The Artist

Chapter Thirty One

Today is the 3 month anniversary of my OTRA 1D concert I'm so emotional. Thanks for all your kindness and support,

All the love.

I wake up naturally, feeling amazingly settled and well rested, that is until I realise I have to go with my mother to the airport at ten.

I almost forgot where I am, until I realise I'm still being held tightly by Harry. Who's awake, and smiling. Last night... Oh last night. I can't believe I did it, and with him. But I'm so glad I did it, and with him. Him, wow he's beautiful in the morning.

"Morning sleepy." He grins at me.

"What time is it?" I ask frantically, attempting to spring from his grasp.

He chuckles, and I can feel his chest vibrating against me. "Relax babe, it's only seven thirty."

"Oh." I do as he says and relax myself, I can stay for another hour at most. "Didn't you sleep at all?" I frown up at him.

"Remarkably, I slept for about four hours." He informs me. Wow. "You were sort of... Sleeping on me, so I was pinned to the bed for the remaining four hours I was awake." He laughs and I blush. "Not that I minded." He recovers and I smile. He looks really good first thing in the morning. His hair is sticking up in various places, the curls tossed around his head, and his eyes are bright.

I stare at all his tattoos, the ones I haven't seen before and the ones I have.

He watches me observing his inked skin, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger as he does.

"I like these." I say, touching the two swallows on his chest. "And this one." I trace around the outline of an intricately decorated moth on his stomach.

I trail my finger down to the next markings on his skin. "And I like these too." I smirk to myself, daintily drawing my finger around the two ferns on his lower abdomen. He hisses when I reach the end of the stem, leaving me very close to his boxers.

"Baby, you won't be able for round two." He says seriously and I frown. What?

"And how would you know?" I raise my brow at him. He's probably right, but who is he to assume that.

"Just, trust me Ellen." He says softly, brushing my hair away from my eyes. "Do you need a lift to the airport later?" He asks.

"Uh, yeah probably. Is that ok?" I ask as he slowly gets up, the muscles in his back contracting underneath the damaged skin.

"Sure." He stretches his arms up, and I watch his biceps tighten. He's really something of a work of art. Perfectly made.

"I should go, I need to shower." I sigh, wrapping the sheets around me sitting up and feel a dull ache. I wince and he frowns.

"Just shower here?" He suggests. I shrug.

"I guess I could." I smile.

"Here," he throws me his shirt, "wear that until you're showered." He pulls an identical shirt, only in white, over his head.

"Towel?" I ask, about to open one of the cupboards.

"They're not in there." He closes the cupboard, opening a drawer and throwing me a white fluffy towel. "I'll be in the kitchen." He half smiles and stalks off.

I walk into Harrys bathroom, the pain from last night still hurting me every time I take a step. My eyes wandering to where the gun... Was. It's not there anymore, he must've moved it.

I shake my head and step into the shower, he doesn't have the best range of shampoos, and no conditioner. Great.

I do my best with a bottle of Head and Shoulders, but it leaves my hair feeling like straw.