I didn't have words for how the air felt around us the next morning.
I woke up to find Harry still asleep next to me, with his hair drawn messily over his beautiful face. My eyes flickered slowly over him, as he held me in his arms, and I waited. I waited for the peace to slowly drift; for it to be replaced with that uncomfortable, unsettling sinking feeling that inevitably hit, every morning - whether I'd been awake for five seconds, or for an hour - it would always, always hit. That funny twinge of guilt; that heaviness on my chest and my shoulders in a solemn reminder that there was so much I was hiding.
But that feeling didn't come, then.
I waited - I watched him; taking in every intricate detail of his sleeping expression, and tracing my thumb over the faint freckles on his complexion, but the feeling still didn't come. I leaned into him, nuzzling against his neck with a sudden urge to feel him closer, and I felt him squeeze his arms gently around my lower back, in return. I knew he was stirring, now, but neither of us had it in us to let go.
I wasn't even sure what time it had been when we'd finally fallen asleep last night, or what time it had been when we'd dragged ourselves away from the couch, to the bed, to intertwine our bodies in another warm embrace. It was like he hadn't wanted to let go of me, and I certainly didn't want him to, either.
I wasn't sure how long we'd spent talking - sharing little details and stories, until we couldn't talk anymore. It was like once I'd started, I couldn't stop - every question he had, I tried to answer, just like he always answered mine. And I asked them - I asked more, finally, feeling like I could properly hear him open up in the way he'd always been so willing to. It had scared me so much that he was always so open, and I often hadn't let him be, for the fear he'd try and prompt a similar openness in return. Now I could ask.
The fear hadn't just evaporated, and I had to keep reminding myself that it was okay, now, no matter how panicked and unsure I felt - it felt wrong, just as much as it felt right, to tell him the truth; my body and my mind were practically screaming at me with every word that left my mouth, all night. It wasn't easy, still, and I wasn't sure if I'd get there, at some point. But this was undoubtedly a huge start.
"I'm so proud of you," he'd mumbled against my hair, at some point later in the night. The phrase had made my shoulders rise, my lip drawn between my teeth as I processed the sentence. It wasn't the only sentence I'd heard from him that evening that would take a lot for me to process, as I was sure he'd feel the same about many of mine.
I felt his hand rub gently over my back as I cuddled against him, a soft exhale leaving his lips as they grazed my forehead. I felt so calm, it almost had the reverse effect. The way it felt to be with him was something I'd never gotten used to - but especially now, with everything so blatantly out on the table; it felt like growing accustomed to him was something completely out of the realm of possibility.
Growing accustomed to how he loved me.
I'd feared that after everything I'd said, he might look at me like I was broken. I'd thought he'd look at me with an unfamiliar glint in his eye, as he'd finally read me, and he hadn't liked what he'd read - but it didn't feel that way at all. The look, instead, was so warm - I didn't even have any words for it. It was somehow deeper than it had been before. I loved it.
"Can I just say it once...?" The low, sleepy rasp of his voice broke through the silence of our bedroom, now, and I tilted my chin up to look into his sleepy eyes. One of his hands rested behind his head, now, as the other drew circles on my back, and I watched how his lazy gaze trailed over my face, making me smile despite my confusion.
"Mm?"
"Once... I'll say it once, and then you have my word, I won't say it again all day," he said, causing me to slightly narrow my eyes. I didn't understand. I racked my brain for a moment, in search of an answer regarding what he was talking about, but I didn't find one. I tilted my head, still confused, but too besotted with the sight of him in front of me to even worry about it.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I murmured tiredly in response, my thumb tracing over a particular freckle near the corner of his mouth. I smiled, slightly. "So, I'll say yes..."
A small grin played on his lips, as he dropped them to my forehead another time, nudging his nose against it for a second. He met my eyes again, that familiar green achingly soft as I admired them.
"Happy birthday, Iz."
I felt a twinge in my chest. I looked at him for another moment, my expression slightly blank as I tried to figure out how it felt to hear those words directed at me, by him. It was weird. I could feel my heart begin to race, but I couldn't truly pinpoint if it was good or bad. It was... different. It was weird, and it was different.
He'd remembered and I hadn't. It wasn't a surprise to me that the day wasn't at the forefront of my mind; it never was, but his gestures would never fail to surprise me, in their own right. He remembered everything - everything I told him, or showed him, it mattered and he remembered it. He placed more value on myself than I ever had, and it was difficult to wrap my head around.
I simply closed my eyes, breathing out as I struggled to muster a response. I leaned into him again, feeling his hand rise to stroke my hair as I buried my face into the warmth of his neck, not knowing how to do much else. He pulled the covers back over us, enveloping me in the warmth of the sheets as he held me against his body, just letting me lay there, breathing him in.
I couldn't even be upset. Each year, Grace would say it just once - just to say it - it was funny how he'd done the same thing. Each time she'd say it, I didn't really feel much at all; and I wasn't sure exactly what I felt, now. I couldn't pinpoint it; it caused a particular shift in my stomach, but it wasn't unsettling, by any means. He cared so much that it was hard to comprehend it.
For the first time on my birthday, I had a number of texts waiting for me when I finally picked up my phone. Harry had eventually peeled his body away from mine to go to the kitchen, and I'd finally reached for my phone that had managed to cause so much upset, yesterday. No more missed calls - and if there had been, they were drowned out by much nicer messages. Elin, Pauli, Sarah, Mitch - even Ally; everybody had texted me within minutes of each other, as if they'd all done so the second they'd woken up this morning. Everybody had remembered it was my birthday - I even had texts from a couple of members of the tour crew, who I supposed had learned about my birthday through one of the others. I couldn't quite believe it - each text, with its own kind, individual message. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced.
Grace, of course, had sent a text of her own, and Johnny had sent me an email early into the morning. Nobody had forgotten, even though I had - nobody had thought it was too unimportant to mention, like I had. I didn't know how to feel.
I put my phone down, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment. I brought my face into my hands, closing my eyes for a second and taking a deep breath, in and out. Was this what I'd always wanted?
I didn't know what to do, or say, or feel. I didn't recognise my own life, now. I could hear my boyfriend moving around the kitchen in our apartment, in Italy, whilst we were on a brief break from his world tour. My friends - plural - had just texted me paragraphs of appreciation to celebrate a day that I'd never once celebrated, because they wanted to celebrate me.
I walked into the kitchen, slightly dazed. For the first time, I wasn't thinking about my family - my mother, or my father, or my sister, or what I could've done to fix things, or make them better. Today was however many years since my father had died - but it wasn't at the forefront of my mind, at last. I was here - I was living this, now, and it was real. It wasn't how I'd always seen myself, but it didn't mean that it wasn't me. This was mine.
Harry was standing over the stove when I walked in, his back to me. I could smell cooking as soon as I passed the doorway, and my eyes softened at the sight of him, quietly humming to himself as he moved things around. He hadn't even told me he was going to cook - I thought he'd be returning with coffee, at most.
I lay a gentle hand on his shoulder as I approached him, so not to startle him, and he turned around to face me with widened eyes.
"Hey, hey, no!" he laughed, then, quickly placing a hand over my eyes as my arms drew around his torso. "This is all part of it. Stay in bed. Go."
"I'm already here," I laughed, as he kept his hand over my eyes and brought his other arm around me to pull me against his body, as if trying to stop me from seeing what he was doing. "What are you cooking?"
"Bed!" he returned, taking his hand away from my eyes and lightly spinning me around with his hands on my waist to try and redirect me to the bedroom. I groaned playfully as he nudged me towards the doorway, a beautiful smile on his lips. I jokingly tried to reach back around him to see the rest of the kitchen, but he quickly moved to block my view - I only caught a glimpse; the tiniest glimpse, of a pink bouquet in the corner. Even as I relented and stood in the doorway, I looked up at him with an unbelievably enamoured expression. He'd gotten flowers.
"Go," he murmured, a grin playing on his lips as he knew I'd seen something. He pressed a kiss to my forehead, and when I tilted my chin up, he met my lips with his - just for a second - before he nudged me away, again.
I did as I was told, and went back to bed, an unbudgeable smile on my face as I settled back against the pillows. I decided I ought to reply to my friends, starting with Grace. I sent her a text in reply, before I started to go through the ones from everybody else - reading and rereading, drafting and deleting responses. How do you even express gratitude for things like this?
"Okay, close your eyes again," I heard Harry's voice from outside of the bedroom, and I bit back a laugh. I didn't reply for a second, only sitting up slightly in bed and closing my eyes as he requested.
"Are they closed, Iz? They'd better be closed..."
"They're closed!"
"Okay, wait. Wait," he said, and I sensed him entering the room. I heard some shuffling about, and I could hear him move back and forth, before I felt a gentle dip at the end of the bed. Within a few seconds, I felt the bed sink properly beside me, and I realised he'd sat back down.
He kissed my temple, once, with my eyes still closed, and I felt a little thump in my chest as he held his lips there for a moment.
"Okay. Open them."
I opened my eyes, unable to resist glancing over at his beaming face one more time, before my eyes landed on the sight in front of me. He'd set a tray down a few inches from my crossed legs, with a plate on it - with eggs on it, and pancakes that upon further inspection, it seemed like he'd made a wonky attempt at shaping them into hearts, for me. There was a mug of coffee, made better than I ever managed - he always got the ratio exactly right - and there was a glass of juice. A little further along the bed was the bouquet I'd caught a glimpse of in the kitchen - it was massive, and it was beautiful. I wasn't even sure when he'd had the chance to get the flowers, but he could pull just about anything off.
"Harry," I almost whimpered, not even sure which part to focus on. I looked over at him, next to me, and all I wanted to do was melt. He knew I didn't want it to be a big deal, but it would never stop him and his sweet gestures. In fairness, it wasn't like he didn't do things like this for me anyway, and so I supposed he could get away with it.
I pouted gently over at him, watching how his face lit up as I leaned in to kiss him, unable to really do or say anything else. I felt like I was horrible at receiving such kind gestures and showing my appreciation for them, even if I truly was so grateful.
"Thank you," I murmured against his lips, feeling his fingers rise to push gently through my hair. I kissed him again, and again, winding an arm around his torso to lean into him. I pulled back only to gently cup his chin, searching his eyes as I tried to find the right words. "You are so..." I trailed off. I was tempted to say I didn't deserve him, but I knew that he wouldn't like that. Because whether I deserved him or not, I still had him.
"Eat your breakfast," he murmured back with a soft smile, pecking my lips another time before his hand landed comfortingly on my thigh. I felt so emotional, still - I still felt so worn out and oddly empty after how last night had been; but at the same time, I felt more filled up with adoration for him than I ever had.
"Aren't you having any?" I asked him, reaching forward to gently prod my eggs with my fork - only to see that he'd cut around them, already. My jaw dropped, and I looked back to see him already looking at me, expectantly. He'd already cut out the yolks. He'd separated them, and placed them back on top to make it seem like a full egg, but he'd saved me from having to cut them apart so I could just eat them. He knew that was the only part I ate.
I breathed out a laugh as I looked at him, a playfully smug smile on his lips as I leaned back in to press a few kisses to his cheek. All I wanted to do was hug him, then. How did he remember so many little details about me? He was so attentive, and I'd never experienced that before. It left me without any words, and I achingly wished I could return his sweet gestures and tokens of appreciation, but I'd never, ever know how. I would never be able to match how incredibly he treated me.
"See, I get to eat most of yours," he said, rubbing a hand over my back as I couldn't resist kissing his skin another time. "Plus, I burned everything else."
We stayed in bed, eating and drinking coffee without even an ounce of urgency. Neither of us was in any kind of rush; neither of us had anywhere to be, or anything to do. We could just exist, here, together. I was shocked at how light today felt, with everything that had gone on - with the heaviness of yesterday, paired with the inherent weight of today's date; it was like we were somehow better for it. I could look across at him, and watch his loving gaze without feeling like I was throwing it back in his face. He made me so, so happy.
When I'd finally dragged myself from the bed to get in the shower, I had a warm glow in my chest as I stepped into the bathroom; feeling like I was walking on air. This was such an unfamiliar level of happiness - I didn't even know what to do with it.
My eyes instantly flickered to spot another bouquet of flowers on the bathroom counter, and my heart instantly melted. I stopped, staring at the sight of them for a moment - he'd even put them into a beautiful vase this time, not letting me resort to standing them up in the sink like I always had to in our hotels. My eyes softened.
"Harry!" I called, unable to tear my eyes from the bouquet. I stood there for a moment, before I instantly wanted to find him again.
"Yeah?" he called back, casually. I followed the sound of his voice out of the bathroom, glancing into one of the spare rooms on my way past, and stopping in my tracks. There was another bouquet in there.
And in the next room; and the next. There were bouquets on just about every surface in the apartment - sets of extravagant pink tulips, each in their own intricately designed vase. When had he even done all of this?
I scanned every room on my way past, until I finally found him in the living room, sitting on the couch, with another bouquet on the table in front of him. I stopped in the doorway, looking at him as he instantly met my eyes, a playfully oblivious smirk on his lips.
"What, baby?"
"You're ridiculous," I murmured, grinning ear-to-ear as I closed the distance between us and climbed into his lap. My arms drew over his shoulders as his hands met my waist, a similar grin on his lips as we kissed. He tilted his chin up, deepening our kiss for a moment, before he broke it, keeping his mouth pressed to mine.
"Do you think I can get even worse?" he teased against my lips, causing my eyes to flicker open to meet his expectant, playful ones. I furrowed my eyebrows, as one of his hands left my waist, and I felt him reach over to the drawer beside the couch.
He handed me a box, not particularly big in size, clumsily tied with a satin ribbon. My eyes widened as I saw it, with an envelope fastened to the lid, and I leaned back in his lap to accommodate the box in my hands. It had slight weight to it, but not much.
"Harry..." I whispered in a gentle protest, my eyes soft as they flickered between him and the box. "You didn't have to get me anything... you're... you've already-"
"Shh, I already got it. It's okay," he shook his head, as if already able to sense every denial and faint objection about to fall from my lips. "Too late now. All you can do is open it."
I looked down at the box in my hands, eyeing the envelope on top of it. I glanced back up at him. I wasn't really sure how to do this.
"Can I open the card, first?" I asked, gently, with uncertainty in my tone. His warm eyes met mine, and he nodded, sensing my demeanour and comfortingly drawing his hand over my hip.
"You can do it in whatever order you'd like, Iz. It's yours."
Truth be told, I'd never been given a birthday card before. It wasn't because Grace and Johnny hadn't tried - but it was because I'd been so incessant in how I'd told them not to do that. No presents, no cards - the day just had to pass. Deep down, when I was younger, a card was the thing I'd wanted. It wasn't gifts, or celebration - it was something written down, that I could keep and treasure. I wanted that, and I'd never had it - and so I'd told Grace I didn't want it, and I'd told Johnny the same, and despite their protests, they'd respected my wishes.
In fairness, I'd never explicitly told Harry not to do those things for me. He knew I didn't celebrate, but I was sure he knew, equally, that Grace would've spent years trying to get away with giving me as much as she could, on my birthday - but I think she'd accepted that I simply didn't want to be reminded of it.
I ran my finger under the seal of the envelope, feeling my hand tremble a little. His lips pressed briefly to my forehead as I opened the card, always so easily sensing my demeanour as I pulled it out into my hands. Etched into the front, in gold font, were the words 'on your special day'. I glanced back up at Harry.
"It doesn't say 'birthday'," he stated, matter-of-factly, his expression slightly teasing, as if to say he hadn't fully broken the rules in not mentioning the day, here. I shook my head, fondly, nudging his leg with mine as I opened the card to see his scrawl on the inside.
He had such particular handwriting - it wasn't like anybody's I'd ever seen. He always wrote in messy, wonky, capitalised letters, and though the writing was barely intelligible, it caused a fond twist in my chest.
As soon as I read the words, 'My Iz', at the top, I had to flicker my eyes away in search of my composure. I blew out a breath, closing my eyes for a second. I adored him more than anything - it almost hurt.
I scanned my eyes over the words he'd so diligently written for me - and to credit him, there wasn't a 'happy birthday' in sight. There were lines, from him to me - topped off with the most beautiful ones of all.
'I love you beyond words. - H.'
My hand rose to gently stroke his cheek as I took in all of the words he'd written; practically filling the entire page with his handwriting. I blew out a breath, my eyes flickering over his face. I knew it was okay, and I knew he didn't expect anything - but I was yearning to have the strength to return the words I wanted to, so badly. They couldn't just fall from my lips like they had before, in my life, because it felt so much heavier, now. It felt like I might just, finally, know what they meant.
He kissed the side of my head as I thanked him, leaning in to hug him tightly before I could even look at his present. I already knew that there wouldn't be a day that passed where I didn't read this card; so deeply captivated by every beautiful word he'd written down, for me. He made me feel so special, that it felt like I'd never really be able to wrap my head around it.
His lips were still pressed to my temple as I cuddled into him, slowly starting to fumble with the satin bow on the box. I smiled fondly at the idea of him tying it - the knot being a tiny bit too tight, to the point where I had to edge my nail underneath it to loosen it. I pulled it through, my body still pressed against his, as I gently laid the ribbon to the side, and curled my fingers around the edge of the lid.
I removed it, just as Harry drew his head back from mine, a little, as if wanting to see my face. I diligently laid the lid down on the arm of the couch, and I started to peel back the thick layers of tissue, to reveal what was underneath. In an instant, my eyes widened, and one of my hands tightened over his arm.
"You're joking."
I heard a soft breath leave Harry's lips in a short, little laugh, as I peered down at the box in shock. I blinked a couple of times, as if the gift in my lap would somehow disappear if I pinched myself hard enough. But it didn't - it was still there.
It was a camera - but it wasn't just any camera. I'd barely even had to look at it to know exactly what it was; it was a dated, vintage film camera, but it was one of the most iconic ones of all. It was a Mamiya - a camera that just about anybody with as much interest as me could recognise with a mere glance. These particular ones were impossible to find - let alone if they were even able to function; they were iconic Japanese cameras, that just about any photographer with that area of interest would live their lives and career desperate to get their hands on. And I was holding one.
"It works," Harry said, then, and as I looked up at him, completely shocked to hear that sentence leave his mouth, his eyes were already fixed knowingly on mine. This particular camera was one of their first releases - they were impossible to come by, and they went for ridiculous money even if they could only be used as a display piece, now. For this to be working - I knew in an instant that it would have cost thousands.
"It isn't too much," he spoke gently, before I could even object. He ran a soft hand over my back, watching me with equally soft eyes as I looked at him with a trembling expression. I opened my mouth to speak, but I still didn't know how to give him a response. I wanted to cry all over again.
"I can't- I can't even-" I started, shaking my head and closing my mouth again. I hadn't even gotten over the card yet - or the flowers all over the apartment, or the breakfast in bed, or anything else. It felt like I hadn't been able to make sense of much since yesterday, and he just continued to outdo himself. I was reeling.
"Oh my god," I mumbled as I leaned back in to hug him again, feeling him instantly accept my embrace. My hand found the nape of his neck as I buried my face against his skin, trying to pinpoint this feeling. I wished I could've bottled it - it was euphoric.
"Thank you," I whispered against his skin, flustered, feeling him gently squeeze me in response. "Thank you... thank you so, so much. You're so good - so, so good to me..."
"You're welcome, darling," he murmured back, holding me close to him. "You deserve it. And so much more..." he said, a little quieter, running a comforting hand between my shoulders. I wasn't sure I'd ever deserve him, and everything so brilliant about him - but he believed I did. I couldn't explain this feeling - so much of the past day, I'd felt, I'd spent it just struggling to put words to how good I felt. That wasn't often a problem I'd encountered; but with him, it just felt impossible. He was so many first-time experiences for me, and all of them were so positive. All of him was so, so good.
By the time the evening rolled around, I was sure that the day couldn't get any better. I couldn't get any happier. We'd spent the entire day in each other's company; completely intertwined in every possible way. We couldn't have gone out, with everything that was going on, but I certainly didn't mind; I could've stayed just as we were - watching as the sun started to lower in the sky, beginning to tint the living room a soft shade of orange. The golden light had started to stream down over his face, highlighting the height of his cheekbones and the line of his jaw so effortlessly.
I hadn't realised how much I'd wanted this until I had it. He'd managed to balance my reluctance to acknowledge today with how much he wanted to appreciate me, so perfectly. He hadn't pushed or intensified anything, but somehow, we'd still both gotten our way. In fact, I was sure I'd completely gotten my way - he'd just known what I wanted far more than I had.
"Okay, come on," he said, eventually, gently pinching at my hip as if to break me out of my trance of relaxation. I lifted my head from his shoulder, meeting his eyes. "The day isn't over quite yet."
A smile played on his lips as he watched me, whilst a mischievous glint was in his eyes, as if he had an abundance of tricks remaining up his sleeve.
"I'm taking you to dinner."