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“Do you ever miss it?” “Miss what?” “England. Do you ever get sick of the Canadian chill and maple and pine trees, the lakes and beavers and moose and want, like, London fog or juniper trees and little houses that are all close together and European?” Nicole asks, then breathes in a lungful of smoke. Harry looks pensively up at the night sky.
They’ve just finished their night shift at Toys–R–Us, and as they wait outside the back doors for their roommate Niall to pick them up, they look out onto the streetlight-lit highway. Nicole smokes her first cigarette of the day. Somehow, Harry had convinced her earlier in the year that it would be a good idea to cut back on the cigs, and with those big green eyes and fluffy curls, Nicole just hadn’t been able to say no. Harry fits in at Toys-R-Us perfectly. He’s sweet and lanky and his middle name might as well be “Golden Boy”, because absolutely everyone loves him. His passion is children, and he charms them so well that it isn't unual when kids don’t want to leave. He’d started out there when he first moved from England in late August. Nicole, on the other hand, had been working there since her first year in uni. It isn’t easy for onlookers to understand why she, with hair jet black, neck tattooed, and tongue, lip, and ears pierced, works at Toys-R-Us. She hadn’t seen herself fitting in there either, but somehow her mother knew the manager, and had set it all up for her. Nicole had given in to her mother’s wishes on the thought that it was only fair, since she was paying her tuition and rent without asking much of her. When she first met Harry, he was so nice that she’d befriended him naturally. On his second week of working shifts with her he’d asked where she lives, and if it was close to the University, because he hadn’t found a permanent residence yet; of course, he charmed her into telling him about the empty room in her flat right on campus, and thus their friendship officially began.
“I dunno. I guess so, but in retrospect, I think it’s the people you’re with who make it all count. I mean, sure, I miss my mum’s cooking, and singing Christmas carols with my sister, but change is good sometimes. Change is healthy.” He says, and Nicole looks over at him curiously. He’s got that late-night philosophical mood going on, and she wonders if he’s planning on growing out that stubble into a beard and becoming a yogi; he’s a very bendy boy... he could probably pull it off. She butts out her cig on the side of the building and tucks it into her pocket. “Yeah, but it’s fricking cold here, dude.” She says amicably, bumping her shoulder against his and hearing him chuckle softly. “That’s just because you refuse to wear a proper coat.” He retorts. Nicole laughs, because it’s true, and because Harry only acts like this around her. It’s comforting, thinking that she might be the closest friend he’s got here, and that maybe he’s hers too. At the very least, she’ll admit that Harry’s alright. “Here, wear this.” He says, pulling a sweater out of his backpack. Nicole takes it gratefully and pulls it over her head. “Thanks Har, love youuuuu.” She says, leaning in to hug him somewhat awkwardly. He smiles, mumbles something about her lack of always being this affectionate, and hugs back. Just seconds later, Niall pulls up in his dingy, second-hand Pontiac Sunfire, and they pile in, sighing from the relief of car heaters and Niall’s favourite mix tape blasting The Kooks.
* * *
It’s games night, aka the night where Harry forces everybody in the house to play an assortment of tacky board games which eventually, as the night goes on, diminishes to either spin the bottle, beer pong or truth or dare. Nicole, defeated, puts away her essay notes when she hears a whiny falsetto voice singing “Nicoooollleeee get your bum out here, I’ve got Cluedo all set up and you’re the only one missinggggggggggg.” She double-checks that she’s presentable, because really, she’s been studying since she woke up, and hurries down the hall to the living room, where, sure enough, everyone is sitting in a circle around the coffee table waiting to play Harry’s absoloute favourite board game.
She wonders more and more why she hangs out with these people, because they’re all such utter dorks, and she can feel her inner punk dying the more time she spends with them; and yet she can’t bring herself to care, because they’re all speaking in ridiculously endearing accents. Niall, who is, in fact, Irish, is attempting a French drawl as he maneuvers Professor Plum around the board. Zayn, Nicole’s best friend since year one, is speaking in a terrifyingly accurate Russian accent. Liam, whom everyone has unanimously decided is their unofficial big brother due to his naturally paternal nature, is attempting a Spanish accent, but failing terribly. His girlfriend Louis, voted as class clown in high school, which she brags about all the time, isn’t doing much better, going for Indian but just coming off utterly offensive. Harry is trying for Southern, and to Nicole’s bemusement, he sounds pretty good. Niall won’t stop cracking up, which means that Nicole can’t stop smiling.
After severe bribing and begging and blackmailing on Harry’s part, followed by enough drinks to make her pliant, Nicole gives in to the accent game and moves Mrs. Scarlet around the board, making suggestions, using her best British enunciation. Harry won’t stop giggling and telling her that she sounds just like his sister when she’s trying to act posh.
Around eleven-thirty, when Niall’s grown tired of beer pong (since he apparently dictates the activities even though it was Harry’s idea in the first place) they all settle down to play truth or dare, because they’re all too lazy to play an actual game. Nicole rests her back against the sofa from where she’s sitting on the floor. Harry’s behind her, and his legs are hanging like columns to her left and right. His fingers thread through her hair and he plays with it subconsciously. Liam lays out the rules, the typical “nothing illegal, nothing requiring we leave campus, nothing dangerous” bit. Nicole doesn’t really pay attention to the game, feeling relaxed by the fingers playing with her hair and the light buzz of alcohol in her veins, but eventually someone asks her a question and she has to answer or else they’ll call her names like “no fun Nicole” or something else horrifyingly unoriginal and patronizing. “Uh, truth.” She mumbles, rationalizing that it’s Louis who’s asking the question, so it probably wouldn’t be wise to pick dare.
“If you had to marry anybody in this room, who would it be?” Lou asks. Nicole thinks it’s a dumb question, and she murmurs “Cleo.”, who is their cat. Lou whines and says she has to answer it properly, and prods Liam to make him agree, and then it’s just a matter of Niall and Zayn agreeing too, apparently all intrigued in who she wishes to marry most out of the lot of them. She rationalizes that it all comes down to who she’d mind marrying the least. “Probably Harry.” She says placidly.
The fingers in her hair still, and the room goes quiet. Nicole shrugs, and acts like it’s no big deal, even though it seems to be in the eyes of her roommates; like they know something she doesn’t. It feels like she couldn’t cut the tension with a diamond. Her hair gets a gentle tug once more. “Me too, you’re all annoying as hell.” Harry agrees, and everyone breathes. The game goes on until early in the morning. Nicole feels something warm and fuzzy in her chest and internally groans, because she feels like the Grinch, whose heart just grew ten times its normal size. Harry’s just so sincere and caring, and she really doesn’t need people bugging her about liking him because she honestly doesn’t, she was just a little tipsy and warm, and Harry was the first person who came to mind, okay?
It’s a shitty game anyway. It’s pointless and childish, and Nicole goes to sleep that night feeling bitter. It’s too much for the weekend before finals, and she just wants to sleep, so she crawls into bed and hopes she won’t remember that much in the morning.
* * *
“We could start a band. We could be the next 1975 and just pop out of nowhere.” Harry says dreamily, as he stacks boxes of Holiday Barbies into a pyramid. Nicole shrugs and replies rather sardonically: “Why not? You’ve got a killer voice, Niall can play guitar, and I can play drums and do backup vocals. We could probably convince Liam to play keyboard with Louis. Zayn doesn’t really play anything though, so she could be a cheerleader or some shit.” She says, her voice conveying her dissaprovement. “Heeeyyy, don’t be like that. We could genuinely start a band, just you and me; also, there are children around Nicole. Don’t swear, or I’ll have to re-establish the swear jar.” Harry says teasingly, glancing at her over his shoulder with a dimpled smile, but she knows he’s not joking.
“I heard that they’re coming here for New Year’s.” Nicole says, her voice hinting as she spots for him and he climbs a ladder to reach the top of his perfect pyramid. “Who?” Harry asks distractedly, concentrating on placing the final Barbie on his stack. “The 1975, they’re playing at some bar downtown.” She answers. Harry’s expression when he turns around is that of a little boy who just got the new Imaginarium Mountain Rock Train Table—now $159.97 in aisle six—on Christmas morning. “You’re not joking?” He clarifies, a sense of disbelief in his voice, but he’s making that face—the one he made when he first found out what poutine was. “Why, would you like to go?” She teases. “Come with me!” He says, face full of excitement and hope. “Well, you’ll have to get the tickets yourself, because I am dirt poor, my friend.” She says, encouraging a smile from him that the Cheshire cat himself would covet. “It’s a deal.” He says, then pulls her forehead to his lips for a kiss. “I CANNOT BELIEVE WE GET TO SEE THEM LIVE!” He yells, alarming the three customers that are in the store during the night shift. He hurries down the ladder to apologise, and Nicole winks at him while he’s busy chatting up a buisinessy-looking dad about the difference between Fur-real Friends and Furbies.
* * *
It’s Louis’ birthday: Christmas Eve. Nicole’s dressed in this girly frock which Zayn lent her, and she’s freezing outside on the balcony of the dessert bar. She’s had maybe four shots and this horrible cranberry vodka thing, and all she wants is to be alone. Nicole’s a solitary drunk: when she’s both hammered and surrounded by people, it makes her head hurt and she gets terribly claustrophobic. She’d only agreed to come because Lou had asked so nicely, which wasn’t really her thing, and Liam had given her puppy eyes and Harry had squeezed her shoulder encouragingly. Now, all she can think of is how she’d probably only get a 70 on her term paper, and how badly she wants a cig, and how maybe if she went home early nobody would notice. A door clicks open behind her, and she doesn’t even care enough to turn around and greet whoever it is. She leans against the railing and looks at the nightlife crawling below like little mice, scurrying around the city aimlessly.
“Bloody hell Nicole, you’re going to get pneumonia!” A concerned voice says behind her. It’s Harry, of course. “Oh, hi Haz.” She slurs, turning around to face her friend, certain there’s a goofy smile on her face that he’ll tease her about later. He’s all fancied up as well: hair all pushed back and dressed in his skinniest black jeans and a Burberry dress shirt. He seems considerably more sober than her. He’s wearing a black blazer which looks more for style than comfort, but he shrugs it off and wraps it around her shoulders anyway.
“I’ve been looking for you for the past half-hour! Thought you might've left or something. Come inside, I need to show you something.” He says, steering her back indoors and over to an empty table. She sits on his lap, because besides being solitary when drunk, she’s also apparently very handsy. Harry doesn’t comment on this, he just pulls something out of his wallet and slaps it on the table. “Guess what these are.” He says, green eyes sparkling in the magenta lights of the bar. “A Pikachu with 160 HP and an exclusive fire-type Venusaur.” She answers dumbly, giggling at her own stupid joke, and Harry laughs too, because he’s a good friend, and possibly because he actually thought it was funny. “No, better! I’ve got two tickets to see the best band of the decade on New Year’s Eve.” Harry says, smiling brighter than the sun. “Woo! The 1975 here we come!” Nicole cheers, reaching out to hug Harry and narrowly missing falling onto the floor. Harry hugs back easily. “Gosh you’re a handsy drunk, love." He finally remarks. "Do you think you’ll remember this at all in the morning?” he asks, laughing and tugging on a strand of her hair playfully. “Mmmf probably no.” Nicole slurs into his shoulder. “Then let’s dance.” Harry says, and he gets up right then, grabs her hand and leads her to the dance floor, and she doesn’t really have a choice other than to follow.
The music isn’t half bad, Nicole thinks, as Harry swings their arms and shimmies his hips ridiculously, making her laugh. It’s been mostly poppy but catchy. The song that’s playing now is almost over, and it melts into something more swingy, and it takes a few moments for Nicole to realize that it’s Michael Bublé’s rendition of ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’. Harry wraps her in his arms for a slow dance and she suddenly feels too sober, because he smells like vanilla and cinnamon and something musky but sweet, and his curls are brushing her cheek. Despite that, it’s all fine and dandy, and they dance slowly in place like all the other couples surrounding them. She hears Harry hum along to the music, and she’s shocked by how good he sounds. His voice is syrupy sweet and more beautiful than any she’s heard before. She’s still pondering his voice when he whispers in her ear: “I think I love you, Nicole Anne Tremblay.” And she doesn’t know how to react. Suddenly, there are too many people in the room again, and her head is pounding, so she doesn’t do anything. She just lets him hold her, and they slow dance together until the song is nearly over, and Niall pulls them apart, declaring cheerfully that they’re leaving now, so they should come if they want a drive.
The drive back to their flat is quiet. Nicole rests her head on Harry’s shoulder in the backseat and counts and re-counts the buttons on his shirt, poking each one up and down his chest. Harry’s head is resting on hers, and he appears to be watching her. It’s apparent that something between them is breaking, like bending a popsicle stick to its limit before it splinters in half. She’s had too much to drink, and tomorrow is Christmas day; it’s just going to be her, Harry and Niall, because everyone else is going to visit family. If she doesn’t get out of bed, will anyone blame her? Probably. Niall had his hopes set on watching Christmas movies and opening presents and doing actual Christmas activities together. Harry is humming along to the radio. They get home fast, as traffic wasn’t bad, and it hasn’t yet started to snow. Harry holds her hand until she reaches her bedroom door, and he wordlessly kisses her cheek goodnight. Nicole stays resolute and says nothing, because something has changed between them, and she needs to figure out if it’s a threat or not before accepting it. When it finally does start to snow, she doesn’t even notice it, because she’s passed out on her bed, still in Zayn’s dress and Harry’s blazer.
* * *
Christmas passes quietly, and despite her awful hangover, Nicole participates in Niall’s activities after a long shower and several Advil extra strength pills. Niall gives her a dark blue beanie and a couple mix tapes, and since he majors in sound engineering, he knows how to do them well. One’s entitled “Christmas Craic”, which makes her sputter a surprized laugh which she hides in her sleeve, and the other is simply entitled “Nicole”. She figures that he’s made them for everyone, as Harry gets the same Christmas one as well as one entitled “Harry”. She gives them both little caricatures she’d drawn of them, a Montreal Canadiens snapback for Niall, and a dog tag for Harry’s necklace, which he likes to add and remove from periodically. They’re both grateful, and show it by piling on top of her in a group hug and pressing sloppy kisses all over her head. Harry gives Niall some British candy, and he, in turn, gets all emotional because he hasn’t been back to Ireland in three years. Harry gives Nicole her ticket to see the 1975 as well as a gorgeous little charm bracelet that she feels utterly undeserving of, and she hugs him tight, forgetting the anxiousness she’d felt the previous night. They spend the day cuddled on the couch watching Christmas movies, calling friends and family, eating Niall’s Irish stew, and playing countless rounds of Clue. Nicole forgets the previous night.
* * *
The last week of the month speeds by, consisting of tobogganing, relaxing, and a spur-of-the-moment trip to the country to do some sleigh riding and sugar shacking. When it’s finally New Year’s Eve, Nicole has put her anxieties about her relationship with Harry completely behind her. She borrows one of Zayn’s leather jackets (she borrows her clothes a lot), squeezes into ripped skinny jeans, and shoves on high-tops before they leave for the concert; Harry meets her at the door and chuckles, "Look at us." because they’re almost matching perfectly, with his black skin-tight jeans and black Rolling Stones tee-shirt. “Ready, love?” He asks, glowing with excitement. Nicole nods and follows him into the cold air outside.
They take the subway, because they can’t be bothered to find parking when the city is so alive and buzzing--it’s like a hive, almost--the streets are crowded with people going to bars and parties in hopes to start the New Year with friends. With little time to spare, they make it to the bar, pass in their tickets, and sit at a table somewhere up front. Harry orders them some drinks, and he just can’t seem to stop smiling, burning with passion and utter child-like anticipation. The bar fills up with all sorts: people who look like they’ve been dragged there by friends, people who look sullen and arrogant, people who seem out of place, and people who seem like your average crowd at a bar or club and might know two of the band’s songs but decided to come anyway. Nicole wonders where she most fits in.
The band comes out and plays their set list expertly. One of the reasons why Nicole likes them so much is because they bring this feeling of rebellion and superciliousness. It’s like you can feel yourself getting cooler as you listen, and their music is just so good. She jumps when told to jump, claps when told to clap, and sings along to the chorus. Her night gets that much more interesting when she catches Matthew Healy’s eye. She can feel him staring into her very soul with those gleaming brown eyes of his, and she wants so badly to meet him, just to see what he’s like. Just to see where his inspiration all comes from. Why he's staring at her so intently.
“Harry, do you know if there’s any way we could meet the band after this is over?” She asks, turning her head to look at him full-on for the first time since the music started. To her surprise, he’s already looking at her, appearing lost in thought before she speaks to him. “Yeah, probably. Do you want to?” He replies. Nicole shrugs and Harry knows her well enough to take it as a yes. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.” He says, moving to the back of the bar to pull some strings, in typical Harry style. It’s the dimples, she thinks. He can literally get anything that he wants with that smile of his. When he returns a couple songs later, his eyes gleam with pride, and Nicole knows he’s done it again; they’ve found a way backstage after the show: the keys jangle in his right hand.
* * *
It’s much less crowded and warm once they’re in the short hallway separating them from the actual bar itself. Harry had opened the back door, let Nicole in, and slipped the keys to his new friend the barmaid before returning. It’s possibly 10:00, and Nicole is buzzing, because her inner fangirl has decided to rise from the dead and haunt her. Harry’s holding her hand and figeting anxiously as they lean against the wall casually, and to her, it feels so weird to see Harry nervous about anything because he’s typically the kind of guy to make you nervous about meeting him. When the band comes out of their dressing room just down the hall, the temperature drops about ten degrees. They have no idea what to do. George, the drummer, speaks up first.
“Who’re you guys, and how did you get back here?” Nicole refuses to blush; she refuses to act embarrassed because Harry’s "let's sneak in!" plan was stupid. Harry himself looks like a tomato, but Nicole is going to keep her cool. “I could ask you the same question, but that would be stupid. I’m Nicole and this is Harry. We work here, obviously.” She spits back, earning the attention of the whole band, as well as Harry, who seems incredulous; he hates lies. “Well then, love. Can we do anything for you?” Matt says, expression containing the slightest glimmer of amusement. “Harry here wants your autograph. He’s a bit shy.” She says, bumping Harry’s shoulder so he’ll go along with it. He does, and flawlessly so. “Yeah, well, you can’t say it’s every day that good music comes from Manchester.” He explains. They all perk up once they hear his accent. “Hear that, that’s the sweet accent of a fellow Mancunian!” Adam says, apparently delighted. “Whereabouts are you from, lad?” He asks enthusiastically. Harry’s confidence appears to skyrocket to its normal level within ten seconds. “Holmes Chapel, actually, but I did half of my undergrad at the University of Manchester.” He explains, and just like that, they’re invited to join The 1975 for their New Years’ party in a hotel just down the street.
The party’s already started when they arrive with the band. Nicole has no clue where all these people came from or how they know The 1975, but apparently they have international connections, because everyone here appears to know them well. The hotel room must be one of the larger suites, because it’s the size of a spacious apartment, and even with a New Year's party at full blast, it's not yet at full capacity. Nicole and Harry lose each other in the crowd after a few minutes, but Nicole maneuvers her way through to a sofa and settles down with a drink. The music playing is harsh, but not too loud. She revels in the amount of people there who are dressed completely in black, and feels oddly out of place, although it isn’t unlikely that she would have been one of them this time the previous year. The lights are so dim; she can hardly see. Someone sits next to her and lets his arm drape over the back of the couch. He settles for a bit before he speaks to her, casually:
“I saw you from the stage. I know you don’t work for that bar, you crafty girl.” Nicole’s a bit surprised by the toughness of his voice. He may be from the same city as Harry, but he’s nothing like him. If Harry were a lion, Matt would be a snake. “Harry just really wanted to meet you guys, I figured it wouldn’t hurt anyone if I told a little fib.” She explains, only half a lie. Matt’s eyes glimmer, and he has that amused look again, the same one he had earlier,like he knows something that she doesn't. “I don’t think that that’s the whole truth, love. Want to know what I think? I think you saw me looking, and you wanted to know why.” He replies, leaning towards her ever the slightest. Nicole shrugs. “Maybe a little bit.” She admits coolly, although she feels like a mouse in a reptile pen. They don’t speak for a few minutes; Nicole can feel the tension buzzing in the air, and soon Matt is leaning even closer into her, so they’re less than three inches apart, and he’s making her heart rate triple. Her eyes flicker to his lips and back up, and she realizes a second too late that he’s caught her in the act. With a nearly serpentine gaze at her own mouth, he murmurs:
“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind?” with a vaguely hissing tone. She’s confused and lost in his brown eyes. “Hmm?” She murmurs, distracted by his proximity. “Harry, I think it was?” He clarifies, obviously watching her for a reaction; licking his lips blatantly. For the first time that night, she blushes, and Matt’s hands that are now on her waist are most definitely the thing to blame, not the embarrassing assumption he’d had that she and Harry were anything other than friends (despite the fact that Harry has been a lot more tender towards her since he told her he loved her, but now is not the time to think about Harry, because that'll send it all downhill). “No no, he’s just my friend. Harry. He’s cute, isn’t he?” She explains, aiming to convince. Who? She’s unsure. Matt shrugs, “Actually, I think that you’re pretty cute, Nicole; thinking you’re all tough because you have a tattoo and a few piercings, sneaking backstage. You wanted to know why you caught my eye: it’s that you’re playing to role of a punk even though you’re obviously so good on the inside. I want to ruin you, Nicole. I want to make you a bad girl.” He whispers. She merely blinks in astonishment. He finally, finally leans in and kisses her, and she kisses back, just revelling in the feeling of his mouth, but it's bitter. His hands are on her waist and neck, and he’s so gentle that it’s hard to believe that he’d meant any of the words he’d said... but they were heavy, and though he knows how to deal with her tongue and lip piercings, which warms her, because so many boys have no clue and she has to teach them like little puppies learning how to fetch a stick, they stick in her mind like crazy glue, and she’s got warning bells ringing, and alarms sounding in her head—watch out, danger, alert, he’s going to eat you alive. Matt’s authoritative and strong despite his lean physique, and he probably does this a lot, which is the final thought of uneasiness she has before she’s sick of it and goes to push him away.
She’s about to break free from Matt’s crushing, anaconda-like grasp, but he relents on his own when someone lets out a little gasp of “Nicole” nearby, and she knows, immediately, with a punch to the gut, who it is. Matt unwinds himself to see who’d interrupted them, and Nicole does the same, promptly wishing she hadn’t looked so fast, because the expression on Harry’s face is one that’ll surely be burned onto the back of her retinas for the rest of her life—eternity, even. He’s blushing furiously, eyes open wide, and mouth twisted into some odd, undecided shape, but he recovers astoundingly. He looks directly at her and insists: “Uh—sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. You two carry on.” Before offering a small, pain-filled smile and turning on his heel. Nicole calls weakly: “Harry, wait!” but Matt’s all over her again, and he speaks: “Well that was awkward. He’s like a little puppy, eh? Just follows you around and can’t stand to see you with a real man. I bet he can’t treat you like I can.” Before going to seize her lips again. Suddenly there’s a loud smack. Nicole doesn’t realize it until after it’s happened, but she’s slapped him, and rather hard, too. Matt’s pressing his hand to his cheek in shock and pain. His eyes are staring at her in astonishment, and his perfect hair flops to the side a bit. Nicole’s brain whirrs with possibilities: apologize profusely and fetch him ice. Get up and leave before anybody sees that it was her. Follow after Harry to the hotel hallway and try to catch him. She chooses the last option, leaving Matt to wallow in self-pity on the couch alone.
She asks a couple people if they’d seen where Harry (the guy with curly hair and the Stones' tee shirt, as she describes him) had gone. They all direct her to the door, saying he’d looked to be in a hurry. She knows it’s unlike Harry to run away; he was always the kind to face his problems immediately. Perhaps he hadn’t know how to solve this one. It was now becoming more and more painfully obvious to her that maybe Harry really, truly did love her, and he hadn't been messing about that night he held her in his arms and told her. Nicole felt stupid for being so oblivious.
She’s running down the hotel hallway now, fear and adrenalin flowing through her veigns and arteries, running like a racehorse. She hears the ding of an elevator and hurries towards it, but the door had closed, and between two sets of closed doors, she can't tell which he may have taken. Nicole can't help but think that this may be one of life's cruel metaphors. She examines the floor indicator—one is headed toward the lobby, the other to the roof. She had to choose now: which would be more likely to contain a distraught and very upset Harry? Door one or door two. She makes a purely instinctual decision to head to the roof.
When Nicole opens the stairwell door, she sees him standing by the railing, looking up at the chilly, clouded night sky. She watches him for a bit, not approaching, and trying to figure out what to say, because she’s never hurt anybody this badly, and she needs to be careful. She thinks of what he’d told her a couple of weeks ago, when she’d asked him if he missed home--change is healthy. She’d been living this sort of removed, fuck the world life, and she was coming to terms with herself, because she was suddenly so tired of being that passive, lifeless heap that secretly adores the children she sees day to day at her job, and secretly adores games night and spending time with her roommates. She finds that she secretly loves the way Harry has changed her; he’s made her shed her armour to reveal something much softer and gentler. Maybe, possibly, she secretly loves Harry.
A strong gust of wind swoops in and chills her as she watches him. It's Harry who doesn't have a coat this time, and his arms must be freezing, but Nicole predicts that he doesn't care much. She feels a lump form in her throat as the weight of the situation dawns on her. Keeping her head held high, she walks over to the railing and stands beside him. He visibly flinches when he realises that it’s her, and it hurts like a stab to the chest. Nicole trembles as she moves her hand to rest over his on the rail. “Haz, I have something I need to tell you.” She whispers. He looks at her then, and she can tell he’s been on the brink of crying, because his eyes are glassy and blank. Something sparks in them though, and maybe it’s because he’s the loveliest human being ever, or maybe because he still cares for her, but he nods at her, queuing her to speak.
She gulps and chooses her words carefully. “I didn’t realise until I was kissing him just how wrong it felt. He was so harsh and noxious, and you should know that the main reason it felt that way was because of you, Harry. You’ve absolutely ruined me for anybody, because I’m afraid that nobody I meet will ever treat me the way you do. You’ve changed me so much within these past four months. I wish I hadn’t been so oblivious and stubborn, and despite my drunkenness on that night, I remember you saying that you love me, and I should’ve told you sooner than now, but I love you too. Please forgive my insolence, and any pain I might’ve inflicted on you. You make me want to be a better person, and I love you.
It feels like a clichéd rom-com, but to her amazement, Harry turns to her and sighs, pulling her into a weepy hug. "Oh, love." He says, stroking the back of her head and tutting fondly. "I could never hold a grudge over you". She smiles into his shoulder and lets him hold her a bit longer, sharing body heat in the cold January air.
When they finally separate, she looks at her watch. "11:58". She reads, smirking a bit. "You know, they say that if you kiss your true love at midnight on New Year's Eve, you will live in love and happiness with that person for the entire rest of the upcoming year." She remarks nonchalantly, feeling bold and invincible now that everything's been sorted out... or so she thinks. Harry grimaces at her. "Well... you see, you were kissing Matt Healy fifteen minutes ago, and you may have contracted herpes, so i'm gonna need to wait for the tests to get back before I kiss you." He explains, a bit remorseful. She gives him a look of pure incredulousness, before seeing the glint in his eye and punching him in the shoulder. "You're a twat. A proper British one." She says, noting the look of amusement that he gives her. They stare at each other for a few moments before literal fireworks start going off around them and yelling can be heard in the streets. Nicole sees the burst of light reflect in Harry's eyes and he's really, honestly, too good to be true. He's what her mother would call a "spectacular find". A Disney prince. He's so earnest and loving and she just really wishes that she'd seen it before today.
He leans in slowly, ducking into her space and placing a hand on her cheek. His eyes become heavily lidded, and he licks his bottom lip. Without a word, he presses a soft, perfect kiss to her mouth. The fireworks around them are just short of deafening, and Nicole's got a handful of Harry's curls as they kiss, sweet, and perfect, and fulfilling; full of desire. They kiss until after the fireworks have ended and Harry finally shivers from the cold air. Harry tsks himself and leads them to the elevtor, wrapping her in his arms for warmth.
* * *
"How can someone like you end up in my life?" Nicole asks, playing with Harry's hair as he lays his head on her lap in the subway car. His legs are so long that they hang off the edge of the fourth seat that he occupies, laying rather drowsily along the row of them. He scrunches his nose up a bit and murmurs: "Someone like me? What are you on about?". She shrugs and wraps a strand around her finger. "I dunno, just, you're caring and beautiful and so earnest and just the slightest bit naughty. You could be a celebrity, a pop star, even." She remarks. She notes the slight blush on his cheeks after she'd called him beautiful. "That's what I'm saying, Nicole. We could be in a band, go places, become superstars. It'd be fun." He insists, perking up a bit. Nicole pats his cheek lovingly in response. "Maybe. I'm not too fond of some of those Indie rockers though, so we'd better pick a different genre." Harry looks up at her through his lashes. "How about Western? I was doing well on game night." He suggests, jeering a bit. "Nah, that's too close to Taylor Swift's type of music, and I don't want her getting her mitts on you." She replies. Harry considers for a bit, squinting at something on the roof before decisively replying, "Me neither." and yawning. Nicole does too, and when their stop is called by the automated voice to be next, she feels relieved, not very attracted to the idea of accidentally falling asleep on the subway.
They get off. Harry is slinking around, half asleep on his feet. Nicole pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep inhale. Harry considers it, like he's going to say something, but refrains. He's holding her hand in a way that reminds her of her little brother, and she says so. To this, he says, "Do you ever miss it?", and, naturally, she asks him to clarify. "Home? Your mom and brother?" He says, winding his arm over her shoulder without breaking his hold on her hand. Nicole considers this. She rarely discusses the topic with people, but Harry probably knows more of the story than anyone. She sighs. With this lifestyle change, she needs to be more open, less hidden. As much as she'd like not to reply at all, she has to, for him. "Yeah, I think I do. Despite the awkwardness, I miss home sometimes." She admits, leaning into his side. They leave the station, and Harry presses a kiss to her ear. "But here is where I need to be. At Toys-R-Us. At Uni. With the gang. With you." She says. Harry nods. Seconds later, he sniggers at something he's thought of, and by no doubt, she hears his thought a second later. "Yeah, but it's fricking cold here, dude." He says, smiling this impossibly adorable smile that could melt kittens. Nicole laughs rather than telling him off for mocking her, and seconds later, she's leaning in for a kiss. He kisses her back, but scrunches his nose up at the taste of cigarette smoke on her lips. They walk off into the night, heading for where they call home, something buzzing in the air. Something like a change in pressure around them. It grounds them, and gives them hope for a better year; one spent together.