Harry Styles Oneshots

By Morning

Y/N's going through a rough patch and Harry knows just what she needs to feel better.

Warnings: mentions of depression, anxiety and panic attacks.

WC: 2.6k

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For the most part, Y/N's pretty confident in what she does and how she does it. She knows her limits (though she still pushes past them), and she knows her worth. Lately, however, lines have blurred and she's lost herself in seas of self doubt and anxiety.

For the past two weeks, she's kept it to herself. She's managed to smear a smile on her lips and get on with it, but tonight, after a particularly awful day at work, she doesn't have it in her to pretend anymore.

When she gets home, all teary-eyed and pouty-lipped, Harry knows his suspicions were true.

He isn't silly, he knows his girl better than she knows herself but he also knows better than to tell her how he thinks she's feeling. Harry knows Y/N will always come to him when things get too much, in her own time. He knows not to push her, knows to wait until she feels like she truly needs him.

And it's not like she doesn't always need him. Because she does. They need each other and the others support but Y/N's always had to deal with her troubles alone and when she met Harry, she struggled to open up about when she needed that support and help.

Tonight, though, they both know she needs him to the point that she won't pretend that she doesn't.

He watches from the kitchen counter, looking down the hall to where she stands at the front door, tiredly kicking off her shoes and shrugging her jacket from her shoulders.

In the warm light of the hallway, her face appears solemn and tired. It lacks its usual natural vibrancy and Harry's sure from his five meters away, he can see the drowning anxiety swimming in her lonesome eyes.

"I'm home," she calls out. Harry quickly huskies himself with dishing up her cheesy bowl of pasta as she turns to walk toward the kitchen. He's got her pink apron wrapped around his tall frame and it stops high thigh, barely longer than the pair of black briefs he's got on with an old Rolling Stones shirt.

"Hi, love. How was work?" he makes small talk as he sprinkles a generous flurry of extra cheese. Y/N's aching feet pad over to Harry's side where she wraps her arms around his middle and Harry lifts an arm to tuck her into his side.

He leans closer to press a kiss to her forehead as she buries her face in his chest, eyes fluttering closed at the overwhelming sense of peace she's found in him.

She doesn't say anything and Harry gives her a moment to decide whether or not she wants to tell him what's going on yet. A minute passes... and then another. Harry gets the hint and kisses her forehead again before he's gently ushering her to the dining table where he tucks her chair in and offers his love the food he prepared.

He hears a muffled thanks as Y/N mindlessly starts to twirl her fork in the swirls of cheesy spaghetti, and he's about to walk away, to sit opposite her and ask about her day but the second he shuffles past her, she's latching onto his wrist and staring up at him with bewildered, teary eyes.

The sight brings a heavy frown to Harry's face and he crouches down beside her. Harry reaches a hand to caress her cheek but her matted hair sticks to her clammy skin and he can see her bottom lip begin to tremble.

Maybe she's been a lot worse than they both thought.

"Love?"

The sound of his gentle voice beckons her to a blubbering mess and she crashes face first into Harry's chest. His arms wrap around her in a protective embrace, cheek smushed against the top of her head and a comforting hand rubs up and down her back, telling her to let it all out.