“Why can’t I stare?” He pressed, turning to face her more fully, resting his weight on his hip rather than his bum, and he sat his elbow on the back of the sofa, “You’re the one who said you loved kissing me so much that we needed to do it all of the time –”
Y/N’s eyes go comically wide, “I did not –” she started to squawk but he kept talking over her.
“--so maybe I am staring at them. And maybe I should grant your wishes and we should kiss a little before the food gets here, and my breath is all onion-y.”
or
Y/N feels bad it's taking so long but Harry doesn't mind
(18k+ words)