And he knocks on her door, waits patiently as he can, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. Though the thick scent of rain and wet grass is heavy on his nose, he can smell her just as she's about to twist the handle of the knob, hearing gentle murmurs of confusion as she swings the door open to reveal her in nothing but a large t-shirt. Understandably confused, her brows furrow and she dips her head down a bit, "Harry?" She questions, voice scratchy from slumber.
The tears he'd been fighting back finally creep past the surface, tickling up over his waterline, his face scrunching as a small sob wracks through his body. Y/N's face drops in alarm, probably just as bewildered as Harry is because he doesn't know what he's fucking doing. Only knows that he's standing on her small porch step crying, as she begins to usher him into her home, "Harry, what's wrong? What's going on? Come in, come here, you'll catch a cold out there," she reaches out, touches at his shoulder and pulls him so that his feet begin moving and he steps up into her home.
He'd never been in here before – his heightened senses make her scent potent in his brain, and as much as he hates to admit it, it was all the more comforting to him. Y/N leads him to her couch, sets him down, and hurries off as Harry tries to fully understand what is happening to him right now and still drawing a blank. He'd be fine! Sure, he was upset over the bummy date he'd gone on but he didn't think that certified crying. Especially in front of someone, he's sure would love to see his love life is full of shit. He hates being around her but god, in the short time she'd disappeared down the hallway Harry wanted nothing more than for her to be back. Maybe it was because she was gentle and warm, and the way her eyes softened at his teary flushed face made his insides melt.
When he's drunk he's usually much more in tune with his feelings; understands himself a bit more like this. A time where he is completely vulnerable to open up to himself and others. However, he couldn't quite make sense of this at all. Ever since they'd met, Y/N and Harry had been at each other's throats – why would she be his first person to run to when he's in this state?
And why is it, when she reappears with a bundle of clothes in her hand and a glass of water, that he feels so relieved to see her again?
"So," she begins, handing him the water and setting the clothes down onto the table, "What's this about then? Did something happen?" Harry takes the glass, drinking in a big gulp that cools down the inside of his body. Despite the weather and his wet clothes, he's all heated, upset, and still teary. He doesn't know what happened – the fact that she asks just makes him want to cry all over again. He shrugs his shoulders, putting the glass near the clothes and sniffling, "Was it – was it just a bad night?" She asks again, "M'sorry if I'm being pushy, but you – you – I'm the last person I'd think you'd come to feeling like this."
Harry sits silently, brows knitting towards the center. Hearing it out loud only makes him feel more disgruntled. He doesn't know what the hell is wrong with him – he's not supposed to cry like this so freely. Not supposed to be so weak, compromising his reputation in front of a beta probably all too willing to tell their entire friend group how big of a wuss he happened to be. It worries him what she might say to them – Liam would be fine because he's an omega and not one to shy away from emotions, but he worries about the rest. Worries that they'll see him as lesser than them.
"I don't –" he begins, sighing in defeat, shoulders slumping, "I don't know."
He expects her to snort, tell him that's not an answer, and push him more, but she doesn't. No, instead – this surprisingly soft version of the beta he'd grown so accustomed to, just nods her head, picks the clothes up back up from the coffee table and presses them into his arms, "Go change," she tells him, "First door on the right. I'm gonna make us both some Sleepy Time tea."
Harry and Y/N hate each other...but things change
Start from the beginning
