RED ROOM [H.S]

21.

Once he turned the engine off, he turned to give me a stern look, and for once, I saw how tired he looked. "No funny-"

"Yeah yeah, no funny business or you'll shoot me," I said, waving my hand around as I unclipped my seatbelt. I was just happy I was getting food. "I know the drill, let's go."

This time, it was Harry who followed me into the restaurant. I'm sure we looked like the strangest pair. I was makeup free and probably looked like the walking dead with my messy bun and sweats, where Harry looked like some foreign God, with his tight black shirt and skinny jeans that looked like they were painted onto his body. He wore a scowl on his face as we walked in, not even greeting the chipper young girl who took us to our table.

"This place looks filthy," he murmured as he scanned the menu.

I rolled my eyes at him, my mouth practically watering at all the options. This place was far from filthy. It had an old school vibe to it. It was cluttered with nicks and nacks of the 80's, dark wood and worn out tables. It wasn't filthy, it just was a tad bit outdated.

"You have a thing for germs," I said as the waitress came over to take out order.

She barley looked at Harry, and I'm sure it was due to the intimidating stare he had on his face as he told her his order. She left as quickly as possible, forgetting to get out drinks. I didn't mind though, if I was her, I would of sprinted away from us too.

"I don't have a thing for germs," he said with a frown. "I don't like them."

I couldn't hold in my snort. "That's what I meant. That you- you know what? Forgot it," I said with a laugh.

Harry shook his head at me, crossing his arms. "How is it what you meant when you said I had a thing for them. If I had a thing for them, it would mean I liked them."

And now we were having a disagreement about germs, wow.

"It's just an expression, I was like, teasing you." I shook my head. "You foreigners don't understand our sense of humor."

He pursed his lips in thought. "I feel like that's very rude."

"That's not-,"

"Here's your food!" The girl practically shouted. She placed down my sandwich down along with Harry's steak before zipping away.

"That was fast," I said dumbfounded as I looked down at my sandwich.

"That's because places like this take them out frozen and reheat it," he grunted, reaching for the knife and fork from the middle of the table. He analyzed them for a second before wiping them on his shirt with a sigh. "This is gross."

I shrugged at him, too hungry to really care. I ate the sandwich in four whole bits and sighed happily when I had finished. "Place makes a mean sandwich."

"Weird adjective to use for a sandwich."

"And what would you call it then?" I asked, leaning back on my chair.

I had to say I was admiring the way he he looked like he was in genuine thought as he chewed. In my mind, I pretended that we were two normal people getting something to eat. That we genuinely liked each other to want to spend time in each other's presence.

"Ace," he finally answered. He placed his knife and fork over each other before copying my posture. He leaned against his chair and crossed his arms, showing off his biceps and his beautiful ink. "I'd say that the steak they made was ace. Not mean. That's a negative way to describe something that you liked. It's weird. Americans are weird."