An hour later, after my little (can I even call it little?) outburst, things are silent again. Harry's driver's seat is leaned back so he can lie peacefully there, actually sleeping. He didn't say a word after the bunch of accusations and feelings I'd thrown at him, and I'm kind of glad he didn't. My heart is already having trouble getting back to business.

Sighing, I watch him warily as he stirs in his sleep, turning over and facing me. He always has this little adorable crease when he's sleeping, like his brain doesn't stop functioning when his soul is in dreamland. Harry had his hands crossed over his chest in a casual manner that you'd have to rethink if he's actually sleeping or guarding.

A smile creeps on my face, remembering the times I used to watch him sleep just like I'm doing right now. But this time, I don't let the tears fall. I smile wider. Harry is right here with me and I don't know if that makes me a naïve schoolgirl or a stupid crusher, but I can't help fantasizing that I'm still with him.

His soft pillow-like lips are parted slightly with soft exhales coming out, his jaw is as defined as always. Of course, he has many girls all over him. He's gorgeous, ravishing, attractive, divine, good-looking, and you might as well just open a dictionary and look for the synonyms of undeniably beautiful creatures.

Ever since we were little, Harry was so self-conscious and wasn't always confident about himself or appearance. Yeah, the gym and senior year completely changed his look, but that's besides my point. He's still harry, my little snowflake, with all the luscious, wild curly hair and mesmerizing green eyes. People did know how to appreciate his good looks, but I was only looking at his pure, good heart.

"I love you," I grin.