Because Hearts Get Broken

Moving on?

* Mature content warning*

Back in London Harry can't remember when he last had a good night's sleep. The past weeks have been all about keeping awake after dawn, staring at the ceiling, piecing together where it all went wrong with her.

And during the days, there's Emily, an upcoming singer-songwriter on his same label who seems to be everything he thought he needed: warm, engaging, and full of life.

Their outings have quickly become a media sensation, with photographers capturing every touch and glance between them.

He plays his part well, but internally, he is a tangled mess.

As he sits with Emily at a trendy café, he catches his reflection in a nearby window. His brow is furrowed, lost in thought. He forces a smile. Emily's laughter comes then, he has stopped listening, again, so he turns to face her with irresistible eyes, softly smiling. It always does the trick. She laughs louder then and the sound of her happiness is genuine, but for him it just sounds like an echo in an empty room.

"I'm really glad we could have this time together," Emily says, her eyes bright as she reaches for Harry's hand across the table.

Harry nods, but his mind drifts. "Yeah, me too," he replies, his voice lacking conviction. Because each time he looks at Emily, he finds himself subconsciously comparing her to Taylor. It's a cruel game of emotional contrast, and Harry can't seem to escape it.

A few nights later, Harry finds himself at a low-key gathering, drinking more than usual. By the end of the evening, he's just drunk and vulnerable. He bumps into a casual acquaintance, someone he used to sleep with; no holding hands, no meaningful glances—just a superficial physical connection.

As they stumble into her apartment, Harry's desperation overrides any sense of restraint. She undresses him quickly, her hands moving with efficiency. Harry's kisses are hard and needy, driven by his need for release. His lips press against hers with urgency, pouring out all of his frustration and longing. He grips her tightly, trying to lose himself in the moment.

In the bedroom, as she touches him, he focuses intently on her skin, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts of Taylor.

He runs his fingers between her legs, his touch firm and purposeful. He moves with practiced skill, intent on making her come quickly, focusing on the immediate physical sensations to drown out the haunting memories.

Each touch, each movement is a struggle to ignore the images of Taylor's flushed face, her skin pressed against his, the way her body had responded so perfectly to his touch.

He groans and enters her with a forceful thrust, desperate to silence the memories. He increases his pace, thrusting harder and faster as if trying to beat back the ache of longing. The friction, the rhythm—he focuses on these sensations, pushing himself to the brink to escape his thoughts.

His breathing becomes ragged as he drives harder, each thrust a painful reminder of what he has lost. And the physical release he so often seeks is fleeting and hollow, leaving him feeling profoundly empty again.

Afterward, lying beside her, Harry stares at the ceiling, like every night.

The puzzle pieces of his downfall with Taylor are still scattered around, still unsolved, leaving him feeling more isolated than ever.

-

On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean Taylor's day starts before dawn. Her phone's alarm wakes her up.

She silences it with a heavy sigh, feeling not particularly motivated as she faces the day ahead.

She stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It shows dark circles under her eyes, testament of another restless night haunted by fragmented dreams of Harry, Harry and her, Harry and Emily. Harry and anyone.

She mutters to herself, "Great, just what I needed, another day of looking like I've been attacked by a raccoon."

She arrives at the filming location for her new music video, the place is bustling with energy. Crew members move about, setting up lights and adjusting cameras. Taylor forces herself to match their enthusiasm. Her directing assistant, Zoe, greets her with a warm smile. "Morning, Taylor. Ready to make some magic?"

"Yeah, let's get started," she replies, smiling wide.

Later that night Taylor slumps onto her bed, after an intense day of rehearsals, curling up with her cat, Olivia, nestled contentedly against her. Her little spoon, she smiles.

The room is illuminated by the glow of the television, as she unwinds the day by falling asleep to her favourite shows.

She strokes Olivia absentmindedly.

The TV plays a celebrity news segment, on a break, the chatter about the latest Hollywood gossip filling the space. Taylor's eyes are glazed, about to fall asleep as she half-listens, until the name "Harry Styles" jolts her back to reality.

She sits up straighter, her fingers pausing on Olivia's fur as the news anchor's excited voice announces, "In breaking news, Harry Styles has just announced a major collaboration with none other than his ex-girlfriend, Olivia!"

The screen switches to footage of Harry and Olivia together—both elegantly dressed, their chemistry undeniable. Taylor's heart sinks, feeling a sharp pang of jealousy and hurt. Harry's laughter, Olivia's flirtatious glances.

The media buzzes with speculation, claiming that their professional partnership might signal a revival of their romance. "Emily is history," the anchor says, hinting at the end of Harry's recent relationship and fuelling rumours of a deeper connection between him and Olivia.

Taylor's chest tightens as she watches the coverage. The irony, she thinks, that she told him to go and be with Olivia, and this is exactly what seems to be happening.

Now, seeing them together, Taylor feels a fresh wave of regret. "Why did I even do that?" she voices out bitterly.

She looks down at the only Olivia in her heart, the cat's soft purring offering comfort. "I wish it was you instead, baby. At least you wouldn't drag him into a media circus for me to watch and break my heart again."

She strokes Olivia, trying to ground herself in the present moment, as she lays down, the day catching up with her again. "Anyway" she yawns. "Next time, I swear I won't be such a pussy- no pun intended, Liv", her voice trails off. Olivia meows in agreement, and she smiles, drifting off to sleep