Peach // H.S.

Ten.

✣ ✣ ✣

"Pancakes or waffles?"

Harry's deep voice cutting through the silence between the two of you causes you to fix your slouching in the red puffy diner booth. You know it's bad for you, but it's a habit that seems too familiar to lose. It's a lot like gnawing on your nails after a fresh manicure; it took a while, but you're finally over that one. At this point, you've been staring at the paper menu for at least ten minutes now, probably concerning Harry with how quiet you've been. It's not like there's anything that important on your mind, it's just that it's still early and you received little to no sleep last night all because of him.

No complaints, though. Wasn't it worth it in the end?

"Pancakes."

"Hm. I'm more of a waffles kind of man myself. You like oatmeal?"

"Blegh, no! Please don't tell me that you do. It's the texture, or something. It reminds me of chewed-up food. Sorry if that ruins it for you, I've just got to be honest about it."

Harry's shaking his head as he's chuckling at your response, letting it drop slightly before glancing up at you with a look that clearly is saying 'really?'. He can't judge you too much, your 17-year-old palette isn't refined enough yet for oatmeal, apparently. Maybe it's reserved for people over 50.

"Okay, fair enough. Won't attack you for that, opinions are opinions for a reason. You ready to order, though? 'Cause I know I am."

You nod, although it's honestly a lie. It probably is better to fib because Harry's almost praising God in his seat, obviously thankful that he's finally able to order his buffet-like breakfast. Truthfully, you're just as hungry. Turns out the saying is a little true, at this point, you are hungry enough to eat a horse!

The waitress is strolling over, fiery-red curls pulled back into a tight ponytail secured with a matching red silk ribbon. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume she was a fill-in for Lucille Ball on I Love Lucy.

Oh, how you miss that show! You and Tawny were always around for a new episode, canceling any other plans just to make sure you were around for it. They canceled it two years back, and you're clearly still not over it.

She's not really an older woman, more like middle-aged, with a maternal look to her. The name tag adorned on her apron is scuffed along the sides and corners, giving insight as to how long she's been working there — or how hard she's worked during her time, and a harsh "DARLA" is written out across it in chicken scratch. It seems oddly fitting, and you're not thinking that in a rude way whatsoever! Other than the beaten name tag, she's very well put together, her lipstick being the neatest you've ever seen on anyone! You'll have to ask her for some tips on it later, you're always looking for application help especially with such a harsh signature color as ruby red.

"Hi, Darla..."

Harry's squinting his eyes to read the print on her clothes, glancing back up to meet her gaze with a cheeky smile once he's greeted her.

"I'm Harry, pleasure to meet you! I'll get the signature Belgian waffles, extra fruit, and whipped cream, with some wheat toast and scrambled eggs. Oh, and, do you have turkey bacon? Good stuff. Mm, strawberry milkshake, too. Need it thick. Peach'll just have a knuckle sandwich, won't you, doll?"

God, how embarrassing.

Harry's hilarious, but you'll never admit it. It's taking everything in you not to giggle at his commentary in order to not egg him on, but you're starting to fear that soon it'll be unsuccessful. He's breaking down your walls a bit, and he can see that as well. Proud isn't a great enough word to describe how he feels, just wait until you're vocal on it and he'll show just how cocky he's feeling about it.