Progressively, Harry's mind was looming away from the darkness that had started to conquer his mind six years ago. He started to be the one spooning me, which strangely as it sounds, was great. His eyes would suddenly become more vibrant, and every time I said that I would go out and ask him to come with me, he would agree, and Harry never came out of the house unless I forced and dragged his ass to go with me.

The dark, luring circles under his eyes were becoming more invisible and he was getting more than enough sleep. Our late night, two in the morning conversations weren't becoming as in depth as they used to be, but they became more playful and adventurous. Orange juice and cranberry juice would always be the first topic of the conversation due to both of us noticing the beverages in our hand and scowling at one another.

There was one night though, one night when we had thought about the first time we had both got insanely drunk together, before Harry's accident. We both sat with each other's enemy juices in hand, our eyes both gazing at one another, and our hands sliding very closely towards each other. Harry had muttered the words first when his other hand, the one with the cross tattoo lying between his thumb and pointer finger, slightly brushed through his tousled curls from his bed head.

"Do you remember that one time when you had that terrible day at work, and then you came home early?" Harry mutters and brings up the mug of orange juice for his lips to drink the liquid.

"There's been many terrible days of when I come home early," I copy his actions and fiddle with the silver ring on my middle finger out of boredom. Even though it is two in the morning, and my mind feels like utter shit, I know there is no way that I am going to bed because I am already wide awake from this conversation with Harry.

"Very true," he mutters under his breath and sets down the mug with his free hand. Our hands seem to be slowly inching closer and closer, as if they are magnetic, but it is in a very slow manner. "I meant the day of when you came home and suggested the idea of us both getting completely wasted to just used the day away, that was exactly what you had said."

"Oh, I do remember that now. It had been such a tough day and my boss literally had enough with me, so he let me go. Not like fired, but I don't even know why the hell he did it."

"I don't either, but I am slightly glad that he did. It was one hell of a night and that was one of the times that I have ever had the best fun in my life, even though I was completely wasted," a small smile ghosts over his lips as his hands retract from my lifeless one that was laying on the counter, getting very close to his if I say so myself, and starts to meddle with the silver ring on his middle finger.

"Harry, you were beyond wasted, I remember every single damn thing. I was nowhere close to it, and it's strange because I thought I was the one that had a long day," the ending comes out as a small mutter and we both chuckle in unison at my words because it was the absolute truth. "Can you even remember what you did?"

He hesitates and his green eyes meet mine once again, and we were in the same position as we were from the beginning. "I don't believe so, actually, except for the large hangover consuming the burned cells of my mind."

"Are you trying to act like a poet or are you truly speaking the truth?" I reply, laughing at Harry's pissed off face. His face has suddenly contorted into a mixture of playful anger and annoyance, but it is actually the truth. Harry never speaks that way unless he is in the midst of his thoughts in terrible positions.

"No, it's just the truth."

I didn't believe him, honestly. The words that would just splutter out of his mouth at random times was because of the poison running through his veins, not because they just sparked through his mind so he said them through his rosy lips. No, that was not Harry, but at unexpected moments with alcohol, that was Harry Styles.

When we were speaking of his wasted nights, we both did recall when both of us went to the club together and Harry had 'accidentally' poured his drink down the bartender's shirt, who was seemingly flirting with me in a slightly creepy way. First, he had asked me to come dance with him after his shift was done for the night, and then we could go out to have dinner or 'some other activities,' he had put into his own words. That had really ticked Harry off, and he hadn't had one single sip of the terrible poison yet.

The anger was already coursing through his veins when the bartender had innocently scanned his eyes at my half clothed body, and I do recall Harry putting his arm around my waist protectively, but that did not seem to stop the bartender. After Harry had left, excusing himself to 'go for a wee,' he had put it, the bartender walked out from the counter and sat in the seat next to me.

He had done the usual of where he asks my name, but I did not oblige of telling him. From what his nametag had said, his name was Dan, and he was one greasy headed son of a bitch. By his accent, I could tell he was somewhat of Italian descent. His raven hair did compliment his tanned skin for some reason, and I guessed it was the perfect blend. But, still, he was very disgusting, especially the way his large hand would slide over towards mine when I wasn't looking, he had thought.

But then, a slight lanky boy who had said he wasn't drunk, but he truly was, came walking over with a bottle of some terrible beer in hand. And, of course, that beer resulted in going down the greasy bartender's shirt, with the drunk one saying that he just tripped on his own two feet. I knew the answer to what was happening, but what I didn't expect was for the Italian to raise a fist at Harry. So, that was when the sober woman of this conversation stepped in, and surprisingly, lifted her foot harshly into the area of the nasty Italian's little babies, the fucker's balls.

The previous fist that had been laying in the air was weighed down by the terrible weight on his balls, and all I could hear at that moment was Harry's drunk laughter and the sound of pain. Okay, maybe I was slightly drunk, but I did remember what happened the next day with a not-so terrible hangover. But, Harry on the other hand, his mind desperately needed help on recovering from the headaches and his memory on the night before.

Then came the night of when the Italian soon returned just like the times of Harry almost getting run over by my car.

Harry and I had came back to that club a couple weeks later due to another terrible day at work for me. He had agreed this time willingly, which I was very ecstatic for. I remember clearly that I had been wearing the same mid-thigh length dress, the plain yellow one. Harry had always told me that I chose the clothes to grab the most attention and stand out, but I didn't really believe that. Yellow wasn't my favourite colour either, nor did I have one that I loved the most. It wasn't the attention, I just couldn't be the one to be ordinary and the same as the others.

Not that everyone was the same damn person, but most of the people I knew were. They had the exact same schedule, clothing choices, every single fucking thing. It was all too obnoxious to me, knowing that there were people out there only to copy others, who probably copied someone else, and so on. People are themselves, they are made to have their own life, not live somebody else's the way they fucking do. It is all ridiculous. If someone were to jump off a cliff, would the copycat do it, too?

Some people are oblivious to the fact that they are doing it, as well. Like I had been when I was around my pre-teenage years, in love with the fact of falling in love. It was all worthless time, working on something and acting like someone else I was not. Hell, my mother even noticed this and tried to stop it, but I couldn't until she met the end of her time. It was sad, sad that I didn't even care until my mother had died from something she didn't even deserve. Life is sad.

The Italian Dan this time did not try to flirt with me, but with someone else, and it made me laugh so fucking hard. Not because of the sexuality and whatnot, but because of Harry's face when the greasy bartender laid his hand on Harry's shoulder and muttered, "you're one sexy, chico."

He was Italian and Spanish, Harry and I had come to terms with.

So, that moment was when Harry had sprinted out of the club, accidentally being the victim of getting a drink spilled on him. The drunk bartender had looked at me with widened eyes, but all I could do was shrug at him and throw up a peace sign as I walked out of the club too, going to find the sober Harry. My eyes were full of tears, but it was from laughing so damn hard at the awkward situation. And from what I had witnessed back at the club, Harry had never been confronted in that way. But, there were other ways that he had never witnessed, such as the night when I got too wasted at my house, as in his situation a few months before, and I got slightly violent with my ex-boyfriend and my past photos.

It was all a crazy situation of Harry having to pry the poison away from my small fingers, but he had finally got it taken away with a fight. I do remember him and me laying on the couch together, me cuddled up to Harry's chest with a blanket thrown over us because I was only in my undergarments. For what reason, I have absolutely no idea, except for the fact that Harry had nothing to do with it. That moment, it was just mildly hot with the alcohol running through my system, and my body reacted before my mind could.

"Harry, I hate life so fucking much," I mutter into his clothed chest, nuzzling into the cotton blanket that smelled like Harry's vanilla cologne. "Life fucks us all, basically."

"Kurt Cobain was one hell of a guy," Harry chuckles at my drunkenness, his long fingers slightly pulling at the tangles in my hair. "It gets better, Addy, it always does."

I don't understand how it honestly does. After that breakup with Aaron, it fucked me up, way worse than Harry is with his poison. The terrible tragedies of breakups and cheaters is so damn ridiculous, it makes everything stupid in life. Life is stupid.

"No, it truly doesn't," a dry laugh makes its way out of my mouth, and my hands can't help but act as if they are closing around a bottle. "I honestly just need someone to come into my life that really genuinely cares about me and wants to sit and have long conversations about things that truly matter, and might be the absolute randomest shit ever. Someone who is with my at my highest points and lowest points, and has always seemingly been there for me, but I'm probably too fucking stupid to even see what is going on in the real world."

And the only thing that it takes for me to break down into more tears is when Harry whispers, "I'm here," and there goes my whole speech, because I know he is right.

He has been that person ever since he came into my life.