Harry Styles One Shots

Part 3 of: When Y/n dates someone, they find their soulmate. . .it's never her

She rolled her eyes, "You know there are no outside shoes in here," she grumbled, shifting her gaze from Ferret who was slithering between his ankles like he couldn't have been happier to see him. It felt too much like she was keeping her child from his visiting rights with his father, "Take them off, the storm isn't letting up any time soon."

Y/N doesn't know what to do with herself – it would be a little crazy to slink back into her room and shut the door after more or less demanding that he stay until the weather clears. But to sit with him seemed like a lot to work through with her brain feeling heavy and her sinuses full of tar. Still, she forces her feet to move her to the couch, where she drops herself down and yanks her blanket over her shivering body. Y/N closes her eyes, tilting her head back against the cushions; she feels weak, even from the little movement that she's done.

"Oh," his voice is quiet, and there's the gentle rustling of his bags, "Have you taken your temperature yet?"

She shook her head, "Was going to, but fell back asleep." Y/N coughed, an ugly sound barking from her throat and her eyes don't have to be open to see Harry grimace at the sound.

"I'm –" he started, then paused, she could visualize his pinched expression as he sorted through what to say, "Listen, I won't just stay here and watch you feel bad, yeah? If I stay, then I'm going to take care of you. You don't have to talk to me, or look at me, or any of that but I can't – I can't just see you like this and do nothing."

Y/N feels a frown form on her mouth for multiple reasons. One of which is she doesn't like the tone of his voice – it isn't rude, or snappy, but it...he sounds desperate and sad in a way he has never sounded with her before. He's resolute in his statement, but the words leave him like his heart is in the middle of cracking and she doesn't like that she's the cause of it. The second reason is that it feels wrong for her to ignore him for a week and then accept his groceries and his care. It would feel like she was using him, even though she knew it wasn't the case – she knew that Harry thrives off caring for people. That it would make him feel good, to take care of her, even if she was mad at him. But that's the issue, isn't it? Y/N's mad at him. Why should she care what makes him feel good and what doesn't? Plus, was it a threat? He won't just stay with her and watch her feel bad, so the alternative if she doesn't let him take care of her is going back out in that storm, isn't it? And she just won't allow that –

"Do whatever you want." She settled for, which was as good a response as she could come up with, given the turmoil in her head.

Y/N hears Harry move into the kitchen, and distantly she can make out him opening cabinets and closing the refrigerator's drawers. She falls quickly into that space that's halfway between consciousness and dreaming, where her head starts to dip, too heavy for her shoulders but she jerks herself awake before she can get too loose. She isn't sure how long Harry is in there, but it feels like hours have passed and no time at all, when his hand settles gently on her knee.

"Hey," he murmured, "I made you some soup, yeah? When was the last time you took medicine? Think you may be due for some more."

"This morning," her throat is gravelly, full of rocks and pebbles as she swallows dryly, "It's in the –"

"Bathroom cabinet, I know. I grabbed that and the thermometer," he placed everything out on the table in front of her, and Y/N's left to wonder how he'd carried so much in his hands, "Open your mouth for me, I'll check your temp."

This is wholly too domestic for their current situation but she feels so poorly, she really doesn't care. Her jaw drops open for him and he dips the tip of the thermometer beneath her tongue, but not without pressing the cool, back of his hand to her forehead. Y/N leans into it without much thought, welcoming the soothing touch.