Chiller (harry styles)

39: Dreamers Lie Awake

A bright fire sparkles by the hearth. The polished dining table, made of pure oak, is adorned for a feast. But only us two seat at the massive table. The crystal glasses are empty, but the bottle of something smelly, dark and fancy has must had the cork popped off of it by Harry, so I know whatever is inside he plans on giving to us both. Sweet pea tea lamps dangle from the tree trunk chandelier, fifty some candles lighting up the darkness, and the entire room is in silence. Or at least, that is how I see this wonder we're in. Harry leans across the king size table, and pours me a glass full of something dark.

"Champagne?" I cry.

Harry chuckles.

"Don't be afraid. It won't hurt you." He tells me.

I roll my eyes, happy he isn't looking at me while I do it.

"Don't roll your eyes at me." He commands. "It's just red wine. Fine Chianti."

I sigh deeply, blushing because I forgot the color of the drink my father has many of times celebrated with, but don't worry about how in the world he saw that rude gesture. Only he could lure me in with a fancy name and a care free attitude.

"Like that's any better." I mumble to myself.

The table cloth is a brilliant sash of white lace, intricate blue flowers, and gems the size of small stones. It looks like something that a royal family would have spread across their daughter's tea table. And none of it is sewn in or painted. It's all very real. My breathe puffs out with the beauty.

"So who created this?" I ask, gesturing around us.

My question is ignored for the moment, and I accept that. I know how Harry can be sometimes by now. It won't be ignored forever.
A golden tray splattered with specks of silver sets in between us. On it are fruit cream cups, delicate scones, and mini cherry pies. Harry places cucumber sandwiches on a saucer in front of me, scoops a mound of cream and fruit beside it, and adds a little more of the crazy drink into my glass.

I look to him, astounded.

Who drinks wine with delicacy goods? I sigh. Harry is anything but elegant.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I snort.

Harry shrugs, his eyes gleaming with pure playfulness.

"That depends. Are you more fun that way?" He asks me, amused.

The rocking chairs we are sitting have been weaved and twisted from the limbs of trees. When I scoot is closer it sounds like bark being dragged against something hard and rough.

I lean closer to Harry. The tray scoots up to his chest with my movement.

"You'll never know." I taunt, but from the look he gives me he either sees a challenge in my words or senses a promise in my eyes.

Either way no good can come from this. I giggle when he pokes my nose.

"Like I've said before, baby, you're cute when you're...well, you're always cute. Forget that." He amends.

I look away and sit back in my chair, attempting to hide my reddening cheeks.

"I can't wait until it is just you and I. Until all this is over. I can't wait until you can remember how we really met." He tells me.

"Me, either." I say, my brows feeling as though they are twitching.

Harry takes a bite of a mini pie, and stares up the chandelier, as if he is waiting for it to do something miraculous.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" He asks after a moment.

My heart begins beating faster. I don't know what is referring to.