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The one where Harry catches his girlfriend shit-talking her own appearance.
She's stood in front of a full-length mirror, groaning at her appearance, and tugging at the dress she's chosen for the evening. The one that she thought she'd feel great in, but once putting it on, felt like it just fit her awkwardly.
"Ugh, I'm regretting this dress so much," she complained. "I thought it would flatter me, but I just look frumpy. And I could've done my makeup better, as well. I'm looking a little haggard, and everyone will notice."
Harry overhears, cocking his head at an angle and giving Y/n a look of disbelief, which she happens to catch in the mirror.
"What's that look for, bubs?" She smiles at her boyfriend's reflection.
He shrugs. "I'm just wondering which Y/n you're talking about, because the one stood in front of me right now is gorgeous. That dress fits you great, and your makeup is flawless. You're a walking angel, love."
Y/n scoffs playfully, rolling her eyes. "You have to say that. You're my boyfriend."
"I wouldn't tell you anything that wasn't true," Harry says as he approaches Y/n. When he's close enough, he wraps his arms around her waist from behind, bending slightly to rest his chin on her shoulder. "And the truth is that you're absolutely gorgeous to me. Always have been and always will be."
Y/n meets Harry's eyes in the mirror, a smile slowly starting to break across her face. She believes him, she realizes. She believes everything he's saying about her. She rests her smaller hands on top of Harry's and turns slightly, puckering her lips. Harry follows her lead, giving her a sweet peck on the lips.
