To put it mildly, Norm is nervous.

To put it as it really is, Norm is ice-cold-butterflies-in-the-stomach afraid, trying not to break and run.

It's been a while since he's been out with a girl - one he likes, at any rate. Earlier today, he let himself believe that this might turn out well, that today might just not end with a 'Let's just be friends'.
Now, however, he knows that this is certain doom that he is walking towards.
(Actually, he's walking towards the dorms at Keaton, not doom. And his level of anxiety really doesn't match the situation. They're just going out for coffee, for goodness' sakes.)

She dated in high school, she dated a boy at her last school. She isn't a complete novice at these things. She wasn't exactly picky before - she'd just been trying to get her family off her back and pass the time, and the fact that she picked social rejects was a side effect of being one herself.

In her time in Bayfield, Sam's changed a lot, and one part of that is that her naturally high standards have been given free reign. Norm meets and more than meets them.

Her brother said to her, upon being informed that it was his job to tell their family about it, that 'wow, lucky; you found someone acceptable and tolerable? what did you do, elven mind control?'

She smacked him in the head, and informed him shortly that elves could not do mind control. They did illusions.

He looked at her funny, and she glared right back.

And now here she is, in a low-cut purple blouse and brown linen skirt and gold jewelry. She raided the stuff she bought with Jetta - normally showing more skin than she'd like, but in this case - well, it is a date, isn't it?

She is messing with mascara. Red hair makes for horribly colored eyelashes.

Norm is waiting awkwardly by the door when she arrives - they wouldn't let him in any further, what with his not being a student. He's been looking at the floor, mostly, and looking up whenever he hears anyone approaching. And suddenly, here's Sam.

"...Hey."
Up to this point, his mind has been a flurry of barely-connected bits of panic. Now, it all goes silent.
"You look... really nice."
And the flurry starts up again, only now it consists of repetitions of, You couldn't think of anything better to say? You idiot!

She smiled, the expression feeling strained, painted onto her skin, tenseness making the smile tighter than a perfectly relaxed, casual girl would sport. But she smiled, because it was cute. He was cute.

Just in general.

She exhaled sharply, because she stretched the moment too far there.

"Yeah. Thanks. You too." She spoke breathily, each phrase distinct, struggling for poise.

She'd always been terrible at poise.

Norm gives a small, awkward shrug, smirks, and runs a hand through his hair (which had been oh-so-carefully neat until this moment).

"Uh...thanks." He spent a lot of time on his appearance, for a guy getting ready for a date. Unfortunately, it's very hard to tell. "I, uh,..."
He gestures to the door.
"Shall we?"

She nodded quickly, and boldly reached over to take his hand. Her touch was tentative, a brush of cool painted fingernails against the back of his hand.

Then she chanced to glance at his face, to see if he cared, to see if he approved, to see if he thought it was a terrible idea.

She was trying to figure out where the perameters of the relationship fell now, and one of the basics that she knew was hand holding.

He just smiles, in what could easily be classified as a sillly way, and grips her hand tightly.
...Or maybe not so tightly. He doesn't want to hurt her, after all.

Norm pulls the door open with one hand, and nods for her to go ahead - after you, Sam.

Wasn't he the gentleman, then? It made her smile as she took him up on the offer. She did like that sort of courtesy, old-fashioned and sweet. It was quite rare, after all, and the rare was to be cherished.

Yes, that was exactly the right word. She wanted to cherish him.

"We're going to the Bean, right?"

It was their normal coffee place, after all, and she had a distinct fondness for it. They'd gone out there before, but this time was different. This time was special. This time, they were going to talk about whether they wanted to have a relationship.

Relationships were nice.

"Yeah." He gives a quick little nod. "That's the place."

They serve good coffee, and it's not your average rush-hour frozen-pastry shop. It's the kind of place you expect to find authors in, working on novels. Norm isn't thinking too much about that at the moment, though. The flurry of thought has died down to reiterations of 'Sam is pretty', plus a touch of possessive pride.
She is pretty, and also his.
Not in an insane, jealous way. More of an, 'I get to be the guy holding her hand' way.

"You want to drive?"

She was immune to the cold, but she could tell that it was cold. She could feel it, it just didn't bother her. It was something she'd taken for granted, but the species thing explained it neatly.

Her car had a heater. It was convinient that way.

"Oh, uh... I don't know." Another shrug. "Or we could walk. Whatever you want."

Norm's not the sort to pretend he's unaffected by the cold, and go out in a t-shirt in, say, January. If it's cold out, he's going to be prepared for it - as he is now, with coat and scarf and gloves.

She made a faint clucking sound as she considered the choice. It was a thoughtful habit of hers.

"I think I'd like to drive."

Warmth, privacy and speed. There really wasn't any downside at all.

"Except... there'll probably be parking, right?"

It was most pondersome.

"There ought to be." He glances up at the sky. "At this time of day, anyway."

He remembers quite well the hassles of finding a parking space at certain times. On some occasions, he could spend an hour circling a parking garage trying to find a free space.

"Yeah, especially in this weather."

Since they were decided, she pulled gently right, for that was their detour. Her car was parked over this way.

Holding hands was lovely. Physical connection was so very rare for her that it was very daring to touch, let alone a touch that held intimate connotations.

And not only that but she could also lead him around without having to explain which way she was going!

In short, it was heaven.

"Okay, so long as you don't mind."

Norm is perfectly content with her leading him by the hand. Every moment, he's more conscious of the touch - anything more intimate than hand-holding might conceivably shatter his currently fragile nerves.

"God, no."

Why would she mind driving?

"Alright."

She might... not like traffic? He really doesn't know. He's just trying to avoid any kind of inconvenience.

Her car is just around the corner, tucked into the parking for the dorm. The car is small but clean, with no clutter in the backseat and almost nothing personal at all to customize it. There is a plaid wool blanket folded neatly across the back, however, the only sign someone owns it at all.

Sad to say, she has to let go on his hand to get in.

Sam wears her seatbelt. It is the rule.

Norm fits himself in, and very carefully adjusts his seatbelt.
It's not that he doesn't have faith in Sam's driving abilities. It's just that there's not much he can do if they end up meeting a terrible driver, and there seem to be a lot of those about.

...And that's his scary thought for the day.
One car crash in a lifetime was enough for him, thanks.

...Oh, an awkward silence. How unusual.

Shocking, really.

The car turns on, and pulls out of the lot. She used to get lost all the time driving around campus, but these days she can find the right exit in her sleep.

"My brother wants to know if you're insane," she says, keeping her eyes on the road.

Being able to multitask and not look at him made that easier to say.

"Really," Norm replies dryly, pretending to be amused. "That depends on his criteria for insanity, I guess."

If Sam's brother thinks him insane for dating her, then he'll gladly remain insane.
(On a more serious note, he's crazy in small ways, mostly, but not dangerous. Honest.)

"Yeah, I guess," she agrees. "I'm not sure whether he meant it in a bad way or if it was some sort of protective older brother thing."

She is skeptical of Ant protecting anyone or anything.

"I'll assume it's the second one."
He doesn't even know Sam's brother, so of course it has to be a protective brotherly thing.
"It's what I'd expect."

"Where are you living these days again?"

It's a bit of a subject change.

Saying 'my brother wants to come over and threaten you with bodily harm' would be a bit strange, though, so she doesn't want to say that. Sam doesn't want to be strange.

"Hm? Oh. Uh-"
He rattles off the address.
"It's that one old house, sort of on the outskirts The haunted-looking one."

"Haunted-looking?"

Isn't it actually haunted?

"Well, it is haunted, actually."
He shrugs a shoulder. Nick haunts the place, in a manner of speaking. Norm thinks of him as a sort of roommate, though.
"But it looks it, too. It's an old house... it needs work."

"You said...."

She trails off because she's parking the car. The Bean isn't all that far from Keaton.

"Mm? What?"

He doesn't want to distract her, but really. What?
...Maybe she thought that he'd been kidding about living in a haunted house, when he told her before?

"You said that before, I mean."

She remembers. This signifies her rememberance.

She hates parallel parking with a passion, as a side note. She turns the car off with what comes close to a sigh of relief.

"Oh. Did I?"

Pause.

"Oh, yeah. I did. Oops."

She chuckles.

"You forgot?"

She didn't. And her memory isn't even all that good - times with him just stand out.

"Heh. Yeah. 'Fraid so."

His memory is a bit glitchy at the moment.
He's a bit too concerned with the present to be very occupied with the past.

And now, they get out of the car and go inside.

She is not going to take his hand again. Public displays of affection are - public.

Inside is warm. Inside, they can order drinks.

And talk.

And talk.

"What do you feel like?"

Norm is, of course, talking about drinks. He nods to the menu on the wall behind the counter. (He'll be paying. It's a date, which means he is taking her out, which means he pays for the drinks.
Really, it's only fair.)

"Mmmm... cocoa, I think."

They went out for coffee, but she's cutting down on caffeine, and chocolate really does solve everything.

She likes cocoa.

"Cocoa it is," Norm nods, and edges forwards to order not one, but two cups of cocoa.
He'll have what she's having, please and thanks.
Also, he doesn't need anything with caffeine, because he's jittery enough as it is. He's been keeping it all in, mostly. Caffeine would end in its being physically manifested which would...well, it would be bad, and it would make things very awkward.

Sam, in the meantime, claims for them a little table in the corner, by the window. She takes the seat facing the window.

She wants to be able to watch the street. It'll give her something to do with her eyes if she can't comfortably look Norman in the eyes.

Which is very likely. Honestly.

Norm arrives with their cocoa eventually, and places hers carefully in front of her on the table before taking his seat.

"It's really hot," he warns, smirking. "Careful."

"I'm always careful, Norman."

Except when it comes to caffeine intake. And wandering around after dark.

The list goes on, but I don't feel like listing.

She thinks she's always careful.