prosecco

Harry couldn't deny the small crush he harbored for her, never able to pull his eyes from her or his attention away when he was in her presence. She was funny, and smart, and so kind, and entirely too beautiful to be fair. He remembered when Iris brought her around the very first time, the two of them being close, and Harry could already tell she was going to be hard to forget. It had been at a little get together at Charlotte's house, only the core group of people in attendance with Iris' plus one, and he remembers being so caught up when he first saw her, he completely stopped speaking in the middle of a conversation with Mitch.

After promptly being teased, Harry made it his mission to get to know her that night, listening intently to each of her little stories and the small introduction Iris offered on her behalf. He found that they had the same taste in music and a similar sense of humor that Harry could see made her feel more at ease when he would laugh at her jokes. He had planned on asking for her number and hoping to make plans to see her again by the end of the night, having decided he wanted to see more of her without the pressure of their friend group watching on. It wasn't until (Y/N) tossed out some throw away comment to Iris just as everyone was saying their goodbyes, that he put his phone away and realized he was going to need to minimize his affection for her to see her as nothing but a friend.

"No, I have to go to bed early tonight. I have a lecture at eight tomorrow morning with that one professor that marks you off if you're not at least five minutes early." He remembers the way she rolled her eyes as she finished off her comment, shrugging her jacket on her shoulders before following after Iris to say goodnight to everyone.

She was in school. She was young enough to still be in college, and Harry couldn't help but feel guilty for spending so much time flirting with her that night and planning his next move. He'd never really considered himself old before, still being on the so-called 'right side' of thirty-five (though he figured he's more so on the precipice of the right side, his birthday only a few months away), but there was something about the fact that she was young enough to be taking classes to prepare her for a career ahead while he had already been established for years in his, that made him feel guilty. He knew by all intents and purposes, there wasn't anything wrong with being interested in her, but he couldn't help but feel like the creepy older man that he'd heard women complain about so often. She probably didn't want him following her around and trying to earn her affection when she was just trying to make friends.

So, that night, Harry remembers the way he quickly shoved his phone back into his pocket—earning a confused glance from Mitch—before offering (Y/N) a friendly hug goodbye, and a quiet nice to meet you! falling from his lips. He lingered only a few minutes longer afterwards, following after Mitch who left soon after his own goodbyes. Since then, he'd made a choice every time she came out with them, to keep things on a level just below professional. He cared about her, but he'd rather keep her at an arm's length than make her any degree of uncomfortable, even if that crush he had for her never really dissipated.

"Um, no," Harry answered, the bartender sliding him his icy glass, "What happened?" He dreaded to hear what could have conspired between (Y/N) and Andrew, the latter's name already causing a tick in his jaw.

A downturned expression pulled at Tawny's features, the kind of look he imagined she would pull after watching a commercial with sad animals. "Apparently," she started, waving her hand in front of her, "(Y/N) and Andrew had been talking for the past couple of weeks, and they were supposed to go out last weekend, on a real date. (Y/N) told Charlotte that they were supposed to meet at a restaurant, but Andrew just stood her up. She waited for over an hour, I'm pretty sure, and he didn't even say anything until almost midnight that night. He told her he was 'sorry'"—she curled her fingers in the air to mimic quotation marks around the word, as well as a roll of her eyes,—"but that it was 'probably for the best, anyway', and that he'd been seeing someone else or something like that. She told Charlotte everything after she got home from the restaurant that night, but no one's really heard from her since. And it seems like whoever Andrew was seeing, though, turned out to be Iris."