Pesy One Shots

dishes and songs and not-so-sneaky snogs (v2)

A/N: this is the happy version of the previous oneshot. Hope you enjoy✨

---

"-wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts, she's ban dada da n I'm bamba da dah," is the first thing I hear upon walking in the door after a full day of classes plus a 6 hour shift at the campus store. One day, I may be annoyed by the fact that Perrie never seems to stop singing, but today is not that day. Today, I am charmed and enamoured and falling in something that might be love.

I debate whether to go in right away- the door is closed, meaning she was either making an attempt at being considerate or she wants to be left alone.

Who am I kidding? She never wants to be left alone.

I, on the other hand, do enjoy a bit of time to myself. I feel bad for a quick moment when I realize that she shut the door for me 'cos she knew I'd be coming home and she didn't want to pressure me into hanging out with her. But, she's in the kitchen and probably has been for some time, as I'm even later than usual getting home, which means she does want to spend time with me even after I froze her out last night.

We had a conversation a couple of days ago about her need to be around people and my need to be alone, and I know that her closing the door is her effort to try and accommodate me. It's sweet, and it makes me feel like even more of an asshole for the way I snapped at her when I got home from work yesterday.

I knocked on her door a couple hours later to grovel, and even though she welcomed me in right away, I know my avoidance hurt her.

I tried to make up for it with a bedtime snuggle (which I know she appreciated), but I could tell she was on pins and needles around me last night, trying not to set me off so that I'd stay with her and not go hide away in my room.

I listen at the door for a moment more, and I figure that she must have her headphones on, as she finishes the whole song. She hardly ever gets through more than her favorite verse of anything if she's not actually listening to the song.

After a pause and what sounds like a cessation of movement on her side of the door, she starts up again quietly.

"I'm walking fast through the traffic lights, busy streets and busy lives, and all we know, is touch and go," she sings at a slower pace than I remember the song being. It must be an acoustic or a bonus track or maybe a live performance. Pez typically favors those even though I always make fun of her for it. She truly just enjoys what she enjoys. Sometimes, I think I make fun of her just because I'm jealous. I care too much about what others think. Perrie doesn't care what most people think, although she does care what I think, and sometimes, I take advantage of that. Just like I did yesterday...

I've been a proper dickhead this week. Sometimes, I wonder whether our "relationship" is really good for her. She's told me that this is what she wants, this more than friends thing we've got between us, so I need to respect that. Or at least, that's what she told me. I can't help but think that her cuddly, sunshiney, wants-to-please-others personality would be better off meshing with someone who is similar, instead of me, who is dark and lonely and will surely bring her down.

I shake off my thoughts, not wanting to wonder too much about if they're true or not, and then decide to put my backpack away and change out of my University Store polo before I go to Perrie.

I go quickly, changing not just my top but my whole outfit. Once I'm clothed in a big jumper, a pair of athletic tights, and my favorite cosy socks, I head back towards the kitchen door.

Perrie's singing the last lines of the song that I now recognize as State of Grace by Taylor Swift when I place my ear on the door. I'd deny I knew what the song was if she asked me, but I know. Of course I know. I pay attention to every little thing she does, even though I pretend like I don't. She's my opposite in that way, in that she's unafraid to let me know exactly how much she knows about me. I'm a bit careless with my things, but I know if I ask her, she'll know where they are. Her mind is an incredible mental catalogue of seemingly useless and unrelated information. She can tell you the temperature at which freshly blown glass must be cooled, or how many people have died trying to climb Everest, or quote nearly any passage from De Profundis. She also always seems to know where I've left my glasses, not telling me where they are as I look but making a mental note so that when I ask her she can say "I noticed they were on the second shelf of the hallway vanity after you left for your 11am philosophy lecture. They were still there when I left for German at 1, but after that, I don't know."