“I — I can’t think of anything.”
Harry exasperated through the phone, rubbing his temples, desperately wanting to relieve his stress on someone who’s you.
You asked gently, careful with the tone so he’d turn calm, knowing that he’s stressed when anything doesn’t come to his mind besides blank.
You were already carrying your car keys, covering your phone with your shirt so Harry couldn’t hear the car starting, the urge of wanting to see him after so long and comforting him overcoming you.
“I — no. ’S I think — fuck. I don’t know.”
He half-whined and groaned, closing his eyes shut as he wanted to collapse on the couch but knew that it wouldn’t help.
You put him on speaker, driving the familiar way back to the studio.
“What are you thinking of?”
“Me thinking on how I couldn’t think.”
You kept your chuckle to yourself, finding yourself in front of the studio that’s a near drive from your shared home with him, opening the car door as Harry groaned more and more.
You immediately spotted Harry face down on the couch through the thick glass, phone still in hand since he didn’t want to let it go.
“Try looking at the glass. Maybe it’ll help.”
He skeptically agreed, pulling himself off the cushion and turning the other way around, his face being confused for a split second before lighting up.
He opened the door, taking you in for a hug and immediately nuzzling his head on your neck, chest heaving up and down.
“You came here?”
Harry said through a muffled voice, the thought of letting you go not going in his senses as he inhaled your scent, feeling like home.
“Glad I did.”
He hummed, pressing his hands to your waist and slowly calming down.