Butterfly Keeper // h.s. au

Chapter Twenty Five

I feel my eyes flutter a few times, consciousness hitting me all at once, not in waves like some mornings. Mornings when I wake up a little and then turn over and drift back to sleep, and an hour later I'll open my eyes but close them again. I won't be fully awake tell my alarm forces me up or the sun invades my senses. But it's not like that now, because I blink the fog from my eyes and the world is just there waiting for me.

At first I look blankly at the soft, white, cotton below me, the way it folds in the most artistic way, leaving light shadows where the sheets have bunched together. And then my index finger skims over the warm metal of the ring that is wrapped around my thumb, causing a happy feeling to ease into my chest. The ring is my reassurance that last night wasn't a dream, that what we said to one another is as real as the stones inlaid on this silver band. And it's a reminder too, it's a reminder that Harry said it, those three precious words. God, I hope he meant them...

Then my eyes travel up to what I would say is the most beautiful sight to wake up to, Harry sitting in a love seat next to the bookshelf diagonal from my place on the bed, hunched over a leather notebook as his hand moves a pencil in small movements across it's inside. His ankles are crossed up on the chair with his knee's resting against either of it's armrests as his hair falls slightly into his face. But I can still see the way his brows draw together as he puts immense concentration into whatever it is he's doing.

He looks up at me then, but only a peak as his eyes catch mine and a cheeky grin pulls at the right corner of his lips causing a small dip to form in his cheek. And then he's looking back down at the book as the sound of his pencil marking against paper echos peacefully through the room.

I go to lift my body up from it's lazy position and his head instantly pops back up, his eyes giving me a fierce look. He seems to catch himself though as his features soften and he lightly clears his throat.

"Don't move." He instructs, and then adds with a tiny smile that has his teeth pressed together, "Please."

I let out a small laugh, letting my body relax back on the bed. Is he drawing me then? I chuckle in my head and then have to stop myself from blushing. I feel like Rose from Titanic, except, I'm not naked. Also, Harry is much more handsome than Leonardo DiCaprio, and I never thought I would say that about anyone ever.

I take this time to admire the way Harry looks hunched over his little notebook with the soft sunlight illuminating certain parts of his face. The long slope of his nose and the slight pucker to his pale pink lips. The way light fills his cupids bow and brings attention to the small amount of facial hair on his upper lip. And one of my most favorite things on him, the little mole to the right of his lips that's not blaring obvious but rests there in it's own special way. It's to where you might only really pay attention to it if you were exploring the constellations of his face, and I can't even begin to count how many times I've studied the stars in his eyes alone.

He sighs then and looks up at me, unfolding his legs and gesturing for me to come join him. I try not to act too excited as I prop myself up from the mattress and cross the short space between us tell I'm standing next to his place on the love seat. He looks down at his worn leather journal one last time, running his index finger along his eyebrows in a subliminal manner before turning over the notebook for me to see.

I'm still a little shocked when I see the drawing even as I knew he was sketching me, but now that I'm actually looking at it I just don't know what to say. I guess I hadn't expected to feel so... Serendipitous.

It's me, I'm looking at myself scrawled beautifully onto the white pages of Harry's journal. I'm lain there with my face pressed to the mattress and my hair like a halo spread messily around my head. My arm is extended out before me, the way Harry's was below the weight of my head last night, and half of my body is lost in the cloud of white sheets. It's me in the way that my nose is slightly tipped up at the end and my lips are drawn full but not as wide as Harry's. It's me in the way that my hair is heaps and heaps long with the slightest wave to it's dark texture.