"When I give, I give myself."
Walt Whitman
"You're what?" Zayn's voice is loud in Harry's ear. Harry sends an apologetic look to the woman sitting beside him, because there's no way she didn't hear the shrill Zayn's voice carried.
"I'm on an airplane." Harry says calmly.
"To Ireland?"
"Yes."
"Why the hell are you going to Ireland?" Zayn sounds exasperated, and Harry sighs.
"Louis didn't propose last night." He explains.
"So you're following him to Ireland?"
Harry rolls his eyes, even though Zayn can't see him. "Yes."
"And, you couldn't wait until Monday, because...?" His voice trails off, and Harry feels slightly betrayed.
"Would you at least pretend to be a romantic for five minutes?"
"I'm sorry that I'm a fatalist, okay? But this is ridiculous, Harry. Are you doing this to guilt him into saying yes?" Zayn's voice quiets toward the end of his sentence, and Harry knows that Zayn doesn't want to believe that that is what Harry is doing.
"I'm doing this, because I have waited years for him to ask me to no avail. I think it's time that I man up and ask him, don't you? Why do I have to sit around and wait for a train that doesn't appear to be coming anytime in the near future?"
"Harry, that's exactly what I'm trying to say. He doesn't want to get married."
"You don't know that. I don't know that." Harry argues. "He's so focused on his work, maybe he just doesn't realize, so he thinks we're fine."
"I really don't think th-"
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking."
"Zayn, I have to hang up. We're about to head onto the Tarmac."
Harry hears Zayn sigh, probably in defeat. "Message me when you get there."
"I will."
Harry ends the call and proceeds to put his phone on airplane mode. The woman beside him is already fiddling with the TV screen in front of her, and Harry knows this is going to be a lonely flight. He takes out the blanket and pillow he had stuffed into the back of the chair when he sat down, and he unwraps the blanket. Harry had spent all night packing, speaking to his mother, and finding a flight with an empty seat. There had been no time for actual sleep, so he supposes that now was the time to catch up.
Harry tunes out the video playing, because he isn't in an exit row seat, and frankly, he doesn't care about the safety procedures. He's flown enough times to know what to do. The woman beside him has seemingly been entranced by the cheesy safety video. Harry wonders how it must feel to be an aspiring filmmaker whose only accomplishment was this ridiculous video. He figures it's got to be worse than the false hope of a proposal from your partner of four years. But then again, that hope hurts a lot too. So, maybe it doesn't feel as bad.
He forces himself to stay away through takeoff, even if only so he can lay his seat back once passenger's are allowed to. By the time the seatbelt light flickers off, the wifi symbol taking its place, Harry really needs to pee.
The flight attendants haven't began making their rounds just yet, and the woman beside Harry is quite small. He figures he can shuffle around her without forcing her to stand up. He taps her shoulder, motioning for her to stay seated. Harry proceeds to maneuver his way over his seat buddy and into the aisle way. The encounter is awkward to say the least.
Harry is careful not to trip as he walks toward the airplane's sorry excuse for a bathroom. This feat proves difficult when the fear of catching passengers midway to a Mile High Club membership is the main focus of his brain. The human libido is a strange, concerning thing.
By the time Harry finds his way back to his row, the woman beside him has lost herself in the movie on the screen. He catches a glimpse of a brunette woman, and figures the plot line must be intriguing enough to steal the attention of this lady. Harry hates to interrupt, but he must.
"Oh, I'm sorry!" His seat partner exclaims, not realizing that her headphones don't mean she needs to shout for Harry to hear her. Harry smiles and the woman sits up again, allowing Harry to slide through to his seat.
"Good movie?" He asks, a little louder than normal, just in case she can't hear him.
"Not far enough in to tell, really." She says, and Harry nods. The brief conversation ends there, and Harry realizes he should probably sleep while he can. The jet lag is going to be obscene when he arrives in Ireland. Harry positions his small white pillow in such a way that he can place his feet in the empty seat between him and his seat buddy. The lack of sleep he managed to get the night before suddenly catches up to Harry, and his eyelids are heavy with sleep and anticipation for when he lands.
-
"Sir, I'm going to need you to wake up." A chipper voice brings Harry out of his dreams.
"Are we landing?"
"Sir, we have been redirected to Wales due to a landing complication in Dublin." She explains with a smile, and Harry's eyes widen.
"Wales?"
"Yes, sir." She nods her head and turns to continue waking passengers up.
"Wait, wait!" Harry stops her. "How far away is Wales from Dublin?"
"Around seven hours."
Harry is in distress. Seven hours. This setback will spoil his plans; it will force Harry to tell Louis he's in the U.K. How will he be able to make reservations in Dublin without knowing what he's making reservations for? Frustrated beyond belief, he turns to the woman beside him, who is now reading a book with a shirtless man on the cover. Classy, Harry thinks.
"I hate it when things like this happen."
She closes her book to respond to him. "It's a bit annoying, but hey- at least we're landing."
"Yeah, but seven hours away from where I need to be."
"You're very cynical." She notes.
Harry is offended. "I am not. I just need to get to Dublin."
The woman gives him a judgmental look, setting her book down, and Harry knows this is going to become an interesting conversation. "What's so important in Dublin that won't be understanding of a plane delay?"
"I'm proposing to Louis this weekend. He's there for a neurologist convention, and I wanted to surprise him, but now it doesn't look like I'll be able to do that."
"Hopeless romantic, much?"
Harry glares at the pretentious lady. "I'm not the one reading a Mills & Boon book."
She grins, picking up the paperback she had set down. "What can I say? Irish romances really get me in the mood."
"My friend reads those all the time." Harry notes, speaking of Juelle. Every time he comes over to visit, Juelle has a new one in her hands. Harry wouldn't be surprised if she reads them aloud to Zayn when they're alone in the car.
"You keep the friends you want to be."
Harry is thoroughly confused by that, and apparently his face shows it, because the woman is laughing.
"It means you're a hopeless romantic, so you're going to be friends with other hopeless romantics, unless you suddenly want to be a pessimist in love."
"What's your name?"
"Amy."
"M'Harry."
"And your lover's name? Oh, wait, you said Louis right?"
Harry nods. "Right."
"How long have you been together?" She asks, curiously. The book is back in her lap, out of her hands.
"Well, we met years ago, but we've been in a civil union for four years."
"And you're finally able to get married in your state?"
"No, we live in Massachusetts. We've been able to get married for a long time now. It's just that, Louis is comfortable with the union. But we can't have kids without a marriage license. Agencies don't like it."
"Oh, so you want babies." Amy smiles widely. "I want a baby."
"Everybody should want a baby."
Amy laughs again, nodding. "Maybe not everybody." She moves around in her plane seat. "So, if Louis is comfortable with your union, does he not want kids?"
"He's never said he didn't. He listens to me when I talk about adoption and surrogacy options."
"I hope you get what you want, Harry."
"I hope so too." He gives Amy a small smile, and she goes back to reading her novel. Without the distraction of a light conversation, Harry is left to wonder what this hiccup in his plans will do.