Far

twenty-two

Harry's POV

I watch her chest rise and fall as she sleeps next to me. I woke up fifteen minutes ago and I have had to piss ever since but I can't bring myself to wake her. She looks so peaceful, calm. She looks like an angel.

You're going to ruin her. I frown at my subconscious because though I know it's true, I wish I didn't have to.

I don't want to see her upset, not like the night she came running to me at that party. I remember the relief that washed over her frightened face, I remember my heart racing as I saw her ripped shirt and mascara all over her face. I never wanted to beat the fuck out of someone so badly when she tried to explain what happened. I wanted to make her feel safe and take away her pain.

Look at me now; I am going to be causing it.

I smile slightly as she puts her hand on my arm, she's still sleeping but longing for me? No. Can't be. I am just overthinking. Or does she like that I am next to her? Maybe I am not overthinking? What the fuck is going on with me?

She should not mean anything.
She doesn't mean anything.

The moment is gone far too soon when her eyes flutter open. Her deep brown eyes looking around before looking at the tattoos across my arm and following them to my face. She smiles sleepily at me before she closes her eyes again.

"Good morning, kitten," I say softly, bringing my hand to hair to push it out of her face.

She hums in response and nuzzles herself closer. I chuckle slightly as she whispers that she is cold.

"Are you still scared of you having bad morning breath?"

She smiles and nods her head.

"Go in the bathroom, there is an extra toothbrush in the cabinet, weirdo," I laugh.

She swats her hand at me before getting up and making her way to the bathroom. A few minutes later she comes back.

"Better?" I ask.

"Much better."

I don't think I have ever met someone so self conscious about their breath in the morning, then again, all of the girls I have slept with don't really care about much. And I have never given a fuck either. It's new to me, I guess.

She sighs as she sits down, "What time is it?"

I tap on my phone, "It's nine."

"Has the rain stopped?"

"I don't know. Are you hungry?"

She nods her head and I get up from the bed and pull a shirt on before I start making my way upstairs. I don't bother to look to see it she is following me because if she is hungry enough, she'll come.

I walk through the hallway and into the kitchen, I open one of the blinds to reveal the morning fog and slivers of sunlight peaking through the tree line.

My mums house has always seemed like a different world. Sometimes I feel like we're not even in Washington, but somewhere that doesn't exist to the public. Just to my mum and I.

"This is a pretty view," Ariana whispers, like she could break the glass if she spoke too loud.

I nod my head in agreement and sigh before I start breakfast. I watch as she stares out the window before her eyes observe everything. When I say everything, I mean everything. Her eyes trail so fucking slow over the pictures on the wall, the chairs, the books, even the flowers my mum placed on the small table between the two chairs. Her eyes flicker over to the door.