Happier - a drabble series

#1

He knows you don't roll in the same friend circles anymore.

It's been at least a month since he's seen you. A month and a handful of days since you had looked up at him with watery eyes and your broken heart in your hands, and then walked out of his life.

He'd hurt you. You couldn't hold you both together anymore. And he'd let you go.

You couldn't believe how easily he'd let you go. And these days, neither could he.

A month. A handful of days. A smattering of hours. He's not counting, honestly.

He'd not seen or heard from you since then, and you'd not gone out of your way to be seen or heard. You'd dissolved any contact with him, and his group of friends that had been so very fond of you. You needed to clear your mind and your heart of Harry Styles, so you stopped opening up old messages, stopped responding to event invites, stopped looking at Instagram and Facebook and even Twitter, though you'd hated giving up Twitter...until you felt cleansed.

So no, you don't roll in the same friend circles anymore.

That's why Harry is surprised when he sees you walk into the bar, arm in arm with another man.

The bar is loud and warm. Warmer now that he sees you, looking up at your new man with a beaming, breathtaking smile.

Harry's brow furrows, jaw setting. He's not one to barge over to you and demand what it is you're doing with someone else so soon, but there is a beast rattling around in his chest that is almost demanding he does so.

However, a friend grabs his attention for a brief moment, and he reluctantly tears his gaze away from you both. By the time his friend has finished asking his question, Harry looks up with you nowhere to be found.

He huffs out a little breath through his nose, swirling his rapidly diluting whiskey around in his glass. What were you doing here? What were you doing here with that guy? He didn't get a good look at him, but the way you had been looking at him was what set Harry's beast on edge. Like you were....

Happier.

Maybe she is, the beast in his chest rumbles.

He grunts at the beast, though the thought sits heavy in the pit of his belly. He tips the glass to his mouth and downs the rest of the drink in one go, before drawing his thumb over his lower lip to catch the excess. Eyes scan the horizon of bodies, trying to find your familiar constellation in the masses, and the groove between his eyebrows grows ever deeper when he can't seem to find you.

The beast pokes him in the heart, making it run staccato for a moment.

And maybe you aren't. Twat.