Wistful Paradise / H.S. [COMPLETE]

Nineteen

Florence

I woke up to the sound of a guitar and Harry's soft voice humming softly while birds chirped in the background. It's a sound I've been used too by now and it is always welcome. I watch him as he sits on the terrace of our hotel room. He's sitting with his back towards me, his curls still messy and the Mexican sun beaming onto his skin.

The strumming on his guitar continues as my feet pad across the warm floor. He barely glances at me as I step outside, being greeted by the hot air, touching my skin. "New song?" I asked carefully.

I noticed the cold look I got before he hummed in response. His fingers moving gracefully over the strings of his favourite guitar. "What's it called?"

"Two Ghosts," He snapped back silently and if I didn't listen good enough, I wouldn't have heard it.

"Can I hear it?" I tried starting up a conversation but it had no use. He set his guitar aside and sighed loudly before standing up about to walk into our hotel room.

He grabbed the side jamb, turning slightly so he could look me in the eye. "I'm not in the mood to talk to you right now," He muttered under his breath before continuing his way inside.

I let him leave, not even fighting him because I don't want to ruin his mood for the concert tonight. I knew he was a professional, but I also knew what ought to push him.

Besides, I deserved it.

That pink cloud Harry was talking about, seemed like he was right about it after all. We've had about four or five sessions so far with our therapist. Two individual sessions and one together, yesterday.

The individual ones were fine, it felt great to talk to Holly. I talked about me and how I felt about Storm after everything. And every single question Holly asked made me realise how I've taken Harry for granted.

So I was adamant to make our mutual session work. I was going to open up and I wanted to make sure that we wouldn't be fighting afterwards. I wanted to make sure that Harry was seeing my progress, our progress.

But man, was I wrong.

I've always known that Hary and I have had two different personalities and that we cope in different manners. We have different opinions but most of the time, we resolve them easily.

I walked inside, seeing the bathroom door wide open with the shower running. It's something he always did, he felt stuffy inside bathrooms and when he's on his own, he would always leave it open. It didn't was an invite to join him, but my mind had been racing 300 miles a minute and I just had to talk it out with him.

So I stepped inside the bathroom, hearing that same tune again coming from his mouth again. I leaned against the door, he was facing me but his eyes were closed. I waited until he had removed the soap from his hair and eyes before speaking up. "Are we ever going to talk about this?"

I saw him tense up before his cold, green eyes stared into mine. The hurt and confusion from yesterday were now replaced with anger and I hate to see him like this. "I think you've made your point very clear, as have I," He muttered, his voice muffled by the stream of hot water.

"Harry," I pleaded, watching him turn off the faucet. His hands reached for a towel, putting it around his waist and storming off into our bedroom. I followed behind him and sat down on the bed while he continued getting ready for wherever he was supposed to be. "If I'd known you would be mad about it, I wouldn't have said it."

"No, then you would've kept it from me and maybe that's even worse," He snapped, turning on his heel to look at me before his shoulders shrugged. "This conversation is pointless."