[paris] midnight city. [harlan]

"You're probably right," Harlan accepted defeat with an exhale far too dramatic to be warranted, her way with words proving itself then. If anyone could, it was Erika Trickett. "Though, for the record, I'm everyone's type... haven't you heard?" He added as an afterthought, his voice deeper, and what he deemed to be that of a headline announcer. He had seen that on a paper once and nearly lost it. In no world would that ever be true, that was for sure.

Erika took the bulk of the blanket and he was thankful for the reprieve of the cool open-air flourishing in from the balcony. He didn't think he'd ever seen those doors closed in all of the times that he'd visited. "What a shame," He pulled an elbow up against the back of the chair and lazily rested his thumb under his chin, palm pressed to his cheek. "Did he really?" He grinned. Her brother had to have been taking the piss in doing that. He loved to give his friend a hard time for his career.

"Have you still got it, hidden away somewhere?" Harlan sat up and glanced over to her bedroom door, beyond which he knew her wardrobe was located, a smirk pulling at his lips. Now he had to see it.

Erika let out a snort of laughter, sounding like a squeaky piglet, and she clasped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide in horror. She laughed again, shaking her head. "Your ego is properly massive," she cooed with a grin. Harlan wasn't like that in real life. She'd read some of the articles about him whenever she had time to get hold of a British newspaper.

Still smiling, she tilted her head. He had a point. He was dashing, charming, intelligent and Erika knew from personal experience that he gave wonderful hugs. "I think that French reporter doesn't like you," she teased. "Charlotte, is it?" Erika took a stab at her name before she shrugged casually. "Or maybe she does and that's why she's so mean."

With wide eyes, she nodded seriously. "He almost told my mum," she offered with a dimpled grin. She'd been a teenager then or thereabouts and her brother finding out that she had a crush on his best friend was a fate worse than death. Looking back, it wasn't that bad.

"What?" The tall blonde asked, snapping back into reality. "The jersey? Or the poster?" She grinned back, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she drank from the bottle. "Nah," she shook her head. "I just tear pictures of you out of magazines and stick them to my wall like a creep." There was a beat of silence. "I'm kidding," she laughed, reaching out to squeeze his arm.

"I still have the jersey in a draw somewhere." Erika wasn't messy. Everything had a place, just sometimes, she forgot where that place was. Harlan looked at her bedroom door and she laughed again. "Go ahead," she insisted, extending her hand in an inviting, sweeping motion. "Though if you see my diary, you might not want to read it," she explained, pulling a face as she drank. "Lots of terrible things in there," she joked.

"Charlotte," Harlan confirmed with a nod. The very one. Somehow he knew who Erika was going to say before she had— the word reporter strung together with doesn't like you brought her immediately to mind. Lottie wasn't the first reporter to have less than positive things to say about him, nor would she be the last, but she certainly did stand out. "Got a bit of a vendetta, that one..." He shrugged nonchalantly. Whatever reason she had didn't bother him all that much either way. "Must be the ego," He teased with a knowing grin.

Erika continued as animately as ever, she had a way of making anyone around her hang on her words no matter what it was that she was talking about. In this case, a Harlan Bellamy jersey., something that he usually would have had no part in. "Oh yeah?" He figured she might, he knew the exact corner where her dresser was tucked away in her room and he glanced in the direction. On second thought—

"A gentleman wouldn't dream of it..." He clicked his tongue and sat back against the couch as if he hadn't just been considering getting up and waltzing straight into her room to investigate. There was a morbidness to his curiosity, the thought of seeing his last name tucked between her t-shirts. Harlan reached his hand out for the bottle. "I'll sign it for you, if you'd like?" He smiled that good-natured smile he'd been condition to when dealing with actual fans.

"We're drinking until we forget about that," The letter he'd thrown on her coffee table suddenly caught his eye as he dragged the bottle of tequila to lips.

"Ooh," Erika said as Harlan confirmed the name. Charlotte. "Very mysterious," she went on to say, wiggling her fingers like a magician. "What did you do to her, then?" She teased with a grin. They didn't often speak about relationships (she did, he clammed up) but Harlan could be a playboy if he wanted to, he was just a bit too nice. Or maybe he just had morals and she wasn't used to that. Erika nodded sagely. "That'll do it."

Unabashed, she shrugged before she grinned. "I wouldn't dream of wearing it outside," she went on to say as she swigged from the bottle. "My family are staunch Falmouth Falcons fans," she nodded as though it was a secret. They had been for centuries, apparently. "I'm not, though," Erika went on to tell Harlan in a whisper, as though she had her nanna hiding in a wardrobe. "Though I'd be excommunicated if they knew," she joked. Sort of.

"A gentleman," she parroted, an eyebrow arched in question. For such a tall man with such a violent job, Harlan was very gentle. He wasn't rude, he wasn't too forward, he held doors open, he had excellent self control but Erika sometimes wondered what would happen if he did lose control. Properly. What would happen if he had a good time and just let loose? But he was a homebird and she'd lost count of the amount of times she'd tried to coerce him to come with her to warmer climes.

"There it is!" She exclaimed as she pointed a finger at him triumphantly. "That's the smile that was on my poster," she grinned, her cape rustling as she laughed. "I know you're kidding but would you?" She grinned. "My uncle Bryce is a huge fan of you," she told him honestly. "His head would explode if he opened that on Christmas morning."

Harlan's hand swam in front of her face as she dutifully handed over the bottle, wiping her mouth with her free hand. "Forget about what?" Erika asked stupidly as the booze seeped into her bloodstream but she followed his eye line to the letter. Shifting the blanket, she extended a long leg out to poke the letter with her foot, forcing it to fall to the floor. She offered him a bright smile. "Forgotten."

"Nothing," Harlan stated plainly. He hadn't done anything to Charlotte to warrant such animosity. Well, maybe just the one thing, but perhaps that was the problem, the voice in the back of his head jabbed snarkily. Technically, they both had. "Not really, anyway," The tequila was going to his head and he felt his stream of consciousness seeping into his words in a way that it didn't usually. He was a calculated man, precise, thoughtful about the things that he said before he said them, usually. But tequila—

Their conversation followed suit, ebbing and flowing around topics without lingering for too long. Erika, he suspected, was much better at that sort of thing. She was always on the fly, impossibly charismatic, whether it be conversationally or physically, and there was a large part of him that was envious of that.

"What!?" A gentleman, she repeated, and Harlan couldn't help but grin. She knew him better than that and he knew him better than that. But he was trying, actively trying, to do better. Harlan was well aware of the level of depravity that he was capable of, but for the most part, he liked to think that he was a good (enough) person when push came to shove. He half-swatted the hand that had been thrust in front of him, trying to mask the smile she was calling out.

"Yeah, go on, then," Harlan nodded to the door of her bedroom for her to go and collect the jersey for him to sign. He watched as Erika shifted out from under the blanket to kick the letter to the floor. Immediately, he felt a weight lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a different kind. "I'll even take a photo—" He took the bottle, had a mouthful, then sat it on the coffee table where the parchment had just been. He needed to slow down. "— that'll be for the wall, though," He quirked an eyebrow and gestured again to her door expectantly.

Nothing, he'd said. "So girls just act a bit mental around you for no apparent reason?" Erika asked innocently, the hint of a smile curving along the lines of her lips. The tall blonde drank as they skirted around an uncharted topic. She nodded as she blew at a lock of her hair that had escaped her ponytail. "Sure," she commented brightly, holding a hand out in surrender. "The less I know about what you're up to, the better."

"I'm kidding!" Erika exclaimed with wide eyes as she dropped her hand to squeeze his knee affectionately as she laughed. "I know you're great," she was quick to placate him with an easy smile. Their friends' unborn baby would be lucky to have him looking out for them. Harlan was very rational and Erika was...not. She'd be the type of "cool" godparent to pick the kid up at 4AM or help them sneak out of the house. Quick thinking and sticky situations were her calling but Harlan was decidedly more practical.

At the mention that she move, Erika let out a moan of annoyance as her head flopped backwards. She was almost drunk and very comfortable but she rolled her eyes. "Ugh, fine," she huffed, as though Harlan was doing her a favour. She flung the blanket back and stood, wobbling just a little as she padded to her bedroom, leaving the door open. There was some noise as she opened various drawers  and knocked a few things off her shelves with a swear word, before returning triumphant, a marker pen in hand.

The cursebreaker held two jerseys, one in the team's current colours and the other was from a few years ago, still in pristine condition. "That one's mine," she announced as she held out the older one, her eyes widening in surprise. "Shut up," she blurted out, a slow grin spreading across her face. "A private photo? Just for moi?" A dimple appeared as her smile grew, pausing to twirl a lock of hair around her finger playfully.

"I'll be the talk of the town," she joked, holding out the pen for Harlan to take, swapping it for the bottle. She dropped onto the couch next to him again. "Where do you think I should hang it?" She grinned, unfolding the other shirt as she held it out. "In the bathroom so I can gaze into your eyes every morning while I brush my teeth?"

"Reporters," Harlan corrected her with a grin, unwilling to admit that there might be more to it than a journalistic plight on her behalf. He figured at some point during his career that he'd said something that rubbed Charlotte the wrong way. It wouldn't be a stretch. The less Erika knew the better, she was right about that.

Eventually, after some good-natured whinging, she was up from the couch and only slightly swaying with the change of posture. Harlan was impressed. He figured he would have a great deal of difficulty composing himself if he tried to stand too quickly at that stage. He followed her as she made her way to the room, laughing to himself as she disappeared to what sounded like a full rearrangement of her furniture.

"You alright in there?" He called out as he draped an arm over the back of the couch. It should have been harder for him to make himself so comfortable, but that thought would only cross his mind the next morning, with a clear head. "You've got two?!" He sat forward, his grin edging somewhere near smug. "You must be a real fan..." He teased as he collected them both, popped the end of the pen into his mouth so that he could use both hands to get a good look.

The Bats jersey was older, of course, but it was pristine. "The bathroom!" He repeated distractedly, finally tearing his eyes from the jerseys to catch her as she sat down next to him, her leg propped up against his knee. "That would be a first, I think..." Harlan didn't actually know. There was the one time in Prague, in his twenties when he'd inadvertently gone home with a woman who had a life-sized cardboard stand of him. He shook his head at the thought.

"Where do you want me to sign?" He pulled the pen from between his teeth to inspect the fabric of the Griffins' jersey Erika was planning to gift. "I'll get yours too, don't worry..." He nudged her with a smirk.

"Ah," Erika replied with wide eyes and a knowing look. "Reporters," she sniggered as she drank from the bottle. "Either way, I think she's gunning for you," she told Harlan conversationally. "Maybe send her a Christmas card?" She offered with a shrug. "Or a bottle of wine. Not saying it's your fault or anything but apologising is easy," she announced with a hiccup.

As Harlan inquired about her welfare, she poked her head around her bedroom door with a grin. "Fine," she called out merrily before she sat back down, blowing at a lock of blonde hair, her cheeks flushed from all the tequila. A real fan? "Huge fan," she corrected him with a grin as he took the jerseys from her and she shifted to watch him, eyes sparkling. It made her laugh the way he took the pen from her instinctively, realising he must be doing the same thing a hundred times a week.

"What?" Erika asked with wide eyes as she laughed. "I can hardly frame it and put it on my bedside table, can I?" She scoffed. "It'll scare off potential boyfriends." She grinned again, her eyes scanning her mismatched but cozy living room. She nodded to a shelf, currently holding some unusual little trinkets. "I could pop you up there," she offered.

"Hm?" Erika said, distracted as Harlan laid out the jersey. She shuffled closer, pulling her hair behind her ear as she surveyed it with a frown. "Below the number?" She asked, unsure of the placement but certain that Uncle Bryce wouldn't give a flying fart in space about it.

When nudged, she wobbled with a laugh. "Rude!" She exclaimed as she swatted him. "Pfft, you better," she told Harlan quickly about signing her jersey. "I need that to pay for next month's rent," she glanced over at him. "I'm obviously kidding," she grinned again, only then removing the cape he'd  gifted her earlier from around her neck. "I can no longer be your bride of Dracula," she announced as she placed the cape neatly on the edge of the sofa, as though Harlan might want it back. "It was cutting off my circulation a bit," she said as she pulled a face and rubbed her neck.

"You can sign mine anywhere," Erika told Harlan gamely. "Then I can charm it so it stays on. I keep getting sloshed by beer at your games," she joked as she rolled her eyes.

Under the number, Erika said noncommittally with a shrug. Harlan pulled the pen from between his teeth and twirled it around his fingers in thought. With practice, he stretched the fabric just enough so that it was taut, eliminating any sloppiness in his signature. It was the same way he did when The Griffins had commissioned any special edition kits that he had to sign hundreds of before they went out into the market. "Done," He placed it gently on the coffee table after giving it a cursory blow of air to dry the ink of his name.

Harlan watched as she shrugged off the cape. "Not exactly comfortable, is it?" He commiserated. He'd been tugging at his neck the whole of the Halloween party. "Anywhere?" He repeated when she indicated that he could sign her personal jersey in any place as well. It was good-natured, their banter, and he knew that his actual signature mattered little to Erika.

"Easier to sign this when it's on," Harlan thought aloud. He held up the old Bats jersey with Bellamy on the back and quirked an eyebrow. Despite himself, the tequila was making it hard for him to be subtle about the fact that he really just wanted to see what she looked like it in— there had been a strange pride in him that perked up at the fact that she had even kept it after all of those years. "Less suffocating than a cape," He grinned, holding it up in the space between them expectantly. "Promise," He added more seriously.

"Thank you," Erika replied brightly as Harlan signed his name and she smiled smugly, congratulating herself on giving her uncle the best darn Christmas present he'd ever received in his life.

She glanced over at him and grinned. "I can sympathise," she agreed with him with a nod. "Vampire is a good choice for you, though," Erika nodded again, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "You've got the whole tall and brooding thing," she said casually as she waved her hand through the air, the blah blah blah implied. She gave him a once over out of habit - she'd prefer the Tarzan costume.

"Anywhere," she agreed with a sunny smile. "Back, front, whatever," she said quickly. Her eyebrows arched in question before she laughed, the jersey hanging between them. "Oh come off it," she joked. "You want me to model it?" She asked incredulously with a shake of her head. Harlan held the jersey out and she sighed, like it was a big deal and she was the one doing her a favour, before plucking it out of his fingers with an eye roll.

"Don't look," Erika warned him as she pointed at him, as though he was a naughty schoolboy. With a grunt of effort, she managed to stand up as she moved away from the sofa, gripping the hem of her sweatshirt as she pulled it over her head, only to swiftly replace it with the jersey, shivering and already missing the blanket. She tugged it over her hips and struck a pose, twirling in a neat circle and almost toppling back over as the room spun.

"Tah-dah!" She announced, arms out by her side to show it off,  her hair sticking up at funny angles. "If you could make it out to Erika?" She said politely, pretending to be a fan. "It's E-R-I, with a K, not a C," she joked with a tipsy grin. "A, yes. Perfect," she teased with a bright smile, shuffling closer to Harlan for him to sign it. She didn't quite believe that it was easier for him to sign the shirt while she was wearing it but he was the expert but she arched an eyebrow. "Bet you say that to all the girls," she grinned.

Back, front, whatever. There was a joke to be made there but Harlan stopped himself, physically as much as mentally, running a hand over his mouth then down and over his jaw. Despite all of the tequila and the fact that he'd suffered in costume for the duration of the night, he wouldn't resign to that kind of humor just yet. "It's the only way," He shrugged his broad shoulders, grinning. He'd quite literally just proven that statement to be false in signing her uncle's jersey, but—

"Fine," Fair was fair. Harlan obliged and shifted to look over his shoulder and cover half of his face with the palm of his hand. "Not anything I haven't seen before," He couldn't help himself from reminding Erika of their shared history that seemed to circle back every few years.

When allowed, he peeked through his fingers then dropped his hand from obscuring his view. "Looks good," Harlan wasn't lying, and it had nothing to do with the fact that his name was on the back of the jersey. Really, that kind of thing usually made him more uncomfortable than anything. But it was Erika. She had a way of making everything feel a little bit more light.

"Can you, please, sit still?" He grinned through a laugh as Erika shimmied around and turned over her shoulder to mention something about all the other girls. Maybe ten years ago, but not presently, Harlan thought to himself as he steadied the pen hovering over her upper back near her shoulder. In a fluid motion, he wrote out his name as he'd done thousands of times, but he remained focused. "There," Harlan grabbed her shoulders and blew a bit of air where the ink was drying.

"Now, you can't sell that, aye," He teased, eyes narrowing as she turned to face him again. In the back of his mind, he thought he may be overstaying his welcome but the booze was making it hard to address it head-on.

Erika's eyes widened in surprise as she pointed a finger at him, despite Harlan not being able to see her. "Oi," she laughed, not quite enough of a lady to blush. "If Fenris ever found out about that, he'd have your guts for garters," she joked before she bit her lip. It wasn't as though it was a dirty little secret but she did think her older brother would be less than pleased, even if it happened years ago. Swiftly, she cleared her throat.

She blinked. "Oh thanks," she said, distracted as she tugged on the hem. It was purely ceremonial. Harlan hadn't played for the Bats in years so her jersey was still in pretty good shape.

When told to sit still, Erika heaved a heavy laden sigh and rolled her eyes. "Yes, sir," she added sarcastically before doing just that, moving her hair out of the way as she waited patiently, her eyes slightly unfocused as she realised that her fairy lights seemed blurry. "Oof," she laughed, the hands on her shoulders snapping back into focus. She knew that Harlan wanted to forget about the whole becoming-a-godfather thing but Erika thought that a teeny-tiny Griffins' baby sleep suit would actually be the cutest thing.

She flashed him a grin. "I can if someone has the same name," she joked. "I'm kidding," she insisted, her hands up in the universal symbol of surrender. "I'll cherish it forever," she said with a dimpled smile. Erika dropped down beside him, rubbing her left eye with the heel of her hand. "What're your plans for tonight?" She asked, interested. It was Halloween after all and all sorts of nefarious deeds were to be expected. "No more party hopping?" She asked innocently as she sipped from the bottle.

"Fenris would never believe it," Harlan spoke the thought aloud the moment it came to mind, a grin pulling at his lips. That much was true, he figured, Erika's brother would never in a million years believe that she would give him the time of day in that department. Certainly not multiple times, of multiple days.

Eventually, she stopped squirming and he was able to sign the shoulder of her jersey. "You had better, " He warned, cherish it. If the state she kept it in all those years was any indication it wasn't going to see the outside world anytime soon, anyway. "Worth quite a bit, that," Harlan squeezed her shoulder as she turned back around on the couch so that she was half facing him, chin in palm.

His plan for the night? Harlan let out a bark of a laugh. "This," He gestured to her apartment vaguely. Even if they hadn't gotten the baby news, it was too late and he was too drunk to go anywhere else but home.

"I'm not keeping you, am I?" The bowl of popcorn and the film flickering across her TV set were clues that he wasn't, but then again—

Erika laughed, holding her hands up in surrender. Harlan did have a point. She'd always been Fenris' baby sister, despite her being smarter, faster and braver than him. "Just a word of warning," she shrugged, knowing full well that she'd take their past dalliances to her grave.

She snorted as she rolled her eyes, thankful he wasn't able to see her as she looked up at her ceiling. He wasn't wrong. Harlan had been playing Quidditch for years but was still ever-popular. Erika wondered how he did it. She also wondered if anyone knew how funny and playful he was. She sometimes wondered if she was privy to this information but she was also a little dismayed - he'd be even more popular if he let himself go a little bit.

She grinned quickly, shifting at his touch to curl her legs under her like a cat, head tilted. "I'm flattered," she laughed - and she was. This place was her sanctuary, a hide away. Smack bang in the middle of Paris but seemingly miles away from it. Erika liked that he was comfortable here, it made her feel like she was doing her duty as a friend properly.

"I'm happy to have you," she told Harlan graciously, pulling her jersey out to the side as she bowed in a makeshift curtsy. Quickly, Erika shook her head. "Not at all," she admitted before she gestured down to her nightwear. "I'd dress a bit sexier if I had plans," she grinned, clearly joking. Dating was hard. A lot of people thought the phrase I travel a lot for work meant I'm not interested, which was always frustrating. She caught his eye. "How are you doing?" Erika asked him, watching his face closely. "Honestly."     

“Are you saying—“ Harlan paused to lean forward to grab the bottle and have a sip. “—that the jersey, my jersey, isn’t sexy?” He feigned shock with a hand to his chest. “There are about a thousand magazines that say otherwise…” He clicked his tongue and eventually broke out into a laugh, leaning back against the arm of the chair and propping a leg up on the length of the couch. It was the tequila, or maybe it was her place, but Harlan was making himself comfortable.

He caught Erika’s eye as his laughter slowed and she asked how she was. Something about the way that she did felt pointed like there was something she knew that she was trying to get out of him. Harlan wracked his brain for the latest stories out about him, anything he would need to refute or explain. For a moment he looked puzzled.

“Well aside from the fact that I just found out I’m going to be an uncle again— shit, godfather,” Harlan began. “Fucking tired,” He was drunk and feeling honest, and he didn’t mean tired in the present sense. “Griffins, English team kicking off,” He shrugged. Champagne problems indeed, and he almost hated himself for admitting them. He had nearly gotten everything he ever wanted so he had no room to complain. "Why'd you say it like that?" He asked. "Like you know something..." His gaze narrowed on her suspiciously, grinning.