Dear Iris [h.s]

chapter thirty two.

Harry Styles

I've read the sensation of someone's heart melting a million times and never understood what they meant until this moment.

A simple walk through the woods, sitting up here on a fallen tree with Iris in the darkness has made me feel like I might not actually be the worthless person I'm made out to be. I said I lacked inspiration one, a passing comment I barely thought about, and Iris took me here, where she finds inspiration as an attempt to help.

She listened to something so minor that I said, people barely listen to the important things I have to say. It makes me feel so seen, she's the first person to ever do that. I don't feel like the odd one out in Iris' company.

Her head rested on my shoulder and I got butterflies. The fact she feels comfortable around me enough to do that means a lot to me. She's been through hell, and I don't really know the full story, maybe I never will but if I can provide her with comfort, make her feel like she isn't who her family make her out to be, then I'm happy.

"You come here painting a lot?" I asked, my head on the top of hers, arm around her shoulders.

"Not painting, I come here with my sketchbook and a pencil, just draw shite if I'm honest." She said, wearing a smile on her face. "But I like it here, away from everyone."

"Yeah," I agreed, "I get that."

I lifted my head to look at her, she's beautiful. The moonlight against her skin illuminates each freckle scattered across her skin and despite the darkness, the bright moon makes her eyes look so much more captivating.

I can't really stop looking at her if I'm honest, I never can. At dinners I can't take my eyes off of her from across the table, at the town hall she's always the first person I look fo Rhine i get into a room, and despite the fact she's treated like shit, the fact she's always wearing the purest smile shows the type of person she is.

It's really dad though. After all the shit she's seen, unkind words she gets called,  she still has one of the kindest souls and I really can't believe she can go through what she has and not let it change how nice of a person she is. I find myself being rude to people, and blame it on how I'm treated, but it's no excuse really, not if Iris remains the sweetest woman ever.

"She doth teach the torches to burn bright," I whispered, smiling away to myself.

"Did you just flirt with me in Shakespearean?" She asked, raising an eyebrow with a look of laughter on her face.

I was shocked she knew that one, I sat back and looked at her in surprise before shaking my head, "How'd you get every single line?!"

Iris smirked, "Ne me sous estime pas."

I love when she speaks French, it makes me smile and I just shook my head back at her. She never fails to amaze me, if only her family could see the extent of talents she has. One, she can paint pictures that look like real photographs. Two, she can draw absolutely anything, and make money from it. Three, she can speak fluent french. Four, she can deal with absolute hell and still have the purest soul.

What can George and Thomas do? Mooch off of our fathers for a living?

"You know when you said to me, a while ago, that you can say a lot in two minutes?" I asked her, wondering whether she remembers the conversation or not, but she nodded and I felt like less of an idiot. "I think about it a lot. You were right."

"Again," She said through a cheeky grin. "Ne me sous estime pas."

"What?" I raised an eyebrow, to which she just smiled, her face edging back closer to mines.