One Direction Imagines

It's Okay to Ask for Help (Harry)

Warning: this will be a sad imagine. Request by: @BrydeeanneCoorey2 (sorry it took so long!)

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Your P.O.V.

"I know, I know, I know, I know ,I, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know. That I ain't got far to go, go, go.'Cause I spent forever waiting, and it's no longer a dream, and now I've landed on my feet and I ain't got far to go.." You sang along with your laptop. Currently you were doing some online shopping and listening to Jess Glynne, waiting for Harry to return from the studio. Your phone rang beside you, signaling a text. Picking it up, you read 'hey kitten, running to the shops after the studio. Need anything?', quickly replying, 'I'm good, thanks'.

Minimizing the safari app, you click on the twitter icon. Scrolling through tweet after tweet of nothing but hate. 

y/n is such a fat ass

i hate y/n

why is harry with y/n 

y/n is an irrelevant bitch

This a norm for you, it's nothing new. That's why you're glad Harry spends a lot of time at work, so you can spend days alone, and Harry doesn't have to worry because he doesn't know. 

You turn to your timeline for a different view, until your mentions ping with more tweets. You click on the newest. 

Y/n is a fugly ass cunt bag who just needs to kill herself and let Harry be happy 

Usually you don't let the hate get to you, but that one really stung. Exiting out of twitter, you run to your desk and grab a pen and paper. Sitting down, with tears streaming down your face, you commence a letter to Harry. 

Dear Harry,

I'm sorry to do this to you, But I can't do this anymore, your so-called fans don't like me, and they're right, I should just leave and let you be happy.

I love you. Thanks for the memories.

All the love, Y/N

Folding the note, you write his name on it. Getting up and walking into your closet, you pull on some running shorts, an old tee shirt and some Adidas running sneakers. 

Grabbing the note, you jog downstairs. Laying it on the kitchen counter, you look around before running towards the front door, slowly opening it. You take one last look, and walk out, closing the door behind you.

You start your jog on the sidewalk, running at your usual pace. You come across a pedestrian crosswalk, taking a left. Normally you go straight, but plans change. You knew exactly the route you were taking. The Thames Gateway Bridge was coming up soon, and you were prepared to take a dive. 

You approach the railing, looking down and realizing it's a far jump, but it's better than the pain you're feeling. Lifting one leg up and over, your foot rests on the 2 feet wide edge, holding on tight, your other leg swings over. Turning to face the water, your arms behind you, still holding the railing. As you're about to let go, you watch a familiar looking vehicle drive by, before you can hide, it pulls off the side of the road. 

A tall, lanky guy, with short brown hair approaches the side of the bridge. Turning to face the water again, you contemplate jumping, or waiting. 

"What in the hell are you doing?" You hear the familiar Cheshire accent.

Pivoting around to face him, you glance at him before resorting your eyes to the gum covered sidewalk. 

Harry comes closer, grabbing your hand, assisting you in coming back over the barrier. Once you're back on land, he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tight. Tearing away, he grasps your hand, guiding you to the car. Opening the passenger door, he helps you in, buckling you in and closing the door. Running around to the driver side and hopping in.

The ride back to your shared flat was quiet, but comforting, as Harry held your hand, rubbing circles onto the back.

Up to now, you're back inside your abode, your sitting on the counter, while Harry makes you each some tea.

"Why didn't you tell me you were receiving hate?" He breaks the silence.

"Because I knew you were busy with work, and didn't want to stress you out even more. Plus I thought it would go away over time," you sigh, with a shrug of your shoulders. 

"Please come to me from now on," he responds, handing you a steaming mug. Taking a sip, you nod. Resting the cup in your lap, he kisses your forehead, taking your hand in his, helping you down and escorts you to the couch. The rest of the night was spent in his arms, watching a Friends marathon.

From that day forward, you and Harry told each other everything, and solved conflicts together.

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Hope you all enjoyed. I tried to make this sad, but not to over the top. 

~ Nikki