It was after careful consideration inside of Danny's old head that he realized, he must be making a mistake. Sitting outside in the dreadful cold while waiting for someone didn't exactly scream 'Oh, this is pretty friendly.' Much less for someone that was interested in the other. The cold didn't bother Danny, but rather what it stood for that cast deeper chills into his bones. Winter was here, well he wasn't sure if it was officially, but if you could die from the cold, then it was a clear sign that it was winter...or at least approaching. Why had been Danny been sitting out in the cold with the snow gently cascading on him? Waiting for the right person at the wrong time more than likely, yet even then that was only half of the truth. He was waiting for that right person (don't get any big ideas), Miseria, his new interest, yet the inner conflict that continued inside his head kept asking if it was the wrong time. Winter always bode harsh fruit for Danny, and he didn't like the idea of some jinx that has been following him ever since his school years continue to creep up on him to this day.
Whether it be fighting amongst supernatural friends, to fighting people after losing control at the Yule Ball, or just plain trying to hide his tracks after faking his death, winter always soured his mood...and it was clear to see in his expression. Which led back to his dilemma of 'should I wait 'til spring to talk to her once more' or 'this whole jinx idea is nonsense, ask her out already.' Truth was, the question was constant in his mind throughout the past several weeks, which made him feel horrible at the idea he hadn't even talked to Miseria in a while. From her point of view, it must've been confusing, if not slightly infuriating, that he would wait this long just to ask her out once more. He hoped she wouldn't be too sore about it, because he really couldn't offer a better explanation besides 'Well, I basically got the jitters as soon as I saw the first snowflake.' But despite his own personal grievances towards his personal curse, he decided now was the correct time.
Which leads him back to where he sits now, inside London next to some old pub, chilling his bones until they felt like they could snap with the slightest hug. Even with his winter time assemble of a heavy white jacket, black wool cap, soft woven mittens, black pants made to withstand severe cold, and some casual boots, he still felt like he could catch any chill that passed by. Even with the hood up on his face, his cheeks still felt like they were being stabbed by tiny daggers. Perhaps that was just nature's way of saying 'Feel my wrath!' because it sure felt like it. Hopefully, when he sent his message to Miseria, he didn't leave his location too vague...he didn't feel like catching a severe cold and having to go to St. Mungos. He'd probably laugh about it a few weeks ago, but ever since that whole sickness had come and gone, he didn't want to take any chances. As if writing his own last will and testament in his head, only one thought rang inside:
Miseria, get a god damn cell phone.