Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter thirty seven.

Iris Grace

The second I stepped into Harry's house and the door shut behind me, he wrapped his arms around me, hugging me as if he was waiting all evening for me to show up here.

Confused as to why I was being hugged like we've been apart for years, I just smiled and hugged him back, despite the fact my hands were full. His arms were around my shoulders, my around his waist as his head rested onto of mines and he let out a sigh of relief.

"You alright?" I asked him, worried that something was wrong and I shouldn't have come or something.

"I am now." He whispered quietly, almost as if I wasn't supposed to hear.

I didn't respond properly to that, I just hugged him a little tighter for a few seconds and pulled back to see the look on his face, which was one of relief. He did look tired though, he looked absolutely fucking exhausted. I gave him a smile of my own and wandered over to his table, where I placed down my jar of jam I had extra of, which I'm guessing he enjoyed because I never got my old jar back.

"I made jam again," I told him. "I made too much so I thought I'd bring you a jar."

"Thanks Iris." He said back politely with a tired grin. "Really, thank you."

"No problem." I replied lightheartedly, grabbing my envelope. "And this is Harpers butterfly."

"Already?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as I passed it over to him.

"Yeah..." I trailed on as he opened it up. "I could've done a better one, if she wants another just let me know, because I'll happily do a different one if she doesn't like that one. I kind of rushed-"

"Are you joking?" He interrupted me, frightening me for a second as I couldn't quite read the expression on his face. "This is fucking...Iris this is incredible. She'll love it."

Relief crashed over me like a tidal wave as I placed my hand over my heart and took a deep breath. Harry was still looking at the butterfly in awe for some reason, despite the fact it really isn't the best butterfly I could've drawn or painted. I just did it because i was bored of painting grass.

"Blue is her favourite colour." Harry told me with a smile on his face, looking at me it's the softest expression on his face.

Harry tucked the butterfly into the envelope again and placed it on the little table next to his bookshelf, stacked with different well read books of his. The look on his face now was one that told me he didn't know what to do. He looked a little lost, within his own home and potentially within his own head.

He looked exhausted when he opened the door, the smile he wore was a fake one until he pulled me into his arms desperately. Somethings wrong and I'm not sure what, I can't figure it out. At his beach earlier he was fine, maybe something happened when he dropped Harpe back off at home.