Luna and the Moon [H.S]

8: strangers > friends.

"What's your favourite colour?" I mentally cringed, maybe he'll think I'm a loser for thinking of such a boring, overused question.

He smiled amusedly and attempted to hide the little smirk tugging at his pink lips. "Blue," he replied.

"What kind of blue?" I jumped in, trying to redeem myself for my horrid first question. He frowned as he wondered about the answer, inside I was cheering myself on for being original.

"A misty kind of blue, like when it's foggy but still daylight, do you know what I mean?" He frowned, it seemed like he had a lovely vivid picture in his mind he just had no idea how to portray it out loud, but I understood what he meant. Like when you go to the beach and it's a little humid and foggy, the blue sky and sea looks murky and misty — it's almost a dull greyish off tone blue, I like it. "What's your favourite colour?"

"Lilac," I smiled.

"Yeah, what shade of lilac?" He smirked.

"Watercolour lilac, you know like when it's a really nice sunset and you have just a few specs of purple in it but it's just light purple. That kind of shade," I smiled proudly, knowing my words would've helped paint a pretty picture in his mind.

"Cute," he mumbled, eyes distancing themselves from me as he envisioned a purple sunset over a beach with misty blue water, both our favourite colours. "Do you read?"

"Kind of, it depends if I can get into the novel or not," I sighed, leaning back into the couch and folding my legs up to my chest. He nodded and I asked if he read or not.

"Oh yes, I love reading," his response surprised me, I'm not sure why but I had this thought that he would be more into watching Netflix and drinking from a bottle of cider with a few mates. I didn't picture him as potentially sitting at a riverbank or on a park bench reading some novel.

"What's your favourite novel?" I asked, resting my chin on my knees as I listened intently, genuinely interested in Harry's reading lists.

He chuckled awkwardly, almost embarrassed to talk about books with me, like it was deemed as dorky whereas I saw it as rather intellectual and cute. "I really like old classics, To Kill A Mockingbird maybe."

I nodded, I was given that story to read in high school, my second year of high school I think, but I never read it. I just googled the ending and wrote an essay on the novel based off what I heard from people in my class and the internet. I don't recommend doing that, I suffered with a C- on that work, not that I can complain I mean it was my own fault.

"Do you have any siblings?" I asked.

"Yeah, a big sister, her name's Gemma. She's a pain in my ass, but she's funny like me," he replied boosting his ego slightly.

"Sure you are," I teased, rolling my eyes and giggling. Earning a small gentle swat to my knees from the back of his hand. "I don't have any siblings, but I always wanted a brother."

"Really? Most girls say they want sisters. Why a brother?"

"I'd teach him to be respectful of women, how to treat his future wife, play football with him... I don't know just having a brother sounded like a nice idea," I shrugged casually.

"That's sweet. Do you like football?" He asked. I'm originally from America, but my family moved to England when I was four so I never really learned anything about American football. My father adored the English football, he found it so very interesting and he was easily amused by the fake over the top injuries the players pulled. That's why I was so into it.

"Oh yeah! My dad watched all the games, he supported Manchester," I explained, my smile widening as Harry full on grinned at this point.

"Really? Do you support Manchester too?" I nodded and he clapped his hands in excitement, reminding me of a young child. "That's where I'm from, I support Manchester too."