already blinking back soreness. You rubbed them when you glanced up at the ceiling, checking the time on your way back down, past midnight, almost one in the morning. You stifled another yawn, finding your place on the page again, where the words seemed to mash and wriggle into lines you couldn’t follow. A knock on the door startled you up, and you placed the book away from your lap to stand up, adjusting all the little parts of you like your sleeves and your hair as you walked to the front door, pulling it open.
"(Y/N)," Liam tumbled in, tipping alcohol from his breath past your eyes where he stumbled in front of you. You shook back a few steps.
"Liam," you folded your arms over your chest, whispering furiously, "what the hell are you doing here? And are you seriously drunk right now?"
"Why…" he giggled, "baby… why are you whispering?"
"Because Tom’s upstairs, asleep," you hissed, "and don’t call me baby. You don’t get to call me that anymore."
"(Y/N), I…" he tried to gather himself, leaning against the far wall in the foyer. He sighed, more words out past a cloud of tequila on his breath, "I miss you…"
"No," you shook your head, hugging your chest tighter to you, "no, don’t say that, Liam, it’s… it’s been months. Don’t you dare say that."
