Boys Don't Cry

It's Just A Spark But It's Enough

October

Isabel pushed the door open to Nell's, the bell jingling as she scanned the room and ran a hand through her hair.

She found Harry almost immediately, sitting at the table in the corner and staring at the table. He was wearing one of his massive jumpers, the sleeves falling past his wrists as he sipped on a mug of tea, and he looked so nice that Isabel was hesitant to even approach him.

"Hey," she said once she got close enough, and he looked up at her, his face brightening.

"Sorry I'm late."

"It's fine, I was late too," Harry said with a smile. "I got you tea, it might be just on the right side of lukewarm."

"Thanks," she grinned, sitting down opposite him and shrugging off her coat. He swallowed, watching her for a second before setting down his mug.

"So I spoke to my dad," he said, going straight in for the business talk. Isabel tried her best not to be disappointed. "He says he'd love for you to use Addiction Trust for your festival."

"Really?" Isabel said, her face lighting up in surprise. She'd half expected him to say his dad didn't want to do it even if it wasn't true, just so he could get out of it. "Oh, that's amazing Harry, thank you!"

Harry smiled weakly. "This is his email address, he said you should email him and he'll send you all the details and stuff." He slid a little piece of paper across the table, his father's email written in Harry's neat, familiar handwriting. "He said – uh, he said they're gonna use it as an excuse to come down. To see me, I mean. They've never visited me down here before."

"Oh right," Isabel replied, sipping on her tea.

"Are you – are you okay with that?"

Harry paused and then nodded, his hair flopping over his forehead slightly. "Yeah. I mean, it's weird. I cut them off for ages, didn't want them knowing anything about life here and whatever. But it's fine."

Isabel wasn't sure what to say, so she just drank her tea, watching as Harry's fingers wrapped around his mug and gulped down the rest of his. His knee brushed hers under the table and Isabel swallowed loudly, horribly aware of the silence between them.
She set the mug down on the table and sighed, looking down so that her hair fell across her face as she tried to think of something to say.

"You look exhausted," Harry said before she could say anything, a smile in his voice. "It's like the fourth week of term."

She blinked up at him, trying her best not to seem offended. "I'm very busy," Isabel said haughtily.

"What are you studying at the moment?" Harry asked with genuine interest, drumming his fingers on the table and leaning forward a little.

"Stuff about Lenin," she mumbled, not liking his proximity one bit. "Russian revolution and that."

"You should take a break," he suggested, his eyes scanning her face. "You've got so much on, you shouldn't –"

"I can't take a break," she insisted, interrupting him before he could lecture her like her mother did. "I'm busy. I need to get my grade up."

He frowned. "What did you get last year?"

"A 2:2," she replied, her face falling. "I was near a 2:1 though, and I got a 2:1 in first year. I need it, I won't leave with a 2:2. I can't."

He nodded, chewing his cheek. "If you weren't far, it won't be hard to push it up."

"What did you get?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Harry worked harder than anyone she knew, and unfairly, he was just naturally gifted, too.