Harry Styles One Shots

JALBOYH (iv)

Summary: Harry and Y/N are in an open relationship

Warnings: angst

Word Count: 3461 words

___

He sat on the foot of the bed while she fed herself with the creamy mash. His brain was going antsy with the conversation that he had overheard. "Who were you talking to?"

She hummed on a mouthful of food, "Shawn," Although it sounded more like 'Shom'

"What erm, what were you guys talking about?"

Y/N waved him off casually as if it was nothing, "Don't worry about it."

Needless to say, Harry was a bit more reluctant to invite another girl to his bed. Before hearing Y/N stumble through the front doors while tripping over her heeled feet was something that was unheard of. Harry would be l laying the nape of his neck on the soft fabric of the sofa with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, hearing her struggle over her purse and the metal keys. There were no tedious topics of what ran through his mind but overall; Y/N popped up from every corner of his brain as if to mock him that he deserved what he was feeling right now.

Harry felt disgusted; not at Y/N, but at himself. He felt worthless and guilty and he didn't know how Y/N could stand through all his bullshit when he was doing it without saying anything as so much as a squeak. It seemed as though he had to staple his lips up every day to prevent him from saying something hurtful to her because after all–it would seem hypocritical of him to get angry at her for something that he did more– twenty-three times more to be exact.

He wanted to scrub his body raw with the shower loofa as if thousands of bacteria littered his skin and all they wanted to do was taint him with infidelity and nip his skin to his skeleton as if it would rattle some sense into his dense mind. Of course, it was all in his head but he couldn't stop his hand from moving aggressively, wanting to rid himself of any parts that screamed his connection with other women. Despite his efforts, the logical part of him knew that there was nothing he could do to wipe himself clean of the mistakes that he had made and repeated more times than he can count.

——

Seeing Y/N walk into their bedroom after showering made a revolting taste splash through his mouth. Although she was wrapped in a soft towel, Harry could still see the purple marks on her skin, the red love bites dotted on her neck and he was briefly reminded on what she said to him only a few weeks prior about the marks on his own body.

He was so mean to her. He was vile and rude, and much more defensive than he thought possible. He didn't have to stand up for the women who left those marks because, in retrospect, Harry didn't care for them as much as he cared for Y/N. But he did anyway. It was Y/N all along and he can't believe that it took him such a long time to realize it. Regardless of any way he put it, he knew deep inside that he only said those words to her because the guilt was expanding through his chest, his neck, and to his face—which he was certain was turning into a light shade of red—as if his own body couldn't help but own up to his wrongdoings.

—–

It was yet another time for an award show and Harry had been itching in his pants. He and Y/N usually had rituals for these kinds of things. As cheesy as it seemed, one of them would always ask the other if they could be each other's' date for the night. It was their thing and as unnecessary as it is–since they were both invited each and every time–someone had to do it.

But it was a slap to the face when Y/N confronted him about it one night when they were both at home. Apparently, Shawn was following in his footsteps and took a step into the movie direction, just like he did with Dunkirk. Except for him, it was a romantic comedy that starred Y/N. Harry was shocked, hell, he knew that Y/N was in the means of shooting a new film but he didn't know it was going to be this genre—or with Shawn, for that matter.