in the ring / harry styles

31- Scars

Harry led me to his room, his hand still holding mine, his thumb still moving in those comforting circles. Once inside, he let go and opened a drawer, pulling out a hoodie and a pair of sweats. He held them out to me without a word, his expression oddly quiet, as if something were weighing on him that he hadn't let surface yet.

"Here," he said, his voice softer than usual. "These should be comfortable."

I took the clothes, clutching them to my chest.

"Thank you, Harry," I whispered, and though I couldn't fully put it into words, I hoped he could sense how much it meant to me, how much he'd done.

He gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on me, but he didn't meet my eyes, instead looking off to the side, as if he were trying to sort through a mess of thoughts he hadn't yet decided to share. He didn't leave the room; he just stood there, hands slipping into his pockets, shoulders tight, jaw clenched. I could feel it—the quiet storm brewing beneath his composed exterior, the darkness that was slowly seeping into the silence between us.

I changed quickly in the adjoining bathroom, slipping into the oversized hoodie and sweatpants that smelled like him—cedar, leather, something clean and familiar. When I stepped back into the room, he was standing by the bed, his arms crossed, his jaw set in that hard line that told me he was barely holding back.

"Harry?" I took a hesitant step toward him, feeling the concern in my chest bloom into something sharper. "Is... is everything okay?"

He let out a slow, measured breath, his eyes meeting mine, darker than I'd ever seen them. There was a tension there, a rawness that felt almost dangerous. "Why didn't you tell me, Lucy?" His voice was low, coldly calm, but his gaze burned, fierce and unyielding. "About him. About your ex."

The question felt like a punch, the weight of his words knocking the air out of me. He wasn't angry—not exactly. It was something else, something deeper, something that twisted into my chest and left me feeling stripped bare.

I opened my mouth, the words tangled and stuck, but nothing came out. The memory of Jake—the way he looked at me, the way he always seemed to find me, no matter how far I tried to run—it all came flooding back, mixing with the intensity in Harry's eyes. This wasn't a story I wanted to tell, not like this, not with the hurt I saw etched across his face.

"I... I didn't know how." My voice was barely a whisper, each word small and uncertain, my gaze fixed on the floor because I couldn't face him. "It's... complicated. I didn't want to drag you into it, into all of this mess, Harry." I felt the words crumble as I spoke them, brittle and empty, knowing they could never explain the whole truth.

Harry's jaw tightened as he took a slow, deliberate step toward me, and I could feel the intensity radiating off him in waves. He was silent, gaze narrowing, the tension in his shoulders obvious. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur, edged with something sharp and unyielding. "Lucy, you didn't even tell me he existed." His words were like a quiet accusation, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"All this time, he's been trying to get you back, hanging around... and you didn't think I should know?" His voice roughened as he spoke, his gaze dark and unblinking, the betrayal clear in his eyes.

I felt my chest tighten, guilt twisting into knots that I couldn't ignore. "Harry..." I started, but my voice faltered, my words feeling too small. "We're not... I mean, we're not together, not really, so I didn't think it mattered. I didn't want to put all of that on you."

A bitter laugh escaped him, humorless, his gaze fierce as it stayed locked onto mine. "Not together?" His words came out barely above a whisper, but there was something broken in them. He took another step closer, his expression intense, vulnerable in a way I hadn't seen before.