Harry Styles One Shots !!

Dont you care ?

You can't remember a time in your life when you'd felt more abandoned, more humiliated. The only reason you've been able to keep your hurt and angry tears from running down your face is the fact that you're in public and don't want your smudged makeup on some professional photographer's camera roll.
It has been obvious since you first began dating Harry that management didn't like you, and at first you tried everything in your power to convince them that you are worthy of him. After several months of being a loving and supportive presence in his life, avoiding any personal scandals and keeping a virtually squeaky clean record that even the tabloids couldn't skew, it became clear to you that it wasn't the fact that he was dating you that was the problem. It was the fact that he wasn't dating someone famous. As the band's star player, they focus their attention on trying to match Harry up with someone who would get people talking, someone glitzy, someone stunning and flashy in the public eye. It was disheartening, to say the least, to know that most of the people that sign your boyfriend's paychecks would be much happier if you were out of his life, but Harry had made it clear to you that he wasn't influenced by whatever management had to say, that he wanted you and only you.
It didn't stop them from taking every opportunity they could find to introduce Harry to women they found more suited for him. It was becoming a disturbingly frequent occurrence to see pictures of him 'hanging out' with Hollywood's new 'it' girl or the daughter of an industry mogul, along with headlines that hint at a 'blossoming romance' between the two. When confronted, Harry always swore up and down that the 'date' was sprung on him with next to no notice and that he didn't have any interest in any of them. He was just doing his job.
You just can't help but wonder how well he's doing his job sometimes.

Especially tonight, at this industry party, where for close to two hours you've been sitting alone on a couch in the corner while Harry shmoozes and mingles and spends a ridiculous amount of time with a very pretty, tall blonde woman that management wanted him to meet. You'd caught her name briefly and a quick search on your phone lended you a small bit of information that let you know she was an up and coming singer and former child star on some children's show you'd never heard of. Going to these functions was never your favorite activity anyway, seeing as you were a nobody in the eyes of nearly everyone attending, just the disappointingly boring girl that Harry Styles has on his arm. Everyone wanted to talk to and be around Harry, not you, and you learned early on that your boyfriend wouldn't always be there to be a buffer between you and the intimidating world of the entertainment industry, if only because usually he was there because he had a job to do, to be seen and noticed, to network and generally be the charismatic, handsome moneymaker that he was so often sold as.
You dealt with that fairly well, you'd say, knowing that it was as much of a burden on him as it was on you, and it wasn't the first time you'd been relegated to near invisibility while Harry was off being a rich and sought after popstar. But it was the first time you'd been literally bumped out of the way by a stout man you vaguely recognized as an exec from the record label, and suddenly you'd been replaced by the leggy woman who currently has her hand on your boyfriend's arm as she laughs at something he must have said.
"Miss? More champagne?" You blink, torn from your upset thoughts by the same waiter who's circled by you at least four times, and you give him a bland thanks as you except the flute of champagne he's holding out to you on a tray. At least there's free alcohol.
You nearly down the entire glass in one gulp, checking the time again to see that it's nearing ten o'clock; you're tired, more than just physically, and as you miserably look down at your dress, the best and most expensive one you own, getting wrinkled from slouching in it on this couch all night, you hear a gruff, vaguely familiar voice say your name. It's Jason, Harry's bodyguard for the evening, and he's informing you that Harry's almost done and will meet you in the car. You glance around for a glimpse at your boyfriend who couldn't have come to tell you this himself, finding him still surrounded by colleagues and women (including, of course, the pretty singer) as he lingers with one of his friends who's just pulled on his coat and looks prepared to leave as well. You take in a deep breath, finish the rest of your champagne, and then accept Jason's hand when he offers to help you up.
With your heart heavy and resting somewhere around your feet, you allow yourself to be guided out of a side door and towards the sleek and inconspicuous black car where you'll be driven home. The driver's smile is nearly as tight lipped as yours is when he opens the door for you and you all but fall onto the cushy leather seat. The door shuts behind you with a solid click and you're secluded, the car humming quietly around you as it idles to keep you warm while you wait for Harry, but there's a sharp coldness inside you that can't be eased with a heater vent. Without any eyes on you, you allow yourself to finally wilt, to give in to the weight of the voice in your head chanting 'they've won, they've won, I can't do this ' . You kick your painful shoes off, remove the heavy jewelry from your earlobes and neck and around your wrist. You hold them in your hand for a second, gaze down at them as your vision blurs with tears; they'd cost so much, you'd put a significant dent in your savings to afford them, only the latest in a long line of ways that you tried to quietly prove yourself good enough for him, good enough for them. What a fool you've been.
Harry is ushered into the car just moments after the precious metals clatter to the floor of the car when you throw them away from you, bringing with him a gust of the cool night air as he slides in with a long sigh.
"Sorry, babe," he says quietly, tiredly, raking a hand through his hair. "My hand hurts from all that handshaking." His joke falls flat as you stay silent, your watery eyes fixed on your lap while you pry the pins from your hair and push your fingers through it as it tumbles to your shoulders. It takes him a few moments, but he takes in the jewels on the floor of the car, the way you're in disarray, the shuddering quality of your breath, and his brow furrows deeply as he leans closer to you, one arm resting on the car seat behind you. He says your name carefully. "Are you crying? What happened?" His voice is so gentle, caring, but that caring was nowhere to be found earlier tonight.
"Do you ever fight for me?" You finally look at him straight on and Harry blinks several times at you, his face the picture of confusion for good while.
"Do I...wh-...baby, what are you on about?"
"Exactly what I said: Do you fight for me?" His bewilderment angers you, as if he never expected you to bring up the fact that you'd never actually seen him stand up to his management when it came to you. "When they tell you to meet those girls and...and flirt with them, do you ever stick up for me?" The moment you mention the girls, Harry realizes what you're talking about, eyes shut and he breathes in a deep breath. His hands rub over the tops of his thighs anxiously before they curl into loose fists, and when he opens his eyes they don't meet yours.
"Y/N , we've already talked about this."
"No. You talked about it. You told me I had nothing to worry about. You told me it wasn't going to happen often. You said you'd take care of it and you wouldn't let them go too far."
"Baby, listen-"
"So, do you ever tell them no for my sake or am I just supposed to get used to being treated like I was in there?" Harry looks at you again, looking pained and frustrated and exhausted, before he sighs yet again and fixes his gaze out the window.
"Can we please talk about this another time?" His voice is on edge. "I'm really fucking tired right now." His guarded tone, the tension in his shoulders hits you like a train; it's all the answer you need and you shut your eyes and roll your lips between your teeth to keep them from trembling as the tears splash over.
"So that's a no then?" You wonder if he even heard your broken whisper, and only know that he did because he scrubs his hands over his face, shifting uncomfortably and raising his eyes to the ceiling as if it'll tell him what to do to make this right.
"I'm begging you- can we please deal with this later? Please?" But you don't want to deal with it later, you don't need to. He's just confirmed what you suspected all along, what you were terrified to fathom: that your place by Harry's side wasn't nearly as solid as you'd always thought.
"Excuse me? Driver?" You clear the lump out of your throat and scoot forward to tap on the partition. It lowers and you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. "There's a change of plans. Can you drop me off at my place before you take Harry home?" Harry nearly cries out your name, sounding both desperate and almost admonishing, as if you're being childish, but you ignore him and shake off the hand on your shoulder to tell the driver your address. He nods and the partition rolls back up, and you settle back in your seat as the driver makes a quick move to turn onto the street that will lead to your home. You begin to gather your things as Harry starts pleading his case, asking you not to do this, telling you he doesn't want you to go home.
"Then maybe you should've treated me like your girlfriend tonight," you snap, pushing his hand off of you for a second time, and his jaw clenches.
"You're acting ridiculous." You scoff at him and reach for your discarded jewelry, wondering if the jewelry store has a return policy. "You know I'm under contract. You know I have to do things I don't want to sometimes! You knew that when you met me!"
"I knew I'd have to compete with your fans and your band and your music buddies but I didn't think I'd have to be pushed aside while you flirted with other girls all night!"
"Jesus fucking Christ, I wasn't flirting, I was talking to her and she knew I was with you-"
"How would she have known? Huh? I was pushed out of the way as soon as she showed up! Do you know how humiliating that is?" The car rolls to a stop at light as the two of you stare each other down, the air filled with angry tension, and the lump in your throat is growing again. "You didn't even check on me once..." Your voice cracks, and Harry's face softens as he reaches for you, looking defeated when you rebuff him again.
"I meant to, I swear. I never wanted you to be hurt. I-'m sorry..." Your apartment building looms high in the night sky as the car stops in front of it.
"That's not good enough right now, Harry." You open your side of the door before the driver can get out to do it for you, but Harry's hand comes from around you so quickly you gasp as he shuts it back.
"I don't want you to go."
"You said you didn't even wanna talk about it tonight."
"But that doesn't mean I don't want you with me!"
"Could've fooled me with how you acted," you move to get out of the car and again you're thwarted by Harry, who pulls you by your arm closer to him. Angered, you push on his chest to get him away from you, ignoring the way he says your name and tries to calm you. "Harry, let me go. I'm not staying with you tonight."
"Please, just stop-"
"I said, I'm going home-"
"Can you just listen for five minutes?!"
"No! Let. Me. Go!" The two of you are in a tense struggle for a few seconds, Harry arguing with you as he leans over and physically blocks you from leaving the car, and just as you manage to get your hand on the door handle again, Harry's fist comes down on the window so hard you hear a crack and you jump as the car rattles.
"WILL YOU JUST FUCKING LISTEN TO ME?" You've never heard his voice so loud, nor have you ever seen him hit anything with any seriousness or real strength, but your eyes go wide and your heart stutters. You've never known him to act this way, never known him to treat you the way he has tonight.
"Miss?" The driver has opened the door, peering in with a cautious inquiry, clearly not wanting to intrude and yet there is no way he didn't hear what transpired. "We've arrived." Your hands are trembling as you grab your things and clutch your coat to your chest, still watching in shock as Harry's face drains of color, his expression betraying his own horror at what just happened. He starts to shake his head in remorse at you, stricken and frozen in place as he watches you start to slide out of the car and his mouth moves as if he's saying that he's sorry, but his voice makes no appearance.
"I don't even know you anymore." You tell him, your heart breaking as you nearly stumble out of the car. You ignore the driver when he tries to help you gain your footing, try to make it at least into the building before you start to sob, and you don't dare look back as you hear the car drive away.