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2.

Henry sat at the picnic bench on the lawn outside Hancock. The sky had dimmed to a cool violet, but the light that spilled out from the dorm building was enough to see his notebook by as he read through what he'd written during his and Elizabeth's study session that afternoon, stopping every now and then to cross out a word and replace it with another more precise.

So focused was he on his search for the perfect words that he didn't notice the door to Hancock open and close or hear the soft pad of her footsteps as she approached.

"Hey, there."

At her voice, he startled, snapped the notebook shut, and looked up. His mouth turned dry, his tongue thick with his pulse.

Elizabeth was tottering across the grass, her uniform of jeans (or denim skirt) paired with ratty, navy Chucks and an oversized sweatshirt swapped for a strappy red dress that ended high on the thigh and clung to every curve, along with black patent heels that made her mile-long legs go on for eons.

He swallowed. "Uh…hi…"

"Writing again?" She nodded to the notebook still clutched in his hand. "When are you gonna tell me what's in that thing?"

He looked down at the notebook like he'd never seen one before in his life. Then, realising it wasn't in fact a foreign object and he was probably doing a more than adequate impression of a half-wit, he shook his head, hoping it would clear his mind and enable him to regain a semblance of coherence.

"It's just thoughts," he said, and tucked the notebook and pen into the pocket of his bomber jacket. Before she could press the matter, he gestured to her, from soft blonde curls to pointed toes. "You look"—amazing, incredible, like we should blow off this party so I can keep you all to myself—"great."

She smoothed out a non-existent crease from her dress. "It's my roommate's—she insisted on 'styling' me." Her expression crept towards a wince. "I hope it's not too much."

He offered her a smile, hoped for reassuring. "It's perfect."

You're perfect.

She met his gaze, and perhaps seeing his sincerity, her wince faded and a warm look, gratitude mixed with a hint of something else, maybe pleasure, swept in to take its place.

"So"—he broke the silence before it had a chance to linger, before the air between them could turn thick and they could inch into the realm of awkward—"you ready?"

She motioned to the path that hugged the lawn. "Lead the way."

oOoOo

"How do you know these guys again?" Elizabeth turned her head to glance at him as they walked along the lamp-lit avenue.

The breeze carried a chill, the first hint that winter lurked around the corner, and out of the distance came the steady thump of a bass-line.

"ROTC, mainly," Henry said.

He'd offered her his jacket—after relocating his notebook to the back pocket of his jeans—and she now wore it draped around her shoulders.

"And you're sure they don't mind you inviting a first-year?"

"Of course not." He considered pointing out most of the guys had the maturity of a high school freshman, so she'd hardly appear young in comparison (and besides, she didn't seem only eighteen), but upon noticing her mildly anxious expression, instead he said, "If you want to leave at any point, just give me the signal."

"What? Like curling up in the foetal position?"

"I was thinking something a little more subtle."

"So, I'll just scream, then?" she deadpanned.

He chuckled, and although it looked like she tried to resist it, her facade cracked and a smile broke through.

"They're gonna love you," he said. "I promise."

oOoOo

Henry didn't know why Elizabeth was nervous about meeting his friends—if anyone should be nervous, it was him. What if they brought up that unfortunate incident on the obstacle course the morning after his twenty-first birthday celebrations, or that misunderstanding with Dr Williamson's wife, or his five unsuccessful attempts to break up with his ex-girlfriend, and it lowered her opinion of him?—but, like he'd told her, she had no need to worry. She'd charmed them within seconds.

Henry dipped close to Elizabeth's ear, so she would hear him over the conversation that was being thrown back and forth across the circle. "I'm gonna get a refill. You want one?"

Elizabeth smiled and passed him her cup. "Thanks."

Leaving her with his friends, he weaved through the guests who choked the living room, some knotted in twos or threes, their chat and laughter elevated so that it reached over the music, some on their own swaying drunkenly, red plastic cups held aloft. The air was stuffy from so many ripe bodies, akin to walking through a sauna (if fifty per cent of said sauna's oxygen had been replaced with perfume), and it was a relief when he broke through on the opposite side and made it to the drinks table.

He edged behind the table, his back to the bay window so he could savour the cold draught that seeped in and prickled over his skin. It didn't hurt that the angle enabled him to see Elizabeth, too. He unscrewed the cap of a half caved-in Diet Pepsi bottle, causing the bottle to re-inflate with a crackle and pffst, and he was about to pour the cola into Elizabeth's cup, when someone interrupted.

"All right, McCord?"

He glanced up to find Charlie, a third-year and fellow ROTC recruit, had left the group too and joined him at the drinks table.

"So, you and Elizabeth?" Charlie let out a low whistle as he refilled his cup from the keg. "Punching above your weight there."

Henry shook his head and resumed pouring soda into Elizabeth's cup. "We're just friends."

"Really?" Charlie raised his eyebrows ridiculously high, then turned to ogle Elizabeth. "She single?"

Henry's jaw muscle twitched. He refilled his own cup, cola bubbles fizzling up into a head of froth. "She hasn't mentioned dating anyone." Not that he'd asked, not that he wanted to know.

"Awesome." Charlie swigged his beer, his gaze still roaming over Elizabeth in a predatory fashion, like he was looking for her weak spot, formulating his plan of attack. He turned back to Henry and motioned to Elizabeth's cup on the table. "This hers?"

"Yes," Henry said, "but—"

Before he could tell Charlie that Elizabeth wasn't looking for anyone—and even if she were, she deserved better than to become another one of Charlie's conquests—Charlie picked up the drink with a, "Great," and made a beeline for Elizabeth.

Henry floundered. He watched as Charlie handed Elizabeth her drink and they made introductions. He watched as they talked and Charlie slowly wedged himself between Elizabeth and the group, separating her from the others and creating their own circle of two. He watched as Elizabeth smiled and then laughed at something Charlie said. He watched as they flirted and, beneath Charlie's attention, Elizabeth bloomed.

He wanted to intervene, but what right did he have to tell Elizabeth whom she should or shouldn't talk to? Especially when his motivation was muddied with self-interest.

Besides, if he were to intervene, he would risk revealing his feelings for her and ruining their friendship—not that he'd ever wanted to be just her friend, but when he'd asked the question that first evening in the coffee shop, not daring to assume someone as amazing as her would actually be interested in dating him, friends was what she'd said. So, her friend was what he would be.

Still, he couldn't rid himself of the feeling they should have blown off the party; he never should have invited her; he should have been content with study sessions and discussions over coffee. At least then he wouldn't have to see her with somebody else.

Charlie leant in and murmured something in Elizabeth's ear, causing her to giggle and blush.

Henry stopped watching. He abandoned his Pepsi and poured himself a cup of something stronger.