staccato ~ h.s

1994-2018 / tw

TW! I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!!

No one knows what to say to you, but that's expected. What could anyone say that could take the pain away? Nothing. The only thing that could even come close to easing it would be the strong, tattooed arms of the one man you truly can't live without wrapped around you. Your lover.

Harry Styles. The king of your heart. The God of your soul. The ruler of your mind.

The sound of his laugh plays on repeat in your mind, or the memory of it at least. The way he'd smile so brightly that his eyes would crinkle up, the sage green of his irises sparkling as they watered in delight, two front teeth slightly longer than the rest. He was such an asshole to everyone but you and his family. You were one of the only people he'd ever smile for—laugh with. You could almost laugh at the thought, but know you can't so you don't even try.

Harry Styles. Heartthrob. Modern day rock star. Sex symbol. Golden God. The king of your heart. The God of your soul. The ruler of your mind.

He was the reason you woke up in the morning. The reason for a smile to ever cross your face. He was the sun, and the moon, and all the stars in your nighttime. Without him you're crippled in darkness, paralyzed in pain. It's too much to think about, too much to even bear. So instead you tried to think about the happy times. Like the time he refused to watch a silly Disney movie with you, citing it as "fucking childish, do you think im a toddler o' summat?" But with one look at your pouting face, he was watching Coco with you, begrudgingly as ever. You guys were both crying by the end of it, and you giggled sadly as you wiped the tears at his cheeks as he rolled his eyes. He had denied that the whole thing happened after, as if he didn't watch a two hour long children's movie with you and cried during.

Harry Styles. Moody Aquarius. Momma's boy. Secret lover of trap music. Sun. Star. Moon. The king of your heart. The God of your soul. The ruler of your mind.

You loved him, with every cell you had in your body and more. He was your reason for breathing, for blinking, to function at the basic level. He was your sip of water on a day in the desert. The first drop of a light drizzle on your shoulder in a year without rain. The fist snow fall of the winter and the crackling of a campfire. When he kissed you, you felt the warmth of a thousand suns. And when you made love, it was like he went up to heaven to personally bring it down to earth to you. You miss his skin, the taste of him, the smell of him. Oh, God. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. It hurts.

Harry Styles. Vintage porn magazine and weed enthusiast. Everything good in your world. Nothing bad, ever. The king of your heart. The God of your soul. The ruler of your mind.

You lied, it was bad. The first pill, the first needle. The first time you two snorted a line together, laughing in sheer bliss. Nothing could fucking touch you, you were so high. It was once or twice here and there, a few times at a party or so. And then suddenly he left you in the dust, doing anything and everything in his power to not be sober. He told you once that you were the only thing he could stand when he was coming down, so if you weren't there he just...never came down. It was all your fucking fault. All your fault. All your fault.

Harry Styles. Magic mushroom fanatic. Dealer. Stoner. An irrevocable druggie and alcoholic. The sweetest kiss your mouth has ever had. The king of your heart. The God of your soul. The ruler of your mind.

He told you, he'd always find you. If you ran, he'd catch you. If you hid, he'd scour the surface of the Earth until you were in his arms again, safe and sound. This little game of hide and seek was one you two played for years as he toured the world as you busied yourself with other slightly more normal things. You were sure that there were girls—overly enthusiastic groupies that he'd slip up and fuck every now and again, but he'd never tell you about them. Yet you always seemed to know when he would fuck another woman because like clockwork there would be a bouquet of flowers delivered to you, no matter where he was in the world. Daises, carnations, sunflowers, roses, anything. Attached would always be a letter about how much he loved you. Sometimes they would go on for pages and pages. Harry was a fucking rockstar, you knew better than to cage him in, that's probably why he loved you so damned much. You gave him everything, and he gave you everything. So that's why you didn't really care about what he did while he was away, as long as it stayed on tour, you got your flowers and letter, and he kept finding you. It's actually extremely ironic in a very dark and twisted way, because when everything came to light and the dream of a life you'd been living got unmistakably real, you were the one to find him. Alone and cold to the touch.

Harry Styles was found unresponsive in a hotel room in Prague by his fiancé early this morning. Paramedics arrived at the scene, he was pronounced dead at 08:49. The cause of death is unknown. He was twenty four years old. Found. Lost. The king of your heart. The God of your soul. The ruler of your mind.

And no one knew what to say to you. Of course they didn't, because what do you say to someone who loses their soul mate prematurely? What do you say to someone who goes from planning a wedding to planning a funeral? You never had even thought about planning a funeral. You had to think long and hard about Harry and what he would want. You considered cremating him, knowing that it would make him happy to be as free in death as he was in life but after a long, excruciating conversation with his mother you decided against it. So now, you were making arrangements to have the body shipped from Prague back to Cheshire. Fuck, his body. What do you say to someone who walks into a hotel room to find their lover passed out cold with a needle in their arm? Skin ice cold, face grey, and lips blue?

Harry Styles. The warmth of a thousand suns. Best piggyback ride giver. Undefeated champion of beer pong, tic tac toe, and just about any game he could convince you to play with him. The king of your heart. The God of your soul. The ruler of your mind.

It felt like everyone was waiting for you to break the empty silence. The world was in a frenzy over the loss of their beloved musician, yet despite the original press statement everyone that knew him shared a radio silence over social media. It was just too hard to believe, it felt like an everlasting nightmare. And you spent days after he passed just lying on the floor praying to wake up. Praying that your eyes would flutter open and his arms would still be wrapped around you while you two lay in the bed you shared. Going back home was the worst part. The house you shared wasn't a home anymore, Harry had left a big gaping hole of emptiness where he once roamed the halls. His records and plaques were all over the walls. His socks were still thrown everywhere, a few t shirts that had missed the hamper were on the floor. It was as if someone took a snapshot of your life, froze it, erased the most important aspects, and then pressed play. Everything was here exactly how he left it, he just wasn't. And he was never coming back. For four days straight you lay on the floor in his closet, sobbing until you're sick because everything smells like him.

You knew that you couldn't stay silent any longer. You knew Harry and knew that though he'd want you to take your time to mourn, he'd still want his fans to have at least some closure. You knew that Jeff, Mitch, Kidd, and the others were most likely going to release the album he was in the process of making, along with a few unreleased golden gems, but it would be a while before any of you could stomach going through that process, but you couldn't do it right now. Not when it hurt so much to hear his voice. You decided to do it quickly, rip the bandage off as fast as you can. Just to say a few words, only a little. You almost blindingly click the Twitter app, composing a tweet consisting of the only words you can think of.

close your eyes. go to sleep. and never wake up. an eternal slumber. rest, my love. finally

You send it through, knowing that it didn't make much sense at all but those are the only words you could find. You don't know how to do this, and you never thought you would have to. You tried to tweet something else but the amount of activity from your single tweet caused the app to crash and you have to refresh it a few times to get it to work.

you were an angel on earth anyways, h. king of my heart, god of my soul, ruler of my heart.

The tears become so thick the words are nothing but smudges of light on a screen.

i'll always find you. please just find me again.

And that's it. You close your eyes for the first time in days and dream about his warmth, his eyes, his golden aura, and his laughter.

The End.