Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

You're Angry

"God, Harry, can you not," you snapped in irritation when you walked in the room.

Harry looked up from his phone, a confused twitch in his brow. "What?"

"Can you just... just put the phone down, you're always on it," you spat, stalking towards the refrigerator.

"I'm not really--" he tried, but you cut him off.

"Seriously? Did you do this? Why am I always the one this happens to," you angrily complained as you spun around with a very nearly empty milk jug.

"You've done it to me plenty of times," he grumped quietly.

"Excuse me? What did you say?" your eyes blazed as you stalked over to his seat at the table. "What did you say?"

"You've done it to me too," he retorted, his voice starting to sound more tense.

"Ohh, okay, right then. Clearly I'm the one at fault here. Well at least I don't have my shoes all over the bedroom."

"You said you didn't want them in the closet!" he defended, voice raising.

"Well I changed my mind," you practically yelled, feeling far too angry to justify.

"What is wrong with you, chill out," Harry griped, standing up beside you.

"Chill out? Are you seriously going to tell me to chill out?" you laughed a bit sadistically, not backing down though he towered over you.

"Yes," he growled back, taking your shoulders in his hands, "You're acting like a maniac."

"Don't touch me," you spat and yanked your shoulders away.

"Babe, will you just calm down for a minute," he motioned with his hand, but his tone gave his frustration away.

"It's really hard for me to listen to you when you talk to me like that," you barked, your breathing rather unsteady in your ire.

"What is going on?" he tried to reign his voice in, knowing that there must be something else at play besides his knack for leaving a drop left in the milk jug or having too many shoes.

"I'm angry, Harry, I'm angry," you responded, unable to vocalize anything else just yet.

"Well, I can see that," he said, trying very hard to keep the sass out of his voice, but not being very successful. He took a deep breath in response to your annoyed whine at his comment, and tried again. "I'm sorry," he started, locking his jaw and looking towards the side. "What is it that you're angry about?" he questioned with as much self control as he could muster, his voice sounding a bit too flat in the process.

"I'm just... I'm... it's everything. I'm angry at you, and your job, and me, and your stupid fans, and freaking Donny at work, like why is he such a jerk to everyone around him? Why on earth does he need three pumps of caramel in his latte. Three? THREE? There is absolutely no reason on heaven or earth that Donny deserves three pumps of caramel in his latte. NONE. The only thing he deserves pumped in his latte is cyanide. I freaking HATE Donny. And also, why do you think it's okay to just not let me know you've decided to go out after a show? Like, I get it, you're a super pop star who has better things to do than communicate with me, but at least let me know for once? Like I'm up waiting for you to come home and you just don't even bother to text me? What kind of crap even is that? Also, you left the coffee maker on this morning and if I hadn't have checked after you for irresponsibility, the whole house might have burned down. The whole house, Harry. How many times have I told you that you have to hit the off button. The off button! Just because you have expensive, shiny, automated appliances that could probably feed whole third world countries doesn't mean you don't have to turn it off--"

"Babe--"

"What?"

"Babe. Take a deep breath," Harry sighed, hands finding your shoulders again.

"I don't want to take a deep breath, I want to--"

"I know you don't, but just do it anyway," he cut you off again, his voice sounding much more authoritative than before.

Your jaw tightened a bit, knowing that your rapid breaths and anger-filled rants were the only things keeping you from a right break down. But, you listened anyway, because when Harry got that tone, you knew he wasn't joking around.

"I'm just.. I'm tired," you spoke, your voice losing it's fight.

"I know," Harry nodded.

"And I'm sick and I don't want to go to work tomorrow," you added, your eyes pricking with tears.

"I know," Harry sighed, his voice much calmer now.

"I just don't want to do it anymore, Harry, I'm so tired, I'm so done and tired," you repeated, a tear finding its way out of the corner of your eye as Harry drew you in.

"I know," he mumbled against your hair, his arms tightly gripping around you.

"I'm just so angry," your voice cracked again as tears came, your mind too flustered to come up with any other words for your emotions.

And perhaps "angry" wasn't quite the word for the hurricane of feelings swirling around inside of you, but Harry held you close and just let you be whatever "it" was for a bit, hot tears and hands clenching at his shoulders and breaths coming in an irregular pattern and all. Because, yeah, there were clearly things you needed to work out, but he could tell that your feelings were really more overwhelming than vindictive. Of all people, he'd know that sometimes the world just seems a bit too much, and you just need to get it all out before anything can start feeling okay again.