"Mum, are you-" I sighed, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, hit with the realisation that she wasn't here. Bloody shocking.

I needn't have been surprised - she was working; she always was. My irritation towards it had lessened since taking a liking of some kind to her 'employer', but it didn't prevent irritation altogether. It was so odd to me, how my mum worked - she cleaned, cooked when she could, and mentored Ana through her life completely. Her son, on the other hand? Was lucky if he saw her once a fortnight.

I was fine with her not being around; I didn't care much. I was at Ana's place most nights when her parents weren't, and I caught the odd glimpse of her. Even when she wasn't running errands of some kind for the Levins, I was preoccupied with the girl I shouldn't have been.

"You were supposed to call," she mumbled against my lips, her touch feathery light.

"I know," I let my lips meet hers briefly before I set my bag of school books onto her bed, "I'm sorry."

"My parents are home," she whispered, her chocolate brown eyes flickering upwards to meet my green ones, "and your mom's here, too. You can't stay."

I laughed lightly, "Like that's stopped me before - plus, we're studying."

Ana took slow steps over to her bed, flopping down onto it lazily. She ran a hand though her hair before reaching for her textbook, humming softly to alongside the calming beat of the music from her record player. I watched the smile grow on her lips as she tried to hide it.

"Fine," her voice remained low, barely audible, "but don't be so loud."

I'd like to think I noticed little things about her. The way her eyebrows furrowed and she tapped her pen between her teeth, the way her hair fell over her face so often and she'd irritatedly reached up to move it away. The way her eyes narrowed in concentration as she shuffled through the papers which lay on the bed in front of her, submerged entirely in her handwriting, so neatly printed over the pile of sheets. Her writing reflected her in the most particular way - it was so immaculate; clean - her, most days. Those days where those fucking parents of hers had been around - they'd been around often in previous weeks, which meant I'd been around far less. They didn't know about me, but then again - what was there to know? But if they knew who their daughter spent so much time with, I knew for a fact they'd be displeased to say the least.

"Can't we go to the library?" I suggested, lowering my tone as she'd asked.

"You still have to be quiet there," she shot me a smile, reaching to tie up her hair.

"Bookstore?"

"No, Harry," she sighed, her fingers tugging gently on the sleeve of my shirt as if to plead with me, "We just need to get this work done."

"But I want to spend time with you," I almost whined, reaching over to shut her Maths textbook, "and to not study."

"Then take me on a date," her eyes met mine, a smile overtaking her features, "a real date."

"A date?" I frowned, "we hang out all the time."

"Those aren't dates. They're- just that. Hanging out."

"I-" I shut my mouth, running a hand through my hair, "dates are shitty; they're cliche, and-"

"Then don't take me on a date," she blinked, "but don't expect me to spend time with you in circumstances that include you kissing me whenever you feel like, either."

I frowned again, opening my mouth to speak before snapping it shut once more. I was prepared to argue with her about how dates were stupid; how we didn't need them to validate a thing, but I stopped myself.

It was only nights ago I'd promised her I wanted to change for her; be different for her - I wanted to make her happy, do all these things I'd never done before. What kind of asshole was I already gonna make of myself by refusing to do something as simple as go on a goddamn date with the girl I wanted? The girl I didn't fucking deserve - Exhibit A.

"Okay," I said eventually, "Then we'll go on a date."

Ana scoffed, standing up from her place on the bed to walk over to her desk, lifting the needle from the disc, "No, Harry. I'm not forcing you to go on a date with me, especially if you don't want to."

"You're not forcing me to do anything," I argued, standing up and walking over to her, careful to keep my voice low, "I want to, Ana, you know I fucking want to."

"You don't act like it," she said softly, her voice the only thing filling the space now.

"Go on a date with me, baby," I pressed gently, watching the creases on her forehead and the furrow of her eyebrows slowly lift - baby; a word I hadn't meant to call her, but the softening of her face determined I certainly didn't regret the slip, "please."

"That's not how you ask," she still spoke quietly, but I could tell she wasn't angry, and I sighed in relief as she took her lip between her teeth, suppressing the smile I knew was threatening to spread.

"Fucking hell, Ana," I grinned at her, my eyes scanning around the room to catch sight of a single orchid in a dusty vase on the window sill. Its petals brown, forming a crisp shell of some kind, the water in the bottom of the glass miniscule. I reached for it, the thing limp and small in my hand as I held it in front of her face, dropping to one knee in front of her, my tone mock-posh, "Ana Grace Levin, will you do me the honor of going on a date with me tomorrow night?"

A beautiful laugh fell from her lips as she took the flower from my hand, glancing from it to me, a smile spreading across her face, "I'd love to."

The next night I found myself on her doorstep, a rose - living, this time - in my shaking left hand as I struggled to stand still. What the fuck is wrong with you, man? Fuck.

I raised my hand to knock on her door, anxiously pushing up the sleeves of my red and black flannel, suddenly questioning the decisions I'd made. What if she thought I looked a fucking state? I looked down at my plain white tee, my flannel entirely unbuttoned over top, my black jeans, and my tattered brown boots. The boots she'd teased countless times, but not without reassuring me how much she loved them, and how they matched my hair. How the fuck did my boots match my hair, Ana? - that I didn't understand. Crazy girl.

"Haz," a familiar voice sounded in front of me, causing me to jerk my head upwards, "What are you doing here?"

"Mum, what-" I groaned, shoving the rose I held into my back pocket.

"What're you doing out here on the doorstep, love? Oh, you look so handsome, I-"

"Mum, please," I hissed, "can you just.. go back inside, pretend you haven't seen me, or something?"

"Haz, darling, why would I do that?"

"Harry," I corrected her irritatedly, running a hand through my hair, "can please just do this for me?"

"Harry, is that you?" Oh, for fuck's sake.

It was now Ana's turn to appear around the corner, looking as gorgeous as she always did. Fuck, I could feel my subconscious poking fun at me, you're so whipped.

"What are you doing out on the porch?" she grinned, fully coming into view now, loose curls covering her shoulders.

"I was asking the same thing," my mum quipped, and had she not been a woman, let alone my mother, this would've been the very moment I punched her in the face.

I shot my mum a look, and she finally took the hint to piss off, not before shooting me a big thumbs up. I groaned internally, Ana taking a step towards the doorway.

"Hey," she breathed, her eyes meeting mine.

"You look beautiful," I couldn't, leaning forward to kiss her before she pressed her finger to my lips.

"That's not very first date-ish of you," she teased, stepping through the doorway.

"I figured I'd steer clear from tradition - I'm pretty sure Mum already determined that anyway," I sent her a smirk, holding my hand out for her to take, which she gladly accepted.

Ana was so different from any girl I'd ever known - I'd never had the chance to know another girl, I guess. But I'd never cared to. It just hadn't really mattered to me, never occurred to me to discover who these people truly were. In all honesty, the majority of them had pissed me off to the point where in any other circumstance, I would've steered clear to keep my own fucking sanity at bay, but when it was past midnight and you were supposed to be nursing your eighth or ninth drink - none of that even matters. I know I won't be remembering anything - if I was lucky I'd remember how tight their dress was, or the color of their hair. It didn't matter to me - quite frankly, I'd fuck them and leave before they could wake up the next morning, more often than not ignoring the tired pleas for me to stay from whichever girl laid tangled in her own dirty sheets.

"Listen, Ana Grace," I dropped her hand only to snake an arm around her waist, goosebumps arising on the bare skin of her hip where her shirt had rode up, the way I'd come to know they always did when I touched her, "I'm gonna need you to help me out here, yeah?"

"Of course I will," she nodded, glancing at me for a moment as we walked.

"Good," I exhaled in relief, looping the hem of her shirt between my fingers as my hand held her waist, "because I have no fucking clue what I'm doing."