Strange [h.s.]

Thirty

Ella Frazier

"Here," I hear a voice say, snapping me out of my head for what feels like the twentieth time in the last hour.

"Thank you," I look up, grabbing the drink and little bag out of his hands. Harry walks around me, sitting in the seat right next to me at our gate. I set the bag that has some type of food that Harry figured I would like since I didn't tell him to get me anything besides a drink, in my lap and take a sip of my drink.

"It's a piece of coffee cake," Harry says again, making me turn my head to look at him. "In the bag, it's coffee cake," he explains further.

"Oh," I laugh, "I thought you meant the drink flavor."

He shakes his head with a smile, "No, that is chai."

I look at Harry, who is adjusting himself in his seat to be more comfortable. He's dressed in black sweatpants, and a black sweatshirt covers the top half of his body, the same outfit I magically fell in love with when he knocked on my door this morning.

The last time I saw Harry was two days ago, besides once when we met up for lunch.

After our night out at bandits, the following morning started with Harry straddling over me, the two of us laughing while he held a whisk and tried to, in his own words, "whisk away the hickeys" that he left on me the night before. He read it on some website late that night when we came home; to my surprise, it worked pretty well. They are a light yellow color now instead of deep purple, making them much easier to cover up with my concealer.

I spent the last two days trying to cover all my bases with work, ensuring everything that needed to be done was done before we left. I answered emails, submitted two pieces to my boss for review and publication, and packed the rest of my needed things.

Harry came over early this morning, and we spent the entirety of it just sitting around my apartment, waiting to leave for the airport. I spent a lot of time badgering Harry on questions and worries that came to my head, and he spent his time calming me down.

I take another sip of my drink, watching Harry do the same as he scrolls through his phone. My eyes leave him, fluttering over to the random people walking through the airport, their eyes shooting around to try and find their gate. I play my own little game, trying to guess where every person is going in an attempt to calm myself down.

"Are you feeling better?" Harry asks. I turn my body to face him, seeing that his eyes are locked onto me. His phone is off and resting in his lap, one hand holding onto his drink while the other rests on his knee.

I smile, "Trying."

Harry takes a deep breath, "I promise you everything is going to be perfectly fine," he says, moving his free hand to rest on my knee now, "There is nothing to be nervous about."

"I know," I sigh, letting the tension slump out of my body.

Our attention is snapped up as a voice comes over the overhead speaker, "Flight 6143 from Seattle to London is now boarding group A."

Harry's eyes drop to me, I can feel them, but I can't see that as my eyes stay locked onto the screen across from Harry and I's seats. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see the other people sitting at our gate, standing up, grabbing their carry-on items, and lining up at the desk of our gate, and all at once, the nerves bundle themselves back up in me.

"What group are we?" I ask, now turning my attention to him. His eyes shoot down to our tickets before he tells me group B. Harry stands beside me, grabbing his carry-on and slugging it over his shoulder in preparation for our group to be called. I follow suit, slowly lifting myself out of my seat and shrugging my bookbag over my shoulders.