Chapter 22.

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" You've got me nervous to speak
So I just won't say anything at all
I've got an urge to release
And you keep tellin' me to hold on"

**

When I woke up with the smell of that same cologne surrounding me in my bed, with that same warmth and weight pressed against me I could have melted into the bed with relief.

When Harry said he was staying I wanted to believe it, but considering everything I was trying not to get my hopes up, but they've officially just shot straight to the sky.

I can feel his chest against my back rise and fall steadily, and the faint snores slipping from him is the sweetest sound I think I've ever heard, I think I'd love any sound that came from at the moment because it would mean he was here.

I carefully shift and roll over to face him, pillowing my hand under my head and trace my eyes over his peaceful features.

His wild hair is ruffled all over his forehead, and I gingerly lift my fingers up to slowly brush it away from his face.

I've woken up to Harry several times now, but this time feels different. There was always this barrier between us, and even though he was right next to me, he always felt out of reach or at arms length.

The small affectionate gestures I'd want to do, I couldn't, the way I'd want to stroke my fingers through his hair, or the way I'd want to curl up into him....kiss him, I couldn't and I'd always wait for him to initiate it he wanted to be close to me.

Part of me is savouring this, and part of me is mourning it.

I don't know how things will be when he wakes up, I don't know how different things will be or if they'll stay exactly the same.

I know things have changed for me, but I don't know if they have for Harry, and laying here is giving me time to worry about all the new problems that brings.

I know how I feel about him just spells disaster for me, but that niggling hope in me prays there's a chance it doesn't.

I still don't know what to think about his confessions, whether it was that he cared about me or couldn't stop thinking about me.

It's the small drop from him that's enough to keep my thirsting for more, but I have no idea how much he's capable of giving.

I just know that after last night I can't go back, and I don't know how I'll cope if he just acts like it never happened, I just wish I knew what he was thinking, it's like trying to solve a puzzle while blindfolded and I don't think he'll ever help me piece it together.

I bring my hand up to feather my fingers over his face, tracing them over his statuesque features that manage to be so hard and cherub like all at once. I could stare at him for the rest of my life and still find something new about him that I adored, but those eyes will always be my favourite.

They're the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen, and I'm not ashamed to admit, I think that because they belong to him. He has a way of telling you a million things all at once, and nothing at the exact time with them.

They can break my heart and build it larger all at once, and they're the window into him that can give me the only glimpse of what his words are hiding.

They speak to me in a language I'm not completely fluent in yet, but I'll gladly spend the rest of my days trying to master it.

I ghost my fingers over his lips, and they have to be my second favourite, the way they're pouted and carved in the most perfect way, how they fold and wrap around the words that leave his mouth to accentuate them, I could never grow tired of them.

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