Personal Assistant ➵ H.S.

42

A tug on your sleeve made you look up from your new journal.

"Are you gonna read that the whole flight?" Harry asked, clearly having had enough of whatever movie he'd been watching and in need of some attention.

You were both sat opposite each other in the plush British Airways business class seats, you by the window and Harry by the aisle, with your feet curled up under you and your nose buried in the countless pages of Harry's writing.

He'd agreed that you could read some of it on the plane while he watched a film and tried not to stare with a moony curiosity at your reactions.

After your steamy time in his office last night, you'd rushed home only to jump straight into the bath together for another round of sex before helping each other pack the last few bits for your trip and falling asleep quickly, ready for your early morning wake up.

Because of this, it meant you'd not had a chance to begin reading through Harry's extremely thoughtful gift and to say you were itching to do so was an understatement. So after some bartering in the chauffeur driven car on your way to the airport, Harry had finally agreed to let you read it in front of him.

It took you a while to get through the pages you'd read as most of them brought tears to your eyes meaning you'd have to blink them away before you could continue. You were determined not to cry on the plane but there were certainly a few that had required you to take a moment (more like several) before continuing on.

So far your favourites had been Adore You - the song you'd caught a glimpse of back during Summer and it turned out you were his muse all along - and a very heartbreaking one called Cherry which had you blubbering in seconds, knowing instantly exactly what it was about.

You just couldn't believe how talented Harry was, and how each song held a new emotion, one you instantly related too, or how certain lyrics helped you to pinpoint when they might've been written.

Harry had added the odd bit of written commentary to provide some context, most of it just making your heart want to burst out of your chest, but there was also the odd comedic one. For example, at the end of a song title Medicine, Harry had cheekily scribed; think you can guess what inspired this one, some tequila and forgotten panties maybe?

It blew your mind to know how often you had crossed Harry's mind, especially in the early days of your relationship when he was just a hotshot boss and you his unforgettable assistant. You read it like a story of all the ups and downs you'd had since you'd met - your own fairytale - and you knew you'd treasure it until the end of your days.

"No I won't I promise, don't want to rush through it anyways. But Harry, it's so beautiful," you reached your hand out to run your fingers through his messy curls from where he sat, arms crossed and leaning on the divider between your seats, head resting there looking at you with sparkling eyes,

"Don't make yourself cry again," he murmured, "been watching you out the corner of my eye trying to control your tears," he finished with a warm smile.

"Well don't write such wonderful things about me," you responded teasingly with a grin, flicking him lightly on the nose, "I've already got a long setlist for your performance for me."

"Oh have you now?"

"Yep, better get those vocal cords warmed up baby."

Harry laughed, the laugh that was, without a doubt, one of your favourite emotions to see on his face, with his eyes crinkled and dimples deep, "You know what I like most about that journal though?"

"What's that?" You asked in interest, hoping to get an insight into his favourite song or something.

"That your initials could stand for Cecelia Styles," he said with confidence.