ASSUMPTIONS [H.S.]

chapter 9

A/N
I apologize in advance if you haven't watched "Friends", as you might not understand a few things they're talking about. It's nothing that important, though.

ly

***

Harry Styles

"C'mon, just pick one," I whine, standing in front of a row of restaurants, Amber a bit ahead of me, scanning over the designs of them, her chestnut curls and the leather backpack with yellow daffodils sticking out only in my sight.

We were getting cold and decided to go to a cafe to get a warm drink or something. Since it was getting really crowded and chilly in the Street Food place, we just walked to find an enclosed space to relax.

"Alright, let's go to this one," she points in the direction of a strange cafe with a shoe molded on the wall of the eatery. Needless to say, it would be the last place I'd ever go to.

As we walk inside, we get met with pink and yellow walls contrasting with green plants hanging from them. Bold.

We get sat next to a circular wooden table with weird clay figurines holding napkins, salt and pepper laying on it. I see Amber's eyes light up at the sight of this eerie place. Does she actually like it?

I get brought out of my observation when a waiter on roller skates delivers us the menus with hats sketched on the cover of them, before strolling away.

Amber looks down at the menu, not even turning pages to the expensive side of it. She knows I'm paying for the meal, yet she doesn't even look in the direction of the high-priced stuff.

The cafe's lights reflect on her skin, giving it a golden glow and making her eyes look much brighter than what they usually are. She lifts her small hand and tucks a few fallen chocolate curls behind her ear, then scrunches up her eyebrows and rests her pinkie's nail between her teeth, as I see her contemplating about what to eat.

My eyes follow the curve of her cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the shape of her eyes, the crease between her drawn-together brows, the blush on the tip of her nose from the cold, the shape of her plump, heart-shaped lips, the curl of her eyelashes, and the frizz on her hair from the humidity outside.

She's pretty. Very pretty, actually.

She lifts her head and scrunches up her brows even more, now that she sees I haven't even taken a look at the menu.

"I don't want anything to eat, do you?" I connect my eyes with hers, hoping she didn't catch me staring.

"Nah, I think I'm just going to get tea." She closes the menu, placing it on top of mine, then looks around the place, as the crease between her eyebrows is no longer present.

"You know, in London, they don't serve tea to Americans," I make up some dumb story to see what else she would drink, if not tea.

I don't think I've ever seen her drink coffee or something.

"You're kidding," she states, but narrows her eyes suspiciously. I honestly thought she wouldn't believe me instantly.

This could be fun.

"Go ahead, and see for yourself," I give her the benefit of doubt, motioning my arms at the oncoming waiter strolling his way to our table.