I Wish You Would - A Haylor Fanfic

Chapter 8

Taylor:

For longer than I'd like to admit, Mine and Harry's bodies are re-discovering our long lost love. Eventually, I lift my head and sit up, giggling as I see red lipstick smeared all over Harry. He rests on his elbows and grins proudly at me.

"You've gotten better at that."

A pause.

"Calvin's a lucky guy,"

He says with his enchanting laugh. I shake my head and playfully hit him with a furry cushion. He avoids the hit and instead grabs one of his own, whacking me over the head with it and then cowering away as I give him an evil glare, snatching it from his hands while he's distracted.

I lean in close to him, so close I can feel his rapid breath on my face,

"Do NOT do that again, understood?"

He stares at me, his mouth hanging slightly open, with a mesmerised look on his face, reacting in exactly the right way to my new toughness. After a few intense (slightly hot) seconds, I pull away and flash him my signature smile. He still looks dazed as he murmurs,

"I'm gonna, um, go get a snack"

He stands up and leaves the room. I watch him walk away and a grin sits itself on my face. Yawning, I realize just how exhausted I am. The soft couch is squishy and comfortable, and I lay back on it, a furry cushion under my head. I slowly let my eyes drift closed, as the soothing sound of Harry opening a bag of chips echoes through the giant house. I don't think I've ever gone to sleep this happy.

Harry:

I stuff my face with crisps, probably quite unattractively, as I watch Taylor's chest rise and fall steadily as she sleeps. It must be at least two in the morning by now, and I'm about to leave her and go to sleep myself when I notice her shiver, before she curls up into a ball on my sofa, that seems much too big compared to her, and continues to snore softly.

I pull the blanket out from underneath the dozens of cushions and place it over her, tucking her in like a father might a child, before leaving the half-full packet of crisps beside her in case she wakes up later and needs a midnight snack.

I fumble my way across the dark room, not wanting to turn on a light and risk disturbing Taylor, and inevitably stub my toe on the glass table between the two sofas.

It takes all of my willpower not to swear at the top of my lungs and instead collapse onto the sofa and clutch my throbbing foot. I sigh in annoyance as the pain finally subsides and close my eyes, hefting my legs up onto the sofa's soft surface as I do so, before taking one final glance at the woman opposite me. She's snoring louder now, and I smile, passing out happier than I have for a very long time.

* * *

In what feels like minutes later, I'm woken by the sound of crunching, and reluctantly ease open one eye to see Taylor sitting next to me, working her way through the packet of crisps I left her from last night.

She's currently flipping through one of my magazines, which coincidentally has a photo of her on the front and an 'exclusive backstage interview from the 1989 world tour' inside, as she stuffs another handful of crisps in her mouth. I groan loudly, startling Taylor and making her drop her handful of crisps on the floor,

"Aw, man,"

She whines adorably, before leaning down to pick them up off of the marble floors, looking both ways jokingly, before shoving them in her mouth. I sit up and chuckle at her, slipping my hand into hers and planting a light kiss on her cheek.