Harry Smuts

Living Room Flow

credits: harry-bun on tumblr

Warning: Contains sexual references and explicit language.

Harry must've stayed quiet like that for hours - the only answer to his quiet was the soft crackle of static. The one dark room seemed to swallow Harry whole into an eternity that he wasn't familiar with: an eternity he never thought he'd have to face. Despite the slight shake of Harry's hand, he didn't want to put down the phone. His rage and sadness rapidly interchanged as Zayn confessed his decision to leave. Harry tried to listen as Zayn struggled to speak, and then, all at once, gave Harry every detail of pain and excitement for the future.

"I'll - I'll take care of 'em," Harry muttered, battling the tightness in his throat. He wanted to beg him to stay. Tell him that things wouldn't be the same. But he couldn't. He knew Zayn was only doing what he thought was best for himself.

"I'll still check up on everyone. I'll always be your - One Directions - number one fan."

Harry took a long swig from his bottle to prevent him from saying anything. This was actually happening. It wasn't 'our number one fan', it was 'your number one fan'. He didn't even make the announcement and already he considered himself as part from them. There was no reconsidering.

"Of course, mate. And you know we'll always be here to support you." He did want Zayn happy. That's what he wanted. That's all he wanted for his four band members - just for them to be happy.

They talked a while more before Harry clicked the phone off, sitting with a bottle of whisky and heartache. He didn't want to talk to the other boys, because then he would have to pretend to be okay with all of this. He knew he would have to be strong for them in the following months. But for now, he just needed room from everything One Direction. He found it hard to understand could've so quickly sacrificed what has made up the last four years. Was he really that unhappy?

Harry brought the liquor to his lips again, taking a longer drag, in hopes that the emptier the bottle would get, the fuller he would feel. It didn't help. It just made the already dark room fuzzy, and his head light. The pain was still there. He needed some thing more distracting. Harry looked at the phone that laid numb in his hand, scrolling through his contacts till he came across the one he'd been looking for;

Jordan Sander.

Her name brought both numbness and relief, much like the alcohol Harry had found comfort in. Hesitating, he sent her the text; the same one he had sent her a million times before and the same text he had received;

'My house in 15?'

Harry threw his phone hard against he opposite pillow, angry that he needed her there, knowing the limits her visit entitled. He took another swig of the whiskey, shutting his reddened eyes as the liquid burned his throat. She'd be here any minute. Any minute and it would be okay.

He looked at his watch again: 2:26. As if on cue, there was one gentle knock at the door - almost like a secret code between the two of them. Harry's heart immediately eased at the knowledge of her presence. He placed the bottle on the counter before walking towards the door.

Bigger and more intimidating then he had ever realised, Harry watched he door, knowing she'd be behind: waiting to repeat their ritual. His hand reached for the door, lingering for a momentarily before he opened.

There she was - her soft dusty blonde hair fell in a fit of curls, which contrasted beautifully with her weak coffee-coloured skin tone, thanks to her Dutch and African American heritage. Her slightly chapped lips were curved into a gentle smile. His heart quickened barely at the sight of her.