Note To Self (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Eighty Three.

Harry's hold on Aubry never vanished even after stepping out of the bedroom, both because he was terrified and needed the contact to keep from losing his mind, and because he felt rather protective and wanted to keep her close. He lead the way, fingers hooked around hers while silent feet padded through the eerily quiet home. The only sound that disrupted the still air was when they descended the stairs and the apprehensive shuffling when they made it to the landing.

Aubry lingered, as did Harry, eyes locked onto one another while they wondered what to do next. She stepped away when it became evident he had no direction to give, and she picked her shoes off the floor to put them on her feet. Harry watched and waited, fingers rubbing at his eye socket, while her feet were shoved into the confines of the shoes and he noticed the rumpled collar of her shirt.  His touch was gentle when he reached to smooth it out, and the touch of his lips was even softer when he pecked her lips. "I'm sorry."

She only shook her head in refusal.

"I don't know when I'll see you next."

"Tomorrow," she reminded, and Harry's nod was slow as he accepted the reminder. He still had school, though the days had dwindled down to practically nothing.

Another kiss was given. "I love you." The words were whispered, trying his absolute hardest to keep from being overheard, but Harry startled once again at the sound of his mother's voice disrupting when he tried and failed to lean in for one final peck.

"Out." Her tone was cold, Harry's eyes were wild, though his hold on Aubry never released. Too scared to let her go, but also too scared to put up a fight.

Mom stepped forward through the doorway, Harry's heart felt like it skipped a beat when he jump started into motion to stand in the space between the two just out of fear for what she might do. The front door was flung open, bringing bright sunlight indoors to shine on Aubry's figure when she refused to move from her spot. She lingered even longer, staring dumbly at the woman, and her hesitance agitated her even more. "Get the fuck out of my house, now."

Harry's eyes connected with Aubry's, apprehensive and unsure, but with a heavy heart his hold on her released and she fully accepted that as permission to leave. "I'm sorry," he breathed a second time.

"Now!"

Aubry didn't utter a single word before she stepped outside, just one final glance behind her as she moved toward the outside. The sight was cut off by the oak door being slammed shut behind her, sealing her out of the home and her son's life. Harry was terrified when his mother's eyes locked onto him, filled with rage, but nothing was scarier than her lack of words. She didn't erupt into a screaming fit, she didn't lash out at him straight away, but she looked at him with disdain and he'd never felt smaller in his life. It seemed as though he should fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, confess to every single thing he'd ever done wrong in life and gravel at her feet until she accepted his apologies. The lump in his throat stole his voice, and all chances of any halfhearted excuse he could come up with on the spot. He froze under her stare.

Even after she wordlessly stepped away back into the kitchen, he struggled to get his feet into motion behind her, like a prisoner being dragged to execution. He trailed several feet behind, walking as slowly as he possibly could, until she rounded the counter in the kitchen and Harry's unsteady legs settled on one of the stools. She didn't look at him, she stared out the window over the sink and silently fumed almost as if she were to say anything she'd explode. The quiet got more uncomfortable than if she were to start yelling, and Harry almost needed her to scream at him just to settle his worry. "Mom."

"Don't speak." Her voice shook. "I have never been more angry with you, do not dare speak."

Harry fell quiet again, and guilt set in while her silence got painfully loud. His fingers fiddled with the fabric of his pants out of nerves, seeming like hours passed before she ever moved from her spot. She turned, her hands splayed on the countertop across from where he sat, but her eyes locked onto the pile of mail instead of her son. Not being looked at hurt even more than anything she could've ever said. "Yell at me please."