radiance [h.s.]

Old Habits Die Hard

"I need a drink," I manage to say. I'm not drunk enough for this.

"B, wait a second," Louis pursues. 

Harry's green eyes glance up to where Louis and I are standing. I haven't seen him in so long. I can't even recall the last thing we said to each other or the last time we were in the same room. He doesn't look surprised to see me, and if he is, he doesn't show it. 

I suddenly feel nineteen again, and I don't like it. Louis follows me to the bar where I order a vodka soda and take a seat on a vacant stool. I toss the little straw and down the drink on the spot. 

"When you said had friends coming," I begin after the burn of alcohol subsides. "I thought you meant the lads from work like Stewart or Percy, not Harry fucking Styles."

"Look, he just moved back here a few months ago, and doesn't really know a lot of people. I figured you would be happy to see him considering--"

"Another," I tell the bar tender.

"Make that two," Harry says from behind us. I feel myself tense, turning to look at him. "Blair."

Any self control to look away dissolves the moment I lay eyes on him. He looks good, really good. He clearly hasn't shaved in a few days, there is stubble on his jaw line and just above his lips. He looks like he came from work, dressed in a pale blue button down and slacks. His hair is shorter, but is still long enough to curl and frame his face. He is more of a man than the last time I saw him. His face has thinned--no longer giving hints of a baby face. He has grown into his shoulders--he stands tall and broad, and yet, he is still the young boy from the house next door in my mind's eye. 

"Harry," I breathe. 

He scratches the back of his head, a nervous habit he has had since he was a child. He sticks his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. I suddenly become conscious of my lack of clothes, and shift my weight in unease. 

Louis claps me on the back and gives an airy chuckle, "Well, I'll let the two of you catch up." 

"Fucker," I mumble under my breath. I should get up. I should leave him here standing at the bar. But being near him for the first time in years is intoxicating. His presence is more powerful than any drink I have had tonight. 

Harry glances at the empty seat beside me asking permission to sit, I nod to him. He takes the place next to me and takes his drink into his hand. "How have you been?" He asks, trying to break the tense air surrounding us. 

I had a script prepared for a time when I would see him again, but having him here, not even two feet away from me, I am at a loss for words. He twists a ring that sits just above his knuckle. It is so strange to be here now, face to face with a man I knew so well who is now so alien to me and yet so familiar at the same time.

"I've been good," he continues, clearing his throat. "I-uh-just took a job with the Inquirer as the head of design."

"Congratulations," the words hoarsely pass my lips.

"Lou mentioned a while back that you teach history."

"Keeping tabs, Harry?" I jab. 

"Is it a crime to ask about you now?" He questions. His voice is just on the verge of irritated. 

He doesn't meet my eyes, he only sips his drink and stares mindlessly at the bar. Maybe my attitude is unwarranted, maybe I should be glad to see him after so long. Still, it takes two to let a friendship die... my messages were left read and unreturned so I stopped trying. I didn't see him making any efforts.