Jul 18
remember when harry was bald
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remember when harry was bald
Happy Anniversary to getting confirmation that Harry was bald. Baldrry Anniversary!
hard times ii.
in which y/n misses harry.
word count: 5,606 warnings: descriptions of anxiety/panic attacks, angst, a wee bit of fluff part one
Y/n stood staring at her door for what felt like an eternity, mouth agape and hands sweating beside her, but when she was finally able to break her gaze from the chipped wood that stood before her, she realized it had only been five minutes. Five, incredibly prolonged, minutes.
In a daze, she made her way to her bathroom, reaching in to flick the light on before entering. She stared at herself in the mirror; pink, tear stained cheeks while purple and blue hues graced the delicate skin under her eyes; she felt unrecognizable and hated locking eyes with who was staring back at her. She wanted to sob, a wave of anxiety crashed down onto her. She’d never felt more alone. Especially with the way he had left so abruptly. She wondered what she did to anger him so, while the sound of the door slamming played on repeat in her head.
She moved over to the shower, reaching past the curtain to turn the water on, and undressed; her vision blurred from tears begging to escape, wanting to replicate the warmth of Harry’s hand on her cheek. She still didn’t know his name, but he’s bewitched her in ways she doesn’t understand.
She stood still in the shower, covering her chest with her arms, not daring to move from the position that gave her a sense of protection. She felt watched; paranoid that the boy from the diner had found where she lived and planted hidden cameras and recording devices in every crevice of her home. She regretted getting in the shower, she regretted even undressing and, most of all, she regretted doing whatever she did to make Harry leave.
If she could go back to being in the car with him, she would’ve lied about where she lived, drawing out the quick three minute drive to a four hour road trip if it meant spending the entire night in his presence; if it meant her thigh still felt the warmth of his and especially if it meant he would have looked into her eyes for even a minute longer. She missed the sense of safety he gave her and hoped he meant it when he said someone would be staying in the area she lived in. She was doubtful of someone coming by to bring her to and from work, and even more doubtful that, if she was proven wrong, she would be seeing Harry again.
Once she had worked up the courage to wash her hair, body and face, she wrapped a towel that was far too small for her comfort around her body and stepped out of the foggy, suffocating air of her bathtub. The mirror was fogged up, which she was grateful for, not wanting to make eye contact again with a reflection she hoped was deceiving. Had she looked that disheveled all night? Or was it just a reflection of the trauma she had been so unlucky to endure?
After she dressed herself in fuzzy pajama bottoms and a large sweater, she searched for her phone and tv remote, the silence of her apartment had become louder than ever before; it was unbearable, uncomfortable. She wanted to crawl out of her skin; wanted to become two separate piles of flesh and bone. Maybe her ribs wouldn’t feel so hollow, but still, somehow, filled with rocks. Maybe she wouldn’t have to stare at an unfamiliar face in the mirror and hate what she saw, afterall, she wouldn’t have flesh to prod at.
The silence became deafening. She needed something to fill the space, no longer comfortable with where her internal monologue was headed.
Finding the remote, she turned her tv onto Netflix, playing the first thing she saw (she was so grateful it wasn’t Pride and Prejudice, she would’ve just cried on the floor the rest of the night), and throwing the remote somewhere on her bed. She searched her bag for her phone, remembering she had left it in the pocket of her jeans but forgetting if she had set it down somewhere. And for some reason, not being able to find her phone was her breaking point.
She began pacing, breathing picking up before getting caught in her throat like a jagged pill that was too big to swallow. With trembling hands, she gripped strands of her hair, tugging on the root and yanking as hard as she could. She needed the sting, something to bring her back down; she felt like she was floating away; a balloon in the weak grasp of a six year old, haphazardly letting go, and crying from the lack of care. Her breathing caught again, and she couldn’t contain the sob that was begging, pleading with her to escape.
She made her way to the bed, her vision becoming tunneled, and sat down while tears rolled down her face and onto her neck. The sound of the tv was drowned out by a ringing in her ears. She wished she wasn’t alone. She wished he had stayed a second longer. She wished his cologne wasn’t lingering in her studio. She wished his hand stayed on her cheek and, most of all, she wished he would’ve told her his name. She worried she wouldn’t see him again; she worried over how attached she had become to him, knowing it wasn’t healthy. But she couldn’t help it; not very many men would’ve done what he did for her. She would forever be grateful for him even if he never graced her with his presence again, she hoped he would, though.
Finally, she was able to lay down, pulling the covers over her head and pulling her knees to her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she covered her mouth with her hand, a poor attempt at muffling the wails that left her body with her palm. The crying had begun to make her nauseous, thinking she’d vomit at any moment. The anxiety caused by that boy at the counter built up in her stomach, the pressure building up there beginning to burst. She rolled onto her back, not caring that this is the last position you’re supposed to be in when about to throw up, and thrashed. Gripping the sheets in her hands, her knuckles turned white, and she stuffed as much as she could take in her mouth and screamed, back arching into nothing above her, as a way to release the built up pressure coursing through her blood. Her throat ached.
She wished he had stayed. She longed to be held.
She cried herself to sleep.
+++
Y/n got out of bed only when she had to; when she needed water and had to use the bathroom. She felt like all the life was drained out of her. And when she did use the bathroom, she didn’t wash her hands, not wanting to spend any extra time out of the familiar, comforting warmth of her bed (also not daring to even catch her reflection in the mirror, she was sure it’d make her feel ten times worse). She didn’t eat anything that morning and barely moved a muscle; her limbs aching all over.
When she had to get ready for work, she brushed her teeth facing away from the mirror, and spat the toothpaste into the toilet. Brushed her hair, washed her face and did her makeup, all while barely making eye contact with herself. Though, she did feel significantly better after taking care of herself.
She dressed herself in her normal uniform, a black long sleeve with black corduroy pants, and tried to slip her feet into her high top sneakers without untying them (she wasn’t sure why she always did that when she was never successful; always having to untie them and put them on her feet just to retie them, but she’d never admit defeat and would definitely do the same tomorrow).
Still unsure of where her phone was, she looked to the time displayed on the clock beside her bed. Only having about ten minutes to spare, she had to prioritize her options: either tear her apartment apart in search of her little cracked device or possibly get a coffee and have a cigarette. She chose the latter. She grabbed her keys from the little dish on her kitchen counter, stepped outside and locked the door behind her. She could look later.
Skipping down the stairs, she pulled out the little blue carton of cigarettes and plucked one from the cardboard. Bringing the little stick to her mouth, she searched for her green lighter in her bag (the color only reminded her of his eyes, and introduced a dull ache in her chest), and cupped her hands around the end of the cigarette to light it. She inhaled the smoke, holding it in her lungs til it burned slightly, before exhaling and repeating the process over and over as she began to make her way to the diner. Black, stale coffee from a little ceramic mug will have to do for today.
++
She was an hour into her shift, only attending three tables so far, when the bell on the door chimed. She approached the door and her breath caught. Green eyes looking around before staring into her. He walked to her, stomping his feel on the vinyl, checkered flooring as he neared her. Her expression similar to one of a deer in headlights.
“I thought I told you I’d be sending someone to get you, did you not listen to me?” he spat at her, grabbing her arm to pull her closer, his hand lingering on her elbow. She felt tingly, butterflies erupting from cocoons that filled her stomach. She just stared at him, mouth slightly agape. His nostrils flared, “I asked you a question, Y/n,” y/n, even the way he said her name ignited something deep in her.
“I-I just forgot, I’m sorry,” she bowed her head, gnawing on her bottom lip while her hands suddenly became more interesting than the man she yearned for the night before. He sighed, his eyes closed.
“How did you forget? I told you that just last night,” she shrugged, still looking down. She went to respond, “look at me when I speak to you,” her head shot up, looking at him with doe like eyes. She thought she could get lost in the forest of his eyes; tall trees towering over her with leaves the same shade as his irises, crisp air filling her lungs while the wind whispered her name over and over again.
“I just didn’t think you were serious, I’m sorry,” she continued to pick at her nails with her left hand, needing to occupy herself in some way to keep her composure, and pulled her bottom lip back between her teeth. Pale pink flesh turned bright red from surfacing blood.
He didn’t like her response; she doubted his word. “I was absolutely serious, y/n, your safety,” he cut himself off, taking a deep breath in, he let go of her arm, not realizing he was still holding onto her. “Don’t you dare try to walk home tonight, Jax will be here to get you. You are only to leave if it’s with him, understood?” she nodded, muttering a ‘yes’ under her breath. “I don’t understand mumbling, use your words.”
“Yes,” she replied immediately, “yes, yeah, I understand.”
“Good,” he reached into his jacket pocket, a deep green rectangle in his hand. “You were dumb enough to leave your phone in my car,” her jaw dropped at the insult, he held back a smirk, her reaction feeding his desire for her. “Should keep better track of your belongings, y/n,” she pouted, furrowing her eyebrows at him. She looked like a sad little puppy, and all Harry wanted to do was suck her spit slicked bottom lip between his and touch her soft skin again. He stared down at her and the bell on the door chimed again. She broke her gaze, looking to the patron who’d just walked in. She stepped back to grab a menu and navigated around Harry to bring the customer to an unoccupied table (there was plenty, only one other person here) all while he watched her.
After she gave her introduction and took a drink order, she walked back to Harry. “Thank you for bringing my phone, I won’t forget it tonight,” she smiled at him but dropped it as he didn’t return the kind gesture. He nodded, her eyes wandering from his, unable to maintain composure while staring into his. He hummed out a ‘yeah’ in response.
“Is it always this dead?” she shrugged one shoulder, looking out the window.
“Mmm, kinda, depends on the season,” she looked back to him, “I have to bring him his drink, thanks again for bringing my phone,” she half smiled.
“Don’t forget tonight, please.”
“I won’t,” she meant it. She absolutely wouldn’t. She couldn’t wait for her shift to be over.
He didn’t move to leave, still. He stepped closer to her, taking a deep breath in while her breathing picked up, her heart beating erratically; she swore he would cause her to go into cardiac arrest with how close he was. He looked down at her, a significant difference in height, and y/n felt like she could collapse at any given moment. He was so close.
And that was it. He turned to leave, not saying anything. Just turned around, opened the door and left.
She pretended like it didn't hurt and resumed working as usual.
+++
She didn’t have to stay late tonight like the previous. The last customer left a good forty five minutes before closing, giving her plenty of time to properly clean the little diner and scroll through her phone before being able to actually leave. And once 10:00pm hit, she locked the door before heading into the back for her nightly routine of gathering her things and clocking out.
She stepped outside with one of the cooks, saying their goodbyes to each other before parting ways. She looked ahead of her to the black range rover with a familiar man standing in front, the kind man who sat at the counter last night. She smiled at him while she approached him, he held the door open for her and she slid into an empty backseat. Her smile faltered.
“How was your shift, miss y/n?” He asked as he slipped in the front seat.
She locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror and smiled at him, “it was good, thank you.”
“You gave Mr. Styles quite the scare this morning,” he chuckled.
Mr Styles.
“I’m sorry, I-I really didn’t know he was serious, I’m sorry,” she rushed out, shaking her head rapidly.
“Oh don’t worry, sweet pea, he overreacts to everything,” he pulled out of the parking lot. She stayed quiet in the backseat. The drive was short, she was home almost instantly.
“Thank you for the ride,” she collected her bag, adjusting the strap over her shoulder, “I’m off tomorrow so I won’t be seeing you, um, but should I give you my work schedule or-?”
“Mr.Styles already has it,” he smiled at her in the rearview, “enjoy your day off.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you, again,” she returned the smile and opened the door, jumping out and shutting the door behind her before she made her way up the stairs leading to her studio.
She pulled out her keys from her bag, inserted the key and entered the space. She turned the lights on, made her way to the kitchen and set her keys in the glass dish. After kicking her shoes off, she sat on the floor, leaning her back against her bed frame and scrolled through tiktok, trying to distract herself from descending into madness over the fact that he somehow just had her schedule (it absolutely worked, she watched one fifteen second video and the question was completely out of her mind).
She was giggling at her for you page when an unknown number called. She rolled her eyes, sending it to voicemail and resumed her uneventful scrolling. Or she tried to, as the number called again. And she sent it to voicemail, again. And they called again, she groaned and sent them to voicemail another time. The caller really couldn’t take a hint, could they?
Her phone vibrated in her hand, the number resorting to texting rather than calling. A smart move on their behalf, who answers calls from unknown numbers these days? Literally no one, that's who.
Unknown:
Answer the phone.
Y/n:
who is this??
Unknown:
Harry.
Y/n:
harry who?
Unknown:
Just answer the call, y/n.
The drop of her name freaked her out, she held her phone cautiously in her hand. Breathing picking up as she anticipated another call. The familiar call screen popped up, and she hit the green button this time, held it up to her cheek and uttered a ‘hello’ into the speaker.
“Why’d you send me to voicemail?” she recognized the voice immediately.
A dimple dug into the skin of her cheek as she grinned, “I don’t answer unknown numbers, Harry,” she loved saying his name. She wished she could make a song of it. Harry, Harry, Harry, she would sing in the prettiest, sweetest melody.
“Well, I suppose that's for the best. But from here on I expect an immediate answer, understood?”
“Mmhm,” she responded, chewing on her bottom lip to contain her giddiness; she’s only known him for one day and he already has her like this!
He sighed into his speaker, “I’ve already told you, y/n, use your words. I don’t like repeating myself.”
She rolled her eyes, “yes sir,” she mocked.
“Good girl,” her eyes widened and she swore her heart stopped, and maybe he meant it in a fatherly way, but she would absolutely read into it in a way beyond that. In a very non-fatherly way. “Did you make it inside?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good” she bit her lip and shut her eyes. “And Jax was on time?”
“Yes,” she couldn’t find anymore words in her vocabulary, like twenty three years of speaking and learning new terms were thrown out the window from a simple praise. A praise that probably meant nothing to him,
“And you’re off tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“And yes is the only word you know?”
“Yes,” he laughed, “wait no. No,” she scrunched her face up, covering her eyes with her hand, thankful he wasn’t physically with her in her moment of embarrassment. Though if Harry was here again, she would’ve found a way to embarrass herself even more. “How did you even get my number?”
“Your passcode isn’t really that hard to guess,” she scoffed, he breathed out another laugh. Is it possible to tattoo someone's voice onto your body? “Fifteen-fifteen, real creative.”
“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes, trying to suppress the wide smile that was begging to stretch the skin of her cheeks. “Is snooping through my phone how you found my schedule?”
“Maybe,” he teased. Her smile was too strong, breaking across her face while her cheeks ached from how wide it was. “Get some sleep, y/n. Let me know when you wake in the morning, please.”
“I will, Harry, thank you.”
“Goodnight, y/n.”
“Goodnight, Harry.”
Reluctantly, she pressed the red button on the bottom of the screen, a giddy feeling in her veins. She stood from her position on the floor, and laid on her stomach on her bed, her feet kicking in the air as Harry’s name played on repeat in her brain. She smushed her face into her duvet and squealed, kicking her feet as fast as they could go. She couldn’t wait to wake up tomorrow.
Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry.
She loved the way his name played on repeat in her mind while she got ready for bed.
She loved the way her name rolled off his tongue and fell asleep while it played on repeat; her new favorite song. She just wished she could physically listen to it at that moment.
+++
Harry:
Call me when you’re awake.
Y/n stared at the message for nearly twenty minutes, rereading the five words over and over again, but somehow couldn’t manage to respond or call. She even had her read receipts on, so if Harry did check the message he sent, he absolutely would’ve known she was awake. But she still couldn’t bring herself to reply and she definitely was not going to be calling him; she knew he’d call her if he noticed she had read it, she would just wait for the call from him and take his degradation with a giddy little smile.
When more minutes passed, she hovered her thumb over his contact icon at the top of the screen. What was she even gonna say? Why did he want her to call him? Why did he make her so nervous all the damn time? Even thinking about talking to him made her anxiety spike. Even thinking about hearing his voice say her name again rendered her thoughtless. And so her thumb stayed hovered over the little icon at the top, still not daring to make an actual move. She wondered why he hadn’t called her yet.
Huffing out a groan, she turned off the screen and set her phone beside her, deciding that, instead of dwelling in her anxiety, she would make a little cup of coffee. When she had the time, she would make an oat milk chai tea latte, with extra, extra cinnamon on the bottom and top. Iced, of course. Even in the dead of winter, she’d rather have a cold drink over hot, claiming the hot lattes would give her a tummy ache but somehow teas were fine year round. As soon as she rose from her squeaky bed, her phone began vibrating from somewhere in the sheets. In a panic, she tore her bed apart, pulling the comforter off completely before throwing it to the floor.
“Please god don’t let it go to voicemail, please please please,” she felt around for her phone in a frenzy. How was it so easy to lose when she literally had it in her hand two seconds ago? And, of course he would call as soon as she got out of bed, he would do that. “Yes!” she shouted once she found it underneath her pillow, but, with her luck, it went to voicemail.
Phone:
Harry Missed call
Harry:
Call me.
Harry:
Now.
Oh, he was pissed. She knew she was in for it. She tapped on the missed call notification and held it up to her ear. He picked up immediately.
“You don’t know how to answer a phone, y/n?”
“I do, I just misplaced my phone, I’m sorry,” she pouted, and even though he wasn’t with her, he could see her sad little puppy dog face within her tone.
He sighed into his speaker, “you’re infuriating, you know that?” she frowned.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. He made her feel so small; sometimes in the worst way.
“Don’t be, little lamb, I’m only teasing,” little lamb.
She’s convinced she died. She’s convinced she actually died and is dead and is in heaven. He killed her, she’s sure.
“Did you call me to be mean to me?” she pulled her lips into her mouth, concealing a smile.
He laughed, her heart stopped, “well, that’s one of the reasons,” he chuckled, “do you need to go anywhere today, I can send Jax to get you.”
“Mmm,” she thought for a moment, “I may have to do grocery shopping but it’s not, like, dire or anything,” she shrugged.
“That’s it?”
She nodded, “well, yeah. I don’t really do much on my days off.”
She heard shuffling in the back, “you don’t get bored?”
“Sometimes, but I like having time to myself like this. I’ll have to clean today, though, so that'll keep me occupied. I might bake something if I have the time.”
“Mm, what’ll you bake if you have the time?” every noise, every word he lets out makes her heart flutter.
“I have some old bananas in the fridge so I’m thinking maybe a banana bread with chocolate chips. I wanna try to make cinnamon rolls again but I’m too lazy to wait for the dough to rise,” his laugh echoed through the speaker.
“If you do decide to bake some, could you possibly make enough for me?” Yes. Yes. She would bake anything ever if he’d ask. She’d do anything.
“Yeah, I can make enough for you,” she grinned.
Then, the switch flipped.
“Let me know if you need Jax to get you. Have a good day, y/n,” and he hung up.
A frown replaced her beaming smile, her face contorting in confusion. She’d done it again. She doesn’t know what, but she knew she had done something to upset him again.
Y/n practically had no choice but to stay in bed for the rest of the day. The life drained out of her once again. Her head pounded from the lack of caffeine in her system and her stomach ached from lack of food.
Baking was off the table. Cleaning was unattainable. Her tv played in the back while she stared at the wall.
She hated how she grew attached to people so easily. She hated how badly she wanted him to call her again. She hated how badly she wanted to hear his voice. She hated how much she just wanted to be called little lamb again and kissed on the forehead while he held her. It would never happen, though, but she wanted it to happen. So badly.
She yearned for him the rest of the day.
+++
It was dark by the time she finally got out of bed, leaving the warmth of her comfortable position from which she dwelled on her sadness. The recent time change was not helping her emote properly as it got darker earlier now, and was probably only around 5:30 when she finally made the decision to get up. She winced when her feet touched her freezing hardwood flooring, and made her way to the kitchen. Opening up the fridge, she could’ve sworn that a little fly flew out, as there was nothing but old, browned bananas and plenty of apple juice. She wished she had the courage to text Harry and asked if Jax could take her to the grocery store. Banana bread with chocolate chips sounded so good right now.
If she had the money to spare, she could order some pizza, but, of course with the money she makes and the expenses of her apartment, she doesn’t. So instead, she’ll walk to the 24 hour liquor store down the street and buy a bag of chips and a bottle of wine. Getting drunk and watching Brokeback Mountain sounded like the best idea (it wasn’t).
She pulled a different sweater over her head and replaced her sleeping pair of sweatpants with a pair of outside sweatpants (there’s a difference!). Picking up her bag and keys, she headed out the door locking it behind her.
“Where are you going?” she jumped, dropping her keys from her hand. Piercing green eyes looked through her.
“What are you doing here?” she had to look away, she couldn’t maintain eye contact with Harry. Especially when he’s wearing a navy blue suit with the sleeves rolled up.
“I asked you a question, y/n. I expect an answer,” he stepped to her, looking down at her when she couldn’t even look at him.
“I,” she sighed, tears welling in her eyes again. “I just wanted a snack so I was just gonna walk to the store, it’s not far.”
“Get inside,” she looked up at him, he noticed her pained expression, an unfamiliar ache in his chest. “Please,” he sighed, “please y/n just, just get inside.”
She turned, picked up her keys from the floor and unlocked the door, him following behind her. It reminded her of the other night, but this time she was prepared for him to leave angry again. This time, she wouldn’t let him touch her cheek or be sweet to her. She sat on her bed, her head hung low.
“You didn’t make banana bread?” she shook her head. “Oh.” she muttered something he couldn’t make out and sighed in response, “I don’t understand mumbling, y/n, I’ve told you this.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she still didn’t look at him.
He smiled at her even though she wasn’t looking, “just came to collect my banana bread but I’ve been let down,” he tried to joke with her.
“Sorry.”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair and went to sit next to her on the bed. Still, she wouldn’t look at him. “What’s wrong little lamb?”
She hated that he called her that. Hated that he was so hot and cold with her. She wished he had never come into the diner. Wished that stupid boy never waited for her outside.
“Nothing, ‘m just tired,” she lied, crossing her arms over her chest. He stared at her for a beat.
“Do you still want a snack?” she shook her head. “What have you eaten?” she mumbled out a ‘nothing’ loud enough for him to hear and he ignored the fact that she mumbled against his wishes. “Gotta get some food in ya, little lamb.”
“Stop calling me that,” she loved the nickname, but hearing it in that moment was too much for her. She longed for him to call her that all day, it crushed her thinking that he was only calling her that out of pity now.
“Why?”
“Don’t like it,” she lied, again, but she wouldn’t admit that she loved it. She wouldn’t admit it was her favorite sound.
“Oh okay, I’m sorry then, I’ll stop,” but he really didn’t want to. He wanted to call her his little lamb and stare into her doe like eyes and kiss her pink lips until his lungs gave out. And much like her, he’d never admit it. “But we still gotta get you something li-.” he stopped himself before it could slip from his lips. “Can order you something, anything you’d like,” still stubborn she shook her head. “Y/n please, let me order you something. You need to eat,” he reached up to push her hair behind her ear but she pulled away. He pulled his hand back, the unrecognizable ache deepened.
“ ‘M not hungry.”
“Fine. Go ‘head and pout all night. Fine by me,” he got off the bed and approached the door, hoping it would get her to say something, anything, to get him to stay. But she said nothing. His hand lingered on the doorknob.
“Bye,” was all she said. But he still wouldn’t leave. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, exhaling through his mouth, turned around and walked over to y/n.
He crouched down below her, his hands on her knees. “Please, please just look at me.”
Her hair covered her face, his hands begged him to push it out of the way so he could look into her irises, having never seen any such a beautiful color.
Finally, she looked at him. Her face flushed with watery eyes and a bright pink nose. Tentatively, he reached up, his thumb wiping away a stray tear that managed to escape, before resuming their place on her knees. “Can you please tell me why you’re crying? Please.”
She breathed in and gulped. “You make me feel small,” her lips quivered. “You’re so,” she looked around, trying to organize her thoughts enough to create a coherent sentence. “You’re so hot and cold. This morning, on the phone, at first you were so kind and then you just weren’t,” she looked away from him, picking at the peeling skin around her nails. “You keep leaving like you’re angry and I don’t think you like me very much but you keep coming back and it’s just so confusing.”
“I’m so sorry, little lamb. I just, I,” he was at a loss for words, not knowing how to properly express his feelings.
“You just what, Harry?” she looked down at him, silently begging him to explain himself. They’ve only known each other for two days but he’s captivated her, so enchanted by the mere fact that he’s here before her; that he’s real.
“I don’t know,” he said in a low tone, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I think it’s best if I leave.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry too.”
He removed his hands from her knees, getting up to make his way to the door. He didn’t hesitate this time though, he opened it up, the chill of the autumn breeze passing by him and entering the space. He wanted so badly for her to ask him to stay, but he felt even if she did, she wouldn’t have meant it. That hurt the most.
The door closed behind him, y/n was quick to get up and lock it. She went to lay in her bed again, her face contorting with pain, a sob escaping her lips as her head hit the pillow. Her phone vibrated next to her.
Harry:
Contact: Jax D.
In case you need to go anywhere.
She wouldn’t reply. And she wouldn’t see or speak to Harry for nearly a month.
But she’d think about him everyday. From the moment she’d wake up to the moment she’d fall asleep.
crying in the light of the TV static
tags: @tiaamberxx
couple photoshoot for @enchantedlandcoffee 💫
i hope the girlies just straight up stop loving harry now that he’s bald and he becomes my secret little indie artist once again
Baldrry
23Nov23
Lou’s red-carpet mesh could melt butter, But re: Harry’s hair, he went nutter: First said he ain’t seen it Then muttered AI shit … Horse noises, meet Rolling Stone stutter.
Shedding Memories
A/N: just a quick fic of running into Harry when you both need a friend. I wrote this p quickly so ignore any mistakes. Happy holidays everyone :)
———————————
The part I liked about getting the closing shift was that I could put on my music and completely zone out.
Dealing with the public was a shitty job, no matter the capacity, and zoning out let me compose myself before heading home.
But tonight, a customer stays hunched in the corner seat. I had called out to everyone 15 minutes ago that we were closing in a half hour and by now nearly everyone was gone. The last few people pack up, yet corner guy remains.
“Hi,” I say from behind him. “We’re closing very soon just wanted to let you know.”
“Yep. I’ll be off soon,” he says. His voice is rough and low, a slight accent to it. But he kinda mumbles so I could be imagining it.
But he’s not off soon. I put up all the chairs, lock the doors to anyone new, and wipe down the tables. It’s officially 10pm but the guy’s ass is as glued as it was when he first sat down.
I don’t know how long he’d been here for actually. I got in at 5 and he’d been there with a steaming cup of something. But he just stayed there save for one refill, all evening.
Was he homeless? I examine his hoodie and baggy jeans. They seemed more stylish than survival.
“Hi s’cuse me sir,” I drop the customer service voice a notch and stand next to him. He was really putting a wrench in my evening plans. “I’m sorry to kick you out but it is 10 which is when we close. So I do have to ask you to leave.”
God I hated this shit. Why couldn’t he just leave like a normal person!? And tonight of all nights I’d told my closing partner he could leave early for a date night. I wish I hadn’t. It would’ve felt safer kicking this guy out with another dude around.
“Sorry,” the guy says. His face is mostly covered by his hoodie and he turns away to pull something from his pocket. I watch wearily but it’s just his phone. He sighs and puts it face down. “Is there any chance I can stay here while you clean up?”
“I’m sorry no.” I wasn’t allowed to do that. “Is your phone dead? You can use ours if you need to call for someone?”
He sighs again, like he alone was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and I just wasn’t being understanding enough.
Stop judging so much, I chide myself. Maybe he has a tough life.
“Look, I…” I stop mid-sentence and my mouth stays in the shape of the vowel as he lifts his head up. Is it just me or did he look like global pop-sensation and former boy band member Harry Styles!?
He notices my expression and grimaces.
Okay, it had to be him. And I was acting like a total freak right now.
“Sorry.” I take a step back and bump into the broom I’d balanced on the chair behind me. It clatters to the floor and I jump.
“It’s alright,” he leans down and picks it up for me. Harry Styles was handing me the broom I was meant to close with. I was dreaming. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
“Are you…in trouble?” I couldn’t wrap my head around why a guy like him would spend the whole evening in the corner of a coffee shop, staring at the wall. And then ask to stay while I closed.
He looks at me for a beat, his eyes are every bit intense as I assumed they would be. In real life, his beauty is a lot more breathtaking than photos. Or maybe I was just having some sort of breakdown. And he’s at least 7 inches taller than me, so he towers over me and I feel nothing but intimidated.
“Fuck. Sorry. Wait.” I shake my head. I have to look away from him. I had to clear my head!
I walk with the broom to the register. “Stop acting like a weirdo!” I whisper to myself.
Harry Styles was in my coffee shop. I was alone with Harry Styles in my coffee shop. What the hell was this? Wattpad?
I turn back around, but he’s looking out the window.
“Sorry. I’m being super weird right now but I wasn’t expecting…you. To be the guy I’m trying to kick out!”
“It’s fine.” He turns back to me.
“I don’t want to be nosy and pry but um, is everything okay? Did you need…help?”
His face loosens a bit with a small smile. I look past him so I can continue having this conversation and not require an inhaler for the first time in my life.
“It would help if I can stay here while you clean up actually.”
“Yeah! Okay…I mean I’m not supposed to but you’re like, Harry Styles? I’m sure my manager would not mind a single bit. She plays your songs all the time it’s basically part of onboarding. By the time we know all the drinks on the menu we also know all your lyrics and I….I’m gonna shut up.”
I turn back with the broom and start sweeping. Was I too awkward? Was I even sweeping like a normal person? Oh god was I being too stiff. Did I forget how to sweep???
I pause.
Maybe I should ask him another question. Maybe-
“I don’t want to get you in trouble uhm-,” I turn and he’s speaking to me 10 feet away. He squints at my name tag.
“Y/N.” I say it for him.
“Y/N. I can leave if I’m gonna get you in trouble-“
“No. No it’s okay! Seriously just sit wherever. But I will put on my own music while I close up, and you’ll have to suffer through it.”
“I don’t consider listening to music suffering.” He jokes. He makes a joke! With me!
“Well then you’ll love Baby Shark,” I joke back. He tilts his head—the joke doesn’t land. “Bad joke. Nevermind. I’m a Phoebe Bridgers fan so just prepare to be in your feelings!”
“I love her,” Harry nods approvingly. “Play on.”
As Phoebe’s distinct voice plays through the speakers I find myself relaxing, mouthing the words, and getting lost in the closing up routine. Of course, I never forget Harry Styles was sitting in the corner. If I did I would be belting the songs out loud. But it starts to feels less dreamy and the randomness begins to flatline to normal.
“Okay, I’m just gonna toss these out.” I shake the unglamorous bags of trash in my hands a half hour later. “And then I’m kicking both of us out.”
“Let me give you a hand.” Before I could protest Harry freaking Styles takes the trashbag from my hand and walks to the back door.
“Whaaaat,” I whisper to myself before scurrying behind him.
He tosses it with ease. I’m sure he had amazing arms under that baggy hoodie of his. He could probably toss me as easily—
I needed to chill.
“Do you have a ride?” I ask as we wash hands. “I can give you a lift somewhere? Unless your car’s outside? Um. Yeah. You probably have your own car nevermind.”
He’s silent, maybe I needed to shut up and stop blabbering.
“I take it you haven’t seen the news.” He leans back against the counter, drying his hands.
“News? Do people still watch that?” Bad joke. Stop talking.
“Uh,” his eyes crinkle slightly. “Social media. Whatever.”
“Nope. Been a busy day.”
“Right…”
“Something happened right? That’s why you’re hiding out here.”
“Yep,” he nods.
“Did your nudes leak or something?”
He looks at me, one brow raised. Fuck! I feel the blood rush to my face.
“Sorry! I am so out of my depth right now and I don’t know why I said that! That was bad. It’s just the worst thing that came to mind I-“
I register his shoulders shaking at first and then he’s doubling over laughing. I stare at first but then I chuckle with him. I’m too nervous to actually laugh at whatever’s happening even though I know looking back I definitely will.
“That’s alright,” he’s grinning when he looks back up. I would be mesmerized by it if his hood hadn’t slipped back to reveal no fucking hair.
“What…is that…?”
“What?” When I point to his head he touches it. He seems to remember himself. “Oh. I forgot I’d done that.”
“That’s new? Is that what’s out there? Is that why you’re hiding?”
“It’s not really new. I cut it all off yesterday-“
“I think you did more than cut it.” It was basically buzzed.
He laughs again and I feel bubbly inside. The bubbles fill me with a weird energy—just as long as it didn’t bubble up out of my mouth and come out in babbling I didn’t have to worry. I cover my mouth to contain any nervous words just in case.
“Why are you covering your mouth? Is it that bad?”
He looks into the warped reflection on the coffee machine. It didn’t look bad.
“It’s different. You’re known for your hair y’know? It’s not bad…just wow. Different.”
“Different’s not bad?”
“No! We’ll just need to get used to it. Honestly you kind of pull the whole buzzed look off. I bet if you grew out like a proper moustache it could be really…”
Thank god I stop myself this time. Because I was going to say a word I would definitely be mortified by.
“Really?” He smirks.
“Cool.” I finish lamely. “So um. Anyway. Are you good or should I drive you somewhere? Are you in trouble with the police or something?”
“I could use a ride…” He says with a slight cringe. “Is that something you’re alright doing?”
“Yeah! I was just gonna go home and stuff my face with leftovers before falling asleep in front of like, Gilmore Girls or something.”
“That’s a good show. That sounds like a nice time actually.”
“Does it? Because I regretted saying it as soon as it came out of my mouth.”
“Do you have a filter?” He asks but he smiles, he wasn’t annoyed. Not yet at least.
“Usually. But I also don’t normally have casual conversations with people I only ever see on the news or on my phone.”
“Do people still watch the news?”
It dawns on me slowly, he was making fun of me and repeating the question I asked earlier. I cover my face with my hands and he laughs. It’s such an intoxicating sound. And I really want to stop feeling like an idiot.
“I’m just bothering you,” hands come down on my wrist and oh my fuck he was touching me! He tugs at my hands and I drop them, still unable to meet his eyes.
I stuff my hands in my pocket. “I know. I’m probably going to lie awake for hours tonight thinking about every embarrassing thing that’s come out of my mouth.”
“No look,” he steps in front of me. He puts his hands on his chest and I notice the rings on his fingers, his tattoos. This was really Harry Styles in front of me.
“No look at me.” He tries to get my attention again. “See, I’m just a person. Just like you. Yeah I sing and shit but I’m just a guy.”
“You say that like I don’t have the world’s worst history with guys.” I finally make the push to look up into his face. I had an even worse history with attractive guys. “But I understand what you’re trying to achieve. And I appreciate it. You’re just shmegular and I can stop being a weirdo.”
“My phone works.” He says suddenly. “I just turned it off because I have a million people calling and texting me for some sort of response.”
I don’t reply, unsure where he was going.
He didn’t really have to make all this effort to make me comfortable but I recognize why he’s doing it; trying to bring himself down to earth for me. And it’s sweet and endearing and I want to tell him he didn’t have to do that. That I would help him out even if he wrote me a note, simply because he was Harry freaking Styles. But I just stay quiet for the first time tonight.
“Someone leaked pap photos of my girlfriend cheating on me.”
I gasp, I can’t help it. “I’m sorry. Harry. I-That’s an awful fucking way to find out.”
“It…” he glances around as if we weren’t the only two people around. “I shouldn’t be saying this but. It was just for show. The relationship, I mean. The guy in the photo’s her actual boyfriend so I don’t really care. Never wanted to do this fake shite in the first place but I was kinda forced to by my management. It promoted my new single, and her new show or whatever.”
“Oh.” I guess that’s the way his world worked. My world was begging my coworker to change shifts with me so I could have my weekly mental breakdown in private.
“Yep. So everyone is expecting me to give a statement, play the part of jilted boyfriend, but I can’t be arsed by any of it. I just want everyone to leave me alone.”
“So you holed up in the corner of this coffee shop, and stared at that wall for the last like…how many hours?”
“I lost count.” He shrugs. “And I did have a book I was reading. I wasn’t just staring at the wall.”
I shrug, “I’m not judging. I stare at the wall a lot. Especially on my breaks.”
He laughs again, and it breaks the serious air around his story.
“So where am I taking you if you’re avoiding everyone? Do you have a hotel room or?”
“It’s probably swimming in paps.” He sighs.
“So wild idea. I have a couple roommates who are supposed to be out tonight. Do you want to stay at my place until you feel like answering your phone?”
His face looks so hopeful for a second. “No. I can’t do that to you.”
“Remember when I detailed my evening plans? It’s honestly nothing.”
He gets all broody as he shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to drag you into it-“
“Look you’re in disguise. I live far away from whatever hotel you can afford that no one will see you. And I can drop you off on a street corner tomorrow morning whenever you want.”
“Like a hooker?”
“Yeah. We can play reverse pretty woman.”
He smiles. I stare.
“Fine. Yeah. Alright.”
“Alright! Let me turn out the light and we’ll go.”
So that’s how I find myself driving Harry Styles to my apartment, realizing the closer we get to home how filthy I had left my room.
“Don’t judge please,” I say in the elevator up. “But our apartment is not magazine worthy. It’s just home.”
“Home sounds nice,” he says. His hoodie’s back up and covering most of his face. It feels silly talking to him like this.
“Stay here,” I instruct him when we walk in. I zip into my room, it’s not as bad as it could be but I move all the dirty laundry to the hamper, gather the papers on my desk in one pile, shove my makeup back into a drawer, and gather as many empty cans and glasses into my hands to take back to the kitchen.
When I go back to him he’s standing exactly where I left him.
“Okay. So I only have leftovers. Chinese. Are you hungry? I can order us something else or-“
“No that sounds perfect.”
“Does it?” I tell him to come in and he follows me to the kitchen, sitting down at the island as I pull plates and containers out. “Okay just fill your plate and I’ll heat it up. Are you sure this is alright?”
“You’ll be surprised at my diet when I’m on tour. It starts out good but by the end of it I want to get my stomach pumped for all the shite I put into it. This looks delicious.”
I dish out dinner for us and decline his request to help. I try not to be hyperaware of him watching me move around our small kitchen, and focus on thinking of him as a guest. That’s it.
“So um, why the haircut?” I ask as I carry the plates to my room. I had the biggest room in the house and by biggest that simply meant I could afford a queen sized bed and my closet could fit all my clothes. I’d been living here for the last year and a half with my two roommates.
“Eh,” he runs his hand over his head. I was really tempted to do it, see what it felt like. But I refrain. Obviously. “Turning over a new leaf? In a lot of cultures, hair symbolizes a lot. I felt like starting fresh, and getting rid of all of it would just help.”
“Yeah I’ve heard of that. Like the hair that’s grown has witnessed everything over the last few years—at least if you grow it long enough to last a few years.”
“Hm yeah,” he says between bites. I can’t believe Harry Styles was eating last night’s leftovers with me. “Exactly.”
“Maybe I should chop most of my hair off.” I muse. “I could use that new leaf shit.”
“Why?” Harry asks bluntly. I nearly choke on a piece of broccoli. “Sorry. I’m being the nosy one aren’t I?”
“No,” I clear my throat. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”
“You don’t have to answer.” He smiles, god did he have to look so charming? “But I’d love to know what memories your hair holds.”
Damn. He had a way with words.
He’s an artist, I think. Duh.
“Let’s see.” I hold the bottom few inches. “Quitting my fancy job because I was burnt out and going through an existential crisis.” I climb higher and hold the next few inches. “Traumatic breakup with my long-term guy. How could a lawyer date a barista after she’d been a doctor y’know? A power couple can’t include a lowly job like a barista.” I roll my eyes like I wasn’t going to cry all over again, and hold another inch. “And this here is me grieving everything I thought my life was going to be.”
He’s silent for a bit. I think I’ve actually shocked him into silence. I almost laugh.
He puts his plate down and leans over, topping the top of my head. “This?”
The spot where he touched my head thrums. I think about the last year of my life. “Realizing my identity isn’t my career. And that for the first time in my life I can pursue my passions.”
“Hm.” He nods. “That’s a good realization.”
“Yeah, it really was for me.”
“I don’t have any boundaries between my identity and my life…” he goes silent again. I know he’s thinking so it doesn’t feel awkward. I go back to my dinner.
“So what’s the passion you’re pursuing?” He asks. Probably to change the subject.
“Well…” I put my plate down and walk to my closet, sliding open the door. I point to the floor. His face scrunches and he gets up to get a closer look.
“Do you sing or something?” He asks.
“God no!” I laugh. I guess he would think that seeing the blanket, laptop table, and microphone. “I started a podcast and it’s soundproof in here. I love this little space actually.”
“A podcast?!” He looks at me, impressed. I try not to blush. “What about?”
“Um, well I do know my medical shit—studied it for years and all. But it’s about taking care of ourselves, giving advice to people, burnout, identities, everything I learned leaving my job. All that.”
“Wow.” He nods thoughtfully. “That’s amazing.”
I shrug and go back to sitting on my bed, taking another bite of my dinner.
“Do you get a lot of listens?”
“I have a couple hundred listeners.” I tell him. “Actually. At first I was obsessive over the numbers. I’d spent the last couple decades obsessed over numbers—grades and all that. It was a habit.”
“And now?”
“Well I had to force myself to never look at my numbers for the first while and it helped me focus on the content itself. Make sure I was making something I put my heart behind, not just something I thought would do well. It’s been half a year now, and I’m just starting to look at them again.”
“Wow. Half a year that’s amazing. Good for you. I know we barely know each other but…I’m proud of you for figuring that all out. It’s inspiring.”
He was right, we barely knew each other. Yet somehow I knew he was genuine about what he was saying. I feel a warm tingling sensation in my stomach. “Thank you Harry.”
“Yeah. Wow.” His eyes flicker over my hair. “There is a lot of memories in that hair of yours.”
“Yeah it’s like, was it Mean Girls? My hair isn’t big, but it’s so long because it’s filled with secrets.”
“Yeah,” he smiles. “That’s a good line.”
“Maybe I should cut it off,” the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea. Why was I keeping it this long? “I should cut it off.”
“Uh I don’t know…”
“No!” I get up again, firm in what I wanted. The only reason my hair was always long was because my ex had told me once he liked it long. And now that I thought about it, I’d unconsciously kept it that way since. Fuck that! I wanted to get rid of these memories, “I want to turn a new leaf and all that bullshit.”
“I feel like I’ve been a bad influence.” Harry says softly.
“You’re cutting my hair Styles-“
“I don’t know how to!”
“C’mon we’ll watch a youtube video. You play guitar I’m sure you’re good with your hands.”
An awkward silence stretches and he coughs out a laugh.
“Oh my god not like that!” I take his hand and try not to think of whatever image he had just thought of. “Bathroom, scissors, phone. Let’s go.”
I queue up a video as he follows me. I shut the door and shove the video in his hands. Meanwhile, I turn the bathtub tap on and dunk my hair in it to get it wet so it would be easier to cut. Like the video said.
“Y/N,” Harry says wearily. Hearing my name out of his mouth is weird.
“Did you watch it?” I rummage through the drawers and come up with a pair. “Here.”
“They use an electric-“
“Just do it with the scissors!” I encourage him. “If it’s uneven that’s okay! I can get it fixed later in the week.”
I turn back to the mirror and everything slows down as I take the scene in. Harry Styles in my bathroom, standing behind me and eyeing me nervously. Me, with my too-long hair, flushed and determined to get this all over with, to shed the memories I’d been holding on for too long.
“Are you sure?” He asks, looking me dead in the eye through the mirror.
“Yep! I’m 100% sure.”
“Don’t kill me if you wake up tomorrow and regret this.”
“Just cut it.”
“So bossy,” he smiles and begins combing my hair down like the video had. I watch him, it’s endearing how much concentration he has as he perfects my strands and begins to measure. He’s slow, and deliberate, and I know I picked the right dude because I’d guessed correctly—he was a perfectionist.
When the first big chunk is removed and he deposits it in the sink I tear up. I feel the weight of it removed and it makes me think of everything it witnessed.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No!” I reach out and touch the hair that was attached to me seconds ago. It was just hair, but it also wasn’t. “Continue.”
His hand brushes my neck again and I try not to lean into his touch. Try not to think about how close we were. This was Harry Styles, not just a random dude. Get it together. Nothing was going to happen here as intoxicating as his touch was and whatever cologne he wore.
When he finishes my hair, it barely brushes my shoulders.
“I.” I turn around and face him. “Love it!”
“Really?”
“Really!” I turn back to look at myself again and I see his shoulder settle down. He watches me turn my head every way in the mirror.
“It looks good on you. The short hair.”
It did. My ex never saw me with short hair. It was like I was a new woman.
“I feel brand new.”
He smiles behind me. “That’s how I felt yesterday”
I turn back to face him, forcing myself not to think too hard about the foot of space between us. “Thank you. I know this isn’t how you thought your evening was going to go. But I needed this. So…thank you.”
Something flickers past his face. His smile grows smaller. “Yeah. This actually made me forget all about what’s waiting for me. So I should say thank you for distracting me.”
“No moping,” I open the door to the bathroom, grateful to get more space. “There are drinks in the fridge if you’d like. I’m going to wash out my hair quickly and then you and I are watching Gilmore Girls.
“I’ve only watched the first season.” He backs out into the hall.
“Perfect. We’ll start at season 2!”
When I get back to my room, jammies on and ready for a cozy night in, Harry’s already looking half asleep.
I tell him where to sit—I’d set up my room so that my bed is against the wall and the set of pillows turns it into a day bed. On the opposite wall I’d left it blank to allow my projector to play anything from my laptop. He settles onto one side and I sit beside him, making sure to leave a foot of space between us.
As I navigate my laptop to pull up the show, I feel fingers on my hair. I turn to him.
“It actually suits you. Look really nice.”
He rubs a strand between his fingers.
“I feel lighter.”
He drops his hand and rubs it over his own head.
“Me too.”
We smile at each other, a bond tying me to him. I hoped doing this could be like a last step before I can fully move on from the last chapter of my life. I’d already done so much of my healing but I still found myself crying at 2ams and staring at my bedroom ceiling at 2pms. I needed this—talking to a stranger about it all, and shedding the weight physically.
Now all that was left was to cozy up and watch my favourite show.
“So how many Gilmore girls are there?” Harry whispers as I press play.
“You did not just ask that question. Are you sure you watched season 1?”
“A couple years ago yeah.”
“Then just watch.” I pull my blanket up and feel Harry shift slightly, our shoulders touch.
“Thanks Y/N,” he whispers after a while.
“Thank you,” I tell him. Whatever we did for each other tonight felt like fate had put us in a blender and pressed power. I mean, me and Harry freaking Styles were together on my bed at 1am, watching Gilmore Girls and falling asleep halfway. I guess we’d both needed a fresh perspective and a friend, and this was a good a way as any to make some new memories.