GOLDEN (harry styles)

bébé courir après toi, c'est comme chasser les nuages

(13/03/18)

HARRY'S P.O.V.

I heard Nixie come back last night. It was late, around 2am when the door to our bunk opened. I laid there pretending to be asleep as she quietly retrieved her last few belongings from my suitcase and went to the abandoned group space at the end of the bus.

I don't know why I didn't say anything. I should have. I should have pulled her into me, and let her cry and be open about whatever is going on. Or maybe I made the right choice? I'm not sure.

But now, as I stand awkwardly in the hallway, it feels a bit like I'm on a rollercoaster, a dreadful one at that. It feels like my heart is being thrown around mercilessly as I continue to overthink every small detail that I can.

I take a deep breath, jumping up and down a bit on the carpet, causing the indentations on the soles of my shoes to pass onto the blue carpet. It's just Nixie. I don't know why I'm overthinking this so much, honestly. It's only the first few shows of the tour, we're both probably just a bit out of sync from being apart for so long.

Right?

I examine her hotel room door for a few more seconds. Instead of knocking with the hand I've had raised for long enough, I trace the pad of my thumb over the number engraved in gold. '132', it says. After enough dawdling, I snap back to reality, and go to knock.

But then, I pause. Nixie raises her voice inside suddenly, almost sounding upset. I say almost, because this has a hint of something else in the edge of her fragmented words. I lean against the door slightly, straining to listen. I know it's wrong.

"I don't even fucking know anymore, Griffin..." She whispers unsteadily, just loud enough for me to hear through the wood.

I frown, a deep crease forming between my eyebrows. I hear the frustrated pitter-patter of her footsteps pacing across the floor, just as something hits the ground. Soon after follows the sound of a door opening, most likely her balcony.

What's wrong?

I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I quietly crack her door open, using the spare keycard she gave me last night. My eyes widen in shock at the state of her room. Cosmetic bags have been hurriedly shoved into her suitcase, a thin trail of power scattered across their walls.

Her clothes are everywhere, resting on countertops neatly folded, or thrashed along the edge of the unmade, messy bed. She definitely didn't sleep, that's for sure. It scares me considering how tidy Nix usually is, especially when it isn't her room.

I follow the rhythm of her voice as it increases again. I don't know what she's talking about, but it definitely doesn't sound good. Just as I step beside the curtain, I catch a glimpse of her on the balcony.

Even with the morning sunrise hitting her beautiful features, she looks worried and scared. But not angry, like I thought she was. Her eyes remind me of a fearful child in this moment, the usually gentle silver seeming fearful in this light.

But she's still so enchanting.

It's just like the first moment we met, her worry attracts me and makes me want to embrace her small, timid frame and hold her close against my chest, feeling her shy warmth. I remember only a few weeks ago when we had laid in my bed together, waiting for the clock to turn midnight so I could say I was 25. Neither of us made it, both falling asleep shamefully quickly. Yet, it was so much better when I woke up to her drawing shapes on my back and touching my skin everywhere I wanted her to.

"No, I'm coming back tomorrow. I booked the flights," She sighs into her hands. "Yes I know. I know, Griffin, but you can't just..."

Her words are lost as she walks further away. When she draws her hands back from her face, I see the dark eyebags shadowing her lower lashes in a deep purple, and her tired lips. The remains of last night's makeup isn't removed yet, staining her lips red. For a moment her exhausted beauty distracts me.