~Cassidy~

I loved Fridays.

There was something just so reassuring about the fact that the weekend began tomorrow, that you didn’t have to worry about any weekly things, like when to take out the garbage or going to work.

Friday was a day full of promise, assuring you that Saturday was right around the corner, and it never disappointed.

My doorbell rang, and I flipped off the television, padding to the main entrance and opening it, only to come face to face with Harry. My breathing hitched in my throat.

He wore black basketball shorts—a change, surprisingly—and a white muscle tank top, giving me a full view of the tattoos lining his arms. His sweaty hair was pushed back by a navy blue bandanna, and he was gripping a white plastic water bottle in one hand, a wad of paper gripped in his other hand. I could only guess that he’d just come back from working out.

“Hi?” I asked; it came out as a question.

He pursed his lips and simply held out his hand containing the paper, “Our mail got mixed up.”

I tentatively took the letters and bills from his hand, our skin brushing as I did so. I desperately wanted to reach out and grab his hand, simply holding it, but restrained from doing so, knowing I’d only make things worse.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence before he cleared his throat, “Alright, then.”

He turned away, taking a step down the stairs of my porch, but I couldn’t stop myself from calling out, “Harry?”

“Hm?” he looked over at me, and I shuffled my feet nervously, “How are you?”

Okay. That just came out. Ugh, I didn’t mean to say that!

He chuckled, looking down at the ground, a small, closed-lipped smile creating a crescent on his face, the indent of his dimple becoming very prominent. I wanted to step outside and just grab his face and smash it into mine.

“How am I?” he repeated. Unable to do anything but stare, I just bit my lip, my teeth poking through the pinkness, and nodded silently. The left corner of his mouth curved up into a small smirk.

“I’m good. How are you?”

“Good,” I whispered, mesmerised by the sudden realisation of how attractive he actually was. He nodded once, his eyes glinting briefly, “Good.”

He turned back around, preparing to leave, and I blurted, “Harry, hold on.”

His shoulders slouched slightly and I cursed at myself—fuck, I sounded so desperate right now, and I hated it.

“Yeah,” he said; his back was still to me. I closed my eyes, gathering up the stupid courage that had abandoned me at the time I needed it most.

“I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean for that to—I mean…” I trailed off, trying to figure out how best to explain my fucked up situation to him. He’d turned back around fully now, as though waiting for an explanation, something I could barely grant him.

“It’s okay,” he said without emotion, and I knew that it was the farthest thing from okay, “I’m stupid for even thinking that, for assuming any of that, so I’m sorry. But I’ve got to go.”

“Why?” I asked immediately, and then I mentally face-palmed. Could I sound any more desperate? Harry simply cracked a smile, saying, “I’ve got a few friends visiting from England. They’re going to stay at a hotel, but their plane arrives tonight.”

“Oh,” I chewed on my lip, hating how disappointed I sounded. Harry chuckled without humour and the awkward silence was back again. I sighed, wishing that things didn’t have to be this difficult.

“Look, Harry—,” I began, but he cut me off.

“Just don’t worry about it,” he told me gently, stepping closer, “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m sorry that I assumed that I was. I know you don’t want a relationship.”

I bit my tongue to keep myself from screaming at him. He was reciting basically the opposite of what I wanted. I wanted a relationship, and—I couldn’t believe I was fucking saying this—I may have even wanted him as my boyfriend. Things were so messed up, and I was mentally screaming at him to shut up in my head, but for some reason my voice wouldn’t work. I was stuck silently standing here, letting him go on about what I didn’t want.

I did want a relationship; I wanted one, and I wanted it badly, yet I couldn’t speak. Harry shot me a defeated look, like he’d tried everything but had just given up, which made my heart completely die.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

“I need to go,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair and slightly dislodging his headband. Without a word, he lurched forward and pressed a small, soft kiss to my cheek, eventually pulling back after a moment and leaving my skin tingling and on fire.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassidy,” he mumbled, before turning away and walking down the steps sluggishly. He really had given up. Each time his foot met a stair, I winced.

Without looking back at me, he crossed the lawn quickly. I couldn’t bear to see any more of this, so I slammed the door and let out a frustrated scream.

“Fuck!”

~*~

The next day, I pushed through the changeroom door, sighing loudly.

Without a word, I set my things down on the bench and yanked my top over my body, balling it up into a tight fist and whipping it into my bag. I unbuttoned my shorts, sliding them down my legs, and kicked off my flip flops. My goggles hung lazily around my neck, bouncing slightly as I reached up to tie my hair in a messy bun, twirling it around.

God, I was such an idiot. If only I’d kept my fat-as-fuck mouth shut and hadn’t become all defensive about my independence. Why couldn’t I stop being so stubborn? Because of my hard-headedness, I’d basically pushed Harry away, and I didn’t know what to do about that now.

Things were difficult, so, so difficult, and I couldn’t stand knowing that he didn’t want to try with me anymore.

I pushed through the door that led to the pool deck, sighing gently, and was immediately greeted with loud whoops and hollers. My eyes widened as I took in the scene in front of me.

Five men were in the pool, splashing around and screaming. They were playing chicken, clearly. On one side, there was a man with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes, several tattoos adorning his body. He was seated on the shoulders of a guy with brown eyes, who was actually pretty muscular.

On the other side there was a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, laughing his head off. He didn’t have any tattoos. He was sitting on the shoulders of a man with brown eyes and brown hair with a blonde strip running through the front of his quiff, and his body had more ink than skin on it.

In the middle, clearly refereeing was Harry. I stared at him for a few moments, watching how he pushed his wet hair away from his face so that it stuck up, watching how he smiled, showing his dimples, how his green eyes sparkled. He was laughing. I studied the tattoos on his body before looking away.

The blonde boy was the first to notice me.

His eyes went wide and he turned back to his friends, “Chick alert!”

The rest of their heads snapped towards me, making me feel slightly uncomfortable to be in this whole situation. The boys with blue eyes slid off of the shoulders of their friends and Harry made it a task to dive underwater, swimming towards the edge of the pool where I stood.

He resurfaced a moment later, once again pushing his hair away from his face, and hoisted himself out of the water, jogging over to where I stood.

I looked up at him questioningly as he approached, “Hey,” he said breathlessly, and I blinked once to keep myself from daydreaming.

“Hi,” I said rather timidly, looking away from him and instead focussing on the boys still in the pool—they had now swum to the edge and were watching our conversation intently. I cleared my throat and Harry scratched the back of his head, clearly looking sheepish.

“Oh,” he said, like it had just dawned on him. He stepped beside me and put the tips of his fingers on the small of my back, guiding me over to where his friends were. When he touched me, little electric bolts danced through my nervous system.

“Cassidy,” he announced, “This is Liam—,” he pointed at the muscular boy with brown eyes, “—Louis,” brown, shaggy hair and blue eyes, “—Niall,” blonde boy with blue eyes, “—and Zayn,” it was the boy with brown eyes and the blonde stripe in his hair.

“Lads,” he said, “This is Cassidy. She’s my neighbor, my instructor and erm—my friend.”

I could tell that he was going to say something very different than a “friend” but I knew that he had made his point clear. I waved awkwardly at the guys looking up at us from the pool, “Um, hi.”

They all chuckled or cracked a smile, making me shoot them a small smile in return. I heard someone clear their throat loudly and looked over at Harry, who was giving them a stern look.

My brow furrowed, and I nudged him lightly, wondering why he was suddenly so riled up. When my bare arm touched his, I felt a shock go through my body, and he flinched ever so lightly, so I knew that he felt it too.

“Nice to meet you, love,” Liam—I think his name was—said. He shot me a grin, which made me feel slightly relieved since it eased the tension in the air.

“Nice to meet you too,” I managed out when I found my voice. God, I was so awkward and horrible at first impressions. I didn’t own a social aspect of my life—I wasn’t nice, or sweet, I just focussed on my swimming, and I had a hard time finding someone who would accept me for that asides from Matt.

“Well,” I pursed my lips, “I should probably go. You guys looked like you were having a lot of fun before I interrupted. Sorry about that.”

“You don’t have to go,” Harry piped up, looking at me. He was biting his bottom lip, his brow creased.

I shook my head lightly, not looking at him, “I’m fine, seriously. I was going to go to the gym anyways.”

“What about our lesson?” he questioned, and for a moment, I almost thought he wanted me to stay, but then remembered what he’d said to me the other day, about how he wasn’t my boyfriend. I was probably just imagining things.

I shrugged, still not looking at him. Things were too tense, too awkward for anything, any kind of contact at the moment, “It’s one lesson, Styles. It isn’t that big a deal.”

I turned back to the rest of the boys, “Nice meeting you,” I said, and received four other murmurs of good-bye in response, before glancing at Harry.

He was staring at me worriedly but I just shrugged, turning away and walking back into the changeroom, feeling all of their eyes on me, which was very uncomfortable since I was only wearing a bathing suit.

When the changeroom door flopped shut, I reached for my clothes and shrugged them back on, fumbling with the button on my jeans—my hands were shaking. I slipped on my flip flops and grabbed my swim bag before proceeding to speed out the door, walking hurriedly down the hall.

There was no way I was going to the gym after all that.

No—screw it—I was going home.

Notes

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