Harry Styles.

Meet Me in the Hallway

Harry laid beside you, limbs entangled with yours like branches in bloom, running a ring-clad forefinger along your exposed back. He inhaled the lavender scent emitting from your tousled hair. It numbed the ache in his chest that burned brighter than your eyes in the sunlight cascading through your dorm window.

"What's on your mind, love?" he breathed against your neck, each word electrifying your skin. Despite the yearning you felt toward him, the man you'd been loving behind closed doors for five months, you knew it wouldn't last. It couldn't.

You rolled over. His nakedness against your backside was almost enough to steal your voice.

"I've been thinking a lot lately," you said, cupping his hand as it rested alongside your navel.

"What about?"

"You and I."

Harry pulled you closer—so close you could feel his heartbeat drum from his chest to his groin. "Don't say it."

"Harry—"

"Please."

"You had to know this was coming."

"You're all I have."

Your bottom lip trembled. "I wish I could say the same."

"I need you, Y/N."

"I can't need you anymore."

Harry lifted your chin and pressed his plump, numbing lips to yours before kissing your glistening cheeks. He always found a way to fix you—but only temporarily. Each time he rebuilt your wall, it would crumble, revealing the demons you tried desperately to avoid.

"Stop it. Just stop." You rose from the bed, taking the sheets with you, too ashamed to unmuffle a body that screamed for Harry. He sat up, feet firmly on the floor, knuckles tense against the bed.

"It's him, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry."

"He's no good for you."

"You're no good for me."

"I'm the only good you have."

"You just make things worse."

"Then why did you let me in?"

Silence crept through you like a thief. Harry stood and slid into his sweatpants. You shivered, teeth chattering. With a sigh, Harry wrapped you in his long, intoxicating arms.

"Let me show you how much better I can treat you," he said as he rocked you back and forth, certain he was meant for you—and you for him.

Your mind wandered to the little diamond ring tucked away in your underwear drawer, safe from Harry's piercing jade eyes.

"I need time to think, okay?"

Harry bit his bottom lip. "How long do you need?"

"I don't know."

"How long, Y/N?"

"A week."

Harry's heart murmured. He walked to your door. "Meet me in the hallway. One week from now."

"Okay."

"I hope we can work this out."

"Goodbye, Harry," you said, shutting the door behind him.

*

Harry sat at home, mindlessly watching romantic comedies. He wasn't sure how many days had passed since your last encounter. Maybe three or four.

He blew his runny nose into a handkerchief. Despite the cool weather, Harry was sweating underneath his white t-shirt and jeans. He wiped beads of sweat from his forehead as chills rattled his bones.

He couldn't get you off his mind.

His mouth practically salivated for you. He dug through a bowl of popcorn and tossed kernels in his mouth, hoping they would sate him but knowing they wouldn't. His stomach churned as he chewed. There was a storm brewing inside him, and he lacked the energy to sail off the couch. Bile rose in his throat and spewed from his mouth into the popcorn bowl. His stomach contracted with each painful heave until there was nothing left. He swished water around his mouth, walked outside, and spat in rose bushes.

His aching limbs led him to the city. Time dragged like his shoes against the unforgiving pavement. His head pounded, and city sounds worsened it. He saw only you—on murals, on billboards, on taxis, even on the faces of passersby. He called you for the twelfth time that day.

No answer.

"I gotta get better," he said under his breath, trudging to the only place he knew could heal him.

Struggling up the steps, he walked down the all too familiar dorm hallway. He knocked on the door five times to signal it was him.

No answer.

He knocked again. And again. And again.

No answer.

He twisted the knob. The door creaked open, revealing an empty space where you used to be.

Harry shuffled in and flopped on the bed. Everything was gone except the faint scent of your lavender shampoo. Harry hammered his forehead with tense knuckles. He wasn't sure where he went wrong. Even after replaying your affair in his reeling mind, he couldn't find one negative thing he'd done.

A note on the nightstand caught his attention. It was hard to read through the haze in his eyes.

Harry,
I hope you'll forgive me
someday. I know you'll find
something better.
Someone better.
Someone who deserves you.
Be free,
Y/N

Harry lay down, crumpling the note against his fast-beating heart, still in disbelief that this was reality.

     He knew your words were untrue. Because once you go without it, nothing else will do.