Mr. Styles (H.S.) [COMPLETE]

Forty-Six

Harry spent the weekend at home – phone off. He'd never done that before. He was always reachable, but he just couldn't do it – not now. Katherine was taking time and Harry knew he needed to do the same.

It was very unlike him to spend any time in bed while he was awake – unless some sort of fucking was happening – but he couldn't seem to pull himself out of it. His mind just spun in circles. He could only think of Katherine. He could only think about what his life was going to become once she told him to fuck off forever.

He never had time for depression before, but that weekend, he let it wrap around him like a cocoon. He hated himself for what he'd become. He hated himself for all his weaknesses and short-comings. He hated himself for what he did to Katherine, to their baby. He hated himself for everything.

"Mr. Styles..." He heard as the door to his bedroom opened slowly.

It was dark in his room. He spent the entire day in bed, doing absolutely nothing but sleeping and thinking and sleeping and thinking. His mind never shut off. He even dreamt about her.

"Sir..." He heard again and realized Mr. Harris was at his door.

"Yeah," Harry breathed lowly.

"I've made you some dinner, sir. You should eat something," Harris told him.

"Yeah," Harry grumbled as he stared up at the dark ceiling.

"Okay," Harris conceded, closing the door once again.

Harry got out of the bed slowly, realizing he hadn't brushed his teeth all day. He went into the bathroom and relieved himself before brushing thoroughly. He looked at himself in the mirror and almost didn't recognize who he saw. His facial hair had grown out too long, his hair was disheveled and in need of a haircut, and the bags under his eyes were dark and prominent. He looked how he felt – like shit.

He quietly made his way out to the kitchen to find whatever food Harris made for him. He didn't really feel like eating – he felt sick to his stomach more than anything, but he knew he probably should have some sustenance.

Harris was in the kitchen when Harry stepped in. He looked surprised to see that his boss was actually out and about. Harry grunted a greeting at him as he took a seat at the center island where Harris set a place for him.

"Hello, sir," Harris greeted, immediately turning to the large pot on the stove, ladling soup into a bowl. A moment later, he set it in front of Harry and he noticed it was homemade chicken noodle soup.

"I wasn't sure if you were sick or not. Chicken noodle soup is good even if you're not. It's my wife's recipe," Harris told him with a small smile.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly, looking down at the hearty bowl of soup. He had no appetite, but again, he knew he should eat.

"Would you like something to drink, sir?" Harris asked a moment later.

"Water is fine," Harry told him as he picked up his spoon and brought it down into the hot soup.