The Therapist [h.s]

28

Camila's POV

I woke up in Harry's bed and smiled as I watched the adorable man sleep, his curls splayed out on the pillowcase. Stepping tentatively out of bed, I walked out of the room and began to explore.

Running my fingertips along the walls, I opened a few doors to find nothing but empty guest rooms- they looked like they had never been touched.

Suddenly I opened a door to a different room, a room that looked like it was used. It was a music room, full of guitars and recording equipment and in the middle stood a grand piano.

"What are you doing in here?" A voice asked behind me and I turned round to see a sleepy Harry leaning against the door frame. At first I thought he was mad but the grin on his face crushed those thoughts.

"I was just exploring and I came across this room. You must use it often," I said, running my fingers along the piano's keys, the noise echoing in the room.

"How'd you know I use it often?" He asked, walking over to put his arms round my waist. At his touch I felt my knees weaken and suddenly forming a coherent sentence was slightly harder.

"Its smells like you," I replied back, only realising how creepy it sounded after I had said it. Harry laughed loudly before picking up his guitar and beckoning me over to bed that was randomly placed in the corner of the room. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he chuckled before sitting down on the mattress.

"This is my actual bedroom, the one we slept in last night was only used so you wouldn't think I was a complete freak. I like sleeping in a room of things that I love, otherwise I usually can't get to sleep," as he spoke, I came and sat down on the bed next to him, crossing my legs like a little child.

"So did you not sleep last night?" I asked worriedly, looking up into the boy's eyes that were glimmering in the early morning sunlight.

"Yes I did sleep, because I was near something I loved," he held my hand in his to reassure me, before pulling away so he could strum the strings on his guitar.

***

A glass of wine in hand, I laughed drunkenly with Harry as we sat trying to write the lyrics for a song. It had been my idea, and Harry decided that the only way we could write was with a bottle of red wine.

"I like bananas, I wear pyjamas, I wear pointy shoes cause that's what I like to do," Harry sang out, strumming random chords on the guitar and I giggled hysterically.

Looking into his glinting eyes, I felt nothing but love for the goofy man that was sat beside me. Smashing our lips together, I could taste the alcohol on his tongue and I pulled away smiling.

"You are so perfect," he whispered, pushing a strand of hair back behind my ear. I melted at his words, my whole body became limp with love and the only thing I could do was kiss his forehead and bury my head in the crook of his neck.