Knockout (Sequel to Dark)

9.

I wake to comfortable warmth, one that has me wanting to lounge in bed all day and procrastinate any worries. With a contented sigh my legs extend, unfurling my sleep heavy limbs before curling up on my side. My fingers catch the top of the duvet before the room comes to me in blinkered vision. I sit up quicker than I should and now I'm fighting an inevitable head rush. It's not my room and it's certainly not my bed. Truths from the night before rekindle in my mind and flush my cheeks a heated pink. My legs are bare against the sheets.
It's a good job Harry isn't in bed because the way I furiously pat his side of the tumbled mattress would have given anyone a start. It's empty, apart from me. From the coveted security of my cocoon, I can see the bathroom is vacant and the bedroom door is shut. Alone then. I lean back on my elbows, huffing the stray pieces of hair from my face.
It's breaking all common sense to abandon the mountain of sheets, and I do so with a shiver and disgruntled moan. My toes curl against the chilled floor before I stand, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and padding across the room. There are pictures decorating the top of his chest of drawers, his sister, his mum, distant friends. It's good he's held on to these little memories, I'm pleased. If anything, it shows he's not completely lost to the new world he's found himself part of.
I smile. What I've not quite found myself familiar with yet, is the abundance of hair Harry's now sporting. And testament to that is the amount of abandoned hair ties littered around his room. I grab a black one from the side, collecting my hair into a pony tail as I meander around the lived in space.
The curtains remain drawn but do a poor job of keeping morning at bay. I open them, the material heavy with remnants of stale smoke. I've not asked him about it yet, but from what I've seen of Harry I'm pretty sure he's not chain smoking his way through the day. Regardless, he should break the habit.
The room reflects the rest of the disorderly flat, an unorganised whirlwind of clutter. The items of clothing that tangle my feet on the floor are collected up and thrown into the washing basket just inside the bathroom door.
When growing up, I was taught to respect peoples' belongings and that it's impolite to rummage through possessions that are not your own. But I've always been like a magpie to something pretty and shiny.
A chain dangles from the open drawer by the bed, as if neglected in hasten to hide it. My head gives a curious tilt as I make to draw it out of the darkened confines. When its entirety is revealed to me I almost drop it again, as though suddenly it scorches with an onslaught of lost memories. They surface in my mind like bubbles of air in water, a flurry of evocative flashes, all containing Harry. All the occasions we spent together between him gifting and securing it around my neck, to me wearing it for the very last time.
A little paper plane on a silver chain. He kept it.
My heart thumps a little harder against my ribs, swallowing the lump in my throat. He kept it. I sit back onto his bed as if my legs have been knocked out from beneath me. The pendant swings, letting the paper plane sail in a haphazard circle before landing in my palm. And it's like finding something lost. A small comforting weight that my skin used to warm when it was mine; now it's cold.
My intrigue in the discovery is sharply cut short by what I can imagine is a closing door and movement in the living area. I drop the necklace and it clatters into the drawer before I shunt it closed.
"Harry?"
My plea is left unanswered and hanging in the silence that follows. I rise from the bed. The slim possibility that it isn't Harry the other side of the door stops me from daring to call out a second time. The fact that he's had trouble before now isn't much of a reassurance, in fact, it has me jumping to the horrendous conclusion that some homicidal maniac has broken in.
I edge towards the guitar propped up in the corner of the room, clutching it tightly by the neck. With silent footfalls I creep towards the door, turning the handle and easing it open.
I can almost feel the blood drain from my face, fear constricting my thought progression as the figure in question scuffs around the kitchen. I assume it's a man, but with my heart thundering and hands profusely sweating it doesn't really matter what lies under the layers of clothing.
I raise the guitar as if to strike and it's only then he turns around, right hand occupied by shopping bags and brows raised in shock. Head phones are yanked from his ears before he takes his hood down to reveal a hat, tendrils of dark hair curling out from underneath it.
"Christ," Harry breathes, "you could take someone's eye out with that."
My head falls back in relief and I lower the makeshift weapon. Harry's grinning as he places bags down on the kitchen counter
"That's not funny," I deadpan.
He turns to me, rolling the headphones around his phone.
"It's a little bit funny."
I shake my head as he lightly laughs.
"I thought you were a murderer."
"Well, a murderer that brought you breakfast," he gestures to the contents he retrieves from the bags.
"Why are you creeping around this early in the morning?"
"I thought you'd still be asleep."
"Well, I'm very much awake now."
"I didn't have anything in the fridge, so I went to the shops," Harry explains, unloading his bag onto the side. "I didn't think I'd have to leave a note. You were snoring your brains out when I left."
"I don't snore!"
He laughs at my defiance, grin only widening once catching my thunderous look and crossed arms.
"Bo, I've slept with you enough times to know that you do."
My damp mood instantly dissipates and it's sort of embarrassing how coy I become. I've forgotten the intimacy of our past romance. But of course he knows I snore, just like he's well aware that I'll kick him in the face if he tickles my feet, that I'd rather be miserably cold than too hot and how I despise the cow lick in my hair. He's touched my naked skin, pressed his thumbs into the dimples at the bottom of my spine, my voice so raw I could only choke on gulps of parched air.
My mouth dries and I almost lose my balance upon recalling the soft curve of his lower stomach and the cut of his hips. I catch myself on the table.
He's heard me say his name in anger, in a cry, through tears, in longing, in happiness and pleasure.
Harry isn't faring much better as he wraps his knuckles on the kitchen counter, the rings on his fingers clinking against the surface. There's a softness to his muddled expression as he raises his head to look at me.
"I never thought it would be like this, especially with you."
"Like what?" I ask, propping the guitar against the side.
"You're a mystery to me now. I think we've lost each other."
"I'm the same person," I smile, shaking my head.
"No. We've both changed," he lowly admits. "But I think I'd like to find you again - If you'd let me."
There's a hopeful craving buried deep into the words but I'm able to dig it out, dust it off. I want to learn him again, this new Harry, amend him in my mind and add all his new quirks and oddities. I'll praise his transformation and make him feel like nothing is lost; it's just things that are gained. Or perhaps we should wipe the slate clean and start from the beginning.
"We could do that."
"Yeah?"
I nod.
"Good," Harry smiles.
"I'm gunna put some clothes on," I thumb back to his bedroom.
His eyes shoot down to my bare legs before immediately turning to start on the breakfast. About as subtle as an earthquake, Styles.
"Alright."
I grab my clothes from the living room floor where I cast them off from the night before. The bedroom door is closed before I'm shedding his t-shirt and clasping my bra. There's a bit of negotiation, as always, wriggling the jeans up my legs and fastening the button and zip. It's then that I feel the small protrusion from my back pocket. I delve to pull out the small packet and realisation dawns.
I decide not to leave anything to chance and head for the bathroom. It's only ever something I've seen in films, so when I empty the packet into the toilet and flush, it feels slightly surreal that this is something that I have to do.
There's hardly any hesitation as I redress into his t-shirt. When I emerge into the living area, Harry's put the kettle on and placing individual teabags into mugs. He's left the food purchases out on the counter so I have a gander through the spreads whilst we wait for the water to boil.
"You look better," I observe with a smile, hip resting against the worktop.
There's some colour to his cheeks and it seems to revive the petal pink of his mouth and green of his good eye.
"Think it's the fresh air."
We settle around his tiny kitchen table to face each other, partaking in easy conversation and spoonfuls of peanut butter from the jar.
"Is this what you usually have for breakfast?" I ask through a mouthful of toast.
He pushes the soggy cereal around the bowl before relenting and making a grab for my remaining slice of toast.
"No, I'd probably have a banana or something."
A hum of discontent is given through my pursed lips. I've visited a couple of times now, and there's never been a hint of fruit in the kitchen. The best Harry could produce would be something out of a tin or left over food in the fridge.
"You should eat more."
"Yes, mum," he sarcastically grumbles.
"I'm serious, you'll make yourself ill. Especially with your job, you're like an athlete. Don't you need to take in a stupid amount of carbs and protein each day?"
"I'm fine."
"Harry –"
"I'm not gunna fight anymore, so it's fine," he sharply replies.
My timing isn't something I pride myself on and Harry must know that if his expectant expression is anything to go by. He sucks in a deep sigh, digging his spoon into the jar again.
"What is it?" he inquires as though the task is a tedious one.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You already have."
I ignore him.
"Were you looking for me?"
"When?"
"At the fight, the night we saw each other again. You came out to the ring as though you were searching for someone."
He places the spoon on my plate, meeting my eyes seconds later. I wait patiently whilst he gathers his thoughts, but as the moments tick by I'm plagued with more troublesome questions that I dare not ask. Did he know it was me at the bar? If I hadn't have shied away, would he have taken the girl home? Would he have taken us both?
A phone alarm goes off somewhere in the flat, the noise disrupting the balance of the situation and the moment is lost. I take hold of his wrist and angle it so I can see the time.
"Oh shit, I have to go."
My long suffering moan overbears the drag of chair legs as I push out from under the table. The phone is on the floor by the sofa, a spot I'd left it in before I partook in an early hour's game of musical beds. I thumb through the messages exchanged between my mum and I. She'll be at the shopping centre in a half hour and I'm currently more than forty-five minutes away.
"You do? Now?" Harry asks whilst standing from his seat.
"Yeah," I huff. "I said I'd meet my mum to shop for my Aunt's birthday present. If I don't go with her she'll end up buying another novelty kitchen item that my Aunt won't use."
Harry laughs, his smile punching a dimple into his cheek. I gather my belongings, dressing fully for the trip down to my car.
"I'll see you again though, right?"
"Of course."
He leans in for what I presume will be a hug but instead he miscalculates and the corner of my mouth is bestowed with an ungainly kiss. Harry clears his throat and there's a sheepish look on his face as he pulls away.
"Come here," I encourage, sweeping him into a tight hug. "I'll find you again."
***
Tiff and I had a date. A date with essays, books and a busy library. I'd met her just inside the door after scanning my access card and spotting her over by the book deposit. With a backpack slung over her shoulder, she was crunching through an apple and busying herself with textbook reading. When I approached, she handed me a banana and we began our hunt for essay material.
It's busier than I expect as we climb the stairs to the second floor. I haven't seen any free seats yet, if not we'll resort to having our little study session on the floor, backs to the radiators under the south windows.
"I spoke to Larissa and she's giving people bars of chocolate for taking part in her experiment," Tiff explains with me following her from one aisle to another. "I think that's a good idea, but it's not particularly healthy."
She knows I'll take part in her project without reward, what with being a good friend and all. But apparently you can't solely rely on good relationships between other undergraduates for help. There has to be a sweet incentive with hungry university students.
"Well, I think people will be reluctant to take part if all they get in return is a children's box of raisins."
"How about chocolate covered raisins?"
I make a disgusted face, crinkling my nose until Tiff laughs. She hoists her back pack higher out of habit.
"Fine, I'll find something else."
She sticks her tongue out.
It's after we've collected what we can of Tiff's psychology books and placed requests for the ones we couldn't find. I've ferreted out my scribbled list of possible articles when she springs on me.
"Who's Harry?" Tiff casually asks.
I turn so rapidly that we almost clash foreheads. She takes hold of my shoulders to back me up before her hands fall to her sides.
"What?" I blurt.
And I instantly regret it as it's probably the worst way I could have handled the question. She cocks her head, suddenly very intrigued by my sharp reply and the fear in my eyes.
"James asked me about him, but I don't know who that is. Apparently you've been messaging him, this Harry."
Tiff's prompt for more information is given in the form of a strict looking eyebrow raise. It's something my mum used to do when I acted up as a child.
"He's just a friend," I respond, scanning the book spines above our heads. I busy myself, extending on to tiptoes to further my reach. "Gosh, they should provide a ladder or something for the top shelf," I half-heartedly laugh.
It's a joke which Tiff raptly ignores in favour of conversational pursuit. She's like a sodding blood hound; and despite her reassuring me countless times that just because she takes psychology, she can't actually read my mind. I'm having doubts as we delve further into the subject in question.
"Not from here though, right? You've never spoken about a Harry before. Is he from back home?"
The book I'd been determined to retrieve slips from my grip and knocks my head on its descent to the ground. I grumble, rubbing at the sore spot whilst Tiff fusses to assess the damage. She bats my hand away to comb through my hair and check for bumps.
It's together that we both bend down to pick up the book, her hand accidently touches mine and it's as if the connection allows her see all the pieces neatly slotting into place. She grabs my wrist.
"Ow," I complain.
"Shit," Tiff breathes, mouth falling open. "It's him, isn't it? The boy you left behind."
My eyes widen to an impossible size before I'm hastily gathering up textbooks and my bag. She's practically stepping on my heels as I escape the aisle, thrilled to have her weird psychic ability be proven truthful.
"I thought he was a long lost love, I had no idea you still spoke to each other," she delightedly states.
Her hand is placed on her chest, trying to contain her excitement. I hush her, embarrassed by the scene she's causing. I don't need the library's entirety to know my business.
"It's only recently. It hasn't been a long standing thing," I implore in a whisper.
"Have you been seeing him, is that why you visit home a lot?"
She gives me a knowing grin which I refute with a furious shake to my head. There are people gathered around the cluster of computers who are beginning to take interest in our hushed back and forth.
"I wasn't cheating on James."
"I didn't think you were."
"He's not been very well and I'm trying to help him."
"How? Are you treating him kindly with kisses?"
The colour of my cheeks betray me and Tiff is upon my like a hungry lioness. I haul her around the corner of the bookcase before we attract anymore curious glances. The shelves rattle as I stumble over our feet and she does her best to right me.
"Oh my god!" Tiff exclaims, expression dancing in delight.
"Shhhh!" I plead.
"Or is it more than that?" her teasing smile fades, eyes full of concern. "Are you sleeping with him?"
"It's not like that."
"Well, tell me then."
***
Unable to find a study table, Tiff and I secured the next best thing, a couple of cushions from a reading area. We'd then skirted around to a warm spot by the radiators and made ourselves at home. It wasn't a well-travelled area, so we were free to chat quietly.
"That's pretty hot."
Her words are muffled around the pasta salad she's eating, spearing another twirl and shoving it in her mouth. She offers me a bite only to receive a shake to my head.
"It's not really."
"He's like a bare-knuckle fighter, of course that's hot."
"Not when you see him slammed into the floor as someone lays into him. I don't want to see any more black eyes or busted lips."
"You said he quit?"
"Yeah."
"Well, what's he doing now?"
I flip another page, jotting down a few notes and then highlighting them.
"He's gone to stay with his mum for a bit, and I think his sister's visiting."
"That's good, right? It's probably the break he needs."
"Yeah, I just hope he realises that people are more than willing to help him. He doesn't need to do anything on his own."
I catch her smile before she lightly knocks into me, laying her head on my shoulder.
"He's got you, he'll be fine."
***
"There's a boy outside," Tiff lightly comments.
She's still knelt up on the window ledge in the kitchen fussing with some cheap paperchains we got from town. I'd handed her a cushion to put under her knees after she'd complained about the awkward position.
"Hmm."
I turn to her and watch as she adjusts the makeshift banner we'd created out of scrap paper and a pot of glitter. We're on a budget, but everyone deserves a bit of sparkle on their birthday, even Rob. Tiff and I were delegated cake and decorations, the remaining flatmates had the slightly messier job of arranging alcohol and invites; which turned out to be an easy task once word spread and people agreed to bring their own bottles.
"You know, there's probably not much point in you putting up a lot of decorations. Rob won't take much notice once everyone is here and he's had a few drinks."
"I'm just trying to lift the celebratory atmosphere."
"The more you put up, the more we have to take down," I sing-song.
"You're bloody miserable."
I go back to the cake batter we've decided to dye different colours. If all goes well it will be a marbled delight of green and blue. Baking isn't really my forte but with Tiff's culinary expertise we're making the most of a free kitchen.
"Do you think he's waiting for someone?"
"Who?"
"The boy. He keeps looking at his phone."
"No idea," I distractedly reply, poking my tongue between my lips in concentration.
"Should I put it in the cake tins now?"
"Yeah. Hang on, I'll give you a hand."
She abandons the decorations in favour of rushing over to help deposit the batter. We're successful apart from a few little dollops that missed the tins. I begin on the loathsome task of washing up before Tiff's back on her ledge.
"Ohh," she whimpers. "He's gone."
I listen to her entertaining commentary, soaping up plates and leaving them to drain.
"Oh no, no! He's still there. Gosh, he's cute," she exclaims, furiously shifting her head from side to side in order to escape the reflection of the light in the window.
"How can you tell?" I laugh. "We're on the second floor."
"Well, he's got nice hair."
"It's dark out."
"Stop arguing with me and come see if we can hear what he's saying on the phone."
She beckons me over with a cheeky smile whilst trying to open the stiff lock on the window.
"That's called eavesdropping, and it's rude," I reprimand, flicking suds of water in her direction.
She gives me a sour looking scowl, baring her teeth like an overgrown feline.
"Ugh," she grimaces. "Never mind, he smokes."
Despite her repulsed tone it's a mistake to think she's lost interest, her nose pressing to the window as she makes quite a show of following the movement of the male. It reminds me of the predatory gaze a tabby has whilst watching birds teasingly flit around in the trees, out of reach and behind a pane of glass.
"I think he's coming into our building."
"What?"
"The boy," she animatedly confirms.
It can't be more than a minute that passes, time that Tiff spends giddily concocting a background story and outrageous personality traits for the boy beyond the glass. Our doorbell rings and Tiff's eyes flash to mine before she's barrelling towards the flat's front door. I scrabble after her to discover her cheek pressed to the wood as she peers through our peephole.
"Rob's party doesn't start for another –" she checks her watch "four and half hours."
"I'm not here for a party," he replies, voice muffled through the wooden barrier.
"Can you back it up a bit, I can't see your face."
I shove at her for my turn at the peephole like we're children. Tiff knows I can't reach so I'm not surprised when she catches me around my middle with her arms and hoists me an inch or two higher as we laugh.
"Oh, well why are you here?"
My hands press either side of magnifier to hold my view steady and it's then the boy looks up.
"Harry?"
Tiff's hold on me dissolves and my feet make contact with the floor again. She's pressed up behind me as I open the door. Dressed in black skinnies ripped at the knee and a dark hooded jacket, Harry shoves his phone into his pocket.
"Hi."
His mouth lifts into a small smile as his eyes pinball from me and then to Tiff.
"Hey," I quietly greet. "You're here. How are you here?"
"Uh, my sister dropped me off."
"How do you know where I live?"
"Mack."
I nod as I'm repeatedly nudged in the ribs with Tiff's pointy elbow. She's eagerly grinning, angling for an introduction I know she's probably dying for.
"This is Tiff," I gesture, but it's of no real purpose because she's already wedged in front of me and sticking her hand out to Harry.
He takes it with a laugh, repeating his name once more for her. As if he could be mistaken for anyone else.
"It's nice to meet you," she lightly says.
The greeting lasts seconds more than it should because I know she's looking at the very same eyes that floored me that night in his room. They're a conversation stopper, a sharp inhale of air and a loss for words.
It's then I'm thankful for her quick mind and kind heart.
"Firm handshake," she jovially confirms upon turning to me.
I shake my head at her as she shimmies past me into the flat.
"I'll check on the cake."
Left on our own, Harry and I share a few blinks before I remember my manners.
"Do you want to come in?"
"Thanks."
Our flat smells like microwaveable meals and disinfectant any other day, so the aroma of sweet baking is a welcome change. As I glance into the kitchen, Tiff's on her hands and knees peering through the grime on the oven window.
I lead Harry down the hall to walk past our identical doors until I reach "D", my room. My hands are on the wood when I hear my name.
"Bo," Tiff pokes her head out from the kitchen. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
She wears an easy smile but I know there's concern under the friendly gesture.
"You can go in," I look to Harry, shoving at the door with my hip.
There's a brief flash of postered walls and a desk burdened with the weight of too many books, before Harry slips past the threshold and into my room.
"Thanks."
In the kitchen, Tiff stands like a mother ready to impart wisdom; although the ring through her nose gives off more rebellious vibes than she's probably hoping for. A year my senior and don't I know it.
"That's him?"
"Yeah."
"He's taller than what I thought. Hot."
"I'll pass on your approval," I say, lazily playing with the whisk we've yet to wash up.
"You didn't tell me about his eyes," she whispers.
"I didn't know how to explain. He's not really comfortable with them, so it didn't feel right."
"Ok."
The easy acceptance surprises me and so does the fact that she doesn't press me for the details of how and why Harry's face is scarred.
"What are you going to do?"
"Talk probably. We might go out; I don't really want to do it here."
"Take your phone with you."
"Tiff."
"Ease my mind," she urges with a slow smile.
I would have taken it anyway but I nod to keep the peace.
When I enter my room Harry's busy examining my notice board spotted with paper and pins. It holds everything from my timetable to the list of experimental meals Tiff and I are going to attempt to make.
"Looks like you had fun," he nods towards the photo tacked up of me and friends from my course on a night out.
"I did, we had to dress up," I remember fondly.
"What are you, a zombie?"
"How dare you! I'm Dracula's bride," I playfully chide him.
"Oh, my apologies."
It feels a little strange to have Harry in my room, somewhere I thought he would never set foot in. Before he'd been snuggly tucked away in a box I kept separate from the other parts of my life. And I thought that's where he would stay. But now he's spilling from the seams, too big, too precious to be kept hidden in a box like a dirty secret. The boundaries I set up are bleeding into each other.
"You wanna go for a walk?"
"Sure."
He scans the room as he waits for me to put my boots on.
"Where's James?"
"Not here."
The reply comes across more aloof that I intent.
"Is it cold out?"
"Yeah, a bit. You'll need to put a bit more on," he gestures to my t-shirt and jeans.
The hangers in my wardrobe scrape along the rail and I make a snap decision on a shirt and old coat. I'm busy rolling up the sleeves that drape over my hands whist I search my bedside for a chap stick. I apply a strawberry one, rolling my lips and popping the cap to slip it into my pocket.
"Shit."
The impolite swear rolls from my tongue when I turn and bump into Harry. My hand draws back from its place on his chest.
"You still wear it," Harry murmurs, eyes cast down. "Does he know that this is mine?"
It's a sultry purr, enough to raise goose-bumps on my arms and have me wrestling for the right words. He looks at me through his lashes and heat descends into my belly, a feeling that hotly refuses to be ignored. The sensation is possessive, staking claim, pulling taut at the muscles I'd be embarrassed to admit excites me. Months have passed since I've felt anything remotely close to this intimately stimulated and he's not even touching me.
"It's just a shirt."
"My shirt," he corrects.
"No, because you gave it to me, didn't you?" I squabble, anything to take the onus off of my bashful blush. "But if you want it back –"
I feign to take it off, but Harry's hand ceases the unpopping of any more buttons.
"Please."
I keep the shirt on.
***
There's a blustery breeze down on the beach which lifts locks of hair from my shoulders and paints my cheeks pink. I take hearty gulps of sea air, the taste salty in my mouth and fresh to my lungs. The amusement lights on the pier shine through the dull weather, gulls screeching above us. Rare family trips to the beach were consistently the highlight of any summer holiday, but it wasn't until I grew up and moved away to that idyllic landscape, that I discovered it can rain in a place I always thought was sunny.
Harry helps me down the concrete lip to the beach and we amble along the stones before he suggests we sit. There's hardly anyone braving the weather, much too cold to swim and dangerous with angry, choppy waves.
"You visited your mum?"
"I stayed for a couple of days. Jess stopped by for a bit and practically talked my ear off," Harry chides, but can't hide the fondness in his voice. "Her and her fiancé are having a baby in July."
"No way! I bet they're excited," I grin. "Uncle Harry."
I teasingly knock him with my elbow.
"I'm happy for her, she's found a good guy so ..."
"That's great."
He selects a pebble, assessing the weight of it before pulling back his arm. It hurtles through the air, catching the white crest of a wave before being claimed by the sea.
"Does he treat you all right?" Harry blurts.
My eyes widen.
"No," I shake my head dismissively, a gesture which Harry draws a horrific conclusion from. "No-No, I don't mean – I'm not having this conversation with you."
"Why not?" he asks with a wounded voice.
"It's too weird."
The discussion dips and the waves draw out only to come barrelling in moments later, clawing back the steady incline of smaller stones. The tide must be coming in. I gather my coat a little tighter around me.
"He's not pressured you at all, has he?"
"Harry," I snap.
"It's just – it's been playing on my mind."
"James is lovely."
"So you keep telling me," he gripes.
"I'm not seeing him anymore, so whatever conversation you're trying to initiate is pointless, ok?"
"You're not?"
The spirited lift at the end of his question plays havoc with my emotions and excites my pulse.
"No."
If Harry's shocked by the information he refuses to show it, settling into our exchange.
"Are you cold?"
"I'm fine."
A hesitant arm rests upon my shoulder anyway, encouraging me to lean into his side. I go willingly.
"When? What happened?" he gently prods.
"A couple of days after I got back from yours. We discovered that we're better friends."
"That's good though, right? Stops him from getting his heart broken later."
"I know what that feels like. I would never do that to anyone else."
"Bo, we –"
I elbow out of his arms in a petty, childlike manner and gracelessly stand. It stings him that I fend off his concern for my stumble. I don't want his help.
"You left me," I fiercely accuse. "You were the one who left me. So you don't get to tell me how I or anyone else should be feeling."
He looks at me like I've taken a knife to his chest, carving at him until I drive the blade home. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, an ache that weighs heavy on my conscience. I would never wish harm on him.
"You left me," I mumble.
Still seated amongst the cold pebbles, he fumbles for a packet in his jacket pocket, producing it along with a cheap, blue lighter. I don't wait for the cigarette butt to kiss his lips.
"I don't want my clothes to smell, I'll wait up on the promenade."
"Ok."
I watch him from the bench I'm sharing with an elderly lady. His hands shake as he draws more of the heady cloud into his lungs. Harry's view is of the turbulent waves, and mine is of him. The whisps of smoke are cradled and lifted away into the air where they disappear. It sort of reminds me of Harry, seen but difficult to capture.
I tilt my head up to watch the cloud breaking where it reveals watery sunshine. But too soon it disappears, swallowed again by the nasty looking clouds. It's going to rain, we should go back to the flat. My eyes scrape the sky, vision falling back to the pebbled beach and I'm surprised to see Harry making solid headway up the stones. They flatten out near the top and he's practically sprinting to me. I stand from the bench and we unite in the middle of the promenade.
"Are you ok?" I ask, my hand on his arm. "Harry?"
He shakes his head.
"It was you that I was looking for."
I glance back to the older woman I was sat with moments before. She smiles at me, pushing herself up to continue shuffling along with her trolley dragging behind her.
"What's wrong?"
Harry's breath is quick and I remain in a strange state of uncertainty trying to piece fragments of information together. He unzips his coat down, sticking a hand inside to produce a crumpled piece of paper. It's offered to me. When I unfold it, it's like I've been plunged into the frigid waters beyond the beach.
"When I read it, I felt like you were speaking to me," Harry explains in frenzy.
"It was to Mack's girlfriend."
"Written by your hand. I knew it was you."
My heart's beating double time as I stare down at the sign off.
You carry with you the left side of my heart, you possess my bigger half. Keep it safe.
He runs a finger over the line and I'm upset that he's seen the letter. That he kept it. When I wrote it the sentiment was in the right place, Mack and I needed something solid and promising to piece the writing together. But now they're harrowing to look at and I'm ashamed to have cheapened the words once exchanged in love.
"That's why I knew it was you- it had to be you," he confesses. "I was angry at first." I stiffen at his truth. "I thought you'd done it to torment me. But Mack calmed me down. He explained that you only went to see him on my match nights. You never wanted me to know that you were there, but I understand."
"Like an angel," he whispers. "It sounds silly," he half-heartedly laughs. "But it made me feel better."
***
On the way back we stop at a pizza place near campus to calm the rumbling of my stomach. I feel content and well fed on our leisurely walk back to my accommodation. We don't take a direct route across the university grounds; instead I lead our meandering pace between buildings to point out where I attend classes. Harry's presence by my side is confirmed with thoughtful comments, questions and the occasional brush of knuckles against the back of my hand. The delicate touches stoke my yearning to hold his, to feel the roughness of his fingertips as his thumb rubs in playful circles. It's something I miss.
It's started to spit with rain once we reach my block, entering into a pebbled courtyard lit by low post lamps. Harry holds the door open for me to pass through and I'm not particularly thrilled to note that we hear the party before we see it. The flat door practically vibrates on its hinges and Harry's right behind me as I turn the key in the lock.
I'm greeted by sickly sweet aromas of alcopops and the stench of hard liquor on the busy tongues of people we pass. It's loud, frightfully so and I know the mature students in the flat above ours will have some complaints in the morning.
The kitchen is bustling with tight-knit groups sharing bottles and anecdotes of eventful nights out. I spot Tiff over by the kitchen table pouring a drink just before my eyes dart to a guy rummaging through my designated cupboard. I grit my teeth, shoving against the tide of swaying people but by the time I reach him he's got my colander on his head.
"That's mine!" I bite, taking it by the handle and removing it.
I identify him as one of Rob's silly friends and he grins, shouting my name before crushing me in a hug. It's with difficulty that Tiff and I pry him from me before he heads over to the fridge, no doubt to find something to terrorise another student with.
"I thought he'd kidnapped you," Tiff hushes a tipsy laugh into my ear. "You were gone ages."
With skin a fairer shade of brown, the alcohol induced blooming on her cheeks highlights pretty, amber eyes.
"Nope, still here."
I make a point of seeking Harry. When I spot him, he's got hold of Rob's arm keeping him steady before he brains himself on the kitchen counter. I stifle a laugh behind my hand as Harry pleads with me from across the room for instruction as to what to do with the idiot in his arms.
"Are you coming out with us?" Tiff asks from behind me.
I turn to her, her breath sweetened by the bottle of fruity concoction she cradles to her hip.
"I'm not really feeling it, I think we're gunna go to bed."
There's a juvenile whine in reply and I wouldn't be surprised if she began to stamp her feet and pout. Instead, I stand listening to her ramble about the antics I unfortunately missed whilst we were out. The fact that someone was sick in the bushes outside really doesn't impress me that much but I humour her anyway.
"We saved you some cake," she grins before leaning into me. "Use a condom."
Tiff's words are blindingly obvious and if there wasn't a threat of her toppling over, I would have shoved her gigging arse as far away from me as possible.
"Bo."
My stomach drops like a rock and when I turn 'round James is smiling before he takes a long gulp from his beer bottle. His eyes are bright, tickled with amusement at whatever he's drinking. I'm reminded of his kindness when we discussed the situation little of a week ago. He said he'd rather have me as a friend than nothing at all, a statement which induced tears and sharing a packet of biscuits in front of a film.
"How are you?"
"I'm all right, you?" he nods over the noise.
"I'm goo-"
"He's a fucking mess," Harry interrupts without warning.
He comes to stand beside me.
"That's the birthday boy," I weakly joke.
Harry's attention flickers between James and I, perhaps slowly grasping what he's walked in on. But we're all present and accounted for now, so I guess we should get this over with.
"This is Harry. Harry, James," I gesture back and forth with the colander I still seem to be holding.
There's a silence amongst our little gathering that's teeming with blasting music and drunken leers. It's an experience in itself to watch recognition slide over each of their faces. If it comes to the unimaginable, I'll stand between them.
"Your Harry?" James asks me.
Well, I suppose he is.
"Yeah."
"It's nice to meet you, mate."
James passes his bottle over to his left hand, holding out his right for Harry to take. There's no hesitation before Harry grasps the offering, firmly shaking.
"You too."
It's a highly civilised affair that filters into small talk about players in the rugby league. I'm left utterly perplexed, if not relieved, to take a backseat and observe them chat. I was ready for a showdown but it seems my white flag is left redundant.
***
"What are you laughing at?"
There's an amused smile softening his face, dimple forming in his cheek. Looking beyond the obvious uniqueness to his eyes, warmth floods out of them as he fondly regards me wriggling down under the covers.
"How I always seem to fall into bed with you," I whisper the truth like a secret.
He strips off to his underwear before lifting the duvet and demanding I move over. My shoulder makes contact with the cold wall and I shy way with a hiss through my teeth.
"Your bed is tiny," Harry complains, wrestling for more room under the covers.
"I think it's the university's way of deterring us from sharing them with other people," I speculate. "My RA probably wouldn't be too pleased to know you were here."
"Well, whoever is in charge of bed allocation is an arsehole," he grumbles.
There's more undignified squirming as the mattress creaks supporting the extra weight. I roll onto my side to prevent a painful spring in the back.
"Are you finished?" I ask into the cool dark of the room.
Harry gives a grunt before turning onto his side once more, huffing out a breath into my neck.
"It will be a miracle if I get any sleep," he gripes quietly.
"Well, don't make it a nightmare for the rest of us in here."
Our breathing begins to even out to a restful rhythm before I hear Harry's jaw crack as he yawns. The sound makes me cringe and I complain with an elbow to his side. His response is to make a further nuisance of himself, prodding at my back to provoke a reaction. I grab the fingers in question and it seems to put a stop to the actions because now we're holding hands in the dark.
"Can I hold you?" he asks quietly.
"Ok."
Harry doesn't need direction this time, easily finding his place and slipping an arm over my waist. His hand lightly takes my hip and I'm encouraged to lay into the shape of his body behind me. We fit together as he nudges an ankle between mine.
Rain pelts the window outside, little thundering drops as background noise to complement our racing hearts. I left the window cracked before we climbed into bed and now the curtains are performing a repetitive dance in the draft.
"I missed this. For weeks after I was waking in the middle of night on my own," he speaks the words like they're a secret, whispers into my neck. "A stupid part of me thought you'd just gone to the toilet or to the kitchen to get a drink. It was like my heart breaking all over again to realise that you weren't even there."
I clutch his hand to my chest, locking our fingers together.
"I'm here now."
***
Harry's POV
"Bo! Bo!"
I crack my right eye open. My back is killing me and I've got a mouthful of hair that I'm not entirely sure who it belongs to. The incessant knocking continues as I ease my arm out from under her. She stirs but not enough to wake, sighing out through her nose before taking a pillow to clutch to her chest. It's with a gentle smile and heavy heart that I place a kiss to her forehead and remove myself from bed.
The jeans I discarded the night before lie on the floor and I zipper them up as I walk to the strip of light penetrating from under the door. The surroundings are unfamiliar to me, so there's a bit of undignified fumbling in the dark as I ground myself in the new environment. It's easy to touch; it helps me to create a fuller picture in my mind, less of a strain on my good eye. The bolt easily slides and I blindly feel down the wood to the handle and swing the door wide.
There's a guy stood in front of me, looking just as displeased to see me as I do him. His hair is a mess, plaid pyjama bottoms twisted around his waist and a novelty jumper on back-to-front. His face is vaguely familiar.
"Oh, wait –" he frowns, turning to peer down the long corridor to his left.
He glances from what I assume to be his open door to me.
"Can I help you?" I ask numbly, my voice thirsting from sleep.
"This is Bo's room."
I hum my confirmation, growing bored of the conversation and ready to climb back into bed.
"Yeah, what do you want?"
"Milk," he simply replies.
"What?"
A soft touch to my naked lower back has me watch as Bo rounds my body to stand by my side. She leans into me and I'm happy to be her support with her wayward hair tickling at my skin. An arm scoops my back for delicate fingertips to press into my hip. And I absorb the feeling of her, soak her in, imprint her touch in my mind.
The guy's eyes blow wide.
"As long as you replace it, it's fine," she groggily says.
"Were you two-" he trails off, suggestively lifting his eyebrows.
"Sleeping? Yeah. Now bugger off. I wanna go back to bed," Bo whines, taking my hand to pull me away from the door and further into the room.
I don't take much convincing.
"You never let James sleep the night," he states, catching the closing door with his foot and peering inside after us.
"Well, clearly this is not James, is it?" she lifts my hand with hers to gesture at me.
Her clipped tone sets a smile on my face and I rather like it when she gets snarky. It puts a hellish fire behind her words and attitude in her step.
"Mornin', Harry. Bo," Tiff respectively nods at us with a yawn from beside the male before dragging herself along to the kitchen.
He follows hotly on her heels, asking her a barrage of questions as to our sleeping arrangements.
***
"So, what happened to your eye?"
My posture pulls tight, the silence stretching until I turn to face the kitchen table. Rob is tilting his head to one side, attempting to get a better look at Harry's damaged eye. Tiff leans back in one of the cushioned chairs around the coffee table, nail polish forgotten.
"I was unlucky in a fight."
Most people wouldn't have the nerve, or the courage to question Harry further. But Rob's an idiot who spends the majority of time with his foot in his mouth, so of course he would ask.
"A fight? Like a –" he raises his fists to pummel the air. "Like a real fight?"
"Yeah."
I can almost see the excitable intrigue rising from within Rob, another assault of questions ready to spill and ultimately offend.
"Eat your toast," I scold him, shoving the burnt bread into his mouth.
Harry watches me return to the bowl of cereal, collecting a clean spoon from the drawer and milk from the fridge. I chow down on my breakfast after placing his tea on the table. He thanks me with a smile.
Tiff's toes are drying so her walk over to the rest of us is more of a waddle. She rolls up her left sleeve as she moves, baring her forearm to the group. I've seen the scar before, a thick jagged line running down the length to almost touch her wrist.
"I fell from a tree swing when I was seven, branch went into my arm."
Harry places his mug down, carefully taking hold of Tiff's hand and elbow to angle the healed wound so he can examine the damage.
"It's a good one," he concludes, nodding his head.
"Well, at least you get to look like a sexy pirate," she wittily replies.
Harry's face splits into a grin, head thrown back and he's laughing.
***
The storm from yesterday has passed, leaving in its wake muddy puddles to dodge and a clear sky. Harry and I wait under the nearest bus stop shelter on the corner of the road. Cars motor past on the black tarmac that almost glitters with the wet. As I freely observe the late Sunday morning my consideration strays until I'm peering up at Harry. He doesn't flinch when my fingers gently trail his face.
I silently wonder what he sees. Is everything a little duller, or has his loss of vision amplified colours and shapes? He empowers his senses through touch, a new quirk I've noticed with seemingly oblivious brushes that skim over me and objects around him. My hand cautiously cups over Harry's left eye and with the scar hidden he appears not to have changed in the time we've spent apart. He gives me a soft smile like he understands what thoughts are occupying my mind. I'm keenly observed with a bright iris and sharp pupil.
I remove the hindrance and place it to the opposite side. The slightly milky left eye works overtime, desperately searching for anything he can make out. It flicks around and I can feel his lashes tickle against the palm of my hand. Harry knows I would never put him in harm's way, but the sudden loss of sight is too much. The movement of his chest has picked up in panic by the time he takes my hand away by the wrist.
"Why did you leave me?" I ask, voice wavering slightly.
He looks down between us, taking my fingers to play with.
"I thought you'd be better off without me. You seem to have it all sorted out now," he smiles but I know it pains him.
All in all, I am pretty well put together. But that doesn't mean all the pieces of my puzzle have found their place. There may never be a final picture, but that's the fun of the game. I might have even found my second player.
A silver car pulls up to the curb and I force a smile as Mack leans over the centre console to wave. Harry doesn't have a bag so instead I burden him with a heavy kiss to his mouth. It's a torrent of mounting emotions, everything I can possibly wish to cram into a simple touch. As I pull away I hope it's something he carries with him all the way home. I'll commit it to memory until I see him again.
"Don't disappear," I tell him.
"I won't, I promise."