Magnolia in May [H.S]

Part fifty-two

Earlier that morning...

Magnolia

"No more blowing up on me, okay? From now on we talk things out." He nods against my skin, his scent wafting through my nose. Harry always smelled nice, sometimes sweet like vanilla, and other times it was like leather and books. No matter, it was always good.

"No more," Harry affirms into a whisper. His morning voice is liquid butterflies, raspy from the back of his throat like it was at least ten octaves lower than normal. A stunning punch to the gut with the effect it had on me.

His arms wrapped around me, tucking me tight into a lingering embrace. Tattooed thigh shoved between my unclothed legs, I sighed out a simper at his peppering kisses. Running my hands through his unruly curls. The sun shone through the curtains, brightening up the room with a glow. He kissed my cheeks, dragging his lips down to press more at the tender spot under my ear. The passion reminded me of last night, how I drove us back to his place after car sex. And right as we got back he had his face buried in between my thighs, muttering over and over about how sorry he was while using his tongue to prove the extent of his repentant. Okay. I know. We're like fucking bunnies- no pun intended.

I was shocked when he asked me to write his tattoo like nothing, but waking up seeing this morning I was utterly flabbergasted. It hit me like a bus, an unforgiving one. Seeing my hand-writing on his arm was a huge wake-up call, and I was completely shaking in my skin thinking about it.

Harry slides his hands under his shirt I was wearing, gently scratching the skin of my back. A gesture that made my heart melt like ice cream on a hot day. Pressing a kiss at my shoulder. What is with this boy and kissing my shoulder?
He looks up at my eyes that we're drowning in the sway of his cross necklace, his shirt off, showing all of his tattoos. I could get lost in the abundance of them, looking at constellations on a dark night. Piecing together each star, each tattoo had some sort of backstory behind it. Whether it was premeditated or not, they all meant something.

Now he had one for me.

His fingers run tracks over my skin, forming goosebumps under the covers. He sighs like he's about to say something with significance, preparing. I look up at his eyes, waiting. "Yesterday I um... I didn't want to say it last night to ruin the mood after I- but. I woke up from a nightmare, the phantom pain was back, I had an attack and freaked out. My room was a mess, I was a mess." I furrowed my brows with worry, swiping the rouge curl that was hanging down over his face. His hair was getting long.

"You should've called me, baby." I do the same as him, running my hands over to nuzzle his face while he scratches my back. Harry shakes his head at my words, taking my hands that were soothing him and bringing them up to his lips to kiss.

"I had the urge to be destructive, so I drank and drank until the pain in my leg was numbed. In the middle went to work off some of the aggression, ran into you, and- well, was a dick." I looked down at his leg in between mine, staring at the inked skin. Slight scars were seen among all the pictures. The pieces were coming together, why he had a slight limp when Rory put him in the car. Why he was being that way in the first place. I mean yeah, he had no excuse to be an ass. But I can't blame him, when I'm struggling, I'm irritable as well.

"It still hurts?" I wince, trying to lift the weight of my thigh off. He purses his lips at me, drawing them into a line. Pressing his hands firmly on my upper thigh to say it was fine. "It's sore, sometimes the pain lasts minutes, sometimes days or weeks. It depends." My heart aches for him. How has he made it this far?

I get lost in his eyes, my mouth agape with a tinge of shock from his words. Trying my best to understand him, this just proves how strong he was. That his walls put up made it almost impossible to see his true self. And here I was, lying in his bed on a Friday morning. His walls were nonexistent.