Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

Upset

Unlike a lot of other guys, Harry wouldn’t feel embarrassed to be upset around you. He wouldn’t care that you’d be able to see right through him, that his heart would be vulnerable and exposed. Really, he probably couldn’t care even if he wanted to, because whenever he’d be truly upset it’d just uncontrollably consume him.

Usually when he’d be angry, you’d find him hunched over on the couch, elbows digging into knees and hands wrapped around each other, finger trailing his lips and darkened eyes staring straight ahead. He’d just sit there and wrestle with his thoughts, his mind gearing around and around like the inner workings of a cuckoo clock. You’d know he’d just need some space to work whatever it was out, but sometimes you wouldn’t be able to help but gently ask if he was alright, and he’d reply—short and taught, but not because of you. (“I’m fine.”) And you’d sigh and wish there was something you could do, but also know he’d talk when he was ready. He always did.

Sometimes he’d come home (wherever “home” might be for you at the time—your flat or your section of the tour bus or the hotel room you’d checked into that afternoon) and just be completely hurt. Something he’d seen or heard or felt—whether it be about him or one of his loved one or even a fan— would just completely tear him up so badly he couldn’t help but cry. Yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be the most “confident, attractive, and handsome” thing he’d ever do, but everyone cries at some point or another and he wouldn’t be ashamed of it. And you wouldn’t be either, because it’d showed just how much he cared about people and how real and honest and transparent he was about his self-confidence. He’d probably pace to the window, one hand on his hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose, and press his lips together as tight as he could, like maybe they’d shut off the tears if he squeezed hard enough. And his chin would quiver as he’d wipe under his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger, a shaky sigh accompanying a desperate sniffle. And occasionally, if it was bad enough, he’d sink to the floor and his head would fall between his legs, arms stretched out over bent knees. When you’d find him like that, you’d silently slide down next to him, pulling over his huge frame so that his head was in your lap, and gently wipe his curls back from his face. And he’d close his eyes and try to relax his contorted face, your touch inciting another sigh and clenched jaw as he’d work to calm himself at the smooth brushes of your hand.

And then there’d be the times that he’d just feel especially moody. He’d find you and nuzzle his face in your neck, wrapping long arms around your waist and holding you as close as he could. Sometimes you wouldn’t even notice at first, not until you’d turn around and see his tired, bothered eyes. (“Oh hey, babe. Niall called earlier, he wanted to know if we were going to the—oh, are you.. are you okay?”) But he wouldn’t say much because usually it’d be something rather trivial that had gotten him worked up—and he knew it—so instead he’d just collapse a bit into your arms and be quite clingy, wishing only to hold you forever and forget about everything bothersome in the world. And you’d appease him for as long as you could before you’d insist that he tell you what was wrong, no matter how stupid he thought it was. And he’d appreciate that about you— that you’d force him to work the problem out rather than let it fester in his mind for days. He knew it wasn’t healthy, he just couldn’t help it sometimes. So he’d be thankful that you’d lie beside him or play with his curls or rub his belly for as long as it took for him to talk it all out because, really, it was better that way.

But then—everything would be better if it involved you, as far as he’d be concerned. He’d appreciate the fact that you’d be sensitive about his emotions too—how, yeah, you’d know to just give him some space sometimes, but you’d also be genuinely concerned and helpful when he needed you. And really, how could you not be? For him, it was a huge act of love, but for you, well.. you just wouldn’t see how it could be any other way. Of course you’d always be there for him. Because honestly, with the way he’d captured your heart, well, you didn’t really have a choice.