Passion || h.s.

Chapter 9

"What do you want me to say?" I asked him. He shrugged his shoulders, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I don't want you to say anything you don't mean," he answered, turning the corner up a lite up street. There wasn't anything on the street except for a tiny diner, the lights flickering. It was painted white on the outside, and there was no sign out front, except for a glowing OPEN sign. There was one visible worker inside, and from where I was, it almost looked like she was asleep.

"Where are we?" I asked him, tilting my head to the side.

"A diner," Harry simply said, as if it were no big deal that we were at a diner at four in the morning.

"Why?" I asked him. We could have been to any other diner, anywhere else in the world actually, and we were here.

"You'll understand," he told me, smiling to himself as he parked directly in the front. I opened my door, walking around to Harrys' and opened his. His eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. "I was supposed to do that."

"Yeah well, everything seems a bit weird tonight doesn't it?"

He nodded thoughtful, opening the door for me. I instantly smelt french toast and hash browns. It was fresh, and it smelled amazing. They seats were tiny booths that lined the windows, but in the middle, there were tables scattered around. "Where do you want to sit?" He asked me. I pointed to the booth farthest from the door. The worker came over, carrying two menus. When she saw me pointing to the booth, she led us there, seating us quietly.

"Thanks Sandy," Harry cheerfully said. Sandy smiled without any emotion, obviously upset that she had to be at work so early. "Get us the french toast." He looked up at me. "And some hash browns." He gathered the two menus she handed us, giving them back and she left us.

"How did you know-"

"Lucky guess?" He shrugged his shoulders, leaning back as he stared at me. His eyes intently gazed upon me, taking me in like I was impossible to look away from. His eyes, how amazingly beautiful they were. I dreamed of those eyes before I woke up to them next to me, and even though I was upset that my sleep was interrupted by the confusing boy, the electric shots I felt when Harry looked at me were worth anything.

"I don't know much about you," I commented, leaning back to mimic him.

"I'm british," he remarked, smiling.

"When do I get to know what's behind those eyes Styles?"

"When I know you trust me."

"Why does it matter if I trust you?" He didn't answer me, just looked away.

"When you learn about me, you'll find things that you may not like."

"Same for me, so it looks like we're on the same boat. But I'm willing to tell you everything, because I trust you." The words came out so effortlessly, like they were waiting to be heard. Harrys' joy from the words showed when he flashed me a smile, his eyes lighting up. Our food arrived, being set down in front of us, steam rising high. It looked mouth watering.

We ate in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I couldn't help but get the weirdest sense that I had done all of this before, that I had sat here and ate this food.

"Do you ever feel like there is something you needed to remember, but you can't?" I asked him inbetween bites. Harry dropped his fork, freezing instantly. "Are you okay?" I asked him.

"Fine. Yeah, I've felt that way before," he replied, not looking at me. I shrugged him off, continuing to ask him question.

"How many tattoos do you have?" He had dark ink that cover his biceps, and I was sure he had some on his stomach. They were intertwined together, dancing across his skin in beautiful waves and vines. There was a cross that rested on his hand, and a date on his arm in roman numerals. I didn't know how to read roman numerals, but I figured it must have been an important day.