carolinaastyles - Tumblr blog

carolinaastyles · 5 days ago

Text

Let me help you feel again

Harry had always been a giver. It was in his nature - to love deeply, to care endlessly, to do whatever it took to make the people he loved happy. But when it came to his relationship with her, it felt less like love and more like an obligation.

She was beautiful, sure. Everyone thought so. Long, perfect hair, expensive perfume, a smile that could turn heads.

But beneath the surface, she was cold. Selfish. Always needing, always taking. Never giving.

He should have left sooner. He knew that.

Instead, he spent months being strung along, holding on to something that never felt real in the first place. He planned dates, bought her expensive gifts, put in every ounce of effort he could. Because maybe, just maybe, she’d one day look at him the way he looked at her. Maybe she’d say those three words that he so desperately wanted to hear.

But she never did.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even surprised anymore.

She had made it clear from the beginning that she liked the idea of being with him more than she actually liked him. She loved the weekend getaways, the shopping sprees, the attention. But she never loved him.

And when he finally accepted that fact, something inside him snapped.

It was a quiet night when he decided he was done. The two of them sat in his car after another disastrous date - one where she had spent more time on her phone than talking to him, rolling her eyes whenever he tried to engage her in conversation.

Harry gripped the steering wheel, staring at the illuminated dashboard, the engine humming softly in the background. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, gripping the words that had been sitting on his tongue for weeks.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She scoffed, still scrolling through her phone. “Do what?”

“This.” He motioned between them. “Us.”

That got her attention. Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s over.” His voice was steady, emotionless. Just like he felt.

She blinked, processing his words like they were a foreign language. And then, like a storm rolling in without warning, she exploded.

“You’re joking,” she spat, her voice rising. “Harry, you’re joking, right? You’re breaking up with me?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.”

She laughed - a bitter, humorless sound. “Oh, this is rich. After everything I’ve put up with from you, you’re seriously going to throw this away?”

His grip tightened on the wheel. Everything she’s put up with? The audacity.

“What exactly have you put up with?” he asked calmly, though his patience was wearing thin.

She threw her hands up. “Oh, I don’t know.. Your mood swings, your constant need for attention, the fact that I have to babysit your feelings all the time-“

That did it.

He turned to face her, expression darkening. “You have never once cared about my feelings.”

She let out a sharp breath. “Oh, my God, Harry, this is so dramatic. What, is this because I didn’t post some sappy Instagram caption about you? Or because I didn’t fawn over whatever ridiculous gift you got me this time?”

It was almost laughable, the way she could turn this around and make it seem like his fault. But not this time.

“You never cared about me,” he said, voice quieter now. “Not once. You just liked what I could give you.”

For a split second, her face faltered. Just a flicker of something - guilt, maybe. But just as quickly, the mask was back on, her lips twisting into a sneer.

“You’re such an idiot, Harry,” she hissed, her hands shaking. “You’re really throwing this away? Me?”

His next words were final. “Yeah. I am.”

The slap wasn’t hard. More of a weak, frustrated smack against his shoulder, but the sheer entitlement behind it made his stomach turn.

“Fuck you, Harry.” Her voice wavered, her eyes burning with unshed tears - not because she was heartbroken, but because she was losing.

Without another word, she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

Harry sat there for a moment, staring at the now-empty passenger seat.

Then, he drove away without looking back.

———————————————————————-

It wasn’t an immediate change, but it was a steady one.

At first, it was just a feeling of emptiness. He had spent so long trying to make something work, only for it to crash and burn, and now he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

But then that emptiness turned into numbness.

He stopped trying. Stopped caring.

People still saw him as the rich, handsome guy who could get any girl he wanted. And maybe they were right. It was easy - flirting, casual hookups, never getting too close. If he kept people at arm’s length, he’d never have to go through that again.

So that’s what he did.

By the time a few months had passed, he had become someone else entirely. No more soft smiles. No more genuine laughter. Just cold smirks, half-hearted hookups, and an expression that rarely wavered from indifference.

His friends noticed. They missed the old Harry, the one who used to actually enjoy life. But he wasn’t coming back.

Not if he had anything to say about it.

And then you showed up.

You felt out of place from the moment you stepped into the school. New town, new people, new everything. You had expected it to take months to find your place, but to your surprise, you made friends quickly.

And that’s how you first heard about him.

Harry Styles. The school’s untouchable mystery. The guy who never smiled, never let anyone get too close.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. But then you saw him.

There was something about him - something that made you curious. Maybe it was the way he always leaned against the lockers, arms crossed, eyes scanning the hallways like nothing interested him. Maybe it was the way girls constantly threw themselves at him, only to be dismissed with a lazy smirk and a few empty words.

But what intrigued you most was the fact that he was empty.

Something had happened to him. Something had broken him.

And for some reason, you wanted to fix it.

So you made sure he noticed you.

At first, it was just small things - locking eyes with him in class, brushing past him in the hallway, lingering just a little too long when you spoke.

Then, you became bolder.

“Harry, you ever get tired of pretending to be this emotionless asshole all the time?” you asked one day, leaning against the locker next to him.

He barely spared you a glance. “You ever get tired of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

You grinned. “Nope.”

And so it went.

Over time, you pushed your way into his world. You became someone he couldn’t ignore. Someone who didn’t buy into his act.

And before he realized what was happening, before he could stop it, he found himself caring again.

And that scared him more than anything else ever had.

—————————————————————-

Harry wasn’t sure when he started tolerating you.

At first, you were just another person who didn’t know when to mind their own business - persistent, annoying, always trying to get a rise out of him. But unlike the others, you didn’t fawn over him. You didn’t fall into his arms like every other girl at this school did.

You challenged him.

And worse? You never backed down.

It started with little things. You’d “accidentally” bump into him in the hallways, linger a little too long when you passed him in class, and toss him witty remarks when he was least expecting it. You weren’t afraid of him - of his reputation, of the way he brushed people off. You pushed.

And slowly, against his better judgement, he started letting you in.

He wasn’t sure why he let it happen. Maybe it was because you didn’t treat him like the untouchable guy everyone thought he was. Or maybe it was because you saw through him.

And that terrified him.

One evening, after weeks of circling each other, you were sitting in his room, your legs crossed on his bed while he leaned against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. It had become a routine - hanging out, talking about nothing and everything.

But tonight felt… different.

“Harry,” you said, breaking the silence.

He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

You hesitated, then asked, “Why do you do it?”

He finally glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“The whole player thing,” you said, watching him closely. “The hookups, the emotionless act. You surely weren’t always like this.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he was going to shut you out completely.

Then, with a sigh, he tossed his phone onto the bed. “Why do you care?”

You shrugged. “Because I do.”

He studied you for a long moment, his green eyes searching yours as if he was trying to figure you out.

Then, finally, he said, “Because it’s easier.”

You frowned. “Easier than what?”

“Than actually feeling anything.” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant, as if admitting it out loud made it real. “Easier than giving a shit. Than getting hurt again.”

You swallowed, your heart aching at the weight of his words.

“I get that,” you said softly. “I do. But… Harry, don’t you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Feeling.”

He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “No.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “I think you do.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

And that’s when you made a promise to yourself.

You were going to make him feel again.

————————————————————————

It had been months now since you’d entered Harry’s life. And somewhere along the way, the two of you had become… something.

Not quite friends, not quite anything more, but something.

You spent more time together than you did with anyone else. Late nights at his house, long conversations, playful banter in the school hallways. You saw sides of him that no one else did.

But even after all that, he was still closed off. Still guarded. Still unwilling to let his walls come down.

You wanted to change that.

So you did something reckless.

It was another night at your house, the two of you sprawled across your bed like always. He was scrolling through his phone, and you were watching him, studying the way his jaw tensed every few seconds, how his lips were always pressed into that same neutral line.

You had never seen him smile. Not really.

And you wanted to.

So you just… said it.

“Harry, I love you.”

He froze.

His fingers went still over his phone screen, his body stiffening beside you. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

Then, he let out a short laugh. “Very funny.”

You didn’t laugh.

When he finally glanced over at you, his smirk faltered. Because you weren’t joking.

You were serious.

His expression hardened instantly. “No.”

Your brows furrowed. “No?”

“No.” He sat up, shaking his head. “We’re not doing this.”

“Harry-“

“I’m serious.” His voice was sharp now, final. “This isn’t happening.”

You exhaled, sitting up beside him. “Why not?”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Because I don’t do that, alright? Love, relationships, feelings- I don’t do it.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t let his words deter you.

“Why?”

“Because it’s a fucking waste of time,” he snapped, his frustration seeping through. “Because it never works out. Because people say they love you, and then they leave.”

You blinked. “I won’t leave.”

He scoffed. “They all say that.”

You reached out, your hand resting gently on his arm. He flinched slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“Harry,” you said softly, “I love you. And I know you don’t believe in that, but I do. And I don’t care if you never say it back. I don’t care if you still think love is bullshit. I just… I need you to know that I love you.”

For the first time since you met him, Harry looked shaken.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fists clenching at his sides.

Then, without another word, he stood up and left.

And just like that, he was gone.

Days passed, and you didn’t hear from him.

You gave him space, even though it hurt. Even though you wanted to chase after him, to make him see that you weren’t like the girl who had broken him before.

Then, one night, he showed up at your house.

You opened the door to find him standing there, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his hair a mess like he had been running his fingers through it all day.

For a moment, he just stared at you.

Then, in a hoarse voice, he said, “We need to talk.”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in.

You sat together in your room, facing each other. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days.

After a long silence, he spoke.

“Why me?” His voice was quiet, almost vulnerable. “Why do you care so much?”

You took a breath. “Because I see you, Harry. The real you. The one who still feels things, even if you don’t want to. The one who deserves to be loved.”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Then let me show you,” you whispered.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, slowly, you reached out, cupping his face in your hands. His breath hitched as you ran your thumb along his cheek, and to your shock, his eyes burned with unshed tears.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you murmured. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and for the first time since you’d met him, you saw it - the boy he used to be. The boy who had felt things once.

And as he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes, you knew.

He was letting you in.

After that night, something changed.

Harry didn’t suddenly become the open, affectionate guy you wanted him to be. He was still guarded, still quiet, still hesitant to let himself feel too much.

But he was trying. And that was enough.

It started with the little things. He let you stay close to him.

Before, when you sat next to him on his bed, he always kept a noticeable distance between you. Now, he let you lean against him. Let your legs brush against his. Let you rest your head on his shoulder.

One night, when the two of you were watching a movie in his room, you felt his fingers twitch beside yours. He didn’t take your hand, but he didn’t pull away either. It was the smallest thing, but to you, it meant everything.

Then came the subtle glances.

You started catching him looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. In class, in the hallways, during late nights in his room when the only light came from the lamp on his nightstand. His green eyes would linger on you, just for a second too long, before he looked away.

Like he was trying to understand why you were still here.

Why you hadn’t given up on him yet.

It had been months since you told Harry you loved him.

And he still hadn’t said it back.

You didn’t expect him to. You never pressured him. Never asked him to say the words you so desperately wanted to hear.

Because you knew he wasn’t ready.

But one night, he showed you what words never could:

You were at a party. It was loud, chaotic, full of people who were too drunk to care about anything but themselves. You hadn’t wanted to come, but your friends had begged you, and after some convincing, you agreed.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be there.

At least, you didn’t think so.

But when some random guy you barely knew started getting a little too close - his hands lingering on your waist, his breath hot against your ear - you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

The guy barely had time to react before he was shoved backward, stumbling as Harry stepped between you.

You had never seen him like this before.

His usual cold indifference was gone, replaced with something dangerous. His jaw was clenched, his fists tight at his sides, his entire body tense as he stared the guy down.

“She’s not interested,” Harry said, his voice low, controlled.

The guy scoffed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Relax, man. Didn’t know she was taken.”

Harry didn’t respond. He just grabbed your hand and pulled you away, weaving through the crowd until you were outside, away from the noise, away from everyone else.

The moment you stopped walking, you turned to him.

“Harry-“

“You need to be more careful,” he cut you off, his voice sharp.

Your brows furrowed. “It wasn’t my fault-“

“I know.” His fingers ran through his hair, his frustration evident. “I just… I don’t like seeing guys touch you like that.”

You stared at him.

And then, softly, you asked, “Why?”

He let out a breath, looking anywhere but at you.

“I don’t know,” he muttered.

But you knew that was a lie.

Stepping closer, you reached for his hand. He flinched at first, but then slowly, he let you lace your fingers with his.

“Harry,” you murmured, “you don’t have to say it.”

His gaze flickered to yours, something unreadable in his expression.

“I just need you to show me,” you whispered.

His throat bobbed, his free hand clenching at his side like he was at war with himself.

Then, after a long moment, he exhaled.

And for the first time, he let himself feel.

His hand tightened around yours. Not possessively, not out of obligation, but because he wanted to.

And when he leaned in - his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours - you swore you felt his walls crack.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You squeezed his hand.

“Then let me teach you.”

———————————————————————-

It took more time.

Harry didn’t change overnight. He still had moments where he pulled away, where he shut down when things felt too real.

But he always came back.

And then, one night, he finally said it.

You were lying in his bed, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his forearm as he stared at the ceiling. It was late, the world outside quiet, wrapped in the stillness of the night.

You weren’t even talking.

You were just there.

And then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

“I love you.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

You lifted your head, eyes wide as you turned to look at him.

He was already looking at you, his green eyes vulnerable, unguarded in a way you had never seen before.

“Say it again,” you whispered, needing to be sure you hadn’t imagined it.

He exhaled, his fingers reaching for yours.

“I love you,” he repeated, firmer this time.

Your chest ached with something indescribable.

Then, without thinking, you crashed your lips against his.

He kissed you back like he meant it. Like he felt it.

And for the first time since you met him, Harry Styles wasn’t the cold, emotionless boy you had come to know.

He was yours.

And he wasn’t afraid to show it anymore.

————————————————————————

The first time you saw him smile - really smile - it was because of you.

It wasn’t a smirk. Not a forced, half-hearted expression.

It was real.

Genuine.

Soft.

And in that moment, you knew.

You had finally brought him back to life.

And he had finally let you.

It didn’t happen overnight.

But slowly, piece by piece, Harry started becoming the boy he used to be.

At first, the changes were so subtle that no one else noticed them. But you did.

The way his eyes softened when he looked at you. The way his fingers always seemed to find yours, as if holding your hand had become second nature to him. The way his lips twitched upward whenever you walked into a room, even if he didn’t realize it.

He didn’t guard himself around you anymore.

And that was everything.

————————————————————————

Harry had always been someone who acted like he didn’t care about anything. But now? Now he let himself enjoy things.

He let himself love the simple things again.

Lazy Sunday mornings, tangled in the sheets with you, his voice groggy as he mumbled something stupid just to make you laugh.

The way you ran your fingers through his hair absentmindedly when he rested his head on your lap, closing his eyes because damn, that felt nice.

The way he always had one arm draped over your shoulders in the hallways, not because he was showing you off, but because he liked being close to you.

And the laughter - God, the laughter.

It started small.

A quiet chuckle when you said something sarcastic. A smirk that turned into an actual grin when you poked fun at him.

Then one day, it happened.

A real laugh.

The kind that made his head fall back, made his stomach ache, made him gasp for breath between wheezes.

It was over something stupid - you didn’t even remember what. Probably one of his terrible jokes, the ones that made zero sense but somehow still had you crying from laughter just because he was laughing, and that was enough to set you off.

That night, as he lay beside you, his cheeks still flushed from laughing so hard, he whispered, “I forgot how good that felt.”

You kissed him then, soft and sweet, and murmured, “Get used to it.”

Because you weren’t letting him lose that part of himself again.

———————————————————————-

“Oh my God, stop.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you lay sprawled across Harry’s bed. “That was the worst one yet.”

Harry grinned, flopping down beside you. “Come on, that was golden.”

“No, that was a crime against humanity.”

“Okay, okay, hear me out-“

“No.”

He ignored you, propping himself up on his elbow. “Why did the scarecrow win an award?”

You groaned. “Harry-“

“Because he was outstanding in his field.”

There was silence.

Then, against your better judgement, you snorted.

Harry’s eyes lit up. “See? I knew you’d crack!”

“I hate you,” you muttered, turning onto your side to face him.

He smirked, leaning in. “No, you don’t.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t push him away when he kissed you.

Because, yeah. You didn’t.

It was a Friday night, and you were hanging out with Harry’s friends - something that had become a regular occurrence now.

Before, he used to keep everyone at arm’s length, even his closest friends. But now, he actually enjoyed being around them again.

He laughed, he joked, he smiled.

And his friends noticed.

At one point, while Harry was off grabbing another drink, his best friend, Liam, nudged you.

“You know, we thought we lost him for good,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

You turned to him, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

Liam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “After his ex messed him up, he wasn’t him anymore. He was just… existing. And we didn’t know how to bring him back.”

You swallowed, glancing over at Harry. He was laughing at something Niall had said, his dimples on full display, his head thrown back in pure amusement.

Liam smiled softly. “That? That’s because of you.”

You felt your chest tighten.

“You brought him back to life,” he continued. “And I don’t think he even realizes it yet.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through you.

Because, yeah. You had noticed the changes in Harry.

But hearing someone else say it - hearing that other people saw it too - made it feel real.

And as Harry turned toward you, his eyes finding yours like they always did, you knew.

This wasn’t temporary.

This wasn’t just some phase.

He was happy again.

And he wasn’t afraid to show it.

————————————————————————

The biggest change in Harry?

He wasn’t scared anymore.

He wasn’t afraid to feel.

To love.

To let people in.

He told you he loved you every night now. Sometimes in words, sometimes in actions.

A sleepy, murmured “I love you” as he pulled you closer in bed.

A hand squeezing yours under the table at lunch, just because.

A quiet, “Drive safe, alright? I love you.” when you left his house late at night.

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t something he hesitated to say anymore.

Because he meant it.

And that? That meant everything.

One night, as you sat together on the hood of his car, watching the stars, he turned to you and said:

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

You frowned, glancing at him. “For what?”

He smiled - really smiled - and shrugged.

“For saving me.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I didn’t save you, Harry.” You squeezed his hand. “I just reminded you who you were.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then, he pulled you into him, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured, and this time, there was no hesitation.

No fear.

Just love.

And when you whispered it back, he smiled against your skin.

Because for the first time in years, he finally believed it.

———————————————————————-

It was the little things.

The way he smiled at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way he laughed - actually laughed - without holding back.

The way he held you like he was afraid to let go.

Harry Styles wasn’t the broken boy he used to be.

He wasn’t the cold, emotionless player the world had known him as.

He was himself again.

And when he pulled you into his arms, murmuring soft words of love against your hair, you knew: This was forever.

Because he had finally let himself live again.

And he had finally let himself love again.

I fear this is the best piece of literature I have ever written and will ever write..

98 notes · View notes