dear ana ❥ h.s.

brownie bowl

"Harry, what're you doing?" I inquire after minutes of me sitting on the bed as he instructed me to do. He was drawing something, probably me, but wouldn't let me see. He'd been quiet the entire time.

"Ana, be patient." he pouts, scribbling on the paper and looking at me.

"Are you drawing me?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you're beautiful, I need to paint you." he mutters.

I groan, waiting for him to finish. God, he dragged everything out. I felt like going to sleep forever because I was so bored.

"You know what we should do when we're done?" I whisper, remaining still on the bed. He raises his eyebrows and hums.

"We should make brownies." I whisper, poking his knee with my foot.

"We could make brownies." he agrees, showing me the paper.

I look at the paper, admiring the careful detail of the hair and features. It was literally like looking in the mirror, that's how good it was. I'd think he would enter it in some contest, he'd probably win.

"How could you keep this talent a secret from me?" I ask, standing up and walking to him. He allows me into his lap. "I know you told me that you draw, but you didn't say you were this good."

"Mm, well, I don't draw often." he shrugs, kissing my shoulder softly.

"You should. You're really good."

"I'm only good when the thing I'm drawing is beautiful." he mumbles, nuzzling his face in my shoulder comfortably.

I felt my face get hot, instinctively burying it in the palms of my hands.

"Harry, you flatter me." I mutter, looking straight at him and letting out a breath.

"You're adorable." he whispers, tucking my hair behind my ear and smiling. I run my fingers through his soft hair, planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Let's go make those brownies." he smiles, allowing me to stand up from his lap before going downstairs.

I follow him to the kitchen, hearing the ringing of Salem's collar behind me; he literally followed me everywhere.

I open the fridge, getting the milk and carton of eggs. Harry's right behind me, hooking his phone up to his speaker and blasting Maroon 5. He extends his hand to me, smiling widely.

"We must dance." he commands, stepping closer to me and wrapping his arm around the small of my back, pulling me close.

I laugh, stepping up on his toes lightly and wrapping my arms around his neck. He leads me, resting his chin on my head. I hear him singing along to She Will Be Loved, his voice blending perfectly with Adam's.

I smile softly, resting my head against his shoulder. He dips his head down, singing softly into my ear and running his hands up and down my back. He runs his index slowly down my back, writing something in the dip of my back.

His kisses my ear gently, holding me close to him and swaying slowly. He picks me up, setting me on the counter and kissing my nose gently. He looked at me, with stars in his eyes, brushing my hair out of my face. His lips pucker slightly, a small smile creeping onto his beautiful face.

"You're like a magnificent painting." His voice is barely audible, quiet as a mouse. But I hear him.

I shake my head, smiling at him. He was more like art than I was, with his long brown hair, bright green eyes, and the tattoos that painted his tan body.

"You're beautiful, too, Harry." I whisper, planting a gentle kiss to his soft forehead. "I wouldn't mind looking at you all day."

"I wouldn't mind looking at you, either." he mumbles, kissing my shoulder lightly. "Now, onto the most important task: brownies." he smiles brightly, eyes gleaming and dimples popping.

I hop off the counter quickly, getting a clean rag and wiping off the counter to eliminate germs. He gets the brownie mix from the cupboard above me, bumping into me slightly.

"Bowl, whisk, measuring cups..." he mutters, gathering the supplies from multiple cupboards as I heat the oven to 350 degrees.

He sets the ingredients on the counter in an orderly fashion: eggs, milk, cocoa, butter, sugar, flour, salt, vanilla, baking powder, and chopped walnuts.

His secret to his brownies was apparently milk, but he wouldn't tell me why. I just trusted him.

After we mixed all of the batter, and took a few tastes, we poured it into a 13x9x2 inch pan and spread it across evenly. We place it into the oven, wiping the fake sweat off of our foreheads and huffing successfully.

"Who gets to lick the bowl?" he asks, smiling at me.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" I suggest, shrugging my shoulders.

"Alright.. Rock, paper, scissors...shoot!" he exclaims, throwing down scissors. I pout in defeat, holding my hand flat over my palm. Scissors beats paper.

"You can get the spoon." he winks, kissing my temple and licking the bowl clean.

I retrieve the spoon, licking it clean and looking at him with chocolate covering his face.

He was a sight, a wonderful sight.