Harry likes a girl but she's dating his friend (Patreon)

Harry is sad and soft

__________________________________________________________________________________

Harry is fucking freezing.

Proper toe-numbing, teeth chatter, finger stiff cold, where even the thick winter coat that buttoned all the way down to his thighs did little to fight against it. Somehow it was seeping through every crack and crevice, brings a chill down his whole being, and his skin had rippled in goosebumps from the moment he had stepped outside. It was awful -- absolutely dreadful -- and he can’t ever imagine a reason why he would want to be out in this bone frosting weather. 

Which is why he’s so confused why he is out in it. 

Of course it was his damned heart; he was all too soft towards Y/N -- the girl who had started out as a bothersome little pest his friend Oliver was always keen on bringing around, yet somehow managed to evolve into the very person Harry’s once cold, bittered chest had bloomed for. He blames it on anight the three of them had spent together, in which Oliver passed out at 9PM, and he and Y/N had only been on their second drink of the night. This left ample time for chatting, proving that Y/N had a knack for coaxing things out of him and Harry had a knack for letting her coax things out of him, even if he’s so normally shut off. Barely tells people how he’s doing in passing, let alone open up to a practical stranger about why he’s so kept to himself and quiet.

He remembers the night clearly. Y/N’s eyes focused on him, nodding at every word, asking him questions and digging further past the deep seated roots of his introverted nature. She hadn’t just brushed him off as simple as everyone else had, “Harry’s just quiet. . .that’s him. . .don’t bother trying to know anything about him outside over surface level, he’ll brush you off, start talking bout somethin’ different entirely.” 

She just hadn’t stood for that though. Always redirected the conversation back to him somehow, rarely mentioning a peep about herself (which throws him off, because since he doesn’t talk about himself, most people take the time to talk about themselves), let him know that she cared and even offered solutions to problems he didn’t think had any. It was when she had fallen asleep on the couch with him, ushering him beneath the blanket so that their feet met in the middle (Oliver had a relatively small space) after refusing to let him sleep on the couch, that Harry felt the ice begin to chip from his heart. 

They’d gotten close after that; started hanging out without Oliver, but Harry felt there was no hope in any sort of relationship sprouting, no matter the pleasantly tight feeling in his chest when he’s around her. Not when her and Oliver are. . .are so close -- closer than he could ever hope to get. They know each other inside and out, have for years, and Harry knows he’ll never amount to that, even though he wishes he could. Instead, he just crushes in silence, swallowing back any sorrow he feels if he sees her cuddled close to him at a party, or Y/N fixing his hair for him, or Oliver playfully tickling her. Tried to ignore it, fill is mind with other people, tried having sex with plenty to forget about his pitiful little puppy love, and pretended like he was fine as ever. 

Just normal Harry. 

Being quiet. 

So that explains why he was out at 12AM, walking from a 24 hour grocery to his car. Y/N had a cold and granted it was just a cold, and no fever, she was a bit pathetic when she felt poorly. Was all pouts and frowns throughout the school day, and was up messaging him around 11:30PM complaining that she was such an idiot for forgetting cold medicine. She hadn’t asked him to go out and get her medicine, nor did she request the four other things he’d bought just for her comfort, but he couldn’t -- in good conscious -- go to bed knowing she was uncomfortable. 

He told her to stay awake for a little while longer under the guise that he was going to send her the answers to the Organic Chemistry quiz (which he still was; he’d printed them out and had them in a soft purple folder that reminded him of something she might like), but instead he’s headed her way with two baggies filled with nyquil, a soft teddy, thick nitted socks, a big carton of orange juice and a set of three tissue boxes. He knew if he told her he was going to get her stuff, she’d blow up his phone telling him not to, and he really didn’t feel like arguing with her on it -- plus, she was in no shape to argue with him about purchasing things for her health. 

The drive to her flat is a calm one, most the streets abandoned in the more suburban area that she had managed to find, near enough to the university but far enough not to be bothered by the nonsense of students up at all hours. Harry decided to blast the heat in his car, hoping it would do away with the bright pink tip of his nose that she’d no doubt tease him for, and to get some feeling back into the joints of his fingers (he makes a note to invest in some winter gloves). Once he’s at a stop light, he messages her to meet him at her door in five minutes, before tossing his phone to the side, despite the five dings signifying she understood what was happening now. 

Harry wouldn’t brave this type of weather for just anyone, and in some regards he wonders if she would feel special knowing that. Wonders if she’d give a care in the world that she had a significant spot in his heart, that made him all soft and gooey knowing that she was happy and he’d been the direct cause of it. If she would even bat an eyelash that he daydreams about giving her the world, if he could.

Of course she wouldn’t care though! How could she? Not when she has Oliver. 

And he couldn’t be mad about that. Was he bitter? Well, in some ways, yes, but they’re both his friends. They’re happy, and even if that means sacrificing Harry’s own chance at happiness, he’s happy for them too. 

Like a windshield wiper, he swipes all that from his brain like sloshes of rain in a storm as he parks in front of her flat. Twists the car off before gathering both the folder and the bags, taking a deep breath before he must let the cold slither up his bones once again. It’s a brisk walk to her door, where -- like clockwork -- Y/N swings it open with two balls of tissue shoved up her nose, eyes puffy, and hair mussed looking positively sickly, but still frowning, “Harry Edward Styles!” She all but shouts, the beginning of her scolding clear as he appears closer, “What are you doing out in this cold? Get inside, get inside, you’ll get frostbite,” she ushers him in, stepping to the side so that he can shoulder his way through, welcoming the warmth of her home. 

Harry comes her often, yet he’s still dazzled everytime he walks through the front door. The warming glow of yellow light soothes him, the big, puffy couch that she had worked three separate jobs to get was so inviting and it was accompanied with two large, thick knitted pillows and a silky soft throw that always smelled sweet as sugar. She has a small Christmas tree tucked in the corner besides her window, where several presents already lay beneath it (three of which she sent him a picture of with a smiley face saying, “Guess who Santa got some presents for this year?”), the lights strung around it emanating a nostalgic glimmer. The TV is paused on something, but he can’t quite make out what the show might be from the frame alone, though he does have some idea it might be something spooky and definitely off season for Christmas. 

He’s taken out of soaking her place in for the hundredth time, by a smack on the shoulder, “Ouch,” he pouts, brows furrowed, reaching up to hold onto it, “You’ve got too much strength in your blows.” 

“Good,” Y/N crosses her arms, snuffling loud, but it’s kind of hard to take her seriously when he can tell how gross she feels just by looking at her, “Why did you come out in the cold? I know you hate it.” 

Harry tries not to bloom at the fact she’s recognized his distaste for cold weather, as he presents her with the two bags and the folder, “I brought you some things to make you comfortable.” He responds, setting the bags down on the coffee table so she could look through them. Bending down, she sits on her knees and begins to dig in, her mouth dropping open as she pulls out the nyquil. 

“This isn’t offbrand,” she gasps, looking up at him like he had just told her he hung the sun in the sky every morning, “Harry you didn’t have to -- that’s so much money already!” She reaches in again, seeing the socks, the tissues, and at last the teddy bear, that makes her squawk out a little sob, pouting her lips deep at him as she shoves herself up from where she’d planted and all but throws her body against him. Slides her arms around his throat, the teddy bear still clutched in one hand and the nyquil in the other, “You’re a fucking king!” 

A chuckle rumbles through him as he slips his arm around her waist, holding her to him, reveling in this moment for as long as he could. This is what made going out in the cold worth it -- she made everything he liked doing for her worth it just by breathing, most of the time, but especially when she’s so grateful she looks like she might just pop from it. 

What had happened next, Harry hadn’t quite expected. 

They’d began drawing back from each other, which was normal, and no matter how much Harry hadn’t wanted to he had been waiting for. However, instead of pulling all the way back, Y/N stops just shy of his face, before leaning in and smearing a kiss right over his lips. His eyes pop open and his heart immediately kicks up a fuss in his chest, rumping and thumping hard. Her mouth was soft and pillowy but he only got to feel it for a few seconds, because she tugs herself back and places a hand over her mouth. Harry thinks it’s because she realized what she had just done -- thinks the guilt of it had settled in her stomach like it was settling in his own -- she just cheated on Oliver, and to make matters worse, Harry hadn’t pulled away. 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” she speaks slow, “I shouldn’t have done that, I’ve got a cold, what if you get sick?” 

Harry blinks at her. 

“Wha--” he begins, his brows furrowed.

“I mean, I’ve been trying to get the courage to do that for a long while, but of course the only time I think too is when m’all loopy from off brand cold medicine,” she huffs at herself, “You shouldn’t even catch the cold though, ‘cos there was no tongu--” 

“Y/N,” he cuts her off, shaking his head, “What about Oliver?” 

Her face twists up in confusion, “What about him?” 

“I --” the confusion she feels is beginning to wear on him, as he tried to formulate a proper thought, “You -- you kissed me but aren’t you two -- aren’t you two dating?” 

Y/N’s eyes popped open, mouth dropping as she shakes her head, “What?” She exclaims, “Gross, Harry! You think m’with Oliver?” She’s shaking her head, “He’s sent me wayyy too many pictures of his shit for me to consider dating him for a second. Plus, it’d be kind of prick-ish for me to go ahead and date him when I like you.” 

Harry feels a lot of things at once. He’s embarrassed that he had thought they were together for this long, he’s sad that his heart had been in pain for no reason apart from what his brain had conjured up, and he’s relieved that they actually weren’t together. 

But above all things, he’s happy. 

God, he’s happy! 

If he hadn’t just imagined the last few moments, then Y/N quite clearly stated that she liked him. Had kissed him because she had a crush on him and had only pulled away because she was sick and didn’t want to transfer it. His heart is speeding so fast in his chest still that he doesn’t know what to do, other than pull her back in, and smush his mouth against hers again. He doesn’t care if he wakes up with a stuffy nose tomorrow, Y/N likes him! She likes him, and in a college world as dreary as this, to have someone that’s such a glorious ray of sunshine like him, was the ultimate pleasure. 

When he draws back, Y/N is smiling softly up at him, squeezing his shoulder, “I’ll take that as you like me too?” She asks and Harry grins, a cheek splitting grin, even though his cheeks flush pink. 

“Yes. Yes I do.”