(Harry) Styles Triplets Imagines

My Protector

"Edward, you know I hate seeing you like this." I frowned from where I stood next to the boxing ring.

"I'm winning, baby, look at him, he's barely standing. He said as his coach massaged his shoulders and gave him sips of water.

"But your eye is going to be swollen tomorrow and your lip is-"

"My lip is fine. I can still kiss you, sweetheart, if that's what you're worried about." He winked down at me before his coach tapped his shoulder to give him instructions.

I bit my lip, not wanting to watch him get hurt much longer. I went back to the locker room and grabbed my purse from inside his locker. There was a tv hanging on the wall that was displaying his match and I winced as I watched him get punched in his ribs a few times before he knocked the other guy out and jumped in the air from victory.

The crowd was cheering, the referee was holding Edward's arm in the air, his coach jumped in the ring to congratulate him but Edward was looking around the ring for something or someone: me.

I wiped my tears, hating myself for not being there when he won. I want to support him through his career but it's gotten so hard. I have to watch him get hurt over and over again. I hate it. I can't continue to be with him if he wants to continue boxing.

Two weeks ago, he was rushed to the hospital because he got punched in the ribs too hard and fell to the ground. He had a concussion and internal bleeding and had to stay in the hospital for three days. What kind of girlfriend would I be if keep encouraging him to go back out there and hurt himself?

The locker room doors were pushed open and in came my boyfriend, sweat dripping from his chest and a little dried up blood from his nose.

"Thanks for being there for me when won." He sarcastically said.

I sighed, looking at his eye that will probably be swollen tomorrow. "I'm sorry." I mumbled.

"The only person I look forward to congratulating me is my girlfriend and she's so afraid of me getting punched that she can't stick around for the last two minutes." He groaned, pushing past me to head to the shower.

"I'm sorry, Edward. You know how feel about you boxing." I said.

"Yes, I do." He stripped naked and turned on the water.

"But that doesn't mean you should abandon me at the end of my match. I know you hate seeing me get hurt. Trust me, it kills me to see you get hurt too but all I need is for you to support me just a little." He stepped in the shower and I sat down on the bench.

I could already feel my heart breaking from what I was about to say to him. "I do support you but it's just hard." I said. "You have no idea how much it hurts me to see you get punched. When you step in that ring, my heart drops every time because don't know if you'll make it out alive." I frowned.

He groaned again. "It's not that drastic, love."

"It is to me!... So many boxers get bones in their palm fractured, carpal bossing, cuts and lacerations on their eyes, shoulder dislocations, and concussions." I stated.

"I'm glad you've been googling." He sarcastically said. "Baby, I know all of the risks that come with this sport. That's why I have professional coach."

Professional coach my ass.

"Edward, do you have any idea how hard it is to support someone who's only damaging themselves?"

"I think I do. My arsehole of a father would always come crying to my mother about needing money for "food" or "a place to stay" when she knew that he was using drugs but she loved him anyway so she gave it to him even after he cheated on her multiple times and left her for a girl that's two years younger than me. So yes, Y/n, I know what it's like." He mumbled.