One Shots ~ Harry Styles

Is this it? (Christmas Eve)

A/N - A day before Christmas, I know. But, had to make you all cry...umm well, I cried while writing this, so yeah...Well, you see I've been kinda depressed lately, lol. 

Well, read on, and get heavy with water. Keep a tissue near you. Byeee for nowww. Meet you tom at Christmas!! A. xxx

"We need to talk."

There it was. The four words that you had been dreading to hear. You had seen it coming almost a year ago, when your relationship with Harry started to become distant and forced.

He was spending more time traveling, and although it hadn't been a problem in the past, it quickly dawned on the both of you that the only reason why Harry was killing himself flying from one side of the country to the other was that of you.

A year ago, you had said to him on the phone, "It's okay. You don't have to come back. It's just two weeks anyway. Stay."

And so he did.

It wasn't as if you didn't want him to come home–you did. But you could tell how tired he was every night when he would FaceTime you from some foreign location, and you didn't want to contribute to the black circles forming underneath his eyes.

He had certainly protested at first. After all, he hadn't seen you in months. All Harry had of you were the pictures on his phone, your nightly phone calls, and nothing else. He couldn't even remember the scent of your perfume, much less the taste of your tongue.

And maybe the accumulation of that and the fact that he was eventually going to see you (preferably, when he was less stressed and tired), he had canceled his plane ticket home. The two of you had been going the distance for so long that a few more weeks without seeing one another seemed like an easy obstacle to overcome.

But then his next big break didn't come.

Suddenly, he was working on Dunkirk, and his debut album tour soon followed. Months turned into a year. It had been an entire year since you had last seen your boyfriend. Your nightly calls faded into a once-a-month occurrence, and then nothing at all.

Everything had happened so quickly and so suddenly that one evening you had checked the date on the calendar hanging by your fridge to find that it was Harry's birthday. Sending him a quick text (your last text was him saying Goodnight xx almost two months ago), you pray that wherever he was–because you didn't know where he was at all–timezones allowed you to be early.

You were in the shower when he replied to you. Your hair was all wrapped up in a towel when you clicked to see his reply. Thanks. No kisses, no exclamation mark, no nothing. It was as if he had sent the text to an acquaintance that he had once bumped into on the street.

Sinking down onto your bed, you knit your brows together as you scroll back through your Instagram to look at how happy the two of you once were. You didn't know what was scarier: the fact that you two were drifting apart, or the fact that you didn't seem to mind it at all.

You had started to change things about a month ago. Sending him good morning and good night texts, texting him about funny things that happened during your day, etc. You were really trying to turn it around.

But Harry wasn't reciprocating. He had claimed that his schedule was eating up too much of his time that he couldn't even sit down for a five-minute Skype call with you. Sorry hon, can't tonight was his response to your request for a quick phone call.