Night Out / h.s

Chapter Five

"So tell me, why do people in America say 'pants' instead of 'underpants'? It's idiotic if I do say so myself." Harry rambled on.

He sat on the lavender couch, while I sat on the other end. His hair was ruffled, while as well as his white shirt, from laying on the couch. The grip on his mug didn't loosen, as he concentrated on the subject. Crossing my legs, I answered.

"Because Harry, pants are what you wear, and underpants are as y'all say it 'knickers'. Underpants are meant to be under your pants, so therefore you have pants. Americans are the normal people here."

"I beg to differ, you would rather drink coffee than tea. Now that is disguisting." He scrunched his nose.

"Coffee is our savor. Without it we would all be nothing." I mentioned, grabbing the blanket and placing it over. "Especially when it has French vanilla creamer."

"French vanilla?" He questioned, "that must be disguisting."

"You must be disguisting."

"Excuse you, I think I'm a rather likeable person when you get to meet me. I'm like hot pizza, at first it weird because you about burned your tounge, but then when you finally taste me, I'm amazing."

"Ew. That sounds horrifying, don't repeat it." His eyes shot wide when he finally noticed what he said.

"I never meant it like that, I swear."

"I know, I was kidding. I don't think you're the womanizer everyone lables you to be. There's more to you than that, I'm sure." I uttered, leaning more towards the couch.

Harry's luxirant verdant eyes, searched my tediant eyes, he didn't speak; no words escaped his patel lips. I couldn't bear the thought of, why this comment took a toll on him? Nevertheless, what was going through that cryptic mind he possesed. Slightly, a beckon of guiltiness aroused me; maybe I was the first to even consider him being a womanizer...My gaze falling to my lap, I attempted to muster up a coherent sentence, I couldn't, not when his glazy eyes were on me.

"You know," Harry spoke up, my eyes meeting his. "You are the first to think likewise, even my lads lable me as: they eye-candy of the band, womanizer, player. It's not hard to decipher what they're thinking everytime the paparrazi make scams. Selena, your the first person who has not held me under prejudice." He came closer to me, grabbing my hands in his, instantly warming up. His eyes bored into mine, as he muttered a shaky 'thank you'. Leaning back on the sofa next to me, Harry smiled.

"I want to get to know you better Sel-bear?" He chuckeld at his own nickname.

"Haha very funny har-bear." His pearly whites reappeared, as did mine.

"Let's play twenty questions, I don't think you're as innocent as you look."

"Try me."I smirked, ready for the game.

"What is your full name?" He asked.

"Selena Marie Gomez." I stated.

"Favorite color?"

"Don't have one." He shot me a puzzled look, before asking.

"How can you not have a favorite color?"

"The question here, Harry, is not 'how' I don't have a favorite color, but rather why I don't inherit one." Harry glanced at me, curiosity building in his eyes. "See, ever since I was a child, the rainbow never truly fascinated me, it never caught my attention; although the meanings, and mixtures did catch my attention. Every color is, and was, a feeling. Not everyone could decipher the meaning, yet it's never the same for the same individual." I concluded my speech. It was a petite while, until Harry spoke up again.