Love Always, Harry

“Harry, we’re worried, you have to understand that,” Louis said cautiously, though there was an edge to his voice. He was getting fed up of it all. “You’re bringing the whole band down with your moping.”

“Look, mate,” Niall stepped in before Harry could talk. Harry closed his mouth and waited for Niall to continue, though it looked like Harry was getting a bit angry, so Niall quickly said, “We just think, that, ya know, she hasn’t. She hasn’t contacted ya at all after it happened. Maybe-”

“Maybe you lot should stop telling me how to feel,” Harry snapped at the boy, but immediately felt bad afterwards. Yelling at Niall wasn’t a good thing, and the look on the Irishman’s face confirmed that. Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair before fixing it. Niall was just trying to help, they all were, and Harry was getting angry at them, yelling at them. There was no reason to get so defensive over it. But they just didn’t understand. No one would, it seemed. “You guys don’t get it.”

“We’re trying to, Harry,” Louis stressed angrily, and Harry flinched a bit. He didn’t want to fight with any of them, and Louis getting angry wasn’t helping. “If you would just talk to us!”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Harry bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to talk about this, but he had to. Just so they could understand a little, just so they would at least get off his back. “We were dating, I got drunk and cheated on her, she saw, and it was over before I was even sober.” Harry was mumbling now, willing himself not to get overemotional over it all, but he couldn’t help it. This was Marvel they were talking about, and it was such a touchy subject. "I. I've been writing to her. Letters, you know. Once a week since It happened."

"That's over seventy letters, Harry," Liam breathed out, as if he couldn't believe it. But Harry knew, had been counting since the first letter.

"Has she responded ta any o' them?" Zayn asked quietly, and Harry only shook his head.

"Then just give up, Harry! For God's sake, you're Harry Styles, and she was just a girl," Louis said angrily, and Harry looked up at him and glared.

"No, she is not just a girl," Harry seethed. "Is Eleanor just a girl to you?"

"Of course not—"

"Neither was Marvel!"

"But I never cheated on Eleanor, and Eleanor never had to respond to any stupid letters!" Louis bit back, and Harry blinked at the boy in surprise. Harry and Louis never fought. Never had any reason to. And now. Louis couldn't even stand to be in the same room as Harry, it seemed. He was just too tired of Harry moping around over a girl who seemed like she didn't give a damn about him.

Harry clenched his jaw, said between his teeth to the boy with bright blue eyes and brunette hair, "I don't care if I end up writing to her until the day I die. I'm not giving up." And with that, Harry left the room and went in his bunk, making sure to shove headphones in his ears and turn his music up high.

He started writing, wanting to vent to the girl he loved, wanted to get it all off his chest, just wanted to make sure she knew.

My dearest Marvel,
Louis and I just had our first fight ever. It was over you. He thinks I should just move on and forget about you because he thinks you don't care. I just want to know: Do you care? Do you think about me often? Do I ever cross your mind, or did what I did make you completely erase the memory of me because you hate me? I just want to know, Marvel.

Most days it feels like I'm falling into this endless hole, and it just doesn't seem like there will ever be ground for me to land on.

Sometimes I dream about us meeting again years later. We'd meet in your favourite coffee shop in Cheshire, and we'd see each other, you're looking more beautiful than ever. And we'd hug and sit at a table, and you'd ask me all about my life, and I'd ask about yours. You'd be extremely successful in your art, and even though One Direction would be over, I'd still be singing. And you would think that was just the greatest thing ever. And we'd have a great time sitting there and catching up, and I would think to myself, "Maybe we could get together again." But then, a man would walk through the door, and you'd see him and smile, hug and kiss him. He'd be about my height, but have sleeve tattoos (you always loved tattoos on guys, I remember), and blue eyes and black hair. You'd introduce me first as an old friend, and then you'd introduce him. And he would be your husband of two years. I'd look down, and I would just notice the silver band around your finger (not gold, I know!). And I'd fall backwards, and instead of landing on the ground, I'd be free falling into this endless black pit, and you'd be looking down at me with a sad expression, and say "If only you hadn't messed up." Then I wake up.

I have that dream often. I want to call it a nightmare because of the ending, but I can't because you're in that dream, and you make everything better, even the worst nightmares.

Love always,
Harry