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4 Green

how scared are you of the dark?

Harry found himself on the doorstep of the art gallery Joey worked at. One hand held a pack of freshly baked cupcakes while the other was stuffed in the pocket of his favorite jumper, fingers brushing his white cane and aching to take it out.

The sidewalks around the building were cracked and uneven, jotting out at the oddest of places and despite his trying to predict where the next wrong cement tile was going to be, he'd tripped too many times.

He leaned against the wall beside the open doorway, hand cramping up and ears listening out for any sound of the girl on the other side. His head hurt and his eyes ached like there was a fire behind them trying to burn out through his irises, so he brought his free hand to rub at them as gently as he could before the door hinges adjacent to him creaked.

The sound of her heels made him curious as he stepped to the side and smiled a little; the familiar scent of her perfume mixing in with the stale cold air around him. "Jo," he called out quietly.

The next thing Harry felt was a hit to his gut, someone's fist almost knocking him down with how much impact was put into the strike.

He clenched his teeth and hissed out, box of pastries falling to the cement. "Oh my god."

A hand clasped onto Harry's bicep and he felt something tickle the side of his face. "I am so sorry," her voice finally sounded over the wind and he would have admitted that he was a little relieved it was her.

"Me too," he whimpered a little, shaking out his hands and standing properly to his feet. He faced where she stood, the dull ache of the light beside her outline letting him know the gallery door was still slightly ajar. "That was my fault."

"It was," she agreed. "But that was a pretty hard hit."

There was a moment of silence before he heard the door close and heard small ruffling noises from the ground. It took him a moment to remember the box he dropped before, but Joey was already up on her feet in an instant.

"Were these for me?"

He nodded, bringing his hand to rub the back of his neck. "To apologize," he elaborated. "For everything, really."

"They're ruined, but thank you."

He nodded as a response and then turned his back, extending a hand behind his back where she was still standing.

"Where are we going?"

"Where do you want to go?"

There was a pause. Then, "I could use a drink," and Harry didn't want to frown, but he did because he had reservations for a really nice restaurant.

"Great," is what he went with before he felt her hand move to his. It was soft and small and cold and he pulled her forward beside him so they could walk together.

+++++

Josephine was a mere four drinks into the night when she dragged Harry to the dance floor.

They stumbled to the center of the bar where nearly everybody was dancing.

Her hand was caught in his as she closed the space between them. Everything was slow and the music gave Harry a second pulse that felt to him like rhythm and alcohol and everything they danced. The faint sounds of the people around them laughing and whispering and singing made his fingers twinge a little, but the moment passed and he shook the feeling away.