Amnesia Harry (Patreon)

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!! 

I love you all with every inch of my heart! From auricle to auricle, atria to ventricle, vena cava to aorta -- you all mean the world to me :) 

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The way the golden flecks of sun lick against Y/N’s skin is something out of a movie. Warmth in a pastel breeze that flutters beneath her shirt, clouds in whisps against the blue terrain of sky, stretched out on a blanket atop of lush green grass that was that flexible soft spring grass could be. There was a resounding murmur of life around her that soothed her tense muscles, and worked to strip away her previous stress. 

Sitting at a picnic planned for her and her boyfriend had involved a lot more lovey dovey cuddling and a lot less crumbs of raspberry jam tarts littering her chest. The tear stains on her cheeks make them feel stiff and dry as she chews, fist pushing up the skin of her cheek as she watches the rest of the park. It feels like everyone is in love when she very much feels like she might be falling out of it; cutesy things like kids handing each other flowers, old people walking along the lavender bordered trails with their hands locked, and awkward teen crushes sat on the swings, ankles locked together in some weird admittance of their feelings. And here she was, like some sorry sap, eating these damned jam tarts that she didn’t even really like -- she bought them for him. . .he liked them a lot. 

If it was because he’d been caught up at work, she would have dealt with it, but when her friend Elsie sends her a message -- a picture of Charlie with someone who was very much not Y/N at a cafe when he was supposedly called in early that morning and couldn’t make their date. She’d seen his message right after she’d already packed up the car, and saw Elsie’s when she was about to take off her shoes. Instead of wallowing all alone at home though, she decided her best course of action was to make herself suffer and go on the date that she had planned, only minus the boyfriend and adding the salty dew drops stinging her waterline. 

She’d sent the picture Elsie sent to her, to him, with no context. If there was one thing she knew about Charlie it was that the bastard hated the silent treatment, so she ignores the twenty messages and the five missed calls in favor of flopping around on the thin blanket and pretending that her life was some romantic comedy. That maybe some starry eyed daydream would stumble upon her also heartbroken and they’d bound over lost love and way to sour raspberry jam tarts that make the corners of their mouth  feel sticky no matter how many times they wiped at them. 

Instead of that though, she hears a rustling from behind her. She’d chosen a spot near the treeline, figuring that she could at least hide herself some amongst the bushes to avoid pity filled gazes, so at first she thought nothing of it. Probably just a critter that smelled her sweets and she makes a reminder to leave some behind so that it can nip off it while she’s away. 

However, the idea of it being a harmless animal is quickly shut when she hears a very distinct groan dragging from the depths of someone’s chest, she turns around to see a man standing next to the tree in sopping wet clothing. He’s clutching his head, eyes squinted shut against the harsh sunlight, and when he peeks one open she can make out their pale green color. “Oh, baby,” he hums, stumbling towards her, and Y/N scrambles back some when he drops to his knees, “Been lookin’ for you everywhere --” he seems to be in a daze, like he could be drunk but he didn’t smell like alcohol, just of stream water and leaves, “--was g’na. . .was g’na give you a gift, but I got lost lookin’ for our spot and fell down this hill and --” he pulls his hand away, showing the bright red of blood and Y/N all but loses her fucking mind. Even more so when she realizes that the boy before her, is none other than Harry Styles -- a once downright evil boy she went to school with, who was now sweet talking her because of a bloody head injury. 

He passes out before he can say anything else. 

                                                        .                             .                             .

“Amnesia?” 

The next few hours had gone by in a blur of colors, noises, and panic. Y/N had immediately called an ambulance after she checked for a pulse and thanked god that he had one. She’d sourced out the spot of his bleeding and ripped off some of the blanket as a makeshift wrap to stop it and her mind raced as she was trying to figure out how her day went from being a sad mess, to being a hectic one. And even when the ambulance got there, instead of minding her business and fucking off, she tailed them to the hospital and followed them until they told her she couldn’t. Waited in the waiting room for two hours until a doctor finally came up to her. 

Harry Styles had more or less been a demon to her. He was all types of that rich, mean stereotype that’s in every single movie known to man; he thrived off making you feel small, and laughed in the face of a wobbling lip if it meant he hurt you. It wasn’t an outward, blatant cruelty he would dishout, but in orchestrated small doses like he couldn’t think of anything better to do with his time than to disrupt someone’s life. When he had set his sights on her, it was a plot of leading her to believe he liked her and making her feel all mushy and in love, only to find out three dates later he had a girlfriend and it was a bet to see if she’d fall for it (spoiler, she did). Y/N hadn’t known what early 2000s movie hell he had clawed his way out of, but he left behind the part where he learns his lesson and becomes less of a prick. The last time Y/N had spoken to Harry it was in melodramatic rage, because he was nothing but a “heartless bastard who would end up alone” and that was that for her. 

So imagine her surprise when the doctor tells her he’s asking for her. 

“Yes, we’ve run some tests and it appears Mr. Styles is suffering from retrograde amnesia. It can be common in head injuries sustained such as his and it isn’t sure when his memory could come back. Could be tomorrow, could be weeks from now.” 

Y/N’s brows furrow, “But then why is he asking for me? I’m not his girlfriend or anything I just -- I knew him in high school, is all.” 

“The brain is a complicated thing,” he goes on to say (the doctor’s way of saying ‘I have no fucking clue’), “We can’t for sure explain why, but he’s pretty certain that you two are in a relationship, and is pretty insistent that he sees you. We’re keeping him overnight, just to make sure there’s no further complications, and I’ll be consulting with a neuro specialist for further clarification, however I do suggest that you contact his relatives and the like, not only to put a hopeful jump in his memory, but because I can’t tell you much about his status because you aren’t related. I’m only telling you this now because of. . .well,  I can show you to his room if you’d like?” 

She was wary at first but agreed to anyway -- she couldn’t just leave him here by himself. She knows if their situations had been flipped, Harry might not have even called the ambulance -- may have called someone over to do it for him, but she had a heart. Harry, no matter his devilish tendencies, was confused and alone and for some reason thought that they were together, and she couldn’t abandon him. What kind of person would she be? 

So she follows the doctor from the waiting room, down the hall, a right at the nurse’s station and down three doors to where a very disgruntled looking Harry is pouting, a white bandage wrapped around his head, and no blood -- no clothes either, dawn in a hospital gown. When his eyes set on her, a look of relief rushes him, and he smiles, holding out his arms, “There you are! Baby, m’so sorry, I’ve gone and bumped me bloody head on our date.” He’s shaking his head, smiling wide, “I promise, m’gonna make this up to you, I will. Take you to the moon, fly you around the stars, cover you in kisses, n’stuff you with my --” 

“He’ll be a bit loopy from the painkillers,” the doctor touches a gentle hand to her back, “My name is Dr. Lambert, if you need anything. If I’m not available, the nurse is nearby. I’ll let you know more as soon as I can.” 

Y/N is left with her bully, feeling awkward, and small, and confused. How the hell had she gotten herself in a mess like this? It’s just her luck, honestly. 

Harry is looking towards her with nothing but pure adoration within his gaze and its making her feel sweaty, and a little uncomfortable, “Why’re you standing so far away, Lovie? C’mere won’t you?” 

And she should really put a stop to that -- tell him that she isn’t his girlfriend and that he was actually a huge prick and was probably alone because he was a huge prick -- but that felt cruel. No matter the cruelty he had dished upon her. He was alone and confused -- more confused than her, probably, and the least she could do until she coaxed his family’s phone numbers out of him for the nurse was play into it. Make him feel comfortable. 

So she walks towards him, heart hammering as he reaches out and loops his fingers around her wrist, pulling her closer to him with a pout at his mouth, “I’ve ruined everythin’,” he murmurs sadly, “Will you forgive me?” 

Y/N swallows thickly as she nods.

“Course, Love,” she murmured.