#liles

He didn’t want to fight. Even as the words were leaving his mouth, as he called her out for missing their date and for cheating on him, he was regretting it. He knew she wasn’t the relationship type. He’d known it since the start. 

But he just couldn’t bring himself to break it off, because he liked her. He really liked her. And despite all her faults, despite how much she hurt him, there was always that little voice in the back of his head telling him that they’d work it out. It was the same voice that was telling him it’d get better - that eventually, she’d realize that she couldn’t go without him. That eventually, she’d stop hurting him, and he’d get better. That they’d get better. 

It was getting a bit ridiculous, Harry thought as he finally pulled himself away from the wall and towards his car. She’d hurt him, and break his heart, over and over and over again, but in the end, she was the one that healed him. 

She was the pain, and she was the morphine, and Harry was an addict. 

Harry sighed, hearing the little voice speak again. 

Maybe it’ll work out, it said. Maybe it’ll get better. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

***

Harry’s flat was nice. It was pretty big. Only problem was, the TV was on the same wall as the door, which meant the sofa faced the door, which made it increasingly more difficult for Harry to focus on what was happening on the telly rather than staring at the door. 

He was mad at her. She’d broken his heart. 

But he was still hoping she’d come around. 

He was still hoping for that knock, for that apology. 

It seemed like centuries before it came. 

***

Harry was staring at the ceiling when he heard her. He was lying on the floor, on his back, staring at the ceiling, when he heard her signature knock. Well, it wasn’t really hers, but Harry was hoping, so at that moment, she was the only person in the world who could be behind that door. 

Knock, knock - pause - knock. 

Harry jumped up, practically knocking his head on one of the little tables around him, and then froze, his hand hovering above the door knob. He took a breath, straightening his shirt and squaring his shoulders, and then opened the door with the hope that she wouldn’t be able to tell how desperate he was. 

She was wearing jeans, and a sweatshirt that Harry was slightly suspicious was his, and sneakers, and she was trying for a smile. “Hi,” she said quietly. “Hi,” Harry replied, and she cleared her throat. “Um - I’m sorry,” she murmured. 

Harry didn’t say anything. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, “and I -” She took a deep breath, and then went on, “I promise to try harder,” she said. “I’ve never done… I’ve never really done” - she gestured between them - “this before. And I need to… I’ve gotta get better, I know, but I’ll - I’ll try. I swear.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Okay,” Harry said. 

He didn’t elaborate, and she frowned. “That’s… it?”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah.” 

She gave a wry laugh, and ran a hand over her face. “Okay then. Um… Do you wanna go out for dinner?” she asked. Harry’s brows jumped. “Thought you said -” She shook her head, cutting him off, and told him, “I know, but - this is trying. I’ve gotta… I’ve gotta get better, right? So… practice. Dinner.” 

Harry grinned, kissing her before he could stop himself, and said, “Dinner.” 

She laughed, kissing him back, and nodded. “Dinner,” she said. 

***

Harry smiled as Arabella swung their hands up and down, humming some song he couldn’t quite place as they walked down the hallway of her flat complex. They paused in front of her door, and she leaned forward to kiss him. 

Harry grinned, leaning into it as she pressed him up against the wall. “Had a lot of fun tonight, Bell,” he murmured against her lips, and she smiled a bit. “Me, too,” she whispered, trailing kisses down his neck. 

“Should do it again,” Harry said, and she nodded. “Mhm,” she hummed, but Harry could tell she didn’t mean it. “Thank you,” he murmured as she pressed kisses against his jawline, “for coming.” 

“Course,” she said. 

“Really,” Harry insisted, gently pushing her off so he could meet her eyes. “I really appreciate it.” She smiled, biting her lip, and shrugged, fiddling with his tie. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, I know.” 

There was a beat of silence, and she finally looked up. “What?” she asked. “Why’re you looking at me like that, huh?” Harry bit his lip. “I really like you, Bell,” he murmured, and she grinned. “Certainly hope so,” she laughed. 

“No, really,” Harry said, and her smile faded. 

“Like you too, Styles,” she told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. 

“I - I think -” Harry took a breath. “I think I love you, Arabella,” he whispered. 

She froze, going still in his arms. “I had fun tonight,” she said stiffly. “Thank you.” 

And then she turned around, and walked into her flat, and closed the door. 

***

Harry wanted to slap himself. 

How could he be so stupid? 

She’d told him this was new, she told him she wasn’t used to this, and he went and declared his love for her the first opportunity he got. Ridiculous. He should have waited. Or he shouldn’t have said it at all...  

He didn’t want to go home. He knew his flat would mock him, telling him how lonely he was, how stupid he was, how he should have been with Arabella, how stupid he was. He just wanted to go back in time. 

But he couldn’t, so he walked out of her building and onto the street. It was pretty late, and the bright lights of the city skyline were so cheerful that Harry decided to find them. They couldn’t be that far away, right? 

Wrong. 

***

Harry was vaguely aware that his feet were beginning to hurt. 

He had no idea what time it was, but judging by the sun peeking up from the horizon and the identical buildings around him, it was very, very early, and he was very, very lost. It was a bit cold, too, and when he wondered if there was a sweatshirt in his car, he was absently reminded that he’d have to get that car eventually. 

Didn’t matter. 

He had his phone, which meant he could call an Uber or something. 

So he did. 

He was fairly certain the driver recognized him, by the way he kept glancing in the rear view mirror, but he was asleep too quickly for the guy to say anything. He slept clear through the ride, and the driver had to wake him up. 

Harry tipped him generously and got out of the car, staring up at his flat complex with the tiniest amount of dread. He walked into the building, and up the stairs, and opened his door, and learned that his theory was one hundred percent correct. 

The walls whispered insults at him as he toed off his shoes, and the fan hummed verbal abuse as he collapsed onto his bed, which asked him in a creak why he was alone and not with his girlfriend. His pillows smelled of regret, the covers of misery, his sweatshirt of heartbreak. 

But there wasn’t exactly anything he could do about it, was there? 

He found himself sinking into his thoughts after a few seconds of lying face planted on his bed, so he pulled himself up to the freezer for a pint of ice cream before plopping onto the couch for the wonderful challenge of keeping his eyes off of the door and on the telly. 

Eventually, he fell asleep, ice cream melting in the tub on his lap and TV playing on in the background. He dreamed of Arabella, of his morphine. He wanted more. He wanted the pain to go away, wanted more morphine, wanted Arabella. 

***

Arabella liked lilies. 

She mentioned it at that dinner date, when there were a few fake ones at the table, and said she loved the purple ones especially. Harry had asked her why, and she’d said because lilies are pretty and purple represents royalty, and she was a queen. 

So Harry got her a few lilies, and, sort of in a haze, went to her flat, and knocked. 

One, two, three, and the door opened. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said immediately, and she gave him a half smile. “Me, too,” she said. There was a beat of silence, and Harry bit his lip, holding out the flowers. “For your highness,” he said quietly, trying for a joke. 

It worked, and she smiled just a bit more and stepped back to let him in. 

“I might have a vase,” she said. 

Harry nodded, lingering by the doorway as she walked into the kitchen before reappearing with a glass vase filled halfway with water. She took the flowers from him, letting the silence hang between them, and set them in the vase, and put it on the table. 

She stood next to him, her arms crossed against her chest, as they pretended to admire how the flowers looked on the wooden table. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” Harry finally said, breaking the silence. 

She didn’t reply. 

“I know this is new, and I don’t expect -” He paused. “I know it’s a lot,” he said, “so I don’t expect anything.” He took a breath, carefully taking her hand in his, and she let him, and so he went on, “I really like you, Bell, and I know that’s a lot. So you don’t have to say anything, or - or do anything, really. Just…” He gave a bit of a smile and lifted her hand, kissing her knuckle gently. “Just let me adore you.” 

A beat of silence, and then she grinned and pressed a kiss to his lips. “If you insist.” Harry felt relief pour through his system as their lips met, felt her morphine rush through his body, and he never wanted to leave. 

But in the back of his mind, there was a little voice. 

It was different. 

This one asked, will you ever talk about it?

And Harry kissed Arabella harder. 

No. 

Because really, he’d already gone without her. 

He’d been alone. He felt what it was like to be without her. 

And he couldn’t do it. 

He might have to walk through fire for her, but that was okay. 

He needed her. 

Her, and only her. 

Nothing else would do.

**********

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