Art | Harry Styles

26

Sophie swings the door open to Harry's apartment, as he'd texted her only half an hour ago, informing her that the door was unlocked and to come straight in.

"Harry?" she calls, surprised when she doesn't find him perched at the counter, mug of tea in hand. She sets her bag down at the door, her eyebrows furrowing into a frown. No response.

A door slams down the hall, and Sophie takes another step into the apartment. "Harry?"

There's no response, once more, and a hint of panic begins to settle itself in her chest.

She closes the door behind her, deciding to follow the sound she'd heard moments ago from down the hallway, where the door had slammed.

The bathroom door at the end of the hall is closed, yet the lock hasn't been turned. Her lip falls between her teeth as she nears the door, and she raises her hand, prepared to knock.

"Harry?" she tries again, and she hears some shuffling from the other side of the door.

"Don't come in!" his voice suddenly sounds from the other side of the door - breathless, and rushed. "Th-The lock's broken, I can't lock the door, I-I just-" he pauses, and there's some more shuffling for a moment or two, followed by a painful silence. He speaks again, quieter, but still shaky, "Please just don't come in."

"H, what's going on?" she presses gently, temporarily obliging his wishes for her to stay outside of the bathroom. She's worried, but tries to keep her tone even. "Are you okay?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, yes, I'm fine - I just-" It's only then that Sophie catches his breathing - she can hear him inhale and exhale.

"I'm coming in," Sophie tells him, grabbing the handle and pushing open the bathroom door, despite his desperate pleas for her to stay outside.

Harry's back is pressed to the tiled wall, his knees bent and his arms wrapped around them as they're bugged to his chest. His eyes are on the floor to the left of him, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate.

"Soph, please don't come in," he forces out, hands trembling as they clasp together, "D-Don't want you to see me like this."

The room is spinning. Harry can feel an odd, choking sensation in his throat, and he feels as if he can throw up at any given moment. Beads of sweat form on his forehead as his curls stick to them, and the cool surface of the floor feels hot beneath him.

"You're having an anxiety attack," Sophie observes quietly, stupidly saying so out loud. Harry's lip quivers, as his eyes remain forced down onto the ground.

"I-I-"

Sophie rushes over to where he's sitting, lacking hesitation as she sits down on the floor, crossing her legs as she faces him. Her hands land over his on his knees, as his sharp inhales and exhales quieten, but still continue.

"Hey," she says softly, her hand reaching up to rest on the side of his face, "look at me. What can I do?" His curls are damp with sweat, as he shakes his head and his breathing begins to grow uneven once more, his eyes still fixated on the floor.

"I c-can't, you'll-" he cuts himself off, disregarding her question as his legs extends subconsciously to have Sophie sitting between them, his chest rising and falling as rapidly as before.

"Look at me," she pushes back his curls from his face with her hand, her voice soft as Harry's head shakily turns towards her. His eyes are brimming with tears, slightly bloodshot and full of upset, and it's enough to make Sophie's heart break, "Just breathe. We can do it together, yeah? In and out-" she pauses, her hand still on his face as she takes a deep breath in, and Harry shakily attempts to do the same, but only manages a mere second before the air forces itself back out in his anxious state. His lips press together in defeat, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks now as he desperately tries to steady his own breathing. 

"I'm s-so sorry, I'm," he wheezes, "m'sorry. I'm so, so sorry I'm like this-" His sentence is broken up, and he's struggling to force out more than two words at once. There's a pang in Sophie's chest at his declaration.

"You're good - you're doing so good," she tells him, her hand stroking his hair as he manages a slightly slower breath, a quick one following. "Do it with me. I'm here. Watch me." His eyes haven't left her face, as she slowly exaggerates her inhalation, and Harry manages to mirror her action, before she does the same when she exhales.

His breathing is beginning to steady, but every so often it picks up again, and he finds his hand reaching for Sophie's. She watches his movements, feeling his shaking fingers close around hers as his other hand moves to join it; her right hand enclosed between both of his, her left continuing to brush through his dark curls. He brings her hand - still in his - to his chest, and she can feel it rise and fall as he does.

"Breathe," her voice is still soft as she repeats herself, his fingertips grazing over the ring on her finger, choosing it as a point to focus on. 

"I finished my painting for tonight," she tells him, choosing to distract him with conversation and soothingly running her fingers through his hair as his eyes grow fixated on twisting the ring around her finger, "I think you'll like it."

His breath hitches in his throat for a second, and he attempts to clear it, "Y-Yeah? Well d-done for that, b-baby." His lips are still trembling, his fingers shaking against her own. 

"It won't top your work from last night, but," her thumb draws circles over his cheek, "I'm excited. And nervous. But maybe that's because I'm meeting your family."

"Th-They'll love you," he tells her, "they'll love you because I-" he cuts himself off, another shaky breath leaving his lips. He pleas with her with his eyes, and she brushes off the sentence without another thought.

"I hope so," she smiles at him, as he laces their fingers together, eyes closing for a moment as he exhales deeply, his breathing finally beginning to even out.

"I thought," Sophie straightens up a little, her hand running over the smooth line of his jaw, now, "we could go and get some lunch before your family's plane lands. I went by the gallery before I came here." 

"Y-Yeah," he nods, a tiny smile pulling on his lips, a short whisper leaving his lips, "thank you."

Sophie leans in, pressing a soft, brief kiss to Harry's jaw as if to tell him it's okay, but he continues.

"Sometimes I just get them, I-" he pauses, his tongue wiping over his lip, "n-no particular reason, and I haven't had one in a while, but I.. y-yeah."

Sophie nods in understanding, her hand continuing to caress his skin, "You're okay. It's okay." 

Her hand pulls him up from the bathroom floor, only for his arms to wind around her waist and for his face to bury into her hair, whispering sweet nothings of gratitude.