the one where YN is Harry's therapist, and she teaches him that fire isn't everything.
author's note: hi hi everyone! i'm so excited to share these two with you as over the past few weeks they've become my lil babies. This started whilst I was driving to work and I was listening to Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier, and all of a sudden these babies were born. This is quite different from anything I've done before, very angsty and dialogue-heavy so fingers crossed you like it! Please let me know what you think of these two and enjoy!
word count: 14k of therapist!YN and rockstar!Harry.
WARNINGS: strong language, angst, smut, conversations surrounding mental health and a doctor/client relationship.
let me know what you think of arsonist's lullabye here! AHHH <3
HES: They call me the Arsonist.
YN: Who’s they?
HES: Everyone.
YN: I’ve never called you it. Do you call yourself it?
HES: What am I supposed to do? It’s great for marketing.
Court-mandated therapy sessions were never YN’s favourite. They were never her favourite for a few reasons, but the main one was always the fact that it felt as though she was fighting with her court-mandated clients.
Therapy, as much as YN thrived in the atmosphere she worked in, was hard. It was hard for the people who recognised that they needed it and took that step, hard for the ones who recognised that they needed some help but couldn’t understand why. It was even harder for those who were forced into it, who obviously needed YN’s help in some way but hadn’t had a say in the matter at all.
Those people were usually the court mandated clients who came in to her office with nothing to prove, no reason to share and thought that success meant a tick next to their name at the end of the session.
Now, YN wasn’t a pushover. She has dealt with plenty of high-profile clients, more so than any one else in their small practice. Not only that but she didn’t give up on them, even when they decided to give up on themselves. On the contrary to that, those who didn’t feel the need to participate she worked extra hard to help them realise that for some reason they were here, and all she is doing is trying to help them.
That lead her to now, being sat in her small, yet homely office. It was decorated with plants, and books she found interesting, and comfortable seating with different options depending on what a client liked — some liked to sit, some liked to lay it made no difference at all to YN. A comfortable space with a soothing smell (lavender, naturally) that often resonated with her clients.
Across from her, sat the one of the countries, possibly even the world’s biggest name in music. He wasn’t laid down, but instead sat on her sofa slightly lounging back, his legs spread and an unbothered expression on his face.
Harry Styles. Her latest court-mandated client with a chip on his shoulder, and a want to be anywhere but sat here with her.
“Marketing?” She asked, her eyebrow raised slightly, “Is that something you care about?”
Harry just shrugged, “If they want to give me that name, I might as well use it in my favour.”
In the many years that YN had being doing this job, she realised more often than not that body language, and the way answers were presented to her were just as important as the words that were said. The way Harry threw information to her, absentmindedly as though he didn’t really care as to what was being said lead her to believe that he couldn’t give a flying fuck as to what she thought of him.
“Do you resonate with it?” She pressed, her pen resting against her open note pad ready to scribble any notes she had, “You use the name to your benefit, you must believe some part of it.”
“I think that if the public want to engulf me in these flames, make that what I’m known for, there must be some truth in it.”
YN looked at him, really looked at him. His eyes, lacking any sort of real life, completely muddled with exhaustion. She realised at that point that he didn’t believe what he was saying.
“Maybe these flames, the ones that ‘engulf’ you in so to speak aren’t your nature,” YN offers, “Maybe they’re your defence. Maybe they’re what you’ve created to match what has been expected of you from the media.”
He just shrugged, as though this wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words said to him and they certainly weren’t going to be the last.
“If so, why does it matter?” The man seemed as though he couldn’t give two shits, “I’m meeting an expectation, that’s got to be a good thing.”
If YN wasn’t trying to be professional, she would have sighed at his words, “Can you talk me through the reason why you’re here? The trigger event, so to speak.”
“Why?” He furrowed his eyebrows, “I’m sure you’ve got all the notes of the event in that little notebook of yours.”
“I do,” YN nods, “But they’re the ones the court sent over. I would like your recollection of events.”
Harry sighs, “Man was being a dick. I said to man he was being a dick. I grabbed him, was going to punch him, didn’t and threw him to the ground. There you go, clean and concise for you.”
“Why didn’t you punch him?”
“Jeffrey was shouting at me,” He shrugged, “I knew I’d be in a lot more trouble that therapy if I had.”
“So you wanted to hurt the man, but you didn’t,” YN nodded, jotting that down, “If it wasn’t for Jeffrey shouting at you, would you have?”
The man drops his head back on the sofa, “I don’t know, probably. He was being a complete arsehole, even if I had punched him that probably wasn’t enough.”
“Have you always resorted to violence?” YN asked, curiously but not too impending.
Harry shrugs, “He wouldn’t be the first man I’ve punched.”
“What age would you say you punched your first person?”
“What is this an interrogation?” His lips quirked up as he obviously formed his next remark in his head, “I’ve already been to court you know? I don’t need to be confessing anymore sins.”
“I’m not asking you to confess your sins,” YN responds, “I’m asking you a question.”
“Sounds a lot like you’re trying to get me to repent to you.”
YN does sigh that time, a small unnoticed one of someone wasn’t watching closely. Then the corners of his lip lifted, and that was when YN realised that he had noticed the sigh. She didn’t let it face her, and instead she carried on with her questioning.
“I don’t care about you repenting, Harry,” YN shook her head lightly, “I care about trying to figure out why you think you need to resort to violence.”
The man wiped his hands across his jeans, settling back into the sofa. He then ran a hand through his hair. It was as though he couldn’t stay still and didn’t want to stay focused on what was being said. It was interesting to YN, how much he didn’t want to be there. It was always interesting to her when clients felt as though they didn’t want to be there, because there was usually a reason for that too, deeper than they just didn’t feel as though they needed therapy.
YN taps her pen against her notebook, then she looked back up at him, “Do you ever regret it?”
Harry frowned, “Do I regret what? Throwing him on the floor?”
YN shook her head lightly, “Reacting that way when you’re angry.”
Harry tilted his head, his eyes narrowing at her just slightly, “You mean, do I ever wish I was calmer? Sure, but calm doesn’t get you anywhere in my line of work.”
“Your line of work?”
Harry huffed out a breath, half a laugh and half a scoff, “Everything’s an act. You start a tour; they want nothing but passion. Fire. If you don’t give it, they think you’ve gone soft. Then you do give it and suddenly you’re volatile. It’s a tightrope.”
YN noted the change in his voice – still defensive, but less sharp, “So you think the public expects the anger from you?”
“They expect something. Anger’s easier than disappointment.”
YN let the silence between them stretch. Her eyes never left him, and she watched as his thumb ran along the seam of his jean leg.
“When you lose control,” She said quietly, “What happens right before it?”
Harry frowned again, but didn’t look up at her, “Noise. In my head. Like static. Someone says one thing too many, and suddenly everything’s white-hot. Then it’s done.”
“Do you ever feel it build?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s just…” He snaps his fingers once, the sharp sound echoing around the small office, “Like a match.”
“Matches need friction,” YN responded, “Something has to strike first.”
That earned YN a glance from Harry – it was short, as though it was assessing her, “You think I’m blaming everyone else?”
“I think you’re telling me there’s a spark, and I’d like to know what it looks like.”
Harry didn’t answer right away. His knees bounced once, twice, before he muttered, “Usually it looks like someone telling me I should be better than this.”
YN wrote that down, but her tone stayed even, “And do you think they’re wrong?”
He met her eyes this time, something tight and tired behind them, “I think I’ve spent my whole life proving I’m not.”
“Do you want to be?”
It was a loaded question, and YN knew it. The second those words left YN’s lips she could see the change in him. It was as though something washed over him, potentially an annoyance from her questioning.
“What about you, doctor?” YN wasn’t fazed by Harry turning the questioning to her, “Ever feel like you’re about to burn?”
YN opened her mouth to respond, but then she closed it. It was a millisecond, but YN knew Harry had seen. Instead she just shook her head, “We’re not here to talk about me.”
“Well,” Harry tapped his thighs, “If that clock behind you is anything to go by I think we’re finished talking all together.”
YN nodded, “When I see you next time, I want you to write down what the match feels like to you before it lights.”
Harry stood up and shook his head, “There won’t be a next time.”
YN just nodded, “I’ll see you next week Harry, remember what I asked for.”
YN watches as Harry stalks towards the door, taking large steps. YN shudders slightly when the door slams closed behind him. He was threatening idle words, because both of them knew that he would be back.
HES: I’m not here by choice.
YN: There’s a reason you came back, though.
HES: It was the court letter through the door, nothing else.
YN: Have you always been this against therapy?
HES: It’s for people that can’t handle the noise.
YN pretended to act surprised when the front desk called and said that Harry was here, but she knew that he was going to come. Even without the court order, there was a part of YN that knew that he would have shown up anyway. He was sitting across from her again, but instead of being leant back like he was last time his body was forward.
He looked completely exhausted. YN wanted to know why, but from last time she knew that she had to be careful with how hard she pushed.
“You said last time that before your match caught there’s noise,” YN recited his words from the last session, “To me it sounds like you cannot handle the noise.”
“I can handle the noise,” Harry responds with a bravado that YN was expecting.
YN just shrugs, “I wouldn’t say that someone who pushes another person to the ground can handle the noise.”
YN knew that had done it. YN watched as Harry’s jaw tensed, and that was when she saw the smallest flicker of irritation cross his face. She’d got him, and she hoped that this would finally allow her to figure him out.
“Maybe I just don’t handle it in your way,” He muttered.
“There isn’t one way,” YN replied softly, and honestly, “But there are better ways, ones that don’t include pushing a man to the ground or being spoken out of punching him.”
Harry scoffed, leaning back into the sofa again, attempting to reclaim the space he’d just given up, “Right. Breathing exercises and scented candles. You think lavender’s going to stop someone from pissing me off?”
YN gave him a faint smile, “You’d be surprised how many people have underestimated lavender in their lifetime.”
Surprisingly, that earned her a quiet, unwilling laugh. It was small, and it was barely there but YN had caught it. YN let it sit between them for a while, in hopes that it would help Harry’s annoyance ease slightly, before she ‘lit the flame’ so to speak again.
“You mentioned last time that people expect fire from you. Do you think you’re addicted to it?”
Harry’s eyes cut to hers, narrowing in, “Addicted?”
“Yes,” YN nodded, “The chaos. The noise. The heat. Some people mistake intensity as a way of life.”
Harry tilted his head, studying her slightly, “You sound as though you’re speaking from experience.”
YN stayed still and kept silent. She tried to ignore his jab, but it definitely landed.
“It’s common pattern,” She responded, her voice staying even, “People grow up in environments where anger feels safer than silence. It becomes familiar, comforting to some people.”
Harry stared at her once again, his expression completely unreadable, “You think I grew up in chaos?”
“I don’t know. Did you?”
He smiled once again. That sharp, humourless curve of his mouth that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Maybe. Maybe I just learnt early on that it gets results, quicker results. Anger fills the room faster than kindness does.”
“Then what happens when the room’s empty?”
The question lingered between them. Harry looked away, and his fingers tapped against his knee. The silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn’t YN that broke it. She waited, and eventually he did.
“It’s quiet,” He admitted, his voice almost a whisper, “Too quiet. Like something’s missing from it.”
YN nodded and her voice came out barely above a murmur, “And that’s when the noise starts again.”
Harry didn’t answer, but YN could see it. She could see the truth of it settling over him, heavy and uncomfortable but completely honest. YN watched his defences crumble just enough for her to see the man beneath the headlines.
After a second or so, Harry exhaled through his nose and let out almost a laugh, but not quite, “You really think that you can fix me, don’t you?”
YN met his gaze and shrugged, “I don’t think you’re broken, Harry. I think you’re burning.”
That stopped him, just for a second. Then he leaned forward once more, elbows on his knees, “And what happens when you get too close to fire?”
YN felt her pulse jump and her heat started to pump through her body. She stayed still once more, though, not wanting to let it show, “That depends,” she spoke quietly, “Are you trying to burn me, or are you asking me to help you put it out?”
For the first time, it seemed as though Harry didn’t have an immediate answer to her questioning.
Harry leaned back again, the quiet stretching so think that YN could almost hear the hum of the fluorescent light above them. His gaze was fixed somewhere on the floor, and a frown etched between his brows.
“Depends on what you’d do if I said both,” He said finally, his voice lower than before – not a threat, not quite a confession either.
YN let her pen rest on the open page, “Then I’d say you don’t know whether you want to destroy yourself or be understood.”
That struck his attention back to her completely, “Maybe they’re the same thing.”
“Maybe,” YN allowed that with a shrug, “But destruction usually ends the conversation. Understanding keeps it going.”
Harry exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he did, “You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re narrating a movie about some lawless musician that you’ve set your heart on saving?”
YN smiled, it was faint but it wasn’t without her usual warmth, “I talk like someone who’s trying to a help a man stop striking his matches.”
Harry watched her again, his eyes shark as though he was trying to recount something, “And what makes you stand out from all the other failures that have tried?”
“No,” YN shakes her head, “I wouldn’t call them failures. In fact, I would say that you are the one who never let anyone stay long enough to find out what they could do.”
That landed — YN watched as his fingers stopped tapping his knee, and instead just rested there. She had struck a nerve again, but this job was all about striking nerves until she landed on the right one. For a moment, the muscles in his jaw slackened, and he looked so young. The blasé and detached attitude he wore like armour completely stripped from his person.
Then, just as quickly as it had disappeared it lighted again, “You read that in a textbook somewhere, or a you some sort of modern day therapist Shakespeare?”
YN shook her head lightly, “No I just watched it in your body language.”
Harry tilted his head at her again, the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips, “Dangerous thing, analysing people?”
“Not really,” YN shrugged, “You only find it in the people who are scared of being understood.”
Harry laughed again, his eyes narrowing on her as he shook his head in a way that portrayed disbelief to YN, “You don’t really scare easy, do you?”
“I can’t,” YN explained lightly, “If I did then this room would stop being safe for the two of us.”
For a moment, a silence washed upon them. The only sound in the room the ticking clock behind YN’s head, reminding them that they had a timelines and that they had to stick to it.
Harry broke it first, yet again, “Do you ever think that people just are what they are? That there’s no fixing them. There’s no therapy talk, no lavender… that they are just built wrong?”
YN studied him for a second, the vulnerability that he was displaying even with his closed off demeanour, “I think sometimes people mistake being hurt for being unfixable.”
Harry throat bobbed again. For a moment YN hesitated, because this could be it. The way it seemed as though his brain was whirring around in his head meant this could be the moment that he really opened up to her. Then that hope shattered.
Harry stood up, not abruptly but just as though the words were weighing a little heavy on him and he had to move.
“I think I’ve had enough self-reflection for one day,” He muttered, walking towards her window and glancing out at the car park below.
“That’s fine,” YN said, her voice calm, “But before you go, I want you to write down what the quiet feels like. Before the noise has started and the match is lit. Just the quiet.”
Harry turned his head towards her and raised one of his brows, “Homework again?”
“No,” YN shook her head, “Reflection. The part before the fire.”
He let out a breath, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that almost resembled amusement, “You really think you’re going to be able to get in my head, don’t you?”
“I think that you’d already invited me in the second you showed up,” YN spoke simply.
Harry didn’t reply, and instead he turned and made his way towards the door, leaving the slam echoing through the room just as he had last time. When the door had firmly shut, YN let out a deep exhale that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
YN: You’re early.
HES: Traffic was light.
YN: I’ll take that as a good sign.
HES: Don’t get ahead of yourself.
Harry was early. It was the first thing that YN had noticed when the front desk rang through. He wasn’t only on time but he was early.
It certainly wasn’t the world, but for someone who had spent his first two session insisting that he didn’t need to be here, it was enough to make YN pause for a second before answering the phone.
When she walked into the waiting room, he was sitting on the leather sofa whilst his hands fidgeted with something that YN couldn’t quite see. Then she saw it, a guitar pick. Its smooth black edges had obviously been run down from continuous use. He pocketed quickly when she met his eyes, as though he wished to hide it.
When they walked into her office, he even sat down before she asked him to, which was new and definitely progress.
YN tapped her pen once against her notebook, “Last time I asked you to think about what the quiet feels like, before the match.”
Harry’s jaw flexed, once, twice and then he nodded once, “It’s… I don’t know, it’s odd. It makes my skin feel on fire.”
“Because?”
“Because…. Because I don’t know what do with it,” He finally admitted, “When it’s loud at least I know what’s happening, where I’m at. I can see it, I can recognise it and I can name it. When it’s quiet… it’s like…” He paused, and shook his head, “It’s like standing completely in smoke. You know something’s up in flames but you can’t see where it is.”
YN didn’t speak, she just let the words settle in the middle of them. The metaphor sat closely to everything that he’d said in prior sessions, everything that gave him the ‘Arsonist’ name.
“That sounds exhausting,” YN finally settled on.
Harry laughed, but it was humourless, “It is.”
“Does it ever stop?”
Harry leaned back against her sofa, his arms folded across his chest, possibly hoping to give him even the faintest relief, “I’ve tried. I’ve really tried. Drinking, working, staying on tour, not staying on tour. None of it ever lasts… or works.”
YN nodded slowly, “Do you think it’s because you’re trying to kill the noise, instead of learning how to listen to it?”
His eyebrows furrowed, “What? You expecting me to become friends with it or something?”
“Maybe not friends,” She responded, her voice low, “But maybe you could try to stop treating it as though it’s out to get you, to destroy you.”
Harry’s fingers began to drum on his thighs, then they stilled, and then they began again. He was thinking, truly thinking and YN could see it on his face.
“Someone once told me,” His voice was quieter now, less sure, “Don’t ever tame your demons, only keep them on a leash.”
YN tilted her head slightly, “That’s a strong image.”
He gave her a small smile, “I think I used to interpret it as control, like if I can hold them back and I’m the trigger then I win,” He stops, and shakes his head, “But lately it feels as though I’m the one of the leash, that they’re walking me.”
YN stopped her scribbling completely, the vulnerability of Harry’s words surrounding them. They were fragile and personal and YN was going to do everything in her power to keep them safe.
“Do you feel controlled by them?”
Harry tipped his head down, nodding solemnly, “It’s like they know the exact buttons of mine to press. They whisper at me before the match even strikes.”
“What do they whisper?”
Harry exhaled a breath, long and slow, “That I’m not good enough, that everything good that I have and that I love is on borrowed time. That people only stick around until they see who I really am, or they stick around not for me at all. For my money, or for my fame.”
YN swallowed, her voice careful as not to startle him, “And what is it that you think you really are?”
He laughed again — YN had come to realise that it’s the sound he makes when he’s trying not to be sincere, “A mess in a nice ass suit.”
YN shrugged, leaning forward slightly, “I don’t think you truly believe that.”
Harry looked up and finally met her gaze. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, but there was something real about them, as though this was his true unfiltered, raw opinion of himself.
“Maybe not,” He finally admitted, “But it’s a hell of a lot fucking easier than admitting that I’m scared.”
That was it, the final crack that YN needed. The one that finally exposed Harry to her from behind the wall he had built for himself.
“Scared of what?” YN asked.
He exhaled, running his hand through his hair, “That if I stop burning, they’ll be nothing left.”
The quiet stretches out amongst them again, thick and pulsing. He’d done it before, and she wasn’t going to be the one to fill the silence. She was going to wait until he was ready to expand on what he was thinking.
“You said once that I’m burning?” He asked, “What if that’s the one thing in all of this that’s keeping me alive?”
YN smiled at him, but there was a trace of sadness due to his words, “Then we’ll find a way. We’ll find a way for you to turn the fire into a warmth, instead of a complete destruction.”
He exhaled a quiet laugh, “And you truly believe that’s possible?”
“I think you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
He looked down again, his thumb running along the outline of the guitar pick in his pocket, “You’ve got too much faith in me, doctor.”
YN shrugged, “That’s fine. You’ve got enough doubt for the both of us.”
Harry smiled, a real genuine smile that showed both of his dimples, “Fair point.”
It was the first time that when the clocked ticked over an hour, indicating that the session was over that Harry didn’t rush out of his seat. He just sat there, looking nothing but emotionally drained.
YN could feel that even in that silence, there was a heat inside of the room. It could have been that Harry had finally come to terms with why he was with her, or, it could be something else that YN couldn’t, or maybe didn’t want to, name at all.
YN: You look tired.
HES: Is that a professional diagnosis?
YN: It’s just an observation.
HES: Guess I’m just not sleeping that much.
Tiredness. It was the first thing that YN had noticed. He was quiet, as well.
It wasn’t in the same way that it had been before, a defensive quiet and a tiredness that spurred anger. Instead, it seemed to be the demeanour of a person that’s potentially been thinking, maybe too much or maybe just more than they’re used to.
“Nightmares?” YN prompted.
Harry hesitated for a moment, “No, no really. Just… the noise. It’s quieter now, though. That’s a good thing, right?”
YN shrugged, watching him carefully, “You tell me.”
He leaned back, and his gaze found itself focusing on somewhere on the ceiling, “It’s strange. I thought the quiet was supposed to be peaceful and instead I feel as though I’m just constantly waiting for something bad to happen.”
“Do you think that’s because maybe you don’t trust it? The calm?”
“Maybe,” He exhaled a laugh, “I can compare to like when I’m backstage, and the lights haven’t come up yet. It’s that second where you know you’re about to go out there and there’s just no way to breathe right. That’s what my calm feels like.”
YN made a note of that, her pen scraping across the paper the only sound in the room, “So you’re describing that the anticipation of the event is sometimes worse than the event itself.”
Harry nodded immediately, the fastest one yet, “Always.”
She let that settle around them for a second before she continued, “Is that a recent development? Or has it always been like that? Before you were in the spotlight.”
YN watched as he started to spin his ring around his finger as he contemplated the question, “No. When I was younger I absolutely loved the quiet. My mum used to sing sometimes when she thought I was asleep, it used to make everything in the house feel really full.”
YN smiled faintly at him, “And when would you say that changed?”
He exhaled, and it was a low and rough sound that left him, “Probably around the time that she stopped singing.”
The air shifted, and YN realised it was another small moment of the flame catching. She didn’t push and instead she waited. She’d come to the conclusion that silence could sometimes be an invitation to him.
“Did something happen?”
“Dad left,” He shrugged after a second, “She just went quiet after that…”
“So you started making noise for the both of you?”
He laughed, a faint and broken one, “Yeah. I guess I did. Maybe that was the only way we could both deal with it.”
“I think,” YN said carefully, “That you potentially confuse peace and absence. It’s not the same thing at all. Peace doesn’t mean nothingness, Harry. It just means you stopped fighting yourself.”
Harry stared at her for a long moment, his eyes glassy and his jaw tense, “What happens if I completely loose who I am without the fight.”
YN didn’t turn away, “Then we’ll find out together.”
The words left her before she could stop them. She knew it – they were too soft, and too personal. YN could feel it hang beneath them, and she watched as his expression changed.
Harry leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees again, “You talk as though you’ve seen this before.”
“I have seen a lot of things,” YN said, her voice steady and quiet, “People hurt in lots of different ways.”
He nodded, his eyes studying her face, “Do you ever get tired of trying to fix people?”
YN hesitated for a second, her fingers stilling over her notepad, “It’s not about fixing. It’s about trying to help them understand what has broken.”
“And what if what is broken doesn’t want to be fixed?”
“Then I have to remind them that wanting to understand is the first step.”
Harry went quiet for a moment, and she knew that he was thinking. Then, almost under his breath he spoke, “I started writing again.”
YN looked up from her notes, fully surprised, “You did?”
Harry nodded, his eyes flickering with something that YN hadn’t seen before. It was potentially a mixture of hope, and potentially a little bit of shame, “Yeah… it’s been a while. I didn’t think could anymore, not after everything.”
“What would you say changed?”
He shrugged, his tone turning gentler than it had been before, “I don’t know. It was something you said last time, about the dire not having to destroy everything. I just couldn’t get it out of my head. At all.”
YN offered him a soft smile, “So you wrote about it?”
“Sort of,” He shrugged, “The only idea that really stuck was that it was a Lullabye.”
“That’s beautiful, Harry, really,” YN nodded.
He looked down again, his fingers still spinning the ring, “But I wouldn’t say it’s about peace, or soft like a lullaby would be. It’s mainly about what we’ve spoken about, quietening it all down when you’re about to combust. A song to sing if even the tiniest part of you still believes that you deserve rest.”
YN swallowed, her chest tightening slightly due to his words, “That sounds powerful.”
He exhaled a laugh, “Or pretentious as hell.”
“I don’t think so,” YN shook her head, “I think it’s progress to finally say that you’re listening to yourself, and starting to feel the noise differently.”
Harry’s lips lifted, but not really into a full smile, “Maybe. Or maybe I’m trying to make sense of it all before it swallows me back up.”
“It’s still progress, especially from where you were.”
Harry met her gaze, a raw hope behind his eyes, “You think writing counts as progress?”
“I think that anything that allows you to take back the narrative and share the truth about yourself is progress.”
He sat back, truly considering the words she had just said to him, “You should hear it sometime,” he said, almost absentmindedly. Then his eyes widened, “I mean — not like that — I… you know what I mean.”
YN’s lips curved into a smile, “I do.”
A flush crept up the sides of his neck and he cleared his throat, “Anyways, it nowhere near finished.”
“That’s alright,” she nodded, “Neither are you.”
Harry left shortly after that, and once YN had filed away some of the papers from his session decided it was the perfect time to lock up and go home. It was raining, the kind of rain that blurred any light that it touched. She pulled her coat tighter around her body, and fumbled with her car keys. Half of her mind still absentmindedly in the session she had just finished with Harry.
She hadn’t expected at all that he would still be there.
But he was. He was leant against the wall near the entrance, his hood pulled over his curls and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. When YN shut the door behind her, it obviously shocked him. His eyes found hers immediately.
“Are you waiting for something?” She asked, her voice gentle but curious.
He shrugged, “Thought you might have needed an umbrella.”
YN lifted her eyebrows, “You waited in the rain for that?”
Harry’s mouth curved slightly, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like going home yet.”
They then fell into step next to each other. The rain filled the quit that surrounded them. It wasn’t planned, but it was natural.
YN tried to focus on the sound of her boots hitting against the pavement, the soft drops of rain hitting her coat. Anything that could have distracted her from the heat of him, and the presence of him beside her.
“You didn’t have to walk me, you know,” YN spoke, motioning to her car a few feet away from them, “My car’s a throwing distance away.”
“I know.”
The words came so sure, and so simply that YN couldn’t help but believe that he didn’t think there was an expectation.
When they reached her car, YN turned to thank him — and that’s when it happened. It was small, not a deliberate movement but not an accidental one either. It was a fleeting touch, tiny, missable if she hadn’t been paying the upmost attention.
YN froze, and Harry did too. Everything around them stilled, and for a split second YN thought that the rain had stopped as well.
Just as soon as it had happened, YN forced herself to snap out of it — she had to.
“Goodnight, Harry,” Was all she managed, her voice soft but controlled.
He looked at her for a moment long, rainwater dripping from the rim of his hood. His eyes were dark, and completely unreadable, “Goodnight, doc.”
YN turned and got into his car, the sound of the rain muffling against the roof. Her hands laid rested against the steering wheel for longer than she’d wish to admit, watching as he turned and walked away. She could still feel the warmth of his fingers against his, brief and uninvited, yet completely inevitable.
For the first time, YN didn’t know which one of them was holding the leash.
YN: What happened after our last session, that can never happen again.
HES: Nothing happened after our last session, doc.
YN: We both know that’s not true.
HES: That wasn’t something happening, YN. You’d know if it was.
The first thing YN had done the next day was go straight to her supervisor. All night, the memories of the evening before had clouded her. All night she had been tossing and turning constantly, switching between two states of mind about the whole ordeal.
Professionally, YN knew that she had to go and speak to her supervisor. Anything that happened between clients and herself outside of the office had to be recorded. It was a rule since the start of time, mainly to protect the profession and the client-doctor relationship that they had.
But, for some reason that wasn’t the only thing she wanted to do — and it should have been. It was only a touch, only a sentence or two spoken — that was it. What was the big deal? But YN knew the answer, she really did. The words that were spoken didn’t matter when the feelings were there.
So instead, YN came up with a compromise. She would tell her supervisor the events that had happened, how Harry had been waiting for her when she had locked up and walked her to the car. She would omit some things, including the way the world had stopped when their hands had touched and how YN knew that they had both felt it.
“The court is pleased,” Her supervisor shrugged once she had recounted the events, “Don’t let it happen again, or they might not be as pleased.”
That was all that was said, and YN knew that she was going to have to go into her next session with Harry and lay those ground rules. It wasn’t just him and his life on the line, but hers as well. No matter what she felt, professionalism had to take the lead. It had to win. There is no other option.
That was how YN started their next session, laying it all out on the table with Harry so that they could continue their sessions professionally and get Harry back on track.
“Either way, Harry, it can’t happen again,” YN shook her head, “I’m here for a reason, and that reason is for you, as your therapist.”
“Fine,” Harry shrugged, crossing his arms slightly like a petulant child, “Whatever you say.”
YN wanted to bite back, but she couldn’t. She was placing those boundaries down, and stick to them. She couldn’t allow the sting of his words to consume her, not after everything.
The air around them thickened, as though they both were having thoughts that they wished they could say but they couldn’t. Normally YN could read Harry, his fidgeting fingers or his restless knees. But today, he was sitting so unnervingly still and wouldn’t even look at her.
YN cleared her throat, hoping that it would act as a reset before she stirred them into a safety territory.
“Last time you mentioned you’ve been writing again,” YN offered, hoping that the change of subject would help to ease the tension between them, “You said that you’ve started something, Lullabye, right?”
Harry didn’t look up but his voice was quieter when he replied, “Yeah.”
“Have you added to it?”
He hesitated for a moment before he nodded. YN watched as he sighed slightly, reaching into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out a sheet of paper, the inked smudged slightly as though he had rushed in some places to get the information down.
“I wrote more,” He admitted, running his finger along the edge of the folded paper, “I don’t know if any of it is good.”
YN gave him a slight smile, “Can I hear it?”
He held her gaze for a second, as though he was in two minds about actually sharing it with her. His voice was low, and as he spoke his voice held a certain rhythm — something raw and steady brimming beneath the surface.
“All you have is your fire… and the place you need to reach. Don’t you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash.”
The words hit her like a slow burn. They were so full of him, and even if she had heard some of them before they had been crafted in such a way that was so desperate and dangerous and so him.
When he was finished, that silence filled the room again. The only sound she was able to focus on was the ticking of her clock behind her.
“That’s…” YN shook her head, a lump forming in her throat that she couldn’t diminish, “That’s powerful, Harry, truly.”
He shrugged, his shoulders dropped. His eyes flicked back down to the paper clutched in his hands, “It’s honest, I suppose. I figured if I can’t sleep then I might as well put it to something useful, something that won’t talk back to me.”
“It’s a start that you needed,” YN offers, “You’re taking what’s burning you and giving it shape. That’s not nothing, at all.”
Harry offered her a half-laugh of sorts but it didn’t touch his eyes at all, “You sound like you’re proud of me, doc.”
“I am proud of you,” The words left her so quickly that she didn’t even have time to stop herself. They were too natural.
His eyes met hers again, and neither of them looked away. The air stilled between them again, the thickness returning. She had tried to smother it, and yet here it was still burning between them.
Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting against his knees and then he sighed, “You keep saying that we can’t let anything happen, yeah?” He prompts her, taunting her slightly with his words, “And I know what I said earlier but screw it, what if something has happened?”
YN’s pulse jumped slightly, “Harry—“
“No,” Harry interrupted her, his voice rising slightly. It was the first flicker of fire beneath the calm demeanour he had attempted to keep, “You sit there across from me and tell me to face my demons every single damn time, telling me to stop pretending that they don’t control me. Then, the second that I try to feel something that isn’t destructive, you tell me that I’m wrong. How am I wrong?”
“This is different,” YN admits, and even though she tried to keep her voice steady she couldn’t help it wavering slightly, “You’re vulnerable, Harry. You’re still processing everything that we talk about. You can’t confuse that with —“
“Don’t do that,” It was the first time that Harry’s tone had truly been sharp with her, “Don’t making this fucking sound like some trauma response. I’m not fucking confused, YN. It’s all finally fucking clear to me.”
That was the first time she’d ever heard her name on his tongue. That he hadn’t addressed her by you, or doctor or even doc — but her name. She would be lying if she said that it didn’t make her chest ache.
She watched as he suddenly stood up, pacing the length of the small office with his hands taking through his hair, “For once I’m not drunk. I’m not performing or hiding behind some utter bullshit. For once I’m here. I’m saying something that’s true. And all that you have time to think or care about is damn protocol?”
That was the straw that pushed YN up from her seat too, her notebook forgotten on her seat, “Because that’s what keeps people safe, Harry. Protocol keeps people safe.”
He turned to her, his eyes burning, “Safe. You think this is safe? You think that I’m ever going to be safe?”
The words slammed into her chest, painfully, because she knew that he wasn’t wrong and that he was oh so painfully right.
“Harry,” She tried to get through to him, her voice softer now, “You need to understand what happens if we cross that line. I could lose my license. You could lose the chance at healing. It ruins everything we’ve worked so hard for up to now.”
He took a step closer to her, his voice lowering, “What if it doesn’t ruin it, huh? What if it’s the first real thing that saves it?”
YN’s breath caught in her throat. He was way too close to her now. She could smell his cologne, the woody scent spreading across her features.
“This—“ She began, motioning to the little space between the two of them, “This isn’t doing something for yourself. This is you trying to—“
He interrupted her once more, his words trembling, “It is for me, YN. It fucking is. Everything that I do has always been for someone else, always — for the label, for the fans, for the people who want me burning enough to keep selling it. You told me to stop letting other people own my fire, for me to take it back,” He took another small step towards her, “So why can’t I give it to you?”
YN froze completely, and she could finally it see it. There it was in front of her. It was the truth, raw and completely devastating. She wished that she had it in her to stop him, to move but she couldn’t. She was completely frozen to the spot.
“Harry,” She whispered, shaking her head slightly, “Please don’t.”
He looked at her, truly looked at her. His eyes bounced around her face, looking for something — permission, but maybe more likely forgiveness. Because then he leaned forward. He leant forward, placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her.
It wasn’t rough, or hungry or what she was expecting from him at all. Instead it was soft and terrified, as though he was expecting that the second he let go she would disappear completely.
She didn’t move at first. She stayed completely still. Her mind was screaming at her to stop, to push him off. But, at the same time, another side of her was saying that it was inevitable. That this was going to happen and she just had to let it.
For a moment, and it was just a moment she let herself feel it. The heat. The closeness of him against her. The feeling, finally, of his lips pressed against her — it was bliss.
Then, once she had fully felt it, she stepped back. Her breath was uneven as she spoke, “You need to leave.”
Harry’s expression faltered. A wave of darkness washed over his eyes — hurt, regret and something else that she couldn’t name. He nodded once, his jaw tight, “Yeah, I figured.”
He grabbed his coat and the paper containing his lyrics and stalked towards the door, but hesitated for a second.
“You keep saying that I’m burning,” He didn’t look at her, “But maybe you just don’t like that the fire’s now pointed at you.”
And with that, he left.
The door slammed shut behind him, and YN dropped down into her chair. Her heart was pounding so fiercely that she thought she might actually hear it echoing off the walls.
She could still smell him in the room, and a part of her never wanted that to change.
YN: You can’t be here.
HES: I couldn’t go in there.
YN: Harry, I want to help you. I do, but we can’t keep going in these circles.
HES: Then let’s just stop, hmm? Let’s just go away from her and let’s talk without protocol and fucking professionalism hanging over our heads.
YN had waited. She had waited the entire hour for him to show up and he hadn’t. She should have expected it, and deep down she knew that it was going to happen but she still had the tiniest flicker of hope that he would eventually show up. Yet, he hadn’t.
When she had decided that enough was enough, YN left. She locked the front door of the practice, turning until the latch clicked. The day had truly gotten to her, never mind the clients she had earlier in the day but it was Harry’s absence that she found herself mulling on the most.
He hadn’t called. He hadn’t texted. He hadn’t left a note for the front desk. It was just a hollow space on her calendar that she didn’t have the faintest clue what to do with.
She adjusted her bag over her shoulder and stepped into the drizzled streaked air, wanting nothing more than to just get home and get to her bed.
Then she heard it.
“YN.”
The words passed between them weren’t going to be nice, and YN knew and accepted that. She had to tell him the truth, and if he didn’t listen to that then she had to make a further decision.
Her heart thudded once at his proposition, hard. YN should’ve told him no. She should’ve turned and walked away, gone home, and written the whole encounter down in her notebook like a proper therapist. But when she looked at him, truly looked at him she didn’t see the Arsonist’s that everyone dubbed him, she saw the man. She saw the man behind the facade, and a man that was finally ready to tell the truth.
“Where are we going to go?” YN asked, her voice barely audible.
He didn’t smile, but she saw something soften within him for the first time in a long time, “Come on, I’ll show you.”
The drive to his house was quiet. The drizzle of the rain swept against his windscreen, the city glowing gold between the sheets of the downpour. YN’s hands sat in her lap, clutching her thighs tightly. Her mind was rife with thoughts of what-ifs and warning, but also a slight voice telling her to go for it.
When YN opened the door to his house, she was welcomed into his space. It was the first time they had been in his space, rather than hers. There were instruments and papers littered all around, and the lights were dim but they were his. It was at this point that she realised that this wasn’t about her at all, and it was about him. This was all about him, about finding himself.
He gestured towards the comfortable-looking sofa in the centre of his living room, “Sit.”
YN listened.
He moved across the room and picked up his guitar. For a moment he just stood there, as though his mind was battling between sharing this or not. Then, quietly, he began to play.
The melody was raw, and certainly unpolished. It wasn’t rehearsed and to YN, it was one of the most personally things that YN had ever heard from him. His voice was hoarse, and different to what YN had heard in recordings. It was just another thing to show her that this was him, that every word that he was sharing cost him something.
“When I was a child, I heard voices… Some would sing and some would scream…”
The lyrics reflected that of a confession. He wasn’t singing about anger at all, instead he was singing about fear and about control, and how much easier life is to destroy than endure.
He finished the song with his head down, and allowed the last note to hang and fade. The only sound left in the room was the rain pattering on the windows.
“It’s stupid, I know,” He sighed, looking up at her slowly.
She shook her head, quickly, unable to find any words, “It’s not stupid.”
“It’s…” He hesitated, searching her face for something he wasn’t sure he’d find, “It’s about you, and me. Maybe it’s mostly me… I guess. But you’re the reason I started writing again. You said that once I killed the noise, I had to start listening to it again.”
YN’s breath caught again, “Harry—“
“So I did,” Harry shrugged, “And it sounded like this… and I guess that means that you sound like this.”
The air pulsed between them, and it felt heavy with everything that was completely unsaid between them.
“I’ve written more,” Harry admitted, placing his guitar down, “Since that night in the rain, and since the night… And I don’t want to stop. For the first time… I don’t want to stop.”
Harry took a step closer, and then another one.
“You kept saying to do something for myself,” He continued, his voice trembling slightly as it did, “Something that wasn’t for the headlines, for the crowd. To figure me out. And I did, and I’m still doing it. I need to tell me right here right now why you can’t be part of it. Why can’t the one thing that’s mine be you, YN?”
Her throat felt tight as she began to speak, “Because this — you and me, us — it’s not allowed. It’s against everything—”
He laughed, and there was a bitterness to it, “Every goddamn thing is real until someone tells you that isn’t.”
He was close again, close enough that she could smell his cologne again. Close enough that she could reach out and touch.
“Harry,” She exhaled, trying to find her footing.
But then he whispered, “You make me feel as though I’m not burning for nothing.”
The words lodged somewhere deep in her. Something within her chest fractured under the weight of them. For a heartbeat or two, neither of them moved. All that pulled was a deep breath between them.
He reached out to her, his fingers brushing her hand. The touch was tentative and testing. Although every rational part of YN’s brain screamed at her to pull away, there wasn’t a single part of her that wanted to.
The touch was tiny, barely there but it burned through her body and through the room like a spark hitting timber. That should’ve been her cue to leave, to get up and to walk out of there but she couldn’t. She couldn’t find a single ounce of her body that could move, willing to move.
Then the moment tilted, and before either of them could stop it the air between them broke.
It wasn’t Harry that made the first move this time, though, it was YN. She, in a word, launched herself at him. It wasn’t soft or gentle like last time, it was fierce and it was full. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her body pressed as tightly to his as it could be.
Once their lips touched, both of them were done for. Harry’s hands rested in the small of her back, fingers digging in slightly as if to pull her even closer to him.
“Sofa,” She mumbled against his lips, “Sofa, please.”
Harry just nodded against her, not wanting to separate them at all. With their lips still connected, Harry effortlessly did what YN had asked and walked her backwards towards the sofa she had just been sitting on. She dropped down with a slight thud, going all the way back until she was laid down. Her legs spread almost immediately, making room for Harry’s body to follow.
“YN I—” He pulled away for a second but YN shook her head.
“No, please, no more talking.”
Harry listened to her, and instead connected their lips once more. YN could feel his hands everywhere. They slipped from her neck, down the side of her body until they reached the hem of her jumper. His fingers toyed against the edge for a second, before his fingers slipped under. The second his fingers touched the skin of her stomach, that was almost it for her. Her back arched off the sofa, wanting to be as close as possible to him.
“Take it off,” YN mumbled against his lips, “Please, just take it off.”
Harry pulled away for a second so he could do just that, pulling the jumper off her body in one quick movement. That left her in just her bra, it wasn’t anything fancy (as she definitely hadn’t expected this to be happening), but it didn’t stay on her for long.
Harry started an assault on her neck, nipping at the skin slightly, just enough to cause a shuddering breath to escape her lips. As he did that, YN reached around her back and unclasped her bra, allowing the lace fabric to fall from her body and expose her breasts to him.
YN watched as he pulled away, his eyes widening ever so slightly at the sight in front of him. YN knew that there was a slight rush to her actions, but she didn’t want to wait until she could potentially change her mind about all of this. That’s why her fingers gripped the hem of the jumper Harry was wearing, and the T-shirt underneath and attempted to pull them over his head in one fell swoop. He did get a little bit caught up in the fabric, but nothing that a little readjustment couldn’t fix.
YN let her hands wander the expanse of his shoulders, and then down his arms. It felt so wrong, to have their skin touching like this and yet so, so right. She brought him closer to her, his head dipping down to continue his assault on her neck. This time, though, he didn’t stop there. He continued down, placing small kisses to her collarbone and down until he reached the swell of her breast. She could feel his feathers like touch against the skin under her breast, his thumb gracing the bottom. He looked up at her, his eyes masked with a darkness as his lips finally touch led the peak of her nipple.
YN let out a whine, an automatic sound leaving her lips at the feeling of him. He seemed to know just the buttons that she needed pressing. He circled the bud of her nipple with his tongue, the feeling causing YN’s body to writhe up off the sofa. When he was done, he removed his mouth from her nipple with a pop. That didn’t last long, as he moved onto the other soon after.
YN sighed when she realised that his assault wasn’t stopping there. In fact, he continued. His lips traced down her body, pressing kisses all the way down to her stomach until he reached the fold of her skirt. She watched as his eyes looked up to her, prompting her for a reaction as his fingers toyed with the hem. A nod from YN was all it took for him too loop is thumbs into the material and drag them down her legs, tights included. If she had known this was going to happen (she definitely didn’t) she might have forgone her tights. She also might have worn sexier underwear, and not one of her more comfortable black cotton pairs.
Any worry of what underwear she was wearing dissipated when Harry placed a kiss to the centre of them, close but not close enough to where she wanted him. She was positive that they were slightly damp from the teasing, but he didn’t seem to care. Instead, he placed kisses down the material, all over where she needed him the most.
“Harry…” She wined, her lips bucking up to him slightly, “Please…”
“Please what?” He asked, grinning as he rested his chin on her stomach.
She groaned slightly, “You know what.”
“No I don’t,” He shook his head slightly, his fingertips dancing along her thigh, “Come on, doc, use your words.”
The smug look on his face was enough to send YN spiralling, “Touch me.”
“As you wish.”
In one swift motion, her panties landed on top of the pile of her other discarded clothes. He slipped his arms under her thighs, dragging her across the sofa until he was face to face with her.
He started slowly, a few of those teasing pecks to her clit. It was enough to drive even the strongest woman man, and it was certainly doing that to YN. She gasped again when he wrapped his lips around her clit, using his tongue to flick in a rhythm that had her trying to pull away from him. Harry didn’t let her, though, and instead he placed his hand on her stomach to keep her still.
The sounds in the room were obscene, full of YN’s moans and pants. Harry continued, pushing her closer and closer until she felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Harry’s eyes never left hers, and it was becoming all too much for her all too quickly. He kept going, even when he breathing quickened and her body went slightly rigid. She was almost seeing stars, almost, and then it stopped.
“Harry…” She grasped the back of her next, bringing him up to her lips. He didn’t complain, immediately attaching his lips to hers. YN sighed against him, running her hands down his tattooed sternum until they reached the buckle of his belt.
Her fingers made quick work of opening it, as well as the button and zip of his trousers. As she pushed them down, her hand grazed his cock over his boxers. Her eyes widened slightly at what she was feeling, and Harry obviously saw that from the chuckle that escaped him.
YN continued to palm him, and a string of groans left Harry’s lips.
“Harry, please,” She begged, eyes dark as she looked at him.
He helped her, pushing his boxers and trousers off his body completely. She couldn’t think about what the floor must have looked like. Instead, YN ran her fingers down the length of his cock, hand gripping the base. Harry hissed at sudden contact, and dropped his lips back down to hers.
YN lined his cock up with her entrance, using the arousal that was there to coat him. Her lips parted against his as he pushed into her, a feeling of fullness immediately embracing YN. He pushed in slowly, allowing YN to get comfortable with his size before he started to move.
One of YN’s hand rested on the back of his neck, gripping the curls at the nape. Her legs widened, allowing his body to slot perfectly between them. He rocked in and out, creating a steady rhythm that had both of them moaning.
“So fucking good, baby,” Harry mumbled from where his head rested in her neck, “Knew it would be.”
“Faster,” She nudged his hips with her leg, urging him to pick up the pace, “Please, Harry.”
Harry rolls his hips faster, meeting YN’s attempts at keeping up with him. YN locks her ankles together around him, making sure that he doesn’t go anywhere. He kept his pace, even when YN clenched around him and he groaned at the tightness. Sensing how close she was, Harry slid one of his hands down between the two of them to rub her clit. The extra pressure had YN grabbing his arm, her nails digging in slightly as they did.
The teasing from Harry prior had YN’s orgasm creeping up on her. Her body stilled before it rolled through her, Harry’s pace never relenting. He coaxed her through it with soft kisses to her neck, but from his deep breath YN surmised that it wasn’t going to be long before he followed. Her orgasm was his trigger, pulling out of her just before he came, a mess landing on her stomach as he did.
He moved his hand back up to YN’s chin, pulling her face forward so he could connect their lips again. How YN ever thought that wasn’t a good idea she’d never understand, but all she knew now was that she couldn’t ignore it. Once they had both slightly recovered, Harry’s body dropped down, covering hers but not squashing her. His finger lifted up and brushed a stray piece of her hair off of her face.
“Stay,” He whispered, eyes full of nothing but desire and want, “Please.”
“Okay,” YN nodded, pressing a light kiss to his wrist.
Woman seen leaving Rockstar Harry Styles’ (known as the ‘Arsonist’) house this morning.
Inside sources say the woman is certified therapist YN YLN, tasked with being Styles’ court-mandated therapist after an incident at one of his shows earlier in the year.
It seems as though the Arsonist’s back at it again, even the courts can’t keep him at bay.
The call came just as YN was locking her front door. She was close, so very close to not answering it. She’d only had around three hours sleep, staying up with Harry talking pretty much all night before she said she had to get home so she could be ready for work the next day. She was exhausted, but there was also a pep in her step that she couldn’t ignore at all.
“YN?” It was her supervisor, “Can you come into my office the second you get into work, please?”
Her supervisor’s voice was clipped, and businesslike — almost too businesslike. That was YN’s first clue. The second came when she walked into the building, and the receptionist wouldn’t even look her in the eye. They had worked together for years.
It wasn’t until she saw the paper that was resting on her supervisor’s desk that she knew why.
Her own face from earlier that very morning stared back at her, standing on Harry’s doorstep. Her coat was half-buttoned, her hair a mess due to the wind and it didn’t take a rocket-scientist to know that it was his silhouette stood behind her.
YN’s heart dropped at the sight, so violently that she honestly thought she could have thrown up then and there. Her supervisor sat on the other side of her desk, her arms folded and a sense of dread rushed through YN.
“YN,” She started; but from the ringing in her ears YN hardly heard her.
“It’s not—“
“I don’t need you to explain,” Her supervisor interrupted with a soft shake of her head, “Because, right now, it doesn’t matter what the truth is. What matters is the appearance.”
YN swallowed, “I assure you it isn’t what it looks like.”
“It never is,” Her supervisor replied, “But the board has already seen it, the court has already seen it. You’re being suspended, effective immediately, pending review.”
The words hit her like a truck. This wasn’t just her job. This was everything. This was every all-nighter she’d pulled studying, every patient that had taken one look at her and trusted her with all of their issues. This was every time that YN had held someone’s pain just for a little while so they didn’t have to.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She had nothing to say.
“I’m sorry,” Her supervisor offered, and truly sounded as though she meant it, “You need to go home, YN. No contact with clients — including Mr. Styles.”
The last part truly broke something within her.
YN left without a word. Everything felt too much when she walked outside — the light too bright and the air too sharp. She felt as though all she could feel was eyes on her. By the time she was sitting inside her car her hands were shaking so much that she couldn’t even turn her car on.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket but she didn’t need to check who it was — it was Harry. She didn’t answer, she just couldn’t.
She couldn’t answer the first time, she couldn’t the second time. By the time she actually picked up the phone, he had called her twenty three times. He had sent her a string of messages as well, all apologetic and questioning. Some of them were angry at her lack of response. Instead, YN continued to ignore them. Her eyes couldn’t leave the last message he had sent though.
Please don’t let me be the reason you loose everything.
YN’s throat burned, she wanted to scream out or cry or maybe both at the same time but she just couldn’t. Instead, she stayed silent.
It was two days later that she saw the headline. She was laid in bed, where she had been and hadn’t moved from in a while.
STYLES IN BAR BRAWL
The photo showed him being led out of a club by two bouncers, bloody resting at the corner of his mouth and his eyes glassy and vacant. It was a sight she wished she hadn’t seen again.
It was the words underneath that truly twisted her stomach, though.
“Witnesses claim the Arsonist appeared ‘lost’ and ‘angry’, lashing out after questions of the therapist scandal were presented to him by another bar-goer.”
It was the first time in those two days that she didn’t think, and instead she pulled herself out of bed, got in her car and drove.
When Harry opened his door, he looked nothing like the man who had sat across from her in her office a few weeks ago. He wasn’t the composed celebrity, or even the defensive patient. His eyes were dull, and red. The smell of whisky hit her, sharp and sour.
“YN,” He sighed, unsure as to whether she was real and actually standing there across from him.
“You can’t keep doing this,” YN spoke, her voice trembled but she didn’t care, “You can’t keep setting fire to everything because it’s the only way you can feel alive.”
He laughed, the sound hollow in the room, “That’s rich, coming from you. You walked away. You left me. You ignored me.”
“I had to,” She shot back, “Do you think that I wanted any of this? You think that I wanted my name splashed against some goddamn tabloid next to yours?”
He dragged his hand through his hair, beginning to pace around in front of her, “I didn’t mean for this to happen, I promise. I… I just couldn’t stop thinking about you, YN. Everything that we said, everything that you made me feel. I thought—“
“You thought what?”
“That if I lost you, I’d just go straight back,” Harry shrugged, “I’d go straight back to the noise, and back to the fire.”
YN exhaled sharply, the words hitting her way too closely, “And what, huh? What do you think that would do? You think that burning anything down would fix it?”
“I think that’s the only damn thing I know how to do!” He shouted. Then his voice dropped, “I thought I’d already ruined you.”
That stopped her completely cold.
“Harry,” She whispered, wanting nothing than to reach out and touch, “You didn’t ruin me.”
He looked up, an expression of complete disbelief on his face.
“You made me,” She corrected him, taking a step towards him, “You made me remember why it is I do what I do. You made me feel again, after so, so long of pretending that I was fine with holding on everyone else’s pain. You didn’t ruin me, you reminded me that I have something else to feel for.”
He blinked at her, his chest heaving slightly, “Don’t… Just— Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” She threw back at him.
“Because I don’t deserve that.”
“Maybe neither of us do,” She took another step closer to him, “But it’s happened anyway.”
His eyes darted across her face, as though he was looking for any sign that she was telling the truth, and that she wasn’t going to vanish. A silence settle between them, and they were so close to each other.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Harry shook his head.
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because I couldn’t watch you burn alone,” YN shrugged, as though it was obvious.
For a few seconds longer, neither of them moved. It was Harry who made the first move. He reached out to her, it was a slow movement but it ended with his fingers brushing hers. She didn’t pull away.
Harry exhaled, sounding immediately defeated, “I just don’t know how to stop.”
“You don’t have to stop, okay?” YN said softly, nodding, “You just have to stop doing it alone.”
And that was all that Harry needed, it seemed. He stepped forward, burying his face against her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her as though he was afraid that she might disappear if he let her go. YN held him back just as tightly, her hand curling into the back of his shirt.
For the first time, it seemed as though the fire wasn’t burning. Instead, it was glowing — quiet, steady and warm.
They stayed like that for a long time. They didn’t speak, and they didn’t find a need to. They just stayed together, finally, and comfortably.
ARSONIST’S LULLABYE
The latest single from Harry Styles, different than his work before but widely celebrated by fans and critics alike.
They say its his most vulnerable work yet, finally allowing the public to see behind the mask that the ‘Arsonist’ has worn up to now.
Five months had passed since everything had happened. Some might have said that everything had fallen apart, but for YN it felt as though everything came together again. To YN, life had a different texture. It’s entire being was softer, and somehow quieter.
The mornings that YN had spent in Harry’s flats were slow, filled with nothing but the hum of the kettle, and the smell of toast burning because he always became distracted by something else. The city outside buzzed but they both relished in the calm of inside.
YN moving in hadn’t been something that they had spoken about, it had seemingly just happened. She moved gradually. At first, it was just a toothbrush left beside his sink, and then a book or two by the bed. Then she started to leave clothes in a drawer in his bedroom, and her clutter started to appear in different part of his house. One morning, a few months ago, she realised it had been almost four week since she had been back to her own flat.
YN didn’t mind at all, and Harry didn’t either — and then it was confirmed.
It wasn’t perfect, nothing was perfect. There were still the odd sleepless nights when Harry would wake up gasping, or mornings where she’d stumble out to see him sitting in the garden, his cigarette untouched in hand, staring out at nothing. They were getting there, though. Harry would let her in now, he’d talk to her. She would listen. Sometimes, they didn’t need words at all.
All in all, they’d built something completely honest.
The world had changed for Harry too. He had released Arsonist’s Lullabye as a single around six weeks ago, and it was climbing the charts everywhere. Critics had deemed it his ‘most vulnerable work yet’. Fans called it a ‘confession that he’d wrapped in a melody’.
All YN could call it was theirs.
She’d been there whilst he was adding the finishing touches to the song, and when he’d finally taken the step to writing more and get to a place where he had nearly a full album ready. She’d be perched next to him, a glass of wine in her hands while he walked through chords, muttering lyrics to himself. He’d look up at her sometimes, with a look in his eyes that YN knew said this is about you, even when he didn’t say it aloud.
The night before his one night only he was completely restless.
“Come to bed,” She murmured, leaning against the doorway while he strummed on his guitar.
“In a bit,” He spoke softly, not looking up, “I just want to get this one right.”
YN crossed the room, barefoot, and leant her chin against his shoulders, “You always get it right.”
“Not this one,” He smiled faintly, his fingers continuing to brush over the strings, “This one matters.”
She placed a light kiss to side of his neck, light and warm, “Then play it like it does.”
He turned his head, catching her lips in a soft kiss and whispered against her mouth, “You know I only can because of you.”
The night of his one night only the venue was glowing.
YN stood beside him backstage before the show began, her fingers laced tightly with his. They could hear the sound of the crowd bleed through the walls — thousands of voices waiting for Harry. He was bouncing slightly on his heels, a nervous energy radiating from him.
“You’ve played here before,” YN reminded him with a small smile.
“Yeah,” He said, glancing at her, “But not like this.”
Her thumb brushed over his knuckle soothingly, “You’ll be brilliant. You always are.”
Harry exhaled slowly, dropping his head down to lean his forehead against hers for a moment. He grounded himself in her presence, “Stay where I can see you, yeah?”
“Front row,” She promised with a smile, “You won’t miss me.”
He smiled, that small, crooked smile that always softened her completely. Then he was gone, swallowed by the light.
The roar that erupted in the room when he stepped out was deafening. YN had reached her place just as the spotlight had hit him. He looked good — not the version that the magazines liked to show him, but alive. There was a looseness in his posture now, a quiet confidence that came from something deeper than just fame.
He played the first few songs easily, joking with the crowd between verses, his eyes occasionally darting down to where she was sitting. Each time that their gaze met, she felt it. That flicker that let them know that it was them against the world.
Halfway through the show he paused, setting his guitar aside for a moment so he could address the crowd.
“This next one,” He began, voice low, “Is a special one.”
The audience seemed to still at his words.
“I wrote it at a time when I didn’t really know who I was anymore,” He continued, glancing around the crowd until his eyes fixated on YN, “And then someone came long and… she didn’t try to fix me. She just sat with the fire with me until I figured out how to stop feeding it.”
There were a few cheers from the audience, but most were stood in silence, waiting.
“So this one’s for her,” He said simply, his gaze still fixed on YN, “For the muse who finally helped me tame the fire.”
YN’s voice tightened at his words, her eyes stinging around the edges slightly. Around her, people cheered and whistled but YN felt rooted to her spot, as though she couldn’t move. All YN could do was watch him — the man she’d seen at his lowest of low now standing tall in front of thousands, singing words that came from his darkness that they reshaped into light.
The opening chords of Arsonist’s Lullabye filled the hall, and YN could feel every note bursting through her chest. It was different hearing it live. The air in the venue seemed to thrum around her and despite all of the people, Harry’s eyes kept finding hers.
YN remembered the first night he’d played it for her, that night where everything that they had been bubbling between them came to a head. That night, despite the consequences, was one that she will always hold close to her heart.
When the final chord faded, the crowd exploded. Harry smiled — his eyes wide and genuinely shining. He found her again, and smiled. She smiled back.
After the show, she waited for him backstage. When he arrived, still flushed with adrenaline, she barely had time to say anything before he pulled her into his arms.
“You were incredible,” She murmured against his chest.
He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against her, “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time.”
Harry leaned back, just enough so that he could look at her whilst his hands still rested against her waist, “You know, when I said that thing out there…”
“About me taming your fire?” She teased lightly.
“Yeah,” He responded with a small smile, “You really did.”
Lifting her hand up, she pushed a damp curl off of his forehead, “You did the hard part, Harry. You learned how to live with the quiet.”
He tilted his head, studying her, “I learned because you stayed.”
“Of course I stayed,” She said simply, squeezing him in her arms slightly, “You’re my favourite disaster.”
Harry laughed, the sound breaking into something softer, “God, I love you.”
Her chest ached in that familiar, beautiful way of someone who truly felt the love of another human, “I know… I love you too,” She whispered, leaning up to kiss him.
The kiss wasn’t hurried or hidden. It didn’t have to be a secret kind of love anymore. It was open, easy — the kind of kiss that spoke to days spent together, laughter and of peace that they’d finally earned.
Somebody backstage wolf-whistled, and Harry broke the kiss laughing, his forehead resting against hers, “You’ve made me look all soppy in front of the crew.”
“You are soppy,” YN countered with a shrug, “They just didn’t know it yet.”
He grinned, “I didn’t know it until you.”
They left together, slipping out of the side door with their hands clutched tightly. The rain had started again, cool against their skin. Harry shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, even though he was the one of them that was shivering.
“You’ll get sick,” She scolded him.
“Worth it,” He shrugged, reaching for her hand again.
They walked along the wet pavement, their reflections following them in the puddles. YN could still feel the faint echoes of the crowd behind them, but it was distant now.
“Do you ever miss it? The life before?”
Harry squeezed her hand, “Sometimes. But then I remember that chaos doesn’t sing back at me.”
YN laughed softly, “And what does?”
He glanced at her, smiling, “You.”
YN shook her head slightly, trying to hide her grin. But, he caught her. He caught her chin and turned her towards him. The street was quiet — just the sound off rain and the hymn of the city. He kissed her again, slower this time, only illuminated by the glow of a streetlamp. When they pulled apart, YN rested her forehead against his.
Later, back at home, they curled up on the sofa, his head resting against her shoulder whilst her fingers traced absent circles on his arms. The record player hummed softly in the background, one of his old vinyls spinning lazily.
The only word that YN could use to describe how he look was content — the kind that he would have said before was impossible for him.
“Do you ever think about how we started?” She asked quietly.
“Every day,” He admitted, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, “Sometimes it truly feels as though it happened to someone else.”
“Sometimes I wish it had,” She responded, teasing, “Would’ve saved me a headache… or five.”
Harry laughed, placing a light kiss to the inside of her wrist, “Yeah, but then we wouldn’t be here.”
She smiled faintly, “No, we wouldn’t.”
A silence stretched between them, and then Harry turned to look at her, “You know, I think this is the first time in a long time that I’m excited for an album release. It’s finally not about fire or pain or chaos, and more about life. You, me and the quiet we’ve created.”
YN’s heart swelled, “I hope you know I’m taking all the credit when you win all the awards.”
Harry laughed against her skin, “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
YN laughed softly at the sound of his voice, the kind of sound that she found herself making more and more often these days. Harry shifted so that he was facing her properly, his fingers tracing the edge of her jaw as though he was trying to commit her face to memory for the hundredth time. The soft crackle of the record filled the space between their breaths.
“You know,” He murmured, his eyes never leaving hers, “For the first time I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, that I’m going to fuck everything up.”
YN smiled, her finger dancing across his cheek, “That’s because we’ve already made it through the worst.”
He leaned forward, placing a light kiss to her lips, “And came out better for it.”
Outside, the rain had slowed leaving a cosy and warm feeling inside. Harry brushed some of her hair off of her face, “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
YN’s heart swelled at his words, so much so that she had to lean and attach her lips to his, “Me too,” She muttered against them, not wanting to ever move far away from him.
