Gang!Harry check-in (Patreon)

Hi :) Here's some fluff for a hard month back to school. Camp counsellor harry part 2 will be finished soon, yay!!! Hope you're all staying well and safe!! 

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i.

Y/N was exhausted. 

Her day had been long and weary; the ER had been backed up for the past three days, so each person she got feeling better and ready to leave the hospital, a new admit would get wheeled up to the room and she was transferring another patient into the bed. She was in and out of the med-room on the other side of the hall because the MAR she typically uses was having repairs done on it. There had not been a moment where she was able to sit down -- not even to chart -- she was wheeling around the COW for her charting, going from room to room, answering call lights, helping them to the bedpan, giving their medicine, calling down to the cafeteria to see where a tray was (or to change the tray that got sent up). 

All around, it had just been a terribly, horribly, busy day. She was exhausted and she was granted only a few moments of reprieve were any bits of time where she could sneak away to Gibson’s room. She was giving him medicine when he told her she looked like she needed to sit for a spell, but she squeezed his hand, told him he was sweet, but she didn’t have anytime to. She was needed everywhere at once -- it didn’t help they were short a nurse either. 

So, by the time the end of her shift rolled around, she’d been sapped. All she wanted to do was go home, take Ubbe for his walk, put on her cozy clothes, and rest for hours and hours until she had to do it again. 

Had she told Harry that she was having a rough day? No, and not because she felt like she couldn’t. Y/N hated to sound like she was ungrateful for the life that she had -- she did what she loved, and even though things you love have their tiring moments, she was still reluctant to complain. She’d made it through an aggressive, fast pace nursing program for a reason -- she could handle days like this. That’s why every time she got a message from him checking up on her while he was on a small break in the office, she would tell him she was doing fine, smiley faces and exclamation points included. Had even gone as far as to send a picture of her grinning beneath the surgical mask she had fixed to her face. 

She didn’t want him worrying, because when Harry worries -- he worries. Y/N thinks that maybe it has something to do with all that they’d been through together. He had told her one night, in the quiet calm of her bedroom, while they were cuddled close beneath her heavy blanket, that he never wanted to think of her feeling unhappy. That, no matter what the cost, he would go out of his way so that she felt nothing but joy and love, “--because you deserve it. I would give you the world if I could -- hell, I sure as hell am going to try.” 

And she knows he would, but she also knows that he has his own stressful job to think about. The last thing she wanted to do was add her own stress on top of his. 

Yet, she forgets that Gibson has a phone. Not only does he have a phone, but he also has an unspoken bond with Harry that she will never be able to touch (which she understands entirely), and Gibson felt she was in a less than perfect mood, he was sure to let Harry know. He wasn’t tattling so much as he was making sure she was taken care of, she knew that, but she also grumped at him for being a snitch. Despite that, she can never really fake the funk with Gibson, considering that he sees her at her worst, middle of the day, sluggish on her feet state where her upper back begins to hurt and her brain begs to rest. 

Which is why, really, she shouldn’t be surprised to see that Harry is already parked outside of her house with Ubbe fixed to his leash, tail wagging happily beside him. Harry grins at her wide, waving like he’d never been more excited to see anyone in his life. When she parks her car, gathers her things, and pushes the door open, he starts to speak, “I heard someone was sugarcoating a stressful day.” 

“Hmm, really? Would it have happened to be an old man who always looks like this,” she exaggerated a furrowed brow, “Who told you?”  

Harry smiled softly at her, “Come here, Sweet thing, I wanna cuddle you.” 

“Mm-mm,” she shakes her head, dodging his outstretched arms and ignoring his pout, “I’ve got to get in the shower, then we can do all the snuggling we want. Don’t want you getting sick from me.” 

He pouts but respects her wishes, scooping up in his arms and clutching him to his side like a football, “Fine, fine, I’m capable of waiting, I s’ppose. Why don’t you tell me about your day?” 

The can of worms had been open -- he’d already known her day had been a long and rough one, so she humored him and told him about it from start to finish. This meant as she was stripping out of her scrubs and climbing into the shower, he and Ubbe had sat on the toilet while she washed away her day beneath the scalding pellets of water. He empathized with her exhaustion, asked her questions, validated her feelings about different situations that she was concerned about. Harry had such a way about him that made Y/N feel good. Emotionally, physically, mentally -- he never made her suffer in any way. He was gentle with his hands, with his words, with his actions. Harry treated her like she was made of such fine glass, she needed to be tended to often and cared for tirelessly. 

Nobody had ever placed her as this high of a priority in her life, so it was hard not to get mushy when she thought about it. And it wasn’t like the demonstrations went unmatched -- after spending that short little while thinking something had happened to him when they had to separate at that house in Sweden, Y/N couldn’t fathom treating him like anything other than gold. She bathed him in kisses and love that she’d had stored up for years, she tried to match his attentiveness in every way she could whether that be cooking for him, running him baths, stopping by his office on her days off with lunch from his favorite bistro. . .any way she could, she wanted him to feel important, and loved, just as he made her feel. 

It’s sickeningly sweet and she would have it no other way. 

Y/N finished her shower, tugged on an old school hoodie that had managed to keep its soft inner lining, and met back up with him in the living room. She was sure of his intentions when he’d kept his coat and shoes on, and they were even further proven by his next few words, “I reckon we stop off for some takeout and head over to my place, yeah Babe? There’s supposed to be a storm today.” 

She loved watching storms from his living room, where the large windows let her see every bit of what was happening. The rain battered against them, the thunder still a distant rumble from the soundproofing of his flat, and even though they were fairly high up, the lightning wasn’t as threatening as she would have imagined. It’s a very calming experience, with his fire crackling soundly and the warmth it creates. How he cuddles up against her -- what it feels like to lie her head on his chest, listen to the gentle thud of his heartbeat, and feel the rise and fall each breath he took.

So she was more than willing to accompany him. They got in Harry’s car, Ubbe stood on Y/N’s thighs so he could prop his paws up and stare out the window as the first few drops begin to sprinkle the car, and they head toward a ramen place they’d discovered late one night. By the time that they had gotten their food and arrived at his flat, the thunder had already started rumbling distantly in the sky as the storm grew nearer. 

“Baby?” Harry began as they stepped into the elevator and she raised her brows, a soft hum requesting that he continue, “You never finished the story about the woman with the foot.” 

“Oh!” She was surprised, “I didn’t think you’d realized. I thought it was grossing you out so I stopped.” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders, “Grossing me out a little, but nothing this stomach of steel can’t handle,” he pats his tummy, “Besides, what kind of boyfriend of a nurse would I be if I couldn’t take a few fungus stories? A shit one is the answer.” 

Y/N, sometimes, just doesn’t understand how she had gotten so lucky. Anything she had ever wanted in a partner, Harry was that and then some. It’s why, instead of replying immediately, she dips her head against his shoulder and nuzzles at him for a moment through a giggle. His response is to tip his chin down and push a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in a slow, and deep. 

“Are you sniffing me?” She questioned him, the teasing lilt in her voice rang through the empty elevator walls, “Creep.” 

“Can’t help it, you smell too good.” 

They eat, Y/N tells him the thrilling saga of room 315, bed 2’s foot fungus (it is defying all means of typical treatment and needed a more aggressive approach), she asks him about his day and he gives a heavy sigh and groans, “Was a long one. Swear they put me in meetings so they can get rid of me.” 

The storm had grown louder as rain lashed the ground, tapping against his window like a thousand little knocks. A cool breeze slips through the flat from the two windows he’d lifted just enough for them to hear the authentic sounds of the storm, and smell the crisp air that followed it. Wind whistled and howled as they crawled onto the couch together, Y/N dropped against his body in a way that made them both huff a pained sound. 

Harry giggled, sliding his arms around her closely, “Right then, we can either invest in a good movie or --” 

“Or watch a really bad one and make fun of it the whole time?” 

He nods exuberantly, “That’s exactly what I was thinking, actually.” 

“Which movie then?” She leans over to the coffee table, slapping her hand over the remote so she could search for it. 

“Hmm, m’thinking we do like 50 Shades of Grey and then prove our sex life better on this fine couch of mine.”