Fix You (Sequel to The Arts)

Chapter 30

"If you're going to keep it cool," Harry whispers to me, "may I make a suggestion?"

I give him a subtle nod, not taking my gaze away from Camila and Dinah, who in the living room fighting over the remote. They both circle around the couch in Harry's living room, Camila with the remote in her hand and Darcy following closely behind her with all the energy he has, curious about the commotion they're causing.

Eventually Dinah lets out a huff of air and jumps over the couch and grabs Camila on the other side. They both fall against the cushions and Dinah takes this opportunity to use her signature move proven to help her win in their little fights. She pins her best friend to the sofa by sitting on top of her and proudly wiggles the remote out of Camila's small hands.

I smile to myself at the sight, seeing the slightest bit of happiness on the smaller girl's face knowing it's probably not as common as we both wish it was.

"Zayn!" Harry slaps the back of my head in an attempt to gain my attention.

"Ow!" I scratch the back of my head. "You've been hanging around with Dinah too much."

"Stop drooling over her," he ignores my comment.

"Gross," I gag. "I could never drool over Dinah."

"I meant Camila you idio-" he pauses in thought. "Wait a minute, didn't you go on a date with Dinah. You can't tell me you never gawked at h-"

"Please don't bring that up," I shake my head in embarrassment.

He lets out a laugh and breaks into a smile that stretches from ear to ear. Leave it to him to find the best entertainment in others' embarrassment. "Listen loverboy, you can't just stare at the poor girl all night. I mean you could, but that'll already make it weirder than it is and you're not really subtle. My motto is," he hops on the counter, biting his apple. "'If you're gonna break the rules, don't get caught.'"

"Don't you find it weird that you and your girlfriend are so similar," I joke.

He opens his mouth to say something but we get interrupted by the sound of the oven timer going off.

The girls insisted on making a seperate pizza from us, claiming we were 'tiring out the dough' from playing catch with it. Part of me wonders whether it was because Dinah and Harry didn't want Camila and I too close for comfort.

I peek into the oven. "Our pizza's look the exact damn same," I call out to them in the living room.

"You made us dig for that second pizza pan for nothing!" Harry whines.

"But ours will still taste better," Dinah teases.

"I see your taste buds are still burnt from the last time you attempted to cook lasagna, yeah?" I ask.

She doesn't respond. Instead she gives me a death glare that is enough to silence me almost immediately. Camila takes notice and tries to hold in her laughter, turning around and digging around the drawers for the oven mits.

As she goes to open the oven and retrieve our homemade pizzas, the heat from the oven releases and breezers over her. I try to stifle my laughter as I notice her glasses fog up. She pauses, blowing air upwards attempting to make them de-fog, and when they don't, I instinctively move over to remove them from her face. As I approach her, though, I pause and retract my hand from beside her head. She doesn't seem to take notice, or if she did, she didn't flinch.

Sticking with the safer choice, I lower my hand on the oven handle to close it. My hand accidentally grazes hers as I do so and my breath hicks in my throat.