"I am not saying that comics aren't good," you said, "It's just –"
"It's just fictions are better. All about the romance and shit."
You gasp sounding offended and madness filling up the exhaled air, "how dare you, Styles!"
It was the same old routine, the same old meaningless flirting. You were tired of it, not Harry, of course, but the still and unmoving relationship you have with him. It's like being stuck in an elevator for days with no ups and downs. It is almost a month now, and there is nothing beyond pointless flirting and touching and low seductive voice. You almost asked him out on a date because the slow torture of not going anywhere was unbearable. Even if you respect the teasing and take-things-slow, it felt like you didn't need it in this.
He laughed, the angelic sound vibrating its way into your ears, "I was wondering if you would tell me more about you. Your full story that I have missed out on a lot . . . ," and he looks up at you with his head still hung low, and the magic of seducing was all gathered in his green-blue eyes that rolled upwards to stare at you, "over a date."
And the fireworks and canons started blasting from the background in your mind. Slow music of 'hallelujah' started playing and the day has finally arrive. It was cliché, but that's what you saw, I your head.
You didn't want to give him the knowledge of your desperate yearning for this day's arrival, so you act casual, which normally you'd fail to pull an act of. "Sure," your voice came out shaky, "but nothing fancy though."
Harry chuckled lightly to himself, "what do you say around 7 something? In a place that is not fancy," he said, making the 'is not' to pop out of his sentence.
"Yes!" Your heart starts clopping at the thought of a date with this beautiful man in front of you. A date. With him. Just imagine how that would feel. With only the both of you, under a dim light lit with only candlesticks. And the both of you talking your night away of how wonderful the universe would write the story of you two as it is. And just by the thought of it makes you feel much more alive already.
"Someone's excited," he said, "well then, it's a date. Just drop down your address so I'm not taking some old granny to the date."
"It could be a hot lady."
"Then I got the right house."
And of course, a big deal like this is not something you can hide from your gay-roommate, and his reaction was exactly how you imagined it to be.
"Holy mother of an infant child," his face was all so lit up, and you were pretty sure this is how the sun would look like up close.
It was both exciting yet unbelievable at the same time, because you are getting a date, with the dreamiest man whom is to your belief, –and your roomie's – the most hottest guy on Earth.
"Oh, honey, I am dolling you up tonight." He did this raised-and-wiggled-eyebrows which is a sign for his mischievousness. The kind when you know you're going to wake up with a moustache doodled on your face along side with some shit and penises. But this mischievousness is sending you some good vibes.
You grinned at him because you are thankful for his existence, and you realized that you would date him if he is straight and into pursuing women. "Okay, but nothing fancy, because it isn't a fancy."
He walks over to your closet and opening up the door, he turned his head back and said, "every first dates are fancy, sweetie. It would still be fancy even if you're eating tacos on the curb. Because if you really love them, the surroundings wouldn't be what you're staring at."
Harry arrived at six fifty, with a well-dressed attire, (button down shirt, of course) and a small bouquet of flowers that looks like it was plucked from someone's yard. "My lady, ready for an amazing night?" His eyebrow was quirked up in a perfect arch. And you were conceived that only Harry Styles can do that.
"Is this the flower from my yard?"
"I went in to a flower shop and the flowers they sell there doesn't match you so," he shrugged, "but it is definitely not from your yard," he winked.
"Good to know that you took an interest in gardening as well," you teased.
He walked you to this classic convertible mustang and your hand hovered over closed your wide agape mouth at the sight of it. "This is one damn sweet red mustang," your hand lightly grazed the door, afraid that you will scratch it.
"It was my dad's, apparently it was a big buyer back then," he said.
"Are you kidding me? A fucking mustang! I love mustangs!"
Harry's smile grew even wider and broader than before, "do you wanna ride in it?"
"Fuck yes!"
Who knew you'd be this easily pleased with a cup of Caramel Macchiato and a ride in a mustang? It was like heaven on earth. Your cheeks are constantly sore by just being around Harry. And if there is a definition for happiness, this is it. And people these days are saying that women are hard to please. It really isn't about the worth of a jewelry, it's about the effort you put into.
"I seriously told you – nothing fancy," you whispered, rather harshly while scanning your eyes over the menu. But really, you were just looking at the prices instead of whatever good shit this restaurant has to offer.
He sat down his menu and took your hands in his, "this is our first date, I want to at least make it memorable."
"Eating tacos on a curb can be memorable, too."
He laughed and shook his head, "I just want to treat you nice with a good dinner. You deserve it."
"What about Marie's?" you arched your eyebrows and wiggled them, they way your roomie does.
And the next thing you know, you were at Marie's. The usual chattering of people going on about the dramas in their lives, the saturated light pink hue covering this room and the warmth of the foods that are freshly cooked and served. The both of you found an empty booth and sat down across each other. You picked up the menu and actually looked at the foods this time.
"Damn, it is easier to look at this menu," you said, "at least I don't have to feel guilty while digesting it."
Harry laughed and shook his head lightly, "you are the only girl I have ever dated that doesn't wants to eat at some fancy-ass restaurant." And it kind of kills you a little inside when the realization of him dating girls before washes over you. And you feel kind of bad for them because they have left a good man aside for you.
"And this is where we met.
"This is where we met," he repeated.
"So, favorite place in this world?" he asked, leaning closer to hear you better over the voices.
"Anywhere but Paris."
He scrunched his face up like kids who had their first bite on a lemon, but he's smiling, "no, you can't be kidding me."
You shrugged, "I mean, the coffee and croissant is probably nice but it's like a cliché because everyone loves it. Like, my favorite place is Paris. I wanna get married in Paris," you said in a high-pitched girly voice, "It's beautiful there, I bet. But a cliché."
He laughed again and his eyes were glinting so much, it was exactly how you imagined a night sky full of stars would be like. It was like he stored the entire galaxy in his eyes. In his green-blue unordinary eyes. "Okay . . . Um, anywhere but Paris?"
"Probably San Francisco or Hawaii."
"Wow," he said through an exhale, "you are definitely something, bunny."
You could feel your cheeks getting warmer and you were sure you are blushing and Harry is probably seeing your cheeks going bright red like a tomato. You aren't much of a blusher, and yet somehow the simplest words has made you go blushing like crazy.
"Um, why do you call me bunny?" You decided to ask, not that you don't like it, because it is basically the second trigger to your blushing. The first would be this man sitting across you, whose eyes twinkles and his smile shines.
He looked at you straightly into your eyes, and it send a squeeze to your heart. "You look like one," his mouth wrapped perfectly around the fork and ate the piece of steak he just cut up, "do you want me to stop?"
"No! God. No, don't stop," and you were blushing again, "I love it."
He was grinning, again. And you grinned back. And the both of you were just grinning silly at each other, with soft-eye looks, like the adoration that parents show to each other before they leave for work. You could practically see your life with him if all ended well, this look you both share every morning, with, possibly, a baby on your hips and him giving your kid boops on the nose. It was perfect, everything was perfect. Your perfect child. Your perfect marriage. Your perfect husband.
You had asked Harry to park his car somewhere and let you walk back on your own, you didn't want to trouble him after the awesome-amazing-wonderful night. But in the end, he insisted on walking home with you even after you pulled out a whine from your lips. "I'm not letting my girl walk back alone. In the dark. Alone," he had said. His girl. Trigger number three: calling you his.
"I still can't believe you actually offered to split the check." He was still mumbling about it on the walk back to your house. "What kind of an asshole would I be to let my girl pay for a date?"
"A cute and rational one," you smiled.
He turned his face to you and it was the only bright thing in the dark. And he was not standing under the streetlight. Everything about him was bright and sunshine. Even the cinnamon smell of his reminds you of sunshine.
You arrived at your house and he followed you onto your doorsteps, "I would love to invite you in, but my Noah is having his beauty sleep and I don't want to wake him up."
"Oh. You live with him?" he asked, the tone of his voice was going down, like the slouchy shoulders he had the other day.
"Harry, we are nothing." You tried to reassure him with smiles and searched for his eyes. "I promise."
He sighed loudly, "okay, text me before you go to bed." He pulled you in for a hug and kissed you on the forehead before stepping off of your porch and headed back to where his car was parked.
And the minute he left, you quickly opened your door and to your room quickly so you could text him.
From: You
9:45 p.m.
Hey, thanks for the date.
I love it.
From: Harry
9:45 p.m.
Actually, it was half your date too.
Because we actually split it.
You smiled at his response.
From: You
9:46 p.m.
Well, yeah but still, thanks for the date.
I am looking forward to the next one ;)
From: Harry
9:48 p.m.
Oh, there will be so many of it.
You will get tired of my face.
From: You
9:48 p.m.
Oh, I don't think I will.
From: Harry
9:50 p.m.
Well, of course, I'm gorgeous ;)
Time to go to bed now. Good night bunny. Sweet dreams.
From: You
9:51 p.m.
Good night handsome. Sweet dreams.
From: Harry
9:52 p.m.
I'm already missing you
From: You
9:53 p.m.
Go to bed eager boy, I'll drop by the cafe tomorrow morning.
From: Harry
9:53 p.m.
I love you.