Before you go... //h.s

Watermelon Sugar

^^mental health warning

When I wake up the next morning, the first thing that unfortunately hits me is the pounding headache. And then the painfully bright shards of light.

Hangovers truly suck.

With my eyes still closed to avoid the bloody light, I reach an arm over to Harry's side of the bed, to find it cold. He must have got up a while ago. Unless he hadn't slept in the bed with me? No, he had to have got up early, there was no reason that he wouldn't share the bed unless...unless I'd done something so completely stupid last night that I'd managed to scare him.

I hadn't done anything stupid.

I hadn't done anything stupid, had I? I desperately think back, hoping to remember something as vague bits and pieces trickled back to my memory.

Oh shit.

I'd done something stupid.

I'd said I love you.

I sit bolt upright in bed, tearing my eyes open and ignoring the pain as I mentally slap myself whilst desperately trying to remember his reaction. I mean, it didn't matter really what he'd done because either way, the words were true. I loved him with my whole heart, I was fucking head over heels for this man.

But it would be nice if I could fucking remember whether he'd said it back or whether I'd embarrassed myself, scared him off and was alone again.

I'd promised myself I would never fall so hard again so anyone after my ex had fucked me up for a while, but then I'd met him and he'd made the fall feel like flying...he'd made it so bloody hard not to love him.

Hesitantly, I get up, shuffling the duvet into some kind of neatness then I pad down to his kitchen. My breath is held is nervousness, not sure what he'll say, whether he'll even be there. I step off the final step and peer into the kitchen.

He's there, sitting at the counter as he frowns at something on his laptop. So he must have just got up early, right? He hadn't been avoiding me, right?

'Morning,' I begin cautiously, and he turns me to as a smile lights up his face,

'Sleep well? I've got a coffee and some Nurofen for you,' he tells me, and I shake my head, rolling my eyes at the cheeky grin on his face.

'Thanks,' I huff, then try and form words to ask what I was dreading. But somehow, my anxiety and hangover combined to create an unintelligible mumble. Taking a deep breath, I shouted at my brain to wake the fuck up and tried again: 'so last night...i...well...it's just...I'm sorry?' I apologise, not sure what to say but desperately hoping he knows what I'm talking about.

'Iris,' he says softly, cupping a hand around my cheek, 'it's ok. I'm glad you said it because I do too. Even if you did say it when you were drunk, I'm hoping it's still true,' he speaks, his last sentence an attempt at adding humour to my awkwardness.

'Well then...I love you,' I breath and his eyes melt, looking a little lighter than before.

'I love you Iris Burrows,' he murmurs back, matching my soft tone. I smile at him silently, desperately trying to control the feeling that just exploded inside me. I don't want to scare him, but the excitement and happiness in my heart feeling like a have a full orchestra with trumpets performing a celebratory march. I didn't think I would ever get tired of hearing him saying that.

We're silent for a while before he speaks again.

'Have you ever missed someone you hardly knew?' he asks quietly. I stay silent, knowing it was a rhetorical question, one I wasn't really supposed to answer. Just a small piece of his mind that he'd voiced out loud.