Harry Styles Imagines

57. FBI [Personal]

This one is for you, honeybear2421. I really hope you like it! Lemme know what you think! X

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The cold metal presses against the small of my back. It makes me aware of where I've been - what I've done - as I step into the comfort of my home.

My ears are met with an eerily silence. It's unusual that the house is this silence. Harry is normally always playing music, or humming a song. When he's not doing that, then he's experimenting in the kitchen. Pots and pans would be spread all over the counter. In the middle of the mess I could find my husband.

Yet now, I don't hear a thing.

My eyes fall on my sleeping husband on the fluff, brown couch. A ghost of a smile appears on my face as I watch him. He looks exhausted. His wild brown hair with several strands standing up, is spread all over the cushion. His red tinted shirt is turned all the way to right, probably because of tossing around too much. He looks so cozy, yet uncomfortable at the same time. It takes everything in me not to drop everything and cuddle into the warmth of his body.

I shuffle my way out of the heeled booths I've been wearing that day. With the boots in my hands, I tiptoe toward the staircase. My ears catch the sound of movement on the couch. My breath is cut short in my throat. Slowly, I turn around, catching the sight of my sleeping husband again.

Harry's body shuffles around the couch he is laying on. While doing so, his blanket falls off his body and with a jerk, his eyes open as the cold of the room hugs his body eagerly.

For a second I let my eyelids fall to cover my eyes. I muster up the courage to keep standing where I am. As appealing as it sounds I don't disappear on the stairs to avoid the confrontation. Something inside of me is telling it's the better option to talk with my husband, but the hairs on my neck that stand on their end tell me this isn't going to go smoothly.

Harry rubs the sleep out of his eyes and he sits upright in one movement. It takes him a while to notice my presence. The moment he does so, his eyebrows pull together and he glances toward the clock on the wall. Half past one in the morning, it reads.

The living room falls silent. I tug my shirt down, assuring myself that the gun tugged away in my pants is out of sight from Harry. He cannot know.

After having looked at the clock, Harry doesn't meet my eye again. I end up standing at the base of the stair case for a solid five minutes when I've decided I've had enough. I had never been one to seek out confrontations. Certainly not when it involved me getting the love of my life angry. I hated to get him angry.

He suddenly speaks up, just before I want to make my way up the stairs.

"Where have you been, Dix?" He sounds strained as he ruffles a hand through his brown locks. He's tired. The redness in his eyes tell so. His face falls.

"Work," I quietly say. It isn't an excuse. It never has been. But it does look like it.

The unbelief is evident on Harry's features when I look up. His eyes stare back into my blue pair. Harry's eyes are pleading, trying to understand. He really is. But he can't. He doesn't understand. He looks as if he is about to cry. I don't blame him. I wouldn't believe Harry either if he stayed out late every single day without an explanation. That was the thing, though. I can't explain it to him. I can't.