isabella [h.s.]

twenty eight

**I can feel your blood pressure rise,
fuck this tension**

HARRY

Isabella doesn't join us to watch the basketball game, declining my offer on account of the fact that sports bore her to tears - a direct quote. She remains in the kitchen though, bustling around and quietly humming songs under her breath as she makes herself dinner. Once I return to the couch, I attempt to shift my attention back the game with the same razor sharp focus the rest of the boys are watching it with, but I, rather annoyingly, find myself distracted by Isabella's near presence. I sneak glances over at her in the kitchen every so often, most of which are caught by her and then elicit small smirks from each of us, an air of knowing and secrecy drifting between us, amused by the fact that we know something that others in the room don't.

Niall eventually catches onto it, his eyes narrowing at me curiously as if waiting for an explanation, but I don't give him one. Even later on in the night, when Isabella is in her room and the game is finished and the guys are heading off, he continues to give me pointed looks in replace of the questions he really wants to ask, but I just feign ignorance and shoo him off with the others when they leave, shutting the door on his annoyed face and the threat that he'll be asking me about this tomorrow.

Not long after they're gone, when I'm in the midst of clearing up, Isabella comes out of her room, wearing an oversized shirt and pyjama shorts, carrying her dirty dishes into the kitchen. I hear the sounds of her opening and closing the dishwasher as I gather up the empty beer bottles, their necks clinking together as I clutch them in one hand, using the other to grab the bowl containing the leftover crisps and then carrying it all into the kitchen. As I make my way over to the sink, Isabella suddenly swipes the bowl of crisps out of my hands, leisurely leaning against one of the counters as she shoves a handful into her mouth.

I pause, raising my eyebrows in disapproval. "I'm trying to tidy up here."

"Oh, sorry," she says, looking anything but as she shoves another handful of crisps into her mouth while simultaneously smiling up at me innocently. "So how was the game?" she asks in between mouthfuls. "Did your team win?"

"No." I shake my head, dropping the bottles into the recycling bin. "They lost."

"Oh," Isabella says, still chewing. "That's a shame."

I glance over at her as I begin to fill the sink with hot water and washing up liquid, not surprised to find that she looks way more interested in the next handful of crisps she's about to grab than she does talking about basketball. "Is it?" I ask, shooting her a teasing accusatory look. "You look like you couldn't care less."

"You're right, I'm just trying to be nice," she replies with a shrug, shoving another handful of crisps into her mouth. "You know I don't like sports. I'd quite literally rather watch paint dry, or moisturise my elbows or something. It'd probably be more interesting."