Wrong Number [2018] Harry Styles

epilogue

note: this is supposed to happen while the pandemic but i'd rather ignore its existence. so there's no pandemic in this narrative. :) enjoy!

tuesday, 8th of september, 2020

After hours of studying about Neurobiochemistry, the doorbell ringing sounds like the doors of Heaven opening to me for a small break.

However, as soon as I open the door and see who is standing in front of me, I feel more interested about dopamine inhibitors and formulas. My mind tries to process as fast as it can the fact that I'm seeing Harry again after a couple months, which takes most of my energy and could explain how still I am standing.

Or maybe I'm following my instinct and not moving until the threat goes away.

"Uhm, hi." Harry bites his lips, tucking his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable.

Holy fuck, he's here.

"How do you know where I live?" I ask, defensive, since the last time we saw each other I wasn't living here yet.

"Niall."

Harry expresses the awkwardness of the situation through his frowned eyebrows and tense smile, in that gesture he shows when he's trying to pretend everything is fine but he's just holding himself from saying something he would probably regret.

"Do you wanna come in?" Harry nods, slowly, so I move aside and let him come in the appartment. "Take a seat, please."

There could only be two reasons to why he's here. Either bring me the sweater I left at his house or confront me about the text I wrote him three days ago while I had a mental breakdown. And judging by his empty hands, he came all the way here for the second option.

"We need to talk."

I turn around once the door is closed and look at him, sitting on the couch.

"Sure, go ahead."

I sit on the other couch in front of him, waiting.

"We never talked about what happened." I look at Harry. "You broke up with me, took your things and never talked to me until you texted saying you miss me." Harry shakes his head, upset. "I just want to know what went wrong."

I'm about to respond when I see his eyes watering despite his apathetic attitude. Therefore, I stay quiet as my mind goes fully blank.

"Did I do something wrong?" I can hear his voice breaking, desperate for an answer to the many questions that torment him. "We could've talked about it, figured it out."

No trace remains of the serious expressions from a minute ago, just a dejected Harry looking at me.

"You didn't do anything wrong," I whisper softly.

"Then?" He shrugs. "You never called again. Were you tired of me?"

"You never called either."

Biting my bottom lip, aware of how unnecessary that comment was, I try to find the right words this time.

"Yes, I was tired of you and you were tired of me."

As soon as I start putting my thoughts and feelings into words after months, the tears appear in my eyes, waiting for me to blink so they can be set free.

"I wasn't tired of you. I could never be," He responds irritated.

"Because you didn't know it."

Before saying anything else, Harry decides to remain silent, probably wandering through his thoughts in search of what to say, like me. None of us want to waste the opportunity to talk now that we finally have it.