A/N - 1: His smile is so precious. Protect him.
A/N - 2: I mean, if you haven't realised it yet from the gif, H is back. Back again....okay, I'll stop.
A/N - 3: And, another long one...soz...but hey, it's super important. You know, I'm gonna stop saying that, bc it's just gonna keep going that way from now on. Let's do this. Enjoy!
wor·ry
Céline.
Three weeks. It's been three whole weeks since I've seen Harry.
Three weeks with no scent of cigarette smoke, musky vanilla, or bold coffee. Three weeks with no warmth of his presence beside me; and even through the heat that's been dwindling down, his own creates a spark of fire within me. Three weeks with no sight of the man with chocolate brown hair, dazzling green eyes, and swirls of permanent ink drawn on his body. Three weeks with no Harry; the man who owns my heart.
I have no idea where he's been — or if he's still alive. The first week, I'd come on a Saturday, but he was a no show. So I decided to show up on Sunday just to see if our 'times' didn't match up; but again, nothing. The second week, I made my way here the entire weekend; and each time, I felt incomplete. My heart even broke a tad more than I thought it would.
It was now week three and night two of the weekend — Saturday. The hope I had that he was going to come back, was very slim; but it wasn't lost yet. There was a small feeling deep down inside that told me he would come back home.
My fingers twiddled with the fine-tip black pen that was held between them. Sharp lines and intricate details were sketched down on the pad of paper that I always carry in my bag. I'd drawn out the skyline for the very first time ever since I came here. Each night, I only sat waiting in my own complete silence; but tonight, I wanted anything to occupy my time. My mind needed to be filled and focused on something that would remove my thoughts which always drifted towards Harry. Clearly, that failed. Nothing could replace the spot I had for him in my heart and my mind. He was irreplaceable. He was special. Like me, he too, was unique. As many times as he's said that about me, was also about him — probably even more.
Everything about him is unique. The way things are processed in his brain, to the way he just stares at the sky as if it's a black whole; and to the mystery of a life he's lived — and how he acts based from it. His mind astounds me to a point where I truly believe that there was no other man on the planet like him. It's almost as if he's entered my life to challenge me with my own thoughts and beliefs. In a way, that was mutual.
A deep breath escaped my lips as I let the tip of my pen hit the rough surface of the sketch paper — for the hundredth time tonight. Several lines crossed one another, just as one another's paths do in real life. Lines that were curved, just as there are obstacles in real life. Lines that weren't perfect, just as how our lives are. And then, there were the lines that didn't meet, just as we stroll past strangers in the streets.
I bit my bottom lip and my brows furrowed slightly, as I focused onto the intricate imperfections the Corinthian columns on the Union Station. The imperfections that happened over the time, from weathering and deterioration. It was quite a distance away; but it wasn't as far as I felt between the Englishman I care for and myself.
The sound of footsteps were suddenly heard from behind me, causing me to flinch in my spot. Panic arose within me for a moment — until I recognised the familiar tone and pattern from the boots that tapped against the pavement. His warm scent filled my nostrils as my whole body relaxed as his presence neared me. Harry's body softly brushed mine as he sat down, that was when I felt like everything was truly okay. It was as if he did so, silently assuring me of that pure truth.
After a short while, he placed a cigarette between his lips, his hand then cupping around it as he lit the end. A puff of smoke escaped through them, as he placed his lighter on the bench. I watched him from the corner of my eye, taking in as much of him as I possibly could from the small view I had.
He was my little bird with a broken wing, but with many more feathers that helped him fly — even though he struggled. I wanted to nurse him and let him soar through the sky with the free spirit I know he has.
Between us, the sound of silence filled the air; but in my ears, his simple breaths were on high volume. He was okay. He is alive and well. brighter
The brightness from the entirety of Luna illuminated the black abyss with its delicate light. Shadows were no more as the contrast hit every dim spot. The luminance from artificial lamps in the street, intensified, like a candles flame being lit. Several hundreds similar, did the same as they gleamed through the windows of man-made buildings. A single star stood out in the sky; the ultimate and the most brilliant — the North Star. Many more tried to mimic the strength of it; but none could compare. The colours of crystal white and stark red, flickered in the darkness as a plane flew in the far distance. A small smile spread across my lips as I thought of the hundreds of people that were now doing the same, as they looked out of their windows out onto the world below them.
"I'm sorry I didn't bring you coffee." Was the very first thing I heard from him. His voice still husky and rough as he killed the butt of his cigarette.
I couldn't help but turn to look at him, our eyes quickly met one another, as if he was expecting me to reply instantly. There was no sincerity in his eyes; even though, I knew that there was a tiny bit of that, hidden somewhere. He seemed empty, but put on a solid expression — one that made sure it would try and make me ignore the fact that he's been gone for so long.
"That's all you have to say?"
There was something in me that stopped me from greeting him properly. I wanted to give him a great big hug and embrace him like an actual friend; but I couldn't. Our friendship wasn't like that. I'd missed him so much over these weeks that I just wanted him beside me. Yet, here he was, and I still feel like he wasn't. Not with the way his look towards me was. Something was wrong. I knew there was. There had to be. This wasn't my Harry.
In these past few weeks, I felt like my heart was in such pain and agony that I never wanted to ever experience. I felt like an idiot for liking someone who, conceivably, had no idea I liked him back. It was such a foolish idea of mine to put my heart on the line for absolutely nothing.
"Yeah." He furrowed his brows and I sat confused. "I don't owe you any explanations."
The problem was, he was right. I didn't expect him to tell me anything. He wasn't going to and I already knew that; but I was still hurt — as is my heart.
Nonetheless, something fired up inside of me as soon as I heard his slightly aggressive tone. "Fuck you."
"I apologise and I get a, 'fuck you'?" His teeth clenched and I just wanted to yell at him — so I did.
"Yes! I came every week and every day of the weekend, for only you to not be here. You don't need or have to tell me anything. But do you have any idea how horrible it feels to think that the single other person in your life that make you remotely happy, isn't there? Do you?"
"I don't, no." He said, simply. He was lying; and I could tell based on the way his voice was — a mere whisper. I knew that he might've felt the same when I didn't show up; but it worse for me. Much worse.
"You're a fucking liar." I spoke, anger spilling through my tone. Harry, on the other hand, his expression had changed to content as he studied me.
"Nothing happened." He informed me, as if answering the question I hadn't asked him. It was the question that I wished I was able to.
"That's not what I thought when I'm sitting here wondering whether or not you're alive." I glared at him; and it was only then that I saw his look soften. It was as if he was truly sorry for being an ass, not showing up, and about the coffee. The bold, caffeinated drink was the least of my concern though.
"I had things to do and I couldn't come. I really am sorry." He sighed. I looked back up at him, whose eyes were doe-like and sparkling with truth. "Do you forgive me?"
"Fuck no." I replied, a subtle smile forced its way at my lips. I already did. There was no reason for me to be mad at him while he sat beside me, alive and well. How could I be mad at the man who has overtaken my heart and soul? I couldn't.
"If you want, you can hit me. I know you want to." A tight grin was planted on his gorgeous face. This little shit.
"Violence doesn't solve problems, Styles." I scoffed, turning my view away from him.
The moment he turned his view back out to the sky, I punched his arm with half of the strength I knew I had. His hand quickly moved to the aching muscle — which I was almost certain would cause him to bruise. I can't deny that my hand was definitely hurting, since his body seemed as if it were made of steel; but not a soul could escape my hit without a mark on their skin. Male strength was no comparison.
"What the fuck, Prescott? What happened to, 'violence doesn't solve problems?'" He complained, rubbing the injured spot.
"It doesn't; but it was something that helped me feel better. Sorry my ass."
"Looks like I'm not only one in pain." He chuckled as he noticed my slightly red hand.
"Oh shut up." I said, fighting a smile, which failed immediately. One mimicked his face, lighting up the darkness of the night, with pure sunshine brought from his glistening eyes and illuminating happiness.
What struck me was when he moved once more, his body flinched, an expression of pain flashed through him. He attempted to subtly move his hand up to his shoulder, above where I'd punched him, holding onto another form of agony he had. There was only one explanation to what happened — he was shot.
My eyes subtly explored his body, as I noticed very faint remains of dark bruises that once remained. Small scars along his lip, jaw, and eyebrow — some that'd also been stitched up. His hands held the same injuries and all I could feel was my heart beating quicker.
A strange form of worry electrocuted through my body. Hundreds of possibilities and scenarios as to what truly went on and caused the bullet to escape dangerously from the gun, scared me to death. All I wanted to do was bring him into my arms and hold him, making sure he was forever safe; but I couldn't. I felt like it wasn't even my business to ask him what happened, because he clearly didn't want to say anything.
Whatever went on with him through the past three weeks, seemed like it was absolute hell for him; but he didn't show it. At least, he tried not to. He had a mask on his true feelings and emotions. Then again, that wasn't new for him. Since day one, he'd always been like that. I wished that this time, it was different.
"Knock knock." His voice suddenly spoke after several minutes of silence.
"Fuck. Seriously Harry?" I let out a deep breath, complaining.
"Yep. He nodded, his smile as wide as the sun.
"Fine, humour me." I sighed and shook my head, expecting the worst.
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Ya." A smirk was planted on his face, excited to reveal his own amusing words.
"Ya, who?"
"Yahoo! I'm just as psyched to see you." He grinned like a two year old and that's what put a wide smile on my face — not the joke.
"That's the worst." I chuckled.
"Well, aren't you?" His tone, filled with hope. It was as if he'd told me that joke for a purpose.
"I am." I showed a small smile, blushing. I really am.
"Knock knock." He started again and I raised my brows at his second attempt to actually make me laugh.
"Who's there?"
"Howl."
"Howl, who?"
"How'll you know, unless you open the door." To me, it was actually a cute one; but to Harry, it was a full-on knee slapper of a joke. His beautiful laugh echoed throughout the city, that I swore I thought I heard someone else giggle from afar.
Like before, I couldn't stop myself from mimicking his own voice, as I saw how happy he was. This was the real him. The one that I'd seen fully when he was around little ones and when a joke was told. I adored this Harry and I didn't want anyone else. He was it for me; but I wasn't for him — and right now, I was okay with that.
All I wanted was to be around him, because he made my heart swell up with warmth and joy — even if he wasn't in the best mood. There was just this aura about him that made my spirit into an actual soul who cared for the world. My inner self who cared about the only important and beautiful man in the world that I had feelings for.
"I have another one."
"Please, not another joke." I whined and he chuckled, shaking his head.
"No, don't worry." He mocked. "I have another question."
"And that is?" I tilted my head, awaiting his hidden wonders.
"If you could change your name, what would you name yourself?" He asked, his tone soft and filled with curiosity.
"I wouldn't." My lips sucked in, slightly curling upwards.
"How come?"
"Your name is your identity. I personally feel like if you change your name, it's as if you want to rid yourself from who you are. Yes, I've been through absolute shit in my life, but never once have I thought about wanting to 'start fresh' or 'delete' my previous life. There's only so much one can do by changing their name. Sure they'll be someone new to the people around them, but deep down inside, they're still the same person. Then one day, they'll think back and realise that all the hassle just a name change did, truly did absolutely nothing to rid them from themselves." I explained, turning to look back at him, whose lips were slightly parted.
"Fuck." He was clearly astonished; and many times, I wondered why. "It's unbelievable the way you think."
A small smile crept up on my lips, as I watched his expression be in complete shock. It was a privilege to just be able and watch Harry. Observing him was such a blessing and it made me think at how someone as beautiful as him outside, could be so broken on the inside. What were the things that made him the way he was? As many times as I think the same things, I don't think I'll ever get tired of wanting to know more about him.
Harry was a gift box. Not just one though, he was a thousand — and more. Each one was decorated in the most elegant, vibrant, and creative way, filled with something important. In a way, he was a gift inside a gift, inside a gift. The tiniest and final box of all, had overflowed to every other one surrounding it. That one though, had everything about him. His hopes, his goals, his dreams, his creativity, his joy, his ambitions, his intelligent spark, his miseries, his courage, and most importantly, his love. He had it in him, as much as he tried his hardest to hide that, it was forever there.
My eyes peered up at him, who was silent as his focus was back up at the sky. I turned the page in my sketchbook, seeing a fresh sheet, and wrote down something that I felt was necessary to do. It wasn't a list, but a reminder. I closed the hardcover, placed it on the ground, then turned my body to face Harry. His view was still away from me, but it changed towards me, when I started to speak.
"Harry, are you brave?"
"Question?"
"Yeah." I nodded. He then brought his bottom lip between his teeth, his tongue coming out, licking it as his eyes met mine.
"Can I have another one?" His tone was slightly aggravated and it made me feel the same way.
"I guess that answers my question."
"I —"
"No Harry. You aren't even brave enough to answer a question, so that clearly gives me the reply I was waiting for. You didn't give it a chance." I spoke through clenched teeth. I was truly frustrated with him at this point. "You don't give yourself a chance. Why?"
"I don't know." His voice was a mere whisper. It was evident that he was embarrassed and completely surrendered to the lowest strength he could ever have.
"Yes you do. Don't give me that bullshit."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I was kind of hoping for a, 'I'm strong even with whatever shit I also went through, I kept going'. But I mean, if that's too belittling then that's just..." I trailed off, my focus directly on him, making sure I had his full attention. "...good."
"You don't know what I've been through." He firmly stated.
"And you also don't know what my life was like; but no matter what fucking happens, I still put my feet back up on the ground, every single time I fall."
"Well, I'm not you."
"You're right. You're not. You're you, Harry Styles. A man with an immaculate personality, with integrity and strength. But your strength doesn't have bravery when it should."
"I wish I were you." I could barely hear the words he spoke and it broke my heart.
"All you need is a little push and a little ounce of hope, Styles. Hope within yourself." I softly pressed my finger to his forearm.
"Can I buy it?" His lightly joked, but I knew he wished it was truly possible.
"Even if money could by hope, happiness, love, it wouldn't be pure or authentic."
"There's something about you, C. Something that I just can't explain." His eyes met mine, gazing deeply into one another. His beautiful jade irises shown with so much passion, care, and curiosity. I hadn't realised that my lips had slightly curled upwards.
"I'm nothing great, H. I just have a little bit of faith and hope that everything will be okay."
"I used to think that." He turned away from me, looking down at his lap.
"So start believing it again." I smiled. "And add in that bravery while you're at it."
"I think I might be able to do it, with a little bit of help by someone I know." He took the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
"That someone is telling you that you don't need help. You've got that strength within you — just dig a little."
"You might be right."
"I know I am."
"Just like you're superior to me?" He smirked and I grinned at the memory of the second time I saw him.
"Precisely." A small laugh escaped my lips.
My body turned back out to face the view in front of me, as the brightness that was surrounding us, had diminished dramatically since I arrived. The lights that were on inside the buildings were switched off. People were now tucked into bed, counting sheeps before falling into their dreams. Quiet sounds of cars driving in the near and far distance, were like a soft breeze in the air that drifted towards us.
Tiredness then took a toll on my body, stretching my neck, I felt slight pain throughout. All I wanted to do was lay in my own bed and relax my head on my pillow; but I couldn't do that — not right now. Not when Harry was sitting next to me for the first time in weeks. Just as I was about to shift in my seat, his hand was brought up to my hip pulling my body closer, minimising the space between us, as he encouraged me to rest my head on his left shoulder. That's exactly what I did.
I slightly flinched when he did as I moved over slightly. It was the spot which I knew was his bullet wound. The muscles in his body were tense, but they relaxed once I placed myself in complete comfort. Not a single noise came out from him though. He was silent as a mouse as we both sat together. My eyes slowly closed as I breathed in his scent and feeling the warmth that engulfed me. He put me in complete tranquility and it was my favourite place to be.
..
Harry.
Groggily, my eyes struggled to open, feeling blinded by darkness. It was bright, but my soul was dipped in shadows and pure misery. Everything seemed blurry and fuzzy as I struggled to realise where I was. It seemed that an anvil was rested on my chest; yet, it was only air. I was in such a state of agony, that was second close to how I truly felt.
As soon as my vision cleared up, I noticed that there was a splint on my wrist and the feeling of sharp pain hit my left shoulder. My throat felt like someone had shoved the coarsest grade of sandpaper down it. The dryness was a form of torture to me. Then again, my whole life had become one whole game of undeniable torment.
All three of my close mates were in the room and it was the that I realised I wasn't in a hospital, but rather one of Liam's spare rooms. Niall sat on a chair nearby and nudged the boys as they saw my state enter consciousness.
"Li, he's awake." He spoke in his Irish accent.
"Harry, buddy, can you hear us?" Dylan asked and I let out a painful deep breath.
"W-what the fuck h-happened?" I barely managed to get out. Niall went around to grab me a cup of water, raising my body slightly so that I could take a sip. He didn't even need to be told about what to do — he just knew. My brother.
"You were shot, that's what." Liam said, clearly frustrated. Here we go.
"That's nice." I scoffed, coughing lightly from the pain.
"Seriously, Harry? What the fuck is the matter with you?"
"How's about you give me some sort of pain killer before you lecture me?"
"Full service, great." One of them sarcastically spoke. Dylan came around and inserted something into the IV that was stood beside my bed. I was more than thankful when I felt the pain quickly diminish throughout my body.
"Why am I not in a hospital?"
"You really think that would have been a good idea? You were involved in a deadly shooting and you're lucky that we got there before the authorities did."
"So?"
"Your license would have been taken away if they found you in the situation you were in; and that's not including the amount of cocaine that was in your system. You could have fucking died." Liam continued on.
"We can't believe you used that much. How much are you taking, Harry?" Dylan questioned and I furrowed my brows.
"I didn't take anything since this morning and it wasn't even a lot."
"Well, this morning was two days ago, since you were in a coma..." He informed me. "...and that's not what was flushed out of your system."
"What?"
"You had the amount of three large doses. That's deadly enough on its own, not including the location of the bullet in your shoulder." Niall said, looking at me with a disappointed expression. I could see the pain in his eyes and the small amount of guilt that I had, hurt me.
"That's fucking impossible." I shook my head.
"S'not accordin' to what the doctor said, H." My Irish friend spoke.
"I don't get it."
"Neither do we."
"Yeah, the shit you're putting yourself in."
"It was a deal. That's all." I spoke, frustration dripping in my tone.
"Fucking bullshit." My English mate called out, his voice raised to a point where the boys slightly jumped. "Over twenty people were found dead, all shot. It's a fucking blood bath. You would've been one of them; you almost were."
Everything then came flashing into my mind. The assignment, the change in plans, who the lead was, every single man down I saw, physically fighting the last two men, and 17. What happened after that, was a complete blur; and that fucking scared me.
Without realising it, my whole body started shaking, feeling the nerves run through my body. I killed someone. A soul was taken with my own bare hands. I pressed the trigger. I ended someone's life.
"Mate, are you okay? You're shaking." Liam noticed, fear flashing over every single on of their faces.
"I — I — k-illed s-som—" I felt like I could barely breath as I tried speaking through the panic attack I was going into.
"Get him some diazepam, now!" I faintly heard someone speak and Dylan moved to inject it into the IV.
"Relax, H." Niall spoke, placing his hand on my injury-free shoulder.
My eyes suddenly felt heavy and I felt a chaotic calm overtake my body. Everything was hazy, but I could still hear faded voices around me.
"Do you really think Harry killed someone?" Dylan whispered.
"I d'nno. I d'n think so. I know he's shot someone before, but I doubt he'd kill." Niall replied, little hope in his tone.
"He'll be ruined permanently if he did."
"I mean, you saw how he got when..."
My body jolted awake and I sat up, tears rushing down my cheeks. I'd been crying in my nightmare of a dream. It wasn't the first time though. Every single night, it was the same thing my subconscious goes through — nothing else. Not the time that I was told about the mission. Not the time where several men were shot to their death. Not the assassination — murder — of 17; but the memory of what happened when I woke up after the coma I was in.
A haunting reminder of panic of the two times my life got completely destroyed. It was one; but now, two.
I wiped away the wet droplets that'd already escaped my eyes with the back of my hand. My head turned around as I looked around and realised where I was.
Outside. Downtown. I was laying down on our bench; but I was alone.
My body was covered with a light coat — one that wasn't mine; but Céline's. The last physical memory I had, was when I let her rest her head on my injured shoulder. I needed the warmth she had, around me. Something inside told me that she wanted that, so I made it happen. A content smile made its way on my lips as I lightly went over the spot where her head touched.
Standing up, I stretched my body, breathing in the air as dawn made its appearance in the sky. As soon as I took one step, I felt something with the tip of my boot. My brows furrowed as I bent down to see whatever it was — a book. This was the sketchbook that was C was holding onto last night.
'Listen to Your Art' — It was definitely something that she truly loved. I sat back down and started to skim through the pages. It probably wasn't right to invade her personal item, but I couldn't help myself. I had the urge to find out more about her. Each page was filled with astounding drawings and sketches of many subjects in both colour or monochrome. I was in such awe of her work. She wasn't just an architect; she was a creative artist.
I flipped through each sheet, until I reached the last one that had something on it. It wasn't a drawing of any sort; but rather, a note.
So neither of us will ever have to worry again.
816-555-5668
Céline.
I couldn't believe her. She was truly something. She was truly wonderful. She was truly unique.
..
A/N:
I swear, this chapter wasn't meant to be as long as it was...but I couldn't help myself. Sorry! Anywayyyy...
Céline gave Harry her number! It was pretty smooth tbh.
Did C have a right to get frustrated with him?
And, Harry thinks he shot 17...either he did or didn't. Nobody knows. Jk tho, I do. But what do you think?
What else do you love about this chapter?
Do y'all have any questions for me of any sort? Ask here. I'd love to answer them.
"H's in a bit'a pain, but I know he's telling ya to vote." Niall whispered.
Much love!
S x