You Can't Sing Without Air- Harry Styles Fanfic

39. Rock Stars Are Romantic I Guess

You should stop hiding. 

Sean's words echo in my head. Logically, I should be obsessing over my conversation with Dr. Hunter today and the possibility of postponing transplant. Instead, all I can think about is Harry. I guess Sean was right- I don't care much for petty things like life and death. 

Niall went home for the night, taking Sean with him. I somehow managed to convince my mum that I was fine staying by myself so she's gone with them as well. She needs some rest, I can see it in her eyes. She's had too many sleepless nights on the hospital sofa.   

If I'm being honest however, I really just wanted some time alone to think. An empty hospital room is the best place for thinking. When I was young it would drive me crazy- being stuck in a room alone with nothing but my thoughts. Tonight though, I'm grateful for it more than ever before.  

My mind flashes back to earlier today in the courtyard. My initial reaction to Harry's tattoo was shock, but then something else, something I can't quite place. Something akin to... honor? 

In the whole week we spent together, my greatest insecurity was that I didn't matter to Harry. I was terrified that I was just another fling- a bit of fun in a world of supermodels and movie stars. A novelty. Seeing that number on Harry's arm smashed every one of those insecurities. You don't get a tattoo for your two-night stand.  I obviously meant more to him than a fling.

Then why would he abandon me? I heard what Niall said to him in the hallway that night in the hospital. Still it doesn't make sense for Harry to stop returning my messages and calls. He isn't the type to shy away just because someone told him off. Niall's words were harsh and careless, but surely Harry could see that they were just Niall's fear in the heat of the moment. There had to be something else. 

Before I can talk myself out of it I pull out my phone, drafting a text. 

I want to talk. Can you come to the hospital?  

I hit send, feeling like I'm going to vomit. I lay the phone down on my bed, not expecting a response. He probably deleted my number months ago. 

To my surprise my phone vibrates not even a minute later. 

On my way. 

.................................................................................. 

There's a knock on my door, then a pause before it opens. Harry walks into the dark room, a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. He's wearing that same old pair of joggers he wore when he stayed with me in LA. The sight ignites a feeling in me I haven't felt in a long time. 

"Hey." He says.  

Hey 

He walks cautiously towards me, as if he's scared I'm going to throw my phone at him or something. He pauses at the foot of my bed. I point to the chair next to it. 

Sit. 

He sits.

He crosses his ankles, cupping the coffee with his hands nervously. He looks so small, so timid and ashamed, like a kid in the headmaster's office. 

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both of us listening to the sound of the ventilator pushing air in and out of my lungs. The curtains are open slightly and starlight filters in through the window, illuminating the room enough for me to see his face. It's soft and solemn.  

In spite of everything I want to reach out and touch it. I want to cup his face in my hands and ask him why. Why did he leave? Why didn't he respond? What did I do wrong?