chapter 60.

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With the words from a poet and a voice from a choir
And a melody, and nothing else mattered
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Harry Styles

I barely even remember falling asleep last night, I just remembered Harlow nodding off as I was singing and then me joining her a couple of minutes later. Now I'm lying wide awake with sleeping beauty beside me as the sun pours in through the gap in her blinds.

I can't believe I played her that song because it's quite a forward one in my opinion, but I really think she needed the reassurance.

From the second she walked into the club last night I could tell something wasn't right with her, even on the ride home she was quiet which isn't like her at all. It was sad to see but I'm sure she'd be back to her usual self eventually, I just hope she means it when she says it's not my fault.

While I was playing her my song last night, I was scared that me calling her stubborn would piss her off, but when her face lit up waves of relief crashed over me and I giggled back at her little grin like I was just a boy.

I have so many songs I could write about her, but I don't think even the best songwriter could create a song that does her justice, so how am I supposed to be able to do that?

When I felt her tossing and turning beside me I knew she was bound to wake up any second and when she did, she looked startled at the fact I was lying beside her. Although she soon relaxed and rested her head back on the pillow, smiling at me so happily.

This is the birdy I like to see the most.

"Morning." She yawns, stretching her arms out from under the duvet.

"Morning sleepy." I respond, smiling uncontrollably.

Christ I really am going soft.

For her eyes only.

"What big things do you have planned for today then love?" I ask her perching myself up on my elbows to face her. "Inventing a new technology? Solving global warming? Becoming a famous pianist?"

Harlow chuckles in response, leaning up on her elbows like me, just inches keeping our faces apart, "watering my plants, picking up flowers, responding to emails, working..."

"Wow! I don't know how you do it." I sarcastically add, as if she said one of my options.

She's in much brighter spirits today, smiling ear to ear and pretty much lighting up the whole room with her everlasting sunny glow. She's beautiful.

"What can I say, I'm pretty nifty." Harlow winks jokingly. "What about you...writing a number one record? Becoming a famous musician? Touring the world with your guitar."

I throw myself back on the willows, holding my arm out for her to lie beside me but instead, she places her arms flat on my chest and rests her chin on her hands, looking up at me in anticipation.

"More like a world class tour to the scrapyard followed by a little detour to the tattoo shop, but you're welcome to join. Free tickets for V.I.P's you see love." I joke back, resting her hand on her back.

"Hmmm I'll pass." She smiles, her blue eyes burning holes into my face as she stares up at me.

Before I'm even given the chance to protest, she's rolling right over the top of me and off the bed, surprisingly landing on her two feet. Harlow disappears off into her en-suite and leaves me lying alone unable to rid my face of the smile she constantly has me wearing.

I'm glad she's feeling better today.

Harlow's humming along to 'edge of seventeen' in the bathroom, even through the closed door and regular pauses she takes, I can recognise a Stevie Nicks song anywhere.

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