Here it is! This is my first oneshot and longest piece yet – please be kind. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Happy reading! xxh
getting in a fight with harry and you almost break up and you have emotional sex where you’re both crying and stealing kisses and it’s raw and you’re both just so in love and i don’t know meaningful sex is so much better than just getting in each other’s pants when you feel like it – anon
Word count: 4.5k
Pairing: y/n & Harry
It was quite odd how you could feel so alone in a room so
full of people.
Music jumping off of the walls, a steady bass thumping in
your chest; laughter cutting through the air, cheers every so often as another
round was poured out. The energy was addictive, yet you felt as if you were
secluded in your own little bubble, away from everyone else and invisible to
the party guests.
Harry stood beside you, happily buzzing with a glass of whiskey
in hand. His laughs bellowed out from his chest and were much louder than
normal – amplified by the alcohol pulsing through his body. He wasn’t drunk,
but the extra confidence given to him by the glass he held was very obvious.
He’d turn to you, mouth parted and about to ask a
question, but was swiftly pulled away by an eager acquaintance to congratulate
him on ‘his big debut in Hollywood!’ or ‘his incredible new music!’. Harry was
too kind to just brush off the compliment with a simple “thank you,” and was
quickly taken up in another conversation, leaving you alone.
You’re His Ex Girlfriend and You See His New Girlfriend Wearing Your T-Shirt
Masterlist linked in bio
If there’s one thing Y/n can’t stand, it’s pity. Which is unfortunate for her, considering that’s all she’s been receiving ever since Harry had broken up with her.
Between her family, her friends, and long-known acquaintances, the pity was never ending. The looks people gave her whenever she occupied a room made her sick to her stomach. Nobody looked at her the way they used to as if their perception of her has been altered from a beautiful, humble woman to a broken heart on legs.
Talking to people didn’t help much, either, considering their irrational fear that one harsh tone could wreck what’s left of her. To those, her identity and name have seemed to be forgotten, only to be replaced by “the girl left with a broken heart, who’s heart has failed to mend.”
It’s all a myth, really—a myth that hasn’t been confirmed or denied within the past four months. Y/n provided no reassurance for anybody, nor did she show any improvement since their break up. But she did try her best. Her attempts to answer the question, “how have you been, you know, since the breakup and all?” with an “I’ve been okay” filled with lies didn’t go unnoticed, however, proved to be unsuccessful.
And the pity only got worse when Harry got a new girlfriend.
It was plastered everywhere, the rumors that Harry’s new girlfriend stayed at his hotel in Los Angeles and traveled with him back to London. They disclosed that her name was Jessica, who works as a travel blogger.
She was beautiful, too. More beautiful than she wanted her to be, as selfish as it was. She was the perfect image for him, especially at the height of his career.
Y/n’s heart hit rock bottom that day. Every unblemished part of it became a ruin, a shattered piece of what was once so full and whole.
Y/n hadn’t expected it, not this fast, at least. When Harry initiated the breakup, he told her that it wasn’t the end of their relationship. He had promised her that with the right amount of distance, all the problems they’ve had in their relationship would be fixed entirely.
She believed him, too. That with maybe some time apart, their bitterness towards each other would decease, and all that would remain would be the overwhelming needs for one another.
She should have never been so gullible. After they broke up, they never spoke to each other again. All their ties had been cut, leaving them both hanging in completely separate lives. Y/n never got over him. How could she? They were soulmates, they were each other’s everything. No matter what came at them, they always found a way back to one another.
But Harry’s fame started skyrocketing, leaving Y/n on the ground with no way to reach him anymore. She should have known he’d find someone else—someone more worthy of his time. She just didn’t want to believe it and didn’t want to believe that it had happened so soon.
“How are you feeling?” Gabby asks, reaching over the wooden table so that her fingers can rest on top of Y/n’s hand; a small gesture that Gabby has been giving Y/n nearly every day for the past four months.
Y/n wishes she found it as comfortable as it intended to be, however she can’t help feeling worse whenever Gabby did so. The gesture undoubtedly derives from the pity Gabby has had toward her ever since the breakup. Everything was because of pity.
She looks down at her cold, untouched hot chocolate as she swirls the straw along the brim, resisting to roll her eyes as it’s the only question everybody has seemed to ask her recently.
“The usual,” she shrugs, “nothing’s really changed.”
Gabby gives her a half smile before returning to her tea. The cafe is only occupied by the both of them, considering it’s 7 in the morning on a Sunday. But after everything that’s happened, Y/n’s sleep schedule has been slacking and Gabby wanted nothing more than to be there for Y/n whenever she had the chance.
“Are you sure you don’t want any food?” Gabby asks. “It’s on me if you want anything.”
Y/n shrugs again, a faint yawn falling from her mouth as she shakes her head.
“No, I’m okay. I think I’ll make some waffles when I get home. But I’ll need to stop at the grocery store before I leave. Ran out of milk and flour the other day.”
“We could stop by now if you’d like. I’m getting quite full, anyways.”
“Yeah, sure” Y/n nods, “sounds fine.”
The entrance doors chime when Y/n and Gabby enter the grocery store, barely any people filling the aisles at such hours. Neither of them speak much before they go their separate ways, grabbing all the necessary ingredients Y/n needs for when she gets home.
When she finds flour on one of the bottom shelves, Y/n bends down to grab the cheapest one she could find. In all honesty, she didn’t have a lot of money to spend since she took some time off of work for “mental health reasons,” and she wanted nothing more than to go back home and spend the rest of her day in bed.
When she stands back up from her squatting position, her body rams into somebody else’s, making everything they both were carrying fall onto the floor.
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Y/n gasps, scrambling to pick up the ingredients that have fallen from the girl’s arms.
When Y/n stands back up to return her fallen items, it was as if every nightmare Y/n has ever had was standing right in front of her.
She’d recognize her face anywhere. It haunted her everywhere she went; mocking her and destroying every last bit of her wellbeing. Her face is unforgettable, having been ingrained into her head for so long now. She’s exactly how she is in her pictures, except she’s so much more beautiful in person.
It’s when Y/n’s eyes drift down to the shirt she’s wearing that takes the breath right from her lungs.
The word Lover printed inside of a red heart, the end of it hidden by the pocket right on her chest. It looked so unfamiliar on her—so unfamiliar that tears started piling in her eyes and her lips began to quiver.
That shirt was theirs. That shirt belonged to Y/n and Harry.
It was a nickname Y/n always gave Harry. She would have normally settled for “babe” or “baby” like she did with her previous boyfriends, but “lover” came so naturally to her. It exemplified just how unique and rare their relationship was, too.
Harry had never been called that before, but there was something about it that felt so right. The first time she called him that, he blushed like no other. His cheeks and heart felt so warm, and Y/n wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. But no matter how much she joked about how much he blushed that night, it only made her call him that more.
And the more she said it, the more she realized that there was no other name to describe him.
She gave him the shirt for their first anniversary. She was insecure about it, considering it was the only gift she purchased him that year and wasn’t nearly as expensive as all the gifts Harry had given her. But after all the flowers she received had died months later, after all the chocolate he bought her had been eaten in two nights, after all the in-home spa treatments had been used by the both of them progressively throughout the months, and after all the sex they shared died down by the next morning, the only gift that remained so dearly to their hearts was that goddamn shirt.
The shirt became sentimental to their relationship and was almost used as a keepsake between the two of them. The mornings after making love, Y/n found herself slipping it on before rolling out of bed to make breakfast. Harry fell in love with her tendency to do so and always made sure she knew just how much he loved her for it.
This is my favorite look on you, he’d always say, where the shirt hung loosely from her frame and her skin scattered with the marks from his tongue.
Harry wore the shirt as a tradition, most commonly on their anniversaries or on any specific date that held such significance to their relationship. And every time Y/n saw him wearing it, she found it irresistible to kiss the heart designed right upon his chest.
My lover, she’d say, looks so perfect on you.
She never imagined anybody else in it. Even after they had broken up, she never thought the shirt would be passed down to later relationships Harry had with other women. When she moved out, he kept insisting that she should be the one to take it.
He looked down at the shirt all crinkled in his hands, the last compromise they had to make before Y/n officially moved out of their home. Her suitcases were packed neatly by the front door, the darkened sky from the storm waiting to approach making the house feel colder than it already had turned.
Y/n’s body was slumped against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyes red with inevitable tears as they were forced to face the harsh reality of what was to come.
After three years of a relationship neither of them expected to end, Harry had insisted that they take a break from each other. With his career coming to its peak and Y/n spending most of her time in the office, their relationship was going through a rough patch that lasted far too long.
“You paid for this, you know,” Harry whispered, obstructing the silence that seemed to make the air around them thicker and harder to breathe, “this is yours, always has been.”
Y/n shook her head, a few loose tears falling from her face as she did so. In all honesty, she didn’t want to be reminded of it after this. It’s held so much meaning between the two of them throughout a majority of their years being together that she couldn’t stomach the thought of looking at it in her selection of wardrobe. Not when Harry won’t be by her side, not when Harry won’t be apart of her life anymore.
She placed her hand on top of his softly, stroking the knuckles of his clenched fingers with her thumb.
“It was ours. But when it comes down to it, I bought it for you. It was a gift, you should keep it.”
Harry clenched his fingers harsher against the fabric, his quivered lips attempting a small smile as he lifted it to his chest. His thumb traced the heart above the pocket, watching as one of his tears soak into the material.
“It looks better on you anyways.” Y/n tried to laugh through the silent cries, but neither of them had the heart to make light of the situation they were facing.
Harry’s eyes narrowed down at her while a small sigh fell from his lips.
“You know I’d never wear this again, right? Not until we find our way back to each other.”
Y/n’s shaken hands wiped the tears from her cheeks, her lips pursed together to ensure her broken sobs wouldn’t surface until she was alone in her car.
“Yeah, until we find our way back.”
She stood on her toes to reach his cheek, where she tentatively placed a kiss on the flushed skin.
“You’ll always be my lover.”
But looking back at it now, she wouldn’t be standing in the middle of a grocery store, crying pathetically in front of a complete stranger if she had just taken the damn thing.
How could he do this to me?
“Babe, are these eggs alr—“
Harry’s words get caught in his throat when he sees Y/n standing in front of Jessica with tears streaming down her face and cries shaking her body.
At first, his instinct is to reach his hand out to her. But as his eyes follow her tearful gaze to Jessica’s shirt, which is far too large for her frame, but still being worn on her body, the realization hits him that it’s probably the last thing she would want.
He flutters his eyes shut as an unbearable feeling starts to rise in his stomach. This is the most unfortunate time to see Y/n again, and he can’t imagine how much hatred flowing through Y/n’s system as he stands there, cowardly silenced.
Not a word comes out of his mouth. Not even a pathetic stutter of her name, or even a lift of his lips to greet her in the most minimal of ways.
The only thought swirling through Y/n’s mind is how could you not say anything to me? After everything you did, after what I’m witnessing now, how is there not one word to say?
He watches as pain settles in her eyes as she looks at him. It’s as if she’s begging for an explanation, or even an apology he doesn’t really mean. She’s just looking for something, and knowing that she’s not getting anything is taking all the remaining life out of her.
But he has so much to say. There are so many apologies, so many thoughts all scrambling in his head that everything becomes incoherent. He wants to tell her how sorry he is, and how hard it is to live with himself after all that he’s done to her. He wants to tell her that he never gave her that fucking shirt, that Jessica found it in one of his drawers and put it on while he was still sleeping from the night before. He wants to tell her that it isn’t what it looks like, that it isn’t what everybody thinks this is. But his throat tightens and his tongue suddenly becomes numb, completely preventing him from saying all the things he wishes to say.
“Y/n, is everything alr—”
Gabby halts when she discovers Y/n’s crying body being watched by the very two people that broke her heart. She’s breaking, so evidently breaking and neither one of them are doing anything about it.
“I w—want to go home.” Y/n’s voice cracks, face twisting as Harry still doesn’t find anything to say to her. “Let’s just go home.”
If Gabby hadn’t witnessed her best friend go through so much pain within the last four months, she would have been able to contain all the rage she’s held toward Harry. But something inside of her snaps when she sees the shirt Jessica’s wearing.
“No!” Gabby spits.
Before anybody sees it happening, Gabby slams her fists against Harry’s chest. Jessica begins to scream while Y/n jumps in an attempt to remove Gabby’s wild arms away from him.
Harry doesn’t do anything to defend himself, though, as he allows her to keep swinging her arms at him. All he can think about it how much he deserves it—how much he deserves all of what’s coming at him.
“You’re such a fucking jerk, Harry!” Gabby roars. “You ruined her! Who the fuck do you think you are?!“
“Gab, stop.” Y/n mumbles, finally able to capture her arms.
Gabby squirms as she tries to escape Y/n’s harsh hold on her, but against Y/n’s anger mixed with all her overwhelming emotions, there is no match.
Y/n starts to push Gabby toward the doors, and it takes every bit of strength left in her to not turn around to look at him one last time.
“You’re her biggest mistake! I hope you know that!”
“Wakes you up with neck kisses while he murmurs “Wake up baby, c’mon baby, there you go” as his hands travel straight to your breasts and squeezes gently till you’re more awake
Drags his fingers gently over your whole body until you’re completely covered in goose bumps
Absolutely loves how shy you get when his mouth gets filthy when you’re least expecting it. “Put the book down love, I wanna eat that sweet pussy for breakfast”. You’d go red. And he’d love it.
Will lie on his side next to you while you’re on your stomach watching Netflix, and his hands will randomly start massaging your thighs. “Harry” you’d warn. “Mmm” is all he’d mumble with a small smile. “I need to get through one episode of FRIENDS with out us having sex before the episode’s up, it’s 20 minutes” you would tell him. “That’s too long darling” he’d whine. “Think of how many times I could make you scream with 20 minutes”
“With me you always come twice, at least twice”
Was so gentle and loving the first time you slept together. Constantly asked if you were okay. Refused to fuck you until you came.
Was so completely on board with your praise kink. “Baby, you’re always so good for me. My good girl”
Spanks you whenever you do something he doesn’t like. Like the one time you smiled and laughed at that idiot’s joke at your office party, because the idiot was your boss. “Count them for me baby, 6 more left” he’d say soothing the sting before his hand would come down again.
Would demand that you open your legs for him after he’s teased you all day long, knowing how wet you’d be for him.
“This? It belongs to me” he’d growl, stroking up and down your heat before plunging his fingers into you.
So. Much. Over-stimulation.
Speaking of over stimulation, would just drag you back to your place when you’d move away, far too sensitive. You’d be whimpering and begging him to stop, but he’d keep on going.
“Now baby, since you were naughty and didn’t ask permission to come, you get two options. Shall I edge you till you beg me to let you come or make you come until you’re begging me to stop?”
Pins your hands over your head when you’ve misbehaved, but he doesn’t have it in him to spank you or to deny you an orgasm. He knows how much you love to touch him during sex.
“Don’t you dare hide your face, I wanna see you when you come”
Wouldn’t let you out of bed post sex. “Oh no, you’re staying right here baby” he’d growl playfully. “Harry” you’d giggle “I need to do things today”. “Yes. you need to do me, over and over again”
Cuddles because he was rough with you the night before.
He’s big on aftercare, let’s be serious, he’s a sweetheart.
Would kiss every inch of your body while you came down from however many orgasms he’d fucked into you that night.
“God, you ride me so good. So good f’me” he’d groan whenever you were on top
Made you come 6 times in one night. The 6th was the best. He’d whipped out a curvy toy, astounding you, pushed the toy into your overly sensitive core and sucked on your clit until you were screaming. And that, was how you experienced your first ever squirt.
Worshiped you on the occasions where you surprised him in lingerie. “Get over here, your boyfriend’s got some work to do”
Would always be trying new positions with you.
The one time you faked an orgasm because you were both tipsy and you knew it wasn’t gonna happen, he got so upset until you told him he was the best you’d ever had. He made up for it. All. Damn. Night.
“Did I ever tell you I really, really like having sex with you?”
- Where Harry doesn’t talk and falls in love with Y/n.
Masterlist linked in bio
It’s Monday, which means that Harry has to start his week with Physics class.
Harry doesn’t mind the subject itself, he actually has come to the conclusion that it’s the class he’s most interested in—it’s more so the three-hour lab that couldn’t seem to end soon enough. Physics lab means three hours of group research, which requires an abundance of group participation and discussion—all of which makes Harry want to crawl out of his own skin.
And despite Physics holding Harry’s highest grade in university, everyone in that class only hopes to not be paired with him.
Not one student has heard him utter a single word, which ultimately led them to believe that his lack of participation will jeopardize their already mediocre grades. But Harry always finds himself writing all the data information to make up for his lack of discussion, even if he hated it.
So inevitably, Harry lets out an inaudible sigh when he settles into his chair, hair a bit disheveled and eyes still watering from the early hour. And he mentally curses himself for sleeping in a couple extra minutes because now he hasn’t gotten a single ounce of caffeine to help him feel more prepared for the next three hours.
Thanks to @interfectorems for being such a good friend, supporter and for requesting this. Songs that are mentioned but not on the playlist are “Out of the Woods” by Taylor Swift & “If You don’t Know” by 5Sos.
Pic of this beauty isn’t mine.
I watched from a far how he held on to her hand, his fingers grasping and squeezing hers gently while his eyes never left her pretty face. He watched her speak with such an intensity in his green eyes, as if he literally saw nothing other than her. His girlfriend. Not me. I took a deep breath, swallowed the thick lump building in my throat and turned away from the sight. Exactly three weeks ago, Harry and I had shared a kiss. Our first kiss, which had been exactly how I’d secretly always wished for it to be. Of course it had been. Every time you get to kiss the person you love is special and like fireworks painting colors into the sky.
He’d been talking and listening to me all night, similar to how he now was with her and had at some point reached out to hold my hand, just like he was holding hers in this moment. When the time felt right, he’d leant in and had captured my lips with his. Needless to say, Harry was a phenomenal kisser. He knew when to press further, when to use how much tongue and was very attentive to how my body responded to his. Whenever I thought about it now, my cheeks tingled with the memory of his hands cupping them gently as he cradled my face to keep me close. He’d been so soft, so perfect. Harry had touched me with a tenderness, I thought it’d break my heart. I remembered wrapping my arms around his neck and feeling like they belonged there, like I was meant to hold him close. Only that I wasn’t. The girl he was with now only proved how insignificant I was.
I couldn’t help peaking and looking over at him again. Harry’s lips. I knew exactly how they felt when pressed against my own, knew their taste and shape. Their warmth. Harry’s touch was impossible to forget. I watched him kiss his girlfriend with a mesmerized stare, before moving away and into the kitchen, leaving the small gathering of our friends with a murmured excuse that I needed to get a refill of my drink, when in reality I couldn’t bear seeing the man I loved sharing affectionate kisses with someone else. But not even the kitchen was a safe area for me. t had been this exact kitchen, the one in Harry’s house, where he’d pulled me aside and told me about herfor the first time.
“It’s difficult” I think he said. “It’s my fault that this situation has become so messy.”
Was it silly that I could actually still remember every word he spoke to me? That I’d engraved every pause, every take in of breath he made, deeply into my head?
“Listen, Y/N… You’re important to me. I care about you. Need you, it’s just… There is someone. Someone who could be a chance for a relationship and I really want to give this a go. Give her a go, I mean. You can understand that, right?”
At first it’d felt like none of it was real. Because how could he be serious? Harry. My best friend, Harry. Only three days after our magical first kiss, three days full of us talking and flirting and texting constantly, he was telling me that he wanted someone else. Her name was Ira. And though he was seemingly behaving the same way with her he had been with me, we weren’t the same. In fact, she was everything I wasn’t. So when he told me he wanted her and not me, that he was picking her over of me, how come I’d been surprised?
I would never be his first choice, not when there were thousands of others he could choose from. And it was time for my brain to learn to not interpret every kind gesture, time to learn to stop overthinking every word. It was time for my head to accept, that there was no way Harry Styles could possibly want me.
So… I had been understanding. Kind even. I’d lied and told him that yes, I agreed that our kiss had been a mistake. We shouldn’t have done any of that and instead thought of our friendship first, rather than our impulses. I’d kept a smile on my face throughout the entire talk and even finished the short chat by wishing him good luck with her. Another lie.
My fingers shook and so I set the empty glass of my drink down quickly, worried for a moment that I might otherwise spill the last few drops. I didn’t think much when I reached for the bottle of vodka on the counter. There was no getting through this night if I didn’t have something proper to drink. If only I remembered the recipe….
My shoulders tensed. It couldn’t be him. Please… anyone, literally anyone, but him.
However when I turned around, Harry was there. He stood tall and beautiful, his short hair soft and wavy. Harry’s compelling eyes held my gaze with such a tender rawness in them, my knees weakened. All my body burned for was to wrap my arms around his shoulders and have him embrace me, have him tell me that everything would be okay again. I felt like I needed it, but knew that this was a wish I would be denied. Harry must have felt it, too. It was in the air around us. It had changed and… buzzed. As if being in each other’s presence made the world halt still for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” Harry chuckled lowly when I didn’t say anything. How could he smile like everything was alright?
And what was it he was apologizing for? Abandoning our friendship? Ruining any hope I’d had to find a partner in him? Shattering my heart? Hardly.
“For scaring you,” Harry elaborated, a sudden hint of guilt in his eyes, almost as if he’d read my thoughts.
“It’s fine, Harry,” I muttered, bearing a false smile, “All good.”
It was hard to look at him. Especially his eyes. They burned a whole into my chest whenever my own orbs found them. They reminded me of the Harry he once was, the one I could always come to and rely on.
“What are you doing?” Harry asked, his head nodding towards the bottle of vodka. His forehead furrowed in a worried expression and I quickly set the container back down.
“I wanted to make myself a drink, but the recipe slipped my mind. I’m not as much of an alcoholic as it must look like.”
“Good to know,” Harry chuckled, then, visibly thinking about it first, took a step forward. “I remember what you like in your favorite drink. Could make you one.”
From how close he was standing, it was easy to notice every detail of his skin. Every curve of his lips, every hair of his barely-there beard. My stomach turned.
“That’d be nice.”
Harry smiled and nodded. “Okay.”
We avoided any touching. I was leant against the counter, he stood with a safe distance between us and only came closer when he needed a different ingredient that happened to be near me. It was awkward and… weird. It didn’t feel like ‘us’. The friends we’d been once seemed to be two completely different people. I knew him and felt he was familiar, but there was a emotional distance between us I knew neither of us could overcome. And still, I was with him and even if we behaved like strangers, being with Harry was nice.
“I think that’s it,” Harry said, breaking the silence. His eyes were set on the pink-orange liquid in my glass, then they drifted to my face. A proud smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
“You 'think’?” I challenged shyly.
I took the glass from him (cautious not to touch his fingers) and took a sip. It tasted great.
“M'not big of a show off,” Harry grinned, “S'it good?”
I nodded and stirred the colored liquid once more. “Thanks, Harry.”
“You’re welcome, Y/N.” His voice was soft and his gaze shy.
The air around us shifted once more. My eyes teared up. What had happened to us? Harry and I… we used to be the kind of friends who didn’t stopped talking to each other for hours. At first, we’d be loud. We’d laugh and giggle so much eventually both of our tummies hurt. That was when we’d change the subject and speak more quietly, until several hours later our conversations drifted to topics only we were allowed to hear. Then we’d be whispering and sitting closer together, always an eager sparkle in the other’s eyes as we both listened with interest about what was being said.
I quickly turned away and pretended to yawn. My eyes blinked rapidly and I willed them not to cry in front of him. Not because of embarrassment, but because I couldn’t do that to him. I’d given him my okay. I had no right to be mad at him for having found someone else. Harry remained standing close and with his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans.
“I think I should go,” I muttered.
I held my head low and took a deep breath before looking at him briefly. Harry’s eyes held concern and his fingers twitched, as if he longed to reach out for me.
“Y/N, love,” he began lowly, “Do you think we could talk for a bit? S'been a while since I got to see you. Hear your voice. I missed you.”
This time when my eyes met his green orbs, I didn’t look away, even though I could feel the tears forming and coming closer to spilling over. Harry’s whole expression changed. His cheeks paled and his forehead furrowed deeper.
“I miss you, too, Harry,” I admitted, my weak voice barely above a whisper.
“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head slowly, sorrow deeply set in his eyes. His feet stepped closer and his warm hands touched my flushed cheeks before I even had the chance to back away from him. The unexpected closeness caught me off guard and had more tears coming, this time because of how much I hated how uncommon this sort of care from him had become.
Harry embraced me. His head buried itself into my neck and both arms wrapped themselves around my waist so he could lift me up from my feet. “Please no, Y/N, Sweetheart. Don’t cry.”
I couldn’t help it. My heart, the final bit that had been whole still, broke in his caring hands and I was overcome and pulled under a wave of grief. That was what I was doing. I was grieving our friendship and the lost hope I’d had for a relationship with him. And he allowed it. He let me cry against his collarbones without any complaint and instead began to hum quietly, knowing how much his voice always soothed me. Pain shot through my chest. He probably did the same when she was upset.
“I can’t-” I cried, but got cut off by my lungs that burned with need for air.
Harry hushed me, his hold tightening, “Don’t, Y/N. It’s going to be alright.”
I shook my head and loosened the hold I’d taken around his neck. My hands momentarily brushed his soft hair, then I pulled away. Harry hesitated but allowed me to step out of his hold.
“I can’t take it anymore, Harry,” I confessed, my voice breaking halfway through the sentence. I reached up to brush my cheeks with the end of my sleeve and hiccuped. My head felt numb and I knew if I didn’t get out of this kitchen soon, he’d witness a break down I wasn’t comfortable with him seeing.
Harry’s hand reached for my arm. I didn’t fight it when he pulled me closer to him, but avoided his eyes when he leaned down to find my gaze.
“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice rough with emotion, “I promise you, it’ll be alright. M'not leaving, okay? M'not. We’ll figure this out.”
I wanted to scream but all I could was shake my head rapidly. “Figure this out how? What have we become, Harry?”
Another sob wrecked through my chest.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, “But we’re going to find each other again, okay? I promise. Let me say goodbye to the others and then we’ll go for a walk or something. We’ll talk. About everything and nothing at all… Just like we always used to, yeah?”
Used to. So long ago, it seemed.
“Okay,” I whispered, my burning eyes set on my feet. My skin shivered under his warmth and my lips hurt from how much I was bitting them.
I flinched when his mouth pressed a kiss to my head. The skin was left with a burning sensation. “Wait for me here, love.”
Harry’s quick feet carried him out of the kitchen and left me standing by the counter with my heart at the pit of my stomach. I stood up straight and brushed the few remaining tears from my cheeks. My skin tingled and I felt the hint of a smile on my lips, even though my body ached. Looking back now, I wish I would have stayed put by the counter and had waited for him just like he’d asked me to. I wish I hadn’t been impatient and eager to reunite with Harry, because that eagerness drove me to exit the kitchen shortly after him and turn the corner, allowing me clear view into the living room. There he stood. His arms around her thin form, his hands in her long hair and his lips kissing hers. All air was knocked right out of me. I could see how his hands gently moved against her neck, bringing her in closer and their bodies flush together. When their lips parted for a moment, I could see how he let his tongue run along his lower lip, as if he wanted to make sure he got all of her taste. And I could see him smile warmly at her, right before he leaned back in to connect their mouths once more. This sight… it burned. I didn’t wait for him. Because I had been wrong before. My heart wasn’t truly broken until that moment, witnessing the man I loved with my everything, kissing a woman who wasn’t me. And if he wasn’t going to leave me, if he was just going to keep me close and allow my heart to shatter over and over again, then I supposed I would have to be the one to go first. So that’s what I did. I walked back to the entryway, slid on my jacket, picked up my bag, and left the house. Left, to never come back to Harry Styles.
- In which Harry is a bit.. inexperienced in the bedroom.
Harry thought he could hide it. He thought he could get away with it. But, when everything came to him so all of a sudden, he realized that he was trapped, and the only way to get out, was by telling the truth.
And so he did.
“What?” you ask breathlessly, your hands at the mid of Harry’s patterned shirt, fingers frozen on the buttons, pulling the colorful fabric away from his tall and lanky form.
If she closes her eyes hard enough, and just at the right moments, Y/n can feel Harry in Dan.
It’s quite peculiar, how she finds Harry in almost anything. It’s something she finds so riveting yet so dangerous at the same time. He’s everywhere, he’s in every breath she takes and in every move she makes, and it’s something that brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort yet an overbearing sense of instability.
Dan—an individual full of insecurities and excitement—who varies oh, so differently from Harry, can feel like him if she really tries hard enough. His arms don’t hold her quite the same, and his lips aren’t as soft and flavorful, but if she squeezes her eyes shut, and she loses herself in the memories of Harry, it’s like he’s almost back again—only in the most minuscule of ways.
Which is why, now, in this moment in time, Y/n can barely keep her eyes open.
It’s the first time Y/n brought Dan to the house, letting him stop by to watch a film after his shift. It’s a little something he’s wanted to do for a while, and after many coffee dates and many pleads from Dan, she finally took the step of being completely alone with him.
Gabby decided to go to a friends house and insisted they take their time together. It started off wonderfully; a bottle of red wine, a box of chocolates, and a bag of popcorn while they watched Jaws.
It was all wonderful, until Dan decided to make the move.
Dan is on top of her, lips connecting to hers in a lustful motion. It isn’t that Y/n doesn’t want to be in this position, but more of her being hesitant to do so. She hasn’t kissed anybody since Harry, and although Dan is one of the nicest people she’s ever met, she can’t find it within herself to keep moving any more forward.
And everything about it feels wrong.
Between all the touching, all the kissing, all the feelings within her, she can’t stop thinking about Harry. She can’t stop thinking about how much she misses him and how much she wants him back. She’s still in love with him, so much so that doing this with someone else makes her feel dirty—makes her feel like she’s betraying him.
And it’s all too much, because no matter how hard she closes her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to feel him, he’s not there, and she can’t help but seem to think that he never will be—not anymore.
“No, no, stop.” She whimpers, shaking her head in an attempt to reject Dan’s restless lips.
He doesn’t stop, however, too engaged in the moment to really understand the words stuttering from her mouth. He continues kissing her, instead, moving down to her collarbones.
At this point, Y/n starts to hyperventilate. Between the sobs daring to escape her chest and the lack of air from her previous activities, everything is straining against her. She doesn’t fully understand how she was able to get this far without it being with Harry.
Her arms push Dan off of her until she’s alone on the couch as he’s panting on the floor. She can’t breathe. Her chest is tightening and her cries are so harsh that her lungs are collapsing inside of her.
She reaches her hands up to the roots of her hair, pulling back on them as she tries to gather all the oxygen she can. At this point, her head feels light and her sight is completely blurred by the tears flowing out of them—ones that she doesn’t even try to stop.
“I’m s—so sor—ry.” She hiccups, her head falling to her hands.
Dan gulps as he tentatively stands from his spot on the floor, his hands up in front of him as if in a panic—trying desperately to figure out how to fix the mess being made in front of him.
He looks around the room, as if in search for something to guide him through this situation, but there’s nothing. All the room occupies is a broken woman, sobbing breathlessly on a couch in front of him, muttering incoherent phrases under her breath.
“Okay,” he huffs out, nodding his head to himself, “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?”
He occupies the empty spot next to her, hesitantly wrapping an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. In all honesty, Dan is complete shit at helping people during emotional breakdowns, and considering this one had happened so suddenly, he had absolutely no warning that he would be put in this position.
Y/n feels bad, she does, considering Dan doesn’t deserve the treatment she’s given him and surely doesn’t deserve what was once an innocent date to end up a complete disaster. But she can’t help it, and she can’t stop now, no matter how hard she tries.
“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”
His voice is nothing but a whisper, and the words that spoke out from his lips nearly brings every movement in Y/n’s body to a halt. She never told him that it was Harry who broke her heart, and to be honest, she doesn’t even find the strength within her to begin to question how he even knows of Harry—especially his relationship with her.
Of course, their relationship has been publicized for years, but Dan is a very closed-off type of person. He’s not much into music, either—another part of him that differs so drastically from Harry—and spends a majority of his time working or spending time outside rather than succumbing himself in social media.
He looks down at the rose ring wrapped around his pointer finger, twirling it around with the hand that was once wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders.
He knew the moment he saw Harry’s reaction that this ring very much belonged to him. He wasn’t quite sure why she sacrificed it so mindlessly—why it seemed to have no story behind it. But between everything Gabby’s told him and everything he’s gathered from her previous relationship, she wanted nothing more than to get rid of every reminder she had of him.
He doesn’t feel worthy enough for it, though. If Y/n and Harry don’t find their way back to each other, he feels she should at least give it to somebody that she loves, not somebody she needs to help her get over her heartbreak.
He slides it off his finger, placing it gently on the palm of his hand before closing his fingers into a fist.
“We can’t keep doing this, Y/n. Not if you can’t talk to me.” He mutters softly, “Not if you’re still in love with him, we’ll be getting nowhere.”
This makes her cry harder. She still doesn’t have the audacity to look up at him, no, how could she? After everything she’s done?
This is why she always ends up alone. No matter how in love she is, no matter how much effort she puts into a relationship, they always end up leaving her. It’s happened long before Harry, and she was so convinced he’d stay when he came around. She was so dead set on him being her forever, but the same thing happened again. He left, just like everyone else.
And now, Dan is leaving her, and although she can’t exactly blame him for doing so, it’s another wound to her heart—it’s another pain in her chest that only seems to increase with pain.
He sighs sadly at the sight in front of him, upset with himself that he’s probably a partial reason for her soul-shaking sobs and lack of air, but he has no other choice. If he stays with her, he’d be forcing her to love someone she doesn’t. He has to let her go if it means to possibly make amends with her happiness again.
He takes one of her shaking hands away from her face and bringing it towards his lap, spreading her fingers away from her palm so that he can set the ring softly against it.
She sobs at the sight, bringing her opposite hand to her mouth as she tries to quiet herself down.
“This was Harry’s, it always was. This belongs to you, Y/n, not me.”
She nods, trying her best to smile at him as a form of appreciation, but it fails miserably. He understands, though, that she cares, and doesn’t ask her any questions.
“I’ll let Gabby know to come home now, okay?”
He kisses the top of her head, the way he always does, before removing himself from the couch and toward the front door.
“Take care of yourself, Y/n. I mean it.”
And then, he’s gone, leaving Y/n alone in an empty house and her haunting thoughts. She feels the world is closing in on her, only giving her a restricted amount of air and a limited amount of light to see what’s in front of her.
She’s alone—she’s left by herself in a dark room that’s only being illuminated by the television light, where nobody can hear her, where nobody can touch her, where nobody can see her; in a place where she just can’t trust herself.
She’s left alone, as she’s always left, and she just can’t take it anymore.
Her emotions become so strong that her body collapses onto the floor, her head throbbing and throat burning from all the tears and cries. She can’t breathe, her lungs failing to take in oxygen and her chest is pounding.
It’s so bad that if Gabby doesn’t come home soon, she actually believes she’s going to die. She feels the tug on her heart and feels how hard it is for it to do its job properly—she practically feels it overworking itself.
Gabby finds her on the floor, making her immediately drop her purse and run to her collapsed body. Y/n is a withering mess underneath her, completely drenched in sweat as violent sobs erupt from her body.
She’s quick to sit her up properly onto the floor before lifting her back onto the couch, running a comforting hand down the side of her neck as she begins to shush her down to a calm state. However, her attempt falters when Y/n shakes her head to remove Gabby’s touch from her neck.
“I can’t—I can’t—“
She tries to find words to explain what’s happening to her right now. Between the pain in her body and the feeling in her head, her brain is scrambling with so many fearful thoughts that the only thing she can truly comprehend is being saved from this horrifying feeling.
Gabby is taken aback when she says it, completely astonished by just how serious this all is. She realizes this isn’t a situation that she can fix on her own, and it makes her feel like such a bad friend that she can’t give her what she needs.
Tears fall from her eyes in panic, well aware that her friend is undergoing something far worse than a mental breakdown, but also knows that the hospital won’t be able to help her.
Only Harry can.
“Let me call for help, okay?“ She asks softly. “I’m gonna send help.”
When Harry sees Gabby’s contact light up his phone, something inside of him instantly fills with worry. He knows, without a doubt, that Gabby hates him more than anybody ever since what happened. And knowing her so well, she would never reach out to him, especially when her negative feelings toward him were so strong, unless it’s serious.
“You have to do something, Harry.” She cries through the phone, peaking over her shoulder to look over Y/n from her location in the kitchen.
She’s still a mess, holding her hand over her heart as if it were going to mend the pain. Her head is thrown over the back of the couch, her other hand running over her face continuously. Her sobs haven’t settled, only seeming to increase with panic over the unfamiliar reaction occurring over her body.
“She thinks you don’t want her and—Harry she thinks she’s dying. Her heart is so broken. She keeps saying her heart is going to fail her and I don’t—I don’t know what to do. I don’t think there’s anything I can do. She—she was trying so hard. Harry, please, you have to—you have to—“
Harry leans on his elbows over the kitchen counter, huffing out a shaky breath when he hears both Gabby and Y/n’s cries through the phone. He rubs his hand over his face, doing anything to prevent the tears nearly pooling out from his eyes.
He’d be lying if he said that guilt isn’t eating him alive in this moment. And it’s not that he hasn’t felt any remorse or any guilt since he’d broken Y/n’s heart, but he’s now fully aware that he has to look at the damage he’s done. He’ll have to witness all the pain, all the heartbreak he’s put her through, and nothing makes him feel worse.
“I’ll do anything.” He whimpers. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I promise, I won’t keep doing this to her, you have to believe me. Just—“ he lets out a broken breath, reaching his hand up to rub his eyes to prevent any tears from escaping, “just tell me what to do.”
Gabby wipes the tears from her cheeks, yet again peering over to watch over Y/n on the couch. To her dismay, there is absolutely no improvement.
“Come here, pick her up, and bring her home. Just talk to her, please. Nothing makes her feel worse than believing you don’t want her anymore. Hell, even if you don’t—I don’t know with you anymore—just give her something. You’re the only one that can fix this.”
He sighs, nodding his head before making his way out of his house without much of a response to her. He’s only concerned for Y/n, and is so focused on getting to her so that he can prove to her that he’s changed—that he’s not the same Harry he was and is going to be there for her for as long as his life lasts, even if she doesn’t allow it.
But it’s upon arrival he realizes how much more serious this is than he thought. She’s completely breaking down, every inch of her shaking and fear written on her face. She’s a complete and utter mess, a completely wrecked version of such a beautiful, unbroken woman who had so much love in her heart and surrounded by so much love in the air.
And even though Harry knows she believes she’s going to die, apart of him believes she’s already dead. The life inside of her has burned out and is now just a product of what once was. The Y/n he always known is long gone—so far gone he almost doesn’t believe it’s her.
He looks at her with the most distraught and sympathetic look Gabby has ever seen. She has never seen so much guilt in somebody before that—no matter how much she hates him—she can’t help but feel sorry for him, too.
“Baby, hey. Hey now, it’s alright.” He whispers, kneeling in front of Y/n’s shaking figure and tentatively reaching for her hair so that he can attempt to calm her down. “I’m here now, I’m right here.”
A pitiful sound leaves her lips when she looks up at him; something between a whine, a sob, and a groan. It’s messy from her throat being raw from all the screaming and cries, and it leaves an indescribable pain that only makes her cries stronger.
She can’t even think properly, everything in her body overworking itself. It’s something she’s never experienced before, and all the fears of it being permanent rush through her veins—leaving her with an overwhelming amount of anxiety.
“She’s having a panic attack.” Harry mumbles to Gabby, making sure to rub gently over the back of Y/n’s neck. Although panic attacks weren’t common for her, whenever she was overwhelmed and stressed, this gesture always seemed calmed her down.
“I don’t know what to do. I can’t drive with her like this I—Gabby, how do I focus with her like this?” He cries, the situation in front of him making his body turn to shambles, “Especially when it’s my fault? How do I—do I keep her here until she’s calm? I don’t—I don’t know—”
Gabby shakes her head, reaching her hand over to graze his tense shoulder. She squeezes the muscle softly, almost as a sort of reassurance.
“She needs home, Harry—” she whispers, “she needs you.”
He nods, choking back sobs as he brushes the hair out of Y/n’s face. The skin of her face is red and completely soaked, but this is the first time he’s seen her since the morning in the grocery store, and she’s never looked so beautiful.
“I’m going to take you home with me, Y/n. But I need you to breathe for me, can you do that?” He asks, holding her face delicately between his hands, “Breathe with me.”
Y/n sucks in a deep breath when Harry inhales deeply, attempting to rid all the anxiety and pain settling inside of her. Her inhale is broken between hiccups and cries, but as she keeps eye contact with him as she tries to calm down, a little part of her feels revived.
“It hurts.” She whimpers between sobs, referring to the pain in her chest and the throbbing in her head that just can’t seem to heal.
She watches as Harry’s face scrunches with an agonizing cry, and she knows he’s aware of exactly what she’s talking about. She’s been brokenhearted for so long, she doesn’t even think he’s the least bit shocked when she tells him her heart is hurting.
“I know, baby. I know.” He whispers as he kisses her forehead gently. “Let’s get you home, yeah? Make you feel better?”
And as much as she wants to hate him, or yell at him for everything he’s done to her and make him understand just how much of her life he’s ruined, she genuinely feels like her body is going to collapse at any given moment. She needs him, even if it’s just for right now, she has to just focus on everything happening in the now. Harry’s come back to her and she’s about to go back home.
Because if she doesn’t think about the present moment—Harry holding her, Harry kissing her, Harry about to take the both of them back to their house—she’ll never find a way to fix herself. She’ll be stuck in this anxiety and pain for far too long—so long that it could actually kill her.
So she closes her eyes, only focusing on his touch and his breath fanning over her wet face. She forgets the t-shirt, she forgets all the times he’s ignored her after declaring them to take a break, and she forgets about Jessica. At least for right now, she can focus on all that tomorrow.
She nods, and it’s then Harry notices how much more calm she is. Although she’s still crying and still incapable of speaking much from the aching in her throat, she’s breathing properly again and her once undying sobs have turned into soft whimpers.
He leans in so that he can properly wrap his arms around her, hooking one hand on her back and the other under her knees. There’s no way in hell she’s capable of walking—not like this, and in all honesty, he would much rather hold her now than leave her side for another second.
It’s when Y/n is being held so close to him again that the aching in her chest seems to almost vanish completely. And although there is still a weight on top of her lungs, and still a slight uncomfortableness in her heart, she’s finally able to breathe again.
“I’m gonna make this all better, okay? I promise you, gonna fix you.” He mumbles with his lips against her hairline, making sure to keep rubbing the back of her neck softly.
It’s a promise he intends on keeping—a promise he never plans on breaking again. He could never live with himself if he were to keep putting her through all of this pain. She’s the most undeserving person—he knows that—and he knows she’s too pure to go through all that she’s been through the past couple of months.
The car ride is completely silent, only Y/n’s cries and small sniffles filling the empty space. Although she still isn’t completely calm, she’s improved so much since he first came to pick her up and it is able to keep his mind at ease. At least while he drives.
And he doesn’t miss her hand sneaking over the console to intertwine her fingers with his. He doesn’t expect it but he also doesn’t mind it. If anything, it makes him feel better just as much as it does her.
When they pull up to the driveway of their once shared house, every bit of composure she’s withheld in her body is breaking down by the second. Her strength is wearing thin, and knowing she’ll be reuniting in the house where Y/n and Harry once had everything makes her more afraid than ever.
Harry notices her sudden shift in mood and doesn’t hesitate to unbuckle himself from his seat and walk around the car to where her exhausted figure is sobbing, slumped against the passenger seat. He sighs meekly before unbuckling her, as well, and lifting her against him the way he had before.
“Hey there, s’alright, I’m here. We’ll work this out, but you need to sleep first, yeah? Looking very pale and I know you well enough to see you’ve been lacking sleep.”
Although they both know Y/n isn’t going to respond, she wants to continue listening to him speak. It’s something she hasn’t heard in so long, and she wouldn’t even care if he was talking about the goddamn weather, she just wants to hear him again.
He keeps talking, too, because he notices the effects of his voice on her anxiety and how the muscles in her body relax under his words. He’ll stop at nothing to make sure she’s okay again, even if it means having a one-sided conversation.
“You know how you are, too—grumpy and sensitive when you’re tired. Almost take my head off if you don’t get more than seven hours. Remember that one time at my mum’s Christmas dinner party? Barely slept the night before from wrapping so many gifts that you genuinely got upset with me for not knowing your favorite alcoholic beverage.” He chuckles softly. “Funny lil thing.“
Through the nonstop crying and the frown that hasn’t left Y/n’s lips in what feels like an eternity, the first smile stretches from her lips. It’s the smallest closed mouth smile he’s ever seen, but it’s there, and it’s the most genuine feeling of happiness she’s had in so long.
When Harry unlocks the door, he wastes no time making his way over to their couch. He knows very well that she wouldn’t want to sleep on their bed, considering she’s well aware of what he did with Jessica on that bed and he wants no reason to upset her any further.
He sets her down in front of the couch, petting the top of her head softly before gathering a blanket and a pillow for her to sleep on.
He sets it up like a bed, almost, before turning to leave so that she can have her privacy. He doesn’t think she’d want to sleep with him, so he decides to sleep in the guest bedroom since he knows she’d always pick the living room couch over that room.
But before he gets too far, Y/n weakly captures his fingers in hers, pulling him back towards her.
His head snaps down to her finger, noticing the rose ring being worn beautifully on her middle finger. He almost chokes when he sees it on her, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in half confusion and half in awe.
“Please,” she whimpers, “stay.”
He snaps out of his trance at her words, slowly nodding his head as a small “of course” falls from his lips.
He lays comfortably on the couch, looking up at her when he finds a position where she can lay beside him.
“If you want you can take the—alright” he huffs.
His eyes narrow as he watches her lay on top of him—fully on top of him; her cheek nesting right where his shoulder meets his neck as her arms slither around his sides until her hands meet under his back. Her legs tangle perfectly in between his, and in any other circumstance, this probably wouldn’t have been an ideal sleeping position for the either of them. But Y/n is exhausted, both physically and mentally, and she feels this is the only position she can sleep.
Harry doesn’t mind, and easily ignores the subtle uncomfortableness in his back as he wraps his arms securely around her frame.
Although Y/n is already fast asleep on top of it, he’s unsure how he can close his eyes for longer than a blink. This could be the last chance he has to be with her in this way. He’s unsure what tomorrow holds for the both of them and their relationship—it could end entirely or create an entirely new beginning.
With the possibilities almost endless against their favor, he doesn’t want to miss a second of what could be the last of her in his life. So, he embraces the feeling of her tight hold, the little puddle of drool on the shoulder of his t-shirt, and the tickle on his chin from her loose strands of hair, because this could be the last time he feels all of that.
But he also can’t help but feel that small bit of hope still latching onto him. That somewhere—deep down—he knows they belong to each other for the rest of their lives. And that, maybe, if the universe decides that their relationship should end tomorrow, he knows destiny will find a way for the both of them again.
So, he holds her a little tighter, breathes her in a little harsher, and soaks up all the extra warmth in her body, and prays that everything will be okay.