Haven • H.S.

36. All Wrong

Haven- 36

"...i count the ways i let you down... all my fingers and toes but i'm running out. clever words can't help me now... i keep you tight but you're slippin' out..."

Ella.

Did this always have to happen?

We should've ignored him. We really should've. I could have finish my sentence (in a yell), pushed past the interruption hand in hand with Harry, uncaring of how rude it would come across, and we would be alone again in the haven of his dorm.

Life didn't conform to my prayers, though, I'd learned.

The night's former attempt at reconciliation and at least a sliver of romanticism was quickly falling away, leaving Harry and I still cracked, in no way close to having our wounds healed.

My thoughts submerged beneath the rest of the mania running through my head as I turned, meeting the eyes of someone I once considered a great friend.

"Tell me this is a joke," Harry whispered, voicing what I'd wanted to ask, what I'd wanted to demand. His hold on me tightened exponentially. And though his voice was loud enough for me to hear, solely, our interruption laughed anyways. I used to enjoy that laugh.

Closing my eyes and bringing a breath in, I found the strength to speak, "Niall. Good to see you." Horrible to see you actually. You have the worst timing of anyone I've ever met.

"Oh, but it's wonderful to see you, too, love."

"Don't fucking call her that," Harry growled. I squeezed his shoulder, my mind swirling. I wouldn't reprimand Harry for whatever he chose to say in these next few minutes, no matter how they panned out.

Niall made a show of lifting his hands; a sign of backing down-- the one thing I had a feeling he wouldn't do. "Touchy, touchy. Don't shoot." He laughed, and I had a rough time telling myself that it wasn't as light and carefree as it'd been when I'd first gotten to Harvard. Something had changed in Niall, and I doubted it was just me who noticed.

Inhale. Exhale. The last thing I needed was another panic attack, minutes after remedying my last one.

There was movement behind Niall, and in the soft light of the lowering sun, I was able to match a body with a face. And suddenly, things got far more interesting.

"Oh shit," I muttered, at the same time Harry stood abruptly, lifting me with him. He maneuvered me until I was pressed into his back, safe from the two men Harry had learned to look at through different lenses.

"What the fuck is the meaning behind this?" Harry asked, voice low and shoulders tense. Louis was next to Niall now.

Louis stepped forward, barely a step, but I noticed. Cold blue eyes settled on my boyfriend and he smirked. "I believe it's time we have a proper talk about your disappearance from our..." his eyes found me, and he spoke softer, with leashed humor, "club."

I had a feeling "club" was his diplomatic word choice for what he'd meant to say.

I gripped the fabric of Harry's shirt until I could feel my nails surge through, denting my palms. I buried my face where his shoulder met his spine, melting into the scent that was husky, mellow and a note of undeniable Harry. It calmed me astronomically.

"Don't you fucking look at her," he said, thunderous, "Matter of fact, don't fucking breathe in her direction, either of you. We clear? The issues you have with me, stay with me."

Louis' lips curled into a slow, malicious smile. "That's cute," he said, dipping his hands into his pockets. I took the initiative to watch closely, aware he could pull anything out of those pockets at any given moment, and luck could potentially skip us. "Don't you think that's cute, Niall?"