...like clockwork

Harlan shrugged off his coat before draping it over the back of the plastic chair of the table they were directed to without much thought. The heat from the kitchen and the warmth of a full room hit him like a brick wall once juxtaposed against the brisk autumn air they had only just made their way through. It didn't help, of course, that he and Farley had downed a mug of whiskey prior to arriving—

"Thank you," He nodded appreciatively to the owner with a half-drunk grin that went wider as a sense of sentimentality hit him. In no way did he know the man personally, but then again, it felt like he could have after all those years. Harlan ventured a glance to Farley to gauge what level of uncomfortable she would inevitably be with his selection of restaurant.

She hadn't struck him as the type to try new things despite it all.

With a grin, he watched the witch meticulously fold her paper napkin on her lap as some form of pretense— forget the fact that he'd only just done the same himself— though she seemed comfortable. "Oh, no," Harlan clicked his tongue as he settled into the familiar uncomfort of his own in his chair, taking the menu from her hands. "You wanted the full experience..." He reminded her with a quirk of his eyebrow just as a waiter approached the table looking more than busy.

Harlan ordered a jug of beer (the plastic cups that truly made it came free of charge) and an assortment of dumplings, a mixture of steamed and fried, rice and noodles. "You do eat meat, yeah?" He added as an afterthought after the woman working there slipped away. He'd known a guy from California— seemed close enough— who wouldn't touch it.

As Harlan snatched the menu from her, Farley let out a little noise of indignation, her reflexes too slow to catch it in time before she stopped. He did have a point and she wrinkled her nose in response. "Yeah but I was thinking more like Westminster Bridge or the London Eye or Notting Hill --" she stopped herself suddenly, realising she was romanticising his hometown and she bit down on her tongue. "But dumplings are good." If this was "his London", she wondered what he did the rest of the time.

As the server showed up, Farley squinted at him - he was saying a lot of words she didn't understand - but she did understand when beer was deposited and she wasted no time in filling them both up a cup. Her stomach gave a loud rumble.

Tentatively, she sipped at the beer. It wasn't bad, maybe a little more room temperature than she liked it but it was good. She stopped at Harlan's next question, the cup partway to her mouth. "Who doesn't eat meat?" The petite brunette answered, her dark eyes wide before she furrowed her eyebrows in thought. "I like bacon too much," she shrugged, by way of an explanation before she grinned.

"But look at you," she cooed, wiggling a finger in his direction playfully. "Looking out for my dietary requirements," she smirked before she tilted her head. "How'd you find this place?" Farley asked, interested. "It's just a bit off the beaten track is all."

Harlan let out a genuine laugh, followed by a shake of his head in disbelief. "I don't know, I figured, American—" He wasn't entirely sure where he was going with his line of thought and how it landed on her being a herbivore, but there was a connection there somewhere, one that would be clearer if his mind wasn't so muddled.

"Cheers," He tipped his plastic cup of beer against Farleys, foam slipped over the lip and dripped down his fingers that were wrapped easily around it. "I do what I can," He replied cooly before taking a drink. It had been much less about looking out for her dietary requirements than seeing an opportunity to tease her, but he didn't have to clarify that.

At the next question, his face faltered, the smile dimming slightly in his glassy eyes. The place had been an Arya number. Harlan remembered distinctly that she had taken him after a particularly volatile meeting with his dad and brother at The Ministry. In fact, it hadn't dawned on him until that very moment the sentimentality the place held for him.

"Erm," He cleared his throat, playing it off. "A friend of mine found it," He explained as casually as could be, eyebrows raising as a steaming plate slide between them. Saved by the food, he thought to himself, adjusting the set of chopsticks between his fingers. "Best dumplings in London," He reiterated before spotting the perfect first one for the taking.

fin

"That's an offensive stereotype," she informed Harlan before she grinned, clearly joking. With all the whiskey and now the beer, Farley was feeling freer that she had done in a long time. She didn't know which part of London they were currently in or how she was supposed to get herself home but right at this minute, it seemed inconsequential.

Her smile was soft as he faltered and she'd put two and two together - an ex-girlfriend. She looked at him for a moment before she flicked her eyes elsewhere. It seemed intrusive, somehow. "Tell them it's a good spot," she said quickly with a nod, careful not to make him upset. Farley could sympathise. There was a cafe in California that she and Ethan had a lovely afternoon in years ago and she always felt drawn to it. But then she heard it had closed down and if that wasn't ironic, she didn't know what was.

The food arrived and Farley fumbled with her chopsticks, holding them cack-handedly before she gave a sigh of frustration. Instead, she picked one up and stabbed a dumpling with it like a spear and lifted it, bumping it against Harlan's like they were cheersing glasses. "We'll see," she joked before she delicately nibbled around her chopstick, pausing to dunk it into the small bowl of sauce and taking another bite. "Okay," she admitted begrudgingly. "They're pretty good."

[done]