labyrinth Δ harry styles

Door Forty: Falling

Special songs for this chapter:
Tonight - ZAYN

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AT ONE POINT in time, Harry asked if I trusted him. I don't know how I knew then to trust him with everything that I had, but I ran with my gut and I'm lucky that I was right. But now that I've asked him for the same in return, did he simply think the same thing?

I know I can't force someone, let alone someone like Harry, to spill their guts on what is currently troubling them, but I'm his girlfriend, and I want him to confide in me more than anything.

Perhaps I want this for myself. Perhaps I just want my own personal closure with whatever seems to be going on with Harry now, and hell, it could even hurt him in the process. I don't want that for him. I don't want him to recede into a dark abyss of negative energies and emotions as if it was easy to pull himself right out. Knowing Harry's last jump into the black hole, it took years to get him to even barely surface.

But he got out because of me right? That night we shared our first kiss, he told me how felt like himself, and how different he'd felt after I started appearing in his life. If I asked him now about how he felt about me, I don't have a single doubt he would say the exact same thing.

In the almost five months I've truly gotten to know Harry, I know that he'll tell me anything I want to hear if I just ask. But now that I'm sitting against his headboard, my head rested back in profound thought, would it pain him to tell me? To confide in me? My reflection in the ceiling mirror stares back at me as I debate myself.

My mind is scrabbled, wanting one thing and then another as if it couldn't deal with enough—as if it hasn't dealt with enough. When Harry returns from his brief exit of the room, he sits himself on the bed, a few items jumbled in one hand. He remains silent after I practically begged him, with some recently developed confidence, to let me into this world of his, only responding by taking my hand and leading me to the bed to sit. Through my haphazard state of mind, I heard him rummaging through the bathroom closet, the one that was opposite his room.

When I lower my head back into a normal position, my face twists into confusion as I see a few cotton balls, acetone, and an intense red nail polish sitting upon his lap. He notes my confusion by a brief pass of his eyes, but he's chosen not to comment on it. I wish my confidence from earlier had returned because now I don't know if this is going to be another Beverly revelation. But until I muster up the courage to say something, I let him do whatever it is he's about to do.

He sits only a few inches away from me in criss-crossed position, close enough that I can hear his breathing. After shaking a few drops of polish remover onto a cotton ball, he gently takes one of my hands and begins rubbing off the already chipped beige polish. He is quick in doing so since there really wasn't much to begin with. I watch him as he starts twisting the cap of the varnish and carefully painting my index finger.

After coating the entire nail, he exhales a breath through his nose as if he'd been holding it in. It was then that he finally spoke up.

"January and I always used to do each other's nails from time to time. It became more of a thing for me since it would usually tend to calm me down."

Maybe this conversation will go smoother if I ease into it. "I'm guessing you used to vent to her all the time."

"Yes, but she also did too. Sometimes our emotions would get to the best of us and we would start fighting like old people, so we would turn to this." He places the wand back in the bottle, so he could clean up the side of my nails where he got the polish on. He had done this so many times he was practically a pro. "But like I said, more for me than her. January was really the only one who didn't ostracized me after everything happened, and she was the only one who told me shit for how it really was."