When I woke up, we were in an entirely different position than the one we had fallen back asleep in. My back was pressed to Harry's chest, his arm draped over my hip, hugging me tightly to his stomach, his other arm folded up under his head. He was still asleep, warm breath blowing softly against my ear in deep, even streams.

His body heat made me warm, but it was the best kind of warmth imaginable. Although I had been very careful not to move and wake him, I noticed the change in his breathing, indicating he, too, had woken up. A low grumble rose from his throat as he flexed his arm, pulling me even tighter against him and stretched out his legs.

"Morning," he said, voice once again raspy with sleep.

"Morning," I said smiling, grabbing his hand and squeezing it in mine. He nuzzled his face into the back of my neck, obviously not wanting to get up. I certainly never did. Bringing our hands up to my lips, I placed a kiss to the back of his hand before tugging it closer to my chest. We lay there, tightly tangled together, for a few more minutes before he groaned.

"Joey, I gotta get up," he grumbled. Apparently nature called. I giggled before releasing his hand, allowing him to get up after untangling himself from my limbs. The bed instantly felt ten times colder without him. I watched as he walked across the room and exited through the door, long body stretching out to an impossibly tall height, looking like he had been slightly crumpled before.

Without the hindrance of alcohol and the distraction of Harry, I was finally able to get a good look around his room. The first thing I noticed was how neat it was, proof of his natural tendency towards order. The colors of his bedding and walls were a navy blue, a pretty standard choice for a boy. There were a few band posters hung up, some bands I knew, some I had never heard of. His guitar stood on a stand in the corner, away from anything that could accidentally damage it. He had a large bookshelf along one wall, every shelf stacked with books upon books of every genre.

One thing that really caught my attention were all the photographs. All over his room, on walls, on shelves, on his desk and dresser were framed photos. I dragged myself out of his cozy bed to further inspect a few of them. I walked to his desk, where he had a framed photo of him with his sister, which appeared to be fairly recent. He had his arm slung around her shoulders as they smiled at the camera. Wearing a fitted button down shirt and black pants, he looked very sleek, and, unsurprisingly now, extremely attractive. Gemma, I noticed, was beyond beautiful. There was a resemblance between her and Harry, same piercing eyes, same thick, chocolate hair, same enviable bone structure. I smiled at the picture; he really looked happy in it.

Moving on, I came across a photo of Harry, his mom, and Gemma, similar to the one of just Harry and Gemma. Every looked nice, happy, and like a loving family. The kind of photos you would be hard pressed to find in my house, seeing as we were hardly ever all together.

The next picture I came across stopped my breathing all together. Perched on his dresser, the only thing set there, was a large photograph in an intricate wooden frame featuring a younger Harry and a man who could only be his father standing on the deck of a small sailboat. Harry looked like a younger version of the ruffled Harry I had seen on rare occasion. His chestnut curls were tangled wildly around his face, natural, blown from the wind and running his hand through them. A deep tan sat on his skin, surely from spending hours on the boat he was standing on in the photo, and there were no glasses perched on his face to hide his green eyes. His grin was so wide it would have looked painful if it weren't for the obvious expression of glee on his face.

When I looked at his father, my breath stopped again. If Harry and Gemma shared a resemblance, Harry and his father had to be twins. The same wild curls adorned his father's head, the same sharp jaw stood at attention as he smiled, which revealed the same white teeth. His father even had the same dimples decorating his cheeks, eyes crinkling the same way. The only difference I could see was his father's eyes, which were a deep brown in color. A deep brown that was almost hard to see behind thick-framed brown glasses- the same brown glasses that Harry wore on an almost daily basis. I gasped as I made this realization. No wonder he wore those large, improperly fitting glasses every day. He wore them to remember his dad.

I jumped a little when I noticed that Harry had appeared behind me. He had arrived so silently, only the slightest clearing of his throat alerted me to his presence. Currently, he was not wearing the glasses I was now staring at in the photo.

"Those were your dads," I said quietly, not asking, merely stating. My eyes were still fixed on the photo in front of me. Wanting to feel him again, I took the tiniest of step backward, feeling my shoulders collide with his chest before he slowly wrapped his arms around them, forearms overlapping in front of me. I brought my hands up to hold onto his arms, running my thumbs slowly across his skin. He was so tall that when his head came around to the side of mine, his chin was level with the top of my head. He nodded, tucking his lips into my hair.

"That's why I wear them... for him," he explained. I already knew that. People at school who constantly mocked him for wearing them, however, did not, and it made me angry.

"That's so sweet, Harry," I said, squeezing his forearms gently. He just shrugged.

"I felt like I needed to do something... I just started wearing them after he died and never really stopped."

I thought about how he wasn't wearing any glasses in the photo. I smiled sadly. "Do you even need them?" I asked. I suspected he didn't.

"Not really. I mean I have contacts and the glasses, but I can easily get away with not wearing anything," he said, shrugging again. "It's just like he's with me when I have them."

I nodded, understanding. He exhaled, and I could feel the muscles in his chest expand and contract against my back. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound stupid.

"You're just... incredible, Harry," I said sincerely, hoping it didn't sound cheesy.

He sighed. "I'm not... I was just a kid who missed his dad. Who still misses his dad, I guess," he said, reluctant as always to accept my complement. I rolled my eyes, smiling to myself. He was so modest about absolutely everything.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I said.

He thought for a minute before letting out a low chuckle. "When I first started wearing them, my mom would have these moments where she thought I was my dad and she'd do a double take when I walked in a room. Or call me Dave. Then she'd go into these weird funks for days sometimes because for a second, she forgot he wasn't here. I hated doing that to her. I should have just stopped wearing them then but I was being selfish..."

"It's not your fault about that though, Harry. You guys look so much alike, that could happen to anyone," I said, trying to soothe his apparent guilt.

"I know. For a while it was like it hurt her to look at me, so I started doing my hair like I do now. So I wouldn't look like him so much," he explained further. Everything made so much more sense now; why he wore the glasses, why he styled his hair the way he did. I could only imagine his naturally quiet state had something to do with this as well. He must have been so broken. Maybe he still was.

"Oh, Harry," I sighed, letting him tell me what he wanted but not pushing him at all. I squeezed his arms tighter around me, leaning my head to the side so I could look at his face beside mine. He bent his face down, pressing his mouth into my shoulder, eyes looking at the floor now instead of the photo. I leaned in to press a small kiss to his cheek, wanting to comfort him in any way possible.

"You're an angel," I told him quietly, wanting desperately for him to believe me. To accept, for once, that he was a truly good person.

He sniffed lightly, puckering his lips that were still pressing on my shoulder softly before lifting his head and meeting my gaze. "How did you get here?" he asked.

I think it was rhetorical. Instead of answering, I just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, not moving, just feeling the pressure of him there. When we pulled apart, my head was spinning frantically and gloriously. I sighed contentedly, giving him one final peck on the cheek as we once again untangled ourselves.

Every new piece I got to know about him only drew me in more, only made me want to learn more. There was nothing I didn't want to know about him, and I was finally starting to believe the maybe felt the same way. Everything about the time I spent with him felt right, and I had never been happier spending time with a boy. The amount I already cared for him scared me, but exhilarated me at the same time.

***

After nearly an hour of trying to leave, I finally managed to extract myself from the magnetic pull of him. He seemed just as reluctant for me to leave as I was. When I got home, I couldn't tear the grin from my face. Thankfully my mother wasn't home to interrogate me, because there was no way I would have been able to hide my ridiculously good mood. Plus, I was still wearing the clothes Harry had lent me, which he insisted I keep. While I was ecstatic he had offered them, it would have been hard to explain to my mother.

After I showered, I quickly pulled his sweatshirt back on, desperate to have his scent on me again. When I went back to Lydia's that evening to retrieve my belongings and car, I barely said two words to her. Not that she had tried to talk to me much; she clearly knew why I wasn't in the mood to speak with her, and she didn't try to defend herself.