Post-wisdom tooth extraction plus harry's in love (Patreon)

just some fluff for your sweet tooth

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i.

Harry never thought it was possible to care about someone this much. 

He was no monster; he’d loved before. There was more than enough love in his heart to give but time and time again it went wrong. He was the common denominator — he reckoned he had to be the reason for it. Maybe he didn’t love hard enough? Maybe he didn’t remind them how much he cared? Maybe that’s why they would find someone else and not bother to tell him their heart wasn’t in it any longer. Maybe that’s why he was always left feeling broken and exposed, like they’d cracked his chest open, saw what was there and decided they didn’t want it. 

He loved love. Falling, being, continuing it. Harry liked feeling like he had someone -- if he went out he always had a person by his side and he was at theirs. It was a good feeling. . .the best feeling. 

But it just never worked out for him! And he wished a thousand times over to know what he was doing wrong so he could fix it, but he never really got the answer. 

It forced him to think about things. Reconsider his past relationships, what he liked about them and what he didn’t, and what he had found within himself. The problem he found was that he thinks he loved the idea of love more than he loved his actual partners. . .he ignored their flaws, avoided arguments, and carried on like things were okay until they it was clear they weren’t. It was like he floated around in a daydream until the icy hit of reality slapped him on his cheek, leaving the skin bright red and bruised. 

Which made him hesitant to pursue anything. How could he fight past this notion that love could be as good as he had perceived it? 

So he had sworn off love for a little while, which wasn’t hard. He just didn’t go digging for it -- if he thought someone was nice, then stopped viewing them as potential love interests and just as friends. Sometimes really good friends. . .it gave him a chance to see them holistically before he made any sort of decision about wanting to be with them. 

Around then is when Y/N came along. 

She was a part of the tour team, a new addition to the lighting crew for the upcoming tour so he met her during their second rehearsal, when she had been standing on the stage with a walkie in her hand and they were running through the lighting cues. Harry watched from off the side of the stage as she danced around, while they practiced following with a spotlight, and in addition to her dancing she very giggly sang through one of his songs. When she’d finished he’d clapped loudly, whistled with his fingers and climbed up the stage, “Can I have your signature? I’m your biggest fan!” He’d spoken with a goofy voice emphatically and the familiar flush of delight that he gets when someone laughs at his jokes comes from her boisterous chuckle. 

“Hi, I’m a hugger,” she smiled wide at him, holding out her arms, “It’s nice to meet you finally.” 

Their friendship had practically happened over night. It was one of those things that a week into knowing one another, Harry had felt like he’d known her his entire life. It was a good feeling. He thinks that they were meant to meet each other, one way or another, their fates had intertwined and they’d crossed paths. Not even in an overly idealistic mushy way. . .Y/N just made him feel good, and there didn’t have to be a relationship aspect tied to it. She made him laugh, she made him feel confident, she made him feel loved and cared for. 

And in some ways, he envied her. All humans were flawed and she knew as such, and rather than ignoring her flaws, she embraced them. She understood things about herself that he reckons it would take someone years upon years of self discovering to uncover. Harry thought that was amazing -- he liked to pick and prod into her mind, he liked how open she was about it to only him, he liked that the feelings in that aspect were mutual. 

Harry had close relationships before, close friendships even, but none of them had been as close as this. Her pain was his, his was hers -- her happiness was his own and vice versa, so on and so forth, they just felt one another. There were no romantic ties towards it in the beginning and for a long time spanning into them knowing one another; a year of knowing each other, laughing with each other, and growing so close that if somebody was looking for one of them, they knew the other would be nearby if not right beside them.  

Y/N had smacked a kiss on his cheek one day and told him they were soul mates, “Platonically, of course, I know you’re not looking for anything serious so I’ll just wait on ya.” 

She was joking, it was clear in her tone, but a sentence had never made him feel so warm. 

Harry thinks the realization had clobbered him when he’d been having a horrible day. For no good reason really, he was just stuck in his head, feeling lonely and the rain outside battering against his windowsill didn’t help much. He hadn’t told Y/N he was feeling sad, but she appeared with milk and strawberries with a big smile, “Let’s make homemade strawberry milk -- oh, and I brought some stuff for those little chicken caesar wrap bites you like. We’ve got a good thunderstorm brewing so maybe we can watch it from the balcony or somethin’.” 

When Harry had revealed to her later that he had been sad, she rested her hand on his shoulder and gave a soft squeeze, “I had a feeling. . .dunno what it was just figured today you could use some company.” 

She just knew. 

And in turn, he knew.

So he’d been dealing with it. Pining for her even though she already gave him so much. . . but he wanted to kiss her, and hold her tighter, and be intimate. She meant the world to him and he wanted to give her the world in return. He loves her with his entire being, and he thinks he would go to the ends of the earth for her to show it. 

Which is why he was more than willing to take care of her post-wisdom tooth removal. It’d been bothering her for a few months, growing slanted and shoving against her molar, and he had enforced her making the appointment. He hated seeing her in pain more than anything, and after a night that she had fallen asleep with her cheek pressed against his shoulder crying from the pain, he told her either she made it or he would take the damn thing out himself.

The amount of reading up on it he’d done prior was enough to put the actual oral surgeon to shame; he learned about the procedure, the potential complications, what medication she might be put on and the adverse effects to it, what she can eat, what she can’t, how often he has to change the bloody gauze that would be shoved in her mouth. While she slept peacefully beside him, he was up more than half the night with his computer in his lap and a notepad tucked in his arms. A few times she had stirred, eyes blinking open against the muted, soft warmth of the nightstand light, and she’d nudge against him with her forehead, “Sleep now,” she’d tell him. 

“In a minute, baby.” He’d said it without thinking, but when he looked over to see if she were eyeballing him, she had shut her eyes and fallen back asleep. 

Harry had successfully gotten about four hours the night prior, waking up at 8AM with her. They drive to the oral surgeon, Harry sets up shop in the waiting room with a book in hand, prepared to wait the hour and a half that it would take. He didn’t get much attention -- people were typically pretty good about not asking for pictures or crowding him in places like these. So it was a peaceful time, the sun slid through the window, and Harry found himself looking up at the muted TV, reading the subtitles for the news by the time a head poked out from the door leading to the back, “Mr. Styles, we’ve got a package for you.” 

He stood up, watching as they pressed open the door more and revealed Y/N, looking even smaller in the sweatshirt he'd given her to wear. An ice pack was pressed to her swollen cheek, her lips were a puffy pout, her eyes were rimmed red like she’d cried some and she was leaning most of her weight against a hygienist. The dentist was smiling, squeezing her shoulder, “See, we told ya he’d still be here.” 

Y/N snuffled, nodding her head, “Yeah, he’s good.” Is what he thinks she says but it was sort of difficult with her numbed, gauze stuffed cheeks to do any enunciation whatsoever. 

The dentist explains everything to him that he already read, but still listens intently to everything he says, all while Y/N is transferred from slumping against the hygienist, to slumping against him. He thinks she’s starting to fall asleep a few times but she does a little grunt and reshuffle to alert him that she was awake every so often. Eventually the dentist and him shake hands and he navigates her out the door and toward the car, “How are you feeling?” He asks her as he helps her step up into his car, pulling the seat belt over her. 

“Ne’ber been bedder,” she tilted her head against the back of the head piece, a frown tilting her mouth, “My lips. . .” 

“What about them?” Harry shoved her legs a little further into the car so he didn’t slam the door shut on them. 

“Are they there?” 

Harry chuckled, plucking her bottom one with his thumb, “Hm, I reckon they are.” 

She nodded, eyes closing, “Good.” 

He pulled through the drive thru pharmacy for her pain medicine, kept her entertained with music while she wavered in and out of consciousness. Every so often she would say his name with her eyes closed, he would respond, and she would simply nod. At one point she sought out the hand that he wasn’t using to drive, and held onto it. She told him that she was just making sure he was still there. 

By the time they got to his flat, it was time for them to change her gauze, and he didn’t even bother trying to explain to her what she needed to do. Harry had never felt so close to someone that he could easily reach into their mouth and remove blood soaked gauze to replace it with a fresh piece. Y/N opened her mouth for him easily too, and it made his heart sort of skip a beat. He just felt so fluffy with her. . .that’s how he’d put it. Like his insides were made of cotton candy clouds. 

He got her cuddled up on his couch, propped just right so that she could watch the TV, and he had blankets upon blankets and pillows crowded around her. A cushion-y throne that she leaned against, and Harry sat right beside her on the one seater so he could keep an eye on her. At first he thought he could get some stuff done, read a little, catch up on everyone.

Instead, he finds himself just watching her mostly.

And not in the creepy, Edward Cullen way. He just found himself watching her face for a majority of the time. Looking out for any grimaces in pain, if her gauze was slipping out, if she had any drool. He would reach over and tuck the covers around her again, brush the hair from her face, reposition the ice on her jaw. Any time she shuffled, he would keep his eye on her until she settled, and every time he had to wake her to change the gauze, he was wracked with guilt. Especially when she wakes, tears crowding her vision, murmuring about how it hurts but Harry had the pain medicine close by with a water and tripped over himself to get her one. 

“Poor thing,” Harry coaxed the pills down her throat, checked her gums to see if they were still bleeding, and when he realized that they weren’t, he smiled gently, “Next time you wake up, we’ll get you something to eat, alright Sweetheart?” 

“Mhm,” she hummed, and fell back asleep, only this time Harry rubs up and down her back slowly, “Love you.” 

They always say it to each other, but each time he murmurs it back, it feels less and less platonic. 

He didn’t think it was possible to care this much about someone, but. . .but it felt good to. Harry thinks, he’s never felt like this for another person in his life. 

“I love you too.”