Anchor {h.s}

fourteen

I woke up to the morning I had always dreamed of. Tangled in the arms of the man I loved, his slow breath being the only sound around and the movement of his chest lulling me to an utter state of calm.

Last night. The simple thought of it made my whole body tingle. I could still feel the ghost of his lips against my skin, the outline of his fingers when he held my hands and the small bruises on my thighs. It burned and hurt in the sweetest way, small reminders of what had happened only hours ago.

I didn't dare to move, I didn't dare to break this perfect moment that I had always hoped for, and yet as sleep slowly left my body, reality carefully crept into my mind. Yes I was lying on the chest of my beautiful broken boy, the one I loved, but I knew that the feeling wasn't mutual. It would never be, because Harry didn't love.

Knowing that, I didn't really know what I would be facing once we would both be awake. Were we supposed to act as if nothing happened? Were we supposed to talk about it? To be completely honest, both options weren't ones I was really fond of.

So I stayed still, enjoying these few moments of peace, as my eyes trailed along that body I knew so well. It took me everything I had not to reach and kiss his skin. I could still taste him from the night before, and the heat radiating from his body made him almost irresistible.

Thankfully - or sadly, depending on the perspective - Harry stirred in his sleep, indicating that he was waking up. His breaths became deeper and his muscles tensed. Lazily, his hand caressed my back and I nuzzled his chest, loving the way he touched me. I heard him sigh before I felt his warm lips on the top of my head and his arm pulling me closer.

"Good morning," he whispered, the small rasp of the morning present in his voice.

"Morning," I replied without looking up.

"You okay?" he asked, concern clear in his tone.

I sighed and nodded. "Yeah."

His hand squeezed my arm slightly and a heavy atmosphere lurked around us. It became even worse when he kissed the top of my head again and let his lips linger there.

For a second, I hoped. I hoped that Harry had magically changed in the span of one night. I hoped that he was suddenly starting to understand that he could feel things too. But that hope didn't last long. I knew Harry, I knew my beautiful broken boy. He didn't love and couldn't handle being loved, so I raised my upper body and put my weight on my elbow.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my eyes staring into his, making sure that he wouldn't lie to me.

"Touching you," he said nonchalantly. "You weren't complaining last night."

I hit his chest as hard as I could. "You're a dick!"

He grabbed my hands, keeping me from hitting him again. "Em, I'm joking, all right?" He apologized, his eyes sad but a small smile on his lips. "Is it so wrong to try and make you laugh? I haven't heard from you in a week, I missed you."

I bit my lower lip as he brought my hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on my knuckles. My eyes stayed on his lips and the way they curved when they kissed my skin and on the slow movement of his thumb against my fingers. I didn't know how he was able to do it, but he made me fall in love with him even harder. How could he be so hard, so mean at times, and so sweet and loving at others? His actions were always so contradictory it was hard to keep up and to stay strong.

I closed my eyes and laid my head back on him. I hummed at the contact of his warm skin and quickly kissed his chest, near his heart, with the small wish that maybe one day it would reach it.