you're someone i just want around

VI: but i guess i'm too attached to my own pride to let you know

"I think I'm catching feelings

And I don't know if this is empathy I feel

Just hold on

Remember why you said this was the last time?"

— Sex, Eden

word count: 29.1k

content/warnings: a good healthy dose of denial and justification to deny feelings, the defamation of gherkin pickles, pet names (literally), a strong independent woman who don't need no man, a (not quite) man who definitely needs a strong independent woman, brunch served with a side of emotional trauma, breaking promises, nsfw social distancing, mentions of blood, and Harry once again ignoring the phrase "bros before hoes"

///

Harry knows he's good at a lot of things.

He's good at picking up on fashion trends and turning them into timeless styles, molding each piece to fit his own persona with ease. He's good at identifying the locational origins of wines within five seconds of the sweet liquid crossing over his tongue. He's good at mixing his own drinks as well, always managing to craft the perfect concoction that suits each drinker's needs. He's good at creating gallery walls in his apartment, at charming anyone into giving him what he wants with a slip of his mouth, and at pissing off his friends until they're threatening to stake him just to get a little peace and quiet. Harry is good at chess, at reciting poetry from memory, and at painting his non-dominant hand's fingernails without smudging any nail polish onto his icy skin. Harry is fucking excellent at coaxing orgasms out from his lovers. He knows that he's good at a lot of things.

The issue, he realizes the day after he asks Y/N out on a real date, is that planning a real date is not one of those things.

This, Harry rationalizes to himself, is not his fault. After all, the last time he'd been on a real date was during the Victorian era, and Harry is fairly certain that taking a chaperoned stroll around his beloved's estate garden isn't in fashion anymore. And when the way all of those dates ended is taken into account, Harry doesn't think his past experiences should be the marker for a good date, anyways.

It's this frustrating lack of knowledge that leads Harry to do what he always does when he doesn't know the answer to something: he Googles it.

With the top of the line Macbook Harry had purchased a few months back with the money from a CEO of some candle company perched on his lap, Harry relaxes back onto his leather couch, kicking his brown boots up onto the matching footrest as he does so. Once the search engine is open and the cursor is blinking in front of his face, however, the vampire pauses, his manicured fingernails perched over the keys. What question could he possibly Google for his situation?

Harry twists his lion head ring around his cool finger as he thinks, his tongue tucked between his lips in concentration while potential queries run through his head. Ideas for a first date with a girl you've been fucking for a month. Things to do in L.A. with a mortal when you're a two hundred year old vampire. Places to take someone after drinking their blood. A snort echoes from Harry's throat as the last idea pops into his head. Somehow, Harry isn't confident in what results those questions will show him.

Tapping his black lacquered nails against the keys, Harry purses his lips as he loses himself in thought. How had he even gotten himself into this position? The reason he hasn't planned a date in centuries is because he doesn't date, and for good reason. What use does a soulless vampire have for dating? Mortals use romantic outings to open their hearts to one another, and Harry, in contrast, can't open what he doesn't have.