Escalators {Frerard}[COMPLETED]

➳absquatulate

Guys this is a genuine biological need okay will someone write me a kier kemp x drew woolnough thing because oh my god I ship it so hard and there is none of it ever and it saddens me greatly. It doesn't even have to be good I swear I just ship it so much.

Idk don't judge me.

Also I really enjoyed writing this chapter even though it took me forever, it's more than a bit crap, but I've just had a load of shit to deal with at the minute and I never had enough time but anyywaay,

Enjoy (or whatever)

-Georgia.

❝Absquatulate- to leave hurriedly, suddenly, or secretively.❞

"I really don't think this is the best idea," I mumbled, although my complaint went completely ignored. Hands raked at my hair a second time, pulling certain strands into place as I fought not to wince. I couldn't help thinking that this was all a bit much, Harry was less than gentle and I wasn't too bothered about the opinions of anyone else.

Currently I was sitting on Harry's desk chair, squinting my eyes up in pain as my rather less-than-gentle friend tried to gel my hair into whatever doubtless awful style he was trying to achieve. When I'd turned up at Harry's house in jeans and a (clean) t-shirt, he'd looked at me in sheer disgust and instructed me to get changed. Although Harry was taller than me, he'd found me an old black button-down shirt, and it fitted.

For a high school party, Harry was sure putting in a lot of effort, I noticed, although he probably only asked for smart casual so the pictures would turn out better. And doubtless also because it would help him get a girlfriend if he didn't look like a complete slob, but for me at least, that wasn't why I was here.

I was here because I'd been to one of Harry's parties before, and they really were the best things ever. Now we were legally old enough to get drunk, though, I was beginning rather to wish that I'd have just not turned up. The only reason I had was because I felt bad, Harry was supposed to be my best friend, and as much as I wanted to deny it, Mikey's smirking remark about his brother was playing over and over in my head.

"Keep still, Frank," Harry whined as I tried to writhe away from him in the chair, half-expecting him to keep a handful of my torn-out hair in his hands. Surprisingly enough I actually still had hair.

"Harry..." My voice came out whinier than intended, and he let go of me, sighing. I scowled at him, only really half-joking, and stood up properly. Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I realised that my hair had been spiked up into a sort of floppy Mohawk, and it looked cooler than I was planning on giving him credit for. Dressed in the smart black shirt, and new jeans, and the black vans without the rips, I realised that I looked almost presentable, for once in my whole life.

I think Harry realised that as well, because he grinned at me from arm's length after scrutinising my appearance for a moment or so. In my opinion, it was a bit stupid to get dressed and ready when the actual party didn't start for an hour and a half, especially when I was incredibly likely to mess something up. Harry didn't seem aware of that, because he busied himself doing something on his desk, bent down so I couldn't see his face.

Sighing, my head hurting, I sat down heavily on Harry's bed, struggling to extricate my phone from the pocket of these jeans, which were remarkably tight. Being a person whose social life extent was the party they're at right now, there were no messages or anything of particular interest, but it gave me something to do, rather than stare at Harry's ass, or something equally as awkward.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry whipped around to look at me, his eyebrows raised. "Can you dance?"

I was completely taken aback. "You what?"