✘ skeleton sailor | h.styles -discontinued-

[v]

Every time Valarie sees Harry, he looks optimistic and happy and friendly. She thinks he has a very bright personality with the exception of how hostile he gets when he's trying to do his job. Today, though, she's noticed that he seems gloomy. He stopped by her flower shop and bought a dozen roses early  in the morning, and now he's sitting in the lobby of the apartment building with his head in his hands. The flowers are a heap of dark, stale petals at his feet and his fingers are clutched on either side of his head like he might freak out if he looks up. He keeps his head down even as she nears him hesitantly, shoulders moving with every shallow breath he lets out.

"Hi, Harry." Her voice is quiet. She doubts he even heard her until his shallow exhale pauses. His shoulders go rigid.

"I killed your flowers," he rasps out. He doesn't sound as hostile as she expected him to sound, but there's still something in his voice that isn't as bright as she thinks he is. He picks up his head and her heart makes a sudden shift in her chest. She takes a step closer to him like maybe that will soothe the subtle heat in her body but she already knows it won't when his eyes widen at her. She forgets he feels the same thing in his chest that she feels; forgets that they're both basically wired to each other. It's something she'll never get used to, and if he ever will, he hasn't done so yet. The surprised look on his face speaks acres, but his eyes are what she's mostly concerned about.

"What's wrong?"

His eyes are ringed and tinged with pink. It's not a huge contrast to his pale skin but it's enough to make her concerned. "Valarie." He swallows like something is trying to climb up his throat and keep him from getting any words out. "I killed your flowers, why are you asking me what's wrong?"

She kicks the roses with the very tip of her shoes. She knows that's not why he's so down but she doesn't know how to ask him the right questions. She doesn't know enough about him to ask him specific questions at all. The only thing she can think of is love, because love seems to be the only thing that can make anybody crumble. Unrequited love is a monster that can get to anybody and it looks to her like its latest victim is Harry Styles. Friendly, bright-eyed Harry Styles whose fingertips leak with gentle death. "Sorry."

"Sorry doesn't bring the flowers back." His words are muffled under his breath but they reach her perfectly. 

Valarie bites her tongue and nods sheepishly. "Are you in love?"

"We're not soulmates." His voice cracks.

Her cheeks heat up and Harry looks at her just in time to witness it. He looks apologetic for just a moment, but the moment passes and he's back to staring at the floor with a blank look in his eyes. "That wasn't my question," she whispers. She wants to put him on the spot. You said we could be friends. Friends tell each other things. Friends let friends comfort each other.

Her hand comes down to his and something burns its way into her body from where they're touching. The feeling is euphoric but there's a subtle desperation and anxiousness hiding in the sudden jolt of electricity. Harry looks at her again and this time he looks shocked. No, not shocked. He looks pleasantly surprised and... guilty? Guilty, he definitely looks guilty.

There are tiny veins throbbing around his eyes and as much as they scared her before, she's suddenly not so frightened of the way they look anymore. Now they just bring out the vivid color of his irises. It's comforting, the way he's looking at her, and the more she stares, the more comforted she feels. She feels a little light in her bones and body and- "Are you sure we're not soulmates?"

She doubts she had even spoken out loud when he doesn't say anything back. He just keeps his eyes on hers until something passes over his face and he draws away from her hand. The euphoric feeling stays in her body but she feels the intensity weaken a significant amount. "Don't touch me without a warning," he practically spits out.