Chapter Text
(Harry’s POV)
The flat was empty when Harry woke up, and void of life, the only sound being his persistent alarm that had jolted him awake only seconds before.
He slapped angrily at his phone to turn it off.
The flat was quiet now too. It was always quiet. Even his new coffee machine was too quiet. The fridge no longer made the loud, grating noise it used to make when Harry first moved in.
Harry couldn’t sleep when it was too quiet. He was too tense, and too on edge, to settle. He needed background noise to fully relax. He’d tried sleeping in the bathtub once, but the constant groaning and clanking of the pipes made him nervous that the whole building was going to explode.
He played his music quietly at night to fall asleep to, only it kept him awake because every time he hummed along to the tune before breaking out into song.
With a heavy sigh, Harry rolled over and snuggled back beneath his covers, staring at the phone that lay beside him on the bed.
He missed living with the Cals, then later with just Calfreezy. He missed the chaos that came with having housemates, but he missed their hugs more, and their constant presence, and their reassurances whenever he needed them: now he barely saw them. It was the same situation with Chris and Will and Stephen… with everyone. They were always busy and Harry refused to intrude on their lives. That’s just the way he was.
It wasn’t all bad though – he was due at a moresidemen shoot and he had less than twenty minutes before he had to leave. He’d see the boys, at least. He’d be in close proximity to his favourite people. But…
But he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. He wanted to sleep forever, even if he couldn’t sleep at the moment. He maybe got about an hour last night, before he had given up and paced his flat, jumping at every strange noise, before he went out to his balcony. He ended up starfishing on the floor, staring up at the sky, struggling to make out the stars through the city pollution.
Years ago, he would have smoked a joint, or taken a line of whatever drug he could get his hands on to coincide with the starfishing, to make him tired, to calm him down, to relax him enough to fall asleep. He was better now. He was much better now. He didn’t rely on drugs and alcohol as much as he used to… and yet he felt worse for it.
He only managed ten minutes of starfishing before he had started to shiver. He walked back inside, locked his balcony door, and curled up beneath his covers, a pillow pulled to his chest. It was just as cold as the rest of his flat, just as cold as the air outside.
There was no warmth. No body heat. There was nobody there with him.
He just felt so lonely.
Another alarm roused him from his thoughts. He had ten minutes until he had to leave. He yawned, feeling worse than he did ten minutes ago, and he thought groggily.
If he went to the shoot, he could sit next to someone. He could hold someone’s hand, as pathetic as that sounded. He just craved human touch, okay?
Ever since Katie had left, he’d struggled with physical intimacy, with human touch… his friends hugged him and held his hand, but they never held him as often as he needed to be held, as much as his body craved the feeling of body heat pressed up against him.
His family lived in Guernsey; he hadn’t seen them in months. He hadn’t spoken to them in weeks, either. Well. His siblings, Rosie and Josh, were always busy but he received the odd text here and there, just to check in. His mum called once a week.
More often than not (especially as of late), Harry dodged her calls and let it ring, and ring, and ring… he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide how he was feeling from her and he didn’t want her to worry. If she thought something was wrong she’d come and visit. Harry didn’t want that either.
He didn’t want her to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.
Goddamn the moresidemen shoot.
Harry didn’t make his bed when he eventually got up (because what was the point when there was no one he needed to impress?). He changed into a pair of joggers and an oversized jumper, big enough that he could bury his hands inside the pockets, big enough that he could hide inside if he needed to. He was fairly certain it was one of JJ’s that Harry had stolen years ago from the Sidemen house.
Dressed, with his teeth brushed, Harry skipped breakfast. Not for the first time. Lately… lately eating had become a chore, so now he only ate when he was hungry. The thought of eating something when he was feeling… lonely, made him feel sick.
He paused at his door. He could so easily text one of the boys and say he wasn’t feeling well, that he wasn’t going to make it to the shoot. He’d accept the yellow card and go back to rotting away in his bed.
But Harry knew that if he did that, the questions wouldn’t stop. He shook his head, sighing. He’d go to the shoot and pretend that he was fine, that everything was fine.
There was nothing wrong.
He was Harry Lewis.
He was fine.
He was always fine.