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The clock reads a bright 2:12 am when I manage to escape the safety of my cocoon bed and scour into the kitchen. Like a desperate madwoman, I pry open each cabinet in hopes of finding some type of alcoholic beverage to satisfy the void in my heart.

All of a sudden, a bright light floods through the room. I freeze like a deer caught in headlights. Audrey stands by the entrance, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Her hair's tied into a messy knot on the top of her head. "What are you doing?" she asks, a yawn escaping her lips.

A lie easily slips out of my lips. "I have a headache. I was just looking for some pills." 

Despite her grogginess, she manages to arch her brows. "With the lights off?" 

"I didn't want to wake anyone." I mentally pat myself on the back, impressed with my newfound skill. Lying was starting to come much easier. 

She must be too tired to care about my obvious lie. She squints, eyes still adjusting to the light, as she trudges over to a drawer and pries it open. After some digging, she manages to pull out a white Tylenol bottle and forces it into my palm. 

My fist immediately curls around it. "Thank you so much! Sorry for waking you up. Good night," I chirp. Immediately I cringe. I sound way too enthusiastic for someone who supposedly has a headache. 

She nods. Without another word, she pads back to her room. I wait until the door shuts to open the drawer and put the medicine back where it belongs. 

I decide not to push my luck with the alcohol search. That was already a close call and I'm pretty sure Audrey got rid of all the alcohol after my unpleasant binge during the whole Drew situation. It's as if she's made it her life mission to make sure I don't turn into an alcoholic.

Good friend, she is.

Suddenly a brilliant idea pops into my mind. We may not have alcohol, but there is something else that can help calm the beating of my heart. 

And I know exactly who to call.

After fifteen minutes, I get the 'I'm here' text. With the stealth of a fox, I manage to trapeze out of the apartment with minimal noise, which is an impressive feat for me. The red sports car idles in the parking lot, a few spots away from our building. As inconspicuously as possible, I open the passenger side door and slip into the seat, the leather interior cooling my bottom immediately. 

Drew flashes me an impassive look, a joint hanging between his fingers that rest on the steering wheel. 

I snatch it from him and hold out my palm for a lighter. With an annoyed sigh, he fishes it out of the console and lights it for me before replacing it. 

The mere scent of the weed already has a calming effect on me. My lips curl around the stick and inhale a lungful. Since I'm not usually a smoker, a cough bubbles up my dry through, followed by a burning sensation. 

"The only reason I'm even giving this to you is because you look like shit and I know the odds of you spilling are higher when you're high," he tells me as he takes the joint from my fingers. Much to my surprise, he takes a long hit. I didn't expect him to smoke too.

"I'm flattered," I dryly respond, focusing on the part where he insulted me.

He nonchalantly shrugs before taking another hit. "Look, everyone treats you the same. They'll let you throw your tantrums until you're out of control. Then, either Harry swoops in and fixes your booboo, or your problem is miraculously solved. Judging by the circumstances, Harry already knows.  I'm sure he and Audrey hit you with the 'I won't question, I'll just let you cry' method, but we both know that's bullshit. I won't though, not this time. You need to learn with your issues in a healthy manner."

I glance over at his dead-serious expression. Stealing the stick, I take another hit and exhale a puff of smoke before confessing. "I saw my dad."

I expect at least an ounce of sympathy from Drew, but instead he snorts, "And?"

"And what? I just saw my dad after like nine years of not."

He takes the joint out of my hand. "Am I supposed to pity you?"

"Well, no, but..." My brows furrow in confusion. I didn't expect him to act so... insensitive about the issue. Usually, he'd be the one holding my hand and telling me everything would be okay. 

"So, do you want to keep your relationship with him or not?"

I snatch back the joint back as I notice my heartrate starting to increase again. "No, but-"

"No buts El. You've made your choice, now there's nothing to mope about. It's done. R.I.P to your relationship with your dad. Boohoo. I'll give you tonight to be sad but tomorrow I expect you to be back to normal."

I stare at him, puzzled. What is going on right now?

He unleashes a loud groan as he looks at me. "You made your decision. I don't understand why you want to feel pity and sadness for yourself. You have to move on and you won't feel better until you get over yourself." 

"I... I guess you're right..." I dumbfoundedly gawk at him. 

"Of course I am," he scoffs, as if suggested he wasn't is the most preposterous idea in the world. He takes the blunt from me and takes another inhale as he adds, "I'm spending the night, don't wanna drive under the influence."

I warily nod, unaware of what's going on. First, he commands me to stop throwing a pity party, with no sympathy, then tells me he's sleeping over instead of asking? Where's the Drew I know? 

"I kind of needed this. Thanks, Drew," I say softly. His emotionless reaction actually resonated within me. For once, I find myself actually heeding someone's advice. I actually want to move past this instead of keeping it my main focus for the next few weeks.

I want to move on without anyone's help. 

"People need to stop coddling you. You're not a baby. Tough love is what you need," he tells me as a ring of smoke escapes his lips. "You know, if you had a dad, you wouldn't need me."

I swat his arm. "Shut up, you prick," I laugh, him joining in seconds afterward. I find myself a little in shock at how I'm able to laugh so freely. Maybe the weed was part of it, but not the entire reason. 

We finish the joint and sneak back into the house. Both of us being high isn't a good combination. We barely make it in alive, let alone quietly. Both of our balances are off, making things more chaotic than they need to be. I can't stop giggling while Drew keeps obnoxiously shushing me louder than he needs to. 

When we finally stumble in, the living room light flips on. We both reflexively squint. Harry and Audrey await us, not looking the happiest. The girl gives me a harsh glare, but her face softens when she sees her soulmate.

Bleh.

"I promise I kept her safe," Drew salutes at Harry before being pulled away to Audrey's bedroom. I send him a quick wave and - I hope - a suggestive look.

Once they're gone, Harry strides toward me. I gulp. The intensity in his eyes is enough to have me cower away. He grips me by the shoulders and gives me a long look, probably laced with disappointment or anger. I can't tell what's worse. 

Then, he surprisingly pulls me into a tight hug. "I got so worried."

I stumble, taken by surprise of his sudden weight. Even when he unlatches, my feet can't find the flat ground beneath them. I feel like I'm nonstop tripping. He rolls his eyes before one hand lowers and swoops me up behind the knees.

He's carrying me bridal style. I giggle at the gesture, nuzzling my face into his warm chest. 

I'm also giggling at the weird shapes that are popping out of the ceiling. I can't see them anymore but I know they're there...

"Weed?" He guesses, gently laying me on to the soft mattress. I nod. His face fades out of view and I can't help but stare at the shadows in the room. They slither around my vision, taunting me with their intricate dances. "I don't like you hanging around with Drew after hours, but better him than a stranger I guess," he sighs, getting on the other side of the bed. 

I turn to face him, my eyes finally adjusting back to the darkness. He's now shirtless and eyeing me warily. His tattoos begin moving on his skin. The birds on his chest flap around his torso. I laugh as I try to capture them with my finger. The sneaky bastards play hard to get, escaping my pinches. 

His frown fades into a cheeky smile. I poke a finger in his dimple, assessing the depth of it. Hm... yes. Very deep. He grabs my finger and kisses it before forcing it to my side. 

"What's going on with you El," he sighs, pulling me in close. I snuggle against his chest and inhale his intoxicating smell. It mixes with the loud scent on me, but still overpowers everything. The heat radiating from his body adds a second warmth, encircling me like my own personal blanket.  

"Harry?" I pull out of his grasp and look at his face.

"Hmm?"

"I'm in love with you," I smile and snuggle back into him. His grip around me doesn't tighten, nor does he say anything back. He just lays there, frozen.

The drowsiness hits me full on and I fall asleep in the arms of a man who may or may not love me back.

Sounds like a morning problem.

~~~

A throbbing headache is my wake up call. 

Sitting up, my eyes squint as they adjust to the brightness of the room. The curtain is pulled back, allowing the sun's full intensity to flood into the room. I silently curse whoever forgot to close them last night. 

It was probably me.

My hand gropes around the bed. Much live I expected, I come up empty. Harry is no longer my object of warmth, nor is he in the room with me. My eyes fall upon the bedside table and soften. There, along with a glass of water and a bottle of pills, is a small note with hastily scribbled letters. 

As I soothe my dry throat, my eyes skim over the words.

Had to step out. I'll be back by this evening. Do me a favor and take care of yourself. 

Xx, your soul

I smile at the signage at the end. My soul. How much cuter can he get? 

Although last night is a blur of events, I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to anger Harry. He wouldn't tell me to take care of myself if he was pissed, right? Plus his letter seems loving enough. 

After a really long and toe-curling stretch, I decide to get out of bed and start my day. Hopefully it goes as smooth as my morning started. 

Harry's POV

I can't help the ridiculously goofy grin spread on my lips. I probably look like a total wanker, smiling at nothing, but I couldn't care less.

She loves me. 

She told me she loves me. 

Since she was high out of her mind, I can't trust that she remembers telling me. But it's real. They say drunk words are sober thoughts. It's probably the same for drugs. She truly loves me.

And I'm hopelessly in love with her.

She didn't tell me under obligation because I told her first. She said it under her own accord. 

Someone loves me. Fucked up Harry. Not because I'm famous or rich. She loves me in the good and the ugly. She's seen me at bad and at worse, yet she can still get passed the ugly shell of a man.

I don't deserve her. 

And now I feel like an absolute arse. She loves me and I didn't say it back. I couldn't even face her in the morning. Not because I'm nervous or upset. I'm quite the opposite, actually. More like if I see her right now, I'll end up proposing to her on the spot. As much as I want to marry her, something tells me she'll run. 

Of course, she'd run! She took months to confess, and she wasn't even sober while doing it. What makes me think marriage won't freak her the fuck out?

I'm so thrilled right now that I could shout it from the rooftops.

The first I do after slipping out at the crack of dawn is call Gemma. As much of a pain my older sister can be, she gives surprisingly good advice. 

Except for today.

She keeps encouraging me to confess back. Normally, that would be the sane thing to do because I definitely love her, but this isn't normal. Ellie had confessed when she was high. She may love me, but there's no guarantee she won't be freaked out if I bring it up. Maybe she'll be embarrassed for saying it so casually. The last thing I want is for her to have another one of her freakouts. 

After explaining this to Gemma, she tells me that my fears are stupid. Still, I'm not convinced. We argue for what feels like an eternity before we come to a mutual decision.

I need to get Ellie to reconfess. 

It's the only way I'll be certain that my own confession won't have her running for the hills.

The issue with that is I may have to go months without hearing the sweet words again. It took her so long to say it now, what makes me think it'll be different the second time around? 

Still, I'm an impatient bastard. The way the phrase fell from her mouth was like angels descending from heaven. I need to hear it again, and again, for a million times. And sooner rather than later.

The only way to truly get her to reconfess, logically, is to confess again, which is totally hypocritical of what I'm thinking. 

Then again, would she really freak out if she knew I loved her? Isn't that a flattering thing? Maybe it'll make her feel secure enough to tell me how she's feeling.

My internal conflict is paused when my phone buzzes in my hand. Looking down, I see my manager's name flash on the screen. An annoyed groan escapes my lips as I decline the call.

The prick has been calling me nonstop for a few days now. I can only assume he wants to bring me back to London which I personally think is unnecessary. Anything I can do there, I can do here too, but with Ellie by my side. 

There's also the fact that I haven't specifically told him about ending shit with Trina. I have a suspicion that he won't be ecstatic about the news. In fact, he'll be pissed and I can't deal with bitchy managers right now.

My phone vibrates again. My brows pull together in confusion as I see he's left a voicemail. That's very uncharacteristic for Tom, even when he's desperate. 

Curiosity wins out in the end. I bring the mobile to my ear and play the message.

"Harry, I know you're avoiding my calls. Please, call me back. We're being sued for violation of contract. I need you to take responsibility for this. We need to talk."

My heart plummets into my stomach.

Before I can even think about it, I call him back. He picks up on the first ring. 

"What?"

He sighs on the other end, and I can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Harry. Why didn't you tell me you broke up with Trina? You can't do that!"

I kick a small pebble on the sidewalk out of frustration. "But I'm still paying her! Why is she suing us?"

"Because, Harry, this isn't just about money. Trina Star has a fortune in her name. It's about publicity, for both of you." Tom doesn't bother hiding the annoyance in his tone. It's easy to see I'm not his favorite person right now. 

I run my hand through my hair. "So what? Are we taking the lawsuit? Settling?"

Tom hesitates before answering. "Well, she won't settle. They want the lawsuit. They want to drag your name through the mud and make it dramatic. They want publicity, and they'll get it one way or another." 

I groan. Of course, this is what happens when you get mixed up with snotty rich brats. There's a damn reason I've never even thought about living in LA. 

"Or... there's another option."

"What?" I urgently ask. Beating around the bush is highly inappropriate right now.

His voice is small, lost of all confidence he had moments ago. "You can fake date her again."

"No," I roar through the phone. I can imagine Tom holding his phone away from his ear, rolling his eyes at me. 

"Harry, I don't think you understand. They won't make it pretty. They can say all types of lies. Everyone would believe Trina, she's America's sweetheart." 

I know he's right, but I don't want to hear it. Things have been so perfect between Ellie and I these past few days. For once she was open about her expectations and I was more than happy to fix the problem. Anything for her. 

Before I can hang up, his voice blasts through the small speaker. "I know you're about to hang up. Just, please, think long and hard about this. Oh, also, she isn't in on it."

The last part catches my attention. "What're you talking about?"

"Trina. She doesn't know this is all staged. Her managers are doing it for her, but apparently she has a mad crush on you, so she thinks this is just between you and her. Don't call and threaten her, okay?"

I hang up and pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course, she doesn't know. Just another bump in the road. Fuck. 

Fuck!

For the first time in a while, I notice my surroundings. My brows quirk in surprise. I've ended up walking to that ugly coffee shop Ellie always hangs out at. 

I honestly don't see the appeal at all. The coffee tastes like shit and the place is small. We have better cafes in the dumps of England. 

But I would rather die than tell her that. It would absolutely crush her. 

Hesitantly, I walk in, making sure to pull up my hood and keep my sunglasses on my face. I'd rather not meet any fans at the moment. 

Yet I'm still met with the familiar barista's smug face. Bastard.

"Well well well, what do we have here?" He laughs haughtily, already starting my drink. How he remembers - I don't know. I slide a twenty toward the cash register and sit at El's usual seat. "And you didn't bring the misses?" he taunts, sliding the cup toward me.

"It's just me I'm afraid." I'm not in the mood to joke around. Or talk. Especially with him.

He doesn't read my hints. "Aw, are we liking my coffee shop?" If anything, his smugness increases tenfold. 

"No," I scoff. "It's too cramped and this tastes like murky water." I take a sip and exaggerate a look of disgust. He rolls his eyes and tosses his dishrag over his shoulder. 

"Then what brings you here, without her? If I were to choose between you and her, it wouldn't be you."

I roll my eyes. He isn't exactly my first choice either. "I needed some space."

His brows lift up in surprise. I remind myself that everything I tell him, he's sure to repeat back to her. I take off my sunglasses and slip them in the pockets of my jacket. Right now, I couldn't care about being recognized. It's not like the four senior citizens in the cafe would care anyway.

"Well, we have all day. Spill," he leans over the counter expectantly. I narrow my eyes at him. I don't like him, I'm not about to vent to him as if he's a friend. I think he's confusing me for Ellie. 

Finally taking the hint, he rolls his eyes as he backs off. Much to my luck, another old couple enters the store then. He plasters on a fake smile as he saunters over to them, charming the pants off of them.

So that's how he got Ellie to like him.

I drink my coffee in peace before his annoying frame steps into my vision again. "What?" I snap. Can this dude not take a damn hint? It's a miracle his coffee shop has lasted this long. 

He isn't the slightest moved by my tone. "I'm waiting. Don't forget, I own this place. I will stay here all night if you want." 

I narrow my eyes at him, forcing him to back off. He's stubborn and maintains eye contact. I can feel him waiver, so I keep going. If anything, I intensify my glare. I've perfected the art of death stares. He won't last long.

But, he keeps up a good fight. Just when I'm about to give up, he looks down. I triumphantly smile and take another sip of my coffee. 

"You suck, Styles." Then, his eyes light up with an idea. I suspiciously eye him as he leans in to whisper something. "Hm, what a shame it would be if I just yelled your name right now..."

"You wouldn't," I say warily. Maybe these old people won't recognize me but why should I take the chance? 

He takes this as a challenge. He opens his mouth to speak and I quickly clamp my hand over his mouth. I can feel his lips forming a smug smile against my skin. 

I remove my hand and wipe it on my jeans. "Fine."

His eyes light up as he leans against the bar.

I give him one last dirty look before opening up. Still, I try to be as vague as possible. "I just found out I have to keep fake dating Trina Star."

His eager smile drops. "What? But didn't Bitchzilla give you so much trouble last time?"

For a split second, I smile. El's nickname really caught on. 

"Yeah..." I sheepishly rub the back of my neck and duck my head down. Everyone's noticed Trina's ludicrous behavior except for me. To me, she acts like any other girl I've been around. Even my mates agree she came on too strong and Ellie was justified to be annoyed. 

"You can't do that to Ellie," he says softly.

Rage and frustration boil inside me. Who is he to tell me what I can and can't do with Ellie? She's mine, not his. "You don't think I fucking know that?" I slam my fist on the counter, attracting some looks. 

Noah smiles apologetically at them before returning back to me.

I get off the stool. This isn't good. The annoyance I've tried so hard to keep buried is rearing its ugly head. "I shouldn't have come here, "I mutter before turning on my heel and walking out of the cafe. Noah calls my name behind me. 

I turn the corner into a small alley between buildings. I kick the brick wall and curse. When did my life become so frustrating? 

The action does nothing to calm my rage. 

Balling my fists, my skin meets the cold brick in a sick cracking noise. 

Fuck that hurt.

I cradle my now bruised knuckles, seeing the beginning for a cut form, followed by the oozing of blood. I immediately wince, not from the pain, but rather from the fact that Ellie's going to be pissed at me.

I groan, realizing I have to go home now. I can't be walking around looking like I've pummelled someone to death. I stretch out my hand to see if it'll open, but each attempt feels like death. I decide it's not worth testing it now. 

After about five minutes of internal rage and nervous pacing, I attempt my way back home. 

Ellie's P.O.V

I rather desperately sulk at the dining room table, waiting for Harry to return. A small part of me is curious as to what the hell he's doing. It's Florida, there isn't much he can do without getting recognized. Still, it's really none of my business.

I reread the paragraph of the book I've occupied myself with five times before putting it down. It's obvious I won't be able to concentrate until Harry comes home.

Speak of the devil, the front door opens and I quickly pick up the book again, making it seem as if I was casually reading. 

"Hey," I mumble, my eyes not leaving the page. It's better to not seem desperate, right? 

He doesn't respond right away. Confused, my eyes finally snap up to see him leaning against the kitchen entryway. Well, leaning makes him seem casual when he's not. I'd probably say he's brooding.

Wait, he's brooding...

My eyes frantically skim over his body. Pulsing jaw? Check. Rigid posture? Definitely. Hardened eyes that can blow holes into walls? Double check. Fists that are...

...bloody?

Immediately I spring to my feet and grab his injured wrist out of his other hand. They're bruised for sure, but also oozing blood. Slowly, I angle his hand in all directions to get a good hint of what happened. His face remains impassive, although he occasionally hisses in pain. His emerald eyes focus only on my face as if he's gauging my reaction. 

Why would he be gauging my reaction?

I don't ask him that, nor do I ask how he got injured in the first place. Instead, I force him to unclench his fist. He starts to but the amount of pain makes him immediately close it again. 

"I think it's broken," I murmur as I take a good look at it. Yup. Fists don't normally look like that. "Let's go to the hospital."

He lets out a distressed sigh as he rakes his free fingers through his already disheveled hair. "I can't drive," he says in a raspy voice, as if he's been yelling all day.

Curse me for not having my license yet!

I nod as I pull out a cold bottle of water from the fridge. After unscrewing the cap, I shove it in his free hand. He stares down at it with a small furrow between his brows. I roll my eyes and head on over to Audrey's room, silently praying she's home.

Knocking, I don't wait for a response as I poke my head through the crack of the door. Luckily she's fully clothed. 

"What's up?" she asks, sounding very chipper. Sometimes I forget that people have different lives. For example, she's here living her best life while I'm sick with worry about what mess Harry's gotten into.

"Can you drive us to the hospital?"

She smirks as if this is the best thing that's ever happened to her. I can just imagine all the teasing directed toward Harry. I roll my eyes. She follows me back into the kitchen, dangling her keys to get Harry's attention. 

"Fuck no, I'd rather walk," he groans.

"Okay, have fun walking seven miles with a broken hand. How'd you get that anyway?" Her tone is mocking, pushing him over the edge.

He flashes me a desperate look, to which I only respond with a shrug. "She's the only one out of the three of us that can drive."

Throughout the whole car ride, I lean my head against the passenger head window. She keeps making snarky comments at him, and he's one second away from yelling at her to shut up. I keep quiet, even though the tension in the air is enough to transfer to my body. 

I am stressed.

I'm also angry and disappointed. I honestly thought Harry was moving on from his childish behavior but it seems like that isn't the case. He's obviously punched someone. Maybe even beaten them to death based on the condition of his hand. It's the only explanation I can think of for him not explaining himself immediately. It's as if he knows I'll blow up on him.

He needs to control his anger before he really hurts himself. The fact that he's broken his hand scares me. He's gonna get himself in deep shit one day if he doesn't fix his act.

"We're here," Audrey pulls into a parking space instead of dropping us off at the entrance.

"Fuck no, I don't want you to come," Harry hisses.

"Well, idiot, I'm your ride home and I'm sure as hell not sitting in the car. You don't think I have better things to do than sit in the ER all day?" she retorts with no offense in her tone.

"Yeah," he scoffs. "I'm sure you have a very busy day."

She glances at me from the corner of her eye, as if asking what to do. I sigh. "We'll Uber back or something," I tell her, too drained to sound the least bit of reassuring. 

"Are you sure?" Her voice is suddenly void of the mocking tone she's been using the entire drive here. One look from me and she knows I'm pissed. 

I nod and drag myself out of the car before I do something stupid. She flashes me a smile but it does little to ease my mind. Harry trails behind me, smartly keeping his distance from me. 

When we enter the ER, I walk straight up to the receptionist's desk. "Hi, I'm pretty sure my friend broke his hand." 

Harry sucks in a sharp breath.

She glances at me, then Harry, who's still standing behind me. A clipboard with a thick stack of paper materializes in her hand. "You need to fill out this paperwork and sign in," she points to the clipboard on the counter. "We'll call your name as soon as we're ready."

Nodding, I grab the clipboard with one hand and sign in with the other, making sure to put down my name. If I use his, we could get unnecessary attention and I don't think either of us is in the mood for that right now.

He cautiously follows me like a child waiting to be scolded. In fact, I feel like a mother right now. How did Anne put up with this?

We sit in a thick fog of silence as I fill out the forms for him. We only speak when I need information that I don't know. Even then, our voices come out clipped and as brief as possible.

"Ellie Marsh?" A nurse calls from a door. Harry and I get up and follow the voice. He smiles at us before leading us to our own room. "Are you the patient today? It seems like he needs more medical attention." A small laugh escapes him and I smile back, not trying to be rude.

I shake my head. "No, I just put down my own name because I didn't want to draw attention." I hand him the completed forms. He smiles warmly before gesturing for Harry to take a seat. 

A small furrow appears between the nurse's brow before looking down at the clipboard. Recognition flashes in his eyes. "Harry Styles. The name sounds familiar," he says, voice laced with amusement. 

"Yeah, famous singer, blah blah blah," I say casually, hoping he won't make this a bigger deal than it is. 

He chuckles as his eyes skim over the rest of the information. Once he's done, he walks over to Harry and sets the clipboard down on the table. "May I?" 

Harry holds out his hand for the nurse to inspect. Upon looking at it, I wince. The state of it has only gotten worse since I saw it last. The skin is turning a mix of blue, purple, and bloody red. The nurse touches it gingerly, pausing every time Harry hisses out in pain. When he needs to open up his fist, he's unable to do so, the pain being unbearable.

The nurse finally let's go. "It's definitely broken. We'll need you to open your fist in order to set the bone so we'll put you on some numbing reagents first. The doctor will be in shortly to set the bone." Grabbing the clipboard, he smiles at us one last time. "See you soon."

Once the door clicks behind him, I take a seat on the chair in the corner. My elbows rest on my knees as I cradle my head and massage my temples. A very annoyed sigh escapes my lips before I can stop it.

Harry breaks the silence. "Are you mad?" His tone is laced with vulnerability, which is very offputting. It's rare to see him unconfident. 

I don't look up at him and opt to nod instead.

"Talk to me," he coos.

My head shoots up and I muster the harshest glare I can, although it isn't too hard. "Am I mad? Of course I'm fucking mad!" I snap.

He flinches at my tone. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Who'd you punch?" I ask, realizing that not asking will get me nowhere. He obviously isn't going to tell me on his own accord. 

He looks taken aback. "What? No one."

"Then how?" My eyes linger on his knuckles. I feel sick.

He looks down, ashamed. "I punched a wall."

I know I should be relieved that he hasn't physically assaulted anyone, but I still feel disappointed. He lost his temper. It just so happened the poor wall was the only unsuspecting victim. What if anyone else was there? Would he punch them instead?

"Please talk to me," he desperately pleads. "I don't like you like this."

"Well, you should've thought about that before you acted rash and injured yourself," I hiss. At the end of my sentence, a knock comes from the door. 

Within seconds, a doctor and the nurse from earlier walk in. I quickly straighten up before giving up and reassuming my hunched-over position from earlier. 

"So, Mr. Styles," the doctor starts. He looks much older than the nurse, probably around mid-fifties. "Let's take a look at that hand, shall we? Take these. They'll help with the pain."

Harry gladly downs the pills he's given and follows the doctor's orders with minimal complaints.

The nurse turns to me with a warm smile. "We're going to set the bone now so if you don't like gory stuff you're welcome to sit in the hallway."

I nod and get up, thankful for the excuse to leave Harry's sight for a moment. I just need a second to myself. Still, I don't miss the dejected look he sends me as I brush past him.

There's a small bench at the end of the hallway. I perch myself there, massaging my throbbing temples once again. The pain in my head is becoming constant, which sucks considering I woke up with a headache too. 

God, it was only this morning where I was fawning over an idle note Harry had written me. What I would do to go back to that moment where I was all warm and fuzzy.

It feels like hours later when the nurse walks out of Harry's room and toward my direction. "We're done setting the bone. The doctor's just finishing up."

I nod. "I just need a few minutes."

Much to my surprise, he takes the spot next to me. "How did he break it anyway? If you don't mind me asking."

"He's an idiot," I sigh, sitting up. "He punched a wall." 

He sucks in a sharp breath. "Ouch."

"You should've seen the other guy," I joke, partly surprised at how I managed to do that in a time like this.

Once it registers, the nurse chuckles. 

"Thank you."

He slaps the armrest of the bench before standing up. "No problem. Have a good one."

"You too!" I call to his retreating figure before slumping down once again. It seems I've used all my energy making that once joke. Now I have to go and face Harry once again. 

I hesitate a few moments before remembering the doctor is still in the room. It's the perfect opportunity to sneak in and see Harry without having to talk. With that in mind, I walk back to the room.

Sure enough, the doctor is filling out a prescription when I pop my head in. He passes the note to Harry and pats his shoulder before smiling at me on his way out. 

So much for stalling.

"Let's get out of here," Harry sighs, standing on his feet and grabbing his things. His hand is now adorned in a black cast, stretching from the tips of his fingers to his elbow. It seems a little excessive for a broken hand. He struggles with carrying everything so I quickly grab his stuff and shove it in my purse.

Once we're out in the fresh air, I tell him, "I have to call for a ride."

He nods and goes to sit at one of the benches near the building. Without thinking, I dial Drew and ask him if we can pick me up from the hospital, excluding the fact that Harry's with me. After mild concern, he happily agrees.

Ten minutes later, his sleek car pulls up to the drop off area.

Harry groans as he notices. "You called him?" he asks from behind me. "What happened to an Uber?"

I don't dignify him with an answer. I slip into Drew's car and pull him in for a quick hug across the console. "Thanks for this."

Harry moodily slips into the back seat. Drew notices, his smile dropping right away. Understanding flashes in his eyes. I simply shrug in response. 

Instead of sulking around, I keep myself busy by controlling the radio. My constant station switches annoys Harry, which makes Drew happy. 

Drew glances at Harry through the rearview mirror. "So how long do you have to keep that cast on for?"

"Three weeks," Harry gruffly answers.

Drew clamps his lips together, nodding. His fingers absentmindedly drum on the steering wheel as we drive home in silence, excluding the radio. I can tell he's dying to ask about what happened, but he doesn't, as if he knows he's sparing me a headache.

He's such a good friend. First last night, now this?

When we arrive back at the apartment, Drew comes up with us. I'm surprised, although I shouldn't be at this point. I mean, he's Audrey's soulmate. Of course he's going to be around, just like Harry always is.

Still, my anger has barely simmered down. I storm up to my room and yell, "I'm going for a run," before accidentally slamming the door. Somewhere Audrey makes a joke about breaking the place. 

The cathartic idea of running already starts to loosen my muscles. Once I pull my running shoes on, I already feel my body slumping from relief. 

The running feels a thousand times better. It could be because I have some alone time to sort out my thoughts, or maybe the lack of responsibility.

I just wish I had known the worse hadn't even begun yet. 

Sorry, this was a long long long one. 

So... opinions?