Tunes | Harry Styles

Our Love

Harry

Cold air, warm bodies under the covers. Patterned breaths on this white sheets, cheeks damped from warmth but cool from air. My mind starts to wake from a slumber, limbs knitted within hers - tangled together almost too perfectly.

As I open my heavy lids, blinking away the blindness and blur, I see her, the first thing. Here I realized I didn't have to look for her else where when she was the one I'll wake up to.

Curtains were shut tight, the sunlight stubbornly peeking in through the sides in this dimmed room - light crawling her skin and up her cheek to her temple. We laid together, the same position last night the way we slept.

Her lips were parted, arm upon my torso. She was still fast asleep, probably jet lagged. My fingers delicately pull a strand of her hair away from her face. Peaceful and calm. She was beautiful.

I trace the tip of my fingers on her cheek, to her parted lips and down her exposed arm. I had her here with me, all of her but she wasn't mine to touch and feel. Why the hell it hurts to feel this way when she's not even mine to begin with.

As I let go of my touch, her eyes slowly starts to flutter open, brown eyes in this dimmed room and I still can see my reflection through those eyes. She didn't stare but blinked, smile curling up in a lazy grin that made me smile as well.

"Your bed's comfortable," Those were her first words today, about my bed. How could she say that when she laid on me instead of the mattress. She pulls away, rolling onto her front. And when she did, the coldness hugs me like a lullaby and I damned myself for not catching her before she pulled away.

She stood up from bed and I watched her like a film. Her hair flows from her movements, back faced to me. Her fingers crawls her hair, lifting it up and tying it to keep it away from her face.

It was an unreal sight.

Louisa

The first day with Harry was gentle. We folded our beddings, freshened up and now we're currently making late breakfast at twelve in the afternoon which are pancakes. 

"I told you two eggs!" He frowns, tying his apron, taking a glimpse over my shoulder to see the mixture i'm whisking. "I'm pretty sure one is fine, Harry." I stubbornly say, adding some cinnamon in the mixture.

"I don't like cinnamon." He says, taking a pan and turning on the stove. "You haven't tried it?" I ask, shocked, turning my body to face his back as he adds butter on the hot pan.

"How can I not like something if I haven't tried it? Of course I've tried it, you dummy." He laughs, dimples sinking over his side profile face. "Well, have you tried it on pancakes?" I walk over to him with the bowl, standing beside him.

"No."

"Good, you're gonna try it today."

His lips part, having the most betrayal expression. He shakes his head, smiling as he pours the right amount of the mixture on the pan.

"You're lucky I like you..."

I nudge his torso with my hip, leaning my palms over the counter by the stove. "How much of a like?" I tease, eyeing the way he bites his bottom lip, having the most concentrated look on his face as he pours another set of pancake.

He finally shifts his eyes on me, taking a glimpse of my eyes to my lips before smirking teasingly back. "So much that I must finish all of the cinnamon pancake for you."

We finished cooking our pancakes, whipped cream on top with berries to finish. We set by the dining table, eating our bacon as well along with our coffee - books and ripped pages on the table as we write some lyrics.