Imagine: Cacti are hard to find
TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of alcohol/drinking. angst** there will be a part two. requested.
The one where she’s his makeup artist, and he’s the boy she’s in love with, and everything is fine until he has a hickey on his neck, and she‘s not the one who gave it to him.
Y/n is fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.
From the moment she had accepted the internship under Lou Teasdale to learn from her as an intern makeup artist, y/n knew there was no going back. The reason being her model was the very Harry Styles. The former boy band heartthrob and new chart topping solo artist.
If she messed up on his face or hair, millions of fan girls would call her out on it on tumblr, instagram, and Twitter. Not to mention, if she did do injustice to such a living, breathing “Adonis’” face, she’d not only be a disgrace to the makeup industry and millions of fan girls, but to herself as well. And that wasn’t, because of her caring particularly for him, but rather for her career. It could either take off, or be poorly reputed, because of a fandom that lost its chill frequently.
Y/n wouldn’t go as far as to say she’s a fan of Harry Styles, because she hasn’t dedicated a minute of her time to get to know Harry Styles obsessively over the internet, or learn much about him besides what the media thinks of him. She can’t say she admires him, either, for the same reasons. Y/n does respect him for surviving in the industry from such a young age, and she doesn’t mind his music, either.
She’s not exactly the type who dreams of meeting him in a coffee shop or falling from her bike (one that she hasn’t rode in over a decade), right in front of his Gucci loafers or YSL boots. Isn’t the type to hope he’d help her up and later have her pushed up against some over romanticized wall, making out while the rest of the world impossibly disappears.
Y/n definitely isn’t the type wants to shove him into a duffel bag, zip it up and kidnap him. Not the kind to rid him of his shirt afterwards, because that man did not need a shirt, and proceed to hang him up, captive in her basement, and offer him a cup of tea. She’s not the girl who wishes Harry would eventually fall in love with her, and she’d finally let him loose from his restraints, because she knows he won’t run for the hills.
And she especially isn’t the fucking type to wait to cross the road right when Harry Styles is driving, just so he’ll run her over or flash her, erm, regions at him for some form of attention.
And that was the problem. Although it wasn’t exactly mentioned as necessity in her interview, y/n didn’t really give a fuck about Harry Styles and wasn’t as obsessed or intrigued by him as everyone else seemed to be. She felt out of place lacking any knowledge of who he was, and nervous as she didn’t know what to expect. Was he a total asshole? Was he sweet? More importantly, would he end her career before it had even started?
Y/n tends to overthink to the point of winding up unconscious in a hospital bed, and right now she can think of more than fifty reasons why she wouldn’t be suitable for this job. Hell, she was ordinary, and possibly very boring. There wasn’t really anything special in her that would guarantee her capable to not mess up on a global sensation’s face. She was just a student in a cosmetics university that had applied for this internship mindlessly alongside several other students who actually deserved a spot here, because of their mad skills. Not to mention, she was possible the most disorganized person on the bloody planet. This only makes her sure she’ll be informed of her being replaced by someone more capable sooner, because she would probably end up losing Harry Styles’s face or some shit like that. And God forbid, she blended a foundation on his face which caused him to have an allergic reaction and have a pack of tiny ingrown worms the size of a Mexican family live in his pores or something.
“Y/n? We need you down in the dressing room,” Lou called, beckoning her on her first day. Y/n tried to calm her racing mind and sooth her furiously beating heart. Please don’t fuck it up, please don’t fuck it up, she chants to herself in her head like a silent mantra. A prayer which would hopefully exterminate her constant need to embarrass herself. After a few seconds, she smooths her hair down, scolds the butterflies in her tummy until they’re timid little creatures turning to dust, and begins her trek to the room where she’d meet the man she knew nothing about, but whom the rest of the world had memorized.
When y/n arrives in the dressing room, her mind stops being as frantic. Lou introduces her to the rest of the crew, and y/n meets Sarah, Mitch, Clare, and Adam with a sense of relief, because they’re all kind, not judgemental at all, and just generally bright and happy of her presence.
She’s also really fucking relieved, because she’s surrounded by a bunch of makeup brands and hair products she’s familiar with, and since Lou says they’ve all been tested on Harry’s skin to make sure he’s comfortable and his shades are matched, she doesn’t have to worry about creatures habituating his face or a lawsuit. Even Lux seems to get along just fine with her, and she wants to cry when the little girl lets out a soft giggle before situating herself in front of y/n on a chair, pointing to her face with a bright, toothy grin and wide eyes.
“y/n does my makeup,” she babbled, fingers playing on some products laid across the dressing table. “Lux,” her mother scolds lightly, giving her an apologetic smile and a slight roll of her eyes as if to say ‘motherhood, right?’ Meanwhile, Lux’s face has morphed into a saddened one, her trembling lips indicating she was on the edge of a breakdown.
“Oh, no, it’s fine! There are a bunch of different fair shades here. I can match her up and play around a little bit,” y/n suggests, widening her eyes dramatically and doing some jazz hands to elicit another girlish giggle from the three year old.
After nearly half an hour, y/n is feeling content and sated, adding some finishing touches to Lux’s face and cooing over how cute the three year old looks. Everyone clustered around Lux, showering the giggling toddler with praise and compliments.
“Well you’ve made my daughter look even more like a princess,” Lou states, looking thoroughly impressed by how blended and natural, yet chic it looks. Y/N had tried to use less, but the result was still heavenly on the child.
“It was a pleasure,” y/n chuckles as Lux goes on about her being a princess while Clare, Adam and Sarah agree and Mitch bows silently.
“Did you add concealer before or after the foundation?” Lou questions, running a hand through her platinum locks and eyeing her daughter’s face inquisitively, out of curiousity.
“I tried to add concealer before. She didn’t really need foundation or concealer, because she’s too young to really break out and she doesn’t have any discolouration, but I just wanted to try this out. Models contour before foundation when they walk the runway to make it seem more natural.. so I wondered if concealer would kind of have the same effect. It turned out pretty okay,” y/n explains, earning a nod from Lou, indicating her respect for the fellow makeup artist in training.
“Wha’s goin’ on here?” A raspy, deep voice questions, the tone playful and curious, wondering why there was a cluster of adults around such a small creature. Y/n’s stomach lurched when she realized it was probably Harry Styles. Hell, this was his dressing room.
“Uncle knobhead!” Lux’s voice pierced y/n’s eats as she childishly squeals and coos, gesturing for Harry to come sit near her before she exploded, her being a tiny bubble of energy. Y/n, on the other hand, is breaking into a nervous sweat, her eyes flickering anywhere they can land before she has to, eventually, urge them to make contact with Harry Styles’s pair. She figures they’re either green, or blue.
“Uncle Knobhead, I’m a princess!” Lux exclaims, hopping onto Harry’s lap as everyone continues to look at the two with adoration.
“Yeah?” Harry asks, his voice raspy, but a little lighter and amused as he raises an eyebrow in good humour. “Already knew that. What’s new?”
“Yeah, but auntie Y/N made me look even more like a princess!” She garbled, pointing to y/n gleefully before getting bored of the event and deciding to get off Harry’s lap and trot off into the distance.
That’s when Harry’s eyes sort of, kind of catch hers before she snaps hers away, looking down before smiling pressedly while her insides coiled in pressure. Was she supposed to worship him or something? Gosh, not knowing how to act in front of Harry Styles was stressful. God knows he might be as valuable as the Queen of bloody England for his fans. Where were the other employees like her here? How did they treat him?
From the small moment y/n’s eyes had locked with Harry’s, she can tell they’re green- not green in a way that makes it seem like there are frogs in his eyes, although he does sort of look like a frog (a cute one), it’s sort of a forest green… or like a cactus! Harry’s eyes are like cacti and y/n thinks they’re oddly catching, she’s quite intrigued by them, cos’ she’s read a very small portion of the population have green eyes, and a part of her has always been jealous her eyes aren’t exactly green. They’re quite wide eyes, too, like something you’d find on one of em’ baby cherub angel things y/n’s seen before in ‘Night At the Museum’. Y/n just hopes he isn’t as much of a prick like the aforementioned plant..
“You do, look like a princess I mean,” he replies quite late, while the others are chatting about some new bar they’d like to go to next week, but his cacti eyes aren’t on Lux, they’re on her, with a sleazy smirk causing Harry’s lips to perk up out of the corners, a boyish aura to him as he runs his hand through his curly locks and eye fucks y/n for a whole twelve seconds. Y/n can confirm her neck has gone prickly… how rude. When her voice seems to have traveled back from its vacation to Guam, she swallows and musters up a smile, although she feels quite intimidated.
“Hi, I’m y/n,” she introduces herself with a bright smile, extending a hand which Harry enveloped into his larger ones, his silver rings cool to the touch, causing her to shiver slightly as his eyes travel low, eyeing her over discreetly.
“‘M, Harry,” he says raspily, but not before adding: “beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
“Is that one the one you always use?” Y/N asks, rolling her eyes slightly although she’s amused he’s flirting with her. Harry’s face morphs into a boyish one, a cheeky smile uplifting his cheeks and giving definitions to the craters dimpling his cheeks.
“Only when I can rise to the occasion,” he replies quickly, smirking once more at her wit and making sure to hold her hand for longer than what would be considered average. And y/n’s lying if she’s not a little bit entranced, and if she says she doesn’t get a heart rush, she’d be lying, but she quickly dimmed it down.
Instead, y/n smears an expensive branded lipstick onto Harry’s face, and is only met with a nerve wracking blank look for a second, in which she rethinks all of her idiotic life choices, before his face breaks into the biggest grin she’s ever seen as he roars with laughter.
Months have passed, and y/n and Harry are the new dynamic duo. They’re seen together everywhere and fit like puzzle pieces. Them being seen together had caused an uproar on social media and had broken the internet, but once the jealous fangirls realized y/n was a dear friend to Harry, they’d grown admiration for the young intern makeup artist.
Y/n had become a part of Harry’s life that was precious to him. She was precious to him. And he was the same to her. Among her adventures with Harry Styles and his tours, she not only made sure his face was constantly serving looks to his fans and his soft brown curls and cacti eyes were being swooned upon sight, she also took care of things that she wouldn’t say were the best part of her internship.
Whether Harry was drunk or sober, or had hooked up with a girl that he would never see again, y/n was the one who would rouse him from sleep in the hotel room, and urge the girl next to him to get changed in a gentle voice, despite the glare she would get in return. It was a habit of Harry’s, to pick up something or an experience from every new place he visited, and one of those experiences just happened to be getting drunk off his face and having sex with girls he would meet once.
Y/N didn’t really like this part of her job, not because she had feelings for Harry, or whatever, but because it was just so intrusive and uncomfortable. She feared Harry would one day snap at her, or tell her to leave in his hungover, disgruntled state, but that’s specifically why she was chosen for this difficult task. Harry would never yell at y/n. Ever.
The others often joked of how caring he was when it came to her, constantly asking if she’d drank water before and after a particularly crazy show, eaten enough when she’d been studying for a particularly tough exam for macroeconomics two, and had done the typical college student thing to skive off of coffee and muffins.
If she hadn’t eaten, he’d quickly order room service after a soft scolding,( “gotta eat, lovie, your tummy’s goin’ to digest itself at this rate,”) something she had sleepily declared reminded her of a mother hen clucking over her baby chicks, one night when she’d forgotten to eat lunch and dinner. Harry had arrived back from his concert, two hours after reminding her to eat while he sang and not immerse herself too much in the textbooks plaguing her nightmares. But, of course, she hadn’t listened and was found huddled under the covers in her hotel room, face tucked into a hard textbook and her notes with frantic eyes reading over each line and hoping to absorb it through diffusion.
Harry had proceeded to urge her to pee, and as ridiculous as it sounded, it was because he knew y/n had the bad habit to hold her pee in when she was doing something she thought was important. After ordering room service and the two of them changing into fluffy slippers and pjs, they proceeded to binge watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S, and then fell asleep cuddling each other under the comfy blanket.
It made y/n feel a little off, seeing the Harry that liked to cuddle and laugh with his green, cacti eyes wide and cherry lips open like a little baby transform into this person who would sleep with a different girl every new city, drunk off his face. But, that was it. At the most, it annoyed her to get up just to get him and her up.
And even if there was a little burning feeling somewhere inside of her, she blotted it out as soon as it ignited.
It was nearing Christmas and y/n can say she’s excited to take a break with the rest of the crew and go back home, where her family and her cat, Olivia, were waiting for her. She had gotten her kitten a month or so ago with Harry, but had guiltily had to leave it with her younger sister and parents. A kitten and continuous hotels didn’t exactly mix.
Clare, Harry, Adam, Sarah, and Mitch had pulled y/n into the idea of going to a club with them in Scotland, one that Jeffrey had looked up online and had noted it had a five star rating. Despite y/n feeling the need to spend her time packing her bags and getting her shit together enough to travel back home, everyone else was stubborn.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Clare mused, smiling softly inviting her out with them for the night. The corner of Harry’s mouth perks up slightly, paired with a soft expression and bright green cacti eyes, he looks both playful and shy.
“Yeah, come with us,” he says in his deep, slow voice.
And who was she to resist that?
y/n mutters a quick, “fine”, before turning back and making a show of yawning as she scamper blushingly to her hotel room, just as everyone cheers. She scolds that familiar swoop in her lower belly, all the way up to her racing heart. Holding her fingers against it, she closes her eyes as she reaches the safe sanction of her room.
y/n didn’t know anything about Harry Styles, but now that she did, it was getting increasingly harder to stop herself from liking him in the way where she hopes she’d have met him in a coffee shop, or have fallen off a bike and face planted against his Gucci loafers or YSL boots.
“Why can’t I just wear this sweater?” y/n asked, or moreover whined, as Sarah held up a fitting black cropped halter top with a scooped neck cheekily, y/n narrowing her eyes at the lacy, flimsy material.
“It’s thicker than it looks,” Clare informs, although they’re both snickering at her baffled expression. She’d much rather opt for her creamy knitted sweater and thick black leggings, maybe she’d pair them with knee high boots, but quite honestly, in this freezing weather, she’d rather be comfortable than trendy.
“I don’t want to put that on,” she grumbles, eyebrows knitted, nose scrunched slightly, and lips pouted. Sarah tosses the top onto the washroom counter despite her childlike dismay, and continues on.
“Okay, what are we pairing the top with? A mini skirt or high waisted jeans?” Sarah asked brightly. If y/n’s expression could get more disgruntled, it just did.
Harry peeks his head into y/n’s room, his eyes skimming over the three of them before staying on y/n, his own eyebrows furrowing as he eyes the look on her face. “Hey, wha’s tha’ expression for, hm?” he coos, ready to step in and hug y/n or make the thing upsetting her vanish into thin air, but Clare rolls her eyes, amusement clear on her face. When she slams the door on Harry’s face, he protests from the other side.
“Don’t fret, your angel is okay. We’ve abducted her for once,” she replies teasingly.
All the while, Sarah whisks y/n into the washroom, sending a lacy black miniskirt that was so small, she wasn’t even sure it would be considered a skirt. It barely skimmed her mid thighs, but admittedly paired fairly well with the halter top.
“How am I supposed to not freeze in this?” Y/N shouts from the washroom, carelessly tugging the top over her head, into her arms and pulling it down her chest. She pulled the skirt on over her bum, and sighed in front of the mirror. “Oi, we’ll literally be outside for two seconds. The club is going to be warmer, obviously, and when we do go outside, we’ll be inside the car,” Clare replied, and y/n can hear the sigh in her voice.
When y/n examines her body in the mirror, she’s not immediately struck with everything wrong with it like usual, and that’s a nice change. The halter, scoop necked top flatters her body well. The black gives the rest of her skin a radiant glow and the material is pretty stretchy and comfortable. It has a laced trim for where it ends mid stomach, and the scoop necked situation isn’t that bad either, and her boobs look fairly perky, and her cleavage is suble yet gooey, which somehow makes her feel exposed, but not in an uncomfortable way- in a fairly confident way. The miniskirt matches the top and makes her legs look longer, despite them being short as fuck.. it’s okay, she thinks to herself. This is okay. I deserve to have fun. Even if this might be totally basic, I still don’t do this everyday..
She’s snapped out of her admiring herself when the door is swung open without warning, and she’s immediately swarmed with girlish coos and squeals, instructing her to give Clare and Sarah a twirl.
“You’re lucky you have a body like yours.. I could never fit in that,” Clare gestures to the top, “and I could never wear that without looking like a gangly teen,” she points to the skirt, Sarah mumbling a ‘preach’. Wow it feels good to be praised by girls.
“Now, do your fucking makeup, bitch.”
“I don’t have the energy,” you whine, tired after have already given everyone else touch ups. “Wow, the makeup artist beats every face except her own,” Sarah rolls her eyes, scolding y/n and pushing her to where the makeup lay in its sacred oasis (a/n: it’s late, and I’ve given up).
With a newfound subtle energy given to you by your clothes, you have the motivation to go another mile to serve looks for once, and not just be served. While you do your makeup as carefully and swiftly as possible, Clare and Sarah work on straightening your hair.
“This is a nice change,” one of the girls hums, “she’s always helping us, now we get to do something for her. Besides, now she can give Harry something else to look at.”
y/n freezes, contouring palette in hand and eyes wide with surprise. For a moment she doubts she’d heard the correct thing at all, but then she can hear the soft chuckles behind her and freezes once more. Damn, this shit scarier than what I see in sleep paralysis, she muses to herself.
“Don’t pretend as if we haven’t seen it, you and Harry are always eye fucking each other.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” but the blush burning at her cheeks indicated otherwise. Goddamnit. They just had to discuss it like sixteen year old school girls, didn’t they?
“Whatever, just wait until Harry sees you tonight..”
And y/n’s lying if her heart doesn’t swell with that burning hope. Because she knows Harry Styles enough to know she likes him. He makes her heart rush and her lower belly swoop dangerously every time she sees him or thinks of him at night, when she’s trying to get some sleep, but her dreams are plagued by his smile and his laughter, and the kind things he says and does. She remembers every tattoo etched onto his skin, and every word he’s ever said to her, and every feeling he’s ever given her. And y/n is fucked, totally and utterly fucked, because, shit, she likes Harry Styles and his cacti eyes- or even more than what the simple word ‘like’ can hold within itself.
And she’s tried so hard to wish away the feeling he gives her, because in the end that’s what it is : a feeling. And feelings change over time. But she finds herself coming to the realization that being with Harry, and truly being in ‘like’ with him is a choice, and she slips close to making it..
The club music is loud and it pounds down her body and into her veins in rhythmic motions. It strums within her and the beat instills her with energy and passion. y/n sways on the dance floor, clutching a caipirinha in her right hand as she moves her hips along with the musical vibrations. Her hair flowed down her back and the feeling was incredible.
When her eyes are blocked from the flashing lights, she blinks inquisitively, finding a body in front of hers, rocking his hips against hers. y/n merely giggles and rocks back with him, as his palms sloppily rest on her back for a second, before being thrown off as she lets out a soft moan. Confused, she opens her eyes when the body is thrown off of hers. She’s met with cacti and she’s frozen.
“Don’ make out wi’ strangers,” Harry grumbles, eyes flashing intensely with something she can’t pinpoint. She wants to say that’s rich coming from you, but she just nods meekly, wanting to go back to enjoying the buzz alcohol and music gave her. But Harry’s eyes hold her captive, hotly trailing down from her eyes, to her chest and stomach, and finally her legs. He steps closer slowly, giving her a chance to back away, but she doesn’t. He fingers the lacy material of the halter top at her stomach, causing her breath to hitch slightly.
“Wanna dance?” He asks throatily, voice deep and raspy. She gulps and nods, her skin tingling once he rests one of his hands at the small of her back and the other at the curve of her waist. She’s swept closer and her heartbeat isn’t the same anymore. It’s racing and she doesn’t know what’s happening. Is this yet another one of those stupid dreams she gets of Harry Styles?
Harry holds her gently, his curls swept back by gel, flannel accentuating his cacti eyes and cherry lips. His lips… they were so close to hers. They stand out from the rest of the people at the dance floor, because they’re swaying gently to the heavy beat of the music, and not grinding or jumping each other.
He spins her around and the music seems to stop thrumming through her body. y/n can feel the beat of her heart pounding in her ears and burning at her cheeks as Harry leans in, his cacti eyes open and staring into hers intensely, memorizing her face and his lips brushing against hers as he speaks: “you look gorgeous tonight.”
And then his soft lips are pressed against y/n’s, and it doesn’t even take her a second to respond, but then he pulls away and y/n’s face burns with disappointment. Noticing the expression on her face, he gives y/n a soft smile extending a hand towards her. “Let’s go somewhere more private.” And she entwines her fingers with his larger ones, while hoping that this was real. They walk hand in hand to the back of the club and when they’re out of sight, Harry has one hand clenching warmly at the curve of her waist, the other one stroking at her soft cheek. He slowly leans in, but y/n cuts to the chase and pulls him in by the collar of his comfortable flannel, pushing her plush lips against his, and feeling something glitch inside of her once she hears his soft moan of surprise.
The kiss is electric and their breaths are soft and uneven as they don’t disconnect their lips from one another. y/n can feel the tingling in her lips spread down her body, fire trailing down teasingly as she welcomes the warmth. Harry’s sucking on her bottom lip and then biting it gently, licking over it to soothe the mild sting. His groans are in sync with her soft gasps at the sparks the kiss omits.
When they finally pull away, his green, bloodshot cacti eyes flicker from her swollen lips to her eyes with something flashing in them. He nips at her lips torturously as she writhes underneath him, pushed up against a wall. The electricity of the kiss and the buzz of alcohol zaps through her veins and all that she can comprehend thrumming throughout her is him.
“‘ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he breathes, Harry’s forehead resting on hers, fingers pushing into the flesh of her hips. They’re both struck breathless, and y/n’s sure she’s seeing stars. “So, you like me?” she asks meekly, peeking up at him from her place nestled into his chest. He laughs hoarsely and nods, “I like you.”
Y/n smiles cheekily, albeit a little shy. “Good, cos’ I’ve liked you for a long time, too.” And y/n lets him giggle drunkenly into her neck, until when she can hear Clare calling her name. She pushed Harry back gently, and gestures to where the music still pounds. He’s left smirking when she finally leaves, her heart skipping more than the usual beat, and her face glowing.
The next morning, y/n is up with a dull aching in her head, the symptoms of a hangover. She’s not surprised as she remembers all of those tequila, vodka, and Bloody Mary shots she had last night. As she recalls last night, her mind pauses over the kiss.. the kiss with Harry. Her throbbing head is immediately disregarded as she feels a soft blush blooming onto her cheeks and a smile fighting not to be let out. Figuring it would be okay to ride their hangovers out together, y/n runs a comb through her hair a few times, throws away the flyaways and puts a sweatshirt on. She grabs the room card he’d always give to her when traveling to a new hotel, so she could stop by whenever. Walking down the hall isn’t a big deal, seeing as Harry’s room is right next door. So she grabs a few of them buttercream cupcakes he seemed to like at the restaurant the other day, and makes her way to his room.
Swinging the door open after getting the damn key card to work, y/n brightly walks inside, an adorably happy and innocent glint in her eye as she pads into the room with her soft, fluffy bunny slippers on her cozy feet. She immediately makes a beeline for the coffee machine after shutting the door loudly enough to wake Harry up. “G’morning, H! Thought we could go through the hangovers together, you’ve got one more show tonight and figured I could wake you up for it. Look, I even brought you those buttercream iced cupcakes-“
“Don’t you know how to fucking knock?”
Harry’s loud deep voice echoes throughout the hotel room, harsh and ruthless. y/n turns around, feeling a frown tugging at her lips and slight hurt at being yelled at so loudly. And that’s when her world comes crashing down upon her. In front of her is Harry, the man who had kissed her so passionately the night before and promised that he wanted this as much as she did. But it wasn’t only him. Besides him was a blonde haired woman, both of them bare chested under the sheets, wrapped around each other. y/n gasps softly and inwardly, her face trying to stay blank and emotionless while her head keeps screaming “I told you it would fade”, and “how does it feel to get to know the real Harry Styles?”. And y/n feels as if she can’t breathe, because she’s suddenly and totally shrouded by all the insecurities she can muster up as she stares at the beautiful woman shamelessly tracing a finger down Harry’s tense jawline. And, because, she was sure, as stupid as it sounded now, that she had already partially slipped into the choice of falling for him. And there’s so much hurt. y/n can feel her heart crumpling into Harry’s fists, the man who had danced with her so tenderly and kissed her with so much emotion was now staring at her with the most blank, icy eyes she’d ever been faced with. They were judging her frozen figure and yelling at her, telling her she wasn’t wanted. To leave him the fuck alone. She doesn’t notice the tears until they’re hot against her warm cheeks and she’s quick to wipe them away, hiding her soft, pained whimper.
“I said, did you fucking understand, y/n? Get the fuck out!” Harry raises his voice, causing it to become impossibly louder and aggressive, and all y/n can do is nod meekly, training her eyes to her feet ashamedly, and mumble a snuffled “sorry” before walking out of Harry’s hotel room, leaving the cupcakes for him and her. Not bothering to close the coffee machine, because what did it matter? He only wanted you by him when he needed you. It was stupid of you dream that you could ever be with him.
Later that night, when she’s using concealer to cover up the deep violet hickeys which would stay etched onto his flesh for several more days, she’s harsher than usual, wanting to her it over with so the burning in her eyes didn’t make itself visible. And so she wouldn’t have to be reminded of her similarly bruised lips, only she couldn’t hide those from herself and forget, as hard as she tried. With a trembling voice, y/n utters a soft “done”, and Harry huffs, pushing passed her with rolling cacti eyes that had never been so distant and cool. With her head down, she mumbles ‘goodbyes’ to everyone while he’s getting ready to go on stage early.
Before y/n knows it, she’s at home after booking the quickest flight she can find after covering up the marks she had found on the boy she was uncontrollably falling deeper in love with, given to him by a woman probably far prettier and smarter and more his type. Because, y/n was fucked, totally fucked. Maybe she didn’t know Harry Styles well enough to think he’d fall in love with her in the first place, but now she knew the boy who haunted her thoughts enough to know that y/n would probably never matter. Sighing softly, y/n picks up her cat and holds her close to her belly.
“I try not to fall harder, but it’s those damn eyes, Liv. Cacti eyes are hard to find.” And the milky white cat meows, licking up the warm teardrop that had fallen on her nose with a sympathetic ‘miaow’.
pixelskylines
snowghoul
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
titsay
