Show Me 2 - Remember Me (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter Seven - Radio

Author's Note ~ So guys! These notes are going to become a regular thing by the way. You know how I name every chapter after songs? Want to give me requests for what you think fits the plot, Hali's relationship or Jali's relationship? Cause that would be awesome. (: thank you to all readers, you guys are awesome! Send me requests on Instagram or Kik - both with the username 1d_showme and which one I choose I'll give you a shoutout in the chapter! Thanks! xx

Now my life is sweet like cinnamon,

Like a fucking dream I'm living in,

Baby, love me cause I'm playing on the radio.

How do you like me now?

- "Radio", Lana Del Rey

....

It was dark outside, people wandering up and down the busy streets, gazing into lit up windows. Harry walked closely beside me, his hand on my lower back. I was getting slightly uncomfortable with his touch, but I knew I would instantly get lost in this packed crowd without Harry's help.

"I'm trying to remember that costume I saw the other day." Harry frowned. "Was it next to the Chinese joint...?"

At the mention of any kind of food, my stomach let out a loud, unattractive growl. Harry looked at me, lifting a brow.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"No," I tried to say, but a second roil of my empty belly had a different idea. He laughed, taking my hand.

"Let's get you food, angel."

"Call me Ali," I said quickly. He didn't respond, leading me down the busy street. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, passing by many other diners.

"Harry, where are we going?"

"To feed you."

"But don't you see the other restaurants here?"

"Yeah, obviously," he said, with a typical eye roll. "But this place is my favorite."

He abruptly stopped in front of large, dark double doors. Through the tinted windows, I saw couples chatting over romantically candle-lit tables with lavish dishes in front of them. I stiffened.

This looked like a date.

I was overcome with the mixed perfume of oregano, tomato sauce, and garlic wafting out of the front doors when Harry pushed it opened.

A host with thick, black hair heavily greased off his face was standing behind a small podium. He smiled warmly, and said something to Harry in what sounded like Italian.

Harry nodded, and murmured back to him.

In Italian.

Harry and the host were talking as casually as old friends, in fluent Italian. That's what got me. It was impossible to ignore how ridiculously attractive Harry's slow, deep, raspy voice pronounced Italian words.

Harry really did look good in that kelly green sweater and his trademark dark skinny jeans. His cheek and lips were pinker than usual from the outside chill. His hair was still in its usual curly state, but swept off his face on all sides and combed back slightly. When did he start doing that?

I realized I had been checking Harry out for two whole minutes, and I snapped my eyes away. Whatever.

The host glanced over at me, and continued to speak to Harry. I'd never felt so excluded out of a conversation in my life.

Harry smirked, and said a couple of words back. They both broke out laughing.

Excuse me?

"I hope you...and Harry...uh, good dinner." The host beamed at me. I smiled blandly back, but he really shouldn't greet customers in a restaurant when he couldn't speak clear English.