Hunger [H.S]

October (part 4)

"Will you marry me?" 

Frankie had imagined being proposed to a million times throughout her life. Granted, it had been Niall Horan proposing in her thought up scenarios as a teenager, but every imagined proposal had been the most romantic scene, worthy of a spot in a Hollywood movie. A guy on his knee, her wearing a beautiful dress, looking very little like herself and a lot more like Dakota Johnson. Flowers, sunshine and a speech that would knock any girl's socks off. So romantic that mothers needed tissues, and the story of the proposal would be passed on through generations. 

And here Frankie was in the pouring rain, wearing a drenched hoodie and her panties. And huge, yellow welly boots. Her hair was not glamorously damp, but dripping wet from the rain, and there was not a hint of makeup on her face. 

The raindrops fell so hard on every surface around them, that the noise sounded like the beat of a hundred drums. Frankie had frozen on the spot, and her mind was racing. The noise of the downpour was almost deafening. If she didn't say something soon, he would freak out. And if she said "what?", like she felt like saying, it was very anticlimactic. 

"Frankie?" Harry looked nervous. He was steadying his breath, obviously feeling anxious. "Will you say something?"

"Do you want to marry me?" She said loudly, so she was sure he heard her.

Harry chuckled, and nodded dramatically at her. "Yes, I want to marry you. Do you want to marry me?" He asked, and grinned as he shook his head at her. 

In Frankie's fantasies she would jump into the arms of the proposer, and say "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes," and it would be very pretty and emotional. 

"Me? Are you really sure? Even though I'm...me?" She laughed at her own stupidity and covered her eyes, hearing how silly it sounded coming out of her mouth.

Harry leaned his head back and laughed. He was soaking wet, rain running down his bare chest, his Adidas track pants soaked through. "Frankie, you're the only woman in the world, who would spice a proposal up with a disclaimer. You're the only one for me. I will never feel like this for anyone again."

Harry was playing the part of dreamy proposer very well. He was beautiful, his hair wet and perfectly framing his face. His torso was strong and dripping wet making him look like an Adonis in front of her. If it hadn't been October in London, she could have left him standing there awhile just to look at him. But instead she skipped over a puddle, closed the distance between them, and put her arms around his neck. He winced at the coldness of her hoodie, and gave a little nervous laugh.

"I'm a mess," Frankie said looking at him with big eyes. 

He shook his head. "You're lovely."

"What if you grow sick of me?" She bit her bottom lip. 

"I could never get sick of you," he smiled, but looked vulnerable. Frankie knew she had kept him hanging too long, he was getting anxious. 

She drew in her breath and nodded, as she tried to form a sentence. Unfortunately her thoughts took a detour. "What if you realize that you bit off more than you can chew?"

"Frankie..." His eyes were pleading with her for an answer. 

"I love you," she said, quickly realizing that it could sound like she was about to decline his proposal. "And I will!" Her voice went up in pitch, and she covered her mouth, startled at the loudness of her own voice. 

Harry laughed heartily at her, and held her face in his hands. "That's a yes?" His eyes were teary, but the happy kind. 

Frankie nodded as best she could while he held her face. "Yes," she whispered, her voice suddenly low and almost inaudible. Harry chuckled and kissed her making her forget how silly she felt and how bloody cold she was.