in time // h.s.

xviii. harry

Eighteen years old...

I loved uni life. Everything about it. The fact that we were suddenly in charge of our own lives, of feeding ourselves, washing our clothes, keeping ourselves occupied with no guidance from our parents (well, from my mum). It felt like anything was possible. If we wanted to go out until eight the following morning, we could. If we wanted to eat McDonald's for breakfast and Ramen Noodles for dinner, we could. If we wanted to wear the same t-shirt three days in a row, we could (although Janet would have told me off for that one). We were in control and, as long as we turned up for lectures ready to learn and got all our coursework in on time, we were left to our own devices. We'd been taken from our feeble existence in Holmes Chapel and planted in the midst of university mayhem. What wasn't to love?

Bristol was incredible. At night we were your typical mischievous students, jumping from pubs to clubs, to house parties, and wandering back to our rooms when the sun had already started to rise. But daytimes were a stark contrast. The city offered hundreds of different things to keep us occupied when we weren't busy in lectures or studying. There was something therapeutic about the place. Bristol was inviting and vibrant and its leafy appearance made it seem more like a big town than an overbearing city. It also had more of a laid-back air to it rather than the fast pace found in most others, instantly making it friendlier.

I'm ashamed to admit that I loved it being just Janet and me, too. A thought I kept berating myself for having as soon as it popped into my head. I just liked hanging out with her. For us it was just like before, except now we were in this little bubble. A bubble for two. It felt like we were sewn together, living in each other's pockets. Despite living in different halls, taking different courses and having different lectures, we saw each other daily. We'd grab dinner together, go to the library and study together, go out and get drunk together. And, rather frequently, we'd just chill out together. We'd curl up under my duvet and whack on boxsets of some of our favorite shows. Friends (mutual choice), 24 (my choice), Prison Break (mine again), Gossip Girl (hers, totally hers) and Once Upon a Time (hers, but I have to say, it turned into my guilty pleasure). Hours of our time were spent like that and I loved it. It was even better than when Matty dated Denise when we were fifteen, leaving us as a two. It just felt lovely.

That first instance of her sleeping in my room hadn't been a one-off, in fact it kicked off a regular occurrence. Something that was never planned, but always a likelihood if she was too drunk, or if we stayed up late watching something on the television and she hadn't the energy to venture back to her own bed. It was easy and there was absolutely nothing sordid in it, certainly not from her part. As she lay beside me, gently snoring (she'd hate me saying that), it was almost weird to think that I wasn't her boyfriend. That she belonged to someone else... our other best friend.

It pained me to realize that the reason she was doing that with me was because she felt so comfortable, because she had no idea of the feelings lurking inside of me. The ones I'd been suppressing since the moment I met her. I'd often lie there wondering how she would react if I just blurted it out and told her. Would she freak out? Be angry that I'd kept it from her? Pity me? Love me back?

Even as I thought about it, I knew I'd never just come out and say it, because of Matty. Not just because she was with him, but because I knew he trusted me more than anything. There was no other guy in the world he'd trust to be in his girlfriend's life to the extent that I was. I've often wondered if he found it weird, us being together so much. He never voiced any aversion to it, so I assumed not.