#but yeh after a rather stressful moment for couple of weeks finally got the spark to revisit this AU! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wizkiddx · 4 years ago

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...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

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Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months. Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.”

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

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Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically, and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #Tom Holland angst

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chillmichelle · 6 years ago

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Marriage and Failure

Y/N Feels their marriage slipping away, and her insecurity increasing

Word Count: 3.4k+

It’s almost entirely angst

Marriage is a term that seems to have an entirely subjective meaning. To some, marriage is a way of solidifying an ever growing union of love between two individuals; some view marriage as an opportunity for celebration and gloating to all those around them. Marriage can be a complicated series of political relationships or shareholding trades.

But to Harry and Y/n, marriage was sneaking away from press releases early to watch a lowly rated 2000’s movie and consume cheap thin crust pizza while laughing under the sheets of a crumb stained mattress. Marriage was gifting each other stuffed animals in the shapes of their favorite 90’s cartoon characters spontaneously.

Marriage was Y/n and Harry standing at their own wedding during the time of their slow dance, both enamored by nothing but each other's presence. Marriage was Harry leaning over during Y/n’s sister’s drunken toast and whispering “I’d rather be watching Legally Blonde with you right about now” before softly kissing her forehead, muttering a low “Love you, pet”.

And for a while, that’s what marriage was.

Sometimes, Y/n would be slicing fruit to blend in her afternoon smoothie, and she’d notice a new set of paints Harry had purchased for her on the way back from his studio session. And despite the fact that Y/n had told him multiple times that she had more than enough art supplies from his constant gifts, he’d always buy her more, as if it were a way of encouraging her talents. Y/n constantly painted then, selling her work filled with the uplifting inspirations of her relationship to numerous buyers. Her art room always seems to be in use, and finished paintings hung up on the walls waiting to be preserved and framed before being displayed in the city’s finest museums.

And when her wrists ached from constantly holding easels and brushes, and her neck ached from angling her head down when painting her artwork, Harry would be ready in bed to rub the knots out of her loving body. He would adorn her neck with kisses, press him thumbs into her wrist, and melt into her. They each held pieces of each other wherever they went.

“Inseparable” was the word Mitch used to describe them whenever he witnessed Harry asking Y/n about her art everytime she got a moment alone at her art display. He was like a giddy lovesick teenager, waiting profusely for the onlooker Y/n was speaking with to end the conversation so he could speak to her again.

Whenever Harry would wrap his arms around Y/n’s waist from behind, she would memorize the way his fingers slid across her skin, the warmth and delicacy of his soft fingertips. The way that her head fit perfectly beneath his chin as if they were built for eachother.

Harry noticed things, too.

Like how Y/n would hold onto his ring and pinky fingers because her hands were far too small for Harry’s long slender fingers. How - after a while of lying with each other, y/n’s breaths would sync up with his own instinctively.

He noticed the way her thumbs would rub small circles onto his skin when she held him, and when they were apart for more than a mere few hours he swore he could feel the light ghosting of her fingertips rubbing circles on his chest every second he missed her.

It was September when Harry left for his fourth world tour. The leaves were mostly green, and still very much stuck to the branches of the aging trees, but a few yellow leaves occasionally scattered the lush green rows on Y/n’s walk to the art gallery.

Harry had assured her that he would call her when he landed. The first leg of his tour was in Europe, so the time difference was a mere 6 hours from their home in New York City.

Y/n had always seen older married couples talking about how their spark had eventually faded, or complaining about how their love was merely a shadow of what it once was. But she had yet to feel that with Harry in their first year of marriage. She still felt her mind focused on the happiness of hearing from him later on, her heart thumping just a bit faster at the thought of speaking to him again.

As far as Y/n was concerned, they were still the same love blinded millennials they had been at the start of their relationship prior to marriage, and they both loved every second of it.

The flight tracking app Y/n had installed that morning stated that Harry’s flight had landed 4 hours ago, but taking into consideration the customs process, the drive to the hotel, and the check-in, Y/n chose to ignore the miniscule voice inside of her head telling her to worry.

So she spends the rest of the day being inspired at her favorite art gallery, trying to ignore the small itch in her mind telling her to call her husband and see what he’s doing. She grabs an overpriced but tiny chocolate croissant from a local bakery run by an old woman in downtown New York, and walks back to her and Harry’s shared apartment.

When she gets to their penthouse, Y/n strips herself of her sweater and her leggings before jumping into her shower. She turns her shower playlist on, only to realize that almost all of the songs are her husbands, the man she’s striving not to miss dearly as her heart feels heavier when she hears his voice in song instead of in person.

She finally finds a slower song she sings along to while shampooing her hair, when a soft ding from her phone temporarily interrupts her music. Y/n immediately stops her lathering and washes the bubbles off of her fingers (while admiring her wedding band just a little bit in the process). She reaches for her phone with slightly damp fingers and a hopeful heart, but is almost immediately disappointed when she reads the text message before her.

“Hey pet. Just landed. Tired, i’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you, xx”

She’s well aware of the fact that his flight landed hours ago, but decides not to read into it too much. She comes up with the excuse that he probably sent it when he first landed, but it didn’t go through until now. But she can’t help but feel like she shouldn’t need to convince herself of anything.

The next day, Harry calls Y/n early in the morning. As she washes her face right after waking up on her side of the bed, she hears her phone ringing and immediately runs towards it.

“Hey, Pet” She hears a quiet voice from the other end of the line. Harry seems as if he’s whispering more than speaking into the phone, which makes Y/n giggle a bit before replying.

“Hey, love” She addresses him before adding on, “Why are we whispering?”. Harry lets out an audible chuckle before the line goes silent for a few moments.

“...Harry?” Y/n eventually asks into the line again, awaiting a response to her originally rhetorical question. Her interest has now been sparked, and she wonders what the reason is behind his quiet tone.

“Oh, yeah. It’s just, Mitch fell asleep in my room and ‘m trying my best not to wake him.” He quietly replies. Y/n nods in understanding although he can’t see her and tries to think up something to say next.

“How’s Italy?” Y/n asks. It seems like a basic question but it’s the best she can think up having just awoken from sleep.

“Amazing. Would love it a lot more if you were here with me though, you’d love the colors here, darling.”

Y/n’s face breaks out into a grin and she can tell he’s smiling on the other side of the phone as well. Y/n slips on her furry sandals to keep her feet warm as she ventures downstairs, her phone pressed firmly to her cheek as she replies, “Well I might take you up on that offer sometime.”

her moment of happiness is short lived, however, because as soon as Harry is with her, he’s gone. She doesn’t hear a response from the other side of the line, but rather fragments of a conversation between Harry and someone else. She’s pondering as to whether or not Harry heard her response when he mutters a normal toned, “Sorry, love. I have to go. I’ll call you back tomorrow. I miss yeh.”

This is all he states before the line goes quiet. She mutters back a small “I love you”, as if he’s still somehow on the other side of the line.

Harry doesn’t call her back the next day. In fact, he doesn’t even make an effort to text her.

She checks social media to see photos of him walking around Milan on his cell phone, and she can’t help but wonder what exactly he’s so immersed in doing that takes up all of his time, not even sparing 5 minutes out of his day that he could use to speak with her.

It’s after this that she slowly descends into madness.

On the second day of not speaking to him, she plays mini games on her phone until the battery runs dry. She figures it’s what’s best for her productivity. Waiting for a text message from her husband wasn’t going to do her career any good. She figure she’ll add to, or maybe even finish some art pieces, and then she’ll get back to her device.

She ends up turning it on, only to be met with no text messages or calls from the man she’s hopelessly in love with.

Within the next few days Y/n excuses his quietness, she ignores his absence, and she comes up with viable excuses as to why he’s acting the way that he is. She figures that he’s “Just in soundcheck” or “Taking pictures with his fans” or “Having fun exploring the city”. But she can’t help but think back on his last two tours, when they were dating but he would manage to call her for hours a day.

When a week passes, y/n decides to call him for herself. Her call doesn’t go to voicemail, but stops ringing after two rings. After she calls him again, the call ends before it even begins. She knows he’s rejecting her calls purposely, but she doesn’t address the issue and focus on her own problems instead. The stress placed upon her relationship was affecting her artwork, she hadn’t finished or started any pieces since Harry had gone.

Feeling a new fit of anger towards her husband for the first time since her marriage she trudges upstairs to her art room and grab red paints - lots of them.

She never expected for their marriage to turn out this way.

After 2 weeks of sudden lost contact from her husband, y/n blames herself. She wonders if she’s being too clingy and dependent on Harry, and she blames herself for him no longer speaking with her. She thinks of all the possible reasons he has to ignore her.

Europe has a lot of fashion savvy places, did he see the models there and realize i’m not enough?

Maybe I was too overbearing.

Did I bore him?

And then she sees the pictures.

His hand seems to engulf almost all of her thin waist. He smiles, a deep dimpled, love stricken, smile at her as he walks her out of the doors of a restaurant in Milan. Her nose curves perfectly where hers bumps, her legs smooth out into perfect porcelain skin where hers toughen at her knees. Her clothes seem too loose on her clothes all of a sudden, her face a bit too bare for his liking.

Y/n looks into the mirror and all that she can see is the woman who her own husband abandoned. And instead of blaming him, as she most definitely should, she blames the stretch marks forming light tiger stripes on her thighs. She blames the mess of paint and uneven fingernails across her hands from her artistry. Blames the vulgarity of her words and the elegance she lacks as opposed to the woman he now seems to make time for.

“There was no need for publicity. He’s married. He did it for himself.” She thinks.

Y/n breaks a bit that night. And since he’s a part of her, she wonder if he can feel her breaking from across the world.

Y/n still denies what she sees. She chooses to push away the narrative that she married a man who dared to be unfaithful to her.

Harry flies in during a one week gap between two tour dates in Europe.

He feels guilt enveloping him the second his feet hit the driveway in front of his home.

He cheated on her.

The pictures were leaked to the media weeks after the event occured. They had met, as friends. But after a while of taking too many drinks, the drinks drove him to make irrational decisions.

Harry thinks he should’ve noticed when he held her that night. Thinks he should’ve noticed that her nimble fingers were curled greedily around his arms, squeezing them instead of delicately rubbing circles into his soft torso.

Should’ve noticed how her breathing was too uneven and rapid to sync up to his. How her fingers were too pampered, to the point where his eyes welled up in tears when her acrylic nails dug their way into his spine.

He opens the front door with his luggage still in his car. He assumes she won’t want him to stay in their home, and decides to keep it in the car instead of taking it in just to bring it back out.

The door creaks open, and instead of being greeted by the smell of freshly baked cookies or vanilla perfume, he’s met with the lingering scent of expensive perfume. He hears footsteps thud from upstairs and braces himself for the inevitable result of her leaving him. He can’t even forgive himself for what he did, why would she ever?

But he’s shocked when Y/n eagerly hops down the stairs, running up to him to engulf him in a hug.

And even though Harry knows he’s infinitely selfish for ignoring her, and even more selfish for ignoring her as if she means nothing to him, he holds her small frame for as long as he can. He inhales the horrible scent of women’s perfume, but withstands it if it means he can be with her.

Y/n wonders if he hugs her tightly because she reminds him of the girl he was with. She wonders if she can make him stay as long as she continues to at as she does.

Did you ever love me?

She wonders if he was disgusted by her short stature. Wonders if he’d rather her do something like modelling where her hands aren’t calloused and she wears trendy clothing instead of old clothes she can spare to get splattered with paint.

“I missed you.” He mutters in surprise. She smiles up at him, pretending that they’re alright for now. She fiddles with her fingers, her newly done false nails being a nuisance in everything she does.

“Have you lose weight, love?” Harry asks, observing the way her hip bones nearly pop out through the thick fabric of her leggings. Instead of frowning at his apparent concern, she smiles and nods shyly at him.

“Yeah. Started going to the gym last week. Where are your bags?” She asks, before he has the option to shift the subject back onto her sudden weight loss. He mumbles “in the car” quietly, and Y/n kisses his cheek before telling him to go ahead and take a shower while she throws his clothes in the wash.

Harry jogs upstairs to the bathroom in their shared bedroom, before realizing that their bathroom is out of shampoo. He quickly walks to the small storage closet on the other side of the hallway and grabs another bottle. But on the way back to his bedroom he stops in his tracks when he sees the door to Y/n’s art room closed.

Y/n had generally always kept the room open, only closing it when they had guests over or went away on vacation. She had mentioned how leaving the door opened “Sparked an encouraging mindset” for her to pursue her art. Finding the sudden change strange, he twists the knob to the room before opening it.

The frames she uses to place her completed works in have gathered dust in the same corner they were in before Harry left. Her artwork scatters, hung up in different pins, but all incomplete.

Harry is so immersed in the similar color patterns of her recent works that he doesn’t notice her walk up the stairs and she surprisingly appears behind him.

“You don’t paint anymore.” He simply states. She remains quiet.

“Why?” He asks as he turns his head to look at her. She stares at a sketch in the corner of her art room, a redepiction of their wedding photo done by her. In the picture, she stares in awe as Harry grabs her hands, stained with different shades of blue from her oil pastels, and admires the wedding band on her finger.

She looks down at her plastic fingernails. The ones she wasted money on so that she could be just a little bit more desirable, so that she could keep her husband from leaving her again, and she feels ashamed. She’s overwhelmed with so many emotions that she can’t help but let out a loud sob as she collapses onto her knees and shoves her face into her clean hands.

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong, pet?” Harry asks, stroking his fingers through her slightly tangly hair.

“Gee Harry, what could possibly be wrong?” She replies, all of a sudden feeling a surge of rage hit her. “For starters, we haven’t talked in weeks.”

Her head is in inner turmoil as she weighs her options. She fears that if she allows herself to be angry at him, he may find comfort in someone else again. She’s torn between wanting him, and knowing that having him could potentially destroy her just as badly.

“We” She removes a hair that’s stuck to her tear stricken face, “We shouldn’t have gotten married.” She cries, sitting down properly and pulling her knees into her chest as he kneels in front of her.

“W-What do you mean?” He asks.

“We shouldn’t have agreed to make a commitment for the rest of our lives when you couldn’t even commit for a year, Harry” She shakes her head.

He doesn’t cry, and although from the outside he may look less broken than her, guilt and panic and inner turmoil eats at him from the inside out.

“I love you.” He grabs her left hand, kissing the weirdly soft skin where her ring finger meets her wedding ring.

“Stop avoiding the problem Harry!” She snatches her hand from his grasp, her sharp nails probably scratching his hands in the process.

“You’re driving me insane. Absolutely insane! You told me that dating models was just a facade placed on you by the media, you told me you loved me, and then you replaced me with her the second I wasn’t there.”

He gulps as she yells at him, knowing of the dangerous places the argument could lead.

“I tried to-” She coughs from her own tears, “I tried to change for you, Harry. I bought this stupid fucking perfume, and I did my nails like she did, and I went to the gym and I fixed myself because I thought this was my fault.” Y/n looks down at her hands, feeling how different they were from before the tour started, when she was content with Harry.

Harry stares at her intently, his eyes finally welling up in tears. He wonders if he should hold her, or get on his knees and beg for her forgiveness. He’s never been more heartbroken in his life than he is in this moment, he thinks.

Of all of the different things marriage could possibly mean, they never thought theirs would be the one that meant failure.

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