summary: in which; you have been tolerating an unrepairable marriage for far too long, and it's only when Harry comes along do you realize all that you're missing.
trigger warnings: self-deprecation, a toxic marriage, manipulation, mature themes.
word count: 13.7k
includes: co-worker harry, written in the second person.
based on: ♫ tolerate it, taylor swift ♫
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He skimmed through the book, expeditiously, albeit his fingers moved hesitantly. It was as though he regretted the speed he was partaking. Hitting fast forward to a story he had read on numerous occasions and wished to cherish, always as a means to ignore your lingering stare and often as a means to avoid your touches, your pleas, your gentle whispers of doubt.
His eyes remained glued to the flickering pages, briefly eyeing the top paragraph for information typed in inky perfection before returning to his movements. The literary choices were always deliberate, as the man was nothing but precise with his readings.
"I'm trying to find the page where Jake hosts the dinner. . . all his friends attend and Taylor feels like shit, remember? It's 206, right?"
His words were clipped and uneven as he inhaled through his nostrils, nearly heaving. It was as though it pained him to speak with you so casually. His eyes did not stray from their task despite his claims and inquiries. The fact was not lost on you, and you were in a dream-like state when he spoke moments prior, hazed by the wariness of your actions and the discrete hostility of his own.
You were woken from such with down-turned lips and a creased forehead when he spoke. It was as though speaking to you was a chore, his breath similar to when he participates in those marathons with his mates, and you found yourself rolling your eyes at the thought.
I know it's our anniversary, I'm sorry, but I gotta go. Running's good for me. You understand, yeah?
His chest shook with an intake of oxygen, and the thought of your most recent anniversary had you maliciously hoping that his heart would deflate like a balloon.
Perhaps the deflation would be similar to the balloons you had strung up for his most recent birthday, decorated with a happy smiley face and a sweet Happy Birthday, honey! Your lips were painted with a glossy shimmer, that day, and they pressed into the stubbled skin of his cheek before he fled your grasp for a deserving slice of the cake you had baked and decorated to the best of your efforts. Despite the recent downfall of your marriage, his birthday remained a priority of yours. Your husband's decently older than you, and while you still adored them before meeting him, he had taught you to appreciate each birthday no matter how much older you got.
Then, however, he walked past the table without a thought, not noticing or perhaps just uncaring to appreciate, you weren't sure, the balloons you searched strangely empty shops for. They were left present, albeit not forgotten by you, solely sadly avoided and tied to the kitchen chair for days. Later, with a heavy heart, you had snipped the rose-coloured ribbon attaching the two balloons, watching as the oxygen-leaking, caving plastic descended to porcelain tiles rather than limply fold over the wooden chair. Perhaps it was a representation of your sullen and quickly sinking heart as the days passed; perhaps it was a sign from whatever higher power above that was watching over your seemingly ill-fated marriage.
Shaking off the thought of the day which occurred not long ago, you cleared your saliva-gathering and heart-clogging throat before speaking.
"Mhm. . . I think so." your voice gave way to the immense level of discomfort shaking your bones, rattling your heart in the cage that is your ribs and expanding with each heavy breath.
Your speech, soft and meticulous, managed to waft past the man like a distant summer breeze, ears tuned to exclude everything concerning you. His breathing was then steadied, moving on from the conversation or whatever speech could be identified.
His head was low though yours was in the clouds, dreaming of heaven with mercy. You wished that this heaven would give you a husband who loved you unconditionally and was needily different from Theo. Who chose you over others, who chose to spend your anniversary together and attend all the meticulous plans you had created rather than feel his heart pump in the form of his feet hitting the hot pavement, t-shirt drenched in the wrong kind of saturation, and legs moving rapidly as he ran.
Running was something he did frequently, telling you on dewy mornings or darkening evenings through hushed syllables. Returning flushed and, notably, in a worse mood than he had been in following his departure. His trainers were askew near the door, the fact even true on days he hadn't run, for he hadn't changed their placement. They remained where the heels had slipped off from tired limbs, knocking at the potted plant in the corner and smearing the earthy substances on the frame.
The knowledge that they were still by the door woke you from the daydream, where you remained sitting near the couch and looking over at Theo, who paid no mind to your statue-like composure. Your back was stiff, not leaning into the plush chair like you usually did. He paid no mind to it.
Looking over at him, you found his eyes to be closed, his eyelashes resting still on his cheeks and while you would normally coo at his beauty, you noticed everything he did. Well, in this case, everything he didn't do.
He didn't peel open his eyes moments later as you anticipated, no, they remained closed. His hands did not turn any pages, did not pause hesitantly as he debated whether this was the part of the book he was specifically looking for or not, and did not hook his nail between the spine of the book and a loose, teetering page. He did not move anything but his lips, quietly murmuring. If it weren't for your uneasiness you wouldn't have heard it, the quiet retelling of his favourite scene—the one that, you presume, he had finally found the correct page of. You had initially fallen in love with his adoration of literature.
He was older and wiser and as if the words tumbling from his autumn-dried lips weren't sensible enough, you didn't know what was.
"This is my favourite part," he voiced, ultimately opening his eyes.
Nevertheless, he did not bother to lift them from the inked pages and instead kept them glued to the book as he studied its contents. Even if he did, though, you were sure he would look out the window rather than look at you, his wife.
It was a type of undressing, his confession. A way of shedding his randomized thoughts as though they were snakeskin, peeling them from his back and allowing them to rest limply at your feet. A pile that was always quickly forgotten, left to you and your wavering gaze. It was further akin to the undressing he does thoroughly each night, tossing spoiled clothing into the hamper nestled in the corner of the closet before lifting the sheets and sliding into his side of the bed. Forgetting about them on the floor whilst abusing your presence, your undying love and your prickling desire to mend what had suddenly become broken.
Speaking to you as though you had read the story he was constantly stuck on was a similar fashion of undressing and the events that transpired afterwards. Only instead of rolling over in the bed and not once looking at you as he entered you, as he came without giving you a chance to, this undressing included the incessant murmurs that bulldozed any possible response you could give him.
But, despite your unease, you were certain he wouldn't notice. The man never waited for your response, for he seemed to view you as an empty void, a being with ears to listen and eyes to water as they frequently did, nowadays. Not that he cared on the occasions where he did notice, though.
You had attempted to read the book, months ago—tried to immerse yourself into something and finally understand the very thing he was so enchanted by. Only to discover that it was the foulest thing you have ever read, a retelling of every prejudice frequented in history. A story where a man was the protagonist and a woman was nothing more than arm candy, utilized to show off and belittle. You could still taste the sour bile it left in your throat, even after all those days between. You could still feel the bewilderment that shook your core when you read the book's contents and the way the protagonist's wife was spoken about.
You could only wonder if Theo similarly spoke of you with those he ran with.
"Did you know that this is my favourite part?" He continued to speak. The words churned inside your mind like an endlessly spinning record, the needle piercing into your skull.
His inquiry calmly fell past his lips, the words anything but rushed. However, it was certainly not his usual retelling, and your lips pursed together tightly with the realization. Something was off.
You had applied your favourite lipstick earlier that day, twisting the tube open and pressing the cosmetic to your lips when the sun was recently waking and your husband was still asleep, but you now regret the once pleasurable decision. What was once a sweet cherry tint turned into a melancholic, discoloured claret red, feeling thickly cakey and tasting bitterly tart on your frown-tainted lips. You wished that you could shed the makeup like Theo sheds his thoughts.
"Yes, you mention it quite often." You uttered the beginning word quietly, but lifted your chin and spoke lovingly when you remembered an old retelling he instilled in you: no one wants a wife who cannot speak with a positive tongue and a praising transaction.
The knowledge that Theo benefited from you acting this way was repulsive and yet you continued despite the nauseous churning of your stomach. You would do what you could to please him, to fix the better part of your burning marriage.
Even through all the bad, someone had to be good.
"Good, okay. . . well, I'm glad you listen," Theo claimed with a comical grin on his lips and something hidden behind his eyes. Something you couldn't place and, quite honestly, wouldn't ponder further. He often told you that you had no business immersing yourself in his thoughts.
You wished to counter his narrative, to open his eyes.
"Of course I listen," you said with a smile, teeth peeking through your parted lips. The sight of his hands around the book's spine sent your mind lagging, looking back into his eyes as though they were blank slates. Your mind shifted to the remaining plans of your day, ones which included him sitting across from you with a fork held greedily in his hand. "Now, what would you like for supper?"
Despite your crumbling self and marriage, you still ate dinner together. You couldn't remember any time you spent with him that didn't include eating dinner together or watching him read. That is, even with the abundance of late nights he'd been spending at work, returning once the meal you prepared had gone cold and your head had lulled backwards on the couch, having fallen asleep while waiting for him to return to you. On the nights when he returned at a reasonable time, however, he sat across from you, going on and on about his workday while you remained silent, being the oh-so-lovely wife you were. A perfect ear for listening, he said.
You found the thought to be detrimental, slightly outrageous, and if you hadn't dedicated so much time to be the perfect wife for him, you would have gathered the burning and beginning-to-boil anger at the bottom of your gut and thrown it in his face. You would have shoved it down his throat, smothering him with the anger he brought upon you. You would have felt as though the evenings where he didn't speak, the evenings where he remained silent and stuck in the world he seemingly left at the workplace, were peaceful and not gut-wrenching.
But you didn't. Rather you stood from the suddenly uncomfortable chair you had once cherished, walking stiffly to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner and the dessert Theo would disregard. He did not answer your inquiry, bat an eye at you, nor thank you kindly when what you had come up with was served.
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Your workplace had become the sole location where your mind was at peace.
It had been numerous years since you were hired, a result of having followed your dreams and sacrificed time with Theo to rather follow up on emails sent past your working hours, attend investor's meetings, and act as though the individuals heading the company were leading wonderfully. The publishing office was located not far from your home with Theo: a cozy three-bedroom found on the end of a cul-de-sac. It was what had originally prompted you to apply for the job. You had spent hours shopping around your online resume as a means to make you appear undeniable. At the time, Theo had been supportive of your application and later success in having attained the job of your imagination. That is until the life you had built for yourself began to crumble.
His support slowly diminished until it was no longer recognizable, and although your marriage had never been flawless, it had never been worse than the current year. Something had changed in Theo and resulted in a tremendous change in your marriage.
The conversations at the dinner time that were once filled with energetic retellings or loving affirmations turned static, silence swallowing you whole, excluding the sound of chewing or cutlery hitting dishes. That, or Theo discussed something far out of your depth regarding the friends of his you didn't know and the career he never explained enough for you to comprehend.
The conversations that occurred once in bed for the evening were newly composed of the glow of Theo's cell phone lighting up his smiling features as he spoke to someone that was not you or small remarks that would solely chip away at not only your confidence but also your tolerance for the man you called your husband. Remarks that would be stated with a shrug as though they were insignificant and unharmful, despite their contents bashing your dreams of a family, or being a good mother; the university degree you had earned alongside him, years ago; the way you cried whilst watching romantic movies and how you focused far too much on what he was doing. It was only when they had become habitual did you realize that somewhere along the way, Theo had fallen out of love with you. Relatively quickly, and when you were years into marriage and left to live with a broken heart.
As of late, you had been attempting to play catch-up on a life that had once been so closely intertwined with your own. You felt as though the literature he constantly re-read was an emphasis on this: Theo was numerous chapters ahead and well-versed on a story you were unfamiliar with. It would even be feasible to assume that he had extracted significantly meaningful pages of the story, leaving you in the dark and grovelling with the knowledge you had. But, even when you suggested counselling, you were shut down immediately with a scoff and a hurtful comment.
Therefore, the sole option you were left with was what you had been doing for the past year: pretend as though nothing was wrong. That your marriage hadn't crumbled until it was nothing but dust Theo swept into the corner of the room and under the furniture for no one to see. You had to fall into the motions you performed before everything went downhill to stay sane and avoid the sinking hole of depression waiting to swallow you whole.
You feared that you would be unable to climb out of it if you finally succumbed and thus, despite Theo's blatant disregard for all that you do, you continued to be the wife he once deserved. Breakfast would be prepared for him every morning before work and when he finally departed for the morning, you would wish him well with a kiss on his cheek and a declaration of love before waving him off and moving to clean the aftermath of breakfast in the kitchen. Dinner would be ready for him once he returned home, regardless of you having the same in-office hours as he did, and dessert would be served as you cleared the table and loaded the awaiting dishwasher. You would fetch and sort through the mail when he showered and left his work clothing askew on the bedroom floor; you only moved to gather and place it into the hamper once he had settled in the living room with a book to conclude his evening.
To sum, there was nothing you didn't do for him. Nonetheless, you figured that it could always be worse. In some sense of the word, you were lucky. It was what had you dismissing the anxiety-inducing thoughts, the lipstick stains on the collar of Theo's work attire and the way that despite all of your efforts, he did nothing but tolerate you.
The free time you had suddenly found yourself with—a cause of having a husband who spent no time with you—resulted in the one positive outcome of your crumbled marriage: you had all the more time to focus on your career and climbing the corporate ladder you had worked yourself onto. The project your co-workers had been struggling with had eventually been completed with your assistance and two sense, your office had been successfully cleaned out and organized for the first time since moving in, you had convinced an investor to extend their contact with your workplace's company, you had filed through the abundance of emails clogging your work account, and you had ultimately gotten around to meeting your new co-workers since the last round of layoffs and new hires.
The last couple of days, you had dedicated your time to kick-starting the new assignment your boss had appointed you with. You had found yourself enjoying it more than previous assignments or spending time alone at your once love-filled home. You had always loved your job, and you felt closer to yourself than you had in a long time.
After spending the first few hours of the morning completing your home tasks—such as preparing breakfast and a to-go lunch for Theo, tidying the kitchen to what it pristinely was before you cooked, and sending Theo off to work with a kiss to his jaw and a tired goodbye—, you got changed for your day at work. Knowing that the majority of your time would be spent in your office rather than in meetings or presentations, you opted for a sweater that highlighted your skin tone to adorn your torso and a pair of slacks that covered your legs and flared near the bottom. Pulling your hair back with a tiny clip that left face-framing pieces fluffed around your jaw, you slipped on a pair of sunglasses and grabbed your purse before heading out the door.
Tucking the bag against the passenger's seat, you adjusted the rearview mirror and all other parts of the car that had been adjusted by Theo since you last drove it. You found yourself lost in your head, humming along to the music playing through the car's speaker throughout your drive, candy floss pinks and warm yellow swarming your eyes as the morning declared itself. It was only when you ascended the elevator of your workplace's building and entered your office did you realize how routine your travels to work had become; how peaceful the thought of distancing yourself from Theo was.
You were unsure of how long you had been pondering the thought, whilst puttering around your office and setting up the space for your day ahead until you heard the sound of shoes clicking along the hallway's floors and the distinct notes of a man's laugh. A smile stretched across your features when you recognized the sound, identifying it as one of Harry's signature delights. He was a man, not much older than you, who had begun working at your company's office less than a year ago. He had been one of the new hires from numerous months ago when your office underwent a round of layoffs and new assignments, the man having obtained a prime position in the company and the office across from yours. With how the large windows and doors aligned, you could gaze at him all day, if you desired.
Therefore, you watched as he approached his office, your spirits lifting when you watched as he fumbled with the key and lock on his door. You peered at his concentrated features through the glass of your office as he navigated entering it into the lock and jiggling the metal, a breath of relief slumping his broad shoulders when he did so without getting it stuck. The building was old and you both commonly found yourselves victims of the fact. Harry stood in front of the door for a moment seemingly sensing your eyes on him, resulting in him turning to peek into your office. A bright smile transformed his features when he matched your gaze, a bubbly laugh sprouting from between his lips.
A giddy wave tinkled his fingers, eyes dreamy as he approached you.
"Hi!" he spoke happily, voice carrying through his throat and the open door of your office. It had you grinning into the hands folded before your mouth, elbows bent and leaning against the desk in front of you.
"Hi, Harry." you reciprocated, attempting to stifle the dreamy and joyful tone threatening to filter your words and the feeling of his name leaving your lips. "I love your outfit today."
A rumpled sweater covered his torso, the fabric decorated in sewn, differing planets that curled from the height of his clavicle to the center of his abdomen. Something concerning self-love was scrawled along the lower hem and tattoos peeked from beneath the folded cuffs. A pair of dark trousers encased his legs as he stood at his full height, flaring out above a pair of cherry-red, heeled boots. A satchel was placed loosely on his shoulder, composed of what you could solely imagine as his work computer and documents.
"Really? Thanks—y'like it?" he asked, dimples carving into his cheeks at your praise. He hiked his bag up his shoulder before moving to play with the fabric around his wrists. It was a new sweater and unbelievably complementary that someone as sweet as you had commented on it. He felt the need to reaffirm the notion. "It's new."
"Yeah, I do. It suits you and looks really soft, too!" you removed your folded hands and beamed at him, your teeth sinking into the plush of your bottom lip. "You'll have to tell me if it's comfortable after wearing it for a little while, then. You always have the nicest sweaters," you complimented once more, eyes darting downwards to your computer once it pinged.
As though noticing that you were needed elsewhere, Harry edged and retreated to his office, his smile still bright and curled on his lips.
"I'll leave you to your work, then." he nudged his chin toward your computer and tugged on his satchel when stating the following: "I should probably get to it, as well. Came in a few minutes late and can't have the boss know I slacked off even more. I'll see you later."
His amusing and elated tone had you responding with an equally cheerful "Bye."
Your gaze lingered on the spot in which he once stood, just inside the doorway of your office. Even with the sound of his office door opening and the sight of him placing his satchel on the floor against his desk, you could still feel the effects of Harry's presence. It took you a moment before you could begin your assignments of the day, having sworn that you could still see a phantom of his form in the doorway. Nonetheless, you ultimately did so after watching him begin his own, feeling a bubble of admiration inflate in your heart.
You quite liked Harry—perhaps far more than what others, including your husband, would deem acceptable. It was immensely difficult not to, though, with how sweet he was. He was tremendously considerate, prompting a blush to rise to your cheeks whenever his kind words seeped into your mind or his eyes tenderly flitted over your features. With this, you commonly worried if the crush you were harbouring on him would develop into something more. You already had far too many occurrences at home, with your deteriorating marriage and snippy husband. You didn't need Harry, a bright light and dreamy presence during your working hours, to become something troublesome.
Even if your heart skipped a beat at the thought of him.
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Growing up, Valentine's day was always a cherished holiday in your home. Your parents had met in their early years of university, having bumped into each other at the student-popular café down the road of many dorm halls. They never looked back. Upon meeting, they realized that they shared many classes—having both studied linguistics, the department at their school wasn't all that large—and you remember when your mother told you about her instant infatuation. Love at first sight, she had told you dreamily.
Therefore, with their hearts pumping increasing in speed whenever around one another, your parents took it upon themselves to celebrate the annual holiday as if it were to be their last. Or, perhaps to certain people and varying relationships, their first. Surrounded by everlasting love, the first memory of their Valentine's traditions paired with your young mind hadn't quite grasped the thought of loss, yet, and therefore thought that nothing could cease such a beauty. There was never a "bad" Valentine's day in your home, for it was always composed of kisses, heart-shaped cookies, rose-coloured frosting and construction-paper card making.
You would spread the sticky glue against the varying coloured sheets and giggle when it stuck to your finger, drying like a crisp-white layer of skin. Your mother would smile at your antics, pleased that you enjoyed spreading love wherever possible just as much as she did, and praised you for the angelic beating of your heart. For the care that you held in your palms and the tenderness that swarmed your eyes, ready to give every last card you heartily created with your small hands to those needing some sunshine.
It was what prompted you, now, to take the day off from work, although as of late, it was a novelty if anything occurred on the once love-filled day.
You, then adolescent and bright with a toothy smile that had painfully been corrected with braces, imagined that the tradition would continue throughout life, even so, when you found a lover of your own. You fantasized as a teenager, hoping and incessantly imagining that the person you would be with forever would drop to their knees before you turned twenty, celebrating Valentine's Day together at the same age as your parents.
Man or woman, at that age of uncertainty you weren't positive, although now you're wishing that you hadn't been so hopeful as a child. Perhaps it had cursed you, donned a reverse manifestation on your poor soul. Even though you were not a religious person by any means, excluding the Church visits with your grandparents on Christmas Eve night and Easter mornings, you wished that you believed in God. Or another form of a higher power. Perhaps they would help you in the shitty husband department that you had recently found yourself a member of.
The holiday had become a sham with unreciprocated efforts and unreasonable demands.
Nevertheless, and perhaps pathetically, the love that you had for your husband remained, for the better part, unaffected in your heart. You were continuously dismissive of his cold demeanour and sharp tongue, even if it came with the baggage of your heart deflating in your chest, regularly feeling the cracked pieces fall into the depth of your hollow gut. It was as though he carved you from the inside out, Theo's actions gifting you with constant uncertainty and translucent love.
You were ashamed of your behaviour, to say the least, even though you found yourself unable to act upon such bitter feelings.
You know that young you would, too, be shameful of your weakness—but whatever you love once, you love forever. You couldn't fathom feeling any differently for your husband, and while you could recognize his bad behaviour and irregular kindness, you still managed to brush off the thought of leaving him whenever your friends mentioned it. Even when his friends mentioned it, surprisingly. Even when you, on your nights alone and clad in a soft robe that brushed against your skin delicately or on the days where you spent a longer time at work to avoid seeing him and what has become of your marriage, thought of it.
Theo's crude words though concealing, fake, angel-esque persona around others did nothing to deter the saddening fact.
You were a woman imprisoned, occasionally pleasantly, in a situation from which you couldn't imagine escaping. You were a contradistinctive being to your soul and wellbeing, very well knowing the cause of your anguish but doing nothing to rid yourself of it. Even with a plan-free Valentine's day. Rather than spend the day with you as you had previously anticipated, your husband was going to work and then out for drinks with his friends.
His absence until late into the evening did not discourage you, but rather urged you to have things ready for him when he arrived home. The temporary motivation spurred you happily, hands quickly rummaging through anything you had at home that would make the day as special as possible, as the majority of shops were closed on Valentine's day. Your small town valued love and appreciation, that was for sure. You didn't let yourself mull over how you ended up with the man you did, compared to the people around you, though. The day was too short, time was flying far too quickly, and Theo would return home soon. He would have expectations of a delicious meal and a fresh bouquet of daisies on the table, surely going without compliments on the meal.
You had spent your afternoon making his favourite desserts, filling freshly-baked tart crusts with a variety of fruits and fillings. Even if the man wasn't particularly sweet, his taste buds indeed were and you tended to them as much as you could. You sliced peaches and mashed strawberries until your fingers ached, the knife slipping out of your grasp and lightly cutting the tip of your thumb. It had followed with an aggravated sigh and a dismissive suck to the digit, continuing with your preparation not long afterward.
You whipped a topping cream until the old father clock struck six, replacing your down-turned lips with a giddy smile. Before leaving work for the day, to which you accompanied his departure with a kiss to his cheek and an affirming love you!, Theo had stated that he would be home not long after six o'clock. Although he did so with his eyes glued to the messages on his phone screen and a smile that wasn't for you on his lips, you had mentally recited the time all day long. It had you laying the table with the fancy dining you solely used for fanciful festivities, placing the dinner and dessert you had prepared in their proper placement, and moving to wait by the door as though you were a child.
He returned home much later than you had expected, and he had assured you, however.
It was only after you had waited by the door for two hours, in hopes of your husband returning and perhaps being in a happier mood than he had, collectively, been for the past year. In hopes of Valentine's day decorations and the meals prepared to be enough to rekindle what you had lost. The wonders that bloomed inside your mind would forever go unanswered, though, for your husband returned hours later than planned. The meals you prepared had gone cold and were now packaged in the refrigerator; the heart-shaped balloons in the hallway were now sagging against the tiled floor; the jacket you had hoped to gift him was now tucked away in the closet as though he had always owned it, and the hope that had inflated in your mind popped with the realization that no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you loved for the both of you, something had changed. Theo had changed, and your marriage took the impact. What you had been desperately attempting to save, for the past year, was a lost cause.
The realization was what had you pulling out your computer from the work bag you had sworn you wouldn't open this evening. You had left it by the door in hopes of solely needing it the following morning on your way out the door, but found yourself countering the hope quicker than you had imagined. The device illuminated the once-dark room with a fabricated glow, presenting you with a welcoming message and invitation to enter your password. It was only when you did so and clicked through the tabs still open in your browser did the notifications you had missed pooled in. You were merely faced with junk mail from subscriptions you had signed up for years ago, information regarding projects at work, and messages from distant family members until you spotted the thread of messages from yesterday that, in your haste to prepare for Valentine's day, you had forgotten about. The thread of messages between you and Harry, the sunshine-sweet man who presented himself whenever you were in need.
The messages from the prior day stared back at you as you read through them, feeling the same sense of warmth that you did when they had originally been sent. He had messaged you bright and early before either of you had begun preparing for the workday with wishes of a happy Valentine's day.
When he was first hired, he had heard through the grapevine at work that you were married, but it was only once he had truly witnessed and gotten to know you did the notion begin to sadden him. He couldn't deny the bubbles of affection that inflated in his chest for you, emphasized whenever he was in your presence. It was nearly impossible for him to drag his eyes from you when you were near, always finding it exceptionally difficult to keep away from such a smart, sweet, and entirely too beautiful girl. He found your delicacy unfair. With this, every conversation you had had with him was ingrained in his mind, even the first time he had truly noticed you—the time he had initially fallen for you.
It was at a convention your workplace had hosted as a means for the preexisting workers and the new hires to mingle. Harry, being new at the firm, solely knew those he had met during the rotational interviews and trips to the office during his hiring process. Therefore, he had been standing with one of the other newly-hired men when he saw you. He was quickly teased when he entirely stopped speaking, his mouth frozen and unable to most as he took you in. The sole sentiment swimming in his being that evening was how desperately he needed to get to know you.
It was what had him gravitating to your group and listening intently to whatever insight or personal stories you shared, brushing off the mentions of your husband as though it was a minuscule quirk he could overlook. In the beginning, he could do so. Especially when learning that you shared the same taste in music, thoughts on your shared boss, and the sense of humour Harry commonly found himself encouraging. That is until you mentioned that your anniversary was the following day, and Harry realized just how irrational he was being. He hadn't considered that perhaps you were happy with your husband and didn't want him following after you like a puppy in need of your affection. So, that night, he minimized his affection for you to see him as nothing more than a friend. Even though he had only fallen more for you since.
And so, the message wishing you and your husband well on such a special day was sent with an ache to his heart and a firm pout curled at his lips. But, at the time, it was all he could imagine saying and knowing that you were in meetings all day—from looking at the schedule you shared with him and other co-workers on your floor—he felt the need to speak to you as much as he could.
His message was successful as a means of putting a smile on your face. He was unknowledgeable of the fact that it was because of his kindness, however, and not out of love for your husband, or excitement of spending the day with him. Something you hadn't even done. The messages you sent back and forth to each other throughout the day were all that kept you company whilst he was at work, and whilst you prepared the house and a meal for a night you would end up spending alone.
Now, however, with your body tucked into bed, laptop atop your lap and tears streaming down your cheeks, you noticed a message that you hadn't seen when it was originally sent. The timestamp read when you had been preparing dinner for Theo, and the message brought a smile curling at your once downturned lips:
Hi, again! Just wanted to let you know that your friend Sarah stopped by today and dropped some flowers off in your office. Said something along the lines of knowing that Theo wouldn't? I don't know, I didn't want to intrude but you know she's chatty!! Anyways, they're really pretty and she was right in getting them for you, they reminded me of you when I saw them. She must have felt the same!! Hope your day is going well and living up to your expectations- we both know you deserve it.
You shook your head as you read his message, his sentiments and sweet phrasing ticking up the corner of your lips. If only your husband was as sickeningly caring as he was.
Hi, Harry. It's so nice of you to check in and let me know. She's right about many things, that woman! The day could have gone much better. But I'm messaging you now, aren't I? Things seem to be looking up.
You couldn't resist communicating flirtatiously, finding it far easier to slip into the mood with Harry than it ever had been with Theo—especially now with how your marriage had taken a turn for the worse. You dismissed the prominence and accuracy of his mention of Theo as a means to limit the tears streaming from your eyes and rather tuned into the sweetness of Harry's message. It was easy, considering it dripped from every word that filled your screen and the message center of your conversations.
Cheeky girl. Shouldn't you be with Theo right now? V-day is your favourite holiday, is it not?
The message sent a furrow to crease at your eyebrows, unsure of how to respond to such a message. It was through your prior conversations that Harry knew of your adoration for the holiday, but you found yourself unable to tell him the gravity of the situation—of your marriage. You couldn't exactly tell him that Theo avoided you like the plague or that when he was around you, he seemed to take a liking to weaponize your insecurities. Nor could you tell Harry that he had become the sole man you enjoyed speaking with—the sole man who had thought of you on what was supposed to be such a special day.
He's at work right now. Late night.
It was all you could think to say and despite your worries about the conversation ending there, the lame message did prompt a response from Harry. One that was immensely fitting when regarding the kindness he had continuously shown you.
Is everything okay? I thought you said you had dinner plans.
It was simple, but his thoughtfulness was evident. It had you biting the inside of your cheek and the smile that threatened to grow on your lips, ultimately dismissing the melancholic, Theo-related sentiments clinging to the center of your chest and the back of your mind.
I'll be okay in time, I'm sure of it. Thank you for asking, though, Harry, it's very sweet of you. You didn't have to.
You twisted your lips when gray dots appeared on your screen, awaiting Harry's response.
It's okay. You're my favourite office neighbour.
His response sent a laugh tumbling past your lips, echoing in the quiet of your bedroom. Grabbing one of the pillows on your mattress, you tucked it between your arms and hugged it to your chest. You allowed yourself to get comfortable in your bed as you thought of something to respond with, something that would reveal to Harry just how thankful you were for his kindness.
No, this is really kind of you, Harry. Please, let me know if you ever need anything. Or call me if we're not at work; I'll do whatever you may need. It's the least I can do in return for your kindness.
Pressing send, you hoped that your message would elicit future conversations with him. That he would come to you if he was truly in need, or simply wanted to converse with someone. To your surprise, however, Harry didn't hesitate before he dialled your number and lifted his phone to his ear as the speaker rang.
Your lips parted in delighted surprise when his name came across your screen, the initials of his contact-inserted name lighting it up. You hadn't had an image to accompany the letters but hoped that in time and as your relationship evolved into something out of the office, you would be able to match a happiness-provoking image to the messages he blessed you with.
"Hello?" you chirped, contentment and a hint of confusion seeping through your tone. You hadn't meant for him to call you this instant but rather aimed to open doors in the future.
"Hi, love," Harry had barely gotten his question out of his mouth before the sound of your voice registered in his mind and a small smile tugged at his features. "How are y'tonight? Feeling better than you were earlier?" he inquired, biting his tongue to keep himself from speaking poorly about Theo and calling him every negative title he could think of at the moment.
"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm sure whatever Theo's doing is more important than a little dinner. Valentine's day isn't even a holiday, is it? Just something fabricated by companies to increase revenue. Some marketing scheme that I'm sure Theo believes."
Harry couldn't stop the lopsided smile that took his features. Even with the mention of your terrible husband and the dismissal of what Harry knew to be your favourite holiday, he found your ability to lighten the situation impressive.
"Marketing, yeah," he confirmed, nodding his head as though you could see him through the phone pressed to his ear. "Maybe that's why Theo's busy all the time; you mentioned he works at some firm."
Your smile dropped just a bit at the mention of your husband working far more than what would be considered appropriate for a married man but found yourself wanting to confide in Harry. You were certain that the discussion wouldn't be shared and knew of Harry's immense compassion. It seemed to seep from the pores of the glowing man.
"I don't really think it's the marketing schemes keeping him at work so late at night, especially on Valentine's day. Probably the leggy blonde who calls herself his assistant," you concluded with a small laugh and tight smile, one that Harry was sure didn't reach your eyes even though he couldn't see you.
Heaving a sigh that deflated into a slump that reflected his sadness, Harry swore his heart broke at your words. The resigned edge to your voice had him feeling as though the edges of his cracked heart were tumbling down to the depth of his stomach, resulting in your admittance being all the more painful. He found himself searching for anything to say that might make you, or the situation, brighter.
"Love," he began, a grim edging coating the honey-saturated call. His tenderness was evident even through the phone. "You are so sweet, intelligent, bright, and beautiful. I assure you that there are a lot of people who are aware of all of those things—including myself. I'm sorry you got stuck with someone who doesn't. The shittiest hand had been dealt to you, hasn't it? M'so, so sorry, darling. You deserve someone who will treat y'right, and take care of you the way y'deserve. Which is to be fucking praised and loved and cherished every second of the day. Theo hasn't done that and none of it is your fault. It's his fault for being such a twat and not realizing just how bloody brilliant you are."
Harry's statement had a wild idea flitting through his head, threatening to slip from his mouth before he refrained from doing so. Although he imagined it would go over well, he was unsure of what reaction he would garner with your heightened emotions and saddened admittance. He didn't wish to push you more than Theo continuously did.
"But he's my husband. We're married. Shouldn't he be treating me how you say I'm supposed to be treated, and how else am I even supposed to be treated when this is all I know?" Harry rolled his lips between his teeth as you spoke, your voice filtering through the speaker of the phone. The sadness echoing in your tone had him making a last-minute decision that, in time, he hoped he wouldn't regret.
"Why don't you let me take y'out and show you? As friends, of course. You deserve more kindness and love and adoration than I could ever put into words, let alone convey over the phone. Your data bill would be through the roof, and we would both be old and gray by the time I'd finish." he nervously gulped with a shaky laugh. It gave him the moment to square his shoulders and feign confidence. "Y'deserve so much, love, and I would be extremely fortunate to be the one to show you. It won't include anything that'll make you feel bad for going out with a man that isn't your husband, it'll just show you how a man should treat you and I'll be the lucky one who does it. Let me take y'out, please."
The other end of the line was silent when he concluded speaking. It had Harry resting his phone between the crook of his neck and shoulder, bringing his hands to rest in his lap. He nervously twisted the rings on his fingers, hoping that his statement erased the saddened picture of you he had fabricated in his mind. He didn't wish to cause more destruction than Theo had but additionally hoped that his heart wouldn't crack more than it already had. All he wanted was to cheer you up, but he had found that your sentiments weren't the only thing at stake.
"You want to take me out on a date?"
The smile in your tone was evident through the phone, accompanied by the tint of disbelief in your voice. It had Harry digging his teeth into the fullness of his bottom lip as a means to bite back his smile. Even though you couldn't see him, he nodded his head eagerly, warmth blooming in the depth of his stomach. He found it difficult to fathom why your husband treated you so poorly. The thought of you accepting his proposal had him gnawing at his lip and wringing his hands.
"Yeah, just something to show y'what you deserve. It's a little self-indulgent, but so is showing up to work every day to see you." the words slipped past Harry's lips before he could stop them, immediately praying that he hadn't blown his chance at even merely a friendship with you. But when a timid giggle sounded through the other end of the phone, the grin he had been biting back made itself known. Dimples matched on either side of his cheek, and his voice held a teasing lilt. He was pleased that you had reacted well and that the conversation had taken on a far lighter tone. "What? Y'really think I stayed for the pay or the uncomfortable desk chairs? Nope—my office neighbour would miss me too much." He refrained from mentioning that it would be pleasant to spend time together outside of the office and the morning greetings they commonly shared.
"Stop," you whined, a shy smile tugging at your lips at the sound of his laugh. All thoughts of Theo left your mind when he did so. "But you'd do that for me? Take me out?"
"Of course, love. I'd be honoured, truthfully." he beamed, feeling as though you would be able to sense his smile and the joy echoing in his tone. "I mean, only if you'd want me to."
"Yeah, I'd like that. Really, really like it." His heart skipping a beat over the way you stumbled over your words, as though you were rushing to get them out. "I've never been on a date while married. Should be fun, right?"
Although the unconscious mention of Theo not taking you out on a date since before your marriage sent his shoulders dropping and phone nearly slipping from its place there, he was far more excited with the date and what exactly it would entail. He hadn't had a chance to think it through before proposing it to you. Even with the predetermined conditions, he wished for the night to reflect the extent to which you deserved to be treated and just how shitty your husband was. If only he could wipe away the imprint Theo had left on you.
"Yeah, it should be. Will be."
✼ ҉ ✼
Three days following the phone call on Valentine's day, you received the message that you had happily been awaiting. It included information regarding your night out, including both the location and time, as well as a timid inquiry concerning whether the restaurant met your standards. Unfortunately, Harry was aware that you lacked those qualities given your marriage to Theo. You, therefore, didn't anticipate feeling so anxious when the day of your anticipated night out together finally arrived.
The period between your phone call and last message exchange had slipped by without incident, although now that you realized you were going to see Harry, you found yourself feeling more apprehensive than you had in a long time. You hadn't been on a date since the night Theo proposed, and the notion had you realize that you had never wanted the first date to go so perfectly. Even if it was a friend date, as Harry had so graciously deemed it.
Harry had claimed that he made reservations at a restaurant he thought you would enjoy the morning following your phone call, but unbeknownst to you, he had emailed the owner minutes after your conversation to ensure that his preferred cook would be working the might of your date. Once it had been confirmed, he spent a considerable amount of time searching for flower boutiques local to the area of your residence that he could stop at on the way to your home. He did all he could to ensure the evening would play out perfectly. He wished for every small detail to be planned, right down to the time you would enter the restaurant to the outfit he would wear.
His predetermined assertions seemed to have progressed wonderfully when he found himself looking in the mirror one final time before he departed. The nervous, albeit tremendously excited man ran a nervous hand through his hair, formerly styled curls tumbling through his fingers. Feeling as though he needed a moment, Harry rolled his lips and puffed out his cheeks with a heavy exhale. It lifted his shoulders before ultimately curling them into his form, his shaking hands smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in the blazer blanketing his torso.
His hands distractedly moved to pull on the cream camisole underneath, pulling the scarf around his neck out just far enough that it laid over the lapels of his blazer. His gaze travelled down his form as he momentarily debated whether his chosen clothing was suitable for the evening—should he have chosen something more traditionally formal? He wondered if the black suit hung in the backend of his closet would be better, but ultimately shook off his indecision.
He had to stop himself and the spiral of insecurity to ensure that he didn't ruin the evening before it even began. He was certain that he was convincing himself of such flaws rather than truly being out of sorts.
His nails were freshly painted, the soft blue complimenting the flush in his cheeks as he anticipated seeing you. His jittery nerves were a cause of the notion, and wanting to ensure that everything progressed properly, the man departed his home a whopping thirty-seven minutes before he promised he would pick you up.
Once he had purchased a bouquet of beautifully coloured flowers and arrived at your home, he cradled the bouquet delicately to his chest before walking the distance from his car to your home. Nerves remained in his system and his heart thrummed in his throat as he made the path. It was as though he was acting on autopilot, and it was only when he took in a deep breath did he realize that he had knocked on the door and begun awaiting your arrival.
It occurred moments later, the sound of a lock turning and doorknob rattling accompanying the opening of the door. With it, Harry was met with the sight of you—one that was undoubtedly the most beautiful he had ever witnessed.
A cream-coloured dress adorned your body, hugging the curves that you commonly concealed at work. The silky fabric wrapped around you lusciously, the hem ending at the middle of your thighs while the silken tie in the middle cinched your waist. It allowed your features to be more prominent and mediate the low neckline, which laid beneath your shoulders and framed your collarbones. It hinted at the ample cleavage shown beneath a blush-toned layer of tulle, splaying across your chest before wrapping around your arms and acting as sleeves. It had Harry's sight completely captured and the man spent numerous moments gazing at all that you were; finding it difficult to comprehend how he was fortunate enough to take you out.
Your hair was delicately held back by what Harry recognized to be a ribbon, the cream matching that of your dress and giving him an unobstructed view of your features. Your wide eyes stole his attention and your dewy lips parted when he took a step towards you, certain that his jaw had dropped the moment he caught sight of you. It seemed as though you were in a similar boat, however, when you looked at him with a soft, apologetic smile, your cheeks turned upwards filling with a bashful colour.
"Hi, Harry," you dropped your gaze to the white heels on your feet in an attempt to mask the shy smile curling at your features.
"Love..." he found it difficult to locate words that would be appropriate for the situation. Nothing coherent presented itself and he found himself unable to manage anything other than, "you look so beautiful. So beautiful."
"Thank you." you rushed.
Your gaze matched his once more with a bashful softness and it was only when its presence in your irises sparked a sweet sensation in his butterfly-filled mind did he remember the bouquet held tightly in his grip.
"These are for you, by the way." He extended the arrangement of flowers to you and his happy smile turned shy when your gaze dropped to the flowers held in front of his chest. The dimple in his cheek deepened when your smile matched his own, consequently resembling a honey-filled and saccharine-sweet crater.
"Thank you, Harry! They're beautiful, I really love them. Thank you." Your eyes rounded out into a softness he hadn't seen before as you gazed up at him, and the excess gratitude pooled from your lips warmly. The sweetest smile pulled at your features when you eliminated the distance between the two of you and took the flowers from his grip. Muttering something like putting them in water, "You can come on in. There's no reason for you to wait outside, Harry. Make yourself at home, I'll be as quick as I can."
A gentle hand was placed on Harry's shoulder as he stepped over the threshold and into the home you shared with Theo. He attempted to dismiss the thought of your husband and that, in another life, he could be the man living with you. Your voice trailed farther away as you moved to what Harry assumed to be the kitchen, and instead of following you like he wished to, he moved towards the living room that you had initially gestured to.
"Take y'time, love, s'okay." Harry approached the couch but, when noticing the book sat atop the coffee table (one he knew you would detest) and ultimately identifying it as one of Theo's belongings, he felt his movements halt. He figured that perhaps it would be best to remain standing.
It was mere moments later that he heard your footsteps approach. He turned around to see you appear in the entryway of the living room, a beaming smile curling on your plump lips. Harry wished that he could disregard the notion that you were married to another man and simply charge forward, pressing his lips to yours in what he was certain would be a desperate, passionate kiss. He wished that the aforementioned alternate universe existed—that he was your husband, not Theo.
"Are you ready to go, beautiful?"
Harry couldn't stop himself from forwardly flirting or find it in himself to be ashamed of such an act. He was a man far better than your husband and, with the smile on your face that told him you agreed on the matter, he allowed himself the smallest of indulgences. Even though it was merely for the night, as reality would return in the morning.
✼ ҉ ✼
"Your server will be with you in just a moment."
The smartly dressed individual that had led you to your table smiled politely, gesturing to the small table set intimately in the rear end of the restaurant.
You had arrived mere minutes prior and found yourself marvelling at the establishment around you. Even though it was near your home, you had never been before, nor paid any mind to it when passing on your way to work. Crystalline chandeliers hung from the ceiling and miniature tea lights illuminated the individual tables scattered across the space. It bathed the room in a warm, intimate glow.
"Thank y'so much," Harry spoke for the both of you and although it commonly bothered you when Theo did so, you were knowledgeable of the fact that Harry did it out of kindness rather than control.
The individual dropped off the menu and made their exit, once more assuring that your server would be with you momentarily for your drink orders. He shuffled towards what the individual had identified as their table, placing a single hand on your arm to nudge you ahead of him. His other hand moved around your waist and pulled out your chair from beneath the table, looking at you with a gentle smile as he offered you the seat.
You timidly thanked him and settled into the seat, but it was only when he pushed your chair in did he mutter, "There y'go, love." His hushed statement concluded when he rounded the table and sat in his chair across from yours.
A beat of silence passed following his speech, and the time allowed you to look through the menu placed before you. You peeled it open with careful fingers and although you initially thought the apprehension bubbling in the depth of your stomach was a cause of being in such a formal setting, you quickly comprehended that it was a result of Harry's gaze on you. The affection radiating from his eyes warmed you, and it was only when you looked up to send him a smile did you realize that he had been admiring you with a small smile on your lips. It was soft and, in place of your husband's icy demeanour, all that you wanted in life.
Just as you assumed that he was beginning to speak (if the way he leaned forward on his elbow and propped his chin in his hand was any indication), another woman in a similarly smart outfit approached the table. Her smile was polite as she greeted you, holding your eyes as she spoke and alternating her gaze between you and Harry. She gestured to the drink menu resting atop the table as she finally concluded on you, instinctually beginning with the woman at the table.
"What can I get you, tonight?"
Not having had the chance to view the menu in-depth, you briefly floundered with your response before settling with your instinctive response.
"Just water, please."
The waitress nodded her head, scribbling your response onto the small pad of paper cradled in her hand. Her eyes fixed on it before lifting it to gaze at Harry, "And you, sir?"
"Water as well, please." Harry offered her a smile as he spoke, solely having avoided his alcoholic order as a means to make you more comfortable. If you weren't drinking, neither was he.
"Perfect—I'll be right back with those waters in a moment," she promised before disappearing to tend to other tables. Her departure left you and Harry alone, a timid smiling pulling at your lips.
"Do y'like the place? I've heard from a few different people that it's good and figured that you deserve the best, so..." Harry spoke, breaking the silence. He leaned forward to balance his elbow on the table, a lopsided smile pulling at a single side of his lips. "We need whatever we can get to make this night perfectly special—just like you."
A timid smile spread across your features and it softened when you caught sight of the way he was looking at you. His eyes were a glimmering green as they flitted over each expanse of your face, tracing every line and plane that was visible in the dim lighting. It created a divine glow around your form. Catching the small gape, in your glossy lips and noticing the way your gaze darted across the menu placed before you, his eyes sweetly melted.
His gaze made you feel as though you were the only woman in the restaurant and it earned a bashful nod from you, the temptation to sweetly respond on the tip of your tongue. You bit it back, however, knowledgeable of the fact that it would teeter into romantic territory.
"Do you like the sound of anything?" Harry asked, his eyes momentarily flicking to the glossy pages of the dinner section of the menu. It was laid before him but he found far more interest in the woman across from him. "Think m'gonna get the Frutti di Mare. The menu says it has baby clams, mussels, squid and shrimp in a thick red homemade Arrabiata sauce. What do y'think?"
"Sounds really good, actually. M'not always a big fan of seafood, I think I've had one too many bad sushi bentos to be a huge fan of fish—but that's beside the point," you stated with a laugh, surely recalling some memory that featured a spoiled bento box before continuing, "It sounds really good. I'm probably going to get the... Tagliatelle al Tartufo."
Harry nodded his head, giving you a lax smile before looking down at his menu. He searched the delicate writing for the Tagliatelle al Tartufo, finding its description and reading it quickly.
"That looks great, love. Might have to change my order..." he laughed softly, glancing up to watch as your eyes rounded out at the sound of his words. Your features visibly relaxed and he found comfort in the notion that his approval eased you.
It was a mere moment later that the waitress returned, reappearing at the table with the crystalline bottle of water. She wore a bright smile and placed it atop the table before waving toward your menus.
"I'm sorry about the wait. Are you both ready to order?"
Her inquiry received a quick response from you before Harry straightened in his seat and stated his order, relaxing once the waitress nodded her head and quickly turned to write down the order. He collected both of the menus and handed them to her once she was finished, his gaze landing on you once more when she departed.
What he found was that your gaze was already set on his features, and a smile set upon your lips transformed your features. It softened every curve and added lines around your mouth and creases to your eyes, which were dreamy and seemingly far away as you gazed at him. The peaceful silence that had been once more introduced with the server's departure was broken when you spoke.
"Thank you for bringing me here, Harry," your eyes held a sparkle and your voice contained a dreamy lilt, "You really didn't have to, considering how nice it is—but I appreciate it. No one's put in this much effort in a while and it makes me really happy to know someone like you."
"That's not just why I did it, love." he sighed pleasurably, unable to contain the affection dripping from his words. Even if the date was only as friends, he was pleased that you were knowledgeable of his sincerity. And undeniable admiration for you. "Yes, I wanted to make this special for you because your husband is... not the best, to put it nicely, and doesn't appreciate you in a way that I know you deserve. But not everything's about Theo; I also wanted to make it special because you're really wonderful and I couldn't imagine giving you anything less."
You felt your features soften and round out all the more as you listened to him, a flutter of your lashes urging you to close your eyes and lean back into your chair. You refrained from doing so, but the sound of his smooth voice could easily lull you into a state of bliss. You found it difficult to fathom how you hadn't become a pool of softened goo yet with how Harry's sweetness was melting you from the inside out.
"I don't even know what to say... other than thank you again, Harry," you spoke, and Harry watched on as your parted lips curved into a sweet smile. He wanted to kiss you more than anything else. "I already know this date will be one of the best I've ever had. It'll be amazing no matter what," you spoke casually, as though it was basic knowledge.
Nevertheless, it was something that caught Harry off guard, for the man had never imagined that such a sentiment would fall from your lips. In lieu of such sweetness, he had expected something dripping in platonic affection. Not a statement that mimicked his repeated flirtations and flushed his cheeks all the more. The cherried hue was prominent on his skin and he wondered if it would ever truly leave after a night like this—one he was certain he would remember for eternity.
"Oh yeah? And why's that?"
A mere moment after he spoke, however, their polite waitress returned with a polite smile on her face and your dishes in her hands. She placed the plate of Tagliatelle al Tartufo before you before reaching over to place Harry's in front of him. Once the dishes were settled atop the table, she inquired about parmesan cheese and cracked pepper, nodding her head when the both of you declined. She moved on to ask if there was anything else you needed in the time being and ultimately left with an assurance to return. Her departure had you flicking your eyes back to Harry, smiling at him softly as you reached for the napkin and unfolded it onto your lap.
"Well, because I'm with you, of course."
Harry watched as you nonchalantly lifted the fork placed before you and began gathering pasta around the tines. You acted as though the statement wasn't one that made him scream internally and feel similar to the teenage girls that frequented his workplace with their working fathers. His cherry-coloured cheeks were burning, and feeling the flush spread from beneath the collar of his shirt, Harry opted to distract himself from your endearing sweetness by twirling his pasta around the tines and balancing minuscule scallops on the root of the fork.
Comfortable silence embraced the both of you as you began to eat, Harry's thoughts tangled with affectionate sentiments that regarded the beautiful woman before him rather than the pasta warming his stomach. A small smile tugged at Harry's lips when he ultimately grew the courage to look up at you from his plate, only to find your eyes already on him. Your gazes locked across the table and he was certain that the flush crawling beneath his skin magically transferred to your own. He raised his eyebrows teasingly, feeling the need to make light of such a suddenly intimate situation despite his immense enjoyment of it.
"Y'enjoying yourself, love?" he inquired, twirling a bite of pasta and shrimp on his fork.
A proud smile—one you were certain was going to be etched into your memory by the end of the night—found itself on Harry's lips, dimples carved into his cheeks. The sight before you had you temporarily scrambling for a response, finding that the man before you was far more distracting than Theo ever was. His smile and the fashion in which he gazed at you sent your insides tingling and thoughts muddling with desires disrespectful to your marriage and inappropriate to your 'friend date.'
"I am very much, actually. As I said, this'll be the best date I've ever been on." you smiled at him from across the table, the softness warming your cheeks with your predominant flush.
It never seemed to leave and, considering how positively the evening was progressing, you were certain that it would solely retire when you returned to your husband; when the bubble you and Harry had found yourselves in popped in the wake of your ultimate departure.
✼ ҉ ✼
"I'm sorry the night has to end so soon, Harry."
Harry smiled sadly at your statement, resting his spoon against the crystalline bowl of Zabaglione that you had shared. You had previously completed your dishes and opted for a sharing of dessert before you progressed onto Harry's nest destination, something you had only recently discovered and that remained a surprise. Even though you would never make it there.
Theo had messaged moments ago—when the both of you were leaning closer to each other over the table, meeting in the middle with their shared dessert and moony eyes—and inquired about your whereabouts. It was the first message he had sent you in months that didn't include him staying late at work or not even returning home one night but acted as the pin to your bubble. It popped the comfortable, intimate solitude of your table and evening with Harry, the man that you were wishing could replace your husband more and more as each second passed.
"It's okay, love. I understand." Harry lent back in his chair, gathering his card from the leather book your server had returned moments prior. Both of your stomachs were full, conversation flowed easily, the bill was paid, and you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Although he wished for your hand in marriage, Harry rationally couldn't ask for anything more.
"Is it silly that I don't even want to go home? Theo can fend for himself, can't he?"
Your inquiry prompted a bubble of laughter to fall from Harry's lips, filling the quiet restaurant with the joyful sound. He shook his head momentarily before gathering his composure and wishing to respond before another moment passed.
"No, s'not silly at all. I don't want to leave either, honestly." The response was received before he could even imagine stopping himself.
"But you and I both know that I have to."
"Yeah... I know."
Nothing more needed to be shared.
With a small smile, Harry straightened his blazer and stood from the table. He rounded it quickly when noticing that you moved to do the same, pulling the chair out for you and offering a hand as you stood. You accepted it gratefully as your other hand moved to retrieve the purse you had brought along and previously placed at the base of the table. Once it was slung over your shoulder, you wrapped your hand further in his hold and looked at him with a small smile.
The man interpreted it as you awaiting his next movements, and with a polite wave over his shoulder to your waitress and the hostess at the front of the restaurant, he led you out of the restaurant until you departed the establishment. He held the door open for you as the star-filled sky and crisp air welcomed you. The embrace of your hand acted as his sole source of warmth, and the notion sent a shudder tumbling through his chest and butterflies swarming his stomach. It increased tenfold when you adjusted your hold, slipping your hand from his before intertwining your fingers and pressing your palms together.
"Are you ready to go?"
The question was instinctive—Harry always wanted to know how you were—but unneeded a response. As aforementioned, neither of you were ready, and it was a fact he was knowledgeable of. A fact that despite his best efforts, he couldn't dismiss. Not as he opened the car door for you and solely closed it once you got settled, not as he drove you home with your fingers intertwined over the center console, and not as he pulled up to your shared home with Theo.
The living room and entryway light were visible through the windows lining the front of the house, and Theo's shadow darkened what would once be a peaceful image. Harry could view the way he paced from his position in the vehicle, the seemingly uneasy man's wife's handheld in his own. He reluctantly put his car in park, dragging his eyes from your home to the sight of you in the passenger's seat. He was unsure of when he would have the pleasure of seeing you again, and dreaded the possibility that this evening would be a one-time occurrence. Harry despised the notion that the future he envisioned—with your lives intimately entwined, your fourth finger holding a ring that he gave you and your belly swollen with the embodiment of your love—was unrealistic, unlikely and detrimental to imagine. He found it abhorring that Theo would likely remain your husband.
And yet, all he could muster was a measly, "Thank y'for coming out with me tonight. I'm sure it wasn't your first choice, but I'm glad I got to treat you well. The way you deserve." He looked to his side to find you twisting in your seat and pulling your hand from his. A frown settled on his lips before you delicately wrapped your fingers around his forearm, the skin bare for he had previously folded the fabric of his blazer.
"I know it didn't finish the way either of us wanted to, but I had a really good time tonight, Harry. You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you, again, for doing this. It was the best date I've ever been on and you seem to be the best company I've ever had, too."
A tender gaze flitted across his features, and your eyes softened and melted into sweetened pools of honey. It dripped from you affectionately and swarmed him with a warmth he only experienced around you.
"Of course, love. I'm glad we got to do this, too. You're a little more than my favourite office neighbour, after all." he joked, watching intently as a smile bloomed across your features.
Just as he was about to continue and bid his goodnight to the girl he was more than gone for, you took a bold step and leaned over the center console. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your cheek against his chest. Harry, despite surprised, acted swiftly and draped his arms around you the best he could. The angle you offered would be uncomfortable with anyone else, but Harry found comfort in the embrace and savoured the contact. He held you just as tightly as you held him and comfortably dropped his head to rest on your hair. His cheek was propped atop your head and his eyes were fluttering closed when you broke the silence.
"I appreciate you more than you know, Harry, and it'll pay off soon enough. There's only so much time that a dagger can remain in someone's chest. For all you know, I'll break free and leave Theo in ruins." the words were mumbled against the fabric of his jacket but held more weight than he could fathom. The man could solely hope that you were aiming for a divorce. You reluctantly pulled back from the embrace, a determined look on your face. "It's about time that I lose the weight of him, don't you think?"
It was with that did you open the car door and departed the vehicle, marching off down the path to your home. Harry couldn't help but grin into the darkness, the space beside him a fog of what once was and what could be.
Firstly, the evening that had progressed wonderfully and the formerly in-office friendship that had evolved into more. More importantly, however, it held remnants of the possibility that you could become a newly-single woman and that your relationship may grow to resemble Harry's aforementioned envisioned future.
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