Chapter Text
“No, you see, H.G., you’re working with a dumper mindset. In that case, you have to wait a while ‘til you move on if you don’t want to look like a dick, but if you’re the dumpee, as you are, you’ve only got to hold off ‘til you don't have to act heartbroken anymore. Two months is more than enough.”
H.G. was regretting having taken his notebook out to record Ernest’s teachings, but now it seemed rude not to write anything down. In fact, scratch that, he was regretting letting Ernest and Oscar convince him that what he needed right now was a wild night out, with Ernest vowing to not let him leave until he couldn’t even remember Clara’s – the dumper in question – name
“Trust me,” Oscar had assured him, “drinking a worrying amount and making out with the nearest consenting adult is the best cure for a messy breakup. Besides, no offence, but your constant moping was cute to begin with, but it’s getting a little tired.”
“What’s wrong with my moping?” H.G. had replied, more than slightly offended.
Ernest had barked out a laugh at that. “You sound like Edgar.”
The man in question was nowhere to defend himself or H.G., as at the first mention of going to a nightclub, he had mumbled something about already having plans.
“The beautiful Annabel Lee has invited me on a picnic, and although I predict I will be sunburnt or covered in ants by the end of it…” His final words were hardly audible as he was already hurrying off out of the flat, though from what H.G. could make out, Edgar would choose going on this date a thousand times over whatever Ernest and Oscar were planning. H.G. couldn’t blame him.
And so that was why tonight – hang on, why would Edgar and Annabel be going on a picnic when it was already dark? And Edgar had left before the rest of them had decided when to go to the club. It seemed Edgar had decided to let H.G. face this one alone.
Anyway, this series of events had been what had led to Ernest and Oscar introducing H.G. to The Veil, a dimly lit, cacophonous inferno of a nightclub that both of them were apparently frequent patrons of.
As he weighed his odds of success if he took off running this second – very low, he suspected – Ernest gave him a clap on the shoulder that was a tad more painful than he hoped was intended.
“Alright, Oscar,” he said with a wolfish grin. “Time to show our friend what he’s been missing.”
As the bouncer nodded at all of them, allowing them entrance, H.G. stuttered out, “Actually, uh, I just realised I left my wallet at home. And my phone. And my keys, so I really need to –”
If his friends heard him, they made no indication of it as Ernest’s grip tightened on his shoulder, Oscar grabbed the other, and they frogmarched him inside.
The next few minutes were a complete blur. His ears not yet adjusted to the blasts of techno music – or was it dubstep? Whatever it was, it made H.G. feel like his ears were bleeding. Either way, Ernest had to repeat himself three times, finally resorting to yelling in H.G.’s ear that he and Oscar would let him have a sweep of the place before the three of them reassembled, get a round of drinks or three, and then Ernest would initiate wingman mode.
“Roger that?” Ernest bellowed, and H.G. was already too dizzy to do anything but nod and give a feeble thumbs up. Ernest grinned, said something to Oscar (apparently his hearing was working just fine). Oscar laughed, said something to H.G. that may have been “good luck” or “great duck,” and the next thing he knew they were both threading through a crowd of people, and he was alone.
The thumping music and coloured lights quickly gave H.G. a headache, so he made his way to the quietest corner he could find, making himself as small as possible. His mind was, strangely, drawn to horses. More specifically, their ability to fall asleep standing up. He wondered, if he just let his eyes fall close, he could block out the sound of the music and the deafening chatter of voices and drift off to sleep until it was time to leave. The mere thought of sleeping away this cacophony relaxed him, and he didn’t realise he’d begun to space out until a hand tapping his shoulder made him leap out of his skin.
“Woah, sorry!” said the owner of the hand, a young woman with waves of long, chestnut hair, an ocean blue dress and crimson lips he could tell were holding back a smile. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while, but I guess you were totally spaced.”
“I suppose I was,” he confessed after finding his bearings. Now she mentioned it, he did recall the distant sound of someone saying, “Hey,” and “Can you hear me?” a few times before he was brought back to reality. “I apologise, I wasn’t trying to ignore you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, flashing a smile that he couldn’t deny made him somewhat weak at the knees. “I just wanted to check that you’re doing okay? You look kinda lost.”
“Oh, no, I’m okay,” he replied, almost as a knee jerk response. “Thank you for asking.”
“Sure.” She didn’t look convinced. “Have your friends abandoned you or something?”
He was about to reiterate that there was nothing to worry about, that his friends were right over… But when he took a scan of the club, after a second of two he spotted Ernest and Oscar in a booth talking to a dark-haired man. From his enthusiastic gestures and the sultry way Oscar was looking at the man, Ernest appeared to be acting as his wingman. Despite having no interest in flirting with anyone tonight (if that was something he was even capable of doing), H.G. couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Hadn’t Ernest promised to find him a date? Yet here he was, all alone.
“Um, yes, I suppose they have.”
As she took a space next to him on the wall, she let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my God, same! My friend and I promised we’d hang out together all night, but the second someone else started talking to her...” She clicked her fingers. “She’s gone, just like that. Probably to read their fortune or something like that.” She was quiet for a second, and H.G. opened his mouth to apologise on her friends behalf, when she brightened. “I’m Lenore, by the way.”
“I'm H.G.”
She leant in, raising her voice, battling against the pumping music. “Sorry?
He repeated himself, speaking a few decibels louder.
“Oh, you meant your initials!”
He nodded. This wasn’t the first time someone had had difficulty with his name. For the first few months of their friendship, Edgar had wondered if he should call him just ‘H’ for short, and it took him even longer to allow the syllables to roll off his tongue. And that had only been after H.G. had told him his full name, and Edgar had finally understood just why he avoided going by it.
She bumped her shoulder against his, and as if having read his mind, asked, “So, what does H.G. stand for?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you.”
“Really?” She fluttered her eyelashes and H.G. felt his cheeks begin to heat. Was the air conditioning in here broken, or were the crowds of people producing too much body heat for it to deal with? “Promise I won’t tell anyone.”
This was a bold claim to make considering he’d only just met her, but H.G. predicted he would have a very hard time saying no to that face. “Maybe later.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” She offered him her arm. “So H.G., seeing as we haven’t got anyone else to spend our evening with, do you wanna get a drink with me?”
As he took her arm, stumbling over his words and himself as he accepted her invitation, H.G.’s hypothesis about Lenore's power of persuasion proved correct.
As they took a seat at the bar, Lenore said, “Okay, what are you getting?”
“Just some water for me.” He didn’t want to come across as lame, but he’d been in his twenties long enough to know what happened if he let people convince him to drink so as not to seem like a buzzkill.
Lenore wrinkled her nose in a way that came across as more sweet than judgemental. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re the designated driver.”
“I don’t… think so?” Thinking about it, they hadn’t exactly made any plans for how they would get home, but considering the emphasis his roommates had put on getting absolutely plastered, H.G. guessed and hoped that a taxi home would be involved. “It’s just that I only really drink on special occasions.”
She tilted her head. “This doesn’t count as special?” He began sputtering out a hasty apology, when she laughed, a melodious sound he’d much rather listen to on loop than whatever was in the nightclub’s mix. “I’m just teasing. How about this – I’ll pay for your drink. How’s that for special?” She threw him a wink. H.G. began to fear he was running a fever.
“Oh, well, that’s very nice of you –”
“I know. So, what are you having?”
Before he could respond, the bartender appeared in front of them, “Sorry for the wait. What can I get you guys?”
A silence fell. Between them, at least. Outside of their little bubble, the clubbers were incorrigible in their revelry.
Lenore’s expression softened. “You know I don’t mind if you just get water, right?”
And he believed her, he really did. He’d meant it that he wouldn’t let himself be peer pressured into drinking, yet somehow Lenore’s gentle smile and lack of judgement were a hundred times more convincing than any goading remarks and cruel laughter she may have had to offer.
“I’ll have a Planter’s punch, if you’d be so kind,” he told the bartender, “with some pineapple.”
“Ooh, me too,” said Lenore. She turned to him, “Honestly, I have no idea what that is, but you seem like you have good taste.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, it has got alcohol in it, right?”
He nodded. “Oh, yes.”
“Then I trust your judgement.”
Despite the watered down quality of the compliment, it was enough to make H.G. trip over his words as he thanked her, and she laughed again. Honestly, he’d be happy to keep making a fool of himself, as long as it always prompted that sound from her lips.
It didn’t take long for them to receive their drinks, both served in tall glasses with stripey straws.
Lenore held hers up. “A toast to our friends,” she announced. “If they hadn’t been crappy enough to abandon us, we may never have met.”
“Thank goodness they were… crappy.” They shared a laugh at H.G.’s hesitance and clinked their glasses together with a simultaneous, “Cheers!”
They sipped their drinks, and Lenore gasped appreciatively. “Okay, this is amazing, and I will be ordering a million more of these tonight.”
“Well, thank you for trusting my judgement.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been told I’m a pretty good judge of character.” She smirked, and suddenly he was all too aware of her eyes raking up and down his body. He flushed. “Plus, why would I not want to trust someone as cute as you?” He had chosen just that moment to take another sip, which resulted in his drink going down the wrong way and him spluttering in a distinctly non-cute way. Or so he thought. “You see what I mean? You’re adorable.”
“Lenore, I –” he croaked out before having another coughing fit. Kindly, she patted him on the back.
“Do you want to go outside, maybe?” she said once he’d recovered. “I’m getting the sense this isn’t really your scene, and it would be nice to be able to talk at a normal volume.”
“I’d like that,” he said. Outside, it would be far easier to explain that, as lovely as she was, and as fast as she made his heart race, and however much her eyes shone like starlight when she laughed, and… but he was getting ahead of himself. As much as he liked her, his heart had recently belonged to another and he was yet to have the whole of it returned yet.
“Cool.” Before he knew what was happening, she grabbed his hand and, with her guidance, they seemingly guided through the masses of clubbers.
As he passed by their table, H.G. locked eyes with Ernest and Oscar who both nodded approvingly. He tried to subtly communicate that this was not at all what it looked like, but then Lenore was tugging his hand and telling him, “Come on,” and a second later they were out of the door.
Leaving The Veil was like coming up for air after being submerged in water for a few seconds beyond what was comfortable. H.G. even found himself taking a big gulp of air, staring up at the night sky with renewed appreciation for the outdoors.
When his gaze returned to Lenore, she had her arms crossed with one eyebrow quirked up. “It’s a good thing I got you out of there, huh?”
H.G. blushed, and this time he didn’t have the stuffy environment to blame. “It was becoming a bit much for me,” he admitted.
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” She smiled, and it was at this moment he realised they were still holding hands. “You know, I usually go for people who are basically partying twenty-four seven, but lately I’ve started to find that scene pretty tiring.” Her thumb brushed over his knuckles. “I’m open to a change of pace.”
“That’s actually, um… Could we… You see…” Lenore watched him lose all grasp of the English language, a questioning look on her face. Her face that was so close to his, with its sparkling eyes, and scarlet lips, and a few stray strands of hair he’d have given anything to reach out and tuck behind her ear. And before he knew the words were leaving his mouth, rather than explaining himself, he said, “Can we slow down?”
Lenore rolled her eyes, but her smile had returned. “Obviously. I literally just said I’m cool with whatever speed you’re comfortable with, you dork.” He laughed nervously. He’d meant to clarify that, for now at least, nothing more than platonic could happen between them – if she was interested in being his friend for now, that was – and instead had indicated that he had at least some level of interest in her. Which, well, he did, but she wasn’t meant to know that yet. He wasn’t meant to feel like this for someone new yet, whatever Ernest and Oscar said!
As he spiralled, Lenore had the kindness to finally let go of his hand. “So,” she said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “‘Taking things slow.’ First things first, I guess that involves getting to know each other a bit better. Tell me, who is the mysterious H.G.? What does he do for a living? What does he like doing? What do his initials stand for?” She leant back against the wall of the nightclub, smiling coyly.
Lord, why was it so easy for her to make his face light up like a lightbulb? “That last question will still have to remain a mystery, I’m afraid.” She groaned dramatically. “To answer the others, I work as a software developer, but I’m sort of an aspiring author slash inventor.”
“Ooh, what do you write slash invent?”
“Sci-fi, mostly.” He let go of her gaze, casting his own at his feet. “I’ve actually self-published a few books online, so perhaps I’m no longer really an ‘aspiring’ author. Then again, I’m far from popular.”
“That still sounds hella cool,” she assured him.
“Well, I… Thank you. I’m definitely only an aspiring inventor, however, as I’m still in the stages of working out just what to invent.”
“Oh, here’s an idea: an app that lets you select what sort of outfit you want to wear, paired with a closet that then produces the perfect outfit from the things you own!”
He nodded, impressed. “Lenore, that’s a marvellous idea. However, I’d recommend you patent that yourself rather than let someone else take the credit.”
“Or…” She pushed herself away from the wall and sidled up to him. He felt his throat constrict. “I’ll be the ideas woman, you be one who actually makes the stuff I come up with. We’d be an unstoppable force.” She splayed her hands in front of her dramatically. They shared a laugh, and for a second he actually considered taking her up on her offer.
“How about you?” he asked. “Tell me about the life of Lenore.”
She placed her hand on her heart. “I have the fabulous job of assistant store manager at Urban Outfitters. However, my goal for the next five years is to become a fashion designer. And maybe, now, to create Click-A-Closet.”
“Click-A-Closet?”
“Our invention! I took the liberty of naming it. You like it?”
“It’s wonderful.” Just like everything about her.
“Thanks, future business partner.”
The door swung open, and H.G. jumped as two people, holding hands and giggling, rushed out of the nightclub towards a taxi that was waiting for them. Lenore waited until they were out of earshot to let out a snort, which made H.G. have to muffle a laugh with his hand, which caused the two of them to burst out laughing.
“You know,” Lenore said between giggles, “I was kind of hoping to do some dancing tonight, so I was wondering… If you’d be able to cope with going back in?” Once again, she offered his arm.
For a moment, he mulled her offer over. On the one hand, between how his feelings for Lenore were developing at a dangerous velocity and how he was not exactly known for his dance moves, this seemed like an objectively terrible idea. On the other, it would probably be rude to go home before his friends and just when him and Lenore were beginning to get to know each other. Besides, the noise that had escaped from the club whilst the door was open sounded somewhat less terrible than what had been playing beforehand.
Once again, H.G.’s previous hypothesis was proven correct.
Lenore pulled him to an, in comparison, slightly less-populated area of the vale and exclaimed, “Wait, oh my God, this is, like, my favourite song!” before raising her hands in the air and beginning an energetic, shoulder-rolling, hip-swaying dance. Attempting to meet her level of enthusiasm, H.G. began shuffling back and forth, nodding his head in what he hoped was in time with the beat. Lenore bit her lip, clearly stifling a laugh.
“Am I that bad?” He already knew the answer.
“It’s not that!” she said, unconvincingly. “You just kind of look like a zombie.”
“So, I am that bad.”
She hit his arm playfully. “That’s not what I said. Come on.” Suddenly, she grabbed his hands, beginning to pull them back and forth, swaying them both in time with the music. “There you go, you’re a natural!” As the chorus played, with no prior warning, Lenore raised her arms, twirling H.G. towards her. He let out a breathless laugh as she whirled him around. In return, he let go of one of her hands and spun her out and then back towards him, holding her close for a second. She looked at him over her shoulder, her hair partially covering her face as she flashed a fervent grin, making the moment play out for an eternity until he let her go and they returned to dancing hand in hand.
“This is fun!” he said, sounding a bit more surprised than intended, and for the second time they found themselves laughing uproariously. As the song drew to its close, he watched her face, how her closed eyes crinkled with laughter, how her cheeks flushed, how the coloured lights reflected off her face and made her eyes sparkle.
“I’m having so much fun with you.” He breathed the words, yet in that moment, the music, the people surrounding them seemed to fade out, and in his own world with her alone, H.G. had no doubt that Lenore could hear him.”
“I am too.” Her voice, too, was barely above a whisper, and as she bit her lip H.G. couldn’t draw his gaze away from her lips, tear his mind away from the thought of kissing her.
Looking back, he couldn’t say that he made a decision. Honestly, what happened was closer to his body taking complete control. Looking around, he saw that the spot he had retreated to what felt like hours ago, where he and Lenore had first met, was still empty.
“Come with me,” he said, feeling like these were someone else’s words leaving his mouth. Lenore nodded, a grin spreading across her face. Keeping her hand in his, H.G. led her to the isolated corner, and as if possessed, put his hand on her hip, pulling her close.
“H.G…” Before she could say another word, he brought his other hand up to her face, brushing his thumb across her cheek before tucking the strands of hair he’d noticed before behind her ear. Her gaze followed his hand and he could have sworn she let out a slight gasp. Their eyes locked. “What happened to taking it slow?”
He shook his head. “There’s just something about you, Lenore. Usually, it takes me weeks, months to feel his way about someone. But you… you’re intoxicating. I feel like you could ask me to do anything and I’d say yes.”
Her eyebrow quirked. “Really?”
“Really.”
“H.G.?”
“Yes, Lenore?”
“Kiss me.”
How had he even thought he could deny her that? Their lips collided, him cradling her face like something precious, her throwing her arms around his shoulders like she wanted him as close as possible, closer still. This mix of passion and tenderness clouded his thoughts until the only word in his mind was Lenore , and in that moment he would have been happy to forget everything else.
After what felt like far from long enough, they separated, and he saw the moment before her eyes opened, the expression of pure peace on her face. When her eyes opened, they shone brighter than ever before.
“Wow,” she said, and he was about to repeat the notion, when something caused Lenore’s head to turn. A scream? No, a squeal, and someone yelling her name. Her friend, surely, he realised, and Lenore confirmed his suspicions as she removed her hands from his shoulders and flashed an apologetic smile. “I guess I’ll see you later,” she said.
“Oh, uh…” All of the charisma from moments ago vanished. Hastily, he dropped his hands. “Yes, you should… That was… Goodbye.”
She giggled. “Bye, you weirdo.” And with that, she turned and was swallowed into the crowd.
Gone.
He didn’t get to sit in her absence for long, as then Ernest and Oscar were rushing towards him, and Ernest was putting him in a friendly headlock.
“You see, Oscar? I told you you needed a wingman more than he did! He may be a nerd but he’s got some game hiding beneath the surface.” Fortunately, he was released just as he was beginning to feel lightheaded. Ernest slapped him on the back, and right, in what world was that not meant to hurt? “You’ve made us proud, H.G.”
“Yes, marvellous work,” Oscar agreed. “So… what’s her name?”
“Lenore,” said H.G., and he wasn’t sure if he was still reeling from the kiss or Ernest’s manhandling, or a combination, but all he was capable of saying after that was, “We’re going to invent Click-A-Closet together.”
Ernest grinned smugly. “Told you he’d have forgotten Clara’s name.”
H.G.’s no-doubt lovestruck smile morphed into a grimace. Oh God, what had he done?