Sycamore Tree // H.S. (HIATUS)

twenty-seven

You spent the next day in the hotel. Between the sheets, watching a bunch of different movies, cuddling and kissing the day away. It's finally the day in bed alone with you that Harry needed so desperately. You needed it too, but he did more than you.

You travelled down to DC the next day in a car along with Harry's guitarist, drummer and Matty. It's weird how, even though they're all Harry's friends and all older than him, it feels like they are genuinely interested in you. They don't just hang out with you because you're Harry's girlfriend, but because they want to. When you arrived in the afternoon, Harry took you on a little sightseeing trip before you went to the hotel.

Harry took a nap, while you showered before you snuggled up next to him, letting him sleep on your chest with his arms around your waist.
You're caught up in your thoughts and don't notice he woke up until he pulls you a little closer.

"Lucille?"

"Harry."

"Before you fall asleep," he says and moves his head, so he is looking up at you, "do you sometimes imagine the future?"

"Mhm, yeah I do," you say softly, brushing a curl out of his forehead.

"Me too," he says just as softly and reaches up one of his hands to play with one of the necklaces hanging around your neck. "What do you imagine?"

"That everything will just stay like this, to be honest. I imagine us."

"Can I have a kiss?"

When you kiss him, his lips feel softer than usual, they feel good on yours, as if they always belonged there but took forever to get there. They feel like home.

Harry moves up a little bit, not taking his lips of you, to lean over you and hold your cheek while you continue to kiss. His other hand is still around your waist as yours reach up and wrap around his neck. The cross dangling from his neck softly falls on the junction of your chest and your neck. When he pulls away and opens his eyes, his pupils are widened with love - just like yours.

"I imagine us, too," he whispers and turns to lay on this back. "Sometimes when I wake up, for a second, I think it's a dream. You, I mean. But then I see you, looking like the fucking angel that you are beside me and I know it's not a dream."

"Stop, you make me soft," you say and sit up, but you feel his eyes on you and then you feel his hand on your back.
"Are you gonna sing me a song at your show tomorrow?" you ask to change the topic.

"Probably not, baby, sorry," he says, "but I'll wear your ring, okay?"

"You don't have to apologize, Harry. Mhh, are you gonna paint your nails?"

"Yeah, do you wanna paint them?"

You use the book Harry is reading at the moment for stability and hand him the tiny bottle of pastel yellow nail polish.

"Now, don't move, chéri," you say and hold his pinky in your hand as you carefully paint it.

"Why did you start calling me that?" Harry watches you carefully as you move on to paint the nail on his ring finger.

"Honestly, I don't know," you look up at him and smile at the mere beauty of his face, "I'm just in love with you and I wanted a nickname for you."

Harry chuckles lightly, "it means darling, right?"

You nod and lean over to grab the small bottle of lilac nail polish, "mhm."

You continue to paint the rest of his nails, carefully and concentrated. Harry watches you, the way the hair that you tucked away behind you ear falls over your shoulder and gets tangled up in your dangling earrings, the necklaces he bought you dangling from your neck, the rings on your fingers. Your eyelashes, they look soft with no mascara on them. Your voice when you hum a song stuck in your head.