Harry Styles Imagines

You're Drunk (Harry's P.O.V)

I hold a photo of (Y/N) and I in my hand, stroking over the ink almost as if I can touch the happy couple in the picture. My arms are wrapped around her waist. She's wearing my beanie that she looks so good in. We both look so happy. But those are different people, they have changed.
I look over the picture again before ripping it in half.
My phone begins to ring. I expect that it's Niall-trying to cheer me up- but it's her. The person who's voice I've wanted to hear more than anyone's for the past 3 weeks.
I let it ring. The loud tone fills my lonely flat.

"Hello?" I say.

Dammit. I wasn't going to answer, so why did I do it?

Muffled music is all that is heard for a few moments.

"I have (Y/N) here at my club, and she needs someone to pick her up." A deep voiced man, who I assume is the bard manager, says.

"Can't she get a taxi?"

"She asked specifically for you. 20 times." He says, obviously annoyed.

I sigh, then begin pondering if I should pick her up. The manager patiently waits for me to reply.

"I'll be down there, just keep an eye on her till I get there." I tell him.

I quickly get in my car. The drive is a blur, and the bar is on the other side of the city. All I can think of is what I'm going to say, or what she's going to say, or if either of us will say anything.
I arrive to the club. I can hear music floating out from the entrance.
Once I'm inside the building I quickly spot (Y/N) standing on top of the counter. When I get over to where she's standing she almost immediately gets down from the counter. I have to wrap my arm around her waist to support her.
"Come on man. You should've called her a cab an hour ago." I say to the dark eyed bartender.

I turn on my heel before I can hear his mumbled words and I quickly turn my attention back to (Y/N). She's dressed in a form fitting red dress that I've never seen before. She's sloppy drunk, but she still somehow manages to look beautiful.

"You came." She says, drawing out her words. I don't say anything and instead focus on keeping her on her feet.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm driving you home."

"It's fine, I can drive." I laugh at the thought of her driving home in her current state. But then I cringe at the thought that she may have actually drove herself if I hadn't come.

"You're not driving home."

"Okay Harry. You usually know best."
She says with a sloppy smile.

I walk towards the exit of the bar but have to pick her up half way. Once the door is opened bright lights flash, and the paparazzi are calling out our names. Tomorrow I know this will be on the cover of every tabloid news paper, especially since our break up just went public. After a few moments of shoving, I get her in the car and I'm quickly speeding through the streets.

"Harry," she says after a minute of silence, her head rolling towards me.

"What?" I ask, catching her gaze. Her eyes look as if tears could spill over the edge at any minute.

"I miss you." She says. Just as a tear falls down her cheek she turns her head so that I can't see.