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"Pancakes or waffles?"
Harry's deep voice cutting through the silence between the two of you causes you to fix your slouching in the red puffy diner booth. You know it's bad for you, but it's a habit that seems too familiar to lose. It's a lot like gnawing on your nails after a fresh manicure; it took a while, but you're finally over that one. At this point, you've been staring at the paper menu for at least ten minutes now, probably concerning Harry with how quiet you've been. It's not like there's anything that important on your mind, it's just that it's still early and you received little to no sleep last night all because of him.
No complaints, though. Wasn't it worth it in the end?
"Pancakes."
"Hm. I'm more of a waffles kind of man myself. You like oatmeal?"
"Blegh, no! Please don't tell me that you do. It's the texture, or something. It reminds me of chewed-up food. Sorry if that ruins it for you, I've just got to be honest about it."
Harry's shaking his head as he's chuckling at your response, letting it drop slightly before glancing up at you with a look that clearly is saying 'really?'. He can't judge you too much, your 17-year-old palette isn't refined enough yet for oatmeal, apparently. Maybe it's reserved for people over 50.
"Okay, fair enough. Won't attack you for that, opinions are opinions for a reason. You ready to order, though? 'Cause I know I am."
You nod, although it's honestly a lie. It probably is better to fib because Harry's almost praising God in his seat, obviously thankful that he's finally able to order his buffet-like breakfast. Truthfully, you're just as hungry. Turns out the saying is a little true, at this point, you are hungry enough to eat a horse!
The waitress is strolling over, fiery-red curls pulled back into a tight ponytail secured with a matching red silk ribbon. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume she was a fill-in for Lucille Ball on I Love Lucy.
Oh, how you miss that show! You and Tawny were always around for a new episode, canceling any other plans just to make sure you were around for it. They canceled it two years back, and you're clearly still not over it.
She's not really an older woman, more like middle-aged, with a maternal look to her. The name tag adorned on her apron is scuffed along the sides and corners, giving insight as to how long she's been working there — or how hard she's worked during her time, and a harsh "DARLA" is written out across it in chicken scratch. It seems oddly fitting, and you're not thinking that in a rude way whatsoever! Other than the beaten name tag, she's very well put together, her lipstick being the neatest you've ever seen on anyone! You'll have to ask her for some tips on it later, you're always looking for application help especially with such a harsh signature color as ruby red.
"Hi, Darla..."
Harry's squinting his eyes to read the print on her clothes, glancing back up to meet her gaze with a cheeky smile once he's greeted her.
"I'm Harry, pleasure to meet you! I'll get the signature Belgian waffles, extra fruit, and whipped cream, with some wheat toast and scrambled eggs. Oh, and, do you have turkey bacon? Good stuff. Mm, strawberry milkshake, too. Need it thick. Peach'll just have a knuckle sandwich, won't you, doll?"
God, how embarrassing.
Harry's hilarious, but you'll never admit it. It's taking everything in you not to giggle at his commentary in order to not egg him on, but you're starting to fear that soon it'll be unsuccessful. He's breaking down your walls a bit, and he can see that as well. Proud isn't a great enough word to describe how he feels, just wait until you're vocal on it and he'll show just how cocky he's feeling about it.
"Harry, shush! I'm sorry about that, he's trouble, believe me. I'll do the strawberry pancakes, whipped cream too. You know, make it two strawberry milkshakes as well. It sounds really good."
Darla's nodding along to your order and scribbling along, clicking the pen a few times once she's reading it over in her head.
"You lovers good? Anything else?"
She mumbles, glancing between the two of you as she waits for some sort of nod or head shake.
"All good, darling Darla. Nice 'do, by the way. Natural?"
Darla scoffs at Harry's questioning, tossing a harmless wink instead of answering his pestering words. You offer her a grin, almost like an apologetic one, and she's turning on her heel to bring the paper off to the kitchen for them to whip up your breakfast.
"Wish I got an answer for that one, you ever think of going red, Peach? And, ah, look at this. Personal jukebox, whatcha wanna listen to? Need me some Chuck Berry, love the guy. You big on him? Or does your old man ban rock'n'roll in your household? Does your mother think it's the devil's music?"
"You've always got pressing questions, Harry. I feel like I always have to be on my feet with you. Never thought about going red, no. I like my brunette. I'll listen to whatever you want to listen to, Chuck Berry's fine with me. Why do you hate my parents? You've never met them! They're not hard asses, don't be so dramatic. They're just more... traditional, I guess? Maybe I'll bring them to one of your shows. I'm sure they'll love you, just don't roll your sleeves up."
You glance down to his heavily tatted arms, knowing damn well that your parents would ground you for life if they knew you were having anything with a tattooed boy, but it's one of your favorite things about Harry.
There's a lot to love about Harry. It hasn't been long, of course, but you know that you've gotta love everything about him. That's kind of how rockers are, though. Isn't the goal to have everyone love them?
His hair's the cutest. His curls are looser than yours, but it's not like it's a competition. You're sure that he'll make it one, that's just how he seems.
His eyes are the greenest. Not that eye color matters all that much, but aren't green eyes just wonderful? They pair well with your brown ones. Maybe you'll take him to the beach to fish through rocks and sea glass to find ones to match each other's irises. You'll do it soon, take a beach trip and maybe let Tawny and Alex tag along.
Sandy cuddles and kisses, the struggle to make a decent looking sandcastle, and wrestling in the water to try to knock the pigskin out from its place nestled by Harry's bicep are the only things you can think about now, and you're about ready to just ditch the breakfast idea and run off to the beach with him for the whole day.
You're still hungry, though, so it's not tempting enough.
"You're gorgeous."
"Hm?"
"I know you heard me, but I'll repeat it anyway even though I hate to sound like a broken record. You're just absolutely gorgeous! Think I've gotta tell you something I love about you each day. Guess I'll start with your nose. The cutest, I tell you! Just wanna kiss it."
Harry goes on, reaching over to fumble with the dials on the personal jukebox before he's finding anything by Chuck Berry. You figure that he's his rock hero, someone that Harry really looks up to as an influence.
"Peach?"
"Loverboy?"
"You wanna be my girl?"
The answer is obviously yes, but the moral part of it is just so conflicting. You'd rather him ask after meeting your parents, but that requires a full makeover and attitude classes before you're ready to introduce them. Or maybe it's better to start now, you're practically already dating, for God's sake.
Especially with what you've done together.
Harry's noticed your silence once again, and he's taking your hand in his with a light squeeze. You stare down at his rings, watching with your lip pulled in between your teeth, biting along it, as his thumb grazes over your knuckles.
"Don't think about it. Just answer."
A sigh is all you can muster up, giving a soft shrug before leaning your cheek against your shoulder while you remain in thought even though Harry's tempting you out of it.
"Can I get any response? Just use your words, Peach. You're killing me. You know how far gone I am for you. Just answer quick, right now. Yes or no? First one that comes to your head, go!"
"Yes!"
Harry's across the table as soon as the word comes out of your mouth, grabbing your face in his hands and yanking you into a loving kiss. You feel him smile against your lips, and you're trying your best to hold in your giggles but you're not successful with it. The two of you clack teeth, smiles hurting your cheeks, and the sounds of hard laughs and Chuck Berry's guitar riffs add even more to the moment.
Once you're pulled away for air, Darla's greeting the two of you once again with milkshakes, then with Harry's multiple-plate meal and your own breakfast as well. He's rubbing his hands together and licking his lips like a hungry dog, and of course, you're laughing your ass off at him like usual.
"Thank you, Darla! Give my compliments to the chef, would you? You really are spoiling us, you're too much!"
He's funny, yes, but he's also a kiss-ass.
Darla's gone once again, and you're immediately reaching for the maraschino cherry resting perfectly on the peak of your whipped cream that's piled unbelievably high on top of your drink.
"Betcha didn't know that I can tie this stem in my mouth."
"That's bogus. Show me, that sounds like a bunch of fiction to me!"
"I'm a bonafide cherry stem tier. If I tie it, you owe me a Coke."
"I don't owe you anything, sweet Peach. I'm buying you breakfast and I just gave you an orgasm. What more can you ask for? Sounding a bit ungrateful, tsk tsk. Little brat. You're a grown ankle-biter, not a 'bonafide cherry stem tier' or any of that crap."
He scoffs, dismissing your words with a shoo of his hand before he's leaning back into the squeaky leather of your seats with his arms crossed sternly over his chest. The pressure's on, now. If you mess this up he'll never let you live it down. You've done this for years, your grandfather taught you, actually, so why would you all of a sudden mess it all up now?
Watch him make it a competition. If you fail to tie it, he'll suddenly be a master at tying them. All because he's Harry, and Harry's naturally good at everything. You don't think that's too fair, but life isn't fair!
You're confident, but not cocky as you pop the stem in your mouth and wiggle your tongue around to bend and slip it through a little knot before you finally pull it out from your lips, tugging on the end of it with your teeth to secure the tiny loop you've made. You hold it up with pride, eyes shimmering with nothing but pure joy, but Harry's eyes are turning dark with what seems to be some sort of envy.
"Not fair! You made it tighter with your teeth. I'm into you, Miss Marisol. You're a fraud! A cheat, I say!"
"Grow up, Harry! You're just upset over the fact I'm actually good at something, so suck it up, buttercup! Bite the weenie!"
Who knew that he'd be such a baby over that? It's not even like it was any competition. If he wants to be good at it, he better get to work and start studying the art of cherry stem tying. This certainly isn't your fault, and he's too grown to be acting like this.
"You're a baby, Harry. Turn that frown upside down!"
"We're going back to your house to meet your mother."
"Huh?"
Thank God that stem wasn't in your mouth right now, because you probably would have swallowed it due to the shock of Harry's words.
"You heard me."
Great.
"Just... hold on, Harry. We're calling Tawny first."