Artwork [h.s]

sixty-eight

The bedsheets smelled of roses and intimacy. I opened my eyes slowly, blinking a few times to let them adapt to the white-bluish light coming from the window opposite to the bed. I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, a daze-like feeling clouding my mind, warmth enveloping my body, before finally realising what was going on.

I turned my head to the side, discovering that Harry was lying on his stomach next to me, his eyes closed, seeming to be still asleep. I let my eyes run over his features, taking in the way his lips, a bit redder than usual, were slightly parted as he breathed slowly, the rhythmic pace soothing me. I refrained the urge to brush back the dark curls that had fallen over his forehead and partially covered his eyes, mixing with his eyelashes, while he slept.

I widened my eyes when I suddenly looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was almost five in the afternoon, and I knew my mother would've arrived at home at half past six. I sighed, knowing that I had to make myself a little presentable just in case, and carefully slid out of the covers, not wanting to accidentally wake Harry up in the process. I crawled to the end of the bed and got off the mattress from there, shivering slightly when my feet touched the cold floor. I crossed the room and got a shirt and a new pair of underwear from my wardrobe before walking to the door and unlocking the door.

I entered the bathroom and glanced at my naked figure in the mirror, experimentally brushing the few bruises that littered my collarbones and neck with the tip of my finger, almost feeling Harry's touch on me again as I closed my eyes.

I shook my head, trying to will the thoughts away before the memory of what had happened not too long before could make me blush. I turned on the shower and tied my hair up as I waited for the water to get warm, and when it did I stepped inside, cleaning my body quickly but attentively, not wanting to give my parents any reason to think that something had happened at all, wishing I wouldn't have had to wash his touch off my skin so soon.

When I was done I got out and dried myself up with the towel at best before slipping into my new change of clothes. I undid the bun on top of my head and let my hair down, brushing through it quickly with my fingers and putting it in a position that would've covered the marks on my neck, before getting out of the bathroom and walking into my bedroom again.

Harry was still sleeping in the same position as before, and all I could see from where I was standing next to the door was a mass of disheveled dark curls. I smiled to myself, closing the door and locking it again before walking towards the middle of the room, observing his sleeping figure.

He was still naked, the light grey sheet covering his lower half, his back strong, but relaxed. I fought off the sudden instinct to sit down next to him and let my hand travel down his spine to discover if his skin really was as smooth as it seemed to be, and I walked to my desk, taking a white paper sheet, a pencil and a book before cuddling up in the corner of the couch from which I could get a better view of him.

I started drawing him in silence, wanting to never forget that moment and the feeling of relaxation it gave me. It was calming to see him asleep, and it made me a bit giddy inside to know that at some point he would've woken up as well. I felt like I was seeing him all over again, I couldn't look at him without thinking of the way he made me feel, and my heart beat quicker in my chest at the simple thought of him looking back at me.

Maybe Harry really did have a point, because acknowledging what my feelings for him were had given them validation and made them more real, and I was terrified at the simple thought of not being able to look at him without letting him know.

I finished the sketch of his figure and I looked up and down at the sheet in front of me again, trying to see if there was something that needed to be fixed. I erased a line and drew it again, making sure that it was nothing less than perfect, before starting to shade the sheet that was covering half of him summarily.