Action! - tolerate it - 2020
Pairings: Harry Styles x Director!Reader
Summary: YN sees how much Harry is distancing himself from her and their relationship. She decides to confront him, not realising the cascade of events about to happen and the feelings she had buried within herself.
Warnings: angst! swearing, mention of unfaithfulness
Word count: ~3,0k
A/N: Another one based on a song, like the title says: tolerate it by Taylor Swift. Hope you enjoy it! x
requested by @abbeyroad069 I hope it meets your expectations 💗
part 2 - champagne problems
series masterlist let's talk about action!universe
20th of June was, like any day in California, warm and sultry.
Sun high above illuminating his face through the dimmed windows. Book that she recommended to him in his hands, flipping pages from time to time, annotating it. Scribbling in his notebook after having found a noteworthy quote. His hair falling into place like dominoes, the pink hair-slide having been forgotten from the gym the other day. Rolled up sleeves, showing his multiple tattoos and shorts, short enough to give her a peak of his Brazil one.
She was sitting opposite him watching. Observing his head hanging low, reading the book she loved so much. His chest was rhythmically lifting with each of the deep and calm breath. His left hand, folding down the pages he’d already read. The right one fiddling with the pencil.
She noticed everything he did and didn’t do.
She sat and watched him.
“I can feel your eyes on me, baby,” Harry spoke without sparing her a glance. “You’re staring.”
“I’m admiring.” Scrutinising.
Harry closed the book and turned to her, “are you?”
“Yeah.”
“Not now, at least. Also that plant hasn’t changed since the day we bought it,” he noted, noticing her eyes watching the flower.
He was wrong. Not for the first and probably last time. That plant was the fourth she brought to their shared house. The first one, that Harry was alluding to, was overwatered, because before it, YN hadn’t known much about plants and had thought they needed water like people, every day. But it was succulent. YN replaced it within two weeks.
The second plant, a completely different one - a fuchsia, didn’t last longer. This one being unfortunately knocked over by a dog of YN’s friend, and chewed on, leaving just two flowers. Nothing she could’ve done with them, she searched it up.
The third one lasted the longest - almost three months. She only needed to replace it, having learned she was allergic to ficus. After weeks of a runny nose, sneezing whenever in a living room and lacrimation, she went to a doctor, did allergic tests and wallowed over her proud achievement that a living plant was. However, she gave it to her best friend, knowing it would be in good hands.
Harry didn’t notice any change. It couldn’t have been easy for him though. Today was the first day in five months that he decided to actually spend time with YN. During those months he was meeting up with his new costars (of a movie YN was a director of), his management (discussing newest album), his bandmates (talking over new tour dates). All of that after having begged YN for moving in with him in LA, due to worldwide quarantine.
“You know it’s an orchid?” She asked after some time.
“Sure.”
“And the one we bought together was a crassula.”
“You threw away our Farquad?” He asked, exaggerating the hurt.
“Three months - no, wait - almost four months ago. I overwatered it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s not even the funniest part,” YN started to sound sarcastic. “I then bought a totally different plant that Doger knocked over and ate. Then another one that I - how it turned out - am allergic to. This one is the fourth plant here. I bought it two weeks ago. Isn’t it hilarious?”
“You’re being sarcastic. And I don’t even know what for, YN.” Harry reached for his book, attempting to restart the chapter.
YN was very much surprised by how quickly and drastically the person she loved could change. One talkative person who wanted to discuss the slightest and smallest problem with his partner was not here. One caring person, who was hurt whenever his loved one was, felt absent. One gentle man, who looked after his partner trying to be the best for her lost the title.
“You understand it’s not about plants?”
“It sounds like it is,” he said dismissively, staring at the book.
“But it isn’t. It’s about you, about us, Harry.” She emphasised the pronoun.
“YN,” he sighed, closing the book once again. “You’re starting this pointless argument for the third time this month.”
Fifth, she thought. It was the fifth time she tried to talk it over with Harry. Perhaps, she felt, she was misreading everything. Perhaps, the neglect she felt wasn't real. She must have been exaggerating the situation. Nothing changed. He loved her as much as yesterday or two years ago. It was pointless after all.
She was waiting by the door just like she was just a kid. Waiting, having laid the table with a ‘fancy shit’ as Harry called the tableware that he’d got from his mother. It was their anniversary. YN wanted to celebrate it simply, a cosy dinner with his favourite dish, Harry’s best wine and Phil Collins playing in the background. Nothing over the top. Just them, solemnising their third year together.
He was late. Two and half hours late.
Was she mad? She should have been, but was hopeful. Always putting so much faith in him.
“What are you doing still up, love?” He asked tiptoeing into the house, five hours later.
“Happy anniversary!”
She smiled from one ear to the other, holding up the cake she had baked by herself that morning. Even though, deep down she was sad and disappointed, celebrating this milestone was more important. They’d forget about this tardiness tomorrow, only remembering what was worth it.
“Oh! Indeed, happy anniversary, babe.” His eyes not knowing where to look. He forgot.
She hated being called babe.
“Did you have dinner?”
“Yeah, I’m full.” He patted his stomach, simultaneously taking off his black trainers. “We went to this new sushi restaurant I’d talked to you about. It was amazing! The chef was so nice, giving me a tip on how to chop the spring onions correctly.” Oh, how eager he was about it.
“Exciting. So you won’t be eating any tacos I made?” She asked hopefully.
“‘M sorry, YN. I’m so tired, I'm just gonna shower and head to bed. Tomorrow’s morning I’m meeting up with Olivia to talk over the few scenes we’ve got together,” Harry said, yawning and already going up the stairs.
Harry’s and Olivia’s characters didn’t have any scenes where they would talk with each other.
“It’s not an argument. I want to kindly and calmly talk with you. When was the last time we actually discussed our relationship?”
“Is there anything to discuss? We’re fine.”
“Harry,” YN sat up straight, giving Harry a pointer that he’d better listen. “You don’t only discuss your relationship when something’s wrong. And,” she paused, pondering about the next question, “you really think we’re fine?”
“Yes!” He lifted up his voice, becoming edgy. “Day after day you’re insinuating something. Just say it fucking straight, whatever that is on your heart, lay it on me.”
If she did as he had said, would it mean the end? The confrontation was the last thing she wanted. Especially when Harry already was wired. But at the same time, when would be a better moment?
“I don’t think we’re fine. We’re growing apart,” she admitted.
“It’s your opinion.”
“Yes, it is! Thank you for noticing, Harry,” YN expressed sarcastically. “Don’t you see how much you’ve distanced yourself from this -” She pointed between them. “This relationship?”
“Distanced? I’m working, YN. I’m trying to write an album. I’m working on three films. I’m managing a relationship with you.”
“Managing?” Her voice smaller, the weight of his words landing on her.
“Of course, it’s the only fucking thing you’ve heard. Of course.” He scoffed, shaking his head.
Harry stood up from the armchair, throwing his book on an oaken coffee table. His hands brushing over his hair and then beard, he’d grown over the quarantine.
“It’s not. You’re working, Harry. I understand that. I see you writing music and preparing for your roles. I’m here. Just like you wanted me to be. How you begged me to be.” She tried staying as calm as possible. “I am here and you’re not.”
“What do you want me to do, YN? Hmm? I can’t be at the two places at the same time. I can’t give you as much attention as you crave. I can’t.” He was throwing his hands up and down, talking with them as well.
“Is it craving attention by just wishing your partner was there for you?”
“You think I’m not?”
“Stop asking stupid questions, Harry!” She broke her calmness, all her feelings finally having space to leave her body. “You’re not here. Not at home, not in this relationship.”
“I just said, I can’t give you all the attention you crave, “ he repeated.
“Love?”
“What?”
“What about love? Can you give it to me?”
“Oh, now you’re sounding ridiculous. I’m done with this conversation, YN.”
He moved swiftly over the table and rushed towards the stairs.
“I love you, Harry. Can you say it?”
He can’t, she said in her mind, observing how his shoulders tensed, halting his movements. Then, her eyes started getting teary. But she wasn’t going to cry in front of him. No. She’d wait and just like over the last two weeks, she’d wait for him to go to sleep, then she’d sit down in the downstairs bathroom and sob. Sob for minutes or hours. Shaking with all the emotions trapped inside, hurting every inch of her body.
She knew her love should have been celebrated.
“If it’s all in my head just tell me now,” she whispered, knowing he could hear her. “Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow. Tell me that for the last five months you haven’t lied about where you were going. Tell me that you really didn’t forget about our anniversary. Tell me that she’s not the one you’re going to every day. Tell me I’m wrong. I beg you,” she whimpered.
Pathetic, she thought.
He still hadn’t moved. Maybe he was preparing his apology, or a break up discourse, where YN’s thoughts.
“YN,” Harry sighed, still not looking in her direction.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” She pressed him.
“I - I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if I’m wrong or you don’t know what to say?”
“I didn’t cheat on you.” His voice was low, like it wasn’t really his.
Many would laugh but she had never thought about it. She trusted him too much to even consider it. From day one of their relationship to this day, she’d never believed any rumour, any post on social media, any article, any fan, any ‘friend’. She believed him, she believed his ‘I love you’s, his ‘I care about you’s, his ‘you’re the love of my life’, his ‘you’re the only one for me’. No doubt there.
What she thought and worried about was him falling out of love.
And there were more and more signs it had already happened.
“I know. It never crossed my mind.”
Harry’s mood was changing constantly for the last 20 minutes. From very relaxed, to riled up, then annoyed and eventually scared. His mind was full of enigmas he couldn’t solve. Mixed emotions and feelings, messing with him.
“Then what are you accusing me of?”
“Assuming I - we - are fine.”
“YN-”
“Harry. Be genuine. If not with me, then - then just with yourself.” The least she could do was make him realise it.
“I am. I - I am genuine. I -” he gulped. “I love you.”
It was like a dagger stabbing her in the heart. The sentence, echoing in her brain, quizzical voices talking over each other, ragging on her.
Where was that man who’d throw blankets over her barbed wire? She made him her temple, her mural, her sky. Temple, she went to ask for advice, direction, forgiveness and adoration. Mural, she appreciated all over and watched being appreciated by so many. Sky, she couldn’t imagine living without, looking up to it, thanking it for its presence.
“I love you.”
But this one was full of it, full of actual love. It could say everything just by the way she expressed it, all feelings inside it. No more to add, nothing to cut. Just three words. Three sincere words.
“Please,” he begged, knowing what was awaiting him. “Can we go to sleep? We’ll talk about it tomorrow, I promise.”
Letting it slide would mean not talking about it until the moment she’d grow some confidence. She couldn’t do it. As much as it hurt her, what was coming, she needed to be strong. She needed to hear it. No matter the heartbreak.
“You’ll break that promise. Promises about coming home on time, meeting me up for lunch, going with me to that new sushi restaurant, showing me your newest idea for a song. Promises you break, one after the other since February.” She stood up, walking up to him. “Promises about missing me-”
“Stop.”
“Promises about caring about me.”
“I said stop, YN.” His voice slowly gaining power.
“Promises about loving me-”
“I said stop!” He shouted, making her flinch. “Stop it, YN! The way you feel doesn’t give you a reason to put it on me, making me feel like a monster, like the one responsible for everything.”
“But you promised all those things, not meeting them at the end.”
“So what?”
She begged her brain to play with her. He didn't just say it.
“Harry, you lied so many times that I don’t know what’s true anymore. Last month, you talked about meeting Jeff for coffee and the next day there were photos of you with Olivia all over the internet. Few days ago you mentioned the trip with Chris and Gemma, but the same day the trip is going to be, are the days Gemma is spending at her parent’s farm and Chris is visiting our house. Today you said you loved me and - and -,” she couldn’t say it.
This conversation felt like running up to the finish line of the run, you didn’t want to participate in. One that wouldn’t bring you fulfilment. One that would leave you sore all over, but mostly hurting your poor heart. One that the winner - you - would be an actual loser.
He stood silently, looking down at his white socks. He couldn’t bring himself to look in her eyes. She made him aware of his feelings. Or the lack of them. This whole conversation not only angered or annoyed him but mostly made him think. Why did he lie so many times? Why couldn’t he stop? What was he thinking then and now? When did it all start? When did he lose it? Where was he, not realising he was hurting one person he promised not to lay a finger on? Why wasn't there any guilt? If so, why couldn’t he look into her eyes?
“When was the last time you asked anything about my life? Do you remember what show I’m working on? Do you remember the date we scheduled to fly to London? Do you remember anything?” She started listing everything that was bothering her.
“I told you about that new show,” she started answering for him. “Stranger Things. I wrote that one character, a guy who loves music, is an outcast. Character that is so close to my heart. One, I’m proudest of. Do you remember talking about it? Or rather me telling you about it?”
Silence.
“What about that one conversation about going upstate to my cabin? We’re supposed to leave in three days. Or are you meeting up with Olivia to discuss scenes that you do not have together?”
Perhaps she was jealous. And perhaps, deep down, she thought about the possibility. The infidelity. She was so stunned with the love he made her used to be, trust he provided, that the concept of him being unfaithful was buried within other problems.
“I’ll pack some stuff and leave for a few days.” It was all he said, before moving upstairs, leaving her flabbergasted.
Like in a trance, all feelings leaving her body, she walked to the couch and sat down. Thoughts were swirling in her mind, making her numb. She looked across the room, finding the photo of her and Harry from their first visit at Anne’s, laughing maniacally because Gemma had said something funny. It was the first time she met his family properly (in real life, not on FaceTime), seven months into the relationship. It was crazy how now she considered them her family too. Even more than her own.
Was it all going to collapse now?
“Now, lovebirds, big smiles for the family album!” Anne shouted over Christmas music playing loudly.
The warmth coming from the fireplace behind her, and the one provided by Harry, made her cheeks feel hot. Matching sweater she had bought for her and Harry, tickling her neck, big woollen socks she got from Gemma tucking her. They were right after the big dinner, carols singing and gifts exchanging. It all felt like Christmas portrayed in movies.
“It’s an honour, you know,” Harry whispered.
“What d’you mean?” She looked up at him.
“Mum has a big album with only a few photos from each year ending up there. I think it’s the last vacant space for 2018, love.” Harry squeezed her closer to himself, cuddling her. “Now say cheese or gimme a kiss.”
“I’m not kissing you in front of your mum!” she protested with a teasing smile.
“Don’t be a prude,” he joked. “One, little kiss?”
“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’.
“Don’t make me beg.” Harry pouted, stepping on the dangerous territory. His pointing finger holding her chin, making her look at him once again.
He smirked, “you look even more beautiful today, my love.” Smirk turning into his winning smile.
“You are unbelievable,” she shook her head, slightly puckering her lips.
“Okay, that’s enough flirting!” Gemma yelled. “Mum snap a photo before you become grandma.”
They laughed in embarrassment but underneath feeling peaceful.
With a Gucci suitcase in hand, Harry appeared in a corner of her eye, almost swimming to the front door.
“I’ll be back in a few days. I - I need to think about it all. I lo - I’ll see you then, YNN.”
Just that.
The door closed, soon being followed by the sound of the engine starting and slowly withering.
She knew her love should’ve been celebrated. But he tolerated it.
And she did nothing.
She sat and watched him.