camp cherry | hs

forty seven

HANA

Harry is obsessing over making sure I don't feel sick or any different to usual, offering me chocolate and soda to make sure I feel comfortable.

"You know I'll still love you if you are pregnant," he repeatedly tells me whilst we lounge around lazily in his room, watching any movie I could find that we haven't watched together already, to which I always respond with a grateful kiss and a thank you.

He falls asleep during Pretty Woman, even though he was the one who insisted on watching it, so I take the opportunity to explore his room, smiling when I find a tiny collection of nail polish hidden in the back corner of his desk drawer.

"Harry, wake up." When he doesn't budge an inch, I leave him for another hour, reading more of his favourite book until I become too impatient. "Can I paint your nails?" I ask excitedly when his eyes crack open slightly to signal that he's awake.

He hums in agreement before drifting straight back to sleep, so I begin, painting his nails with a slightly shaky hand, alternating bright pink and blue on both hands. It only takes me five minutes and then I hold his hands carefully so he can't smudge them at all, and I quickly become bored again, spotting the hair ties on his bedside table and then shifting my gaze to his growing hair.

Thankfully, he's a ridiculously deep sleeper, so it's incredibly easy to position his head to give me access to his hair, and I braid the dark strands on each side, then taking a good look at him.

He even pulls off braids - what man can do that?

Eventually, I fall asleep, cuddled up to Harry warmly and studying his beautiful face, my eyes drifting closed as his arm wraps around me sleepily.

✩︎

"What the fuck have you done to me?" I hear Harry gasp, waking me instantly and I lazily open my eyes to see Harry stood by the bathroom doorway and gesturing to his hair, specifically the braids.

"I braided your hair and painted your nails so you look pretty," I smile patronisingly, able to see through his fake dislike to the hairstyle - he actually loves it.

"I like the nails, the hair is questionable, however. Not questioning your amateur hairstylist skills though!" he calls as he reenters the bathroom, checking out his hair when I follow him.

"You look hot as fuck," I comment shamelessly, his eyes lighting up as they catch mine in the mirror. Sneakily, I grab my camera and quickly snap a picture of him, his lips pursed and his eyes glancing away nervously. Stealing one of his sharpies, I jot down the date and 'braids' on the bottom. I quickly use the toilet just as the lunch bell rings, Harry exclaiming gleefully and when I exit he's marked a bold line through my note and written his own phrase on the picture too, 'they're called plaits!'