Hozier Imagines

Beautiful (Hozier Fluff)

A/N: This story deals with depression. Not one of my stronger suits of writing, but here we go...

"I'm just not feeling great," you say. He looks at you for a second, hesitates. "Okay," he says at last. He bends over to kiss your forehead. "I'm watching TV downstairs if you need me."

He leaves, flicking the light off on his way out. It's dark now, quiet. But you aren't sleeping. You wait until you hear the TV, then get out of bed, go into the bathroom. You turn on the light and pull back the loose tile in the wall to take out your bag.

You sit down on the side of the bathtub. The tears don't ever come, not anymore. You're disgusted by yourself. Ugly. Cowardly. Obnoxious. Stupid. A slut. You see what they call you when Andy posts pictures of you.

I hate myself. In times like this, you realize the truth. Everyone hates you. You hate you. That's why you cut, that's why you wear long sleeves all the time. That's why you won't sleep with Andy. Because then he'll see you for what you really are. And he won't love you anymore.

Your hands don't shake, you don't cry. You're nothing, an empty, emotionless shell. Holding the blade in your hand, you just let the edge touch your skin. What would it be like, to feel nothing? To never think, never know, ever again?

But you drop the blade. It hits the floor with a clang, but it doesn't matter. Andy won't hear, the TV's too loud. You hear muffled dialogue, gunshots. A gun. How would that be, a loud noise, and then nothing? Better or worse than the way you're going to go?

That doesn't matter, either. It doesn't matter how much pain you feel, because you deserve all of it.

You take out the pills. The painkillers are nearly out, only a few left. But they're enough. Enough to end the pain, like the coward you are. Nobody's going to care, so what does it matter?

You empty the bottle into your cupped palm. It's strange, something so small being so powerful. But you're glad it is. What would you do, otherwise? Live? Why?

There's a knock on the door. Shit! you think. He's here, and now this will be harder. "Babe?" he says quietly. "Are you okay?"

You say nothing. Your last words will remain "I'm just not feeling great." That's good enough for you.

"Babe?" he asks again, a bit panicked sounding. You don't answer. Please, Andy, just go away.

"Baby!" he's yelling now, pounding on the door. "Open this door, please!"

You weigh the pills once again in your palm. You're so close to being at peace, and he's just ruining it. What if you did open the door? What then? More misery, more cutting? Why not just get it over with?

He's begging, screaming. You block out the words, bringing the pills up to your mouth.

Then it's quiet. So quiet. So peaceful. He's not yelling anymore, not making any noise at all.

The door crashes open, snapping in half. You scream, dropping the pills onto the tiles. He tackles you. "STOP!" you scream. "ANDY, STOP!"

He pulls you out of the bathroom, away from the pills. "What the fuck are you doing?!" he snarls.

"What do you care?" you snarl back. "Let me do what I have to!"

He looks at you, but you avoid eye contact. "Damn it!" he screams. You've never seen him like this before, this angry. Hell, you've never seen him angry before, period.

He gets up, pacing back and forth around the room, but you don't go for the pills. You're afraid of what he might do. He's running his hands through his hair as he paces, and finally he goes back into the bathroom. A few seconds later, you hear a flush and you know what has happened.

You hug your knees tight to your chest, trying to comprehend all of what has just happened, but you can't. So you do the only thing you can do.

You cry. Huge, body-racking sobs that you can't stop. You're shaking, so badly that it hurts.

The bathroom door opens and your man crosses the room in two steps, pulling you into his arms, holding you as tight as he possibly can.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm so, so sorry, babe."

You can't speak.

He continues. "Was it me? Was it something I did? Why the fuck would you want to -" He can't seem to bring himself to say those two small words, so you say them for him.

"Kill myself?" you say through your tears, pulling away from him and wiping your nose. "Because I wouldn't be helping this world by staying in it."

"Oh, my God." He wipes his eyes, and you realize he's crying too. "Baby, why would you ever think that?"

"Because I'm ugly, Andy! Because I'm stupid and an obnoxious slut!"

He winces at each word as it comes out of your mouth. "Who would ever describe you like that?! You're so beautiful, babe. How could anyone..." He trails off, hugging you tighter. "Please don't say those words about yourself ever again. You're perfect, completely and totally. You're so beautiful, and smart, and funny, and brave, and...you're just...I don't..."

You just nod, and now you realize. All those people online, they don't really know you. The people who know you are your friends, your family...and Andy. If Andy thinks you're beautiful, then maybe...just maybe...he's right.

And suddenly, the hole in your chest isn't there anymore, and you can feel your heart beating, still beating.

Andy brings his forehead down to meet yours. "I love you, baby."

"I love you too." And you're not scared anymore, not of the people on the Internet, not of your own scars. You are not a coward.

You kiss him, and he kisses you back, and as he lifts you onto the bed, you feel as though you will never feel bad again. You know Andy won't let that happen to you.

Whoof! That was a feels-y ordeal! Let me know your thoughts! You may have noticed I don't use Y/N ever. That's because I don't think of it as my name, I think of it as "Y/N", so I just prefer him not calling you a name. Any more requests, tell me! I'm on a roll :)

PS: I'm really sorry if I offended anyone dealing with depression with my being so naïve about it. But if you ever need an internet hug, just c'mere! *hugs*