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it’s heaven, y/n thinks, living with henry creel. at first she isn’t used to it, having been alone her entire life. it never occurred to her that life could get so perfect.
plus, henry always brings home sushi on the weekends, and they both eat that over their favorite shows. sometimes they scream profanities at the tv, and y/n always laughs because she can never take it seriously when he swears.
one month of living together was all it took for her to have him completely figured out.
he wakes up early, like 5-am early most days, spending at least an hour writing songs and singing them in different tunes. y/n likes to pretend to sleep through this, or tries to, because most time his voice just ends up pulling her back to sleep.
one time, he catches her still awake, and y/n doesn’t pretend anymore.
“you sound pretty,” she says, looking at him from over the hem of the comforter.
he smiles at her, and he looks slightly flustered it’s so cute. “thank you, darling. did i wake you up?”
“a little bit,” she admits, yawning. she shifts a little under the duvet.
the sun is barely above the sky- it’s mostly still a deep shade of blue with little hues of red and orange over the horizon, which filters through the blinds in thin slats. it catches the sharp line of henry’s jaw, the bridge of his nose, his messy morning hair.
“don’t stop,” she says. “i want to keep hearing your voice.”
henry smiles gently, getting up from his chair and scooting over to the edge of the bed. he begins to hum a tune, and it’s gentle and soft and something y/n hasn’t heard before.
“is that a new one?” y/n asks.
“mmhm,” he nods, picking up the guitar that’s leaning against the nightstand. his fingers hover over the strings as he tries to figure out the start. “i haven’t finished it yet… i don’t know how to bridge these two verses…”
“you’re a perfectionist, henry creel,” she grins.
he chuckles. “it’s called being careful and making sure it comes out beautiful.”
“which is basically the same thing.”
“really, really not.”
“really, really is.”
he looks at her sideways, and she laughs.
“you’re impossible,” he sighs dramatically, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he sets the guitar down on the rug and then begins crawling back under the covers. y/n quickly shifts over into his space, and he pulls her close, squeezing the side of her tummy.
“if i were a perfectionist,” henry is saying, “i wouldn’t let you get away with half the things you do.”
y/n squints at his face. “like what?”
“when you organize my shelf by color because you think it looks ‘better’” he says, rolling his eyes playfully.
she giggles, the sound muffled by his skin. “it’s not my fault you don’t see the vision.”
she feels his chest vibrate around a chuckle.
“is that what you’re calling it now? your vision?”
“mm,” she hums, propping her head up his chin so she can see his face. the sun is beginning to shine now, and y/n can see the blue in his eyes better. “i just really like talking.”
henry fixes his gaze on her, and y/n’s heart does a little roll because he’s just so beautiful and perfect and oh my god it feels ridiculous that she always feels this way every time she looks at him. his thumb traces the line of her jaw, and she feels her cheeks heat up.
“i really like hearing you talk, darling,” he says softly. “but you’re going to have to stay quiet for me.”
y/n barely understands what he means when he said that until he closes the gap between them and begins kissing her. y/n sighs into his lips, her eyes fluttering shut. his lips are so warm, and she can faintly smell the cigarette on his breath, but she doesn’t mind that, because there’s nothing in this world she’d trade this moment for.
“you’re perfect for me,” henry says, pulling back just enough to say the words.
“every piece of you…” he presses a soft kiss on her throat, and then along the line of her collarbone, the skin right above her chest. she aches at how close he is. “even the ones you think are bad…
his lips begin moving upward, tracing soft little kisses til he makes it to the skin near her ear. “i wouldn’t want to change a thing about you, darling,” he whispers, kissing the spot.
y/n sighs deeply, and this continues for some time - henry just mapping out her body with his lips.
she’s vaguely aware of henry saying more words, in that voice that’s low and raspy and sweet, but she can’t quite make them out anymore, and then she’s asleep.