It is Complicated (Harry Styles Fanfic)

CHAPTER 16: "Don't think 'bout that, okay?"

Hey everyone! Luckily, I've got the time to write this chapter today. YAY! I wasn't really planning this chapter to be this long, but I wanted you guys to feel it, as much as I do. I put so much effort writing this, though again, it wasn't proofread. (Sorry) Hope you like it!

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HARRY’S POV

             For few minutes, we just stood there. Her hands are no longer on her face. I continue to comfort her, silently wishing that all the ache she’s feeling inside would just stream out from her, through every teardrop that flows down her reddened cheeks.

            I loosen my arms wrapped around her fit body, just to realize her arms were around me too. A rush of something like an electricity flow through my spine up to my neck to the top of my head that feels like my skull is floating as my ears are flapping.

She immediately let her both arms flail as I fight with myself whether it is the right time to let her go.

            I managed to take a look on her hurting expression, still holding her to keep her still on the ground. I lowered my face and tried to make eye contact but she refused and slowly shook her head no.

I placed my left hand on her lower back as I cup her face with my right.

            She keeps on sobbing and mumbling apologies that I don’t know about. It aches me to see her like this. What else do I have to do? How delicate can she be?

            “It’s okay. It’s okay.” I keep on repeating. “Everything’s going to be okay, okay?” I consoled.

I keep her frigid cheeks in my warm hands and tilted her head towards me. I brushed her hair out of her beautiful face and tucked some behind her small ears.

Thank God! She stopped blubbing; she’s finally listening to me.

            “Let’s go inside, okay?” I shifted my body to her right and keep my arm around her shoulders to keep her warm as much as I can. That I realized, she’s wearing a thin knitted blue jumper and some tight black pants. I slightly brush my hands from where it was rested to add some heat to her stiff freezing body. She continues to wipe her cheeks stained with tears with the ends of her long sleeves.

            I let her in the small space and closed the steel door. She is just staring down her blue printed shoes. Her small black leather purse with gold plate chains hanging around her body up to her right shoulder.

            I helped her down the stairs and pressed the ‘down’ button of the lift and faced her. “We’ll get you some coffee or soup then I’ll drive you home.” I said, more likely informed her.

I carefully watch her every move. I don’t know why she’s crying, I don’t have the fucking idea. Did her Gran died? Is she sick? Or her sickness was worsened? Is she even fucking sick? What the fuck is this? I feel so stupid, useless and shit that I don’t know how to make her feel better, how to ease her pain. If only I could carry the weight she’s carrying on her shoulders, only if she just let me.

            We both stepped in to the lift.

I took off my flannel and put it around her shoulders. I just want to be so near her again. I want to hold her again so tight like I did back at her peace place. It feels better to hold her that way, so I can feel her shaking body, so I can somehow absorb her pain.

            But seeing her like this, so pale, so emotionless, so stiff and lonely is tormenting. Plus the fucking fact that I am just standing here beside her, no fucking idea what to do with her, just the simpliest and dumbest act of covering her with this damn flannel where it should be me, my arms, my body around her.