kalopsia [harry styles]

24

HARRY STYLES

She's crying. It's small and almost untraceable, but it's there.

They start small, almost like when an animal cries in pain. It reminded me of an injured puppy, weak and vulnerable.. Small enough so that I almost can't hear them as I strummed the strings of my guitar, mumbling the melody of a song I was composing.

I almost never slept, running on four hours of sleep normally. I didn't count on sleep to help me funcion–that was what coffee was for. I didn't like sleeping, didn't like the feeling of uselessness it gave me.

I look up from my guitar, a frown present on my face as I stopped strumming the strings to focus on the muffled sound that was coming from behind her door.

As the final sound dies, the apartment is engulfed in silence, dim lighting reflecting around the room. I'd only turned on a couple of lights, so I could see the buildings around me through the window.

I tried to block out the sound of traffic coming from outside, sitting up straight and leaning my head forward towards her room door.

There wasn't any sounds for a moment, and then there it was again, this time a little louder.

Yeah, she was definitely crying.

The small whimpers evolved into small sobs, and they could be heard clearly through the door of her room and into the living room, where I was.

My frown deepened even more, the skin creasing between my eyebrows in worry about her. All the desire to write my music faded away, replaced with the worry and interest to find why it was that she was crying.

I'd never heard her cry, but at this moment, if there was something I knew, it was that I never wanted to hear that painful sound coming from her again. It was like someone had taken a knife into my gut and had twisted it around inside me. Fucking painful.

Moving around on the couch, I placed my guitar beside me, making sure that it didn't fall before standing up.

I was in my pajamas, which consisted of some sweatpants... and nothing more. I'd changed after she'd gone to sleep in the guest room. I wouldn't change right now, but if she wanted me to then I'd put on a shirt or something of the sort.

My feet padded softly on the cold hardwood floor as I made my way to the door, hesitating for a moment before I knocked.

I press my ear to the wooden door, the sobbing noises instantly intensifying since now I'm a lot closer. She sounds so hurt and sad. I want nothing more than to comfort her, even though I don't even know how that would work.

I wasn't good with emotions. Never was, probably never would be. I owed my fucking dipshit of a father that. She sounded like she really needed a shoulder to cry on–and I'd be that, no doubts–but I wasn't sure I would be able to figure out how to say the right things.

That didn't mean I wouldn't try, though.

I stay still for a few moments, debating whether to knock or not. I didn't want to intrude on her, it was clear that she wasn't in the best mental place. Also, something told me it had something to do with the reason she was in therapy.

I recalled the times where she'd been really hesitant to tell me about her sister or her parents–or anything private in general. At first the fact that she didn't trust me had struck a nerve; I was used to strangers telling me their lives stories.

And then there was Fallon.

Her emotions were an open book, always present on her face. It wasn't difficult to figure her out. Her feelings and past though, they were a different story.