Soon, My Friend (Currently Editing)

The bird in the drug nest

After another cup of tea and the same ice-breaking game of Harry's, it was my turn again.

"OK, next question, my turn," I sent him a warning glance adding a faint smile. "What.. film makes you cry?"

"What film makes me cry?" he gaped smiling.

"Ahh..." he moaned and let his sight slide around the room. Now he was the one to fiddle with the tealights on the table.

"List up a few, then." I attempted to help him.

"Perhaps it'll strike you as a surprise but that's what I'm trying to do," he laughed teasingly.

"Erm... I dunno! I'd say most films move me, really. And that's, like, that's not somethin' I say to women only to make 'em... y'know." His nostrils flared as he tried not to blush.

I leaned forward on the tabletop and teased him further: "No, I don't know. Please tell me what you mean."

Harry blushed with that smile he put up whenever I challenged him: "Ah, fuck me, well it's not something I would say just to make someone interested, to put it that way."

"Ah, no, I believe you," I smiled, even a bit satisfied. That was the first time I'd heard him swear, and that was good news regarding my choice of words.

"I mean, it's the same as saying that size doesn't matter. But I would say that it kind of does - very few women fantasise about small penises." I said.

Harry interrupted me by his exploding laugh that appeared occasionally.

"A-hah-aand..." I tried to keep a straight face. "I reckon that quite few fantasise about sitting next to a man crying to the intro of The Hangover Part 3. So..."

Harry had to pull himself together and my heart skipped a beat as I watched him keep laughing. Was he really this easily entertained, or was he just a great actor?

A short and silent break occurred. During other circumstances or whether I'd been with another person, I would probably have checked out what time it was at that moment.

You know, just to fake an yawn and suggest that going home in different directions would be a good idea now.

But first off: my phone was in my closet. Second off: I had no need to know what the time was. Harry made any urge to sleep or any stress disappear. My whole body flooded with a crazy rush of adrenalin, but was still relaxed.

"Oh, I have another good one. Tell me about your worst memory." Harry said.

"Huh?" I was startled.

Sneak.

But he kept quiet, a smirk on his face.

I sighed whilst having a little private time with my memory. I regret a little at the moment that I told him the story that early. But it was the first (and the worst) memory that stroke my mind.

"A bad memory... I don't- oh, my God - I know, I know. Erm, OK, it's about this lad that I worked with at a café quite a while ago - I was 15, maybe 16, and he was 18, I think. And while we worked there together, like.. every other week, I did the washing up and stuff and he was.. Well, the barista, if you'd like, yeah. And he was sexy - I'm talking really sexy."

"How sexy?"

"Really, really sexy. We're talking like.. a young Matthew McConaughey-ish."

"Ooooh..." Harry said, playing along.

"Exactly. OK, so it was around Christmas. And one Friday afternoon-slash-night we were closing the café by ourselves, and he asked me what I had planned on doing afterwards. I replied "nothing", of course, although I really was on my way to the opening of like, this pub, right. We ended up in Covent Garden and looked around, y'know, went to the markets that were about to close. And he was so nice. Then he took me to the nearest park where we were completely by ourselves and he kissed me. For a long time."