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gold rush: part two
this is an immediate continuation of the last part, however it’s from harry’s perspective this time, so more heartbreak! have fun!!! (don’t worry, there will be a part three)
as always, please reblog / leave feedback 💛
word count: 1.5k
warnings: angst :(
————
Harry doesn't want to let go.
He hasn't felt or even been this close to you since what feels like a lifetime ago. Considerate greeting hugs and instinctual touches within boundaries over the grueling year of separation don't shed a single gleaming light of justice on this moment, holding you tight while tucked away in his dressing room.
He can feel your heartbeat. The organ that once beat for him and only him is pounding against his own, the pumping blood somehow fueling him with love for you. Who is he kidding, he's always had love for you. Even when you screamed at him on the other line, words like poison seeping into every crack in his heart, he still couldn't bear the thought of never having a place in your life again, even if that place wasn't beside you anymore.
You told him you were proud of him mere seconds ago. A simple statement, but a diminutive glance into your mind that he always wonders what it's thinking about. When you're pressed up against him, knowing you feel his hands on your back and the faint kisses to your head, what do you think about?
All he wants is to spread you open and lay your cards on the table, both good and bad ones, and just talk to you. He only sees you a handful of times a month, so the questions he's been piling up in his throat beg to spill out, but he's sure his patchwork heart would also spill out onto the floor and you'd see just how miserably he's been coping. A year should be enough time to get over someone, but when that someone was his wife, the mother of his daughter, he reminds himself that time never stops in moments of hurt. His personal life and career had to chug along, even when the train was never guaranteed to stay on the tracks.
The regret he feels for not putting his family first eats him alive almost every time he opens the door to take his daughter for only three days a week. It’s never enough time, and to see you for much less is slowly killing him. The haunting supposition of not being able to notice every small detail about you one day is the nail in his coffin. He remembers opening the door a few months ago to see you with shorter hair, and it shouldn't have affected him the way it did, causing him to think how you probably would've asked for his opinion before doing it if you were still together.
Mentally draining months were spent on mending the broken relationship, yet the last and largest shard that couldn’t fix it was the one that was simply the relationship as a whole.
He hasn't kissed you or had sex with you in over a year. No romantic dates or nights spent in bed, limbs tangled like the dying vines of your love. No holding your hand when he feels like it or watching you be a mother expect for fleeting moments. He doesn't want those things with anyone else, so why can't you just forgive him? Why can't you just revive your love for him?
Harry sadly knows that asking for a revival of love is cruel and impractical.
"When do you need to get on stage?" your soft voice suddenly speaks, warm like melted honey that seals the wounds of his soul.
"Doesn't matter,” he responds, fixing the twisted strap of your dress. “I can be a little late.”
You step back from the hug and Harry can feel a physical ache in his chest from the loss of contact. "No, you can't."
He smirks and tilts his head. "Says who? It's my show."
You give him an unimpressed look, but he can see your eyes slowly soften when they drift down to take in his outfit. He'd be lying if he said he didn't have a revealing outfit planned just because of the possibility that you'd come to the Nashville show.
"You look handsome, by the way," you say with a smile.
Handsome. When was the last time you called him that? He can't remember, but the word sends shivers all across his body.
Harry watches his daughter play with his brushes and combs as he replies, "Thank you. You, uh... you look great, as always. How've you been?"
"I've been alright. Work keeps me busy." A comb clatters to the floor and you jerk your head over to the culprit who has wide eyes. “Her, too.”
"Not overworking yourself, are you?" Harry asks. God knows he's seen you at your worst because of it.
"Not as much as you," you joke. "I still worry about you with all this traveling."
He laughs and stuffs his hands into his pockets while taking a step closer to you. "Yeah? You worry about me?"
You nod and look past his shoulder. He misses when you didn’t shy under his gaze. "I see videos and they help ease my worries," you respond. "I know all the hard work is worth it."
Harry clears his throat and inhales deeply. "What videos?"
There’s a beat of unbearable silence before you say, "Ones of you performing. They pop up on my social media all the time. You're pretty famous, if you didn't know."
He ignores your teasing because he’s grasping at straws, needing to know if you still keep up with him like he does with you. "And you watch them?"
"Yeah, I do," you reply quietly. "It's hard not to with those outfits and how happy you look, you know?" You then point to your daughter. "She loves to watch them, too."
Harry roughy swallows and curls his hands into fist inside his pockets. The ache in his heart grows at your admittance. Never would he have guessed.
Someone suddenly knocks loudly on the dressing room door, making him flinch. "Harry, we need to start heading to the stage! Right now, preferably!"
With a reluctant sigh, he heads over to the bathroom to grab his mic pack and in-ears, but not before crouching down in front of his daughter.
"Hey, dad has to go," he gently tells her. "Gonna stay with mum and watch me?"
She nods and lifts her arms up so he can pick her up. He does, setting her on his hip and bouncing her up and down. "Do I look okay?" he murmurs to her.
"Mm-hm," she hums, grabbing at the silk material of his vest.
"Good." Harry kisses her forehead and then rests his own against hers. "I love you, alright? Be good and dance your heart out for me."
She giggles and squirms in his arms. He sets her down so she can play with the toys you brought and moves to quickly fix his hair in the mirror. He can already tell tonight is going to be a good show.
After he puts his in-ears in, he shuts the bathroom light off and shakes his arms to get any remaining pre-show jitters out. He looks at you the entire time, watching you glance around his dressing room like it's an art museum. All of his vulnerable belongings are out in the open, his shirts that you used to wear stuffed in his duffel bag, printed pictures of his daughter tucked into the mesh pocket of his suitcase, and a pack of diapers he bought earlier today in case you forgot or ran out.
Most vulnerable of all, however, is his wedding ring lying right next to his microphone that you're about to grab for him.
The same ring he kisses every night before he goes on stage, never having got rid of it because it's one of the only things he has left of the love you once had for him.
He sees you freeze, your hand hovering over the microphone. The color drains from his face and all he can do is stand there, dreading your reaction.
"Harry..." you trail off with a certain sadness that could break him if he let it.
People are starting to gather around him, trying to get him to get on stage, but he's stuck in place. Everything is a blur around him and all he can focus on is the shake of your hand when you pick the ring up.
You set it in your palm, then look up at him with a slightly parted mouth and glossy eyes.
Then he makes a stupid fucking mistake.
He rushes up to you and grasps your cheeks, smearing his lips over yours with pitiful desperation. His eyebrows are furrowed and he lets out a muted sob when you don't return his kiss. He can feel your hands push on his chest, making him stumble back.
There's no time to apologize as he's immediately being escorted out the door and down the hallway towards the stage. He wants to look back, but he fears that the expression on your face will tell him all he needs to know.
That you don't love him anymore.
————
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