The younger, more attractive iteration of Henry, was awful. Fourteen long years, to be precise, waiting for the man of your dreams, only to be disappointed by this... well, his younger self. Not that young, but certainly the youngest version of him you've ever encountered.

Everything seemed to be going swimmingly on your date; he even brought you flowers. The fool brought you flowers, something he had never—not even in his other iterations, thought to do, although, of course, he couldn't. After all, Henry couldn't transport items through his time travels; it was one of the many rules. The problem was, it had all seemed too good to be true, and indeed it was, because he had messed up.

He had a girlfriend. A bloody girlfriend whom he hadn't mentioned to you all evening, not even when he kissed you.

"Jesus Christ, do you realise how ridiculous that sounds?" he retorted to your litany of complaints, running a hand over his face. "Oh, because it's perfectly normal for a girl to show up at your workplace and say 'hi, excuse me, I'm your wife from in the future,' I mean, what the fuck?"

The moment he sees you about to leave, he quickly steps in front of you. He doesn't want you to go, after all; you're his future wife! He still has a lot to digest.

"Listen, I'm sorry," he apologises, sounding both embarrassed and flustered. "I didn't mean it like that, but a wife? God, I can barely keep myself alive," he sighs, reflecting on you and how good he felt earlier when you were talking. "And what's wrong with me? Do I need to get hit by a bloody truck to stop being such an asshole?" he quips, attempting to bring a smile to your face.