harry styles imagines

gold rush: part two

He tilts his head to the side and smirks. "Says who? It's my show."

You narrow your eyes dubiously, but they slowly soften when they drift downward and take in his outfit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't plan a revealing outfit just because you were coming.

"You look handsome."

Handsome. When was the last time you called him that? He can't remember, but the word sends a tidal wave of shivers rolling across his body.

"Thank you. You look lovely, as always. How've you been?"

"Fine. Work keeps me busy." Something nearby clatters to the floor, and you nod your head toward the culprit, who has a guilty expression. "Her, too."

"Not overworking yourself, are you?" Harry asks. God knows he's seen you at your worst because of it.

"Not as much as you. I still worry about you with all this traveling."

He stuffs his hands into his pockets while moving closer to you. "Yeah? You worry about me?"

You nod and look past his shoulder. He misses when you didn't shy under his gaze. "But the videos I see ease my worries. I know you're safe and having fun."

He clears his throat and asks, "What videos?"

There's a heavy lull of silence before you say, "Ones of you performing. They pop up on social media all the time. You're pretty famous if you didn't know."

He ignores your teasing because he's grasping at straws, needing to know if you still keep up with him like he does with you. "And you watch them?"

"Yeah, I do," you say, nervously rubbing your earlobe. "It's hard not to with those outfits and how happy you look, you know?" You point to your daughter and add, "She loves to watch them too."

Harry roughly swallows and curls his hands into fists. Your admittance makes the ache in his heart grow tenfold. He never would have guessed.

Someone suddenly knocks loudly on the dressing room door, making him flinch. "Harry, we need to start heading to the stage! Right now, preferably!"

With a sigh, he heads over to the connected bathroom to grab his mic pack and in-ears, but not before crouching in front of his daughter. "Hey, Dad has to go," he tells her. "Gonna stay with mum and watch me?"

She nods and lifts her arms. He picks her up before setting her on his hip and swaying her. "Do I look okay?" he murmurs.

"Mm-hmm," she hums, grabbing at the silk material of his vest.

"Good." He kisses her forehead and then rests his own against hers. "I love you, all right? Dance your heart out for me."

She impatiently squirms in his arms. He sets her down so she can play with the toys you brought and then moves to quickly fix his hair in the mirror. He can already tell tonight will be one of his favorite shows, and it has everything to do with the fact that his two favorite people will be in the audience.

After he puts his in-ears in, he shuts the bathroom light off and shakes his arms to get any remaining pre-show jitters out. He looks at you the entire time, watching you glance around his dressing room like it's an art gallery. His vulnerable belongings are all out in the open and on display — his shirts you used to wear stuffed in his duffel bag, printed pictures of his daughter tucked into the mesh pocket of his suitcase, and a pack of diapers he had delivered earlier today in case you forgot or ran out.

Most vulnerable, however, is his wedding ring right next to the microphone that you're about to grab for him. It's the same ring he kisses every night before he goes on stage, never having gotten rid of it because it's one of the only things he has left of the love you once had for him.

You freeze, your hand hovering over the microphone. The color drains from his face as he stands there, dreading your reaction.

"Harry..." Your voice is weakened with a certain sadness that could break him if he let it.

People gather in the room, trying to get him to start heading to the stage, but he's stuck in place. Paralyzed from fear. Everything is a blur around him, and all he can focus on is the shake of your hand when you pick up the damned ring that was cursed from the beginning. You set it in your open palm, then stare at him with a slightly parted mouth and confusion swimming in your eyes.

Harry then makes a stupid fucking mistake.

He rushes toward you, grasps your cheeks, and smears his lips over yours with pitiful desperation. His eyebrows pinch painfully, and he lets out a muted sob when you don't return the kiss. Your hands push his chest, making him stumble back.

There's no time to apologize since he's immediately being escorted out the door and down the hallway toward the stage. He wants to look back, but he knows the expression on your face will tell him all he needs to know.

You don't love him anymore.

——