KNOCKOUT (Harry Styles: Dark Sequel)

Chapter 10

((SOOO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE! The website I usually check for updates is shut don or something and I've been meaning to check but I have gotten so busy. Now I will be getting notifications when she updates the tumblr. 

SHOUTOUT TO: parker_kosins for letting me know she updated it!

Finally! here it is!!))

{Warning for mentions of assault/sexual assault.}

Bo almost loses her "hat" as she tips her head to inspect her feet. She should have gone with the black shoes, she thinks, performing a Dorothy knock to her heels before wrinkling her nose. 

"Crap."

The people lined up ahead move forward and there's a confusing atmosphere in the shadows before blinding lights, a muddle of excitement and almost paralyzing nerves. Bo dutifully follows the person in front, noting that this form of conga line is dramatically different than the one she was forced into at her cousin's wedding. 

Bo's never been under so much instruction before, follow me, sit here, stand up, clap, shake hands. And she's reminded of this when beckoned forward by a man with worry lines patterned in waves across his forehead. There's a trickle of sweat running just past his temple, and all it does is remind Bo of the layers of dark fabric currently draped over her feverous body. 

Her name is scratched out a little aggressively from the list pinned to his clipboard and he gives her a serious looking nod to the side. 

"Go."

Fingers trail down the deep, red velvet curtains separating the audience from the hordes of achievers. She takes a customary deep breath. It's with apprehensive steps and a nauseating roll to her stomach that Bo's name is called and she takes to the stage, one glittery heel at a time. 

Please don't trip. Please don't fall and embarrass yourself.

Her heart is thundering like a summer storm, she feels the pressure of it through her tight dress and the damp palms she wipes on her robes that skirt the wooden stage. Bo doesn't dare look out to the audience, just focusing ahead where the chancellor is offering a smile and a hand to shake. 

Bo's head shoots up at the echoing whistles and overly enthusiastic clapping. Seated on the next level up are two people she recognises and one more person who she distinctly remembers said they couldn't make it. Bo had been anguished but respectful at the time, telling them not to worry about it. How could she demand attendance from someone she exchanged infrequent texts with and birthday phone calls twice a year. 

Her mum flashes a camera and even with the distance Bo can tell she already has tears tracking her cheeks. Aunt Grace is faring a little better, although the wild clapping has Bo thinking that over displays of emotion are a family trait. They're both in eye-catching floral dresses, a bright addition to the occasion compared to Bo's compulsory dark coloured ensemble. 

She gives a small wave, descending the steps from the stage with one hand gripping her degree and the other clinging to the rail. Harry's grinning as he lowers his hands from his mouth. 

There's no time to assess his appearance, her heart slamming her ribcage, but Bo can tell just from the fleeting glance she gets that there's no longer hair tumbling past his shoulders.

She sits through the ceremony for another two subjects, politely clapping with an impatient bobbing of her knee. It's far too warm in the old venue, and Bo prays that someone will turn on the air conditioning or open a damn window somewhere. The few times she's glanced up to the circle seats above, she's caught a watery smile from her mum. Her aunt applauds every graduate with an enthusiasm not seen anywhere else in the audience. Before the ceremony, she'd grabbed Bo's hand and told her how overwhelmed she was to be amongst a new generation of graduates.