Crazy | {h.s}

The date; People Watching

Harry arrives at my door on Sunday promptly at 12:05. His hair is pulled back in a nice beanie and he wears a plaid scarf underneath his black jacket, and some well-worn brown boots with black skinny jeans. Pretty typical attire from him if you ask me, but he looks gorgeous per-usual.

"Are you ready to go? I thought we could walk there instead of drive, it might be kind of fun, but grab a hat. It's fucking freezing."

"Yeah," I say, laughing. "That's the only bad thing about living next to the sea, it's constantly cold all year round."

"That and those seagulls. They never stop. Constantly screeching at, like, 3 am, and I'm like, mate. . .chill."

I giggle, thinking of a groggy, 3 am Harry furiously yelling at the loud birds and swearing like a sailor as if they could hear him.

I'm happy that he doesn't seem too nervous like last night, and seems like he's in an especially good mood today.

I grab some mittens and a hat to pair with my winter jacket and step into the hallway with him, locking my door behind me and zipping up my jacket before Harry and I step into the elevator.

"I've always hated this bloody elevator. It's so rickety and scary." I say.

Harry holds open the door for me, like a true gentleman, and presses the button for the bottom floor.

"I've always had a theory that it's haunted. It always makes such strange noises and the lights flicker like a right proper horror movie." Harry says.

I hum and nod in agreement.

"Do you like horror movies?" I ask.

"Absolutely not, I've got such a small bladder and I'm easily scared, so I can't manage watching those films. Do you like them?"

"Love them. I don't get scared all that easily so it's not that bad for me."

"Lucky you. I know the man in the relationship is supposed to be the brave one, and like, the one that leaves the bedroom in the middle of the night 'cause there's an intruder and kills him with a baseball bat while the wife stays safe upstairs with the kids, but honestly I would just be cowering in fear and lock myself in a closet."

We step out of the elevator and walk through the front doors of our flat complex into the cold, autumn air.

"Well, that's understandable. Killing someone seems terrifying."

He pulls his sleeves over his hands and then sticks them into his pockets as he leads us down the sidewalk, "I feel like I seem really girly, though. Like, I get scared of fucking thunder storms. That's not normal. Men are supposed to be big and buff and, like, chop wood and eat raw meat and stuff. But I don't want to do that, you know? I want to cuddle and eat soup."

The sound of his calm and sad voice breaks my heart into probably 4 million pieces, but as I glance over at him he seems undisturbed by the conversation or topic, like he's thought about this a million times before.

"Well that's not a bad thing, Har." I say, doing my absolute best to comfort him, "And you shouln't use 'girly' as an insult. And stop worrying about damn gender role stereotypes. You should be able to do whatever you please and be scared of whatever your scared of and not have to be worried about being labeled girly or manly."

"Yeah, you're right. I know you're right." He tightly smiles, then continues, "But still. . .,"

"Nope! Nope! I don't want to hear any more negative things tonight. Let's just have fun on our date."

He sighs, then giggles, taking my hand in his as we cross the road, "Okay, deal. Let's have fun on our date." He winks suggestively and pulls my body even closer next to him.