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His spare keys jiggle and hit each other around the ring as Harry enters through the front door of the small flat, then locks it right behind him the moment he flicks on the light on the wall. Glancing towards the living space, which he finds eerily quiet and empty, he kicks off his dusty Vans and steps over them. His brows settle in a soft frown.
Harry was expecting Delilah to dance around the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand, swaying her hips to the playlist they curated together. Rather, he finds her flat awfully desolated. From where he stands, he has a view of the living area. Spotting his girlfriend's coat and purse thrown haphazardly on her sage green couch, the crease on his forehead deepens in concern.
"Sugar?"
No response.
She has to be in the bedroom, he thinks to himself. She's been reportedly exhausted and fatigued in the past week, so he wouldn't be offended if he were to find her flaked out on the bed. Taking cautious steps, he peaks through the crack, into the bedroom. His posture visibly relaxes as he pushes the door open stealthily, mindful to keep the hinges from creaking. He identifies the lump under the duvet as Delilah's sleeping figure.
She's facing away from him, the duvet pulled up to her chin. With an easy smile, Harry rids himself from his purple corduroy flares and chintzy-patterned button-up, leaving him in nothing other than boxers and a t-shirt. He sees Delilah's body shift and hears a quiet yet prominent sniffling sound.
"Honey?" he calls out, "You up? Can hear you sniffling."
She gives no answer.
Alarmed, he carries himself across the room, to her side of the bed. "Hey," he coos, "What's the matter?" He gives the covers a light tug, signalling he wants to see her face.
An almost inaudible choking sound tumbles from Delilah's cherry lips. Harry is quick to peel back the duvet, revealing his girlfriend's broken state. Bloodshot eyes, tear-stained cheeks—she's been crying. Allowing his arms to scoop her up, he tightens his grip around the woman he loves oh-so dearly as if he's the glue to her shattered pieces.
"Darling," he croons, petting her head and adjusting her on his lap to get her comfortable. He holds her body into his, his wind-nibbled cheek pressing to her piercing hot forehead. It causes him physical pain to see her cry. "You know I love you, talk t'me. Tell me what's wrong and I'll take care of it," he rasps.
She nestles in his arms, her body shaking as the sobs wash through her, leaving Harry terrified and helpless. Her salty tears dampen his shirt. He shushes, kissing her hairline, waiting for her to speak the words of the chaos in her mind. Reaching for her hand, he finds it clammy and warm. Still, he slots his finger between hers. "You've got t'talk to me so I can help."
Her chest puff and she realises a single rigid sigh. "You say you love me."
Harry reassures her like it's his default setting, "I love you. I do. All of you."
