KNOCKOUT (Harry Styles: Dark Sequel)

Chapter 8

"We're going to sort you out, ok?" I promise.

There's hair falling out of the tie, curling on his shoulders and brushing his neck. He swipes it away to look at me again, giving me a clear view of impaired socket and an expression of self-pity. There's a tiredness weighing heavy in his bones that's run him into the ground. If Harry allowed himself, he'd probably sleep for weeks and still be exhausted.

"The fighting isn't good for you. I don't want you to get hurt anymore," I admit whilst skimming my fingers lightly across the bruise blooming on his cheek.

An icepack is carefully pressed against the inflamed area, hopefully subduing the colourful swelling. Despite his wincing, I still encourage him to hold it close. The hiss he sucks in through his teeth riddles me with guilt.

"I think we should talk to Mack, he might know someone who you can contact. Maybe you could train again?"

I lean with him against the desk, my arm brushing his.

"As what? I lost my job at the gym, that's why I'm here."

Harry's shaking his head like all hope is lost.

"I know, but there might be somewhere else. You're skilled, there's gotta be something you can do that's not putting yourself at risk all the time," I voice my thoughts with a frown.

The icepack descends to the ground, and I'm a little taken aback as Harry cradles my hand in his. His expression is one of pleading and I half expect him to drop to his knees in surrender.

"I want out, Bo," Harry presses.

"I understand – "

"No, I don't think you do. I need to get out of this," he says, eyes fraught. "I can't do it anymore. I don't want this to be all I am. I come here, I fight, and I go home to no-one. Then I'm back here to start over."

I go home to no-one.

"I refuse to believe this is where you're supposed to be," I tell him.

Because I thought you'd always be with me.

"Where then?"

He looks to me for all the answers, and I'm saddened I can't grant his wishes instantaneously.

"Find a place to be happy. Where you can look after yourself," I encourage before reaching to pick up the melting pack. I hand it to him. "Maybe we can look after you together," I smile, gently knocking him on the shoulder.

Harry seems to deflate, releasing the pent up tension in a deep exhale. The pull of his muscles seems to ease as he gives me a simple nod.

"I'd like that."

I retrieve the neglected icepack and hand it to him. He goes to drop it on the desk but I stop him.

"Uh, ah. Put it back on."

"It hurts," he whines with a pouted mouth.

"You got punched in the face, of course it hurts."

He huffs a laugh before complying to my request. And we're allowed a few measly minutes of easy conversation before we both turn our attention to the door. There's a fuss emanating from down the hall and the bickering crescendos. The beating of numerous pairs of feet follow, rumbling with intent. It's not long before trouble is brought to us in the form of two burly men. I tense upon recognising one of them as the loser in Harry's match. He has more clothing on now and before he can barge forward, a wide palm is pressed to his shoulder.

"Do you know how much money you've lost me?"

Harry's pushed up off of the desk and in front of me before I can blink. He's a tense silhouette, shoulders pinched tight, with hands forming solid fists. There's a third man dressed in a blue suit looking thoroughly pissed off standing in the doorway. His attire puts him in a power position, and a need for bodyguards. His question is lost on me, but I know Harry understands.