Treasure [h.s]

| 31 - Diamonds |

Harry woke up in a very good mood today. It must have been from getting a good amount of sleep, as the last few days have been quite hectic for him. It's Saturday, which technically means he'd be front and center on the sofa at Chest, but he's decided to take the weekend off after our talk.

The two of us mumbled our thoughts and hesitantly, our insecurities over the course of a few long movies. It felt good to get off my chest, and I'm happy that he's comfortable enough to be so open and honest about his struggles with his sickness. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to stay with him, but I didn't realize that he would have such a hard time showing me that part of him.

I think it makes him feel weak.

He's used to being the boss, making big decisions for his club and casino and it makes him feel like he's on the bottom of the pole again when his body is too tired to keep up with everyone else. It makes my heart ache for him, but I promised him I'd do anything to help.

I guess we have another thing in common: an undeniable need to be in control, coupled with the inability to rely on anyone else or accept help for things that matter. It's a learning curve for sure, but we'll get there. I know we will.

"What about this one?" he asks, stepping out of his closet in black skinny jeans and a red and black flannel, buttoned only halfway with the sleeves rolled up.

I'm lying on my stomach, a pillow under my chest. I'm in only a towel and wet hair as he asked for my opinion right as I was going to get dressed.

"I think you're going to overheat the second you step outside," I grimace, secretly loving watching him peel shirt after shirt off of his toned body. There's a pile in the middle of the floor now, full of Gucci and Versace tops, as well as tattered band tees that I'm probably, definitely, going to steal from him.

He whips it off with no hesitation as if my opinion is the only one that matters, and the next shirt gets audibly pulled off its hanger. I stretch out, my hands falling off the edge of the bed as I wait.

This bed is so comfy. It's a billion times better than my bed at my apartment. I swear I could fall asleep any time I lay down even I just woke up.

"Brin, this is the one. Right?" he says, snapping me out of my cloud. My head shoots up from the pillow, eyes focusing on his smiling face.

His arms are out wide as he does a little spin, showing me his black shirt with pink flamingos. I think his entire closet is black, but he looks damn good in it. It's buttoned the same way his shirts always are, his entire chest being left open with his cross necklace dangling. My eyes widen and nearly fucking gloss over when he smiles wider. His incisors are sharp on his lip, dimples deep on either cheek.

I push up to my knees on the edge of the bed, towel wrapped loosely under my arms. "Come here," I gawk at his already statuesque figure. He steps forward and leans down to kiss me, but I have to keep it at a peck before I maul him.