Art | Harry Styles

32

"I like your hat."

Harry looks up from his menu, his face breaking out into a grin. A dark fedora is placed neatly upon his curls, framing his face beautifully, and his sunglasses he'd been wearing as they entered the restaurant have been set down on the table between them. His phone lays flat on the surface, as well, and each time Harry moves, a little more of his smooth chest is exposed, his inkings peeking through the sheer, dotted fabric.

"Shut up."

"Can't I make a statement about how good my boyfriend looks?" she asks, jokingly cocking her eyebrow, resting her chin in her hand.

"My correct title," Harry intercepts, a playfully smug grin on his lips.

Sophie continues, "And how dates like these remind me of how lucky I am?"

"Cheesy," he murmurs, but his arm stretches outwards, his hand reaching for Sophie's across the table before he brightly declares all of a sudden, "oh, speaking of - I fancy something cheesy."

His thumb runs smoothly over her knuckle, as he quietly hums to Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac - something that he's been singing since he woke up this morning.

Anne, Gemma and Harry's aunt had left for home just over twenty four hours or so ago, and it's safe to say Harry already misses them a lot. Having his family so close by, he realises, is something he took advantage of for many years, and now he misses them greatly. But - he's pulling through. This new sense of independence - such a sense enabling him to establish what he has with the girl sitting across from him.

"You look really glowy in the light, right now," Harry sets his menu down in front of him, feeling Sophie's hand squeeze his, "pretty girl."

"Coming from the man who practically has a built-in highlighter? I feel oddly validated," she grins over at Harry, catching his green irises scanning her face. She has a point - Harry always seems to radiate something angelic - light always reflecting perfectly off his cheekbones.

"I'm so hungry," Harry near whines, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table, "are we sharing?"

"We can," Sophie glances back down at the menu, "depends how hungry you actually are."

"If that's the deciding factor, then I vote we get two of everything and permit me stealing bits of yours," he returns, biting back a grin as Sophie seems to be getting the short end of the stick, and he feels obliged to add a, "C'mon - you know I'd let you steal mine, baby."

They order their food, and Harry makes awful jokes about anything that catches his eye, his silly tone causing Sophie to roll her eyes.

"It's so hot," Harry bites his lip, "why is it so hot?"

"Global warming," Sophie tells him, "very real shit."

"And you know why it's happening?"

"Because people are shit?"

"Yes, and," he continues, "we let men run everything. What good ever comes from that?"

"Valid point," Sophie leans over the table to brush a loose eyelash from Harry's cheek, before settling back in her chair, his ring clad fingers tracing over her own.

"Extremely," Harry responds, "and don't even get me started on abortion la-"

"The Caesar salad?" A voice breaks through their conversation, interrupting Harry's inevitable rant, and the waiter sets down their food.