Twice Shy {h.s. au}

II.

Harry's optimism about the party quickly faded with each passing minute that he was there.

He felt good after he went to the diner with Maggie. They talked—well, she talked and he mostly listened—and there was never an awkward moment between them. Harry found that Maggie was funny and quick witted and preferred waffles over pancakes. She told him about her life in a sorority and her engineering classes and the best places to eat off campus.

Harry was fascinated by everything she said, and was surprised by how comfortable he was around her; so much so that towards the end of breakfast, he shared things with her too. He talked to her a little about growing up in England and his sisters and about being the only boy in the house. On the walk back to campus, he felt Maggie's eyes on him as she listened to him intently as he spoke. That kind of thing normally unsettled him, but with her it felt different; less like she was perceiving him a certain way or judging him and more like she was just generally interested in what he had to say.

So when he said goodbye to her in front of his dorm building once again, he didn't feel awkward, and his nerves were merely a flutter in the back of his mind. He spent the rest of the day doing what he'd initially planned, thoughts about Maggie and the morning they spent together popping into his mind every now and again. And when it came time for him to get ready, he spent more time than he cared to admit finding the right thing to wear.

By the time he'd arrived, the party was in full swing, guys and girls and everyone in between were dancing in one room, making out on the stairs, smoking weed on couches, fooling around behind closed doors upstairs, and drinking to their hearts' content without a care in the world. Everyone except Harry, who had every care in the world as he tightly gripped the red plastic cup that held the stale beer he'd hardly touched, not enthralled by the taste in the slightest. He wondered how the rest of the partygoers tolerated drinking something that tasted something so awful, or if they just put up with it for the buzz. It wasn't worth it to him, in his humble opinion. If he was going to get drunk, he might as well enjoy the drink in his hand.

And then there were the stares. Since the party was at a sorority—not Maggie's, but a different one—there were a considerable number of girls. And when Maggie ran up to him, gave him a friendly hug and ushered him further into the house, everyone's eyes fell on them. Clearly no one had expected him to be there, least of all as a friend of Maggie's. Well, some did. A very intoxicated individual who had somehow lost his shirt and was red in the face after the kegstand he'd completed shouted in his face about how Harry was the coffee house's best barista. Although a little flattered, Harry was mostly uncomfortable now that the guy's shouting brought even more attention to him.

He became very aware of what he was wearing, regretting the choice to wear a button down shirt with varying patterns and wondering if he should've worn his black boots instead of his brown ones. He felt like he stood out like a sore thumb, that every move he made was being watched, analyzed, and judged by at least three people. It didn't help that Maggie, social butterfly that she was, was constantly being approached by people. They commented on how great she looked, they asked her what her plans for Christmas were, if she was going to run for sorority president next year. Harry felt exhausted just standing next to her, but she was clearly in her element, a can of some sort of fizzy drink in her hand and an easy smile on her face that lit up her eyes as she talked to everyone that came up to her.

To her credit, she stayed by Harry's side, only leaving to fetch another drink for herself, but that only made him feel bad. She obviously had a lot of friends, and Harry felt like he was holding her back. And because he was so wrapped up in his own head, he'd hardly spoken a word since he set foot in the house.

As Maggie's back was turned, talking to something called a little—the girl was actually rather tall but that's how she'd introduced herself to Maggie, as someone's little—Harry made the decision to leave. He felt incredibly lame for not even lasting an hour at this party, but the loud music was making his head hurt, his hands were sticky from the beer that sloshed out of his cup when someone bumped into him, and even though he knew it wasn't true, he felt like everyone was staring at him, and it made it a little difficult to breathe. So while Maggie wasn't paying attention—that's how much of a loser he was, he couldn't even tell her he was leaving—he shuffled away in search of the front door. As he walked he tried to keep his face neutral and like he wasn't starting to completely freak out.