Always

Chapter 19

When I woke up, we were in an entirely different position than the one we had fallen back asleep in. My back was pressed to Harry's chest, his arm draped over my hip, hugging me tightly to his stomach, his other arm folded up under his head. He was still asleep, warm breath blowing softly against my ear in deep, even streams.

His body heat made me warm, but it was the best kind of warmth imaginable. Although I had been very careful not to move and wake him, I noticed the change in his breathing, indicating he, too, had woken up. A low grumble rose from his throat as he flexed his arm, pulling me even tighter against him and stretched out his legs.

"Morning," he said, voice once again raspy with sleep.

"Morning," I said smiling, grabbing his hand and squeezing it in mine. He nuzzled his face into the back of my neck, obviously not wanting to get up. I certainly never did. Bringing our hands up to my lips, I placed a kiss to the back of his hand before tugging it closer to my chest. We lay there, tightly tangled together, for a few more minutes before he groaned.

"Joey, I gotta get up," he grumbled. Apparently nature called. I giggled before releasing his hand, allowing him to get up after untangling himself from my limbs. The bed instantly felt ten times colder without him. I watched as he walked across the room and exited through the door, long body stretching out to an impossibly tall height, looking like he had been slightly crumpled before.

Without the hindrance of alcohol and the distraction of Harry, I was finally able to get a good look around his room. The first thing I noticed was how neat it was, proof of his natural tendency towards order. The colors of his bedding and walls were a navy blue, a pretty standard choice for a boy. There were a few band posters hung up, some bands I knew, some I had never heard of. His guitar stood on a stand in the corner, away from anything that could accidentally damage it. He had a large bookshelf along one wall, every shelf stacked with books upon books of every genre.

One thing that really caught my attention were all the photographs. All over his room, on walls, on shelves, on his desk and dresser were framed photos. I dragged myself out of his cozy bed to further inspect a few of them. I walked to his desk, where he had a framed photo of him with his sister, which appeared to be fairly recent. He had his arm slung around her shoulders as they smiled at the camera. Wearing a fitted button down shirt and black pants, he looked very sleek, and, unsurprisingly now, extremely attractive. Gemma, I noticed, was beyond beautiful. There was a resemblance between her and Harry, same piercing eyes, same thick, chocolate hair, same enviable bone structure. I smiled at the picture; he really looked happy in it.

Moving on, I came across a photo of Harry, his mom, and Gemma, similar to the one of just Harry and Gemma. Every looked nice, happy, and like a loving family. The kind of photos you would be hard pressed to find in my house, seeing as we were hardly ever all together.

The next picture I came across stopped my breathing all together. Perched on his dresser, the only thing set there, was a large photograph in an intricate wooden frame featuring a younger Harry and a man who could only be his father standing on the deck of a small sailboat. Harry looked like a younger version of the ruffled Harry I had seen on rare occasion. His chestnut curls were tangled wildly around his face, natural, blown from the wind and running his hand through them. A deep tan sat on his skin, surely from spending hours on the boat he was standing on in the photo, and there were no glasses perched on his face to hide his green eyes. His grin was so wide it would have looked painful if it weren't for the obvious expression of glee on his face.

When I looked at his father, my breath stopped again. If Harry and Gemma shared a resemblance, Harry and his father had to be twins. The same wild curls adorned his father's head, the same sharp jaw stood at attention as he smiled, which revealed the same white teeth. His father even had the same dimples decorating his cheeks, eyes crinkling the same way. The only difference I could see was his father's eyes, which were a deep brown in color. A deep brown that was almost hard to see behind thick-framed brown glasses- the same brown glasses that Harry wore on an almost daily basis. I gasped as I made this realization. No wonder he wore those large, improperly fitting glasses every day. He wore them to remember his dad.