What Goes Around... || H.S. Harry Styles

36.

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER

Other kids are running up and down the school hallway, groups of boys voices booming down the tight space about last nights football match and mix with girls giggling, recalling something that happened in last class or on some TV show.

Harry's back is pushed up against the cool metal lockers, Nat's hands running up and down his arms in comfort as he takes in a deep breath.

"Honey, you look awful, you should call your mum, go home and rest," she coos, looking at her boyfriends pale face and sunken eyes. 

"Mmm, yeah, feel like m'gonna throw up," he says bluntly only causing Nat to pout at her inability to help him.

"Poor baby," she fusses and he tries for the tenth time to hold her at arms length, not wanting her to catch whatever he has.

"Don't care if I get sick, Harry," she tells him again. "Wanna hold you." 

He exhales in defeat and lets her comfort him with a warm hug, his lips kissing the top of her head briefly before resting his cheek there and closing his eyes.

"Mmm, you're too good to me you know that?"

She shakes her head and pulls away to see the smile ghosting his chapped lips.

"Nuh-uh, know you would do the same for me," she praises and Harry can't help but nod in agreement.

His mum is stuck at work, so he endures the bumpy bus ride home, his stomach flipping at every speed hump and uneven patch of road, his mind making plans to stick his head into his school bag in case he vomits on the way.

The sight of his front door makes him sigh in relief and he takes the small steps two at a time to get inside as fast as possible.

His body is running through the door as he pushes it behind him, slamming with a loud bang by the time he reaches the kitchen but the sight in front of him makes all his other  senses obsolete.

The noise startles his father who lips are on a woman who is not his wife. 

Des jumps instinctively back at the sudden intrusion, the woman gasping and holding her shirt over her satiny black bra to cover up some her tattered dignity.

She pulls it quickly on over her tight black jeans as Harry's hearing comes back and his dad starts to speak.

"Shit, Harry. What are you doing home?" He blurts out and Harry can feel his blood start to race around his veins as he regains some clarity. 

"What the fuck are you doing!" He shrieks, ignoring his fathers query and directing his question at either of the adults in front of him who he now finds so repulsive he can barely stand it.

His hands are shaking uncontrollably and he takes a step back as his father makes a cautious move towards him.

"Son, let's talk about this, ok? Man to man," he pleads before turning to the woman and making a gesture for her to leave before she is scurrying shamefully out of the house without a second glance in Harry's direction.

The reality of the situation hits him and before he can comprehend it fully he is running to the bathroom and unloading the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He feels so sick he doesn't know what emotion to focus on first as he runs the water and sticks his mouth under the tap to feel the coldness soothe his burning throat.

Harry can hear his fathers footsteps pacing up and down the kitchen tiles and he can't deal with anything more than crawling into bed right now.

He kicks his shoes off and gets in fully dressed, pulling the covers over his head and praying this is just all a horrible hallucination from his burning fever.

The door creaks open as Des walks in and the bed dips beside Harry when he sits down on the edge. 

"How could you do this?" Harry sobs from beneath the cocoon of linens, only realising how much he is crying when he tries to speak.

"Look son, these things happen," his father says as Harry rips back the duvet to see his deceptive face.

"You have to tell Mum," he states.

"Harry, mate, she knows," Des says quietly taking Harry by surprise.  How could she know and still be with him, act like nothing is wrong?

"What?"

"Don't mention it in front of her, it makes her uncomfortable but look son, it's a man thing, maybe you're too much of a boy to understand.  We have needs, it's natural. Don't you ever think about being with anyone other than Nat? Maybe someone has caught your eye in the street? Or at a party?" 

Harry's stomach churns at the thought of sleeping with anyone other than his girlfriend and he forces back the bile creeping its way up.

"No. Never," he says clearly through his broken voice and honestly if he was feeling even a fraction healthier right now he wouldn't hesitate punching his father in the face.

"Hmmm," Des hums condescendingly. "Well, maybe you're gonna end up going in the other direction... which to be honest, might be even worse."

"What are you talking about?" Harry bites.

"Well, I mean, men who DON'T cheat usually end up miserable. Feeling trapped you know? You'll probably get Nat pregnant, move into a nice little house in this boring old town where you will stay for the rest of your lives.  Never seeing the world, never amounting to anything. But hey, you'll have each other right? Well... that's unless she leaves you first, realising what else is out there and that she is probably too good for you anyway. But you know that."

Harry's heart is pounding in his chest.  Is what his father is saying true?

He and Nat have talked endlessly about all the things they are going to do after school, Nat is going to go to college and they are going to visit all the places they dream about.

They are going to skydive over the Swiss alps, go scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef, salsa dance in Barcelona.

They want adventure and excitement and he can't think of anything worse than accidentally forcing her to stay here in the town he knows she desperately wants to get out of.

"That can't be true," he whispers in disbelief.

"Well, I guess you'll find out for yourself son, but all I'll say is that you should get out and experience things, other people... live a little." He smirks before leaving Harry to wallow in his own confusion and misery.

A/N:

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