Fingerprints

Prologue

Harry and I weren't always the closest, I mean, when we first started dating. For three long months we went through the courteous and polite stage; much too friendly. But I always thought, how friendly do you have to be when you originally met each other in a bar? Our first real date, we went to Starbucks, and ordered the same thing.

"Two venti, sweet, iced green teas please," I had said to the girl in the green apron.

"$5.12 is your total," she said back. I naturally reached into my wallet to break a 20, but Harry had already pulled his American Express card out of his wallet; the kind of wallet you keep your phone in.

"I got it, your drink is like two dollars," I nervously laughed.

"But, you're the lady, Johanna." The friendliness was between us was almost painful. I felt like I NEEDED to maintain eye contact the entire date, and I needed to keep the conversation rolling, and always let him talk first. Sit up straight, make sure you don't have any stray hairs flying around, don't ramble. I remember feeling confused that night at the coffee shop. After reciting the "date rules" over and over in my head, I studied Harry; slouched, legs wide open, wandering eyes- gorgeous, wandering eyes. Do guys not have rules? I thought. His arms would change positions often when the subject changed, from folded, to on the table, to his hands on his knees, and back to folded.

"I've never seen you dressed up, Johanna. You look lovely." He had said halfway through the night. I blushed hard at his comment.

"Thanks, Harry, but really, everyone calls me Hanna."

Further back from that, we did meet in a bar, but we weren't totally trashed when we first saw each other. I had bumped into him a few times on the dance floor, after a few drinks. I was at a smaller club in the outskirts of New York city with my best friend Jordan for my 21st. Jordan has medium length, curly blonde hair, contrasting my straight-ish brown hair. We are about the same height at 5'4''. Harry on the other hand is damn close to 6 foot, if he's not already there. "Sorry, ladies," he would say after interrupting our dancing. My brain repeated his thick English accent even after it was said. He said it so monotone, but so intriguing.

"I have to pee," Jordan said, "come with me."

"I'll just order us another round," I semi-yelled over the loud bumping of the music. I stumbled over to the bar, and sat down on one of the stools. Behind the alcohol rack were bright purple lights, and random circular black lights all over, which were pretty when I had no alcohol in my system, but they just hurt my eyes then. To my surprise, Harry had followed me, and sat down a seat away from me.

"One more, please," he spoke, his accent filling my ears once more.

"Last one if you plan on driving home before 3," the bartender, Zachary laughed.

"Oh, I always call a taxi," he reassured. He looked over at me, and smiled.

"Hey, it's you. Didn't I step on your shoe?" Usually, I'd deny it, being polite and all, but when alcohol goes in, truth comes out.

"Yeah, you did," I felt snobby.

"Sorry 'bout that, what are you doing here tonight? You look underage," He lifted me out of my pissy mood with the damned accent of his.

"It's my 21st," I said, and without thinking I crawled over to the stool right beside him, and put one of my feet on the seat.

"Well, happy birthday, sweetheart," I blushed at the nickname. "Could I get one for the lady as well?" He asked Zachary. He nodded.

"What have you had to drink tonight?" I thought back to only an hour ago.

"Three different ones," I thought for a second, "Jäger, uhh," that felt like maple syrup, "platinum somethin'," that burnt, "and... somethin' -cardi?" that tasted like lighter fluid.

"You are going to feel like hell tomorrow," he let out a cute, honest laugh. The bartender slid over two shooters of a- still awful, but fancy smelling tequila.

"This is Patron, cheers to.." Harry started.

"Best friends," I blurted out.

"Best friends," he repeated, raising an eyebrow. We clinked the tall shot glasses and it was bottoms up. There was so much liquid I had to swallow the burning alcohol three times. I slammed the glass on the table, and violently squinted.

"I'm Harry by the way," He said, taking away my empty glass. I swallowed hard, trying to get the taste out of my mouth.

"I'm Johanna," I started, "but, every-everyone calls me Hanna."

"You okay, Johanna?" He lifted my chin up, forcing me to look into his bright green, drunk eyes. I moved his hand away from my face, held it in one of my hands for a moment, and let out an unattractive burp.

"It's Hanna," I muttered.