He was pretty bad at dressing up. The thought was always there, but nothing ever ended up looking as good as he thought it would.
He stood in front of the mirror for what seemed like hours, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, tucking it in then untucking it again, tying the scarf that hung around his neck then just letting it hang loose.
"Will she even life this scarf? Is it clashing with my shirt?"
He talked to his reflection as if it was actually listening.
He ruffled his hair, thinking that would make it look less messy.
It never did what he wanted it to do.
He pulled up his pant legs revealing mismatched socks. Those didn't matter, his shoes went up to his ankles.
Or should he wear different shoes?
Never before in his life did he remember being this concerned with how he looked, except when he had his interview to be a gym leader. For some reason, this seemed more important than that, though.
He wasn't even sure what his feelings about her were. He would sit down and talk to his friend about how they're doing from time to time.
"So how are things going with Whitney?"
He would try to avert his friend's gaze while answering.
"She's really clingy, but she smells nice."
"Are you happy with her? I know you were kind of all over the place before you guys started dating. I think she's good for you, Morty. You needed her."
He would never say anything back after hearing something like that. He would squeeze his hands together, continuing not to make eye contact. Minutes of silence would pass until he would say something.
"I could do better than her. I'm just tossing her around like I have with other girls in the past. I'm gonna hurt her, Eusine. And I don't think I could do anything about that. It is what it is."
This time, eye contact would be made. He would bite his lip, exposing a bit of his teeth that were on the crooked side. His friend always told him he had a nice smile, but he never believed him.
They went on countless dates. Each one seemed to drag on longer than the last.
He'd move the silverware around. The fork on the left, then to the right. Feel the blunt edge of the butter knife, stick it in and out of a bread roll mindlessly.
Nod and smile, nod and smile.
"Your hair looks gorgeous tonight." He would flash her a smile after each compliment that took everything in him to get out.
The girl would smile and reach her hands across the table, grabbing his, rubbing her thumbs around the back of his hands, making the freckles scattered across his skin here and there to shift around.
The boy would eventually have to do something. Start coughing a lot, complain that he's tried.
The girl would shrug.
"I guess you want to get going, then?"
He would nod.
The car rides back would be silent. Nothing but the radio station playing on the third lowest volume, becoming fuzzy while passing under bridges. His car wasn't the newest or best quality.
The girl's apartment would be coming up.
The boy would stop in front of it.
"Here you go, Whitney."
She would let out a sigh and throw her head back, crossing her arms, mumbling something to herself while avoiding eye contact with him.
He listened carefully as her kitten heels hit the pavement, a shiver running up her spine as if she were about to burst into tears.
"Bye, Whitney."
The girl was silent in reply.
