He's just Harry in Holmes chapel: it's why he goes home as often as possible. Much as he loves his life- is thankful for his life, it's always a performance. He considers his trainers and socks before the gym far to much for instance. When he's home for Christmas, his mom has declared it a fitness free zone. Which he complains about, but secretly thrills at. His mom's baking, the excuse to overindulge, and rest. Real rest. Holmes Chapel is the softest place to land.
But after a few days, maybe five, he gets a little restless and the emails he sends himself, usually a list of people to send gifts to, what food to eat, what book to read, get a little boring. Even to him.
When he was younger the list usually included what friends to see. That had a lot to do with how early he had left the nest. Most of his peers had stayed through college, and they'd be home at the holidays from uni. There was often some kind of meet up at a pub, for instance for most of the time he was in the band on the rare occasion he made it home. But the last few years, when he has actually had time to come home, real time, not snatches stolen inspite of his schedule, his friends were not there. They are in new stages of life where they are too busy and too broke to come home.
It's why he nearly drops the bun he'd decided he needed for an excuse to go to Mandeville's. Truly, he just wanted to have his cheek pinched and his bum smacked by Mary, but he had to at least make a noise about a bun. That woman had worked at the bakery as long as he could remember, possible since he was born. Her energy was contagious, he'd float all day on her approval.
It's not Mary that nearly makes him drop his bun.
He hadn't seen Keira, since he was, 20? He thinks? No, not 20, he'd been turning 20 in two months and everybody had gone out to celebrate since most would be out of town on his actual birthday, him included. Keira had been, predictably, with Tom.
Keira has always been with Tom. And Tom and Harry had always been something like mates. At least friends enough that Harry always felt guilty for just how much he loved Keira's eyes.
Her eyes. And her lips. Really Harry had loved her face. The tone of her hair was something too. She wasn't ginger, but she wasn't blonde or brunette. It was some kind of auburn he'd only seen on her. She was tall, just a bit shorter than him, maybe two inches, and she'd been so sporty in school, she'd kick around with all the boys. But she was never one of the boys to him. And she loathed watching sports or playing video games, the few times he and the boys would go to Tom's for a match she would go home, or read a book.
Harry loved when she read books, in the window seat, and the sun would hit her hair and it would look really red then, even her eyebrows would have the Burgundy tint, and he'd feel a little drunk on her wine.
He was pretty sure he hid it well. Tom had never seemed to notice, hadn't even given Harry a queer look for how long he tended to look. Harry assumed that was because Tom never payed her enough attention. He took her for granted, they'd been together so long, he felt entitled to her company.
It rubbed Harry the wrong way, never enough to do anything, say anything, because he never cheated or talked bad about her. He was just.....complacent.
Harry thought Keira was too special to be that way. But he had no say, or a smidgeon of a right. He lived on tour buses and hotel rooms, other continents and nowhere near her.
It just bugged him so much the way Tom talked about uni as a chance to be free of her. It had only been once. Harry had never forgot it.
"She's great, I mean, I love her, and she's great fun," he's leered and the laugh in response around him pissed Harry off, though Tom hadn't said anything really offensive. "But, the same girl for forever? I need at least a 3 year break. Then I'll marry her, if she's not slagged about too much while she's away."
