Incandescent | H.S

Part Forty-Five: Endless Circles & Eroding Connections

A/N. Hello! Quick little note. I wanted to apologise for not adding any trigger warnings regarding anxiety where it's needed. I always aim to before publishing but forget and that's not ok. In general, I've been quite relaxed about adding content warnings to do with smut and whatnot as it's in the author's note. I have for other themes earlier in the book when it was needed. No one has had an issue with this- (I hope. If you have, I'm so sorry, and please message me if you need to!)  But I hate to think that someone does not view this book or my account as a safe space for not adding that trigger warning. I'm here always. x

There are mentions of anxiety in this chapter, it's a running theme in this book and I'll be going back to add TWs just so that this is a safe space for everyone. Love you all, enjoy!

-

You never thought the little heaven on your bedroom ceiling would remind you of something you'd lost.

Galleries in Venice, heavenly devotions, and the otherworldly painting that had been gifted to you. He made you laugh under that heaven. He kissed you, told you he loved you under that heaven. Now all you felt was your soul plummeting back down to Earth at the loss of him.

You knew Harry. He was an old soul. You knew how he liked rainy days for writing, how he liked showers in the early morning, he loved romantic films. You knew how he felt about his fame, how his brain ticked to write as marvelously as he did. He was open and honest and warm. He was terrified of letting people around him down. He was endlessly selfless and endlessly hard on himself. You knew him.

But this side of Harry... you didn't know.

He was so distant from you. Retracting as much as he could while you picked up the crumbs of your relationship that he left in his trail.

He barely called you cherry anymore. Had he gotten sick of the colour?

You were swaddled up in your bed, your face wet with tears. You'd left your celebration with your friends after two measly hours. It was late, if you had to guess, maybe one or two in the morning. The last thing on your mind was sleep. You were swimming in despair and confusion. He promised he would show up but he was nowhere to be seen.

You had started so many texts to him. But overall, the fact that he hadn't even attempted to contact you made you delete every attempt. You were exhausted and in pain. You'd reached out all you could and it still wasn't enough.

Harry paced outside of your apartment for a while. He was sure you were home, a tell-tale golden ambiance emitting a soft glow in your bedroom window. But the soul inside had dimmed drastically and it was all his fault. He was riddled with fear and mourning his happier self. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad and he didn't think he had a bandage big enough to cover this wound.

Small purple flowers in meadows, dancing in the streets of Montmartre, rainy days, shared cups of tea. Getting high, listening to vinyl, making love under the heaven in your bedroom. Was it all a memory?

Cherry. Petal. Angel. The best thing that had ever happened to him was you and the connection you had built together.

He had singlehandedly destroyed it and he was fucking devastated.

He twirled the spare key for your apartment in between his fingers. He still remembered the night you gave it to him. How it felt like a kick in the chest. How you did it for him, a place for him to escape to even if you weren't there. While he often did go to your home to get away from it all, he didn't feel welcome being there now.

Regardless, his girl was in pain because of him. He paced outside your door for a minute or two. His hands were shaking, his throat tight with words he was preparing to push out. He unlocked the door quietly, trying to shelf his heartbreak so he could try and mend yours.