One Direction Preferences

"Why did you marry me then?!"

Harry didn't wash the dishes.
It all started over a stupid pile of dirty silverware.
"That was lovely," Harry had said, pecking your lips before walking off, checking his phone by the couch where it was charging.
You smile, but it quickly turns into a frown as you pick up Harry's plate. You try to play it off lightly–because in reality it was ridiculous. Who makes a big deal out of an unwashed plate? But you state anyways, "You aren't doing the dishes."
He looks up from his text, smirking, "You're closer to the kitchen."
"But we had an agreement," you try to play it cool. "I do the cooking and you wash the dishes."
Harry smiles and walks over to you, leaning on the kitchen counter. "It's just one meal, Y/N. And I'm really tired tonight."
You didn't think he could hear as you murmur under your breath, "You're tired every night."
He furrows his eyebrows and sucks in a breath. "What?"
You didn't respond, instead turning to the dishes. But just the sight of them is enough to set you on edge. Biting your lip, you say, "Nothing, Haz."
But your husband doesn't let it drop. He stands beside you by the sink and when he speaks, his voice is deadly low. "What did you mean by I'm always tired?"
You hesitate, looking up to meet his gaze. His green eyes are whirlpools tonight. But then you catch a glimpse of the unwashed dishes at the corner of your vision. You sigh, "It's just...I get that you have a unique career. You don't know how much I know that you do. And you can't do anything about it because millions of people, including me, are counting on you to wake up every morning and put on a good show, and there's nothing you can do about it."
You see now that Harry is confused, but he seems to know where this is headed. His eyebrows are knitted together and there's a frown stretched out on his face.
"I can't do anything about it?" Harry repeats, dropping his phone on the counter with a loud bang. "What do you mean by that? I love my job and I choose to wake up every morning, put on a show, and do all I need to do to make my fans happy."
He throws his hands up in frustration.
You take a deep breath in, trying to stop your hands from shaking. "What about me?" You look up, making a big deal to not pull your gaze from his. You will not look weak in front of him. "You're so busy making your fans happy that you forget to make me happy."
Harry tears his fingers through his hair and walks over to you. He points an accusing finger in your face. He raises his voice, "You know the fans come first." He gestures around you both. At the kitchen. At the house. "This is all from the fans! They come first."
"Spare me at least the decency to tell me I, at least, am second." You are choking on the silence of your tears.
"Come on," Harry almost sounds apologetic.
Almost.
"You know how it is," Harry steps closer, and it almost looks like he's about to pull you into his arms. Almost. "The fans will always come first. Always."
And that's when you break.
"If the fans truly always come first, then you have lied to me all your life, Harry Edward Styles," you spit out. His expression hardens. Your faces are inches apart now. "You made a promise to me when you married me. You made a promise to love me and I made a promise to love you. Through everything. Through anything. And from the moment we kissed, you were my first priority. My first priority, not even my family came before you."
Harry's voice is low, "The fans gave me everything. Everything came from them."
"Well, why did you marry me then!" You scream. "IF THE FANS COME FIRST, WHY DID YOU MARRY ME?"
"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD!" Harry screams back, and then he collapses in a tangle of curls and tears. Tears are streaming down your cheeks too, and they paralyze you.
The house is quiet, except for the sounds of both of you crying.
"I love you more than anything," Harry repeats, looking up at you with red eyes. The sight of him broken breaks you too. You collapse to your knees beside him. You are running your hands through his hair as his hands cup your face. "I love you more than anything. Please know that. I need you to know that."
"I do," you nod, as he brushes away a stray tear. "I do. I love you too. So much."
He hesitates, then says, "The fans come first. For the band. For us four. The fans always come first." Pauses, then continues, "But for me, you come first. One call from you crying and I will fly across the globe just to make you smile. Don't you doubt that. Ever."
You smile, and he grins, "See? This feeling in my stomach that I get when you are happy? I don't get that with the fans. They've...They've given me a lot, but you have given me more."
He pulls you to his chest and you rest your head on top of his chest. His heartbeat is like a lullaby. "You've given me love," he whispers. "And that's irreplaceable."