Love: I’ll write a drabble of my character admitting they love yours.
Fuck, she was beautiful. Harry ran the fingers of his tattooed right hand down his tight, black jeans, the denim chilled because of the cold, London air capturing every inch of his body besides his left palm which was pressed firmly against her right. His rings made it hard to cradle her tiny hand in his own, yet, tonight, that was the least of his worries, only a tiny draft in the whirlwind of his mind, thoughts scattered and jumbled into a tangled, inconceivable mess, but with her..
With her, that was alright.
With her, he could be an incoherent twat. With her, he could be the stuttering, blubbering idiot he sometimes became because she was Lights, he was Harry, and they were each other’s. She was his. The sky was blue, grass was green, and Lights was his. That warmed a part of him. A part of him that had been long abandoned since the last messy, teary, heart-wrenching breakup. A part of him he never thought he’d ever access ever again, because love was messy, so were relationships, and so were his thoughts, but..
But over time, he was beginning to be okay with it.
He was beginning to become comfortable with the fact that the girl he was sauntering down a street in a secluded part of London with was beginning to consume more of him than he was actually willing to give over. As the moonlight illuminated the empty street, his long legs stopped carrying them down the sidewalk to his house, the tension between their joined fingers bringing her to a stop as well.
Her long, jet black locks bounced as she turned to meet his gaze, confusion written across her soft features, and even though every ounce of his body was shivering from the cold, mind a winding mess, and fingers basically frozen to his jeans, one thing and one thing only mattered. Her. As her deep pink lips parted, he instead reached blindly inside his heart, the warmth rushing up his torso, reaching his cheeks before it parted his lips and rushed out into the silence, breaking it before she could. “I love you.” His voice was rough, nerves only allowing it to escape just above a whisper. Nothing else mattered though.
