Legacy // H.S

3.

'For your love I'll do whatever you want'

*

I always seem to find my way back to this piano when I'm stressed. More of my time is spent in this room than any other part of the house these days. In the weeks since George's death, I would spend every evening here, just pressing random keys to add some sound amongst the voices in my head.

After nightmares, I'd end up here, and sometimes Harry would join me, his head in my lap while one of my hands played with the curls in his hair, the other playing a subtle melody. He'd drift off to sleep, but I'd stay awake, not out of fear of my demons, but because I enjoyed watching him like this. With the sun rising and glowing against his perfect skin, I always find myself admiring the way he's been created. The sharp curve of his jaw, the clear complexion of his skin, the plumpness of his pink lips. But more than anything, I love watching his calmness.

I still get butterflies when I'm around him. Still feel them fluttering in my chest every time he smiles at me, and his dimples appear. Sometimes I think I can hear their wings. I should let them free, I tell myself. I should let them fly away and explore the vast expanse of the earth, but I like the feeling of them beating in my heart, and my stomach, and my legs, and my hands, and every single part of me. I like how wonderful of a reminder they are that not only do I love Harry, but he loves me, completely.

He is my sword and my shield, my wind and my rain, my sun, and my moon. Everything about him is completely addictive, and I never wish to find a cure for it. I need him, in every sense of the word. I need him to survive, to live, to breathe. His heart and mine are connected by an unbreakable bond, one I hope no one ever tries to sever. They'll be unlucky if they attempt it because our love transcends the ties that bind us. It surrounds us like the air we breathe.

God, I love him.

I love him so much.

And as I play this tune, I only think of Harry, just as I always do.

'Is that Norah Jones?' I hear him ask as he steps in the room, his hands falling around my shoulders once he's closer, his lips pressing a soft kiss to my head.

I smile up at him, turning my head to meet his lips, and for a moment I allow myself to become stained with the feeling; permanent, forever. 'Technically, no. That was a cover. The original was sung by Mark Dinning.'

He smiles against my lips, shaking his head slightly as he breathes out a laugh. 'You're such a smartass.'

We kiss again, soft and slow, but so desperate to feel one another in this way forever. 'You've never complained before,' I tease, and he pecks my lips once more before moving to sit on the seat next to me.

'It's one of my favourite things about you, little gem.'

I laugh lightly, my head turned and resting on his shoulder as his hand reaches for mine. He places it in his lap and begins drawing small patterns on it, ones I can't decipher but still completely melt into. 'The day we met your mum, I remember in the car after –'

'After we fucked?' he jumps in, shuffling away before I can hit his arm playfully.

'Well, yes. After we fucked. I remember you doing this, drawing on me with your fingers. You drew a little heart over my own,' I tell him, watching his cheeks flush slightly. 'Ever since that moment I've always loved the idea of you drawing on my skin. Wish the designs could be permanent.'

He looks up at me with a smile, softness behind his gaze. 'Tattoos do exist, little gem. Or did you think I drew these things on every day?'

Again, I go to hit his arm, managing to secure a blow this time. 'Stop teasing me. I'm trying to be sentimental, idiot,' I warn, watching as he puts a hand up in defence. He moves back to silence, letting his finger trace another heart into my skin, along with another design he hadn't done before. It takes a while for me to figure it out, feeling the lines he creates and the corners of whatever he's drawing, but once I realise it gives me an idea. 'Tattoo me.'