ink. (haylor)

xiv. blue and red

a/n:

hey you :)

thank you so much for all the love - ily all so much and thanks for letting me write this for you

y'all are my baes :) thanks for motivating me to write during school, it means a lot that this means something to you

ily again 

-kay

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[Harry's POV]

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I was in Taylor's bed.

Memories of last night flitted through my mind, fast and passionate – like fire was in our veins – but at the same time, slow and poignant, especially remembering the way she looked in the moonlight streaming through the open curtain. Everything felt so right and like I belonged there, with her.

These thoughts made it even harder for me to come to terms with the somersault-y feeling I had when I was around her, because this was too soon, and it felt too real – I didn't know how to feel about anything.

And all I could smell was her.

Her scent was all over her bed. It was sweet – like vanilla and coconut and it enveloped my being. It smelled like she was on top of me, under me, next to me – everywhere.

The second thing I noticed was that she wasn't in bed next to me.

I reached across to the other side of the bed, and found the sheets upturned – the spot where she should have been lying was only warmed by the sun beaming in through the window. There was no way of telling how long the bed had been vacant.

Sitting up, my head brushed against something on the headboard – a note.

Her wide scribble on a yellow Post-it informed me that she was in her old apartment, in one of the spare rooms, in case I woke up and was looking for her. I began to wonder if she was like I was. If she had a secret room where she wrote poems, like the one I had where I played music.

That was probably the case – what else would she be doing there?

After carelessly slipping on my boxers, I noticed the door to her apartment was ajar and found myself chucking affectionately at her terrible habit. She was the exact opposite of me – she left doors and cupboards and drawers open and didn't put milk back in the fridge and left half-eaten sandwiches on the counter – restlessly moving onto the next thing.

Like God had trapped a hurricane inside a person and she was always blowing all over the place.

If it had been anyone else, I would have found it completely infuriating, but somehow it was endearing when she did it. It was as much a part of her, as was her laugh or her hair. It made Taylor the person she was, and I happened to like that person a lot.

Following a trail of half opened doors, I found her in a room I hadn't been in before.

It was void of any furniture, except for a solitary painting canvas on a stand, in the middle of the airy room. Sunlight streamed in through multiple floor-length windows and illuminated the white-washed walls. In front of the canvas, sitting on a simple wooden chair was Taylor; painting.

My breath caught in my throat at the beautiful sight in front of me.

Placing my weight against the door-frame, I watched intently as she dabbed at paint attentively. I could see why she had turned this part of her apartment into a makeshift art studio – the lighting was terrific – bright without being blinding, and the windows faced a lush green park with a sparkling lake in the middle.