Thanksgiving blurb (Patreon)

HAPPY TURKEY DAY!!!! 

This is not a very conventional thanksgiving blurb, it's kind of a little something something I've been thinking about writing as a full one shot so if you guys like it let me know! 

Christmas-y blurbs will start immediately after this so be ready to get Christmas'd up! 

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“You’re supposed to reduce the temperature to 350 not increase it.” 

Harry jumps out of his skin, the pan of sweet potato casserole clattering loudly against the granite top counter, while a clipped, ignominious squawk flew from his throat. He knew he’d always had a bit of a nosy family who might just burst through the doors because he’s hosting Thanksgiving and “Holidays don’t call for knocking and doorbells”, however he was sure that his door was locked, nobody was supposed to show up until around noon and it was only just barely five in the morning because he’d panicked and started cooking early. No one had spent the night last night, he’d been too nervous to have even left his house apart from going to the grocery store, and it would’ve been stupid to invite someone over the night before his first time hosting a holiday in his home -- especially if he didn’t know whether or not he could trust them to leave the next morning without him having to kick them out and feel bad about it later. 

Maybe he was just hearing things though -- he was too scared to turn around to actually test that theory. Could his lack of sleep have festered a auditory hallucination? Hopefully. That he could deal with. 

“Or I guess 165 if you’re doing celsius. Can you even convert the oven’s units?” 

Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place loops through his head once, and he flips around, trying to look cool, calm and collected -- ready for a battle with someone who broke into his home -- but he’s vaguely sure he looks like he’s minutes away from pissing himself. Reaching behind him for the handle of his kitchen knife, covered in the orange guts of a sweet potato, but he doesn’t swing it in front of him because he isn’t sure how close they are. 

Standing before him was a girl. . .a very non-threatening girl, wearing a sweater that slumped off her body, and jeans that stopped just above her ankle. As far as he could tell, there was no weapon in sight for her to portend anything dangerous, but he can’t be so trusting. He’d learned that with people who he thought were his acquaintances and even those he’d considered his friends, so there’s no way he was going to let his shoulders relax for this stranger, even though she didn’t look unsafe. She broke into his home. 

“Who the hell are you?” Harry asks, his voice as strong and sturdy as he could make it, “What’re you doing in my home?” 

The girl sighs, her shoulders slumping as she slinks backward to the island counter, reaching behind her and Harry tenses with his fingers gripping tighter around the holder just for her to hiker herself up. She sits on it, swinging her heels against the cabinet below it once, before making a point of swaying them in the air, “Wish I knew,” she shrugs, leaning back, holding herself up on her palms, “I’ve been bumping around from place to place and nobody’s been helping very much. You’re Harry Styles though, so m’pretty sure you’d be useful.” 

Forehead wrinkling, he shakes his head, “What? That doesn’t make any se--” 

“Listen, m’gonna keep this short and sweet and I don’t want you to say a word until I prove it, okay?” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “I don’t have time for this, you need to lea--” 

“Did I not just say don’t say a word?” She grumbles disapprovingly, before she shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath in, then saying one go, “So basically, I was pretty sure I was a ghost for a while walking the streets, but then this big dude came in like a glimmer of light with wings and whatnot to tell me that I wasn’t a ghost, I was alive just in a coma and had to do some soul searching, and settle my own grievances before I could continue on with my life. Which sucks, honestly, because like I feel like I had a lot of things to do but I guess I wasn’t living life to the fullest and then --” 

“Wait, wha--” 

“God, you don’t know how to listen!” She huffs, rolling her eyes, “I’m almost done, yeah? So I know you’re probably thinking, “Oh, what a dummy she just broke into my house, got herself caught and now is coming up with an elaborate story but if I wasn’t some weird coma ghost apparition then how would I do this?” Harry expects for the story to fall apart here -- to see her do something stupid that would warrant him calling the police though there’s a weird piece of him that believes her. Though, in that moment, within a blink of an eye Y/N has disappeared and reappeared on the far end of the kitchen, and then again reappearing right next to him, and again back in the spot that she had been in the first place, “Couldn’t do that if I was just a regular burglar, right?” 

Harry’s mouth has run dry, lips fallen open, stuttering as he shakes his head, “I don’t -- I don’t know what --” his mind is racing; Harry’s always believed that there was something out there that wasn’t just the mundane of life, but this was almost too much on his brain. No smoke bombs to hide her like a magician, or any tricks of the eye she could’ve done. She just was gone and then was there, gone and then there, gone and then there. If all of this was true, then what was he supposed to do? How was he meant to help? “I don’t know what to -- how to --” 

She waves her hand dismissively, “Listen, sorry to drop all this on you but I didn’t fancy spending Thanksgiving with a pissy millionaire who’d given a half assed attempt at helping, gave up, then told me to fuck off -- I milked my time there for a few more weeks but not being wanted is so draining.” Shaking her head, she continues, “However, we can discuss all of the nitty gritty of it later. For now, we need to finish the meal because I can feel your nerves and nerves will botch a good meal, and come up with a story of why I’m here. M’feeling, best bud that you just haven’t mentioned ‘cos you’re so private they won’t question it, and I came around ‘cos I couldn’t make it home for the holidays.” 

“But --” 

“Now, let the sweet potatoes cool so we can peel the skin off. Where’s your mixing bowl so I can do the brown sugar mix then; you can start on the rest.” 

                                                                .                          .                            .

Harry’s on edge the rest of the day. 

Of course he would be, not only is all of his family there tasting his cooking and digging into his day to day life, there was a girl there, who can disappear and reappear in an instant, claiming to be in a coma needing his help and is currently charming the pants off of his aunt. She fits in well, like a puzzle piece in a jigsaw, and nobody even really questioned her presence there. Even praised her when she told them that she taught Harry everything he knew about sweet potato casserole as she crumbles the recipe he’d been trying to follow this morning in her hands, shooting him a wink. The only person who seemed concerned that it was someone new had been Gemma, but even she had come around to the idea quickly.

“At first I was right pissed ‘cos this was jus’ to be family n’ you didn’t say anythin’ but she’s nice. Gave me a tip on how to fix the holes in my sweater on the fly.” 

While they all sat at the table to eat, Harry entertained the bunch when he was needed but for a good part when there was idle chatter among the older adults he would lull quiet for a moment. What was he to do when they all left and he was alone with this girl? Was he supposed to help her? Didn’t he kind of have to? If he turned her away he’s sure the only thing that’d be on his mind is whether or not someone helped her. If she was still in her coma. If this had all been a load of shit or not. 

Didn’t he kind of owe it to her in a way? She did, more or less, save his Thanksgiving. Helped him cook, clean up, set the table, taught him how to roast a turkey (opposed to the google recipe he had up), and even helped him do some last minute decorations after disappearing, then reappearing with an armful of decor that she ineluctably stole. Everyone had gushed about how nice everything was and while Harry was handy with all the pies and the green bean casserole, while Y/N took care of the macaroni, mashed potatoes, and aided him with the turkey. 

Everything was good. . .it was delicious and Harry was stuffed, happy, and pleasantly sleepy by the end of the night. His mum had kissed him all over his face telling him how well he did, speaking well on Y/N and saying she hopes to see her by Christmas, to which Harry’s cheeks warmed, “She’s jus’ a friend.” 

“Jus’ a friend who cooked half of Thanksgiving for you,” she pinches at his bum, “Y’a think I can’t tell your cooking from someone else’s? She oughta give you lessons.” He’s about to scoff to deny it (even though there was no use, she always knew when he was fibbing), but she gives him one of those smiles -- those gratifying mum smiles that warms him from the inside out, “You did so well, my love. Proud of you.” 

So he owed her -- helped him get that mum smile he needed to feel contented.

Once the last person left, and his mum, Gem, and Aunt (who decided she was taking the third guest room whether anybody told her she could or not) went to bed, and he was met with Y/N who -- upon him walking into the kitchen -- threw a towel at him, “Get to work then,” Harry catches it, “There’s a mess on your Nan’s side, I think she might’ve left her backup dentures but m’not touching ‘em.” 

“Before that,” Harry begins, “I -- we need to discuss the elephant in the room.” 

Y/N turns the sink off, flipping around to face him, “S’ppose you aren’t speaking about the cherry pie stain at the hem of my shirt?” She smiles solemnly, “I sorta forgot this wasn’t. . .normal.” 

“What is it exactly that you need me to do?” He questions, lowering his voice and watching as she leans up against the counter, crossing her arms casually over her chest, “Like. . .how am I to help? If you’re in a coma. . .if you’re supposed to settle grievances and whatnot how am I supposed to help?” 

Sighing, Y/N nods her head, “That’s a good question, yeah? Well, I will let you know that me finding you wasn’t some luck of the draw. They gave me a list of people who are meant to be genuinely. . .good. Safe to say the people I found before you weren’t all too keen on helping me. You’re the only one who has even chosen to hear me out, which is a great start.” She smiles some, “Once you agree to help, the powers at be will let us know a bit more on what to do. As of now, they’ve only let me know that apparently I’m a very sad, negative little gremlin, and they want me to learn how to appreciate life more. They think you could help.” 

It’s a lot to swallow; a whole lot of stuff Harry could’ve never imagined, and he’s still having a hard time understanding a lot of it, but his heart still feels full for this girl. When he looks at her, he sees someone who is partly fronting being completely calm but traces of panic lingers beneath the surface. How many people have turned her away that she seemed so unsure of his words? For someone who, from what he can tell thus far, doesn’t seem unsure about a lot. 

Maybe it would be a lot on his plate. Maybe it wasn’t a wonderful idea to take on something seemingly as heavy as this for an absolute stranger. 

But something inside of him, wouldn’t let him turn her away. 

“Okay.” He responds. 

Y/N’s brows skyrocket, “Okay?” He nods again, and she bursts into a full out grin, launching herself across the kitchen and wrapping her arms around his neck, “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she draws back, “As soon as I’m un-coma’ed, you’re getting a care package.” 

God. . .what the hell did he just do?