#w2s ff

You were used to Harry being away quite often. Truthfully you were fine with it: you trusted him and he trusted you, there was no reason to suspect unfaithfulness in a two year relationship. Despite this, when he would come home, you would argue quite frequently. Not over cheating, or never being around often enough, or not being treated the way you wanted to be; no, it was always the little things.

Did you do the dishes? No. Argument ensues. You’re playing your music too loud. No I’m not! Argument ensues. Can you pay me back now? Sorry, I can’t. Argument ensues. It was a repeated cycle of childishness that would eventually result in your inevitable divide…for a few hours, until you’d rush to each-other and apologize.

This time turned out to be slightly different from the rest. Finding a deep loneliness shrouded your heart tonight, you decided to play a little music. It had a slow tempo, with melancholy background noise accompanied by solemn vocals; something so tenderly miserable that it would captivate you, and truly express your feelings.

In truth, you weren’t sure why you felt so awful. Perhaps it was the fact that Harry was home but, all day, you hadn’t conversed. Instead he decided to sit at his desk and record videos, and Skype the Sidemen instead of cuddle you. But it struck you as strange that you were suddenly so caught-up about it. You were so adapted to being alone and relying solely on yourself–maybe the deprivation had finally consumed you?

With a sigh, you decided it was best to not think about it. Tapping relentlessly on your phone’s keyboard whilst rapidly replying to your friends, your ears twitched as you heard the door squeak.

“Babe, could you turn that down, please?” he asked, voice raspy and eyes heavy from the lack of sleep he’d been getting. His inquiry had immediately slapped a frown onto your lips: a broad one, at that. “All I can hear in the background of my videos is your music. It’s depressing.”

“Right, sorry,” you began. To him, it sounded as if you were replying, but he had already jumped to conclusions. By this point you had already started to part your lips once again, “but I need it.”

“Need it?” He scoffed, arching a brow as a look of arrogant perplexity crossed his features. He seemed baffled and, at hearing the words “I need it” to a few vibrating particles, you were sure most would react the way he did. “But why?”

“I’m sad,” you stated bluntly. For a split second you could see his frown switch, a look of guilt washing over his expression. But he was persistent.

“I’m sorry, baby. But please, I’ll come to you after, just turn it off,” he pleaded, and despite the fact his tone was mostly upset, you could definitely hear the tinge of frustration. Was he patronizing you?

“Please, no,” you begged. The idea of having your own comfort at this time being taken away from you was heart-wrenching, even if it was only temporary. You needed the songs, the music, your life force. If you didn’t, you’d probably go crazy listening to the simple sounds of silence. “I can’t be by myself.”

He sighed. Already, he was fed up with your antics and inability to comply. All this time you thought you didn’t need to rely on anyone else, and you didn’t; in actuality, you relied on inanimate things, like music, and material, and colours. Didn’t this make him feel guilty?

“Babe, please, not right now, I’m in the middle of recording,” he said, slightly aggressively as he pinched the skin between his eyebrows. Upset, you furrowed your brows before hopping up off your mattress, strolling over to his side, and then doing what would annoy him most: you turned the phone speaker to his face, and turned your music up.

You could see the twitch in his eyelid. It was almost amusing, until he grabbed your phone, turned the volume down and flung it across the room. Startled, you jerked your head around and stared at the phone, which luckily wasn’t broken. Snapping your head back ‘round, you growled, “you dick! The fuck did you do that for!?”

“You’re really fucking testing my patience right now, (y/n)!” He shouted, certainly elevating your level of fear. Your body was still, eyes shrinking as you bit your bottom lip. He was really mad, wasn’t he? It was just a joke.

Attempting to clamber away, you stepped back. But you couldn’t move, not when he already clamped his left hand down onto your wrist, halting you immediately. The fear you felt previously had already increased in intensity. You had never seen him like this, nor had he ever got so riled up about something so small…well, not to touch you in such a menacingly toxic way. You wanted to shout at him, and tell him to get off you, but any effort to speak only made you writhe against his grip…this frustrated him further.

With a fowl screech he curled his fist up so tightly his knuckles would turn the impurest white you’d ever seen. So tightly the whites of his eyes were practically bloodshot. So tightly the veins in his arms would protrude from the surface of his skin. Then he raised his arm, and before you knew it, it was heading straight for you.

Then you let out the most shrill, blood-curdling scream you could muster. You entire form shook like the aftermath of an earthquake, your head jerking away from his fist as tears, before they even threatened to fall, had already cascaded down flustered cheeks. Was this really happening?

His fist had stopped inches from your cheek. It took him far too long to process just what he was doing, and as soon as he realized, his expression was replaced with a look of shame. It was an expression he didn’t usually wear: red-faced, heavy breaths, small pupils and a gaping mouth. He uncurled his fist and released you from his grip.

Gingerly, he backed away from you, staring at your form that was doubled over in fear. How could he make his beloved partner of greatness feel so burdened; so terrified? It was his job to make you happy, not fearful. He should be ruining the ones who hurt you, not becoming one of them. His back hit the door, shoulders dropped as a look of barren blankness swelled on his face. He was so empty.

“(Y/n)…” he breathed out, exhausted. She refused to even look at him; she was so still, like Medusa had stared at her right in the eyes. Stone. Right then, right there, he began to sob. His actions were totally unnecessary; totally unjustifiable…he would never forgive himself for almost hurting you, and didn’t expect you to do so, either. His tears were cold and icy, eyes swelled and red: his whole form was numb; if he felt this awful, how must you feel?

Reluctantly, you glanced up. You watched him, steadily, far too aware of your own actions. You took note of every movement you made, tears still streaming like rivers on rosy cheeks. The look of absolute misery on your face made him want to destroy himself, a look of terror plastered on his face.

“Oh my God, (y/n),” he bawled, reaching out to you hesitantly. You were so delicate; so fragile…what in God’s name possessed him to ever do something so destructive? “(Y/n), I’m so, so sorry, oh God, I never meant for this to happen. I don’t know what came over me. This isn’t your fault. This is mine. I’m so sorry I overreacted. Oh, God.”

You remained silent. He was reaching out to you and, admittedly, you were still shaken. But you knew him. You knew Harry, and yes he was prone to outbursts, no, never to this extreme, but he was guilty, and felt like it. The remorse filtered in his expression was evident and, even though it killed you to see him so mad, it made it even worse because you loved him, and would, for certain, spend your life with him. Truthfully.

You darted into his chest. He immediately enveloped you into a tight embrace, his face in your mess of hair as you bawled into his chest. He was heartbroken, similarly for you. But neither of you would let this overpower you: you were stronger than this. This was a blunder; a dip. While you’d never forget this night, you knew he’d use every fibre of his being to make it up to you, and make you feel safe, and loved, like you deserve.