Who: Harry Astor and Margo Young What: Snowed in! Where: Harry's apartment in Chicago. When: Last night, February 2nd, 2011 Warnings: Cute? Awkward!Harry? Cute AND awkward!Harry?
As inconvenient as this whole Snowpocalypse was, Harry honestly could not have been more thankful for it. He couldn't believe his luck. Margo had come over on a whim Tuesday afternoon – now it was Wednesday night, and she was still here. The streets of Chicago were completely covered in snow and ice, so it wasn't like she had a choice (which... sounded much more creepy in his head than he intended), but nevertheless, she was here, and Harry couldn't be happier. Or more of an oaf. Whenever Margo was around, Harry always felt like a big, awkward idiot, and it certainly showed. He'd lost track of all the things he'd knocked over trying to make sure she was comfortable. As soon as the broken pottery shards were swept away, he forgot all about them. If she laughed, that was okay. She seemed to think his clumsiness was endearing, which was great, because when he thought about that, he only got clumsier. Sort of a vicious cycle, but Harry didn't mind. It was worth it for her.
The sun had set a few hours ago (in the middle of the afternoon – winter really was a ridiculous season, and Chicago only made it more ridiculous), and now, for the moment, Harry was alone. He was in the kitchen making some hot chocolate, desperately trying to calm his racing heart, which hadn't stopped threatening to burst out of his chest in over twenty-four hours now. Funnily enough, he was also a little delirious; he'd barely slept the night before. Just knowing that she was sleeping next to him was enough to keep him awake all night. He might have stared a little. Or a lot. It was really hard not to.
Taking a deep breath, Harry very carefully grabbed two mugs and poured the steaming hot chocolate into them, then topped it off with a few marshmallows and a dash of salt (the secret ingredient – it brought out the flavor). Just as carefully, he held the mugs very close to his body, one in each hand, as he navigated the short but dangerous walk back to the living room. His eyes were wide, and he practically tiptoed back to Margo, though he was careful not to look at her, because that would only spell disaster. "Here you go," he said cheerfully, trying to mask his nervousness as he handed her one of the mugs. If he spilled this on her, he would never forgive himself. "Astor-style hot chocolate for this cold winter's day. Just, um. Be careful? It's really, really hot."