Drabble 3: Restless.
She doesn't answer her phone, but it's not like he expects her to.
He's being selfish, he knows. But… doesn't he deserve to be? Time after time, he's waited up for her, held back her curls as she's gotten sick from alcohol poisoning, punched the crap out of some guy who tried to take advantage of her at a club. He's been there for her this entire time. Because, Henry loves her; God, he loves her so much. So, can't she show him, just this one time, that she loves him back? A stupid dance is a pretty small price for what he's done for her.
He's embarrassed. Sitting in the back of the gym with the other losers who don't have dates. She's not coming, he'd better admit it now. She's not coming. How dare she call herself the invisible girl when she treats the only one who sees her like this?
He almost wishes he didn't love her. He wishes she would've rejected him that day in the practice room, wishes him would've just given up. He hates her, hates how she has him wrapped around her finger, and for what? He's not even sure she loves him. You know what? He does hate her. He hates her so much but for every ounce of hatred, he loves her twice as much. Who knows; maybe he's the crazy one.
He's about to give up when the gym doors creak open.
She's no Cinderella, God, he knows. The dance floor doesn't part for her to walk through, nor is there any form of a collective gasp at her late arrival. Her worn black flats don't resemble glass slippers in any way, her blue dress is simple and modest. But it's her. It's her and she's here and she's so absolutely Natalie. Every one of those bad thoughts disappear; they always do when she walks into the room.
She makes her way through the crowd awkwardly, searching around until they meet eyes and Henry's pretty sure he's going to cry. She walks a bit slower, now, but reaches him in a few moments' time. He stares at her, mouth agape and his mind seems to have short-circuited. So, he says the only thing that comes to mind.
"Hey."