Daddy issues || h.s

2.7

She pedalled up the driveway to their house, her muscles screaming from the effort of riding her bike, and for the hundredth time that day, she almost tipped over.

"Be careful!" Harry cried and tightened his grip around her. He was sitting behind her, balancing himself on the little platform above the back wheel as they rode home from the woods.

"I have it all under control," she said, and stopped the bike. He loosened his grip around her and she was finally able to draw her breath. "So next time you don't have to squeeze me half to death." She got off the bike and reached him her hand, helping him off. His long legs were shaking from having been held up, and he would have fallen if it weren't for Adelaide's hand.

"No, no, next time, I'll be the one steering." He said as he placed his hands on his knees, trying to stop the shaking. All the way, he had been cursing and burying his head in her hair every time the bicycle threatened to fall over. "And I'll squeeze you half to death whenever I want to." At this he wrapped his arms around her and engulfed her in a hug.

"No, I'm a big girl, and I am perfectly capable of riding my own bike." She said and kissed his cheek before she tore away from the embrace. She grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the basket on the bicycle, and grabbed his hand, pulling him inside.

"I want to put these in my bedroom," she said as she filled a crystal vase with water and put the flowers in them. Some of them hung with their heads, but as they felt the water tickle their stems, they lifted their heads and smiled at boy and girl in front of them. "Come," she took his hand in hers once again, and pulled him towards the stairs.

His heart was in his chest, and thousands of butterflies took to their wings inside of him as he saw her dance up the stairs. Her hair fell down her back, and it danced in slow motion as she walked, like an echo of her movements. She had neither ribbons nor braids in it that day, it fell about her body and face, embracing its freedom, just like they were.

She stopped for a moment in front of her bedroom, as if collecting momentum to enter. He had never been in her room before. The closest he had ever been was when he stopped in front of her door and slipped his drawing inside the room. He now looked at the same drawing, but this time it wasn't printed on paper, but on skin.

She opened the door, and it felt as though he entered another world.

It was as though her room was the equivalent of the inside of her mind, with half-fished artwork scattering the floors, and with feathery white curtains lining the windows; veils preventing people to look in.

He could see the cherry blossom tree outside, its branches stretching so far they knocked on the windowpane, asking permission to enter.

He saw her standing in the middle of the room, her hands tugging at the ends of her hair, as if she was awaiting his judgement. It felt strange seeing her like this, insecurity draped across her features. She was usually so sure of herself, so confident, but now she bit her lip, as if showing him his room left her bare and vulnerable.

"It's beautiful," he said, and a small smile formed on her lips. And suddenly her realised this was a situation that would never be reversed. He had no room, at least not like this, and knowing he would never feel the same as she felt in that moment made him more desperate than he could ever have imagined. She had opened up to him in a way he could never open up to her, and somehow it made him want to wrap her up in his arms, kiss her golden head and free the butterflies in her heart.

The flowers stood at her nightstand, smiling at the sun that flowed into the room, but his eyes were blurred, they did not focus on the flowers or the crystal vase they were in. He could see nothing but the girl in front of him, and he could feel nothing but gold in his veins.