Tim tapped his foot impatiently, grinding another cigarette into the brick surface of the low wall he was currently sitting on. Fruitlessly, he checked his watch again, one of his legs jiggling up and down to try and release some of his tension.
Where the hell were you?! The two of you had agreed to meet up an hour ago and you’d showed neither hide nor hair. Chewing on the end of his cigarette, he tried lighting the tip of it, but missed in his bad mood, singing the tips of his long, pale fingers.
You smiled widely, spotting the strange hair and telltale white and blue striped scarf of your friend. Just on time you thought, as you heard the bell tower behind you strike the half hour. “Hey! Tim!” You cried, waving as you came closer to your Dutch friend.
He looked up irritatedly, his glare making you falter in your steps towards him. Had you done something to upset him? But you’d only just got here!
Tim scowled at you, though he was happy to see you hadn’t just ditched him completely. “What’s up with the glare?” You asked, rubbing your arm self-consciously; the way his olive eyes were fixed on you suddenly reduced your confidence.
“I thought we agreed to see each other at half two.”
Looking to the side a moment in thought, you furrowed your brows and nodded tentatively. “Yes, and it’s half past two now...?”
Tim stared at you nonsensically. “What do you mean, you should have been here an hour ago!” You froze, completely at a loss. Tim growled, taking a drag from his cigarette. “I’m here on time, I don’t know what time you had in mind when we agreed on half two but-“
“Half two. That means one thirty, doesn’t it?” Shaking your head, you gazed up at him in confusion. The blond froze.
Crap, his tendency from back in Holland had fooled him again. From where he was, when someone said half two, it meant ‘a half hour to two ‘o clock’. In other words it meant one thirty.
“If you’re just going to be angry at me, I’d rather leave.” You said, hurriedly turning and returning back the way you came. Tim reached out to stop you, but then dropped his hand back to his side, closing his mouth.
His shoulders sagged and he shot a glance at the bouquet of tulips he’d bought. He’d planned this day to the very end and now he’d blown it. Just asking you out had been a challenge for him but after many prompts from his sister and gathering all his courage he’d been able to do it.
And you’d said yes to him, a blush playing on your cheeks as you’d averted your gaze to your shoes as the two of you had arranged an hour to meet up.
Sighing and leaning back, he threw his cigarette away in disgust. Licking his dry lips, he picked up the tulips, holding them above the grate of a bin. But with a sigh, he tucked them back in the crook of his elbow, not having the heart to do it.
He was going to need a stiff drink.
You came back home, miraculously not bursting out into tears. Why was he being so mean! In a way to vent your frustration, you pulled off your clothes roughly, running hot water into your bath. After rummaging through the cupboards for the scented bath salts your grandmother had given you for Christmas, you threw some in, swilling the hot water around before stepping in.
You lay in the water until it grew cold and you felt that being submerged in the warmth of the water had actually managed to completely relax you. With that, you cooked a light dinner of spaghetti, using whichever ingredients you had in your fridge and then you took your book to bed.
Turning page after page after page was succeeding in making you drowsy, not unlike the effect of counting of sheep for a child, and you found yourself drifting into sleep. Tim was banished to the procrastinating part of your mind. We’ll deal with it in the morning.
And well it was morning when you awoke. But it wasn’t the cheerful sound of birds that woke you to the sunrise, heck it had hardly been morning for awhile. Groggily you glanced at your illuminated alarm-clock. The numbers read two in the morning.
The noise that had roused you continued and you sat up, blinking your eyes in the darkness. It was a sort of chipping noise coming from outside, an insistent sort of tapping that was really starting to irritate you.
Going to the window, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders to preserve some of the warmth.
A lone figure stood underneath the streetlight in front of your house and whilst you strained your eyes, you recognised the mop of unruly, gravity-defying hair.
“Tim!” You hissed, sliding your window open and shuddering at the cold. He held his arms out to you, a huge grin on his face. “(y/n)! Schat!” He called loudly and you hushed him. “You’re drunk. Now go home!” You told him, leaning back inside, one of your hands already on the window to slid it back down.
“WACHT!” He shouted and you froze, looking for signs of disturbance in the neighbour’s house.
He slumped, looking at your front door. “Ju-just read, ‘kay?” He said, his voice softer than it was before and barely audible.
Raising your eyebrow, you waited for him to produce what he wanted you to read. He fumbled with something in his coat pocket, unfolding it a couple of times, then he held it up for you.
They were pieces of grubby paper, the folds creasing the simple words that were written on haphazardly in a black marker.
I <3 U
It couldn’t be simpler, yet couldn’t get any more complex. He glanced up at you, the middle piece of paper being held up by being propped up with his hair.
“Get up here.” You said, your face aflame as you tripped over your own feet to get downstairs and open the door for him.
With a lopsided grin on his face, he stumbled forward to you, hugging you tightly to his tall frame. “Let’s get you sober again, shall we?” You said, closing the door behind him and taking off his coat and scarf.
He trudged after you happily, following you upstairs where he collapsed onto your bed and passed out, to be woken up with a blaring headache.
And to have the girl of his dreams wake up with him for a change of course.