Picking Up the Pieces // Harry Styles

Forty One

Filler because there's like two chapter left and those are a part of the epilogue :(((

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Forty One

I had gotten used to Harry's arm wrapped around my waist when we fell asleep at night. I had gotten used to his soft lips pressing against my temple or forehead in a protective way. I had gotten used to his awful jokes and he enjoyed my awful puns: his smile widening, his laugh flowing through his gates made of his pearly whites, his cheeks rising, eyes twinkling. I had gotten use to his childlike behavior; the way he'd hum a merry tune as he danced around the house, sliding down the halls in his socks.

I had not gotten used to his long absences when he was on tour or the late nights when I was at home alone with only the TV's voices to make me feel a little less alone. I often sat on the couch with open textbooks or my laptop open, eyes struggling to stay open until I would flinch, hear the door unlock, and hear Harry rustle in.

My hand was shaking from holding the highlighter for so long and my head would be swimming full of terms and notes.

"Kitten," He calls out, and it takes me a minute before I remember to respond.

"Hey . . . Hero," I whisper back as he moves from the doorway and closer to me.

My hair is in a bun and I'm only in sweats, yet he still tells me I'm beautiful. He does not mind my hips or my waist that was not cinched in by the corsets of society. I am not a size zero. My quest for perfection came to a halt. Oddly, I did not mind.

Harry takes the highlighter out of my hand and I watch him as he writes something on the back of my hand.

"This could be the highlight of your day." He says, fighting back a chuckle.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." I smirk, kissing his cheek as he blushes a bright red. His shyness was adorable. It made him more human.

"You have the biggest bags under your eyes."

"Are they designer?" I laugh, taking my highlighter back as he rolls his eyes.

"Prada, dear."

"The perfect accessories for my half dead look."

"Nailed it." He kisses my head before getting up and strolling to the kitchen. Some late night talk show plays in the background. The host is not funny. The laugh track reminds people to laugh.

Harry comes back in with a cup of tea as I finish up my last entry and close my notebook. I smiled at him with as much strength as I could muster before taking the cup of tea and bringing it to my lips. My glasses fog up from the steam and Harry and I both laugh when I set my cup down.

I wipe my glasses on a small fraction of my hoodie. The fabric only makes it worst and I groan in frustration.

"Here," Harry says softly. "Let me."

I see he already has my cloth out. He takes my glasses from me and with a steady hand he cleans them before my eyes. His hands are gentle and his fingers move the soft fabric along the panes of glass. He then turns the frame around and places them on the bridge of my nose.

I find myself blushing. The gesture was so simple and small, yet it made me feel special in his eyes.

"Go to bed." He gently scolds me, rubbing my tense back. My spine melts under his fingertips and he knows this because he smirks.

"Carry me?" I nuzzle my face into his neck.

"You're such a child sometimes." He grins (because he loves holding me like this though he's never admit it), scooping his arms underneath my legs and carrying me like a princess. His feet make the floorboards creak as he saunters up the staircase. I feel safe and happy and small all at the same time. Harry gently lays me down on the bed after opening the bedroom door and I open my eyes to see him above me.