MAGNETIC [H.S.]

34. idc about anything but u

song: lovefool- the cardigans

There's not really a guidebook for how you're supposed to act the morning after you and your very complicated, on-again/ off-again, no longer a secret lover confess your love for each other seconds before orgasming.

We could have really used that.

See, at the moment, it was amazing. It was perfect, breathtaking, nothing could have possibly been better. We fell asleep absolutely buzzing on a high off of each other.

But then, you wake up. You wake up sweaty and sticky, and slowly, it comes back.

When I turned to look at Harry that morning as my brain recalled the moment we shared, he was just laying in bed staring at the ceiling. His chest was rising and falling slowly, his nostrils flared and his jaw was tense. I hadn't seen him blink, he was just staring up at the blank ceiling.

The room was so quiet, just the white noise of my air conditioning unit buzzing in the background. Streaks of light came through the blinds and decorated the floor, I couldn't help but think that if Evie was here she would be all stretched out in them.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. Rolling over to kiss him good morning seemed far too domestic and sweet for us, but I didn't just want to lay here in silence either. Luckily, my stomach growled loudly, breaking the silence and giving me an opening line.

"Do you want to go get breakfast burritos?" His eyes met mine and for the briefest of seconds, he looked like a boy again. He looked like that barely legal boy I met so long ago. I'd seen that look just a handful of times, usually in dark parking lots on Friday nights when a rowdy car would pull up for a drop. Once I saw it when he couldn't find me in our game of hide and seek. Another time I saw it when he heard my father coming up the stairs toward my bedroom. He looked scared. It only lasted for a split second though and then the color flushed back into his face, a smile played on his lips, and his eyes softened in realization that I wasn't going to make him talk about it.

We got up, went down to the store, bought all the ingredients for breakfast burritos, and then went to Niall's house and crashed his morning with G. The Sunday morning breakfast burrito tradition was started that day. I loved those mornings, and so did Niall even though he pretended to be annoyed by them at first. I grew to really look forward to them and the sense of family they brought, the routine of it.

We'd get up around 8 or 9 in the morning and put on our comfiest clothes to catch the train. Sunday mornings were a lot calmer on the train than Saturday nights, a lot of the time Harry and I would share headphones or talk quietly in our own little bubble. He was never not touching me when we were on the train, his hands were always on my waist or my hip, sometimes playing with the end of my hair, or rubbing small circles on the warm skin of my belly. Those mornings I often found myself wondering what people thought when they looked at us. Did they look at him in his worn-out jeans and soft sweaters and think that he was too beautiful to have the girl in spandex pants and a t-shirt wrapped in his arms? Could they see the way I looked at him? The way my whole world revolved around him?