HELLO. 

It's been a hell of a long time since I even thought of writing anything Harry related but here I am! Tour going ahead in America is so unfortunate for me, who does not live in America and is therefore unable to go to any of the shows, however, it is perhaps a blessing in disguise because my motivation sparked. I missed writing about Harry, I missed missing and loving him like this </3 

I hope everyone who attended the first show had the most amazing time, and everyone who will attend future shows will have an equally brilliant night. But please, please, make sure you're all being safe and following protocol/requirements. Harry is only going ahead because he trusts harries to be safe, so let's not give him a reason to not be able to do what he loves most :)

This piece is... well, I'm a sucker for him so that's what created this. You may do what you will with that information as you proceed to read further. Reading back over it, I think it's basically the same thing I always publish under this book just a little different LMAO but I'll let you be the judge of that. 

As usual, there is absolutely no plot whatsoever so please lower your expectations but still have fun reading the same 26 letters in different orders :)

I hope everyone is well and safe and happy! 

(Word count: 5,789)

The first night of LOVE ON TOUR brought the brightest rays of sunshine, the clearest of blue skies, and the most energised excitement one could've ever experienced. It almost appeared as though the world knew something was about to change.

Bright, fun-coloured outfits popped from the queue that curled around the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas. Sun beamed down on the fans, and warmed Harry's girlfriend's neck and shoulders as she walked by them. Somewhere along the way, she found the stylist, Harry Lambert, who she was supposed to fetch for the last-minute fitting.

It wasn't just her who paid attention to the fans, and it became evident when Lambert motioned toward them with a tilt of his chin, "Everyone is so creative, aren't they?"

There was no reason not to agree. She nodded, smiling softly, "If I could dress the way they do now, nevermind when I was their age, I would never complain. Harry definitely has some of the most well-dressed fans I've ever seen."

Lambert seemed to find that statement amusing, and he laughed. His voice echoed between the walls as soon as they walked through the sliding glass doors and into the venue. After that, it took little to no time to get to Harry's dressing room. The sight that welcomed her left her jaw hanging open, the surprise of a laugh that erupted from her chest making him turn on his heel.

"Now what the hell is going on in here?" she asked him, eyes running up and down his half-dressed body. Completely taken by the fierce round of ping pong over the black, 'TREAT PEOPLE WITH KINDNESS' table between him and Mitch Rowland.

One of the many things she wasn't made aware of was his outfits for the shows. Not because she didn't want to know—she tried plenty of times to gain access to the moodboards Harry made, the photos he saved of the things he liked—but because everything was kept to a secret.

Harry groaned because of that reason. He wanted to keep it a secret until the show. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Oh?" she raised a brow, carefully folding her arms across her chest. In the meantime, Lambert stepped forward and tugged on the waist of the pink trousers that rested on Harry. It reached up to the ink of his butterfly and the button and zipper folded under a flap of fabric to keep it hidden.

"Where is the—ah," the stylist muttered as he picked up the pink fringe vest. "Turn for me," he spoke to Harry, who didn't look at all ready for his final fitting.

The thing she noticed after her eyes had some time to devour his smooth, toned, lean body, was his hair and how much of a mess it had become. There was no doubt Harry fought to the death to win the ping pong game. A single strand fell from the rest of his hair and hung over his forehead. That alone sent a tumble of emotion down her back, thoughts rushing to more intimate moments shared between them. Breathless and aching. His hands all across and over her body, leaving countless hot trails behind as he towered over and sank into her until they could no longer tell where one of them began and the other ended.

She gasped for air. It stunned her so much that she felt her cheeks flushing with warmth, her ears prickling like someone torched hot flame against her skin. When her eyes shifted towards Harry, she found his gaze already on her, his lips turned up into a smile then a knowing smirk as he had to have put two and two together.

Her entire soul stilled when Harry said, "Give us the room for a minute, guys," his eyes strained on her. There was no way she could've gotten any air in her lungs. They burned for the fresh oxygen but she couldn't physically inhale as Harry watched her like she was the last meal he'd ever eat.

And she wasn't sure when the room emptied. She certainly didn't know why everyone listened to him. The request was not unlike him because there were times, he genuinely needed a moment before the show. So, maybe that's what everyone thought was his reasoning—but the show was hours away still.

Harry was not.

He crossed the room like he had supernatural speed, the delicate movements of another being that had the ability to surprise others with their sudden presence. The hairs on her body were reaching upwards and her mouth parted with another gasp when she felt his hand cup her cheek, the other tugging her closer to his body. Harry's chest moulded against hers and there was no space between them—not enough to fit a sheet of paper there. Hot breath fanned against her mouth before she felt his silk soft lips invite hers for an exchange of ecstasy.

The hardness of his body woke her enough to lift her arms around his neck. Harry breathed air into her lungs, allowing them to grow and keep her steady. It wasn't unlike him to do the opposite—having taken her breath and the ability to stay in this world—having just done that with a single look at him. But this—keeping her alive and there and with him. That was his favourite.

A moment passed and Harry pressed his forehead to hers. His arms felt as strong and tight around her as they had been during the kiss, and she was certain he could physically feel the way she heaved for more air. He had to because why else would he have chuckled the way he did? Breathless and smug? She blushed at the thought.

"They'll know," she rasped. She didn't recognise her own voice at all. The thick sound came from her chest, easing up, up, and up. Flames burning their way through her body in the form of words.

Harry nudged his nose against hers, breathing the question onto her lips, "They'll know what?"

"What we're doing here," the answer almost died in her throat when his lips touched the sweet skin of her neck. The effect it had on her caused his head to feel as though he was drunk, and he'd said so many times before. When she shuddered and leaned into his touch, he held her tighter and practically growled at her as he ran his teeth across the length of her neck.

He more or less hummed the question, "And what are we doing in here?"

Leaving her without the chance to answer—not that she had much of a response to give—he turned them around and found a comfortable position on the soft beige couch. Unbeknownst to her, she ended up straddled on his lap as his body bent back into the furniture, his thighs keeping her secure as were his hands.

The smirk enlarging on his face was dangerous. The desire and sheer will to do things she imagined minutes ago was also dangerous. So many things about him, about this situation, about them was dangerous.

Harry had to know. His face told every version of the story that he did. "Hm?" he nudged her with one of his legs. She couldn't tell which one. There was no time to figure it out, either, because his hand lifted and his fingers brushed under her chin. Harry pulled her face closer and closer, still, keeping their mouths just a breath apart. "What are we doing in here, baby?"

Words couldn't provide a well-formed answer. Maybe she didn't even try. Could he blame her? Could he truly blame her when he sat there, all of him pressing into all of her? Could he actually find blame in her inability when his eyes caused her skin to sizzle like champagne and burn as though she had a fever?

If so, then she made sure he could not. She made sure he could not blame her as she pressed her mouth to his mouth and ground her hips against his hips in a manner that curled the most unexpected yet soulful groan from him. Every wall of that room may as well have shaken to the point where the paint cracked off in the corners because that's how it felt inside of her.

She made no effort to keep her hands to herself. The only thing on her mind was the way he looked when she found him in this room. His hair had already tangled from all the times he ran his long, slender, ring-clad fingers through it and she chose to add more to it as her own fingers curled inwards. Grabbing a fistful, she pulled his head back the same time her body whirled against his, slow but deep and in circles. Her mind had become hazy as one of his hands travelled beneath her shirt, fingers dancing upwards over her stomach. Another gasp left her at the feel of his cool rings and skin wrapping around one of her warm, aching-with-pleasure breasts once he worked his way around the material of her black, lacy bra, freeing her softly.

Every time, he pushed upwards, meeting her in the middle. Each gasp that he drove from her was met with her desperation and need to hear him lose his breath in her mouth, to hear him moan against her neck. Harry's hot tongue darted out against her throat before he wrapped his lips around her skin, suckling on her like she was honey and he felt starved. When he tasted her sweet spot, an animal sound erupted from her and she pulled him back, his hair still intertwined with her fingers.

She felt how Harry's head buckled back against the headrest of the sofa. Both of her hands slipped out of his hair, down the sides of his face, down his neck, until it stopped on his shoulders, resting against him. Her eyes opened slowly, recognising the throbbing of her mouth, the storming of her heart, the delicious ache between her thighs that pressed right into him. Once her gaze settled on him, she soaked up the sight of his lips, plump and glossy, a much deeper shade of pink than before. She would've gone as far as saying they replicated the colour of his trousers. The combination of that, and the darkening of his eyes, the hunger that seemed to only evolve and turn more vicious, almost made her faint.

Thank gods he was holding onto her waist like his life depended on it. The tips of his fingers curled into the softness of her waist and kept her there, tugging her down as his hips pushed up against hers. It didn't help the pulsating feeling between her thighs—if anything, it worsened her thirst for him and she knew for sure she wasn't going to be able to let him go without feeling him inside of her.

"I want you," she said but that wasn't her voice. Good gods, that was not her normal voice. No. This was thick, full of raw want and need and lust that drove her insane. How could she need him so much? Practically whining for him, she made the first move to unbuckle her jeans but her fingers were shaking.

All of her was shaking.

Harry grunted. "Let me," he interfered, sounding softer than she expected. His fingers brushed between hers and then they unhooked the three buttons leading down to her zipper. Harry looked up when he was done, kissing her chin, kissing her pouty bottom lip. "Stand, baby."

Without hesitation, she did what he said. Shaking legs supported her for as long as it took her to pull down her jeans, kicking them off so they were bunched up on the floor, inside out. Her fingers hooked into the sides of her underwear when Harry stopped her movements and said, "Leave them on," with a wicked grin that made her squeeze her legs together.

Seconds passed by as Harry pushed his trousers off, then his boxers. Treating the custom designer outfit like it was nothing as he tossed the items to the side, he reached forward and tugged her closer. She didn't know where to look or what to do or how to feel because the only thing she could focus on was her thundering heart.

"I want you so bad," she repeated in the same voice with the same look in her eyes that felt certain was the replica of his.

Harry hummed. "You do, do you? C'mon then, darling. Have me."

And she did. Gods, did she? Everything in her stilled for a second before the explosion relaxed her body. Harry's fingers pushed the soaked, thin material of her underwear to the side so torturously that she couldn't help the whine leaving her. He brushed against her purposefully, knowing what he did to her with just one digit. She was sure he could feel her entire body tense but shake at the same time. Was that even possible? Was her mind making it all up?

Her head fell back at the feeling. Slow, teasing, burning. Harry played a sick game but one she adored nevertheless. She sank down on him completely, feeling herself stretched so good it made her toes curl.

She whimpered, "Fuck," as her fingers curled into the muscle of his shoulders. There was ninety nine percent chance that his skin would be rubbed raw but she couldn't have cared less.

"Good gods, I've missed you," Harry breathed as his swift fingers peeled back her shirt. He pulled until it was over her head and across the room, then went back and curled his hands around her breasts. Nipples erect and hard, he leaned closer to her chest, pressing his warm, wet mouth to her skin.

"Harry," she called his name as he inched down, down, down. The trail of his tongue, the hot swirl of that skilful, wicked tongue, flicked over her nipple before the piercing feel of his sharp teeth had the chance to overtake. She started to move, then, playing against the feel of his mouth. Harry explored her skin like he'd never done it before. It was a road he had taken many a times and yet it felt like a new route every time. "Fuck..."

"Does that feel good, baby? Hm?"

She nodded feverishly. "You feel so... so good."

"Yeah?" her rasped, holding onto her for dear life. Her head bobbed and her hips slammed into his time and time again. Over and over. Hips circling into his. "This is what you wanted, wasn't it? Let me hear you, then. These walls are thick enough to keep your pretty moans inside."

Even if they aren't, I couldn't care less, she thought as her mouth parted with a moan so deep and raw that she knew she'd feel it later in the day. She rode his cock like she imagined she would when his hair fell over his forehead. Then, he was sweaty. The thought made her open her eyes, only to find him engraved in memorising the way she sank down onto him all the way before moving so excruciatingly slow that it made them both heave. Her hips were moved for her as Harry pushed her back, letting himself almost slip out of her—then he pulled her back. Fast and forceful and oh good gods, she had never felt so good.

Her voice died down in his mouth as his tongue swiped over hers. Harry explored her through the kiss, touching her teeth, the roof of her mouth. One of his hands stayed toying with her perked, wet, aching breasts while the other held her waist, fingers burning holes into her skin.

"That's it, baby," he encouraged her, sounding just above a rough grunt. His skin glowed and her mouth parted in awe. She caught his lips with hers after he said, "Fucking hell—just like that."

Pressed completely against his hard, naked, sweaty chest, her arms tightened around his neck. She held him to her so close that Harry could only hide his face in the crook of her neck. His lips suckled on her skin, biting down on it before he pulled it into his mouth. He clamped down and kissed her skin, the couch cushions falling to the floor.

Hell, the couch itself was about to fall as she rode him so fast and hard. Harry's cries of plea pushed her through the knot that started forming in the pit of her stomach. Every movement against him was enough to rub herself on him, her clit swollen and needy and he was perfect. She felt like her entire world would come crashing down.

She couldn't speak. She couldn't think. The only thing on her mind was the building of pleasure warming her from within. It was so fucking intense that she didn't know what he said—if he said anything—and she sure as hell didn't know how to keep her mouth shut. She moaned so loud she would've felt embarrassed if it weren't for Harry fitting inside her so well, so snug and perfect. If it weren't for the way she found herself lost in the way she felt for him.

When she did find her words, she kept repeating, "I'm so close, baby," over and over and when her vision blurred and her eyes closed, the white spots of fireworks erupted behind her eyelids and she whimpered, "I'm coming—gods, I'm—I'm coming," and she shuddered like she didn't know it was physically possible.

Continuing to ride him through her high, she felt him come. Her sensitive walls clenched around him as he buried his face into her chest, his fingers wrapped into the skin of her back. One hand higher than the other, crumpling the bra that remained on her top half, though the cups held nothing once Harry magically peeled them off of her round, tender breasts.

There were no words on her tongue for what felt like hours after it. Satisfied and out of breath, she stayed on top of him. Her forehead pressed against his shoulder, her arms hanging over the back of the sofa. The feel of his cock still inside her kept her warm and she didn't want to move. Ever. Not when Harry's arms were around her and his face remained in the crook of her neck, leaving ghostly pecks on her skin. She could've fallen asleep.

She could've.

But his hand slid down her left thigh, over her side then the top and gave her a little squeeze. "You okay?"

The world became clearer. Somehow. His voice was the anchor that tugged her back, peeled her eyes open. They needed a moment to adjust to the brightness but she pulled back from the cuddle and locked her fingers on the nape of his neck.

Her gaze dropped to the side, right where the ping pong table was located, and she grunted to herself, wondering why she didn't push him towards it instead of the couch. Tilting her chin to it, Harry looked back, too, then raised his eyebrow.

She arched her eyebrow back at him. "You winning or what?"

Harry laughed, his head falling back. "Absolutely not. Mitch is wiping the floor with me."

She tsked, shaking her head. The movement was enough to rock her entire body, and his, along with it. Harry groaned and she sighed as she felt him becoming hard again. This time, it wasn't her who made them fall apart.

[*]

Harry had so much power over her. Not the sort where she felt cornered all the time, or controlled in any way. The power he had over her was more in the sense that he could make or break the curve of her lips. He could make her hum the strangest things, songs that didn't exist, songs that existed but she combined.

Hell, she skipped into the arena when he started playing Adore You. She didn't want to go out into the crowd before the lights dimmed because she didn't want any attention on her. Tonight, was for Harry and she didn't think too much of herself, but she knew enough to be aware that people may approach her if nothing is happening, if there's no one to entertain them. She never had a bad interaction with fans when she did bump into them but she preferred staying out of touch and sight. Just a precaution, more for herself than anyone else. It was impossible to guess what people's intentions were. She didn't want to find out face-to-face.

Instead, she walked around the quiet venue. She had one of Harry's bodyguards with her. Dale usually stayed with her when Harry was off, doing things. That's how the man became so involved in all of her tricks and games—like the ones where she'd hide in the crowd and make Harry find her. Right now, considering everything going on in the world, she wasn't sure it was a good idea to hide between rows so she simple stood on the stairs and watched him perform the first few songs from different spots.

Then she got down for Adore You. There, somewhere on the floor, she found Jeffrey. At first, she wasn't sure if it was him so she refrained from covering his eyes from the back but then his stance became clearer and his familiar clothes reassured her. As her cold hands touched his warm face, he practically jumped out of his skin in surprise and almost hit her in the face.

The loud cackle coming from her was toned down from the music playing, but she could still hear as he scolded her, "You are insane." In response, she simply cuddled to his side, her arms wrapping around the man's torso in a friendly manner. She felt Jeff sigh then put his arm around her, the palm of his hand running down her bare skin.

They stood like that for a while. It was her, who moved away first because she couldn't stand still. Harry's music brought her to life. One of the best things about him was his talent, she adored him so much more than she ever could've told him, and witnessing him do his thing on the stage, with lights, his band, his fans—it was surreal. Perhaps her favourite thing in life.

The setlist neared the unexpected combination of Two Ghosts and Falling that she knew the fans weren't prepared for. Even after knowing about it for a while, she still felt taken aback by the way he managed to so beautifully link the two songs. Both of them were held close to her heart, a couple of her very favourite songs of his. She didn't want to sound boastful but she knew the only reason he kept both of them on the setlist was because she loved them. Harry thought of her whenever he performed them, and she basked in the glory of the knowledge.

The last chords of Two Ghosts were playing, the last of the lyrics sung so magnificently by him. His voice echoed off of the microphone and embraced the walls, filling the gaps in between people and within people's hearts. She shuddered as Harry hit every single note perfectly and she hadn't realised how her eyes welled with tears until it was too late. Rolling down on her round cheeks and fogging up her black framed glasses completely.

He was in search for her through the crowd. She could tell when she put her—now clean—glasses back on. All clear on the big screen and right in front of her. Maybe it wasn't possible but she believed it to be true that when he glanced in her direction, their eyes connected and held for a moment. A moment entirely private to them, even as thousands surrounded them, enough to share the three well-paced taps over his heart that told her he loved her. Harry sure as hell couldn't see but she mimicked his actions just as he fell into the first words of Falling.

Not a minute went by before she felt someone watching her. Gradually, slightly wary, she turned her head to the left and found Jeff looking at her curiously. He smiled and leaned a little closer, "What does that mean? The tapping?"

"Just... something we came up with," she shrugged, grinning, as she refused to share the secret. No one but her and Harry knew what it meant. They made a pact to never tell anyone. This time, it was her eyes that remained on the man beside her while he glanced back to the stage. She couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

Jeff took a few seconds to shift his gaze. "I've noticed you guys do it before."

She hummed. Perhaps it was unmissable. After all, they were in public and all eyes were on Harry. How could the attention be on anyone else when he is the main act? Still, it never occurred to her that others may take note of it. Every single time, the moment felt intimate between them. It was something they shared, something that only had meaning to them.

[*]

Even though it was Harry prancing and singing his soul out on stage, she felt just as exhausted as he was. On the way back to the hotel, he almost fell asleep in the car which was a surprise because he was usually pumped full of adrenaline after a show. Thinking it over, she chalked it up to him not being used to the two-hour slot he filled with his personality after so long of not doing it.

After they got to the hotel, and said goodnight to Dale—he stayed a few doors down to them—they got in, locked the door, and headed straight for the shower. While Harry stood under the steaming water, she quickly ordered some dinner then joined him. What she thought would be an easy and quick shower, turned into a long one that required so much more effort. She had to wash Harry up because it seemed he couldn't physically do it. He made it seem like his limbs were heavier than he could handle and she chuckled. Being dramatic ran in his veins, she was sure of it. 

"You love me so much," he mumbled as her fingers brushed through his hair, making sure all the shampoo was gone and down the drain.

She hummed, and even though her bones were screaming from all that jumping and dancing around tonight, she grinned. "I love you so much."

"I love you," he echoed and leaned back so his head was on her shoulder. She could see his smile, so wide and deep that it curved dimples into his cheeks. Unable to hold herself, she leaned onto her tiptoes and kissed right into it.

"Stand, baby," she told him, then blushed immediately as she remembered back to the dressing room. He said those exact words to her before she took him on the couch, then he took her on the ping pong table, and he went down on her in the small shower that came with the room.

Washed, dried and clothed, they climbed into the freshly made hotel bed just as the food arrived. Without giving it a second thought, she flew from the duvet—granted she made sure to curse on the entire way there—and accepted then thanked the woman with a bright smile.

Silence filled the room while they ate. Though, on Harry's part, it was more like sleeping while sitting and casually chewing.

"You're going to choke," she told him. Harry grunted. The response made her lean forward and press the back of her hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling okay?" he hummed yes. "You're never so slumpy after a first show. I can barely get you off of me."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Reckon I have just about enough energy to fuck you into this mattress."

"I don't doubt that," she snorted. "But you have to eat. And then sleep."

"I'll sleep on the bus tomorrow," he tried to deal.

She shook her head, even though he couldn't see. "You have an entire tour ahead of you. I have an entire tour ahead of me—places where I want you to do things to me. Places that are not hotel beds because I've been in many. So, no. You're eating then sleeping."

"Bossy," he muttered, opening his eyes to take a sip of his drink. "Now I have to brush my teeth."

She let the comment pass by her ear as he got out of bed and went back to the bathroom. Gathering the plates and forks and knives, she put everything onto the tray then wheeled it away from the bed. Harry came out of the bathroom and she took his place. By the time she got back to him, he was already on his stomach, eyes closed.

With the gentle shake of her head, she walked over to his side, and turned off the lamp.

"Phone. Charger. Pretty please," he requested and she rolled her eyes but did as asked, anyway. Deep down, she swooned over the fact that he let her take care of him like this. Doing things for him always made her heart flutter and fill with warmth. Most of the time, it was the other way around, which she didn't mind, but it was nice. She would've done anything for him, anyway.

Climbing into bed, she unlocked her phone and looked through it. She calculated some times so that she was able to attend her online meetings the next day, then slotted in some time for emails and whatever else required her attention.

Harry's quiet, raspy voice drew her out of the screen of her phone. "How was tonight?"

She smiled and settled in bed once she plugger her phone in, too. The duvet draped over her waist while she scooted over to Harry. Her elbow propped under her head, she sighed before a soft smile pulled her lips upwards again. The perfect view of his peaceful face. "I loved it, Harry. I love seeing you perform. You know that."

"Mhm," he reacted. "First show and all, though."

Pulling her hand from where it rested on the side of her thigh, she ran her fingers down the length of his arm, twisted away from his body. "I think that given everything—the situation, mostly—you were brilliant. You... you brought so much love and comfort and happiness to all those people tonight. You're right, you can tell so much from a person's eyes."

He smiled, then. She dragged her pointer finger down to the dip in his cheek then back to his shoulder.

Quietly, almost as if he feared the answer he would get, asked, "And the fans?"

It took a moment for her to let the question settle, taken by the uncertainty of his voice. Her fingers never stopped tracing over his shoulder, curling against the soft, warm skin. "What about the fans? They loved you, Harry."

"I meant—I just want to know if everything went okay," green eyes peered at her with concern flashing through them. Although he seemed—and most likely felt—completely shattered, he was even more beautiful. Their eyes never shifted as his hand lifted in the air, his thumb brushed along her cheek in a soft, gentle swipe, over and over again. "I know you were with Jeff but then you left at some point. I thought something may have happened."

There it was. That raw emotion. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. The idea of Harry assuming the worst made her gut wrench, and it physically stopped her from continuing her featherlike caresses on his arm.

The lack of response to his concerns quickly drew him to say, "Something happened. Didn't it?"

"You have nothing to worry about, Harry," she reassured him just as he began to stir beneath the duvet. The last thing she wanted was for him to get out of bed. Images of him barely holding himself up in the shower then falling into bed like a ragdoll made it back into her mind and she wanted to shake them away. "You have the loveliest fans in the world. They love you so much and they were so excited to see you. I doubt they paid much attention to me because I didn't even go out there until you sang Adore You."

Harry doubted her words. She could tell. He thought them over, juggling everything she said then he sighed. Relief washed over his features and his eyes settled shut once more. The caress of her touch picked up again and his skin bubbled as he began to feel content again.

"When I left, I went to the toilet—I think. I left more than once," she shared, smiling a little as he furrowed his brows and grunted. She took that as him wanting to know more about her little trips, so she proceeded to say, "I quite liked those watermelon drinks they were giving out so I went to find myself some. Thankfully, they had a few glasses left and were more than happy to let me have them."

The biggest grin stretched across his face at the sound of her explanation. Her heart thudded so rapidly in her chest that she could barely contain it and the warmth that filled her body from head to toe made her want to kick back the heavy duvet. That was the thing about loving Harry, and in turn, being loved by him. It filled her up to the brim, feeling whole and then some.

She turned the lamp on her side off and leaned her head onto her pillow, closing her eyes.

"Okay," he said finally. "I'm glad you had fun. I hope you'll have fun for the rest of the tour."

"I'm certain I will."

"You've never stayed for an entire tour, though," he voiced. "I realised when I was singing Lights Up."

Humming, she said, "That's great. Now, stop talking and sleep."

Harry didn't say anything to that. He probably knew better than to fight, or he was just that exhausted. She took the latter to be the case because it didn't take him a minute longer to start snoring.

She sighed, "That's just great," because she knew the entire night would consist of nudging him to his side so she could also get some rest.