Sweet Melody (A Haylor Fanfiction)

Chapter 35

*please note that this is a continuation from last night so it is still 3-4 in the morning lol ily x*

MAYBE THIS CHAPTER IS A LITTLE WEIRD FOR YOU GUYS SINCE IT ISN'T THAT CLICHE (well maybe lol) BUT I SWEAR IT'S CUTE AND THE SONG IS SO CLASSIC JUST ;SLKJDGAL;KSJDG

but some of you may think it's stupid i'm sorry i don't know anymore just reaD OKAY BYE ENJOY 

Songs for this chap:

Love Me Tender - Elvis Presley

One and Only - Adele

Everytime We Touch - Cascada

You and I - One Direction

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 After taking a long hot shower and reliving the negative aspects on what happened about an hour ago, I'm guessing there is a negative side, but there's a positive. Without this situation, Harry and I wouldn't be able to solve 'our' situation, but Nash messed up. Maybe Nash and I both got distracted and he didn't know what he was doing. Maybe Nash had feelings for me. Maybe he doesn't. My most hated word is now 'maybe' because it makes you unsure of your balanced future and what is to come and outcome, but right now, I just want to bottle up our conversation and save it, to drink when I'm having a bad day. His words were spoken so genuinely and raw that it made me tear up a little. It's just what I wanted to hear.

I dress up in my hideous long sleeved and long pants pajamas and pathetic oversized glasses, Harry hasn't come upstairs yet and I'm a little hungry despite the time being half past 3. 

I stroll downstairs to see Harry setting up something - an old record player. I find myself staring at Harry for a while, watching him opening the box and putting the stand on.

"What are you doing?" I ask automatically, due to my rising curiosity. He looks up and smirks.

"Shh, watch," He whispers, turning back to his record player. 

After watching 5 minutes of Harry setting up and munching on strawberries while I wait, he finally grabs a CD. He smiles at them for some reason and finally picks one CD. It's dark pitch black, with shades of red in the middle. I watch the red-colored CD - probably worth hundreds of dollars for, getting put in the old record player. I always have been a sucker for vintage things, so this is interesting and I'm not complaining about waiting.

When he is finally done he watches and tilts his head to his direction, signalling me to come to him. I quickly obey, when I reach him, soon enough, his big hands land on my waist and pull a small strand from the excess of my ponytail behind my ear. 

"How old is this record player?" I ask, looking away from him, sliding my fingers across the antique object.

"It was from my grandmother, she gave it to my dad, but he wasn't interested, so when he had me and knew I was interested in music and the beatles and stuff like that - he gave it to me and I decided to store it in this house," He replies softly.

"And how much was it?" I question again, there is so much to inquire.

"About 130 pounds, my dad said. It's really old and rare, so I guess it's worth the price," He answers again.

"Is it still wor-" I start to ask again, but I get interrupted by his fingers shutting my lips.

"You ask too much." He says and moves us closer to the record player. 

He presses play and a familiar voice starts playing. A deep, low and handsome voice - Elvis Presley.

I stare into his green eyes and there is absolutely something about the green eyes of his that I love so much and adore every single turn and stares it makes to every object. How his eyes would look into a distance and he'd no longer be in reality whenever he is deep in his thoughts, or how his eyes would glow when he sees something interesting, or even when his eyes turn into a slight tint of blue when exposed to a different saturation.