in the ring / harry styles

20- The Quiet Side of Night

As I set my bag down near the entryway, a strange silence fills the apartment. Usually, there's a hum of conversation, a shout from another room, or some joke tossed from one corner to another. But tonight, it's still, save for the occasional laughter and clink of billiard balls drifting faintly from the balcony. The cozy space holds an almost expectant quiet, and as I glance over at Harry, I raise an eyebrow, curious.

"So... where are the boys?" I ask, breaking the stillness.

Harry slips off his jacket, casually draping it over the back of a nearby chair before rolling up his sleeves. "Liam's already out for the count," he replies, a soft grin curving his lips. "Barely got in the door before he crashed. Training completely wiped him."

I chuckle, picturing Liam stumbling in, muttering about exhaustion and collapsing into bed without a second thought. "And the others?"

"Niall, Zayn, and Louis decided a late-night game of pool on the balcony was non-negotiable," he says, shaking his head with a mix of exasperation and amusement. "So, don't be surprised if you hear Niall yelling any second."

Almost on cue, a muffled shout echoes through the walls, Niall's unmistakable Irish accent floating in. "Lou! Are you seriously cheating on every turn?"

Harry gives me a look, as if to say, Told you so. The faint amusement lingers in his eyes as he gestures toward his bedroom. "You want to go to my room? It's quieter there."

I nod, feeling a comfort in the offer, a chance to leave the noise and the weight of the night behind. "Yeah, quieter sounds good."

We walk down the hallway, the distant laughter growing softer as we near his room. The door swings open, and I step inside, immediately hit by the familiar sight of his organized mess. His guitar leans against the wall in one corner, and a pile of records sits by the bed, alongside a few worn novels tossed on his desk. The bed is unmade, the comforter slightly crumpled, and sheets tangled in a way that suggests he had barely climbed out of them that morning. There's a warm, lived-in feel to the space that feels like Harry—a mix of chaos and comfort.

I sit on the edge of the bed, the soft fabric sinking slightly under me, and Harry joins me, his shoulder brushing against mine, close but quiet. The apartment noises feel far away in here, and a calm hangs between us, making it easy to breathe. The earlier tension with Jake feels distant, replaced by a calm that settles in like a weight lifting.

Harry's eyes shift, landing on me, and his gaze is so intense it's as if he's searching for something unspoken. He studies my face, lingering on the traces of makeup, my hair tousled from the night, the faint shadows under my eyes. After a moment, he lets out a slow, measured breath, his gaze falling to his hands as he finally speaks.

"About earlier... in the car." He rubs the back of his neck, his voice soft, almost tentative. "I shouldn't have been such a... dickhead. Coming at you like that, I mean." His jaw clenches, a vulnerability slipping through his usual composed expression. "I just... I hate feeling that way. And sometimes I just... can't help it. I don't want to act like that around you."

The memory of his intense expression, the tension in the car, rises in my mind. But here, seeing him like this—open, exposed—makes it feel different. Softer, somehow. "It's okay," I say, my voice quiet, calm. "Tonight was... a lot. I get it." I offer him a small smile, hoping to ease the tension still in his posture. "You don't have to apologize."

His gaze lifts to mine, a faint flicker of relief, though his jaw remains set. "I do, though. Doesn't mean it's fair to you." He pauses, glancing off to the side before bringing his eyes back to me. "Seeing you out there, dressed like that, knowing you're around other guys... it just fucked with my head."

His frustration is still there, softened but real, and his tone carries a hint of something deeper, a possessiveness that's less about control and more about the silent fears he never admits aloud.

I reach over, laying my hand on his, my fingers curling gently around his in a quiet reassurance. "You don't have to worry," I murmur, holding his gaze. "I'm here with you, aren't I?"

For a moment, we stay like that, my hand resting over his, and I feel his fingers tighten around mine, his gaze softening. There's a quiet understanding between us, something unspoken yet grounding. The tension eases from his face as he nods, a subtle shift of relief in his expression. "Yeah. You are," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, as if my words were exactly what he needed to hear.

We sit there in silence, our hands still intertwined, listening to the muffled laughter from the balcony. Then, a loud, frustrated shout erupts from outside, Niall's voice ringing out faintly, "Louis, if you cheat one more time, I'm taking my turn twice!"

I laugh, glancing up at Harry, who shakes his head, a resigned smile on his face. "See?" he mutters, a warmth returning to his expression. "Told you they'd get loud."

Relaxing back on the bed, I feel a sense of calm settle over me. It's warm here, a cozy, safe corner of the night where I don't have to put on any masks or guard up. The day's events slip away in the quiet, and I lean slightly against him, resting my head on his shoulder. He tenses for just a second, then his arm wraps around me, his fingers brushing against my shoulder in a soft, grounding touch.

We stay like that for a while, letting the sounds of the night fill the silence around us. The laughter from outside, the faint clinking of billiard balls, the murmured voices drifting in—it's all part of the background now, a gentle reminder of the world moving on as we sit here in the quiet. His hand lingers on my shoulder, his fingers drawing slow, absent circles, as if he's grounding himself in the simple comfort of touch.

"You're good, you know that?" he murmurs suddenly, his voice soft, a quiet conviction threading through the words.

I tilt my head slightly to look up at him, surprised. "Why do you say that?"

A small, genuine smile crosses his face as he holds my gaze. "Just... you are," he says, as though it's the simplest truth in the world.

As the laughter outside fades into the night, Harry leans back, easing into the bed, and without a word, I follow suit. I settle into the soft mattress beside him, feeling the warmth of his arm around me, his fingers still gently brushing against my shoulder. His hand finds mine again, intertwining our fingers, grounding me as the last threads of the night slip away. The soft light from the hall spills into the room, casting a warm glow that feels like its own kind of comfort, cocooning us in a moment of peace.

"Get some sleep, yeah?" he murmurs softly, his voice low, almost a whisper, the hint of a smile in his words.

I nod, feeling a quiet calm settle over me, his arm tightening just slightly around my shoulders as I close my eyes. The rhythm of his breathing, steady and warm, lulls me into a soft, easy sleep, the world outside his room fading until all that remains is the quiet comfort of his presence beside me.