QUARTER-LIFE | HS

THURSDAY

Harry spots a braided Danny taking a picture of Layla over Niall's head; he's leading him through the surprisingly cramped restaurant.

"Toilets," is all he tells him.

Niall motions for him to grab his hand, and Harry does so despite wanting to head for the bar before the table. He's about to bolt (thankfully Harry asked Niall for half of the cash even though he shouldn't have to) when Danny's notices them approaching.

He shouts something indistinct, and Layla turns her head just as the flash goes off. Niall bypasses her and walks around the table to kiss Danny's cheek.

"You don't even like chicken salad!" Layla gripes, quickly turning back to smile at Harry. Harry smiles at her, too, but doesn't kiss her cheek or anything the way he does with Danny after he's done with Niall.

They don't greet each other like that in the morning, and that's off the clock as well. He barely hears the end of Danny's short "Hi, H," before walking off to the bar.

Liam kept them—Niall, really, because Harry was too busy staring at a woman across the aisle pick at the bloody scabs on her chest—on the phone for the duration of the bus ride. He hadn't expected meth scabs to come with an odor, and the nausea he was feeling only intensified from there on out.

On the walk over to Felipe's, he managed to forego a cigarette so he could breathe through his mouth. He's doing the same as he waits on drinks for Niall and himself, but the bar itself is so packed that a few long minutes pass by until Harry realizes she's attending everyone on her own.

Harry looks at the people around him; some are in their work suits, some are caught up in small talk, one girl is smiling right at him. Harry returns it kind of awkwardly, breathing through his teeth in the same rhythm he's developed.

"Christ," he blows out before he hastily looks down to his boots. He's thankful that his phone vibrates so he doesn't seem like a weird dick; he wonders when he became the awkward guy at a bar.

Rather than entertain his sister's I can't wait to see you text or Anna's How goes ur lesson plan? :3 message, he sends himself a reminder to collect homework in the morning. Done avoiding it, he settles on Instagram to distract himself.

He nearly deleted the app on his way home this afternoon; seeing 68,000 likes on a picture of Diana—gym bird Diana—on a Stairmaster, made him crack up hard enough for the nurse standing beside him to give him a funny look. Harry apologized as soon as he realized he had pretty much shouted in her ear.

"I didn't take you for a Marnie the Shih Tzu fan," he hears beside him after a while; it disrupts his count. The stench stuck in his nose hairs rises up to his head and a chill goes up his spine in a way that can only be followed by vomit.

"She's adorable," Harry says, hoping that wasn't visible, keeping his eyes on his screen. "You don't like her?"

"No, I'm a big fan. I just thought you weren't a dog person after you mutilated Marcel."

Another wave of nausea rushes to his temples when he laughs through his nose involuntarily, and he burps in the worst way. Before he's through tasting the barf he's just swallowed, he stretches upward to look for the bartender.

She's serving the guys who ordered before Harry did, so he sits back down, trying his hardest to forget the taste. He's thinking this is too much, that if it's his funk's fault, he'll go crazy soon. He's not strong enough to deal with constant sickness like this.

"I love dogs," he confirms rather dryly because his mouth doesn't taste good.

Thankfully the bartender shows up; Layla asks her for another margarita as Harry leaves a ten-dollar bill and some odd ones on the countertop with one hand and takes a big gulp of his drink with the other.