Harry wants to be a better friend (Patreon)

part 1 

I'm sorry for the sappy soppy stuff! But some good prof!harry smut is coming in hot for ya :D

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ii.

Harry stirs to two familiar voices: one being from the girl who had just recently broken his heart and one from the girl who had been working tirelessly to repair it.

It had been four days. Four days of Y/N allowing Harry to be a little mopey and sad, cooking for him, running him baths, letting him stay the night in her bed and threading her fingers through his hair until he was finally lulled to sleep. They watched sugary movies that altered the reality of love, leaving him dewy-eyed, soft, and with his body smushed into Y/N’s side for a cuddle that she so willingly gives to him. Not once does she fault him for how he feels, allowing him the grieving of that emotional connection he thought he shared with another person, and they carry on. Maybe it was selfish of him to be so utterly, indescribably grateful that they were on spring break so that he could milk as much time with her as he could, with her job being the only thing that takes her from him and that’s just a few hours a day. 

If it’s an early shift that she’s leaving for, she wakes up before him, leaves him with a small kiss to the forehead and murmurs to his half conscious form that she’d be back around noon. Harry always thought she worked ungodly hours -- for a reason unbeknownst to him, it was essential that a bistro have its workers come in at 5AM to start freshly making the bread, but they paid her well and it meant she got home in time for lunch, normally with free sandwiches. So when she comes home, it’s with his favorite grilled turkey, tomato, and mozzarella sandwich, and mashed potatoes, she gives them to him, flops down on the couch with instructions for Harry to wake her in an hour. 

Harry would attempt to wake her, she would beckon for thirty more minutes, and then he would try again only this time he rubs the nape of her neck with the pad of his thumb until she arouses more so. She’ll peek one puffy eye open, ask him if she’d made the sandwich well, before she would press up from the couch. “What d’ya want to do today, Pet?” 

Depending on how Harry was feeling, they might go out for a little. Y/N all but refused to take him to spots that she knew he and Cora frequented, instead focusing on the spots that she and he would go before. The pottery place where you pay for about three pounds of clay and get full access to a pottery wheel, the kiln, and any kind of glaze one might be able to think of. A place adjacent to that, where you throw plates at walls and watch them shatter (“releasing some of the inner rage would do you some good”). There were free art classes on Mondays, Y/N made them attend one -- there was a record store on Main Street, and beside that a bakery that capitalized on the public’s enigmatic love for small sweets decorated with flowers. 

Anything to make him feel better, and his heart would swell by the end of the night, when they would stop off for ice cream, they’d pick out a soppy movie and cuddle in warm blankets. 

He feels like a prick when he realizes that he’d forgotten how good it felt to spend time with her. How much fun that he had with her, and how it felt as if all his inhibitions were nonexistent. No manner of relationship he’d ever been in had ever given him the gratification that Y/N was able to give him. And he realizes in these few days, that every time a relationship hadn’t worked out -- any time he had broken it off -- it was because he was subconsciously comparing them to Y/N. Were they as caring and as kind? Were they as funny? Did they make him feel loved unconditionally? 

Harry had thought he had found that with Cora. . .he wonders if that’s why it hurts so badly. 

“You need to leave,” Y/N’s voice is firm, quiet, yet susceptible to raising. . .she was trying not to wake him but she was getting annoyed, he could hear it in her voice, “Now is not the time.” 

“I just need -- him and I need to talk.” Cora is pressing, it’s the voice that she used when Harry wouldn’t tell her what was wrong if he was in a sour mood. . .she rarely took no for an answer, “We need to get through this.” 

Y/N scoffed, “Listen, what you need to do is give him some time, okay? You hurt him, Cora and that doesn’t just -- a sorry isn’t going to blow that away.” 

“It was just a lapse in judgement, I never meant to --  I never wanted to hurt him.” 

“I never said you wanted to, but a “lapse in judgement”? That might work if it was a one time thing but it was consistent, for a whole month! You knew what you were doing, you just didn’t care enough to let him know that your feelings weren’t what they used to be.” 

“You don’t know a thing about me, how dare you pretend to. You don’t know what I’m going through either.” 

“And I don’t care to,” Harry had never heard Y/N speak with such a venomous tone before -- she sounded disgusted, like the act of speaking with Cora could make her physically ill, “I’m telling you, right now is not a good time, and you need to respect that it won’t help anything. When I was cheated on, the last person I wanted to see was the fuck who did it -- I’d have much rather spit on him. You’ll only hurt him more, yeah? And if you actually give an ounce of a fuck about him, then you’ll hear me out and you’ll go.” 

Harry’s heart was racing so quickly that he could feel his pulse in his stomach -- hearing her voice makes him feel sick. He wants to see her but he wants nothing to do with her all in the same breath; Y/N is right in sending her away. Harry doesn’t know if he could handle seeing her. . .thinks he might do something stupid, break down and take her back. 

And then there’s the can of worms Y/N had spilled -- she’d been cheated on? Who cheated on Y/N? And when? Harry doesn’t even think he can be all too taken aback by how her words bite at Cora when the very thought of someone cheating on Y/N makes him want to beat the bloke up. 

It must have been so hard for her to come to Harry and tell him what happened. He wonders if what she had gone through had been replaying in her head -- was that why she was so shaky? And he just tossed her feelings, that she had confided in Adam, straight in her damn face, and that wasn’t fair was it? That wasn’t fair! What he had done wasn’t fair and it stung his eyes watery at the reminder that he had hurt her. 

The door clicks shut as Harry presses himself up from the bed, the comforter is cuddled around his body, though it slides down his shoulders as he knuckles over his eyes. He hears a heavy exhale, followed by the shift of her floorboards under her weight as she walks further into her flat, making her way to the bedroom. She was going to check if he’d woken up -- she always did if she thought she might have been too loud -- and when she appears at the door, a guilty look pulls at the muscles of her face, “Oh, Pet, I’m sorry.” 

“Who cheated on you?” Her brows raise as she steps through the door, “I heard you -- you said that someone cheated on you?” 

She nods, shifting uncomfortably beneath his gaze, “Yeah,” she grips her thumb, pushing down on it hard enough for her knuckle to pop soundly, “A year ago, Ian slept with his yoga instructors daughter five of the six months we were together.” 

Harry rubs the sleep out of his eyes with the pads of his index finger, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Y/N shrugs, “Wasn’t something I wanted to talk about, really. It sucked. . .you know.” 

He nods and they fall silent. Only for a moment, as Harry sorts out the thoughts in his brain and acquaints himself with consciousness. He remembers Ian clearly -- he was the sort of “man’s man” that every father dreamt about their daughter bringing home. The type who owned every variety of sports equipment, would toss a beer back with them and play catch in the yard. They know shit about agriculture for some reason, and wouldn’t have to search the definition of a word like ‘fodder’ because that was just common knowledge wasn’t it? Do you need someone to discuss your leaky faucets with? You need a hand with the alternator in your car? Well, it just so happens that he knows a thing or two about tightening bolts and getting greased up beneath a hood. 

Now that Harry thinks about it, he was definitely not Y/N’s usual type; from what he had discussed with her, most of the time she thought tradies were knobheads with an overhyped masculinity complex. He reckons he must have just been a charming guy towards her, because he was never very kind to Harry, but he Harry had never bothered telling Y/N that. He thought it would only upset her and at the time, he just wanted her to be happy like he was. . .he’d been dating someone too, sort of, not really -- it was casual enough that it was without stress but serious enough that Harry felt like he had somewhat of a relationship. 

They’d been together for a while, until suddenly Ian just wasn’t showing up to get togethers with her, and she was denying the possibility of double dates with mutual friends. Finally, it was when Harry had invited her out and told her that Ian could come if he’d like, she messaged him back with a blunt, “We aren’t together anymore.” 

Harry called her immediately over a video chat, she seemed just as normal as ever though he expected some form of tears. Instead she tells him that things just hadn’t worked out, they were going their separate ways, she wasn’t all too bothered, “He was a good lay though, that sucks. . .so is it like a formal ‘go out’ or a “my dress is a little too short” ‘go out’?” And that had been it. She didn’t mention it anymore after that and Harry figured that she really hadn’t cared. 

But now, when her words from when he had originally come to her flat crying, “...You can mope and you can feel sick and upset about it, but you have to tell me you understand, this has nothing to do with you. This was her choice.” Who had been the one to tell her that when she was going through it? Did she have to find it out herself? And how could he have not known? He’d had the nerve to call himself her best friend but hadn’t even realized that she was hurting. 

It becomes clear then, as he revisits that period in time. She had become withdrawn but that was normal for her throughout the winter months -- she preferred to stay in the warmth of her blankets and personal heater than out and about. However it had been quite intense for about a month or two after where it felt like he had never seen her, only coming out of hiding when it was essential, or if Harry needed her in some way. If he had a fight with the girl he’d been with at the time, Y/N would flee her den to comfort him. When their mutual friend Adam got in a fist fight with a bloke who was getting to handsy with his sister, Y/N had appeared at his flat afterward with a First-Aid kit, forehead kisses, and a promise to watch over him for the night before sending everyone to go home and have a rest.

He’s irate with himself -- so much so that he could scream. Y/N was hurting, and she was alone, and he hadn’t done anything -- just assumed she was fine. She was a strong girl who could get through it -- but she had been hurting. She had figured it out in the end, the light at the end of the tunnel. . .the clearing through a thicket of vines and trees, but Harry hadn’t been there for her like she was for him. She had given him her time and her ears and her shoulder, her home, her bed. And he took and took and took. 

“Come ‘ere,” Harry begins when he comes back to it, realizing that Y/N was still looming at her door, “Let’s have a cuddle.” 

Y/N moves towards him without question, climbing into her bed and into his open arms. The positioning is a bit awkward, but her arms are looped around his waist and her head is lying on his thigh, Harry rests his arms around her rin return. He rubs up her back, pinching the material up in his fingers and dragging it up so that he can touch her skin. He slides his hands against the smooth skin, skimming across freckles, dots, and the small little mole she had. 

“I’ll bloody kill him,” she laughs against him, muffled against the comforter he has bundled at his waist, “I’m serious.” 

“I know you are,” she pinches his hip, nuzzling her face against him, “It’s okay though. It’s dead and stinking -- don’t even think about him now.” 

Harry hums lightly, unconvinced that he doesn’t have to prove how much he cares about her. He needs to do something magnificent for her -- it feels like he should. Like he might buy a bit of the eiffel tower and have it shipped to her doorstep, but even that wouldn’t be enough. He loves Y/N with all his heart, but he hadn’t been a good friend to her, and he would do everything in his power to fix that. 

“Then find someone you don’t like and I’ll have at ‘em.” He murmurs and she laughs again, which is good. It’s always good when Y/N laughs. . .there’s something about it that brings such utter and true pleasure to him. It wasn’t like it was hard to make her laugh -- given the right swing of a joke or a story, someone could have her in bits rather quickly -- but it made him feel good, knowing that no matter what he would have Y/N laughing in the room. She would make him feel like the funniest bloke on the planet. 

He wants to be good for her. A good friend, a good person -- hell, he would be a good fuck for her too if she needed it. Harry just wants to make Y/N feel good how she makes him feel good. That’s all he wants to do now. . .his new passion in life. 

“Babe, s’a nice day isn’t it? Warm out?” She hums, nodding her head and he sets his hand atop of her head, scratching gently at her scalp, “You wanna do that thing? The rock hunting at the creek?” 

She raises her head at him, her eyes wide and doe-like, “Geode hunting? You hate that though -- got your shoes all muddy and wet -- let me hear about it for a week too.” 

“Wanna give it another go,” he responds, sliding his other hand up to squeeze her shoulder, “It’ll be fun, yeah? You like doing it don’t you?” 

Y/N is giddy now as she scrambles to sit up, a smile breaking out on her cheeks, “It’s my favorite. Me and my parents used to -- it was the best growing up but. . .I only want to do it if you actually want to do it.” 

The smile she gives him makes him soft, mushy, and happy.