boys don't cry. [h.s]

thirty two

October/November

Isabel was chewing on her nails, staring out of the window absently. There was a tree she'd never noticed before just outside the window of the sitting room at Rory's house, and the amber and gold leaves had pooled at its base, shuddering slightly when the wind blew past them. Nearly November. It always came around so quickly.

"Isabel?" Rory asked, and she whipped round to meet his gaze, her hand falling from her mouth to her lap.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She went back to her laptop, remembering she had been in the midst of typing out an email to some people who they wanted to set up food stands at the festival, and she heard Rory sighing. She peeked over at him, watching as he put down his calculator and glared at her.

"What's the matter?" he asked, clasping his hands and resting them on the table like they were at a job interview.

"It's just - don't worry," she said, flashing him a smile. "I'm just tired."

Rory sighed again, not believing her one bit, but she didn't want to bother him. She stared at the screen of her laptop, the letters swimming in front of her eyes as she tried to make sense of them, but they just looked alien, a bunch of random squiggles merging into nonsense.

"Isabel," Meera said, firmly but not grumpily like Rory had. "What's going on with Harry?"

Isabel blinked, taken aback for a moment by how easy she must be to read. "Huh?"

"You're completely out of it and you've not mentioned him once," Rory said, his voice stern. "Tell us what's happened. What's he done now?"

"He - I don't know," Isabel replied, wetting her lips and looking down at the table. "His brother died last week."

There was quiet for a minute. "Oh dear," Meera exhaled. "Poor boy."

Isabel nodded. "He's coping so well. I had work with him this morning and he was fine. He's just - he's doing so well."

"Mmmm," Rory said, adjusting his glasses. "So you're thinking you should go to New York with him." He wasn't even asking, just stating a fact, and Isabel's eyes widened, in shock for the second time in minutes at how well they could tell what she was thinking.

"Well I - I don't know. I mean, yeah, maybe," Isabel babbled, scrubbing a hand through her hair and looking at him worriedly. "Well we're meant to be going on Friday, for fuck's sake –"

"Isabel –"

"– we're meant to be flying on Friday and I haven't done anything about selling my ticket or getting a refund and obviously I can't now and I just - I don't know what to do."

Meera squinted at her. "Why do you think you didn't do anything about your ticket in the first place?"

"Well because I - huh?" She frowned, confused, but her eyes narrowed when she realised what Meera was getting at. "Wait, you think I didn't get rid of it on purpose?"

Meera smiled slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear and eyeing Isabel carefully. "Yeah, maybe."

"Why would I do that?" Isabel said with a scowl, and Meera shook her head, clearly thinking Isabel clueless. "Are you saying I was always going to go?"

"No, I'm saying you always knew he'd have to get better at one point."

"I wouldn't be going if he was still so reliant on me," she grumbled.

Rory looked at her with his eyes sparkling, his smile widening into a toothy grin as he glanced at Meera. "So you are going then."

"No I - no. No, I'm not, I just said that wrong," she spluttered, and he raised his eyebrows, smirking like the fucking cat who'd got the cream. She took a deep, embarrassed breath, and then spouted: "I can't go because I have to miss uni on Friday and Monday if we go, and that's two shifts at work. And I won't see you both for at least five or six days, because I'll be jetlagged and stuff when I get back. And all of this festival stuff - I get about thirty emails a day, and I need to speak to Harry's dad about bank details and I can't leave you to do all this because –"