Random Harry Styles Short Stories || Completed!

Anesthesia

harry isn't a fan of drugs.

not like that— the medicinal drugs that they put you under for surgeries, or even the ones that take away headaches.

specifically— the ones that alter the mind and consciousness.

first of all, he doesn't like needles and he doesn't understand people who don't get bothered by them; he thinks it's absurd someone is okay with a large, sharp object impaling at their skin and altering their immune system.

and the effects they have!

it's a freaky fucking way to put something helpful into someone's body.

second of all, he doesn't like pain. nobody does— but harry fears pain and has crazy anxiety about its intensity, its severity. he's never had a cavity in his fucking life so he has never really experienced a toothache, what if this is the worst pain i've ever felt? it worries him sick and he hasn't been sleeping well for the past couple days, waking from dreams where he was in the dentist chair and there's needles and tools and they pinched at his flesh but they didn't truly numb his nerves and he could feel everything going on—

third of all, he doesn't like the idea of not having control over his own being, his mind loose and free and with no filter. harry is a man of calculated speech; he chooses his words with care and makes sure they are impactful before they are released. his tediousness and careful words only intensified as he grew in fame— he can't slip up in the media when he possesses the spotlight.

drugs like these ones—the ones being injected with a tiny needle into his fucking arm—are just keys able to access the locked depths of harry's mind.

forget the control aspect— the fact that harry won't even remember how he acts under drugs freaks him out; he won't know what he said, how he said it.

what if i say something completely inappropriate?!

well fuck, he's always thinking raunchy or romantically about his fiancée—

what if i embarrass myself? or even her! oh god—

it was these thoughts and nerves that cause harry's knee to bounce up and down in the waiting room chair, his fingers twitching at the material at his thighs. his eyes have been downcast since they checked in, eyebrows furrowed as he dazes off at the tile floor, worries and concerns and nerves swirling in the pit of his stomach.

he doesn't want to do it.

he really doesn't.

i can't do it.

but another hand rests on top of his, causing his leg to halt and for his eyes to break over next to him.

his lovie is looking at him with soft eyes, her lips pouting. harry gazes at her, his eyes blinking as she thread her fingers through his, pulling their hands into her lap. she's fiddling with his fingers, twirling his rings and rubbing his knuckles.

"you shouldn't be so scared, bub."

he bites his lip.

"you're gonna be fine, okay?"

he shakes his head, putting his eyes back on the ground, his leg beginning to bounce again.

"harry."

he looks at her again. her eyes are pleading for him to go through with it—and god, he doesn't want to disappoint her in any way—but he is so fucking terrified that he might just have to get up and leave.