Harry's back home after a long day of trying to get the right pitch for one of his upcoming songs. He tried and tried but whatever sound he produced, didn't please the people recording him - they wanted something a little less high, but not too monotone.
Needless to say, with having a hard day at the studio, he's happy to be back at home relaxing for the rest of the evening with his girls.
However, as soon as he opens the front door, he notices how silent it is. Which confuses him. Because though his daughter isn't a girl that makes a lot of noise and throws a lot of tantrums, she does talk a lot.
So removing the key from the door,he takes a step indoors, shutting the door behind him.
"Hello!" He calls out cautiously, quietly wondering to himself if they're even at home. They could've gone for a walk, could've gone to his sisters place; who said they were here.
"In the living room," you suddenly yell back.
With his shoes and his coat still on, and with the keys still in his hand,Harry trudges towards the living room, not prepared for the sight ahead of him.
The coffee table is brought closer to the sofa in which you and your daughter are sat on.The table is full of plain paper, a paint palette that has a range of 6 colours (red, blue, green, pink, yellow and orange), and scrunched up tissues.
Your daughter, dressed with an apron on top of her usual attire, doesn't take notice of her father entering the room.With a thin pointed paintbrush dipped in blue paint, she adds more detail to the painting she's done.
"What have we here?" Harry asks, a smile playing on his lips as he peers at his daughter painting with a look of sheer concentration on her face.
For a second or so, the girls eyes widen as her grip on the paintbrush relaxes at the sound of her father's voice.She looks up at him, grinning," I'm painting, Daddy!"
"Are you?" Harry asks, moving towards the table to bend down slightly to press a kiss on her hair, not wanting to break her concentration.
Once he kisses her hair, he straightens up before taking a small step towards you.As he bends down for the second time he's entered the house this evening, you lift your face, allowing his lips to meet yours.
As your greeting kiss ends, he raises an eyebrow at you before looking back at his daughter, who is still painting.
"Why are we painting?" He questions.
"She wanted to paint and seeing as she has an apron, I thought 'why not?' "
Harry nods, straightening up as he takes a step away from you and towards his daughter. He crouches next to the coffee table, his eyes set on his daughter painting.
"What are you painting, sweetheart?"
His daughter ignores him as she hastily swipes the paintbrush on the painting, adding one more detail to it, before setting the paintbrush aside.
She moves her hands towards the edge of the paper, raising it up from the table as she shows the painting to her father.
"I drew the butterfly on your tummy, daddy." She mumbles, shyly.
Harry feels his heart flutter.Shaking his head softly, he can't help the grin on his face as he leans forward to press a kiss onto her forehead.
"You're m'little artist."
