23. daydreamer*

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If you've never listened to Palace by Sam Smith, I need you to stop what you're doing and play the video above. It's the perfect song for Diana and Harry. Fair warning, this chapter is brutal + heart wrenching.

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These last few days have been me learning how to appreciate the time I have left with him. Sometimes, the silence isn't so bad, especially since there are no words that can fix the rupturing of my delicate, vulnerable heart. Tomorrow he'll be gone, and as much as I want to fight for him, I've also learned that it hasn't worked out for me before, so what would make this any different?

I could never appreciate the final moments with Austin, and sometimes I'll replay them in my head to torture myself even more. Our final moments were me telling him that I was going to have his child; moments filled with disgust and anger, guilt and sadness. There wasn't even the slightest bit of hope for us, and the sliver the shines through with Harry right now only makes it harder on my heart.

Summer showers are most peaceful when the sun still manages to glow through the clouds hovering low in the sky, even in the morning when the sky is painted a pale blue with streaks of coral and pink running through the dissipating clouds. The kind of rain that's falling this morning never last more than a few hours, giving the day a lazy lull until finally the clouds break and the sun fully comes out. The air will smell like wet graze with a tinge of sea salt; it'll have a soft chill to it that wavers from the passing shower until finally the humidity can rise again. It'll almost be like spring in August.

As the gentle rain patters on the window in my bedroom, there's a bit of movement beside me; sheets rustling, legs moving against mine, arms slipping over me seamlessly. I turn my head to see the sleepy man whose emerald eyes have just opened for the first time today. He sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes and scrunching his nose.

His arm moves over my stomach, pushing up my—his—t-shirt. "Morning," he mumbles against my shoulder, lips pouting over the thick fabric. He let's them linger there as I smile weakly, taking a deep breath.

My aching heart doesn't go unnoticed today, and if anything it feels like as our countdown ticks by, something is squeezing it tighter than it did yesterday. I turn on my side, pushing my hand over his warm, bare chest. My fingertips begin dancing over the lines of his swallow tattoos—and my mind taunts me with the reality that they will no longer be mine to touch anymore. I've promised myself that I'll do my best to memorize them. Though, the sad truth is that one day I might forget his voice and his face, but I doubt I'll ever forget the way he made my heart race.

Slowly, he takes my hand and laces out fingers together, bringing them up to his lips to kiss my knuckles as his eyes glimmer up to mind. Our noses barely touch, and it's warm in the space between us. The room around us is tainted with the cool breeze that blows into the room from the window that's cracked open; I never had the chance to close it last night before we got in bed.  

It's taking a lot of a energy not to fight with him, but I don't want our last morning together to be full of anger. My gaze shifts from our lace fingers to his face. Those painted constellations in the flower shop are no match for the beauty this man holds on the outside and within.

His pointer finger runs down the bridge of my nose, a lazy smile tipping on his lips. It's almost refreshing that he can be silly at a time like this. "Feel like we met years ago," I whisper.

"It does, doesn't it?" he agrees, chuckling.

The clouds are shielding the sun again, causing the glow of the room to absorb into a dreary, gray space. Without much effort, Harry's laying me on my back, the silence around us broken again by his kisses on my stomach as he pushes up the oversized t-shirt. I'm pulling it off and throwing it carelessly across the room, hearing and feeling him sigh against my bare breasts. He leaves lasting kisses on the plush skin before moving further south.

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