Tell Me The Truth -H.S. AU

21

Harry and I are sitting across from each other in a booth at this little diner on the edge of town. He's about halfway done with the huge omelet he ordered and I'm still working on my Belgian waffle topped with strawberries. Sometime during the course of our breakfast, my legs ended up on his side, my ankles crossed and resting on his knee underneath the table.

"You've been awfully quiet." I mumble across the table to him, taking another bite of my waffle.

He hasn't really said much since we left the house, and I have a feeling it has something to do with whatever upset him this morning.

"I figured you'd enjoy not hearing my voice for awhile. Have some peace and quiet." Harry jokes. He sets his fork down on his plate and his hand falls to rest on my leg.

"Shut up." I roll my eyes at him and he smiles at me, rubbing his thumb back and forth over my jeans.

I stab a strawberry with my fork and hold it out to him, watching his mouth as he sticks his tongue out first before closing his lips around the fork to pull the fruit off. I smirk at him and his dimples pop in his cheeks as he chews.

I have a number of questions rolling around in my head, but I can't find the courage to ask any of them. I set my fork down and pick at the polish on my thumb, avoiding eye contact with Harry again.

"Ask me." He mutters from the other side of the table and I swing my head up to look at him.

"Huh?"

"I can practically see the wheels turning in that head of yours. Whatever you're thinking, just ask me."

I look back and forth between his eyes, trying to narrow down which question I want to go with. A soft smile sits on his lips as he watches me, patiently waiting for my question, his hand drawing circles on my leg still.

"Why did you come back upset this morning?" I ask timidly, and his shoulders stiffen for a moment before relaxing again.

"I wasn't upset."

"Harry." I level my eyes at him, challenging his response. "You don't have to tell me, okay? But I know something was bothering you."

"Can I ask you a question?" He responds and I throw my head back against the upholstered seat, annoyed at the way he's avoiding the topic.

"I recall someone once telling me that I can't answer a question with a question." I quote him from one of the first days we knew each other. "That's not how a conversation works." I mock his accent, mimicking him and he laughs loudly.

"Is that what I sound like?"

"That's another question!"

"Okay, okay." He leans forward toward me, his hand running up to my knee underneath the table. "Can I ask you a question before I answer yours?"

"Fine." I roll my eyes at him and cross my arms over my chest, waiting.

"What are we doing, Vi?" His fingers migrate in between my thighs that are pressed together and he squeezes just a little, causing me to jump. "I can't keep my fucking hands off of you."

"You say that like it's a problem." I mutter, slightly breathless from, once again, the swift change in atmosphere between us.

"It is a problem when all I can think about is bending you over this table." He whispers lowly. I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand at the visual playing in my head and he grins wickedly at me. "You didn't answer my question, Vi."

"What was it again?"

"What are we doing?" He chuckles reiterating his question, and removes his hand from between my legs. "I know we crossed a line last night, but I don't want to keep crossing it if you aren't comfortable with that."