Amnesia Harry part 7 (Patreon)

So I thought this would be the last part but I think I wanna do a check in on these two after the fact! Also I'm sorry this took so long D: I just moved back home for the summer. However, I'm currently writing an additional part to Prince Harry! 

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vii.

“Of high school?” Harry repeats, puckering his lips in thought, “Woke up seven every morning, ate a bag of chips and a sports water every lunch, played on the footie team, um. . .hated maths? M’pretty sure I was a bit of a prick, but who wasn’t?”

She allows a small, sad smile to grace her mouth as she nods, “Do you remember your girlfriends?”

Harry leans backward, stretching his arms out behind him and she watches as his shirt rides up his happy trail to his belly button, “I was quite the naughty bugger wasn’t I? Dated plenty — um, I was notorious for breaking hearts I’m almost a hundred percent sure of that but loads of us stayed friends after if they allowed as much. Some of ‘em didn’t even wanna see my face though,” she grimaced and Y/N’s heart is hammering against her chest as she watches him sift through his memories, “Um, yeah, that’s it really. Why do you wanna know? Didn’t we go to school together?” 

Y/N nods, “We did, Babe, but I need you to think,” she doesn’t want to say it out loud -- doesn’t want to relive the moment, because that means that this, whatever it was, would be over. The blanket of good they had swathed themselves within would unwravel and they would be exposed to the cold, harsh truth of reality and she doesn’t know if they could get back what they had right now. No matter the guilt he had felt before hand or had told Niall he felt, she couldn’t be sure what he would make of things. She doesn’t know what she’ll make of things either -- could she forgive him? At one point she had decided that she never would. . .all those years ago. . .but she’d grown since then, and this whole situation, well, it makes her look at things much differently than a freshly heartbroken teenage her. “Do you remember your girlfriend Farah? She had short blonde hair, brown eyes. . .” 

“Yeah, I remember Farah,” his brows are furrowed deep, “We had a messy breakup but. . .why are you asking me about her?” 

“Just think,” she continued to prod, “Can you think of anything significant during your time with her?” 

And it really does look like he’s thinking, working through everything in his mind, “I -- no, not really? She. . .we went to parties together, always had like -- we made bets and stuff with the others sometimes. We did it loads, like who would win the games, who would break up when and what for, if someone would fall for like a prank or something. . . teenage shit you know?” 

He’s not connecting the two and Y/N knows she has to say it, though she really didn’t want to. Hell, she really didn’t want to but she nods her head softly and clears her throat, “You and I went on three dates,” she begins slowly, “They were lovely. . .really lovely, but we went on those dates while you were still with Farah, yeah?” Harry still looks so confused, but he nods, following along, “Um -- it’s. . .” 

She can see it so vividly. How they had begun speaking to one another, the dates they went on, the things the both of them shared that had her certain that he wasn’t just messing with her. All the way to her leaning in to kiss him, pressing their lips together in what she thought would be a tender moment between the two of them -- standing on the deck, nobody else crowding them, the stars twinkling in the sky and how the breeze was cool enough to chill goosebumps up her arms. And how he waited for a moment almost like it had completely stunned him; shocked him to a standstill so severe that she had parted, “I -- “ she’d begun, her mouth hung open, feeling her cheeks warm from the embarrassment of it -- the only thought running through her brain was wondering if she had jumped the gun in kissing him. Had he not wanted her to? Did she make him uncomfortable, “I’m sorry,” she remembers apologizing, the cool night air feeling frigid as ice ran through her veins, her heart sinking to her stomach. She’d thought she had ruined things -- that she had ruined things -- even though there was nothing to ruin in the first place. 

“Why did you do that?” He had asked in a rushed murmur, shaking his head, and Y/N felt her heart beating in her throat, “Why did you --” 

They’d been cut off by a rowdy cry of laughter, which led to Farah going over to Harry, slinging her arms around his neck, exclaiming that she owed him fifty and “something special” because she fell for it. 

She remembers so clearly too, the way a fire had sizzled through her body, anger zipping through her as quick as signals down an axon, “Fell for what?” She deadpanned and was then told by a boy named Finn (the one who had led Niall away) that it was a bet that he could make her fall for him, and she forced herself to swallow down the bile that threaten to crawl in her throat out of sheer frustration and anger. “You’re fucking pricks you know that?” She had all but yelled and the party had wrung quiet, even inside the music turned lower, “Where do you get off messing with someone’s emotions? What feels good about being so damn mean, huh?” Then she turned to Harry and she felt tears burn at the back of her eyes as she continued forth, “I thought that you were genuine and nice and a good person, but I guess all that was a lie too. You’re a heartless bastard. Have fun living life alone.”  

Then she ran. . .Niall chased after her, got her a taxi, and once she got home she stuffed herself away in her closet and cried. Just cried and cried and cried, because she did fall for it and it hurt so fucking bad. 

“And then Farah and your friend came out to let me know that  --” Y/N’s in the middle of sharing it with him, but he cuts her off. 

“It was a bet.” He finishes for her and she watches the realization -- the memories of it all -- soak over his face, flashing over like tsunami waves, his lips parting but no sound leaving them, “It was a fucking bet I --” Y/N wonders if he just used context clues to discover what was happening or if it truly did all come rushing back to him. Did her finally explaining it expedite the process? Was that really all she had to do this entire time? She guesses it makes sense -- the doctors had said sometimes conversations will trigger recall -- she just hadn’t expected it to be in the middle of her sentence. 

The amalgamation of hurt and guilt is reminiscent of that night; the last glance she’d given him before turning on her heel and leaving the party. It does terrible things to her heart and she curses herself for developing such a massive soft spot for him. He’d technically done this to himself, but to see that night being presented to him after forgetting -- well, if anything Niall said was true that might be hard for him. This was definitely more difficult for her, sure, but she can see where he might be having trouble even if it were his fault. 

Y/N used to dream of this moment -- confronting him about what he’d done -- but it included a lot less explaining what happened and much more yelling and telling him off. Ripping him to shreds, making him feel like shit, then gathering herself and walking away from it. She told herself that after that, she’d never speak with him again. That he would sit with what he did to her, until he eventually got over it, and she got over it, and they would live their lives as they would. 

Yet this feels more. . .solemn, than victorious. Instead of triumph, she feels the slightest bit of regret. Despite the weight of it lifted from her shoulders, she still feels a little heavy. 

“Y/N I --” he grimaces at the sound of his own voice, clearing his throat but his brows pressed in such a deep furrow, as he’s sorting through everything in his head, “I’m so sorry, I don’t even. . .I don’t even expect you to forgive me. What I’d done was cruel and. . .and just evil. That was evil.” He shakes his head, terribly disgruntled by the truth of the matter, “And for you to put that aside and be there for me during this? I can’t even imagine how straining that must have been. . .I don’t -- not everything is clear yet, but there’s these huge scenes I can make out and -- god, I’m terrible. If you hate me, I understand it completely, ‘cos for that I fucking hate me too..” 

She knuckles at her eyes some, “I can’t hate you for it. It was straining,” she agrees, nodding her head and she tries to think out her words fully before continuing on, “It was really hard, mostly ‘cos I’d swept all that under  the rug years ago but seeing you -- hearing you speak so fondly of me, and being so sweet. . .it kind of took me straight back.” Y/N takes in a slow breath, blowing it out even slower and locking his gaze with her own, wondering if she’d seen tears glimmering in his eyes, “We were young and stupid and other people’s feelings weren’t as important as our own. And since then I’ve hoped you changed -- I’ve heard you have at the very least, so no,  I can’t hate you for it.” 

“Still,” his voice cracks some, “Being young doesn’t excuse being a prick. I deserve every ounce of hate you have.” He looks down, carding his fingers through his hair roughly, “How do I make this up to you? How could I ever make this up to you?” 

A younger Y/N would have advised him that eating shit and jumping into a volcano  would do just nicely. Hell, a younger her would have reveled in his tears and relished in the way he scrambled with the words to say. Told him that half of his trust fund would have suited her well too, if he really felt that bad. 

But her heart only softens and saddens, biting hard on the inside of her lip in an attempt to keep her own emotions in check. What could she say? The only way to have made it better entirely was to go back and undo it all, but that was out of the question. And she’d grown so much since then. . .it was so long ago, that she’d long since gotten over it despite how involved she’d been in the last few minutes. How could she pretend none of it had happened though in their current circumstances? 

Y/N reaches forward, taking his hand in her own and slotting their fingers together, giving a strong squeeze, “This mostly affected past me, yeah? And we can’t fix what past Y/N went through, there’s no way for that.” She tells him, slowly shaking her head but a small smile tickles at her mouth, “I don’t want you to feel guilty about this anymore, okay? Since you’ve gotten your memory back and since you remember who I am, we don’t have to continue this if we don’t want to, and I don’t want you to keep me around if it’s because you feel bad --” 

“I want you in my life though,” he assures her quickly, distress warping his features at the mere idea of what she’d suggested, “I -- hell, I liked you so much. By the end of the third date I didn’t want to do it anymore but they said they’d tell you anyway and I didn’t know how to tell you that it was all just. . .what I told you wasn’t fake. And how I felt at the end wasn’t fake and that kiss -- god, that kiss; I remember you telling me you’d never been kissed before and I just -- you tried to give that to me and I wanted to return it so badly but I was an idiot. A huge fucking idiot.” 

“Yeah, you were pretty dumb.” She runs the pad of her thumb over every ridge and bump of his knuckles, smiling when he huffed a laugh through his nose, “I think we can make it right all the way, s’not like you stole my liver.” He hesitantly pulls their cupped hands up to his mouth, puckering his lips and smoothing them over the skin of her fingers. Goosebumps pimple down her back as he peeks up at her from beneath his lashes, eyes still dewy from his revelations, “Should we like -- start over?” 

Harry seems to contemplate this for a second, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth, before he begins to nod, “Yeah,” he hums softly, sniffling some and using a finger to knuckle beneath his eye, and his other hand he squeezes hers, “We can start over. Give me a chance to do this right, if you. . .if you want me to even --”

“I do.” She rushes to say, “As long as it starts with you ordering pizza and turning on Twilight, I do.” 

Something like pure glee alits Harry’s face, a grin broadening over his mouth so wide that it warms her insides all melty and gooey. He inches a bit closer to her too, and Y/N watches as he tongues over his lips, and Y/N feels her heart kicks up intensely in her chest. Y/N realizes then that she’d never gotten a proper kiss from him and she thinks that she may be far too excited for the possibility of it. However, just as he’s just near enough for her to push their mouths together, he pauses a breath away, a smile at his mouth. 

“I want to kiss you right now,” he’d murmured, “But I want to take you on a date first. Would you have me?”