#the fine line

[spiriteddreams]

For Riddles, For Wonders

The Fine Line: Act III (masterlist)Conclusion + Future Implications Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader Warnings: hurt/comfort, happy ending Word Count: 2.8k A/N: *gasps* it's complete! thank you for sticking around for this little mini series!!

V. Conclusion Al-Haitham is a prideful man. He’s well aware of his reputation within Sumeru, attuned to the way scholars speak of him as if he’s a genius, then scoff and curse his name behind their backs. He’s not an idiot. He knows that while many look up to him and cast him looks of awe as he walks through the Akademiya, he’s not as well liked as he wishes he was.

The first time that he notices how uncomfortably spacious his office feels is two weeks after your last meeting with him. The first week had been rather nice, with no one pushing their way into his office, chattering away about languages and investigations. He relished in the silence of his office and the fact that he would finally be able to finish his work. The last thing that needed to be done before submitting and publishing the research in the Akademiya was to go over every part of the investigation once more. But with the amount of work that had piled up from his time spent with you grabbing coffee and sharing silly conversation over dinner, the research paper you had both co-written would have to wait one more week.

So when Al-Haitham tugs out the folder from beneath piles of papers, he stares at the embossed gold symbol for a bit longer than he would like. You should be here, he thinks, to go over the paper with him. Yet when he had sent you a letter, asking to meet up for an afternoon drink, after attempting to knock on your office door multiple times over the past few days, you had simply replied so cordially and straight to the point that Al-Haitham had momentarily been afraid that it wasn’t you who was replying.

The sages will trust your judgement more than mine. Do what you will with the research.

There’s no mention of the fight, if it could even be called a fight, that occurred in his office. Nothing about the tension that’s somehow blocked you both from seeing one another, nothing about the odd feeling that’s been bubbling in Al-Haitham’s chest when you don’t open your office door, nothing. It’s as if you’ve successfully pulled yourself out of his life. He isn’t quite sure if you’re simply ignoring him, or you just haven’t been working in your office at the Akademiya since. For once, he’s left to mull over the consequences of his actions and words. He tries to push the thoughts away as he flips open the folder to read over the report again. He knows you well enough, that after the events in Aaru Village, you would have likely stayed up late to finish it. On the front page, printed in neat typing are both yours and his names. Except that this time, his name is above yours, a single space separating your names. His lips tug into a frown. It doesn’t sit right with him.

“Have you seen (y/n) recently?” Al-Haitham ends up sucking up his pride and asking Kaveh over lunch about your whereabouts. His roommate pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth as he stares across the table at Al-Haitham, who’s levelled him with a bored stare. He’s hoping that Kaveh can’t detect anything and prays that his words come off as simple curiosity.

“You’re their research partner, shouldn’t you know that better than me? Some partner, huh.” Kaveh tilts his head with a smirk. The mumbled off-handed comment about his terrible way with words is enough for Al-Haitham to know that his roommate is aware of the situation at hand. He sits up straighter and waits for Kaveh to finish enjoying his soup, various scenarios running through his mind. Have you been spending time with Kaveh recently? Have the two of you been gossiping about him? You were so upset with him last time, did that mean you had cried to Kaveh? Archons, what does Kaveh know?

“This is new.” Kaveh says instead, “I didn’t realize you were capable of caring about someone.” Al-Haitham glares at him, seconds away from lunging over the table to strangle his good-for-nothing-mooching roommate. 

“Get to the point. I don’t have time for your silly games. It’s about the research paper.” Al-Haitham lies through his teeth. At this point, he doesn't care if Kaveh can see through him. He just wants to find you and ask why you haven’t answered your door. He wants to ask why your names are separated by a paragraphed space instead of by a symbol, on the report. He wants to ask why you haven’t come to see him, you’re still welcome in his office of course. He wants to ask if you would still like to go to Puspa Cafe and sit in the back and people watch and remind him to take breaks. He wants to ask why you’ve hung out with Kaveh yet haven’t sought him out. 

He wants to ask if you’re still friends.

Kaveh stares at him oddly before shaking his head. “They’re meeting with the General Mahamatra today.” Al-Haitham freezes. A new wave of questions washes over him. Why would you be meeting with Cyno? Last he checked, neither of you had done anything wrong. All the research the two of you had conducted together had been under the approval of the Sages. Did something happen in the time that he hadn’t seen you? Were you in trouble? He stares down at his finished plate of food before grumbling about seeking you out, ignoring the snicker that Kaveh sends behind his back. He doesn’t like the feeling of unease that’s been bubbling in his chest, paired with the fact that he hadn’t seen you in over two weeks now. He misses you a lot more than he thought he would.

He lets himself mull over the thought as he fixes his clothes at the door. Admittedly, the past few weeks have felt off, without your warm presence and little comments that he can’t help but smile at. That odd feeling that’s been stirring in his chest for the past few months makes its reappearance as he grabs his keys from off the rack next to the door. He swallows thickly, the image of your teary eyes rising to his memory. He decides that he never wants to see that expression on your face again, especially if it’s because of him.

You, who wormed your way into his life and forced yourself to stay, ignoring the eye rolls and scoffs from others when you sought out his company. How much backlash did you face for being his friend? And what did he do with that friendship? Toss it right back into your face with uncaring words and cruel sneers, putting up a guarded front and refusing to let you in. He finds this feeling uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time, after all, you’re the only one who’s been able to stir these emotions that he’s always tried to push away. And for the first time, he thinks of you as more than a friend.

Kaveh whistles in the background and Al-Haitham makes a mental note to take both keys with him on the way out.

VI. Future Implications Al-Haitham is a prideful man. He’s always valued rationality over emotions, letting that be his guiding principle whilst navigating physically and mentally through the Akademiya. If you’re to play a game of chess within the Akademiya, you must have everything planned out to the end of the game. Every move must be taken into account, every word and every action. So why is it that he finds all his plans disregarded and tossed to the wind as he quickly walks through the Akademiya in search of the General Mahamatra’s office? Students cower away when they meet his eyes, brows furrowed and concentrated gaze flicking across the doors until he’s face to face with a pair of double-doors identical to his own. Cyno’s name is printed on a plaque outside and Al-Haitham prepares himself for the worst.

“Cyno, please don’t!” Al-Haithmam’s hand pauses before he knocks. Your pleading voice stops him and the worst thoughts flood his mind. He doesn’t hesitate before pushing the door open hastily, only to come face to face with you and Cyno sitting across from each other, cards laid out on the table as you wail out that he’s cheating. But at the sound of the door opening, the two of you turn to face him, matching expressions of shock on your faces. Cyno glares at him while you stumble over his name, immediately sitting up straighter. Al-Haitham doesn’t miss the way you seem to lean towards Cyno.

“Scribe Al-Haitham. What are you doing here?” Cyno jumps straight to the point, his tone as blunt as ever.

He clears his throat, “I heard they were meeting with you. I was under the impression that something was wrong. I didn’t realize the two of you were… playing card games.” He feels awkward in this space. It’s the first time he’s seen you in two weeks and… you look a lot better than he thought you would. That’s not to say he thought you would be emotionally distraught, but you weren’t even dressed in your Akademiya wear. Wrapped in clothes that seemed much more comfortable and casual, it was clear that you had the day off. And you were spending it playing card games with Cyno.

“If you have no business here then please see yourself out. I have no intention of allowing you to stay in my office any longer than you need to.” Cyno’s cold tone shocks Al-Haitham. He’s well aware that the General Mahamatra isn’t fond of him, but he takes in the way Cyno looks between your worried expression and Al-Haitham standing in the doorway. Is there something going on between the two of you that he should be aware of? Despite Cyno’s words, he doesn’t move. He’s stubborn enough to stay where he is, tearing his gaze from the general to you, curled up in a chair with cards held close to your chest.

“I wanted to speak to (y/n). Please.” He adds the second part softly, hoping you can read through him and understand that this is him sucking up his pride, in front of Cyno no less. Quiet stretches across the room and Al-Haitham realizes how much he hates silence from you. Cyno’s eyes flicker between the two of you, the general ready to butt in when you shake your head and push yourself out of the chair.

“You’ve already won this match.” You drop the cards on the table and turn towards the Scribe, meeting his eyes with an indescribable look. “Let’s talk outside.” Al-Haitham nods silently and waits as you and Cyno mumble something to one another before he bids you farewell, but not before raising his voice ever so slightly as he reminds you to find him if Al-Haitham does something wrong. It’s a threat he chooses to ignore.

“My apologies if you’ve been trying to reach me. I’ve been busy. Today has been my first actual day off.” You start the conversation, walking just a step ahead of him as you both walk through the Akademiya halls. Al-Haitham isn’t sure where you’re leading him, but he has no intention of asking. He’ll let you lead wherever, so long as he can be with you.

“Have you been well?” He asks lamely. For the first time, the great Scribe Al-Haitham finds he isn’t quite sure what to say now that he’s gotten a chance to speak with you. Despite all the questions that had swarmed his mind days earlier, he doesn’t know what to ask now. You glance back at him whilst pushing through the entrance doors to the Akademiya. Your expression is enough to hint to him the whirl of emotions that you’ve dealt with. 

He waits as you lead him to a quieter spot overlooking Sumeru City, leaning against the railings, body not quite facing him, but he knows you’re simply trying to gather his thoughts. You weren’t expecting him to seek you out, and especially not to find you playing Genius Invokation TCG with Cyno nonetheless. And yet you’ve managed to retain your composure thus far. Al-Haitham isn’t sure if he should brace himself for your well-directed rage, you officially breaking off your friendship, or if he’s lucky, forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out. You glance at him with raised brows, mouth pressed into a line but eyes soft enough to tell him that you’re listening. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you. I’m sorry for all the crude remarks and unnecessary comments. Archons… I— I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I didn’t mean what I said I just… I was worried. For you.” You don’t respond and Al-Haitham feels his resolve cracking. Your expression is far too calm for his liking and he hates that he can’t read any emotions that usually flicker across your face. He counts the seconds, far too aware of his own breathing, his chest falling up and down steadily as he waits. And waits. And—

“I don’t want to forgive you.” You say it so softly that he almost misses it. But he doesn’t. And as the weight of your words begins to sink in, Al-Haitham lets out a heavy breath, moving closer to you with his hands ready to grasp onto your hands but he hesitates when he finds you staring at him. He looks down to see his hands shaking, hesitant to reach out to you because he’s suddenly hit with the realization that this friendship may have been broken for good, just as he’s realized how much you truly mean to him. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. For once, the great Scribe Al-Haitham is at a loss for words.

“But I know you. And I know that sometimes you say things you don’t mean, even if it hurts. But I think you and I share something closer, so, as much as it hurt, I know you didn’t mean it.” You continue, taking note of every action, every tremble of his lips, every shake of his hands, until you can get a proper read on him. It’s enough to tell you that he cares. And while Al-Haitham may not be able to say the words yet, his actions speak louder. You can see it in his eyes, that flash of fear when you said you wouldn’t be able to forgive him just yet, the hitch in his breath as he moved towards you, the hesitance in his actions because he’s afraid you might actually run away from him.

You tilt your head slightly and grasp one of his hands. “I’ve been able to think about this since we’ve last spoken. You’re scared, aren’t you? You’re scared of losing the people you care about most, so you push them away so that you won’t be tied to those emotions. Don’t you?” Al-Haitham stares at you. It’s terrifying how you know exactly what he’s thinking. But instead of opening his mouth to immediately deny it, what he would usually do, he stays quiet and nods. A small smile crosses your features, and even though you’re upset with him, he can see the understanding in your eyes. It’s so unfair how even after all that he’s put you through, you still find it in you to be so kind and understanding. He really doesn’t deserve you.

“Isn’t that ironic. The great Al-Haitham doesn’t understand emotions.” You lean closer, and Al-Haitham inhales sharply. His eyes flicker across your face, from your eyes, to your cheeks, to your lips. No, he needs to stop that. You haven’t forgiven him yet but he’s still nervous when you’re this close to him.

You take a step back but still hold onto his hand, “That’s alright. We’re scholars for a reason aren’t we? There’s always room to learn.” Archons, he wants to kiss you right then and there. His mind runs amuck. One moment he’s ready to beg for your forgiveness, the next he wants to sweep you off your feet. Is this the result of him trying to push down his emotions? Forget formalities, forget the fact that you’re definitely still a bit mad at him, he just wants to kiss you and forget it all. Because while you may not be saying the words aloud, he can feel the forgiveness in your gentle actions and words. 

“Can I take you out?” He lets the words fall out before he can even process what he’s saying. You raise your eyebrows at the sudden change in subject and Al-Haitham wishes Kaveh were here to hit him. Yet he continues anyway. “We can go to Puspa Cafe and sit in the corner and talk about anything, you decide. But, would you like to come with me?”

“I’d love to.”

Thank the Archons.

“But you’re paying for the next few dates.” Al-Haitham grins at your words but he doesn’t mind. He’ll pay for as many, so long as you stay by his side.

Two weeks later, the final research paper is submitted and published to the Akademiya with your names sitting next to one another, linked by a little symbol. You & Al-Haitham.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 A/N: i was really worried that i might have mischaracterized al-haitham in that i made him very rude and uncaring so i hope that's not how he came across!! he's such an interesting character and he definitely cares for those around him but his way of showing it isn't as straightforward as some other genshin characters, which i think makes him such a deep and interesting character! anyways, hope you all enjoyed it :)

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[illumalux]

Meeka design sneak peek because im going so slow at the art (her hairstyle and fashion are based off of slavic women) ft. a scott

AAAAAAAAH

[dimplesandfierceeyes]

I, for some reason, think your best tag in all your fics is 'This Baby can fit so much pron in it' from "fine lines"🤣

And was I wrong? That baby did indeed fit so much porn in it...

[citysvg1]

Pink Pony Club svg

[faderifter]

kids these days don’t know what it’s like to get fine dwarven crafts direct from orzammar

[hinamie]

oversaturate

[stil-lindigo]

bite of winter.

a comic about a princess who died in the snow.

--

creative notes:

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all my other comics

store

[jkvjimin]

one time for the present, two time for the past ♪

JIMIN, TAEHYUNG & JUNGKOOK

[camilleflyingrotten]

The invisible and unbreakable-

[oobbbear]

Did a small practice :]🌟

[oifaaa]

It's funny how opinions can change over time for instance I used to want Bruce to be a good parent but then I realised how fucking boring that is to read at the end of the day comics are soap operas and I'm here for the drama

[spiriteddreams]

Whirling of Leaves and Petals

The Fine Line: Act I (masterlist) Background Information + Hypothesis Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader Warnings: none in this part Word Count: 2.1k A/N: sooo i'm finding that writing for al-haitham is rather fun lol

I. Background Information Grand scribe Al-Haitham is positive he hates you. There is no other possible reason for the jumble of thoughts that fill his head whenever he sees you or when he hears your name in conversation. He's a rational man, and rationality is telling him that he dislikes you. You’re simply an acquaintance of his, an old friend from his days as a student at the Akademiya who somehow wormed their way into his life and refused to let go. He can’t imagine why you keep trying to pull him to all sorts of events. From open Akademiya lectures to showing up at his place claiming to have been invited by Kaveh to join them for dinner. He ignores the way his roommate makes sly comments under his breath about how you’re both rather close. No, Al-Haitham is positive that he hates you. 

Why else would he hesitate when having to reach out to you, his hand hovering when he has to knock on your door to your office with an extra pastry from your favourite bakery in your hand. It’s not like he can’t not be aware of how much you adore this bakery. 

You had dragged him to it on their opening day when you were both still students. Your lecture had been released early, and without giving him a chance to make the excuse that he needed to return home to study, you had already looped one arm through his, unaware of the blush that had risen on his cheeks as you forced him to try all the cute desserts. 

So when he goes to your office now, it's courtesy, he tells himself, to be bringing you this snack solely because he happened to be passing by the bakery. And it's not because he wants to see the way your eyes light up and you mumble out a thank you while excitedly taking a bite. 

He clears his throat as he places a folder on the table, already filled with notes taken from library books and whatever material you could get your hands on within the House of Daena. Embossed in gold with the symbol of the Akademiya staring up at the ceiling, he doesn’t bother to match your excitement when he informs you that your joint project had been approved by the Akademiya. It was petty work, having to speak to the sages about the project that you had approached him with: investigating one of the ancient languages of the desert. 

If he had it his way, Al-Haitham would have tackled the project himself, conducting extensive in person research and analyzing the data alone, without help, because that was what he did best, working alone. Yet he couldn't find himself turning you away with a door to your face when you had come to his office just as he was about to leave for the day. He had taken in your tired eyes and drooping shoulders, paired the lackluster greeting you had given him and decided that he could be late to his weekly roommate dinner. (He won't admit he missed the way you would usually say his name with a warm smile).

“The sages will trust your judgement more than mine.” You had sighed, mumbling a string of unflattering words about the Grand Sage himself as Al-Haitham stared at you in amusement. He wasn’t going to lie and say he was relishing in the fact that you had to come to him for help. That didn’t mean he really wanted to conduct this research. He worked best alone, and yet, a small part of him felt some sort of thrill rush through him at the prospect of working with you. More importantly, he disliked the frown on your features.

“Finally admitting that I’m a better scholar?” He couldn’t help but tease you. Despite the tired look on your face, you still managed to scrunch up your face in annoyance and poke at his chest. 

“I’m simply taking advantage of my resources.” You replied snarkily, “You happen to be on good terms with them. And as I am your oldest friend, you’ll help me, right?” He can hear the uncertainty in your tone even if you’ve done a wonderful job at masking most of it. 

You hadn’t given him a chance to reply, softly adding, “Please.” Al-Haitham stared at you. One moment, you were ready to tease him and indulge in mindless banter, the next you let him see the waver in your confidence.

Hence he found himself talking to the sages and pulling strings in the background just so he could place one folder on your desk. He tells himself that it’s just him giving back for all the times you’ve put up with his sarcastic comments and crude remarks. You’re a brilliant researcher, there’s no doubt about it, so perhaps there’s a little piece inside him that’s simply curious to see your research process. But by all means, that doesn’t mean he’s excited to work with you. 

“You did it!” Al-Haitham nearly flinches at the way you practically throw yourself forward, eyes flickering jumping between the folder and his crossed arms. The small vase of dried flowers teeters dangerously at the edge and the Scribe has half a mind to chide you for not being careful. He lets his eyes linger on the dried flowers for a second longer than he intends to, noting that it’s the same one he had given you during your first day officially working at the Akademiya. It had been a gag gift, the Scribe bluntly saying how he was considering getting you real flowers as a welcome gift, but had been reminded that you couldn’t keep plants alive. Of course he wasn’t actually planning to get you flowers, but still, his point stood. Instead, he relished in the offended expression that came across your face as you grumbled about tossing away his “stupid and unwanted” gift. Yet here it is, sitting at the corner of your desk. He shakes himself from his thoughts and goes to open his mouth to speak but you’ve already launched into your thought out plan for carrying out research.

“—and we can conduct data collection together! We haven’t done that since we were students in that one hundred person lecture, do you remember that?” Al-Haitham wants to roll his eyes, tuning out your mindless chapter as he flips the folder open to look at the packet of pages that make up your project proposal. On the front page, printed in neat typing is both yours and his names, side by side, separated by a tiny cursive-like figure. His lips tug up. It looks quite nice, doesn’t it?

He comes to the conclusion that he doesn't hate you then. He simply finds you annoying. (For now.)

II. Hypothesis He's sure it’s that same feeling of annoyance when you burst into his office a month later, greeting him warmly as you place a cup of warm coffee on his desk. He doesn't need to take a sip to know it's his favourite, after all, you've never failed to bring him his favourite drink during your weekly meetings. Weekly meetings for research he reminds himself quickly, for a research project that the two of you have been working collaboratively on. Once a week, you find yourself walking through the quiet Akademiya, a bag hanging from your shoulders as you navigate the large building to the double-door office with a plaque reading “Scribe Al-Haitham” at the front. His office is large, much larger than your own, yet minimalistically decorated and you make the quiet assumption that it’s solely because Al-Haitham has no sense of interior decorum and can’t be bothered to make his office feel more homely. You’ve never failed to point it out, commenting that his office reminds you of Grand Sage Azar. And with every backhand comment you give him, paired with that teasing smile of yours, Al-Haitham levels you with an unamused look. Yet he can’t help but wonder, he isn’t that uptight, is he?

“I was reading through some books that Kaveh had let me borrow and came across some information about an ancient temple, which last time it’s been researched, is half buried in the sand!” You’re rather enthusiastic about something in the desert, and while Al-Haitham can’t quite understand why, he finds that he likes the way your eyes light up at the prospect of going on an expedition. He watches as you laugh to yourself about certain findings, filling his usually quiet office with chatter whilst you pull items out of your bag and place them on his desk.

So perhaps he finds he doesn't mind your presence in his office. You brighten up his space, always barging in at a time where he’s already hard at work. Perhaps ‘barging in’ isn’t the right term. He’s well aware of what time it is whenever you walk in, but he likes to believe that you always arrange these meetings at times when you know he has things to do. That doesn’t mean he won’t pause from his work 5 minutes before you’re scheduled to waltz in and ensure his office is clean. It’s so you won’t complain, he tells himself. Nothing more, nothing less.

He thinks you’re still annoying of course, already talking about that most recent finding with this sparkle in your eyes that he can't help but get lost in. You’re speaking so excitedly, hands moving around as you explain the conclusion you had come to. You laugh under your breath when you stumble over your words and his heart skips. No, he curses himself, that was simply a reaction to you not letting him speak. But he doesn't interrupt you.

"Are you listening to me?" You sound almost offended as you lean forward, one hand splayed out on his desk as you narrow your eyes, searching his face for any sign that he might be feeling ill. It’s unlike Al-Haitham to be so distracted, and since the moment you started talking, you couldn't help but notice his blank stare fixed on you. You’re not even that close to him and yet he freezes. he can see the way your eyes shift and that cute little furrow of your brows when you hold his stare. He needs distance, quickly.

He scoffs and shifts in his seat, "Of course I am. You were talking about a new conclusion. I hope you've written it down so we can go over it again. The next time we go to the desert we can verify the information too." You roll your eyes at his words, pulling away and Al-Haitham feels like he can breathe again. You fall into the chair across from him, pulling our books from your bag and laying them out in front of him. Pages flip by as you thumb through pages full of mixed handwriting, shared notes passed between the two of you. It’s easy to determine who’s written what, with his typical neat handwriting and yours ranging from pretty practiced letters to sharp scrawls when you come across something exciting. Your voice blankets over him, and he finds himself distracted with simply hearing your voice, rather than what you actually have to say.

“—so if we explore this area first, it’ll set us up on a direct path for a quick expedition.” You circle a location on the map with the pen in your hand, drawing Al-Haitham’s attention to the desk. His gaze drifts from where you point on the map to the bracelet wrapped around your wrist. It’s not usual for many in Sumeru to wear jewelry, but it’s the sight of this bracelet in particular that holds his attention. Glinting back at him is a beaded bracelet of noctilucous jade that pokes out from beneath your sleeves. He wants to scowl at the sight of it yet it retains his gaze longer than he would like to admit. It was a birthday gift from his roommate the year prior, and Al-Haitham remembers the way you had excitedly wrapped your arms around Kaveh in gratitude for his thoughtfulness. But if his roommate was more perceptive, he would’ve known that cor lapis compliments you better. 

“Does that sound good to you?” You tilt your head slightly, nervous eyes betraying the confidence in your tone. Al-Haitham curses himself for getting distracted. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair, pretending to be considering your words even when he has no idea what you’ve just said. Regardless, he has no doubt in his mind that you’ve been able to come up with a solid plan.

“Yes, of course it does.” He meets your eyes and hesitates before speaking again. “I’m surprised you managed to come up with this.” He expects you to scoff and tell him off, yet instead you grin brightly at him and lean closer once more.

“There’s more to me than you think!”

Archons, you’re going to be the death of him.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 A/N: sooo how are we feeling about al-haitham :)) sexy cocky prideful man makes me want to strangle him and kiss him at the same time also if you want to be tagged in "the fine line" send me an ask!

[illumalux]

hello I am making meeka fanart because she gives me brainrot maybe even more than scott does??? (I love her) Anyway is there anything about her I should 100% include in my drawing thx

omg I cant wait to see what you come up with! there are also some days where I love her more than scott. favorite child energy.

but to answer your ask, i genuinely can't remember how much I've described her, so here are the things I think are most important in no particular order.

-she has freckles that are a strange shape

-usually has her hair up and away from her face, but still fancy

-covered in flour. she always has at least some on her face or clothes. 24/7. the day meeka is not covered in flour is the day the world ends.

-a gold girlie. always has fun earrings or necklaces

[dimplesandfierceeyes]

Hi....I just read "fine lines between hormones and home"......and as a person who don't like reading omegaverse often I have to say that it was amazing...... it subverted the general things I didn't like in omegaverse...... they way how both patpran pov's were well balanced was soo good....... I never though I would say this......but thanks for writing a patpran omegaverse fic Kayla

Hello!

I'm very happy you gave The Fine Line a chance, haha. I honestly didn't expect that fic to do all that well because of exactly that feeling around omegaverse, a feeling I have as well. But I do think tropes are only as good as their characterisation!

Not to say my characterisation is always perfect, but my interest in a trope is always "how would such-and-such approach that trope" so I'm not gonna lie, the idea of early episodes PatPran in a situation of intense intimacy and all the ways that would affect things between them was too delicious to pass up! Once the idea was there, I had to do it.

I do have my squicks though, dubcon and noncon are not my thing so I didn't want to go down that route, which a lot of people seem to have appreciated. Plus I think I ended up having a lot more fun navigating those early stages of repressed desire and it helped build up some tension so when they do finally give in, it feels particularly satisfying 😌

As for the POVs, I think it was kind of crucial to, A, see Pran's agonies (always fun, I'm sure you'll agree) but also, B, Pat's obliviousness. If you start thinking Pat knows Pran's feelings, then a lot of what he does seems cruel. If you think he's starting to become aware of his own feelings, then his lack of action becomes out of character. But also Pat's POV allows a break from Pran's more painful perspective 😅

Anyway! I'm so happy you enjoyed it and thank you for dropping into my ask box to let me know 🧡🧡🧡 it made me feel all warm and fuzzy like a blow dried baby cow 🐄

[pricklenettle]

inspired by this post, Danny’s lost in the ghost zone and comes across pariah dark’s keep. I had to draw it and had The most fun with the spooky green ghost zone

[moonchildstyles]

cloudburst

y/n and harry broke up. he goes on a date, and y/n drives in the rain.

wordcount: 8.5k+

—————

(Y/N) knew it was hypocritical to be feeling jealous at the moment—pathetic, even. She was there that night, she knew she was the one that ended her relationship with Harry. He was single, and there was nothing wrong with him going out with another girl; he could take her to whatever restaurant he wanted, including the one that they had found together last month. 

It had only been a couple of weeks, though. And, he had been the one that wanted to try and work things out with her. Harry had been the one that was insistent that they could work through this—the miscommunications, the lack of time together, the passive aggressive arguments—, but now he was the one moving on nearly immediately. She wanted to cry that it wasn't fair, that he was supposed to still be torn up about it the same as she was. 

It wasn't as if she didn't love him anymore or was itching to get out and meet other people, she was just finding herself more unhappy than she was happy when she thought about him. He had told her that he loved her, that he wanted her—needed her—when she had sat him down, she thought neither of them would be moving on this quickly. 

But, it's fine. It's whatever. Good for him. 

Locking her phone, she placed it face down on her kitchen counter with a startling slam. She didn't double check to see if she had cracked her screen, instead stepping away from the device all together as if it wanted to sulk just as back as she. If her phone was a good friend, it would delete the Instagram app as soon as possible; there was no reason to see any more pictures of Harry and his new friend at dinner. 

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) padded through her apartment with the intention of cleaning up. The last weeks had left her with heartbreak brain, chores having been pushed to the wayside as she recovered. When was the last time she went grocery shopping? Had she really run out of tissues or did she have an extra stash in some closet she'd been too lazy to check? 

She shook her head, taking the pile of dirty socks to her washing machine while her mind raced with distractions. It was late, but she could go grocery shopping, at least to pick up a few essentials so she didn't order in again for the next couple of days. Seeing the world for another reason instead of work would be good for her, she thought. Even if the thought of putting on shoes that weren't slippers made her want to tear up. 

After starting up the washing machine, she trudged up the stairs towards her room. The cloudy night called for something warmer than the ratted t-shirt and frayed shorts she had on, leaving her to rifle through the collection of sweats she had tucked in her dresser. No matter the garment she pulled out of the drawer, didn't seem to be enough; not thick enough, soft enough, warm enough. Leaving the pieces in a mess in the drawer, she didn't let herself think before she was drifting to her closet where there was a too familiar hoodie hanging up. 

The smell wasn't quite as strong as it had been weeks ago, but there was still a faint scent of Harry's cologne embedded in the fibers. It was truly nothing more than a plain black hoodie, the material showing wear in the way the strings were tied into a bow at the neck with frays at the end, holes lining the sleeve hems, and a lipstick stain smeared on the back shoulder in a shade she had on her bathroom counter. Though it was his hoodie, she had stolen it enough times that it lived at her home with Harry taking it back every now and then, imprinting himself on it for her to revel in once he gave it back. 

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she knew it was a bad idea. There was no reason for her to wear that hoodie. Really, it was surprising that he hadn't asked for it back yet—especially if he was going out with other girls. 

It would be crazy for her to wear it, right? It was not normal to be mourning a relationship she ended. That was not her hoodie.

She slipped it on, anyway. 

As much as (Y/N) was crazy, and hypocritical, and jealous, and insensitive—she missed him. 

This whole thing would be a lot easier if she wasn't still in love with him. If he had just broken her heart and ruined those feelings for him, she wouldn't be feeling insane as she pulled the sleeves over her hands and pretended as if she wasn't breathing in his scent. 

Going out didn't seem so bad when she had this on, though.

Collecting her bag and keys, she made a point to rush through the final steps of readying herself before she was going out the door. If she waited too long, she might end up crying in this hoodie instead. 

Outside, it was raining much harder than she had initially thought. Pulling up her hood, she attempted to protect her hair from the droplets though there were casualties that were immediately pasted to her face. By the time she made it to her car, the hoodie was beginning to grow heavy against her back, rain streaked down her bare legs (in the interest of getting out of the house, she didn't change from her shorts like she'd wanted), and her lashes made heavy with mist. 

Once safe inside her car, she pulled in a heavy breath. 

She could do this. While Harry was out at dinner on a date, she'd go pick up some spaghetti noodles and more cheese than she should eat in a week.

Because she wasn't upset. She wanted to be broken up. She's fine.

With a forceful turn of the key in the ignition, (Y/N) gladly focused on the mechanics of driving through the rain as opposed to everything else on her mind. The clean scent in the air filtered through the cab, comforting her more than she realized. 

No doubt, she could do this. 

Pulling onto the main road, she turned up her music to be heard over the sound of the rain beating against the windscreen. The pavement was slick, dyed a slate black with the help of the droplets, puddles growing in every small divot in the road. The streetlamp twinkled off of the gathered water, rippling with each added drop. Everything was just a bit bleary through the windshield, even with the reach of her wipers going in overtime to wipe away the streaks. 

While she was never a huge fan of driving in less than perfect conditions, especially at night, the scene out here tonight was a perfect match to the pit in her stomach. It made sense for the weather to act this way, she thought; she was too torn up for the world to be given a cloudless, warm night. 

The music playing sifted through a playlist she'd found the other day, her search having been nothing more than for "breakup music". While she didn't know every song, or if she was even allowed to be moping to the tunes considering she was the one that cut things off, the lyrics she could catch were felt in her chest with a weight on her lungs. The ones about the other party moving on before the singer was ready stung particularly sharp tonight.

Especially when an all too familiar song started up, a voice she'd heard thousands of times before pleading with his ex lover to keep from calling her new flame "baby". 

This song had come out long before (Y/N) had met Harry, written with another in mind, but she remembered listening to it back then. She remembered wondering just how heartbroken one would have to be to write stanzas just as these, how hurtful it would be to see your love finding someone else to take your place. 

(Y/N) automatically reached out to skip the song, not even knowing it was on the playlist despite it being an obvious pick, but her hand stopped short. 

It'd been weeks since she heard his voice, even longer since he sang around her. Even if this was through speakers, mastered and fit to music, it was something she'd been missing despite pretending she didn't. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, dropping her and back to the steering wheel as if she hadn't just submitted to self-torture. 

As the tune went on, (Y/N) no longer had to wonder what kind of heartbreak went into poetry like this. She was right where Harry used to be, wishing he would give her just a bit longer of pretending to be his baby before he chose another. 

She hadn't realized she was tearing up until her wipers were unable to keep her view from being blurry. The rain outside now paled in comparison to pools glimmering at her waterline. Her skin felt hot, resistant to the chill seeping through her vents. She didn't even make it through the full of the outro before she repeated the song once more, knowing it would only spur her tears on that much more. 

Before she knew it, her bottom lip was quivering before a broken sob puffed from her lips. She sniffled with tears racing down her cheeks, searing over her warmed skin. 

It wasn't her business, but did he share the same bite of sushi with this new girl that he'd also given to (Y/N) a month ago? Did he order the same bottle of rosé? Did he reach across the table to push her hair out of her face just as he did for (Y/N)? Was tonight going to be the first date they would relay to friends and family when asked how they had found someone so special? She had no right to ask any of these questions, but was Harry going to fall in love with this new girl? 

Did he think of (Y/N) at all tonight, like she was thinking of him? 

The idea of being on Harry's mind at all was enough to have her hands tensing around the wheel, but the thought of not crossing it at all had them shaking instead. Her eyes were flooded, hands wavering on the steering wheel, skin warm and nose wet. The rain beat down against the hood of her car with as much force as her heartbeat, riding the tempo as if she couldn't hear it well enough in her ears. 

She shouldn't've left the house tonight. It would be way easier to sob like this if she wasn't having to also keep track of the road in front of her and the slick pavement beginning to flood with more water than the drains lining the sidewalks could handle. At least she seemed to be the only one out on the road at the moment. 

Scrubbing her hand over her eyes, she attempted to clear them in hopes of regaining her focus. The song was over now and she planned on wiping that song and subsequent album from her vicinity as soon as she made it to the grocery store. 

By the time she blinked her eyes open, lashes sticking to one another under the weight of her tears, she was only a few hundred feet away from the vague outline of a stoplight. She hadn't even seen the light shift from green to yellow, let alone to the blazing red that shone overhead. 

Of course, now would be the time she saw one other person on the road, already creeping out into the intersection to use their own green light. 

In a knee-jerk reaction, (Y/N) stomped on her brakes. Her breath caught when she felt that tell-tale give under her tires, the feel of the back of her car shifting out of sync with the steering wheel. 

The broken rattling of her heart was replaced by the pounding of the beats against her ribs as she realized there was no way she was going to stop. She was currently gliding over the road, her tires unable to grip onto anything underneath them through the layer of rain on the pavement. All she could do was turn the steering wheel and hope that her car followed, hopefully missing the poor bystander who would learn that she wasn't paying as much attention as she should have been when coming to the intersection. 

Every thought in her head seemed to happen in slow motion, but the world around her raced by in a second. She could feel her mouth moving, her voice muttering curses that made no sense, but there wasn't a single sound she heard over her heartbeat. Beyond her windows, the rain blurred every moving shape, her foot still heavy on the brake despite it being a fruitless effort. 

Headlights shone against her face for a brief second before she cranked the wheel, spinning just in time as she hit the middle of the intersection. Her new bleary view showed off the vague outline of the pole of the stoplight for a brief moment before spinning out even further until she was facing the direction she'd come in, her car turning in a complete one-eighty in her lane until everything suddenly stopped with a metallic crunch. 

She heard the impact before she felt it. Her driver's side door whammed into the pole of the stoplight, denting through the layers of metal with the window cracking and breaking. Prisms of glass rained over her, grazing her face and tops of her thighs with prickling shards. Her dented door threaded to push in on her before stopping, leaving a pressure against the side of her body and a complicated way to get out of the vehicle once she found her head. Her dashboard was lit up with every caution insignia as if she had no idea of what had just happened. Through the broken window, rain began to stream in, seeping into the cuts on her face and legs. She shivered though she couldn't feel a single chill from the air, her body beginning to reel from the accident she had just found herself in. 

In the back of her mind, over the pelting rain and pounding heartbeat, she heard her breakup playlist filtering through the remaining speakers. 

A wretchedly familiar voice singing about fine lines and being alright. 

"Hon? Are you okay?" 

Turning to face the nice woman who'd come to check on her after witnessing her blunder, (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond. 

She burst into tears.

—————

Harry really needed to stop wearing this necklace. 

He'd known that for the last few weeks, and, yet, every time he'd thought to unclasp it and put it at the bottom of a jewelry box to never be seen again, he never had the strength to. Instead, he continued to wear it every day, absently playing with the single pearl sitting at the base of his throat. 

Natalie watched as he fiddled with the pendant, but he still couldn't get himself to stop his idle hands. 

He hadn't even wanted to be here tonight, anyway—he had to self-soothe somehow, even if that meant playing with the necklace his ex-girlfriend gifted to him. 

Natalie was nice enough, a friend of a friend of a friend who'd been around to some parties here and there, but she wasn't (Y/N). Harry had only agreed to come out tonight in hopes of giving him a reason to wash his hair and eat something that wasn't bread or coffee while sitting on the kitchen floor. Even with clean hair and an order of his favorite sushi cleared from his plate, he still felt slices of guilt; one for going out with someone while still being very hung up on his ex, and for going out at all with someone who wasn't (Y/N). 

Harry wasn't stupid, he'd caught the cell phones pointed in his direction when he and his date had been seated. If it wasn't up already, it was only a matter of time before those photos would be circulating on all of the socials and appearing on timelines. He could already picture the headlines for tomorrow morning, detailing the mystery woman on this dinner date while questions about his previous flame were posed. He just hoped (Y/N) would somehow be able to dodge these flecks of news—even for only a couple of days. 

Hopefully, he'd have a chance to talk to her before she knew. If she was open to hearing from him, he'd explain where he was coming from in even agreeing to this date, and maybe she'd take him back. If she knew he was still in love with her, willing to change his schedule, relearn how to communicate, start going to therapy weekly again, would it be enough to salvage their relationship? 

"But, what about you?" 

Being pulled from his head, Harry had to face Natalie with a blink of his eyes. She had been talking about a movie or something—or was it her last holiday?—, but he hadn't heard a single word. Another pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

He thumbed over the pearl at his throat. "Um... I'm so sorry, wh—" 

Divine intervention came in the form of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He shot an apologetic smile at Natalie before slipping the device out of his pocket, eager to pick up for whoever was on the other side. 

Until he saw the contact name, anyway. 

(Y/N)'s mother. She was calling him. 

"Who is it?" Natalie asked, canting her head at Harry's startled expression. 

"Um... Jus'—uh—someone I haven't heard from in a while. I have to take this, 'm sorry." 

He didn't catch Natalie's reaction before he was rising from his seat and heading towards the front door with the phone pressed to his ear. Rain sprinkled over his head while thunder cracked in the distance. A darker storm was moving in. 

"Hello?" 

"Harry?! Harry, are you there?" 

"'M here, yeah. Is everything alright?" He'd never heard her voice in such a frantic state, especially not over the phone like this. Was she that upset over the breakup? 

"(Y/N)—It's (Y/N). She's been in an accident, and I—we—Her father and I, we're—She's alone. I-I know you two broke up, but she's in the hospital by herself and the nurse said she's not doing okay, she's—I don't know, I don't want her to be alone but I can't get on a flight until tomorrow morning and there's—" 

Frantic chattering continued on through the receiver, but there wasn't a single syllable that was able to breach his thoughts. 

(Y/N) was in the hospital. She'd been in an accident and was now at the hospital. Alone. She wasn't doing well while she was in the hospital after being in an accident, all alone. 

His stomach turned. 

"Wha—Where's the hospital? What hospital is it?" 

Was he having a heart attack? Every beat of the organ fluttered at the base of his throat, the chambers squeezed tight. 

He needed to find her. She couldn't be alone. She had to be okay and he needed to be there. 

Her mother shakily relayed the name of the hospital and room number, stumbling over the syllables until Harry had them seared into his memory.

"I-I'm so sorry to ask you, I know what—" 

"No, no," he shook off her words, "Th-Thank you for telling me. 'M going to her right now, I'll let you know how she's doing." 

Shaky goodbyes were shared with quiet sobs sounding on the end of the other line. Harry felt breathless as he stowed his phone away, hands shaking with fumbling fingers. His head was a mess. 

All he wanted to do was go—get in his car and go, be with (Y/N). But, there was Natalie sitting at their table, a dessert ordered to the table with their check of sushi and wine waiting with their server. There were people around them who would no doubt post about any kind of commotion he sounded tonight, perhaps even leak his location if hearing he was on the way to a hospital in the city. (He usually liked to see the best in others, but it'd happened before, these wild invasions of privacy). 

Despite every instinct pushing him towards the parking lot and abandoning the night, Harry forced himself to walk back into the restaurant. He held a thin grip on his control, but it was enough to get him back to his table with Natalie so he could quietly speak with her. 

"Is everything okay?" she asked before he'd even taken his seat. 

Swallowing, his throat bobbed as he shook his head. "No, actually. I—'m really sorry, Natalie, but I have to go. My, um, a friend of mine—they're in the hospital. I need to go." 

Natalie's features were marred with surprise, mouth dropped open with her lashes in a glimmering flutter up at him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That's so scary. No worries, go ahead I'll take care of everything. Call me when you can, okay?" 

Meeting the blue shimmer of her gaze, Harry felt his features tighten. She was much too nice for him. 

He wasn't going to call. 

Harry didn't say anything before he was rushing out of sight, only stopping at the hostess station for a slick second to tell the staff to charge the card attached to the reservation. Natalie was open to order whatever she wanted for the rest of the night, but she wasn't paying for a single cent. This would be his apology for never calling. 

It was with shaky fingers that he typed in the name of the hospital (Y/N) was at—all alone—as soon as he was in his car. Though his heartbeat didn't settle much, his head felt a bit clearer knowing that with every mile he was cruising down the street, he was growing closer to (Y/N). His hands couldn't stay idle for very long, consistently reaching up to the necklace around his throat. 

(Y/N) was going to be alright, right? 

The question warmed the backs of his eyes, flushing his skin. As much as he wanted—needed—to be at her side, Harry realized he wasn't sure what he was walking into. Her mother had said she wasn't doing okay—whatever that meant. What kind of scene was he going to walk into? 

Stop lights and brake lights passing in a blur through the growing rain, Harry made it to the hospital in record time. The pavement was slick, reflecting the glow of the streetlamps and the many car lights bumbling through the carpark. He didn't think before he was pulling into the first spot he found, parking at a sloppy angle before he was rushing out. 

With the rain coming down, his hair fell across his forehead, slicking to his skin. The droplets acted as the tears he was unwilling to shed until he saw (Y/N) in person. 

He marched his way into reception, shoes squeaking over the linoleum. Behind the desk, a woman perked up, spotting him with bored eyes before she perked up with recognition he knew too well. 

"Hi, um, how can I help you?" she sputtered. 

Unable to muster a greeting smile, he kept his eyes low. "I—um—I need to see someone, please?" 

The rest of the checkin passed in a daze, Harry only barely able to keep himself from begging to see (Y/N). He relayed as much information as he could, showing any kind of identification needed. He was more than thankful to hear that her parents had approved his visit during their initial phone call, something he filed away for later so he could thank them when he had a clear mind. 

The best thing he heard, the one that stuck glaringly in his mind, was the fact that she wasn't housed anywhere to be treated for critical pain. She was being held somewhere safe and hopefully comfortable. 

Following the given directions, Harry felt like a ghost as he floated through the different doors and elevators. He moved restlessly while he dinged through the floors, feet shuffling while his eyes were trained on the rising numbers. 

Was this the slowest elevator on earth? Or were they always like this? 

Once set free on the correct floor, Harry floated through the halls, sweaty palms pressed into the pockets of his pants. All he could focus clearly on was the room numbers pinned beside the doors, the thumps of his heart bubbling in his ears. 

After going down what felt like endless miles of hallways, the correct room number finally appeared before him. The door was shut, the lights inside dim. His hand hesitated on the door handle.

He had been so consumed with making it to her, to make himself feel better with the sight of her, that he hadn't really considered if she would even want to see him. If she wasn't asleep at the moment, would she just kick him out? She had been the one to break up with him, anyway. 

Before he could doubt himself any more, he pushed through, keeping his steps light over the linoleum. 

Just as he thought, the room was quiet and dark, rain streaking down the window. There was a warm glow coming from the standing lamp at the corner of the room, machines beeping along with the television with a made-for-tv movie playing. A whiteboard marked with her name was pinned to the wall, filled with stats and jargon Harry didn't have the mind to decipher. 

Amongst it all, (Y/N) was laid in the hospital bed with the thin covers pulled to her middle. Her eyes were shuttered, showing off the bruising underneath alongside the myriad of cuts over her skin. As peaceful as she appeared, sleeping away under the crumpled sheets, Harry couldn't help the tears that touched his eyes. 

With the door closing behind him, he drew closer to her bed. It didn't take much examination to spot the tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks, the swollen puff of her lips. It was the same way she'd looked when she had told him she didn't want to be with him any longer. 

Harry wasn't sure what broke his heart more: the obvious evidence of weeping on her features, or the fact that her tears would have skated over every cut and scratch marring her cheeks? 

He shuffled over the floor. He wanted to be at her side, hold her hand and let her know she wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't want to wake her. There was a reason that she wasn't allowed to head home after being checked out by the hospital team, the more rest she received the better. 

Instead, he gingerly made his way to her bedside, taking a spot in the uncomfortable chair seemingly waiting for him in the lamplight. With the way she was laid up in the bed, he had an unobstructed view of her relaxed features, some of the more notable injuries on her face bandaged up while others were left treated with nothing more than a glistening salve. She didn't look particularly comfortable, especially knowing how she usually liked to curl up with her hands to her cheek and legs to her chest, but this was better than nothing. 

Better than being in a wrecked car somewhere. 

The thought was sobering, enough to have those tears he had been urging away to resurface on his waterline once more. 

She was here. (Y/N) was okay—hurt, but well enough to be left to sleep on her own. She was no longer alone. 

He hung his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about what kind of accident would have put her here, blood on her face with machines monitoring every vital in her body. 

With those tears in his eyes, peeking up at her between his lashes, she looked like a watercolor painting. The edges were blurred, leaving the general outline of the person that filled his dreams and became his muse for the better part of the last year and a half. 

He couldn't believe the last month of his life. He'd lost her. And for what? Because he didn't think it was important enough to send her a text when he was going to be out later than initially thought? Because it was easier to let his schedule happen to him, as opposed to shaping his life around making enough time to spend time with her? Because why would he talk to her, tell her where he was coming from, when he could be passive aggressive and sweep everything under the rug instead?

The beeping of the heart monitor was the pitched baseline that anchored him to the room. Every dotted sound kept him from being swept away in the rivers of tears dripping down his heated cheeks. 

He could have lost her today. In the worst case scenario of this day, he would have received a very different phone call. He wouldn't have had the chance to sit at her side right now. He wouldn't have seen these healing injuries on her, instead having only old photographs to remember what life looked like on her. 

As cracked as his heart was at the moment, he would take these cuts and scrapes, this uncomfortable chair, the stiff set of her bedding, over any other ending this night could have had. 

The rain pelted against the window as Harry fixed his gaze to the love of his life. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, if it had been nothing more than a few minutes or if it had been hours at her side, until there was the soft click of the doorknob twisting with the door pushed open. Entering was a nurse in soft purple scrubs, hair pulled back and a clipboard in her hands. She had her eyes trained down before looking up to catch Harry wiping his eyes and (Y/N) unstirring in her bed. 

"Oh, hello," she murmured, voice soft as they were both aware of the patient in bed, "I didn't know she was having any visitors tonight." 

A barely there smile curled Harry's cheeks, his skin smooth of dimples. "Yeah, got here as fast as I could. Have you been helping her?" 

The nurse shook her head, "A little, but she's been asleep for most of it. Poor thing cried herself into exhaustion, so I doubt she really remembers meeting me." 

Her statement had his bottom lip quivering. Harry had to remind himself to be grateful she was even here to cry. 

"She's doing alright, though?" 

With a quick glance at the clipboard, the nurse nodded her head. "Yeah, she's doing much better—now that she's calmed down a little. We've just gotta keep an eye on her for tonight. She got a good crack to her head, so I want to make sure she doesn't sleep for too long tonight." 

Harry gave her a nod, a moment from offering to wake (Y/N) for her before the nurse stepped forward. In gentle tones with a hand to her shoulder, she woke (Y/N). 

Unlike her, she had been sleeping rather lightly, jumping awake after only a single call of her name. (Y/N) fluttered her eyes open, lashes sticking together from the dried crust of her tears, enough so that she reached her scratched hands up to rub the mess away. 

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted, her voice in a croak as she got her bearings. 

"Hello," the nurse responded with a gentle smile, "Sorry to wake you, hon. I just wanted to check on you, then you're good to go to sleep, again." 

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, struggling to sit up. 

Without thinking, Harry surged forward, helping her as much as he could. The second he put his hands on her, (Y/N) jumped, having not seen him prior.

It was clear she was more than surprised to see him with the way her eyes widened, blanching at the sight of him. 

"Harry?"

He offered a quiet, thin smile, sitting back in his spot once she was stable, sitting up for the nurse. "Hi." 

Before much else could be shared between them, the nurse began running her tests. Small talk was shared between the two, (Y/N) glancing more than once in Harry's direction. His hands were a fiddling mess in his lap, watching with rapt attention as every evaluation was run. 

"Everything's looking okay—what I expected we'd be seeing," the nurse mused, writing down her information on the clipboard in hand, "But, how are you feeling? Any extra pain, anything you want me to take a look at or mention to the doctor?" 

"I'm fine," (Y/N) smiled, the expression less than convincing, "Nothing hurts any more than earlier." 

"Okay, okay," the nurse nodded, "That's good, let me know if that changes. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours, so get in your rest while you can." 

A pointed look was placed in Harry's direction at her last statement, a teasing curl to the corner of her lips. (Y/N) gave a sheepish nod. 

"Right, thank you." 

The nurse departed with a couple of well wishes and a reminder that she'd be back in a few hours. Once the door clicked behind her, a stiff silence settled between them. The only sound came in the form of the mechanical beeping of the machines around her and the ending of the television movie playing. 

(Y/N) had her eyes facing ahead, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Harry stared at her. 

"(Y/N)—" 

"You're here." 

His throat bobbed as he heavily swallowed. "I am," he nodded, dropping his gaze to his picked cuticles in his lap, "Your mum called me." 

A furrow had her brow pinched. "Her and my dad are on vacation right now." 

Another nod, a strand of hair touching over his forehead. "They'll be back tomorrow morning, but she wanted someone to be with you tonight." 

Maybe it was the way her shoulders tensed, the glassy look that took over her gaze, or the pinch to her features, but something brittle settled in the air between them. Every breath felt delicate as he waited for any kind of response. 

"I'm sorry." 

It was his turn for his brows to knit together. "For what?" 

That fragile tension between them cracked. 

"You were on a date." 

Harry hung his head, lips thinning. He thought he would have more time to explain this. 

"'S not what it looks like, (Y/N)." 

She shook her head, voice quiet under her breath. "So it wasn't a date?" 

Sucking in a breath, his lungs squeezed. "I mean—It—Yes, it was a date, but—" 

The beeping of her heart monitor heightened, the pitch seemingly hitting higher than a moment before with the pace quickening. "So it is what it looks like." 

"(Y/N), 's more—there's more to it than that." 

(Y/N) only shrugged at his half-hearted response, her head hanging between her shoulders. 

Harry felt just as defeated as she looked now. This wasn't how he wanted to reunite with her, but he guessed beggars couldn't be choosers. This was the opportunity he had, and he wasn't going to turn it away. 

"What happened tonight?" he murmured, shifting the conversation away from his own blunders. Unfortunately, this avenue would be an easier section to stomach than anything she would want to know about his date. 

"I got into an accident." 

"I know," Harry gently prodded, "But, what happened? Y'usually only hit curbs, not anything else." 

His shoulders loosened when his teasing was enough to draw a huffed laugh from her, a slight smile softening her features. 

As much as they may have deteriorated recently, he did know her. He knew her better than he knew himself. 

"It was just raining really hard, and—I don't know—I wasn't able to stop like I thought. I slid and hit a pole, and... yeah." 

As much as he did like teasing her about her more precarious driving habits, he knew more than anything that she was cautious. It wasn't like her to settle into accidents like this—she rarely ever drove in weather like this anyway, let alone at night. 

"Y'never drive in the rain," he pressed, an unaired question bookending his words. 

"I know." 

Harry looked at her, waiting for more than those two syllables. It was fruitless, he knew. 

He hung his head, running an absent hand through his hair before his fingers found the pearl at his throat. Eyes on the floor between his feet, he couldn't look at her as he spoke once more. 

"(Y/N). What happened tonight?" This isn't like you. Why did this happen? 

The air in the room seemingly went still. 

When he chanced a look up once more, he saw her sitting in her hospital bed with sparkling tears in her eyes. His chest panged at the sight. He knotted his fingers tighter together, forcing himself to see from reaching out. 

"(Y/N)...," he started, voice decidedly more gentle than a moment before. 

She shook her head. "I didn't want to be home—and I was crying, and I wasn't paying attention and the rain was heavier than I thought—and just... Everything happened." 

What was worse? Hearing that she had cried more than once tonight, before she'd even got in her accident, or seeing her recount it with another set of tears racing down her cheeks? 

This time he couldn't help himself; Harry reached out to touch her wrist. Her skin was warm under the chill of goosebumps on her skin. While she didn't move to hold his hand like she used to, she didn't flinch away. That was enough, he thought. 

"Why were y'crying, lo—(Y/N)?" He internally cringed at his slip up. He had no place calling her anything but her name. "What happened?" 

Another shake of her head. "It's stupid," she sniffled, fluttering her eyes closed with the tears clinging to the tips of her lashes. 

"Not if it made y'so upset that y'ended up here tonight," he crooned, words a quiet lilt only for her to hear, "What happened?" 

"I—It's..." she cut herself off more than once, throat bobbing, "I don't... I was the one that broke up with you, I-I'm not supposed to be upset. It-It's not fair." 

Her voice was barely a whisper by the time she finished speaking. His hand on her wrist tightened, a snug warmth against her skin. He ran his thumb over the bone, pretending he didn't feel the cut just on the underside. 

He waited. 

Another made-for-tv movie started on her television. 

He waited. 

She took a deep breath. Her eyes still closed.

"You went on a date tonight." 

Harry's shoulders deflated. 

"(Y/N)—"

"No," she peeped, shaking her head with her arm stiffening under his hold, "No. You were on a date, and I'm crazy and I'm not supposed to be upset, but I couldn't handle it—I didn't want to be home alone an-anymore. I didn't think you'd be over it already since I'm not, but you-you can do whatever you want an-and I need to be okay with that. And, then you—your music, it started playing while I was driving and I-I—Harry, I couldn't stop crying and then I crashed." Her voice was clogged in her throat, muddy and thick. Her tone came in waves, ebbing and flowing until it gave out. "I'm sorry." 

There was no chance Harry had of keeping his own tears at bay as he listened. It was too much—all of it; hearing her beginning to sob over the thought of him being over their relationship, how just the sound of his voice over her speakers brought her to tears while driving, the fact that she'd seen photos of him out on a date had driven her from her home to get away from herself. 

He felt his skin flush, the warmth heading down his neck the same way his tears did. He sniffled his nose, his lips rolled between his teeth to keep himself from blurting out each thought he couldn't help but to have. 

He doubted telling her how much he loved her was going to be much help when she was so dedicated to the thought of him already finding someone new to replace her. 

"You—" he cut himself off when his voice came a croak, clearing his throat with his hand on her wrist. "Y'don't have to be sorry, (Y/N). You're not crazy, either—I don't know what I would do if I'd seen y'go out with someone else, either. Y—'M jus' sorry, I never—I didn't mean to—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head as she slid her arm out from under his hand, curling into herself while she refused to open her eyes. "It's not your fault—you—I ended our relationship, you can do whatever you want." A shuddering breath had her shoulders shaking, lungs rattling. "I-I'm sorry you're here instead of with her." 

Just short of climbing up on the bed beside her, Harry pulled his chair as close to her side as he could. There wasn't anything he could say—nothing that he could imagine would shift her mind on what she'd seen and decided was the truth. All he could do, even if it involved uncomfortable bending of his joints, was collect her into his arms and hold her. It was only then that the slow roll of her tears were let loose into full weeps, her face buried into his neck. 

She burrowed against him, sinking into him as if the last month hadn't occurred. His hands spanned over her form, familiar with every plane and curve. His fingers caught on the raised abrasions that could be felt through her thin gown, but Harry could only be grateful that those were the only evidence of her accident. The mechanical beeping of her pulse skittered high, enough so he worried that the nurse could be alerted of the disturbance. Nonetheless, he held her tighter. 

"There's nowhere else I want to be," he murmured into her hair, his voice watery like the tears running down his cheeks. 

Reaching towards him, (Y/N) wrapped her hands in the wool of his jacket, fingers clawing into the fabric in a tighter grip than he'd expected from her state. "E-Even tonight?" 

Her cry was thin and pathetic, causing Harry to pulse his arms around her once more. "Tonight—every night. As long as 'm with you." 

He could feel the flutter of her lashes as she cinched her eyes shut tighter. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, just audible given how closely he had her wrapped around him, "Wh-What about her?" 

He shook his head against her hair, his nose skating over her crown. There would be a time to really unpack why he found himself at a candlelit table with Natalie, including everything that was going through his head every time she spoke to him, but that wasn't tonight. She needed him, and all of the reassurance he could give more than he needed to clear his conscience and monologue over his feelings. 

"She's not you and that's all that matters to me," he told her, sincerity dripping in his tone, "All I want is you." 

(Y/N) cried in a blubbering sob, "I didn't think you loved me anymore." 

Harry's own eyes had to be shuttered closed then, a fruitless attempt in hopes of stemming the tears falling out of his eyes and into (Y/N)'s hair. "I didn't think y'loved me anymore, darling." 

"I-I do, I do," she countered, shaking her head in his neck with her grip tightening on him, "We-We just never saw ea-each other anymore, and I-I thought you were mad at me all th-the time and I thought we'd be happier apart—b-but I was wrong and—" 

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed her, starting a circuit of his palm over her back, "I-I understand. But now we know—you're all I want, an-and I'll do anything to make it work with you." 

"You're all I want," she whimpered, voice tight, "Don't leave me." 

While a part of him was soaring knowing that she was still in love with him, that this wasn't over the way he'd thought, he was still more than heartbroken to hear that she was so torn up and broken herself. She thought she had no choice but to end the relationship in hopes of making both of them happier elsewhere. He never imagined himself making someone he loved feel that way. 

"I won't." 

—————

Rubbing the lack of sleep out of his eye, Harry stood back as (Y/N) checked out of the hospital. Her mother was twined to her side with her father looking just as distraught, though he was better at giving his daughter space. They'd come straight here as soon as they landed only a couple of hours prior, walking in on Harry who had stayed far longer than the originally carved out visiting hours with (Y/N) still in his arms. 

Gratitude was exchanged between them—Harry for coming to (Y/N)'s side at a moment's notice, and her parents for telling him at all and letting him be there for her—with a thread of stiffness lingering afterwards. Harry couldn't blame them; the last they'd heard about him was the fact that he'd been dumped by their daughter along with all the reasons why. They didn't know what had come of the night before, yet, only seeing the aftermath of their tear puffed faces and his arms wrapped around her.

Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure where he stood with (Y/N) at the moment. Promises uttered through sobs after a traumatic event wasn't something he was going to hold her to. Even if he wanted to believe she was still in love with him and wanted to be with him like she'd said last night. 

Armed with paperwork and parents at her side, (Y/N) nodded to the nurse at the checkout with a plastered smile. Though they were still clear on her skin, the cuts and scrapes she'd earned in her accident didn't look so bad when she smiled with light in the eyes. 

Though he was still a bit too far away, he could hear the mumblings of a quiet conversation happening between (Y/N) and her parents. He was sure she was going to go home with them, and sort out everything else that couldn't be helped with a night at the hospital, but he'd wait until he knew she was safe before he'd leave himself. 

He watched from the corner of his eye, giving them privacy, though he could see (Y/N) waving off her parents before stepping towards him. It was a lingering departure, her mother refusing to let go too readily, though she eventually resigned herself to head down the hallway towards the bank of elevators with her husband and her daughter's paperwork. 

(Y/N) took shy steps towards Harry, empty hands a fiddling mess. 

"You're still here," she said, voice quiet to match the waiting room. 

He shrugged, a small smile having curled the corner of his lips. Was he supposed to remind her that she had asked him to stay, or keep that ex-boyfriend barrier in place? (If it was even still standing, given the way she'd fallen asleep in his arms just hours before).

"You're doing alright?" he asked instead, scanning over the planes of her face as if he didn't have them memorized already. 

She nodded. "Just sore, but I think I'm just going to feel that way for a little while. My head's doing better, though—I still have a headache, but I don't think it's because of the accident." 

Though she ended with a laugh, Harry figured she wasn't sure what to make of last night anymore than he did. 

"'M happy you're alright," he told her, sincerity weaved through his words, "Are your mum and dad taking y'home?" 

"Yeah," she nodded, looking over her shoulder to the couple waiting at the elevators, "I think my mom wants me to stay at their house tonight, but we'll see." 

"Oh, y'don't want to spend hours watching soap opera reruns tonight?" Harry teased, a sly smile touching his lips. The curl only stretched when (Y/N) laughed. 

"Not particularly, but who knows," she said, sparing another glance over her shoulder to see the audience waiting on her, "Um, we talked a lot last night." 

"We did, yeah," he nodded, throat bobbing as swallowed, eyes dropping from her own, "But, we don't—'m not—If y'don't feel the same way as y'did last night, 'm not going to ma—" 

"I do," she cut him off, a bright chirp that matched the spark in Harry's chest. "I do feel the same, I mean. We should probably talk a little more, though, right?" 

A dimple dented Harry's cheek, suddenly feeling incredibly more alive than just a heartbeat before. "Probably." 

"Are you busy tomorrow? In the morning?" 

It didn't take a second thought before Harry was moving his schedule around to keep his morning stark open tomorrow. Those meetings could be moved—maybe even made into an email or a quick phone call. 

"Not for you." 

The blooming smile she gave him was reminiscent of the first time he pulled that flirtation on her. 

"Good," she quipped, "I'll call you tonight or something, then. Maybe we could get breakfast tomorrow?" 

"I'll be there," he cemented, "Jus' tell me when." 

The rewarding light in her eyes made it easy for Harry to forget the last month of his light (except for the night he'd just spent with her, of course). 

"I will," she told him, "Bye, Harry." 

Maybe it was the way she hesitantly stepped towards him, or the shy way she had her lips rolled between her teeth with a budding smile, or the memory of her warmth against his chest, but Harry didn't think before he was collecting her into his arms. (Y/N) melted into his chest on instinct, wrapping her arms around his middle. He could feel the mush of her cheek against the cuff of his shoulder. Despite the sterile scent of the hospital clinging to her, underneath it all was the familiar fragrance of her shampoo and sweet body lotion she somehow never ran out of. 

Drawing away first, (Y/N) only put enough space between them to get a look up at Harry. Though her eyes were bloodshot, bags darkening underneath, and the shadow of her tears lingering in the corners, he'd never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N)'s eyes. 

"I'll see y'tomorrow." 

"See you tomorrow." 

Long after she untangled herself from his hold, Harry still felt (Y/N)'s warmth long enough to carry him home and keep him company until his phone rang a familiar tone later that night. 

—————

ahhhhhh I never write angst so I hope this turned out all right! thank you sm for reading, and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or anything at all send them in!