sign {h.s.}

kapitel vierunddreißig*

n. omg she's long please love me and comment a lot i'm insecure and want validation

THE NEXT MORNING, Harry is not gentle when waking me up. His voice fills my head alongside the lull and fog of sleep as I hear him call the words, "Up. Get up."

I startle, flinching as a result of the coldness that follows the lack of his body heat warming me. Light is suddenly flooding the room. There is no chance of me being able to return back to sleep, I wistfully realize. "Are you okay?" My first instinct is to ask, blindly reaching up to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I push myself into a sitting position, trying to wake myself up some more before we continue the conversation.

As I sit up in his bed, the blankets fall from around my shoulders. Against the cool air of his room—I have come to learn that he consistently keeps his apartment at sixty-three degrees, regardless of the temperature outside—my nipples harden; serving as a reminder of the night before. I had fallen sleep tightly wrapped up in Harry's arms, my shirt still off from his prior request to feel my skin against his. Though it had been his request, I certainly had benefitted from the feeling of him against me, too.

My sweatshirt is right where I left it last night, folded at the base of his bed. I reach down to the end of the table and quickly tug it on over my head; suddenly feeling self-conscious for some reason. Fears begin to echo inside my head, whispering every reason why this present moment is too good to be true. Never in my life have I experienced an undiluted happiness like this. Happiness in his company is unconditional as we continue to learn each other and our boundaries. In the morning light, the air holding significantly fewer illusions, I find myself waiting for the hammer to fall on the bubble that we are beginning to form.

Bracing myself for the worst, I find myself shrinking down in the already oversized hoodie when Harry approaches the bed once more. His shirt still remains off, and there is a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth as he holds a pair of folded socks in his hands. Discombobulated at best, he still manages to smile as widely as he can in spite of everything. "Good morning, chérie," he says, taking extra caution to make sure that his words are both intelligible, and that he doesn't spew toothpaste everywhere.

Cheekily, he bends down and pulls the toothbrush out of his mouth before pressing a kiss to my lips. The kiss is chaste, and it leaves behind a lingering taste of mint and a foamy after-feel to it. I giggle as I reach up and wipe it off, rubbing my hands together until the residue is gone. "What time is it?" I ask him, rolling on my side to admire him as he stands in the bathroom, spitting out his toothpaste. Such a mundane action, I find it utterly attractive on him.

Without the toothbrush in his mouth, he hangs in the open doorframe of his bathroom. Leaning against it, he takes an extra moment to admire me in the same way that I stop to admire him. "Nearly twelve," he answers automatically, his eyes scanning down to the watch already adorning his wrist.

My eyes widen at the realization. Though I had nothing to do today, I am still shocked that I had managed to sleep so much of the day away. More so, I am more shocked that he had simply let me. "What time did you wake up?"

"Around eight."

"And you just laid in bed with me for four hours, wasting a perfectly good day away?"

"Close to four hours," he corrects, finally pushing himself out of the doorway. He is approaching the bed with a smile on his face. "Inoltre, difficilmente lo definirei una perdita di tempo. Ero con te," he speaks the words sweetly, extending both of his hands towards me. Gently, I wrap my hands around his and allow for him to pull me out of the bed. His thumbs gently trace the backs of my hands. [Italian: Furthermore, I would hardly call it a waste of time. I was with you.]