People always talk about Harry comforting a crying missus after a stressful day so what about if Harry came home crying after a stressful day and the missus comforted him?
She can see it before he shows it.
The way his eyes are a little bloodshot and red-rimmed, sore-looking and like they needed a proper sleep to remove that ache. Pupils dilated with emotion and the green emerald of his eyes looking darker and empty as he refused eye contact with her. Toeing off his boots and keeping his eyes on the ground as he nudged them straighter with his toe.
The way the underside of his nose looked a little damp and like he’d had a snotty nose, a little red in some areas like he’d rubbed at the skin with the callouses of his fingers or with the roughness of a tissue that came with the studio room he’d booked out for the day. Sniffles come from him, the tip of his nose scrunching up and wiggling around as he pushed a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face rather than blowing it away - which had become a habit over the last few weeks whilst his fringe grew back and curled around his forehead.
The way his cheeks looked red and shone underneath the light of the hallway. Glistening and glowing but in a way that had no good intentions behind it; in a way that made him look broken and in pain and in need of anything to distract him from whatever was bothering his mind.
And a distraction is all she could give him. In the form of a tight hug and a couple of kisses to his stinging cheeks. One being pressed to his chin before she cosied her face into his neck and took deep inhales of what his skin had leaking; a musky scent of Tom Ford, the slight damp scent of sweat that had built up in the folds of his skin, and the distinct aroma of rain that he’d gotten caught in on his way from the car to the studio entrance.
It’s when he finds comfort with her, with his chin resting on her head, that he begins to sob. Bottom lip wobbling and making his chin shake, eyes bubbling with tears before they leaked down his porcelain skin, nose flaring as he tried his best to keep his emotions at bay. Until he was at least alone in the shower he planned to take before dinner. His chest heaving heavily, making it difficult for him to catch his breath, grasping tightly onto her arms as she tried to make a bee-line to the kitchen cupboard that held his inhaler.
“Harry, baby, you need it. Let me grab it. You’re okay,” she coos, brushing her fingers over his wet cheeks, “you need your inhaler. Come on. You’re going to be okay, I promise.”
With the inhaler in her hand, and once she’d settled him down on the bottom step of the stairs, he collapses onto her legs and buries his face into her thighs, letting the new puffs of hair calm him down and bring him back to a state of normality. Where he wasn’t panicking or freaking out. Losing his breath and finding it hard to regain a steady rhythm. Holding her knees to his chest as he let his moist cheeks dampen the thin material of her blue jeans, leaving darker spots behind on the denim.
“Whatever happened, whatever made you this way, you know you can tell me,” she whispers, uncomfortably perched on a step just a few from his figure, running her fingers through his hair as he sniffed and brought his wrist to wipe his nose, “we all have rough days. We all go about them in different ways. But you know that if you ever need to talk about it, or vent, or yell, you can use me to get that out. Okay?”
“S’just one o’ those days,” he murmurs with a deep rasp after a gentle pause, his head lifting up and allowing the missus to see his broken face. Green eyes no longer bright and full of life. Cheeks no longer holder the gentle rose colour and sporting a rather vicious red. Lips wobbling and no longer curled into the gorgeous smile she loved. “Things just didn’t go to plan. Pissed off everyone at the studio because I couldn’t get a single thing out. No words would come from my head. I had a block. Jeffrey got pissed off. Mitch actually stormed out and won’t answer my calls. Jeff actually thought I was backtracking and losing my spark. They think I’m getting shitter!” He cries, clenched hand colliding with the step beside her thigh. “To make matters so much worse, there are more rumours coming out about me. About you. Thinking I’m cheating or with some other woman. When I’m not. And the paparazzi followed me to my car, to the shop to get lunch, to the cafe to get coffee. They wouldn’t leave me alone,” he hiccuped, his cries not seeming to subside anytime soon, “I can’t do it anymore. I’m not cut out to be under pressure all the time.”
And all she can do, without making things worse with her words, is wipe away the built-up tears that lingered his eyelids and press a kiss to his forehead. Burying her nose into his hair and sighing softly as she let him cry and cry and cry until he was completely dry of tears and his throat hurt from the sobs. xx