boys don't cry. [h.s]

eight

February/March

When Harry saw Isabel's name flash up on his phone, he really deeply considered ignoring the call for a good number of rings before finally giving in and answering.

"Yes?"

"Hi Harry!" she said brightly. "Are you at the station?"

"Yes," Harry replied flatly.

"Oh brilliant, I knew you'd be early. Me too." Harry could hear the proud smile in her voice, and he gritted his teeth, a headache forming in his left temple. If he knew anything about Isabel, he knew her being early was an occasion worth celebrating. It was a shame he wasn't in the mood. "Where are you?"

"By the platform. I'm waiting for someone to make my tea in Caffé Nero."

"Is anyone else there yet?"

"No," Harry said, seeing the barista waving his tea in the air and screeching his name. "I've got to go."

He hung up on her, shoving his phone into the pocket of his jeans and grasping the tea, taking a gulp immediately even though it burned the roof of his mouth.

"That's £2.30," the barista reminded him, and he nearly dropped the drink in embarrassment.

"Shit yeah, sorry," he said, setting the drink back down on the counter and reaching for his wallet. He felt the familiar pang of anxiety as he rooted around for small change, counting out the last 20p in coppers. He was very careful with his money usually, setting aside a prearranged figure a month in a box that he kept in the bottom drawer of his bedside chest of drawers, allowing just enough in his wallet to get by. He knew with a humiliating kick in his gut that he'd inevitably have to ask Niall every few weeks for a tenner or so, but there was little else he could do.

This is what happens when you raid the box and spend all your month's wages on draw, stupid prick, he berated himself as he shoved the coins over with trembling fingers. You have to pay for a fucking drink with pennies you found under Niall's bed.

Everyone else arrived fairly quickly, the staff population of Palace Front Bowling crowding on the platform as Harry's head continued to throb. Isabel was still absent, but Harry decided not to worry about it.

When his phone rang again, he answered without looking who was calling.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me," Isabel said, and he scowled. "Where is everyone? Where are you?"

"We're all here, where are you?"

He could almost hear her frowning in confusion. "But I'm here?"

"You're on platform 13? Train to Henfield?"

There was a long silence. "No," she said quietly. "Platform 2, train to Heathfield."

Harry groaned in exasperation.

"Oh my God!" she whimpered. "I was early for once, and now I'm going to make everyone late! I'm so sorry, Harry, I must have got confused!"

"Just hurry up and get here," he spat. This was such an Isabel thing to do. "Train leaves in eight minutes."

"I'm coming as fast as I can, I –"

He hung up on her again, getting on the train with everyone else and setting his bag on the seat next to him. He wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone today. He rested his head back on the seat and squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling through his mouth slowly and trying to clear his mind.

His eyes snapped open when someone threw themselves down into the seat next to him.

"I put my bag there so you wouldn't sit here," he snarled at Isabel, yanking it from underneath her and throwing her a glare. She couldn't reply. She was panting, her face red and her hair sticking up in every direction.