Amnesia Harry part 4 (Patreon)

You asked for more so here I am to give you more! He is very soft and writing this is sort of breaking my heart but I'm here for it as long as you guys are :) 

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iv.

It’d been a rainy day when Harry picked her up all those years ago; droplets splattered against her window soundly as she pulled her socks and shoes on. She was nervous, sure, but Harry had sent her messages all throughout the weekend, kept her engaged, made her feel wanted. They discussed what movie they should see before settling on some horror film that both of them were intrigued by. Had chosen the theater with the big, comfortable seats that lean backward and heat up, and the absolutely amazing popcorn that Harry had promised. Hell, he even sent her a screenshot of two tickets purchased, closer to the front of the theater but far enough that they weren’t craning their neck to see. It had been something as simple as that, that had made her heart twitch, considering she’d only half mentioned her seating of choice during that first conversation they had together. 

There’d been a honk outside that startled her out of her bones, as she slung her purse over her shoulder and rushed out to meet him quickly. She’d had her hood tugged up over her head, trying to ward away the nerves that still tickle at her as she opens up the passenger side door. “Get in, get in!” Harry had rushed her, as she slid in, and watches as Harry reaches over to click on a seat warmer, “Bloody hell, s’cold out innit? If I’d known the weather would be shit, I would’ve suggested like three movies.” 

“We could always theater hop,” she suggests, taking the belt across her chest and plugging it in, “After ours ends, just move onto another.” 

“I love the way you think.” He’d grinned at her and she felt her heart had been swollen full, “Want the AUX cord?” 

Y/N remembers the night so vividly; how it felt when he’d led her to her seat, when he lifted the middle seat drink so that they weren’t separated under the guise of giving them more room, when he fanned out his jacket for both of them to sit beneath in the chilly theater, and how he’d reached out and clutched her hand at a particularly jarring jumpscare, looking to her sheepishly. So vividly that even a rainy day seven years later, she still recognizes that feeling crawling up her chest, tainted black with loathing from what he’d done thereafter, now mottled with confusion as she packs a bag to go back to the very same boy who had broken her young heart. 

It shouldn’t matter now -- not as she decides between two pairs of fluffy socks or a pair of regular socks accompanying her comfortable ones -- but she can’t help but think about it. She hadn’t been that girl that people drooled over, nor had she really been the object of anyone’s desires and affections, and Harry made her feel things. Made her feel wanted and at the time, for her sad, insecure little high school self, his attention towards her was what it took to reassure her.

The duffle was almost packed to completion when there was a knock on the door, and Y/N was wary to answer it. She’d promised Harry she’d be back quickly, still feeling some sort of responsibility over him as he’s still vulnerable and confused, and he’d messaged her at least three times since she left. One to say he’d missed her already, the other asking if she wanted him to order pizza, and the third a picture of him frowning with a slice of it. 

It’ll get cold if you don’t hurry! Got your favorite. 

(It was her favorite and it’s hard to wrap her mind around the fact that he recalled as much, and hardly remembers sharing that with him.) 

So he was quite clearly getting antsy, and Y/N had begun wondering if it was one of those first responder things almost. When a sort of bond is created at the first person that you’ve seen and cared for you after a trauma, plus the additional memory loss and believing that she was his girlfriend probably didn’t help. But all she could think about was how she’d feel if she’d been in his shoes, and the one person she felt comfortable around was claiming that they didn’t know each other as deeply as she thought, and how every moment they’d stepped out of your sight or out of the door you were scared they’d left you because there were technically no emotional ties. That’s what nearly makes her sit quietly, still as stone to pretend that nobody was home. 

But another urgent wrap deters her previous motive, and she presses herself from the ground with both palms in a small huff. One knock was maybe a package, or a neighbor asking for something. Two knocks felt more urgent -- like a pissy landlord or a worried friend. As she twists the knob, she wonders absently if it’s Elisa who she’d told she’d be headed home for a second so that they could both wrap their heads around what’s happening, but that dream falters when she does see who is standing on her welcome mat. 

Charlie stands there, brows furrowed, with a sheepish dimpled smile that dripped with melancholy, “Hey --” he begins but Y/N starts to swing the door shut before he could continue. He’s just a bit quicker than her, his hand darting out to stop it with a jolting thud that grates Y/N’s nerves like rusted brass on a knife, “Y/N, please, I just want to talk.” 

“I have nothing to say to you,” she keeps her face and voice stony, no matter the emotion that threatens to crawl up her throat, “I blocked your number for a reason.” 

“S’not what it looked like, Pet, please listen to me,” he urges her, “She’s just a friend from high school, we met up for coffee --” 

“You couldn’t have met up for coffee on, I don’t know, not the Valentine’s Day your amazing ex girlfriend decided to orchestrate a picnic for the two of you?” His shoulders slump downward, “Oh, and you couldn’t have not lied to said ex girlfriend about being stuck at work, when you were really just slumming it with an old pal? That was too hard?” 

“I’m sorry,” he pleads, “I’ll say it until I’m blue in the face, I’m so fucking sorry. I miss you so much.” 

She sighs, shaking her head to herself and closing her eyes before taking a deep, long breath -- one where she could feel her lungs expand with it, “I don’t have time for this,” she replies instead of acknowledging him, “I need to go meet up with a friend from high school.” 

With this, she musters her strength and slams the door closed. 

It’s safe to say that put her in a bit of a funk as she finished up packing and headed over to Harry’s, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry over it. Didn’t even want to bother trying to explain all this to Harry, whom was still very certain that they were seeing one another and sharing all this did him no good. If anything it’d just hurt him, she’d say, even if she was trashing Charlie for being a prick it was a man that she’d been with intimately that she’d recognized that she’d been with intimately, when her and Harry was just in his head. So she tries to wipe away any ounce of discomfort or anger that might be written on her face as she stepped through his door, having been given the spare key Harry had presumed she already had. 

Though, instead of being met with a scrutinizing Harry, who has proved to notice her mood shift before she even realizes it, she’s met with the coos of a worried mother towards her injured son coming from somewhere in the living room, “Where’s your medicine, hm? What’re they giving you? S’it hydrocodone, ‘cos that stuff makes you so foggy, Love, I can call and have them change it.” 

“M’fine, Mum, honest,” Harry replied, sounding only vaguely annoyed, “I don’t know much though, Y/N’s been keeping track of it.” 

“Y/N?” Anne questions him, “What happened to Sheri?” 

She could hear the pinch in his face as he uttered, “Who?” 

Y/N decided that then was as good a time as any to make her appearance, offering a soft greeting as she walks through the threshold of the foyer, to the living room. At the sight of her, Anne’s eyes soften, recognizing her immediately and Y/N waits for the embrace that she sees coming her way. Anne had always been proper involved in their school, even in the clubs and sports Harry wasn’t in, so Y/N had spent plenty of time getting to know her. Especially at the bake sales for the clubs she’d been participating in, many a time her and Anne used the schools kitchen to bake up a storm. Even after Harry had done as he’d did to her, Y/N still kept good on keeping Anne as mom friend and did her very best to not let her be aware of anything that had happened and how her son was quite possibly the devil incarnate at the time. 

“Look at you! Haven’t seen you in ages,” she squeezes her tight, “You’re all grown up.” She rubs her back comfortingly and she makes eye contact with Harry over her shoulder, seeing that he’s smiling fondly at the two of them, “Now, tell me Love, everything that’s going on, ‘cos the bugger back there is absolutely no help.” 

“Oi,” Harry whined from his spot on the couch, “I’ve got amnesia, mum, I can’t help it! Plus, don’t make her explain it all now, she hasn’t eaten yet today.” 

Harry had drug himself from his couch cocoon of blankets to go retrieve her a slice of the pizza he’d ordered with her in mind and Y/N made herself comfortable on the loveseat where Anne sat beside her. She started from the very top, how she’d been at the park (leaving out the bit about Charlie, obviously), how he’d found her, the days in the hospital (and what the doctors said, including his prescriptions), him thinking that they’re together, Sheri leaving and Y/N’s return, up to the point of her leaving today to fetch clothes. Anne commended her for sacrificing her time for him, “If he weren’t my son, I wouldn’t.” She had teased, just quiet enough for him not to hear, before a gentle hand laid on carefully on her knee, stroking the skin tenderly, “This must be so hard on you, Love, I can’t even imagine it. Thank you for staying,” she nods her head towards where he’d gone to get himself more pizza, “No matter the front he puts up, he’s such a soft, tender boy when it comes to those he loves and even if it isn’t real technically, I know you being here means a lot to him.” 

“No whispering,” Harry chides them as he reentered the room, looking at them both with that same pinched expression he’d had when she’d returned, “Y’both know I don’t like secrets.” 

The rest of the day is spent with Anne settling into the guest room that she’d be staying for a few days, Y/N giving her a play by play of each day, all his prescriptions, and is check up tomorrow (they wanted to keep an eye on him). It only occurs to her once she’s written everything down for Anne, who takes it kindly, lets them know that Harry’s dad would be there within the next few hours and retreats to her room for a necessary nap (apparently her flight had a very disgruntled baby on it) -- that she didn’t really need to stay then. There was someone there to look after him, to give him his medicine, and she wouldn’t be leaving him alone and feeling like she’d left a baby bird defenseless. 

Apparently Harry noticed this too, as she eyed her duffle, suckling at her bottom lip in thought. 

“You can leave if you’d like,” he mentions softly, seeming prematurely forlorn despite his effort in hiding it, “I know you’ve got a life to get back to. Thank you for spending these past few days with me.” 

Y/N can’t leave though -- hell, not when he’s looking at her like that. Like her leaving might just truly crush his spirit to smithereens, until there’s nothing left but shrapnel bits. Like, if he spent a night without her, he’d spend all night tossing and turning, unable to get any sleep as he’d claimed happened to him every time they wouldn’t let her spend the night in the hospital. When he’s giving her those eyes -- that same, soft sheepish gaze he’d given her in the theater, when the movie had scared him so intensely that he gripped her hand. 

“Do you want me to leave?” She questions him instead, and as he predictably shakes his head slowly, she gives a gentle nod, “Then I’ll stay.” 

The smile that he gives her, is almost too much to bear.