Spoilers: Only that H/Hr exists. Hah.
Disclaimer: Don't own. But man I wish I did. No Nationwide, or anything recgognizable.
Author's Notes: Sometimes you just need flames. Haha.
Not meant to be taken seriously. Seriously.
May 23rd, 2004 …
Oh, Lord, she hated traffic. It was the worst part of the day, and that included work. Sure, there were the exceptional 'God-I-Wish-I-Could-Just-Pull-My-Hair-Out' days, but this was just one of the days she could blast the music up and bang her head to the music, trying to forget her horrible day.
There were various cars in front of her, behind her, next to her, everywhere. "So. Many. Damn. Cars," she muttered, looking around. But suddenly, she saw something very… interesting. Someone very interesting, indeed. There was a man, with messy (she guessed it was the skater style all of the good-looking men were going for now) medium length hair, the black tresses hiding a pair of stylish (or were they round? she wondered after a second) glasses. Though she could only see half of his face, she could already tell he was one of the best-looking blokes she'd seen in a long time.
"Wow, I hope he's single," she muttered, looking at him appreciatively. He turned, his face towards her, though he didn't look at her. Rather, he seemed to be looking at something behind him, grinning happily, saying something she couldn't make out. Maybe he's just … just… No, he doesn't have a girlfriend. He's too good for any of those slags, she thought, glaring at whoever the person was in the background.
"Maybe I could follow him…" She grinned. Oh, this is going to be so much fun! Never again will I get mad at traffic! "Just to make sure he's… err…" She chuckled. "Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm going to follow him!" Giggling, she put her turn signal on, hoping that she'd be able to switch lanes so she could follow the unknown man to wherever it was he lived. I feel like such a stalker. She waited for the moment she could move, finally getting the chance to switch lanes.
Now that traffic was moving slowly, she'd finally gotten the chance to see what it was the mysterious good-looking man was so happy about. She saw nothing. Was this man delirious? Maybe it was a dog, she thought, but then shook her head. The little rascal would've been throwing its head out of the window by now, not in the back seat of some expensive car. Maybe it was some kid… No, he's not married. Nor does he have a kid. Too hot for it, too hot for it, too hot for it. Remember that, girl! He's too hot for everyone else except you! Oh, God. I sound really egotistical right now.
Maybe it had been three minutes, maybe five, maybe it'd been three days. She wasn't sure. But one thing was sure: that man kept looking back every second he had, only looking forward when traffic was moving. Whatever it was he was looking at, it certainly was keeping him entertained. Or maybe annoyed. She wasn't sure. But she was hoping for annoyed.
"Oh my god," she sighed, seeing his face yet again. His oh so handsome face. She could see his handsome, pale face, with his Greek God worthy looks (and she bet he had the body to go with it). Whoever was seeing him currently was a lucky girl. She smiled, she was going to have him next. All hers.
Suddenly, a honk from behind her sounded, and she was suddenly reminded that she was in a car. Moving ahead, she chuckled. I'm so silly.
Oh, damn. He's with the mysterious thing again! What the hell is it? God, I need to know! Rolling her eyes, hoping it wasn't some sort of electronic game, she continued to follow him.
Ninety-nine bottles of rum on the wall… She shook her head. She was already bored.
The wheels on the bus go—she shook her head again. Nope, again, she was bored.
If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands. She clapped. If you're a stalker and you know it clap your hands! Again, a few claps. If you're a stalker and you know and you really want so get him, clap your hands!
I think I'm on crack, she thought, banging her head against the back seat. So. Bored. So. Bored. So bored. Sobored! Ohmygod I'm so bored!
"UGH, DAMN TRAFFIC! MOVE!" she shouted, forgetting that her window was down.
"WHY DON'T YOU MOVE THE TRAFFIC FOR US?!" someone shouted.
Who was that?
She shrugged. Doesn't matter. "HOW CAN I? BLOODY CARS WON'T MOVE!"
"WELL THEN STOP WHINING! SOME OF US, UNLIKE YOU, HAVE HAD HORRIBLE DAYS!"
"OH, SHUT UP!" she shouted, still not knowing who she was shouting at.
"WHY DON'T YOU?!" asked the man, shouting back.
"UGH! BLOODY MOVE ALREADY!"
"DON'T SWEAR IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN!" he shouted, this time louder.
"WHAT CHILDREN?!" she asked.
"THE CHILDREN IN TRAFFIC, EINSTEIN!"
"THEY'RE TOO YOUNG TO DRIVE!"
"THE ONES THAT ARE RIDING WITH THEIR PARENTS!" he pointed out, shouting.
"GET OUT HERE AND FIGHT ME!" she shouted, having enough. When she was younger, she was taught that if anyone messed with her, that she should get even.
But then she gasped. The man—the hot man!—in front of her, stuck his arm out of his window, and stuck his middle finger up.
And, in a normal voice, she heard the man say, "Bloody fool, my arse."
Oh, God. This isn't good. Her anger dissipating almost as quickly as it had come, she thought, I'm still following him. Maybe I'll get a few kids to egg his house on Halloween.
The mysterious man kept on moving, never switching lanes—something she was very grateful for—and looking back at whatever it was in the back seat.
It'd been nearly half an hour until they finally drove a kilometre. She thought she heard some distant cries of a child, but then dismissed it, shrugging it off. Probably those kids he was talking about, she thought. God, I don't understand these British people. Now, people from America—yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Wait, no, can't be biased… God, this hurts my brain.
Wait! The man was taking an exit! Quickly turning her signal on, she switched lanes, moving her car behind his.
Finally, they took the exit, and he took a right, and so did she.
After what seemed like three hours (but what was really one, she guessed), she finally found him taking a right to a street. The houses around there seemed high class, something she'd have expected doctors, lawyers, or scientists to have. Not this hot, young man.
Maybe he was visiting a friend.
He pulled up into a driveway, which led to a large, modern home.
My house is going to look so bomb… she thought, grinning. Wait, this might not even be his house.
Pulling on the curb—I wonder what Brits call it—she took the keys out of the car, checked her make up, scrunched her hair a bit, and got out of the car. The man was already out, opening the back door.
"Excuse me!" she shouted, waving in his direction.
He gave little attention.
"Excuse me!" she said again, walking towards him.
Half of his body was in the car, taking something out. It took a few seconds until he fully emerged, turning around to face her.
There was a child in his arms.
"Err, can I help you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, absently giving his supposed child a kiss on the top of it's head. It had to have been his; the kid's hair was black, for Pete's sakes!
"Harry?" someone asked from the door of the large house. A skinny woman, with average height, and bushy brown hair with brown eyes, was standing there with her eyebrow raised. "You might want to get in here soon. Elizabeth could get cold," she told him.
So the kid in his arms was a girl. She only hoped it was his cousin or something.
"Okay," the man—Harry—answered. "This woman just wanted something, I suppose. I'll be inside in a moment, love."
She nodded and went inside the house, closing the door behind her.
Harry turned back towards her.
She stood there, speechless.
He raised an eyebrow, rocking his baby girl.
"So, uh, your sister?" she asked dumbly.
He shook his head, grinning. "Wife." After a moment of silence, he asked, "So, you wanted something?"
"Uh, oh yeah! I – uh, just – uh… Never mind," she mumbled, walking away.
"You sure?" he asked.
Oh my god, she thought, getting back into the car. Sitting there for a few moments, she saw Harry kiss Elizabeth again, and went into the house, not looking back.
And suddenly, she started laughing hysterically, thinking of one commercial in particular.
"Life comes at you fast.
"Nationwide, always on your side.
"Nationwide, always by your side."
Author's Notes: Sometimes you just need flames.
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