Fixing You Up

                                    

                                          

12:34 am. 
In bed, it was just me. I was up patiently waiting for Harry. It was about time I was getting worried about him, he wouldn't answer his calls or his texts. I texted Niall to ask if he might've known where Harry was, but he said that he hadn't seen him after leaving the studio, which was actually quite a while ago. 
                          
12:35 am. 
As every minute passed, it felt more like an hour. I picked up my phone to check the time, the pace of the night frustrating me. I just wanted Harry to come home, I needed him to come home. Physically and mentally. 
                          
It had been, about 2 months? Yeah, 2 months, since our wedding and the nostalgia still hasn't left him. He's been going out to parties with each of his friends, individually. And Harry had a lot of friends, so that had meant a lot of parties. 
                          
It wasn't really every night that this was happening. The rush started usually on Friday nights, lasting till Monday nights. This left me with Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday with Harry. And yeah what about the daytime? That was out of the question. 
                          
Writing, writing and more writing. That's all he ever wanted to do. Every day he'd find someone new to hit the studio with. So he would be gone a pretty long time, most days before I can wake up. This left me with a very minimum amount of time with my husband. And it was frustrating. 
                          
I hadn't yet addressed this to him because things like this have gotten us into serious arguments before. And on our wedding day, he had promised me, as newly weds, we could not have any arguments. I didn't want to argue with Harry but it was probably the only way to talk to him. So I decided that I would address it as soon as he got home, if only he came home. 
                          
I had always had the worry in me that one day, Harry wouldn't come home. Whether the reason being he gets hurt, or he just didn't love me anymore. I needed Harry to come home, always. This thought always kept me on edge every night that I had to wait for him. And although it had been quite some time since this was going on, you'd think I'd be used to it and always expect him to come home. But with the media adding on more stress to the relationship with all the rumors, it was just too hard not to believe it could happen, just a little bit. 
                          
12:36 am. 
The sound of the door opening and closing and Harry kicking off his boots could be heard from downstairs. I let out the breath that I was holding in since the clock struck 12. Watching the numbers on the digital clock increase and not hearing the sound of Harry caused me to strain my breath even more. But he was here, and I could breathe. 
                          
His feet slowly padded against the carpet as he came upstairs. I heard the door slowly creak open. He expected me to be asleep, so when he was making his way to the bathroom and heard my voice call his name, he flinched. 
                          
"Hi" he mumbled, realizing it was just me, then continued to make his way to the bathroom. 
                          
I could see that he was limping, his dark figure suddenly going down after each step. I knew something had happened and the only way I could find out was to go look at him rather than just asking him. 
                          
He was already in the bathroom when I pushed away the covers and turned on the bedside lamp. 
                          
"Haz?" I entered the bathroom behind him only to stop in my place. He was stood in front of me, his hands clenching the counter top as he was leaning forward. He was looking at his reflection in the mirror, and as I came up behind him, I could see it too. His appearance caused a gasp to escape my lips. He was hurt. 
                          
He was hurt, badly. His eye was bruised and his lip was cut, as was his cheek. I couldn't see much more except for his bruised knuckles, as he was still fully clothed. But I knew there was more damage because of his limping from earlier.