Poppy/H.S

Chapter 51

I scrunch my nose at the realisation of having to wake up this soon in the morning, trying to ignore my duties by getting even more comfortable in Harry's heavenly bed. I snooze my alarm, hoping it hasn't woken him up just yet and I hide myself beneath the silky duvet, trying to escape the rays of light peeking inside the room through the blinds.

His messy curls rest on a pillowcase and his mouth is gently parted, letting out silent snores. His hands are resting against his chest, which is where I was laying before the alarm on my phone went off.

I assume all of his overthinking has finally tired him out. Ever since I came over on Friday, he's been extremely anxious about performing at the Capital Summertime Ball, which is already taking place tonight.

I recall how nervous he was just last night.

"H, what's wrong?" I approach him gently after having come inside from the garden, where Poppy and I have picked some fresh flowers. She's gone to play in her room now.

He's sat on the sofa in the living room, the TV shut down. The frown on his face is hard to miss.

"Nothing," he clears his throat, putting his guitar away from his lap.

I played with Poppy outside so that he could have the house to himself while preparing for the show.

"Are you still working?" I ask him nervously, ready to leave the room and give him some space, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear the guitar, so I thought you were don-"

"I'm not," he shakes his head, finally looking up to my eye level, "You can stay."

His eyes are bloodshot and teary, his cheeks puffy.

"Baby, are you alright?" I question him, but at the same time, I try not to pressure him into replying, "You know you can tell me anything."

"I'm fine," he shrugs it off, picking at his nails, "Come closer."

"Can I?" I ask for his permission before joining him on the sofa.

He gives me a silent nod, and I daringly sit on his lap, the exact same place where his guitar was previously resting before he moved it to the side.

"I-I'm scared I don't have it in me anymore," he whispers, his hands trembling as they rest on my waist.

I engulf him in a warm hug, hoping to take all of his insecurities away. He snuggles his head into the crook of my neck and my heart breaks when I hear the quiet sniffles.

"Baby, you're an amazing artist and an excellent performer," I tell him, gently caressing his back, "Not only do I think that, but also the thousands of people who've purchased their tickets to see you among another musicians."

"But I haven't performed in so long," he shakes his head, "W-what if I'm not able to put on a good show anymore?"

He's been declining most of the offers he got ever since Poppy was young, which is understandable.

"Do you know what I'd do to be your shower head for a minute?" I say jokingly, hoping to lighten up the mood.

"What?" He sits straight, looking me directly in the eyes.

"You know, all those times that I was waiting for you in the bedroom while you showered?"

His face turns red almost instantly.

"You could hear me sing and you didn't say anything?"

"Yeah, cause I knew you'd stop if I said something," I giggle, intertwining our hands, "H, you're a great singer. There's no reason to be afraid. Once you step on that stage, you're gonna own that fucking place."