FINE LINE | HARRY STYLES

FIFTY-ONE.

NOVEMBER, 2019. CONT.

"Absolutely not." Harry grits, ripping the paper from my hands.

"You're fucking joking, right?" I scoff, spinning around to watch as he paces the kitchen.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere near him! No fucking way."

"I have to. Did you not read that last part?"

"I have eyes, so yes I did. Either way, you're not going."

"Yes, I am. You saw what he did to my house. I don't even want to imagine what he's capable of doing to you."

"I'll be fine. But I don't trust him around you."

"You can't be sure anymore. He sent a letter to prove he knows where you live. I have to see what he wants."

"He wants to hurt you. That's his goal. You can't go near him. We can figure something else out."

"No, we won't! Nothing will hurt more than seeing you in danger. I could care less what happens to me. But if he touches you..." I trail off, already feeling the emotions get the best of me.

God, I'm such a wimp.

Why the fuck am I crying already?

Harry notices the tears glossing over my eyes and walks around the counter to approach me. He takes my face in his hands and uses the pads of his thumbs to wipe the droplets that have flooded under my eyes.

His eyes study my features for a moment like he's trying to figure out what to say to me that won't make me explode.

"Nothing is going to happen to me." He gently says. "I know you're worried, and I am too. Letting you see him is only putting you in more danger and I can't let that happen. I can't let anything happen to you. I would never be able to forgive myself."

Even the way he's trying to reassure me isn't working. Usually in moments of panic like this, he knows just how to calm me down. But right now, I don't think even he can.

"I just..." I trail off, trying to take a deep breath.

"Come on, let's sit down. You look ill." He softly says, guiding me toward the living room.

My fingers wrap around his bicep as he sits me down on the couch. I lean back and exhale, trying to figure out how to breathe. Harry notices this and turns to me, pressing his knees against my own and taking my hands in his.

"Look at me." He calmly orders.

"What?" I bring my head up, feeling his thumbs trace over my knuckles.

"Look at me." He repeats. "You're panicking and I want to help you."

So, I look into his eyes that sparkle the second I do. He smiles awkwardly and I can tell he's already nervous under my stare. He said I still make him nervous even after all these years.

If only he knew how I felt.

"So what now?" I hoarsely ask, feeling like my throat is being punched by someone wearing brass knuckles.

"Just look into my eyes and try to breathe." Harry explains as he squeezes my hands. "Tell me what you're worried about."

"I just did."

"I know. Just tell me again."

"Okay," I pause, my eyes searching his that lack any sort of emotion. "I'm worried that you're going to get hurt."

"How would I get hurt? I'm right here. We're right here and we're okay."

"That's not the point, Harry." I huff, letting my shoulders drop in disappointment. He refuses to let me look away though.