Wish You Were Here - Part 2

Chapter 33

OLIVIA'S POV

I stretch my arm out blindly in the dark, my eyes are closed but my body somehow knows it's still the middle of the night.  My fingers pat along the cold sheets beside me, cautious and ready to hit a warm patch of skin and I huff out a sigh when they come up short.

"Harry?" I say softy into the empty room in case I've made a mistake but there's no reply.

I frown to myself and sit up to turn on the lamp beside the bed, scanning the room and jumping off the soft mattress, cursing under my breathe as I look at my packed suitcase still standing by the door. 

I look down at my thong on the floor and Harry's open bag at my feet and pull on a pair of his boxer briefs, stopping for a moment to debate putting on one of his t-shirts but decide against it.

My arms cross over my chest as I tiptoe into the main room, the shadows sprawling across the tiles in the moonlight indicating his absence and I keep padding through the house, determined to find him.

I slow down as I see the back door to the deck wide open and a light on outside, the cool breeze from the ocean tingling my bare skin and I stop when I hear the faint plunking of guitar strings, Harry's back coming into view as he sits sideways on a deck chair in his underwear.

I lean against the door frame for a moment, watching his head lower to concentrate on his fingers, his hair still up in a bun.  His broad back is smooth and unlike his front, doesn't have a single tattoo.  He's hunched over his guitar as he plays a couple of chords and stops to pick up a pen and write them down, or maybe lyrics, into a notebook beside him.

My footsteps are faint but audible against the timber decking as I walk slowly towards him, his head turning slightly in attention to hear me approach. 

He smiles softy at me when I stand by his side and he gently rests his guitar on the ground with one hand and the other loops around my leg closest to him. 

"You ok, babe?" I ask carefully, knowing the type of mood he needs to be in to write.

"Mhmm," he mumbles, his free hand reaching up to tug my crossed arms away from my bare chest and placing his head on my hip, his not often ringless hand spreading across my stomach as my fingers tuck a stray curl behind his ear.

"Wanna talk about it?" I nudge seeing as though his body language is begging me to stay close.

"I think I had enough heartbreak in the last month to write a lifetime of love songs." He says against my hipbone and his arm curling tighter around my leg.

"Well, that's good because we're never going to feel it again." I tell him confidently and hear him sigh in reflection.

He pulls away slightly and closes his notebook, shuffling back into the reclined seat and tugging gently on my arms as a request to sit with him.

"Keep writing, baby, I'll go back inside." I say quietly, not wanting to stop him from getting out what he feels he needs to but he shakes his head and tugs me again.

I slide between his bent legs, my back resting on his chest and his arms wrap securely underneath mine, crossing easily down my naked torso.  My fingernails scratch up and down the hair on his forearms as I lean my head back against his shoulder.

My eyes close as I feel the warmth of his skin against mine and am convinced there is no more relaxing feeling.

He bows his head and kisses the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder and I feel his lips curl into a smile as goosebumps crawl up the surface of my arms and chest. 

"Didn't know it was possible to be this happy."  He whispers almost to himself as he rests his cheek against my temple.

"Overwhelming, isn't it?" I admit, our voices as hushed as the rolling waves rushing against the shore in the darkness.

"Mhm, m' kinda scared." He confesses and I shake my head softly as soon as the words leave his mouth.

"I've never felt more safe." I assure him and a puff of air from his nose brushes against my ear as he exhales a sigh.

"What were you working on?"  I ask after a while, our eyes lost in the expansive night sky above, the stars so bright and plentiful away from the city lights.

He shrugs against my back and I run my hands up and down his arms in silent encouragement.

"Why don't you like playing your own stuff in front of me and our friends?" I question as gently as I can, not wanting to sound dejected or pushy, just genuinely curious. 

He's quiet for a long time, the slight stubble on his jaw scratching on my cheek as he licks his lips and attempts to speak a couple of times before taking in a deep breath.

"My grandfather always told me it was important not to be a show off... to be and remain humble, no matter how many people ask me to play or say they want to hear me sing.  It's different when you come to shows, I'm doing my job, entertaining, but off the stage... It's personal, like reading someone's diary."

"I can understand that," I whisper, secretly hoping he will continue.

"My grandfather always said it was imperative to remain 'Harry' at home, as if I wasn't a musician and regardless of any success or fame.... Said it was the most important thing." He breathes out roughly as if the memories are too hard for him to process.

"He meant a lot to you, didn't he?" 

"The most," his arms squeeze around my waist a little tighter. "until I met you."

"I wish I could have met him." I tell him honestly as my heart swells at his confession and he rocks our bodies gently from side to side.

"Mmm, me too.  He would have loved you, thought you were brilliant," he smiles to himself.

We sit in silence for what feels like hours, the sun starting to creep up over the horizon and the first speckles of warm light materialising onto the landscape in front of us.  We watch the sun rise through tired eyes, our breathing heavy and our hearts full.

"I love you." I utter as I try my hardest to stay awake.

"I love you." He whispers back.

I twist to face him, my chest pressed into his as I kiss his chin and cheek and mouth, stopping when I see his green eyes searching mine for something he hasn't divulged yet and he licks his lips in preparation.

"Olivia?"

"Yeah?" I ask, a little confused by the seriousness and what almost looks like apprehension on his face.

He shakes his head ever so slightly and swallows hard, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat and his eyes breaking away momentarily.

"Let's go back to bed for a few hours?" he asks innocently enough but I frown slightly at the feeling that he changed his train of thought at the last minute.

His smiles gently and any anxiety I have quickly dissolves when he runs his hands over my bare back and over the loose band of his boxer briefs around my hips, successfully distracting me and I nod in agreement.