Insider || hs

Like it's a Dancefloor

Harry had been having a shitty day when Freddie texted him about getting drinks together that night, but once she did, the stress of his workload didn't really seem to matter all that much anymore. She wanted to spend time with him, which meant that just maybe he was actually playing his cards right. Maybe she did like him after all and he hadn't been out of line for kissing her the other day during their date. He was sort of paranoid about that despite what she said to him in the moment, but he tried not to think too much about it, especially now. Freddie wanted to go out with him again, and that was a good sign.

Time dragged by torturously slow as Harry finished out his last few hours of work. He was distracted by the thought of Freddie maybe liking him as he liked her, so that instead of finishing the tasks he had to complete that day, he found himself checking the clock every three to nine minutes. Even during his last meeting of the day, Harry was quiet and uninvolved, only adding the occasional comment to make it seem like he was paying attention. He realized how foolish this was in terms of his job security, but Harry couldn't help it. Freddie had caught him off guard, and he didn't quite know how to handle it.

After a meeting that ran too long for his liking, Harry quickly dodged his horny coworker Karen's questions about his plans for the evening and slipped out of the office with the intention of speed walking to the subway. The bar where he was meeting Freddie was only two stops south and five minute walk away; but he was running late, and he didn't want Freddie to have to wait for him on the off chance that she had gotten there before him. It was one of his pet peeves when people didn't show up on time, so if he was guilty of being late, that would have driven him a little crazy.

Luckily though, Harry thought he made pretty good time given his late start, and he ended up arriving a whole four minutes before the time he had told Freddie to meet him. Only, when he got to the bar and went inside, he saw that she was already sitting in one of the booths against the right wall with a nearly empty glass of what looked like dark liquor right in front of her. Her eyes were tired, but she smiled all the same when she saw him, which only made Harry's nerves spike even more. He couldn't get over it when she looked at him like that; nonetheless, he had to play it cool before he made a complete fool of himself.

Once he took the seat opposite her in the booth, they ordered food and drinks, for which Harry insisted he pay, then talked about their days like usual. Only, what was unusual was that after a while, Harry began to realize just how little Freddie was saying. But despite how much of the talking he was doing, he became acutely aware of the fact that Freddie was subtly guiding the conversation, and that conversation didn't have anything to do with her.

In fact, once Harry thought about it, he realized that he hadn't even gotten the chance to ask her about her meeting with Anthony, which he really was rather curious about. He knew how stressed Freddie had been about it, so the fact that she hadn't said anything about it was likely not a good sign. She liked to shut down and avoid things when she was distressed, and once she ordered her third Old Fashioned since he had gotten there, he was fairly certain that that was exactly what she was doing. However, Harry knew Freddie well, and if left alone to stress, he knew that she could work herself up over nothing. He hoped to help her avoid that.

After describing to Freddie the way in which his coworker Karen had started a fight with his receptionist, Harry then tried to turn the conversation back on her, hoping that maybe getting her to tell him about her meeting might make her feel better about it. After all, she was usually the one to help him rationalize his worries away, so Harry hoped he could return the favor.

"I still can't believe she screamed at her in front of everyone," Freddie laughed, shaking her head and pressing her back against the booth. Her long, dark hair hung loosely over her shoulders and partially obscured the shallow "V" of her neckline, which Harry found himself somewhat grateful for. It was easier to stay focused when he wasn't so distracted by her figure. "I would have thought she had more decency than that, good lord."