Unforgettable

33.

"Love me tender, love me sweet
Never let me go
You have made my life complete
And I love you so"

Love Me Tender - Elvis Presley

***

Christmas Part 2

I look to Harrys other present I have for him, feeling nauseous.

I blow out a nervous breath, picking it up out of my lap and handing it to him.

It's larger than the last present, and the wrapping job is just as atrocious.

I know Harry will know how big of a sentiment this is for me, which I'm happy about and dreading.

But I wanted to do this for him, out of anyone else I've ever met, he's the one I want to give this to.

Harry looks from me and to the present, noticing how anxious I've become, and cocks a brow at me "Joey, relax okay, what ever this is I'm going to love it"

I gulp, shaking my head "No no, it's not that, it's just... never mind, just open it, before I literally chicken out"

Harry tilts his head at me, looking worried about the fact I look like I'm about to have a panic attack.

I wave my hand at him, urging him to open it, feeling my heart slam in my chest, god this is why I've never done this before.

It's so important to me, and gestures like this are so hard for me to cope with, there's so many emotions, but I need him to know how important he is to.

Harry starts to open the present carefully, my nerves getting more excruciating with each second.

When he opens the last bit, noticing it's the back of a canvas he looks to me with his lips parted.

"Please just open it Harry" I beg him, feeling like I'm going to chew a hole in my cheek if he doesn't hurry up.

He clears his throat, looking back to it, turning it over and pulling the paper away and he freezes.

I twist my fingers around in my lap anxiously, feeling my stomach in my throat as I hold my breath.

He just stares at it, completely still, and I'm going insane over it.

He finally looks at me, his lips pressed together in a tight smile and my stomach drops back down when I notice his eyes glassing over.

Oh fucking hell, if he doesn't like it he doesn't need to cry over it, just say you don't like it.

"You painted this for me?" he asks softly, his voice wavering.

I look down to the painting in his lap, I worked on this for weeks now, pouring every ounce of love into it I could. It's a portrait of Elvis, surrounded by a pink background, he said it was his favourite colour, so I thought it was appropriate.