His car parked outside your house, in the same spot as always, right next to the pavement on the left.

You heard the doorbell ring, and as you dropped everything to open the door, your heart seemed to come to life again.

Harry never looked so beautiful—but you thought that same sentence to yourself everytime he came over.

His job was exhausting, and yet amazing at the same time. Harry loved his fans, but more than his fans, he loved you. It broke him in a thousand pieces, to walk out the door everytime something came up. Sometimes he was gone for days. Weeks. Months, when it came to tours. He had tried to bring you along, but he was smart enough to understand that such thing wasn't easy. After all, you had a life too.

So Harry wanted to spend as much time with you as possible before having to say goodbye, whether it was for a month, a week, or hell, a day. Being apart with you was torture. But not being able to do what he loved was torture too.

After bringing him inside the house, you were apparently going to shower. Harry immediately told you to go, because when you came back, he was masterly mixing ingredients on the kitchen counter while humming joyfully to a song.