"You've had a face like thunder for most of the night," Anne said to her youngest child, as they all cleaned up the kitchen and living area together. "Did something happen?"

Harry sighed, not able to muster the strength to discuss the argument with Wednesday just yet. Placing the last bag of rubbish by the side of the back door, he rubbed his neck as he faced his mum.

"I'm just tired. I'm gonna go to bed now, if you don't need me to help with anything else?"

"No love, you go," Anne replied. Harry got the feeling she knew he wasn't telling the truth and so he quickly pecked her on the cheek and hugged her.

"Merry Christmas mum."

"Merry Christmas sweetie."

After saying goodnight to Gemma and her boyfriend, he traipsed upstairs and changed out of his clothes, getting into the cramped, small childhood bed he'd grown up sleeping in. After getting comfortable, he laid with his arm behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with what had happened earlier.

He recalled the sting of Wednesday's words with a frown; of how she'd said they shouldn't be friends anymore and wanted to quit the band. All because being around him was unbearable to her. The words had repeated in his head all night, playing in a constant loop and the longer they continued, the sadder and angrier he'd become at her.

Maybe Wednesday was right—they'd forced a friendship past it's natural sell by date and that was why they always talked, but never seemed to say anything to each other anymore. But if he was that unbearable, why hadn't she quit long before then? He wondered how long she'd thought that about him. How long she'd been wanting to escape the job, escape him.

He rubbed his face, sighing at the endless thoughts whirring through his brain, forcing him to stay awake. Wednesday was her own worst enemy sometimes—she forgot that he knew her better than she knew herself sometimes and regardless of her thoughts on the friendship now, he still could read her like a book. And he knew that she could never just admit when she was in the wrong, or apologise, or god forbid—compromise. Why couldn't she have just accepted his fucking apology?

His frustration at her only increased his frustration at himself. After all, it had been his actions that had caused this mess. He wasn't above reproach; he could admit he'd been a stupid fucking idiot and as a result, had hurt two people he cared about in the process. Why hadn't he ended it with Daisy when it first happened? Put an immediate end to anything further? He guessed it was the same reason he failed to end it after Paris—loneliness and insecurity. He'd gone back as soon as Wednesday had mentioned seeing Patrick, knowing that if they were to become a thing again, he'd once again be alone.

Fucking Patrick. Harry remembered seeing his name pop up on the phone screen during the argument and feeling a sense of confirmation, but also betrayal. Wednesday hadn't been truthful once where he was concerned over the past half a year—always dodging questions or omitting the truth. And now, he'd seen with his own two eyes that something more than what she'd described was going on—especially after he remembered her vividly telling him one day that she'd blocked his number. Harry had never understood her attachment to him—from the moment they'd met, he'd always thought he was an arrogant little prick who constantly whined and complained about not being Wednesday's number one priority. He wasn't ashamed to say he'd nearly broken out into a smile when she'd told him they'd split up. For as long as they'd been a couple, Harry had always thought he dimmed her shine, not increased it.

Harry frowned as he recalled what Wednesday had said too. That it was his fault for their breakup. He'd spent a lot of the night ruminating on that one part of the argument, trying to understand what he'd done to cause it and failing to see what part he'd played, coming to no conclusion.

Eventually, the overdrive of thoughts sent Harry to sleep, but not before he took one last glance at his phone to see if there were any new texts. But of course, there weren't.

Though Harry put all of his effort into trying to enjoy Christmas Day and Boxing Day, he couldn't muster the energy to not think about Wednesday every hour of the day either. Despite the bubbling anger he still felt after their argument, there was a gnawing anxiety alongside it too. And though he didn't think on it for too long, worry that she meant every word she'd said filled his every fibre. He couldn't imagine a life without her in it—she was the person who brought extra joy to his days, the only one who knew all of his secrets; or at least, most of them.

He noticed with uneasiness that she didn't message or call to say Merry Christmas. But then, neither had he. No matter how much he didn't want this, his stubbornness prevented him from doing anything to change it.

He also felt guilty. Daisy had been texting and calling him since he'd left for home and he'd ignored every single one. It wasn't that he didn't like her, it was just that he didn't have the strength at that moment to have the talk he knew he inevitably needed to have with her. If there was anything that made him even more mad at Wednesday, it was that he knew she was right. There was no way both Harry and Daisy could feasibly work together on the tour next year. It was a disaster waiting to happen. He couldn't end things and continue working together, because the tension would be too exhausting. But he also couldn't continue with Daisy knowing that it was definitely more casual for him than her. It wasn't fair. It was a lose/lose situation.

The morning after Boxing Day, Harry began loading his and Gemma's cases into the boot of his car, ready to go back to London. He felt more tired leaving than when he'd arrived, after what should have been a relaxing week at home. But of course, it had been far from it. Turning back to his mum as she watched him ready to leave, he smiled tiredly.

"Do me a favour?" she asked up to him as she placed both her hands on his arms, smiling gently.

"Yeah?" he replied, trying his hardest to seem more present than he was.

"Whatever has happened between you and Wednesday, sort it out. Life is too short."

She didn't wait for his response, instead standing up on her tiptoes and planting a warm, tender kiss to his cheek. He smiled into it, grateful for the action. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve a mum like her. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he kissed her forehead.

"Love you. See you soon."

With that, he turned and walked to the front of the car, opening up the door and sitting in the driver's seat. After a few moments of Gemma and her boyfriend saying goodbye before getting into the car too, he started to slowly back out of the driveway. They all waved at Anne once more, who was holding the cat up to say bye also, before driving off down the road.

Swallowing as he turned onto Wednesday's road, he thought about what his mum had said. It was such a mum thing to say, that life was too short to argue. But he also knew how true it rang. He hated that. He could still feel anger simmering inside of him at their argument at her, but he also felt sad more than anything. Confrontation was something he despised and the thought of anyone being angry at him was enough to send his nerves into overdrive. With slightly clammy hands, he stopped outside of Jane's house, parking up onto the side of the path.

"Guys, I'm just gonna go say bye," he said to the others who nodded knowingly, taking a breath before popping his seatbelt off and hopping out of the car.

He saw Wednesday's familiar black car parked outside, meaning she was still here. At that revelation, his heart started beating a little faster. Stepping up to the front door, he raised his fist to knock, hesitating before wrapping 3 times.

Hearing the shuffle of footsteps on the other side of the door, it opened slowly to reveal a wide-eyed Isla, who was looking back at Harry like she'd seen a ghost in the flesh.

Plastering on a friendly smile at Wednesday's younger cousin, he cleared his throat.

"Hi Isla," he said as cheerily as he could. "Is Wednesday in?"

Still entranced by him being at the door, it took her a few seconds to snap out of her daydream and shake her head.

"No, she went out about an hour ago for a walk. Said something about needing to call her boyfriend or something."

Harry felt his chest tense up and jaw clench at her words, blinking a few times as he processed what he'd heard. Boyfriend. She'd gone to call her boyfriend.

So, he had been right, they were back together. And she'd lied about it. Again.

Digging his hands into his pockets, he struggled to retain his cheery composure, unsure of what to say.

"Okay then Isla, thanks."

"You can come in if you want?" she asked quickly, seemingly worried about him leaving so soon.

"Oh, I-" he began, unable to finish as Jane's voice cut him off.

"Is that Harry?" she asked from inside the house, the sound of shoes tapping across the floor sounding out before she appeared beside Isla. "Harry love, are you okay? Do you want to come inside?"

"Oh no, thanks Jane," he smiled awkwardly. "I was just popping round quickly to say bye to you before I left."

It was a half-truth he knew, but better that than having to explain the real reason.

"Oh, you're going already love? Well that's a shame, but I guess work duties call."

She stepped down and leaned up to hug him, patting his back caringly, almost as if she were his own mother.

"I'll tell everyone else you said bye to them too," she smiled, rubbing his arm.

He nodded, ready to walk back to the car when Jane called out his name again. Turning back to her with a raised eyebrow, he waited for what she wanted to say.

"My daughter is as stubborn as a mule. But she'll come around eventually," she nodded, a small reassuring smile on her lips.

Swallowing back his own feelings nervously, he returned the smile, saying his goodbye one last time before turning and walking back to the car, ready for a long drive full of exhaustive overthinking and endless anxiety.

By the time he'd arrived in London, dropped Gemma and her boyfriend off and arrived back at his own house, Harry wanted to do nothing more than sleep. Throwing his cases to the ground in the empty, spacious hallway, he eyed the presents from Wednesday irritably, still left from where she'd dropped them in surprise the week before. He breathed out, debating whether to open them or not but decided against it; he knew she always got him amazing presents and he didn't want his angry stance to be softened by it.

Throwing himself down onto the sofa, he huffed and placed his arm over his eyes, blocking out any light from the house. He remained like that for a few minutes, focusing on his breathing and failing to think of anything else other than Wednesday and Patrick. How could she have spent the whole past week calling him a liar, when she was just as bad? He was so angry for so many different reasons, he couldn't even unjumble them in his own head.

His phone buzzed a few times in his pocket over the course of a few minutes, but he remained in position, too tired to even be bothered to move. He knew it wouldn't be Wednesday; she was too stubborn to ever be the first to apologise. It worried him to think how this whole situation would be resolved. At the minute, it seemed like it never would and there was an air of something final about their last argument that made him hurt deep in his soul.

Eventually reaching his hand down to his pocket, he pulled out his phone and looked at the notifications, his lips falling into a frown when he saw the first one, a message from Daisy.

He clicked off of it. Not today, he thought to himself.

The next message was from Mitch.

He smiled slightly, a moment of relief amongst all the shite of the past week. Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to knock back drinks with Mitch and fill him in on the past week's events. It was too much for one person to keep bundled up inside.

he texted back, yawning before getting up to get ready.

An hour later, he walked into the quiet pub situated a few streets away from his own, a certain warmth hitting him as he nodded his hellos at the familiar locals, before spotting Mitch in the corner with two pints already on the table. He smiled. Sometimes, he really, really, fucking loved him.

"Alright mate," he grinned, hugging Mitch as he stood up, grateful for a friend.

"Couldn't be bothered asking what you wanted, so just got two pints instead. Hope you don't mind," Mitch laughed quietly, nodding down to the drinks on the slightly sticky table.

"No, it's just what I needed," Harry replied with a tired expression, shaking his head as he took a long, hard gulp. Mitch watched on with wide eyes and a slight grin.

"Your week at home not very relaxing then?" he asked, seeing Harry neck half the glass in one go.

Harry remembered that he was yet to fill everyone else in on the drama that had occurred since they'd finished work for the year. From the way it seemed like everyone at home had picked up on their argument, he'd almost forgotten it was still only a situation a handful of people had been let in on.

Clearing his throat and shuffling on his seat, he widened his eyes as he breathed out.

"You could say that. Might want to get comfortable, because I'm about to tell you a long fucking story."

Harry sat for what felt like forever describing the entire ordeal, from how him and Daisy started sleeping with each other, to Wednesday catching them, to their various arguments, leading up where they currently stood now.

"And lastly, Wednesday is now dating Patrick again secretly. So that's another lie she told me the whole time we were at home," he finished, breathing out in relief that everything was out in the open. Or just with Mitch, at least.

He sat silently with widened eyes, like he was still catching up on taking in everything Harry just told him. After a few seconds, he grabbed his pint and cocked his head to the side.

"Rather you than me man."

Mitch Rowland, forever speaking with the wisdom of buddha.

"I'm just so fucking annoyed. At all of it," Harry huffed, drinking down the last remnants of his beer.

"What's annoying you the most?" Mitch asked, finishing his drink too.

Harry thought over the question, struggling to find one answer. It felt like all his frustrations had blended into one undistinguishable bubble of anger.

"Everything. Wednesday being stubborn, the situation with Daisy, the way Wednesday found out. The fact her and Patrick are back together and the fact she lied to me about it. It's all just a mess." Harry sat with both his elbows on the table as he leant his head onto his hands in annoyance, staring down at the cardboard beer coaster.

"How do you know they're definitely back together? Wednesday and Patrick?" Mitch asked with furrowed brows.

Harry looked back up to him, sitting back on his chair. "Her cousin told me she was out on the phone to her boyfriend when I went around to ask to see her. Plus, he kept ringing her during our argument. Doesn't take a genius to know what's happening there again."

"But didn't she say to you they weren't back together?"

Harry toyed with the edges of the beer coaster now with a frown, peeling back parts of the corner. "Well it was clearly a lie. She knows how much I don't like him, so she probably just didn't want to admit to it."

"And why don't you like him?" Mitch asked, this time with a slight smirk that made Harry draw his eyebrows together.

"Because he's a cunt?" Harry replied, his tone sharp. It always was when he talked about him.

"How is he a cunt?" Mitch pushed, seemingly enjoying the slight rise he was getting out of him.

"Because," Harry replied, shaking his head. Where did he even start? "He's always been a weird, clingy little freak. Always checking where Wednesday was and complaining about everything she did, who she was seeing. He gave me bad energy from the day I met him and plus, he's just such a posh little wanker. Wednesday always deserved someone better than him."

Mitch nodded, leaning back and crossing his arms as he seemed to ponder at that last sentence. "Okay, so if Patrick doesn't deserve her, who does?"

Harry sighed, looking back to Mitch.

"What?"

"You said that Wednesday deserved someone better than him. So, if he doesn't deserve her, who does?"

Harry seemed blindsided by the question, his mouth hanging slightly agape as he was unsure of what to say. What kind of question was that?

"I don't know, it's just a figure of speech," Harry shrugged quietly, playing with the coaster, fidgeting uncomfortably.

Mitch breathed out a laugh, sensing Harry retracting away from the question.

"All I'm trying to say is, do you dislike Patrick because of his personality, or for the fact he's dating Wednesday?"

Harry's brows pulled down as he tried to understand what point Mitch was making. Was he insinuating what he thought he was insinuating?

"I dislike him because he treated her like shit. I feel like that's a pretty normal thing for a friend to feel," he replied, slightly defensively. "If she dated someone in the future that treated her well, I'd have no issue."

Mitch held his hands up by his head innocently, slightly pouting his lip.

"Hey man, whatever you say. You know yourself better than I do."

Harry looked at him with the same slightly annoyed expression for a few more seconds, before sliding his chair along the wooden ground and standing up. Needing a breather, he looked down to their empty glasses.

"Same again?" he asked down to Mitch, who nodded, a ghost of a smile still on his lips.

He ordered two more pints at the bar, seeing his reflection in the mirror behind the liquor stand as he waited and noticing how annoyed and confused he looked. Mitch had really done a number on him before with his line of questioning and somehow, he felt even more tired than before he came out. He furrowed his brows as he went over what Mitch had been insinuating; that he would never be happy with anyone she dated, for reasons he didn't want to even allow himself to acknowledge, because they were so far from the truth. He clearly just wanted the best for his best friend, even despite their argument. Why couldn't Mitch see that? He was used to people assuming things about him and Wednesday—it was the unfortunate downside of a boy/girl friendship, but usually those assumptions were from strangers online or the press; not from one of his, their, closest friends.

But then his brows furrowed even deeper as he tried to understand why he was getting so chewed up over those simple questions. Because, surely if it wasn't true, he'd have just laughed the notion off. Looking back up to his reflection, he noticed how white his lower lip had gone from biting down on it this whole time. Before he had time to delve further into his own thoughts, the pints were placed down and the money handed over.