#h: alldayangst

[alldayangst]

i can see you starin’, honey (Harry Styles)

*It was requested I made this into a full imagine, so I did. You can read the original blurb here. All of my fics are LGBTQ and PoC friendly. Trigger warning for the mention of r*zors (only for shaving!) However, please don’t read if this triggers or makes you uncomfortable! This fic is slightly suggestive, I’d recommend this to mature readers. Summary: Harry is a church boy that goes to church (and reads his Bible 🌚). 

You felt Harry shifting beside you in bed before the Sun had even come up. Hands unwrapping themselves from your waist, phone alarm pulsing like pendulums relentlessly when all you wanted to do was sleep. Before Harry could truly release you from his grip, you held your hands over his and he groaned as if to say ‘I know, I know. I don’t want to go either.’ But his strength was greater than yours and he untangled himself without much of a fight. “Gonna love on you so hard when I get back.” You felt his stubble brush against your cheek as he kissed along your jaw. “I’ll make you forget it’s a Sunday.” 

Harry placed another kiss to your cheek before he got up and you heard the water running after him. Harry was such a good boy. Going to church because his mother asked him to. His niece, Christina, was to be christened that day and Harry simply couldn’t miss it. He’d give up the world for that little girl. Harry didn’t know exactly where he stood with all the faith and magic and constellations in the universe, but he was certain he’d give up the world for you, too. 

Harry’s never known a good shower without music, so your Alexa is more often than not wet and soapy, but Harry doesn’t mind that. I’ll just buy another one, he always says. “Alexa, play Just The Way You Are by Bruno Mars.” 

Once upon a time, Harry thought that the radio and its constant saturation of romance songs was just an elaborate lie, ‘cause he’d never experienced first-hand just how great love could feel. Sure enough, looking into your eyes for the first time changed that, and he finally understood how it felt to have hearts in your eyes and butterflies in your stomach. Everything about you made him a Styles sized puddle because he was just that far gone. 

So he meant it when he sang along in earnest into the shower head: “When I see your face, there’s not a thing that I would change, cause you’re amazing just the way you are,” Harry may be one of the best pop vocalists in his generation but no one has ever sounded great stark in the shower. You giggle as you lean on the doorframe in awe that you’re living in how love is supposed to feel.

“Don’t know why you’re laffin’.” Harry gives a toothy grin. “Not like you could do any better, babe.” Harry almost goes to wrap the towel around his waist, but he decided the better idea was to throw it at your head and run back to your shared bedroom.

“Harry!”

There’s no doubt that you and Harry wasted time, just being the idiots you allowed yourselves to be around each other. Harry had FaceTimed Anne shortly before he needed to go, because there’s no one who can make a boy feel more handsome than his mother. You’d been eating CoCo Pops in his shirt and underwear, with the new episode of The Crown playing from your laptop in the kitchen. And Anne, who loved her son with all her heart, never failed to tell him how it is. “Honey, you look amazing.” His silver Rolex glinted under the light of the camera. “But the facial hair has got to go.”

Harry held his face in fake contempt. “It’s two days of growth!”

“Even better then, you won’t feel as bad for getting rid of it.” Anne didn’t allow time to take ‘no’ for an answer, and her picture got smaller as it zapped off the screen when she ended the call.

Harry had twelve minutes to spare.

“Y/N!” You stopped like you’d been caught in a crime scene, something about Prince Charles continuing to play out of the speakers of your computer. “I need you to help me get this off my face.” he said as he motioned to his stubble.

That’s how you ended up back in the bathroom. Harry had taken out one of the razors from the cupboard above the sink where you sat, the lower half of his face smothered in Gilette. 

“Gotta be ready for church in..” Harry looks down at his watch. “10.” You found it funny how Harry could afford the finer things in life but never made a big deal out of it. You found it especially funny how Harry could afford the finer things in life, including a hair & makeup team at his beck and call, but chose to have you - his baby, his lovie, his world - sat on a sink between his two legs running a cheap BiC disposable razor across his face.

“I love this one the most.” You muttered as you intertwined your two free hands, tracing along the cross tattoo on his hand. “You know what else I love?” You wrapped your legs around his waist, only to see if he would give into the less than holy things of this world one more time before you sent him off to Sunday service.

You banged the razor against the sink, shaving mousse and little brown moustache hairs falling into the basin before you returned to shave your half baby-faced boy.

Sometimes, Harry can’t believe his lucky stars; and thanks God and your mother or whoever made you for doing just that and bringing you to him. “Not one cut! Not one nick!” You exclaim excitedly, as you go to rinse the razor and Harry holds your hips ‘cause he’s just gotta look into your eyes to know that you’re real. And his.

Taglist: @swiftingday

Credit for the gif goes to: /hsgucciking.

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[alldayangst]

i can see you standing, honey (Harry Styles)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. Summary: Harry is a church boy that goes to church (and reads his Bible 🌚). This is a blurb, not a full imagine. You can read the full imagine here. Trigger warning for the mention of ra*zors (only for shaving!). However, please don’t read if this triggers or makes you uncomfortable! WC: 243 words.

Based off of a @/t-rexs post:

Ok but imagine

it’s Sunday morning and you’re sitting on the counter top with your man standing in between your legs. He’s letting you shave his face and while you are staring intensely at his face cause you’re concentrated on not cutting him, his hands hold your waist or hips and he stares at you with so much love and a hint of amusement.

and that ladies and gents is my love language

“Gotta be ready for church in..” Harry looks down at his Rolex. “10.” You found it funny how Harry could afford the finer things in life but never made a big deal out of it. You found it especially funny how Harry could afford the finer things in life, including a hair & makeup team at his beck and call, but chose to have you - his baby, his lovie, his world - sat on a sink between his two legs running a cheap BiC disposable razor across his face.

Harry was such a good boy. Going to church because his mother asked. The better half of your time was used to trace your fingers along the cross tattoo on his hand and wrap your legs around his waist, only to see if he would give into the less than holy things of this world one more time before you send him off to Sunday service.

You banged the razor against the sink, shaving mousse and little brown moustache hairs falling into the basin before you returned to shave your half baby-faced boy.

Sometimes, Harry can’t believe his lucky stars; and thanks God and your mother or whoever made you for doing just that and bringing you to him. “Not one cut! Not one nick!” You exclaim excitedly, as you go to rinse the razor and Harry holds your hips ‘cause he’s just gotta look into your eyes to know that you’re real. And his.

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[alldayangst]

don’t forgive you, Prologue (Harry Styles)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. PAIRING: Harry Styles x famous actor/actress reader.

Warnings: angst and cheating.

When you first met Harry, you weren’t exactly the person you are today. You’d still had the same passion for theatre, acting, the works, but you’d had 500 followers in comparison to the 5 million you have now, were stocking shelves in your local convenience store and when people called “Y/N!” in the street, you usually knew who they were. 

Being with Harry gave you a brand new set of eyes.

They say your lover is a reflection of you, right? And you became a mirror of Harry when you decided you wanted more for yourself than your hometown and an apartment that couldn’t fit more than your feet.

When your audition tape for Star Wars went viral and you were eventually cast, you never knew privacy again. Just planes over pools, crimson carpets and audacious articles to provide chatter for trash daytime TV. You thought you wouldn’t take it back for the world. After all, this was your mini-me’s wildest dreams. Flashing lights, wasted nights, they all lived rent-free in your imagination.

The iceberg that sunk the ship was someone you’d previously called your anchor. Photos of Harry kissing someone that definitely wasn’t you had surfaced meanwhile you were countries apart. You were on a press tour when the frenzy began, all phones on plane mode, blissfully unaware of the millions of virtual voices all over Twitter & Instagram warning you, asking you ‘Why?’ - when you wouldn’t be able to answer that if you tried. Your team couldn’t reach you to get your approval on any damage control (not that it was your damage to control) and were clawing away at keyboards and asking friends for passwords to flip the social media convo in any way. To no avail. Two weeks later, neither you or your team had said anything, waiting for the situation to simmer because you were a living, breathing human still struggling to come to terms with such a public betrayal. 

You almost think he did this on purpose. Maybe he’d been feeling selfish, he’d been in a selfish mood recently. Perhaps his name had been out of the spotlight too long - a whole 12 hours. It was five simple words. You’d heard them all before.

‘Treat people with kindness. H x’

And they all felt like a bullet. How could he say that when all he was doing was hurting you?

The internet had found all sorts of ways to entertain themselves with Harry’s tweet. After thoughts and theories, there was ‘Trending’. 16.3 million people (and that was just Twitter), voyeurs to your misfortune. 

“You need to talk to him eventually.” Daisy said as the makeup artists dabbed and brushed at her lips and eyelids. You stared on as you sat cooped in her dressing room, fearful of the journalists disguised as crew & handlers making circles around your own. You’d say one thing to the wrong person and the next thing you knew ‘an extremely close and reliable source’ had the secret scoop about your life leaked to tabloid writers who didn’t care if you survived the wreckage or not.

That’s part of what made this whole affair so lonely. And that much more painful. 

“Daisy, you’re on in 5.” Daisy looked at you with a soft pout, like an apology for leaving you lonely. Like an apology for leaving you, a young bird, prey to the hungry vultures. That’s exactly how you felt two weeks ago. You were giving an interview two hours after hearing the news, heart strings freshly pulled, and the interviewer asked ‘how you’d been handling your personal life’ with a shit-eating grin. He’d thought he’d be getting an exclusive. 

May day, may day. Brave face, brave face. Head empty, those were only thoughts roaming around your mind.

You took a deep breath in and mumbled some garbage about how your personal life was basically all family now, and how you were so proud of your little brother Isaac for turning 13. Or whatever. 

When it was all over, you didn’t get the release of ‘And scene.’ No, real life is a never ending closed set. And as much as you’d tried to hide in your dressing room, or fake happy and avoid questions about your personal matters; one person you couldn’t deceive was you. No matter how hard Harry may try to convince you.

This is part of the ‘don’t forgive you’ series. You can read part one here. 

Credit for the gif goes to: /harrysimpact. 

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[alldayangst]

drivers lisence (Harry Styles)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. This isnspired by drivers license by Olivia Rodrigo because it’s pulling heart strings lately and there’s nothing I love more. Trigger warning for depictions of panic attacks: heart racing, shortness of breath.

Harry said that he needed you at the studio. He said he’d written another song about you. He said he needed you to hear it. He said you made him feel golden inside, and there hadn’t been a dull day in the recording booth since the moment he met you.

“Alright.” you entered his location into the Uber app.

“How are you getting here?” Unbeknownst to you, Harry stood next to the sound systems with his fingers crossed, eyes screwed shut and bottom lip in a vice grip between his teeth. Praying for you.

You had your driving test that day. You didn’t pass.

Harry told everyone at work that day that this is what you’d been working up to, that he’d be proud of you no matter the outcome. Jeff and Mitch stood on either side of him, wishing upon a star that the lover Harry spent his days and nights speaking of was able to fulfil their own dreams in the way you did his.

“Uber.” You mumbled disappointedly as you fumbled for your keys and walked into your apartment’s garage. Low and behold in yours and Harry’s parking spaces, a dark as night Range Rover and a big, red bow that sat on it. You held your face in your hands, bowing your head in shame - “For fuck’s sake, Harry.”

You couldn’t take your test again until another ten days passed. Half-way into your cooling off period, you and Harry drove on a damn near empty road; the only place Harry could blast his own music without fear of leaks. It was the only place where you felt eyes were off you for a change, an alternative paradise where you no longer had to clutch pearls and the panicked voice in your head was at bay.

“It’s the only thing I’ll ever do, it’s the only thing I’ll ever do, it’s the only thing I’ll ever do, it’s the only thing I’ll ever do.” Harry sang along to the harmonies. He swore adoring you was the only thing he’d ever do. And you believed him, because that was the philosophy you lived by.

Harry was a cave you could run and hide in. Harry was your shelter from stormy skies. Harry was the count from 1 to 10 that regulated your breathing again. In simple terms, Harry was your safe place. Your refuge from the bombs that dropped from the sky as if they were rain.

“Can’t believe they’d fail my baby. You’re perfect, you’re a natural.” You felt comfortable enough with Harry to take your eye off the road and just stare at your love for just one second. 

He didn’t know that without him around, your limbs would tense up, your heart would go 100 beats per minute (and not in the good way) and your instructor’s steering wheel was often so clammy from all of your sweating. The idea of facing your fear to fulfil some overrated arc, such as the simple act of driving, felt as dumb as it felt terrifying as it felt something you so badly wanted to do.

Harry kissed your forehead tenderly as the road ahead shrunk under the wheels of your new car. “Mm, I adore you.”

Two months later and Fall had come around. You finally then got your driver’s license. You and Harry were starting to feel like a puzzle with a few missing pieces, like Fall leaves hanging onto a tree that just wanted to shake them off. It was hard to believe you were in the place that you were just ten weeks ago.

And it was all because of Harry’s career. The thing that uplifted you just two months ago was the same thing bringing you down, down, down.

Press junkets replaced the times of your quiet car rides and it seemed Harry felt the GQs and Vogues of the world deserved his attention more than you did.

Harry had a CD protected in clear plastic perched pristinely on his lap. He said he was gonna give his car a paint-job, make it bright. He said he’d been listening to Frank Ocean, something along the lines of a White Ferrari was what he wanted.

“Are you not gonna play the CD for me?”

Harry separated his legs ever so slightly to hide the disc in between his thighs. “No. You know I don’t like to play my unreleased music.”

Your breakup a week later was nothing formal. You just drifted apart, like two crossroads diverting into parallel lanes.

You found yourself driving through the suburbs of Bel Air on your way back home to Manchester Square, favouring its quieter roads and the memories you and Harry shared.

You turned on the radio.

Ah-ah-aah. Each next voice higher than the last. Every chord progression sounding like the opening of the gates of Heaven. “Walk through fire for you, just let me adore you.” You stumbled into the world of your ex-lover again without even meaning to.

“So, this one, Harry, it’s a single off the second record.” You feel your hands stiffen against the steering wheel, and your face go stale like old bread and it takes everything in you to tell the butterflies in your stomach to stop flying and the panic button in your brain to stop sounding the alarm and breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

“Yes, yes it is.” Harry’s voice is like a low growl, unmistakable. You feel your heart pounding in your chest. Baboom, baboom - it’s quicker than business as usual. “And you’ve been seen out with Phoenix Smith lately. Gorgeous, blonde, for those who don’t know them.” Roman Kemp describes your self-esteem’s biggest adversary to a T, putting you to great shame. You always felt insecure stumbling around Los Angeles streets with Phoenix and Harry, both their model legs dwarfed yours; and theirs and Harry’s Gucci and Burberry jackets belittled you. “Is this song about them by any chance?”

“My lips are sealed.” Harry replies as the song continues to play. The suspense builds like bricks because no. Harry wrote this song for you, right?

“Was that Harry?” Time had yet to heal. Your friend, Jordan, cringed as you sat in the passenger’s seat. You saw Harry in every face you glimpsed on a Bel Air suburb street. Jordan didn’t want you driving in such a heart-ached state. Jordan didn’t want to see you crash and burn. They were worried about their friend, staring through the window for a man who was just one of thousands who lived in this neighbourhood. So how was it that you believed that Harry was the only one for you in this whole world?

Harry never found out that you got your driver’s license, even when you drove alone past his street.

Credit for the gif goes to: /beststyles

Taglist: @swiftingday​

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[alldayangst]

a free world? (Harry Styles)

All my fics are PoC/LGBTQ+ friendly.  Trigger warning/warnings for divorce, kids witnessing unhealthy marriages/divorce. Inspired by Godspeed by Frank Ocean.

“This court thereby grants the plaintiff a divorce. Please wait ninety days for the divorce to be finalised.” The judge bangs their gavel. “This court is adjourned.”

Harry remembers these words like it was yesterday. They sounded nothing like the ‘with the power vested in me’ speech the minister gave five years ago, so he wondered why you were smiling. The whispers you exchange with your attorney were nowhere near as heartfelt as yours and his ‘I love you’s’ and ‘I do’s’ . He looked at you while you look at your lawyer like he just saved your life. Harry wonders if that was the way you truly felt all along. 

One thing that never failed to complicate things was the fact that you and Harry had children; children you adored unconditionally. You adopted Heidi and Eden when the love between you and Harry was just too strong not to share, and you remember the ear splitting sobs Harry screeched out for their sake when you decided separating was the best option for you both.

“This is all my fucking fault.” Harry sat on the steps like a child on punishment. You towered over him like a parent in despair. Where did it all go wrong? Snot, sweat and tears. The human body had a funny way of showing pain. “No, nothing’s your fault.” You remembered these words like it was yesterday. They sounded everything like the ‘I think we should end this’ speech you have him three days prior, so you knew exactly why he was crying. His red, runny nose and frantic head shaking was as close as you could get to reliving the undying heartache of yours and Harry’s ‘I fucking hate myself’s’ after arguments and ‘I’m not happy anymore’s’. He looked at you like you could save his life. You wondered if that was truly the way he felt all along. “Why bring a child into our home if I can’t provide the life I promised them?” Harry continued to weep, defeated, as you cradled his head in your arms, resting yours against his. 

No love lost.

“The kids know you love them, even if you don’t love me. Being happy and divorced aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Harry snorted and shook his head in your hands when you mentioned the word ‘divorce’, and by that, you could tell that he wasn’t ready to finish something that he started. But you were. “There will be mountains you won’t move, Harry.”

Fast forward to after you were granted the divorce, you’d been slow to move on; choosing to stay ‘two hearts, one home’ with Harry for the sake of your children. 

You didn't want to leave, you’d rather slow down. You wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of your children’s last idea of their parents together being animosity in bedroom corridors. 

“The table is prepared for you.” Harry noticed you all fidgety, finicky with your ring, pulling it off to the fingertip and rubbing it over your knuckle like this was all some sort of game.

You ate your food over a quiet table. You liked a quiet table now. It was better than the subtle shots and low blows you and Harry threw at each other seven months ago. Perhaps you didn’t know then what was to come.

“Y/N said they found a home not too far out of London.” Heidi dropped this bomb out of nowhere, then proceeded to eat her food, neglecting the fallout. Your children had taken to calling you by your first name because that’s what Harry had reduced you to, you were no longer ‘baby’, ‘honey’ or ‘lovie.’

You hear the clank of cutlery as Harry dropped his knife and fork and abandons his meal.

“Is this true?” he questions, eyes gawking in a line of sight straight at you. Once upon a time, you’d claim Harry could see right through you, into you - but after a few mean words and closed door rows, his vision doesn’t work as well.

“It’s true.” You breathe in uneasily.

“Can we talk in the bedroom?” Harry wiped his face on the cloth and you followed his lead on what you’re sure is to be an adventure upstairs.

“You’re moving? You’re moving without me?”

“Harry, I think you’re confused. You signed up for a life without me once you chose not to contest the divorce.”

“So, what, you wanted me to contest the divorce?” Now Harry is confused. His eyebrows are scrunched up together, and his face is in a kind of puzzle where if you didn’t know him, you’d probably think he was angry. And maybe you were onto something when you called yourselves ‘soulmates’, because Harry knew you know him better than anyone else - you’d had a power where you could see right through him, into him - and your 20/20 vision never failed you.

You’d hate to admit your ego was bruised when Harry didn’t contest the divorce. In a way, it made things peaceful - your house, your alimony and your kids didn't have to be split right in the middle, but nothing would compensate for yours and Harry’s broken bond. That little part of your heart that wanted Harry to contest the divorce didn’t do it out of a love for conflict, but to know you were something to fight for. Why didn’t Harry fight for you? You’d fought for much lesser things. You looked down at the rug beneath you, unable to come to terms with the shame and hurt that you felt you could spontaneously combust under. “I guess some strange part of my mind wanted you to fight for me, thought it would make me feel worthy, like you still loved me.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Harry lifts up your head and kisses the tears beginning to for under your eyes. “Because I do love you.”

You hum in satisfaction because you think this moment is over. Harry has other plans.

He kisses all over your face. Your nose. “I love you.” Your eyelids. “I love you.” You feel your cheeks begin to get wetter, Harry is crying too. Your chin. “I love you.” Your neck. He’s muffled as he smooches and speaks in intervals. “I didn’t contest because I thought this would make you happy. I just want you to be happy.” Maybe this is how Harry felt all along. Harry grabs a handful of your backside. “And one day this is going to be over. And I’m gonna wake up and we’ll laugh because it’s a bad dream.” Harry goes to pick you up, and that’s when you decide you’ve both gone far enough. Love isn’t about pushing hate in the other direction. “Harry, we have children downstairs, we have children downstairs, we have children downstairs.”

Two days later, you were sat next to Eden in the living room, unaware that Harry had chosen to dwell on your encounter the other night. It’d been a habit of his, he’d refused to relent on sweet, simple words, subtle signs, he’d never let things go. Harry and Heidi were washing dishes in the open kitchen adjacent to you with Harry sneakily stealing a glance from you every other second, resulting in some haphazardly washed pots and one broken plate.

The china dispersed itself across the ground. You and Eden looked up from your laptop while Harry and Heidi stared at the broken plate on the floor like it would mend itself that way. “Fuck, Daddy!” Heidi blurted out. Harry looked at her and then looked at you guiltily, hoping you didn’t think it was him that had taught your daughter that language. “Don’t say ‘fuck’, sweetheart.” It obviously was. “Can you help Daddy get the broom?” Heidi zoomed off in search for the broom while Harry thoughtlessly kicked shards of broken china around in attempt to pack the mess together. He wanted you to think he was a good Dad. You knew he was a good dad. But Harry was jonesing for your approval as if it would reverse the divorce papers in the mailman’s hands or stop you from separating your heart and your home.

“Y/N, where is Essex?” Eden looked at you curiously while Harry listened tentatively at the message of your hometown. “It’s where I come from and it’s where you and me are gonna live.” You tap Eden on the knee.

“I can’t find the broom.”

“Harry, you better go help her.” You said.

“Eden, go help your sister.” He tells your son.

Heidi said that you’d be living not too far from London but Harry never thought you’d end up back in Essex. You rarely mentioned your birthplace, and your distinct Essex accent got drowned in loud, screaming concert crowds and lost in London after years of residing with Harry. You’d worn your hometown on your sleeve only a handful of times. Harry vividly remembers Niall expressing doubt with you during drinking games to which you’d responded: “Please, I’m from Essex!”, and it made Harry ponder on whether you were going back there to drink the memory of him away or out of genuine fondness for the place. So Harry doesn’t think and walks over to you, faces inches apart and says, “You look down on where you came from, sometimes. But you have this place to call home. Always.” And you look into his green eyes that remind you so much of emeralds and pretty forests and remember that they are the only place that you’ll truly call home. You feel your heart racing and the clock ticking and his eyes boring into yours in search for an answer, and unsure what to say, you’re relieved for the first time in your life that your children are not around. “I need to go help them find the broom.”

Three months later, a paper comes through right on time. For you, not for Harry. But for Eden and for Heidi who sat in the back of your car ready to live in a town they’ve never been to and their parents never mentioned. 

Harry knew this day was about to come, because the letter that came for you a few days prior features your birth name, your full birth name. No Styles, no marriage title, no hint to the fact that you even knew Harry at all apart from the address. The address that was now his, and solely his. Harry starts to feel like a little kid again, and wants to cry on the steps and have you cradle him again even if it’s the last time you touch him. “I will always love you how I do, Harry. I vowed that. This love will keep us through the blinding of the eyes. I’ll love you to the day that I die.” And with that, Harry engulfs you. Because that paper that came right on time meant that your divorce was final and this wasn’t a sick dream he could shake himself from. “I’m wishing you godspeed, glory.” And that’s how you really felt all along. Harry holds your hand with his free one and you let him remove your ring from your finger. He’s crying now. It’s too late. You rub along his back and pat it, and maybe that’s his signal to let go, but he doesn’t. 

He can’t believe you’re going back. He can’t believe the town you disowned is your better option over him. You look back at it like it saved your life. “I’ll let go of my claim on you, it’s a free world.” But he hugs tighter.

Taglist: @swiftingday

Credit for the gif goes to: /hampsteadharry​

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[alldayangst]

don’t forgive you, Part 1 (Harry Styles)

All of my fics are LGBT and PoC friendly. PAIRING: Harry Styles x famous actor/actress reader.

Warnings: angst and cheating, your little brother Isaac wants y’all together so bad.

“I think those ones are from my plane.” You held your phone up to the sky, your little brother, Isaac, feigning excitement as you both stared at the chemtrails above Osaka International. His ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ah’s’ weren’t to mock you, but because he loved you. This was your first moment of serenity in weeks. “What did you get for your birthday, Is?”

You heard rumbling and short cuts in the audio as Isaac ripped apart his room to reveal his most treasured presents. “Well, Mum and Dad got me a PS5.” he beamed as he held it up to FaceTime screen. 

“Nice.” You looked down and laughed because, actually, you got him that; you parents had been too worried about ‘guns and violence & sorts’ to sign off on the purchase “And these Gucci sneakers came in the mail yesterday.” You gasped. He flipped the sole of the patterned shoe to reveal a haphazardly written, ‘All the love. H.’ And then you knew this gift had come from Harry. 

“Isaac, did Harry wish you a happy birthday?” Isaac pretended to think about it for a second, then he spilled. “Yeah, he called me like two days ago and wished me a happy birthday.” And maybe that would have been sweet, but Isaac’s birthday was more like ten days ago.

You hadn’t received a call from Harry. You blocked his number.

Two days later and closer to the Atlantic, Harry was starting to feel like pulling teeth was easier than reaching you. 

“What?” Mitch asked as Harry gawked at him. He didn’t have to do the puppy dog eyes or prayer hands for Mitch to know Harry was begging, desperate for an olive branch to be extended to him, for a safety net to catch him, for a white flag to embrace him. Harry needed a lifeline. Literally.

Mitch wouldn’t be the one to offer it to him though. He shook his head “If Y/N doesn’t want to talk to you, then they’ve got a good reason.”

The huff Harry let out could’ve started storms. But it told Mitch all he needed to know, that Harry knew it too. 

You’d blocked his number before after fiery feuds and silent treatments and so forth but this time it felt like you’d barricaded yourself off. Every call to one of your family members or friends was followed by a single ring and a robotic request for him to leave a message after the tone. All except oblivious Isaac.

Harry found it funny how, with two lovers on his arm, he’d never felt so alone.

So he left the studio out of the back door entrance, and staggered to big, red London telephone box in hopes it would grant him the release of hearing your voice tickle his ears one more time.

“Hello?” Your voice had rendered him speechless. Harry never needed a script nor a lyric sheet, the world wasn’t a stage, but the thought of speaking to you after what he did left him feeling like he was gasping for air and he cursed himself and the butterflies in his stomach for not coming to you better prepared. “Hello? Is my phone working?” Harry could hear your co-star, Daisy, mumbling about how bad service was in the temple and suggested you walk outside to hear better. That gave Harry approximately 5.6 seconds to gather the words he need to say together, but each word felt like broken glass, and Harry knew no matter which way way he picked them up and phrased them, they’d hurt you either way. “Y/N, it’s me. It’s Harry.”

You sighed. Never a good sign.

“I wanted to talk to you. You’ve been avoiding me recently.”

“I wonder why.”

“My next tour stop is Japan.” Harry looked through the windows of the telephone booth to see an unsubtle Mitch popping through the blinds with a curious face.

Harry wasn’t lying. His next tour stop was indeed Japan, but he wasn’t on tour for another three months. And knowing this, knowing Harry like the back of your hand, you let out a long held exhale. You didn’t know whether it was out of torture or comfort knowing that yours and Harry’s otherwise smooth sailing relationship had finally met its match. “Harry, I’ll see you around.” And that’s what made Harry decide that the future just had to come sooner.

“Y/N, where are you right now?” It’d been radio silence on Harry’s end since your phone call two days ago. Never had you grieved his virtual kisses and frivolous GIFs this much before. Isaac’s voice flowed through your earbuds as you picked up a can of Monster.

“I’m in a 7-Eleven, Is.” The line went static for a bit, then you heard the clicks of Isaac’s keyboard & you missed the time in which you were 13 and could’ve sworn your phone was your most prized possession. Now that Harry was gone, maybe it was. 

“And what is a 7-Eleven?” Isaac’s face was coated in a bright white light, emitted from his phone screen. He was slow with his words and stumbled on them like he was reading something. “Would you describe it as more of a Sainsbury’s, Tesco’s or Asda?”

“Is, what are you talking about? You’ve been to 7-Eleven before with me in the States.” You adjusted your earphone to check if you could hear him properly. “And Sainsbury’s? What is that - Is that like a Ralph’s?”

And suddenly, every word justified as brown hair and green orbs for your eyes to feast upon stumble into the 7-Eleven. You’d describe this place as more of a nightmare.

“Harry.”

Taglist: @swiftingday​

This is part of the ‘don’t forgive you’ series. You can read the prologue here.

Credit for the gif goes to: /harrysimpact.​

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