#therapy must’ve paid off because it seems like he realizes this was something done to him

[faramirsonofgondor]

Jamie stuttering as he gets through his explanation of what happened in Amsterdam. Jamie misunderstanding Roy’s statement of the event being traumatic. Jamie not knowing because he doesn’t remember. Roy looking over worriedly at Jamie after he says so. This whole fucking scene.

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Somebody Sweet to Talk To ❁︎ 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

Pairing: Harry Osborn x Plus Size Reader

Word Count: 6k

Gif credit: @mayahawkes

Summary & Warnings || Series Masterlist

Extra warning for this chapter: reader shows some signs of anxiety/mood changes.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨

❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎ ・・・・・ ❁︎ ・・・・・❁︎

Monday arrived too soon, and you dreaded it more than any other week from the school year. Entering the library, you had walked directly toward your usual table and took your laptop and headphones out in order to do homework but everyone around you was staring, almost impatiently, and it was extremely distracting.

It didn’t matter if you finished early or not, Tony had given you the entire week free and changed your working schedule to only Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday unless there was too much to do or emergencies. Seeing as it was better than not having a job at all, you didn’t dare fight him when you knew he was trying to favor you.

The therapy thing... that was different. Maybe you had taken advantage of the fact that Tony and Bucky were mentally ill too by reminding them how cruel medical professionals tended to be toward their patients and even more so when the patient was a fat woman, and maybe you could’ve approached the topic in a more neutral way to not make them feel so damn guilty; yet you didn’t think about it at that moment, too scared of going back to hear that you would never get better, or that you were a problematic person, or therapists simply denying you treatment until you lost weight.

A hand encapsulating yours took you out of your self-absorptive episode. You didn’t need to look to know it was Harry, the slight warmth from his palm that was so different from any hand you had felt on you was becoming familiar.

That was a problem. You spent the entire Sunday going through it and pondering on telling him it would be better to knock it off. You still decided you could tame your newfound feelings and keep faking being in a relationship with him in exchange for friendship.

Snatching your headphones off, you did turn to look at him. He was seemingly analyzing you, “are you okay?” his question was made in a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m just... struggling to focus.” You nodded upward at the now black screen from your computer. You had definitely lost more time than you thought.

“I know, I finished my homework already.”

Looking down at your wristwatch, you realized Harry had gotten there an hour ago. “Sorry, I—“

“It’s okay,” he interrupted, giving your hand a squeeze before moving to store his supplies. “Pete told me you had a tough weekend.”

Humming, you stored your supplies too just to entertain yourself. You hated when people talked about your health without your consent, it was extremely intrusive and made you feel vulnerably uncomfortable. Had Peter told Gwen too?

The answer didn’t take long to come. Fingers intertwined with Harry’s, you left the library to where Peter and Gwen must’ve been waiting for the two of you. The blonde looked at you with empathy, almost pity, and flashed one of those smiles that unknowingly made you feel worse.

Your fake boyfriend must’ve processed it the same way or felt you tense because he ran his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly. He then breathed a smile, making you turn to inquire what was going on. He nodded upward to gesture at the front crystal doors and it was like you could breathe properly again — it was raining.

The smell enhanced your senses as the four of you abandoned the building, Harry’s steps slowed down in contrast to Peter’s hurried ones. You could have cried as consistently as the sky was doing, Harry was being thoughtful and extremely kind to you by allowing you a relaxing moment and you hadn’t even asked for it.

He threw his keys at Gwen, telling her to not wait for you because you would walk to The Compound. It was a bad idea, walking under the rain when the season was about to change, yet you didn’t dare say no — you couldn’t when as much as you knew the water falling onto you was cold, you felt warm inside.

There was no need for Harry and you to still hold hands, or to stroll so closely to each other — both of you knew, both ignored it. Having a friend was nice, someone to go to the movies with, talk about everything and nothing, bake together, walk down the rain in silence with slow strides to relish into the aliveness only nature could grant.

Walking slowly didn’t bother him this time, getting soaked didn’t either. He had never seen the face of a person look younger so quickly, he had never even paid attention to those things before and now wondered why when it was so satisfying to watch. In that case, the satisfaction could’ve come from the fact that he was part of it, not an important one in his mind but it was something. You were starting to relax beside him, the frown you had been carrying since he got to the library long gone as your upper body slumped a little. He had helped achieve that, and for a split minute, nothing else mattered until he thought what would his father say if he knew Harry’s biggest accomplishment up to that day had been relaxing his —fake— girlfriend.

“We don’t have to get in if you don’t want to,” he whispered, almost hopeful so he could be in you relaxed and consequentially soothing presence for a little longer.

“I don’t want you to get sick,” you said, softness oozing from your tone in an attempt to show him you were more than grateful.

Either of you wasn’t wet enough to be soaked, both made the observation in distinct ways. His hoodie, in fact, was wet, just like his hair, but his jeans looked almost dry — your hair looked different due to the water, your jacket seemed darker, and there was a waterdrop on top of your right eyelash that he couldn’t keep himself from wiping.

Dropping your backpack onto one of the sofas, you peeled your jacket off. Harry did the same with his book bag and took his hoodie off. Before he could drop it, you took it from his hand.

He tilted his head. You chuckled, “I’ll put it in the dryer so it doesn’t get ruined.” He blinked rapidly, a nod being the only answer he could give.

He watched you walk away, heart dropping as you disappeared further into the hallway and made a turn. God, what was happening to him? He missed the warmth from your palm already, irradiating into his even though yours was smaller, and filling his entire system with a feeling he had never experienced; a week had taken him to become needy for your touch, that attention you gave so selflessly when he spoke, your wise and poignant comments that you always seemed to finish with an interested question of his opinion, your soft lips that made everything around him fade away.

“Here,” you whispered, almost bashfully. He focused his eyes on you again, realizing he had been staring at nothingness. A piece of clothing was being offered by your right hand as with the left one you made signs at someone behind him. “It’ll fit you loosely because it’s mine, but you’ll be warm.”

Fuck. Harry had never met a kinder person than you. He couldn’t believe Peter and Ned had said you were everything but, it was impossible for them to be talking about the same woman. He took the soft fabric in his grasp, sliding it down his head before slipping his arms in — it fitted him better than both of you had considered.

Peter was horrified to see his male best friend in a familiar blue sweatshirt, eyes wide as he and Gwen went back to the living room after spending time alone in his bedroom. His two best friends were sat almost flushed against the other, you type in your laptop as Harry slanted his head to read whatever you were redacting.

Gwen was worried, she thought Harry would keep his distance after the conversation they had. But now, watching him give you all his attention and hearing him ask about your homework like it was the most interesting topic someone could talk about, she realized there was no point in tearing you apart. Her boyfriend thought otherwise, and it worried her too — Peter, being Peter, was getting obsessive.

When you were done, you uploaded the essay to the school’s interface and closed the laptop. Standing up, you arranged your backpack in the way you liked and then did the same with the laptop case.

“Does any of you want something from the kitchen?” you asked, surprising them.

Gwen nodded, bashfully. “Camomile tea, if you can.”

“Of course,” you nodded too.

Harry followed you toward the kitchen, not wanting to be under Peter’s annoyed gaze that he honestly didn’t understand anymore. Snorting when you started peeling the gigantic orange he bought for you once the kettle was on the burner, he sat on a stool.

You offered him some fruit, the ghost of a smile appearing on your face when he took half of the orange. It was surprisingly tasty, you hadn’t expected that from its size.

Endearingly vexing was a good way of describing oranges, he had to agree. Harry avoided them most of the time because of how changing their flavor was, but now he was starting to think they weren’t that bad — they would never beat apples, though.

Tony poured himself some coffee, watching you comfortably eat fruit. He also saw Harry’s sweatshirt and couldn’t hide the teasing smirk from plastering on his face when you turned to gaze at him. He was happy you hadn’t ended things with Harry, no matter what Tony thought of Norman he knew the kid wasn’t at fault — he also suspected Harry was mistreated by his dad and couldn’t help but be biased.

“Does Gwen like sugar in her tea?” You wondered out loud.

Harry shrugged. He didn’t know a lot about Gwen even though she was his best friend, the blonde didn’t make him part of everything. You ignored him and carried the teacup in a hand and the sugar bowl in another, making him once again inwardly question why everyone thought of you as a heartless person.

And because you weren’t what people said you were, he grew more nervous about introducing you to his father. Norman tended to treat people who weren’t Harry with respect and even empathy, but what if he didn’t like you? What if he found you to be dumb for supposedly dating his son? Harry didn’t want to put you through one of his dad’s weird episodes, but he didn’t want his dad to laugh at him if he said you had an emergency to take care of either.

He saw you try to smile warmly at Gwen when handing her the cup and decided it would be better to warn you the next day when the mood wouldn’t be soured.

“We’re watching Footloose when Pete finishes his homework, do you two want to join us?”

“Sure,” both shrugged and said at the same time. Sharing a look, something that in the week you had been close had become second nature, you saw each other’s brows twitch in curiousness.

Too focused on the movie to pay attention to whatever couple-y thing Peter and Gwen were doing, you sat with your shoulders brushing. Harry shifted to rest his head on the arm of the couch, his hand brushing yours so you’d get the hint. Your head dropped onto his arm as you shuffled to make sure you would squash him, none of your eyes leaving the screen.

Tuesday brought mountains of homework and a scorching sunny afternoon. Wednesday was the opposite, that morning Harry found himself staring at the blue sweatshirt laying on his desk chair to decide if it would be a good idea to wear it again. The fabric still smelled of the softener you used, a custom one Stark bought for you every few weeks — there was a slight sweetness under the freshness of the scent and he marveled at how suiting it was.

Caving in, he snatched the sweatshirt and hoped Peter wouldn’t react like the other time. His best friend was getting distant, he got annoyed easily too — Harry thought him to be jealous, confirming his theory of Peter having feelings for you; Harry also thought himself to be envious of the finding.

Peter always got what Harry wanted, but this was different. This time he had put himself in that situation, almost begging to be thrown to the side when he wasn’t useful anymore. The day was approaching if the pattern wasn’t broken, and it didn’t hurt him because his dad would laugh or because he would probably still see you every day, it hurt him because he had never felt so safe in someone else’s presence.

He took a whiff of the sweatshirt as he slid it on, the memory of the first time he got to smell the scent coming to his mind.

It had been a while since he put a foot in the university. Harry had hit rock bottom, an overdose almost took his life and the worst part of it was how badly he wished it had. Out of spite, because he didn’t think he should let his father win every single battle, he decided to get help. Rehabilitation centers weren’t pretty, nor comfortable, and their usefulness could be up for debate; but Harry learned many things about himself there: his needs and dreams, his potential that he didn’t believe in most of the days, the fact that if he tried and wanted hard enough he could be a good person and a successful professional.

Peter was with Ned outside of the building when he arrived, waiting for someone that wasn’t him. Their greetings were effusive, brotherly, he felt good in their arms when he allowed them to hug him. But the feeling was nothing compared to the somersaults his stomach made when something he could only describe as hot cocoa on a winter day filled his nostrils.

You were dressed in casual clothes, he remembered them perfectly as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. Dark jeans, skater vans, a yellow sweatshirt that made you look radiant even though your eyes were sad. You greeted them three politely and Peter introduced you briefly, after that you made your way through the door and into the crowd — Harry couldn’t stop staring at the spot you had disappeared from, and Ned caught it so he said, ”been there, not even got to try and do that.”

Warnings came. Your reclusiveness, the way you closed off when a loved one did something that mildly upset you and how easily you got upset. Peter said you were like a sister to him, that not even he could get your shell to crack. ”She’s shyer than me, and I’m not even sure if she likes people,” Peter had sighed sadly.

Your career paths didn’t have anything to do with the other, not a single class was shared. Free hours you did share, but Harry followed his friends’ advice because it was simple curiosity and he needed different things, he didn’t need to fix people because he couldn’t.

But now, now he wished he had tried like Ned didn’t. He didn’t understand why he was feeling like that so soon, and he didn’t want to understand — it would be useless. Maybe all this time he had harbored a crush, or maybe it was the particular enticement that only the forbidden could provide, or maybe —just maybe and that was all— he was falling easily for the first person to be unapologetically themselves around him.

Harry knew that Peter held off, Ned always followed what Pete and Betty did, and Gwen was scared of him because of his past. If you explicitly knew about it and had lied when he asked, you were a master at masking it, and if you didn’t know about it he was sure you wouldn’t react badly to the news.

You would probably praise him again for learning to not lash out at people, he could picture your neutral semblance upon hearing all about it as he entered the classroom to take his first lecture of the day and a sigh slid past his lips.

Bouncing your leg, you slid the collar of your hoodie up to the bridge of your nose in exasperation. Harry’s cologne made you sigh heavily against the soft fabric, a part of you regretted having put it on while the other marveled at how the smell had clung to the fabric just by being against his arm. The grey material was comforting enough, but his smell was the real treat and you hated to know it, you hated not being able to help it.

Thoughts of Peter still swarmed around your mind, you still felt pangs on your chest when Gwen sat on his lap or when they kissed in front of you. But they weren’t constant anymore, you were too busy between getting your master’s degree, your wavering mental health, and Harry’s deep voice. At that, you would have to add your job next week, but you’d manage. You were almost as good as Tony at multitasking, writing nomenclatures down while craving your fake boyfriend’s presence would be aced — you even were sure you could get a doctorate on it and the thought chilled you to the bone.

You assumed you were thinking like a teenager — you hadn’t even thought like that when you were a teenager! You had been too lost into your self-hate and problems at home to have the time to behave like a teenager or to want to be one... Not wanting to think about it anymore, you focused on your homework for the day.

A shadow was cast on your notebook, prompting you to look upward. The sight of Harry in your sweatshirt made your heart skip a beat. “Peter left early,” he whispered to not be kicked out of the library, cellphone in hand. “He took my car.”

You nodded, aware of his eyes being on you. “I’m almost done.”

“Want me to ask for an Uber?”

“I can walk,” you assured him, scribbling down the answer you were halfway through. Gloomy days had never bothered you, they were common for you.

You waved at Ned goodbye as you walked across the hallway, the shorter man lifted an eyebrow upon realizing Harry and you were truly holding hands. You had to keep the act up, of course, people would talk about a supposed break up otherwise. You cursed, making Harry worriedly gaze at you.

“You’ll have to carry my cellphone this time around,” you explained. “These pants don’t have pockets and it can crack in my backpack.”

He extended his free palm for you to place the device on it. Sliding it into his pocket carefully, he continued walking.

The first two minutes of walk toward the compound were silent until he took his AirPods out. “Wanna listen to some music?”

“Sure.” You stopped so he could choose a playlist in his phone as you slipped the AirPod he had offered in your ear.

His musical taste was as pleasant as his company, as mixed as his conversation. It made you wonder why Peter and Gwen didn’t spend more time with him. He wasn’t like everyone said at all, it was true he was distant most of the time and even more when he didn’t know people but you found that natural, he had many qualities and peculiarities that made him so unique... you had met many people in your life, you were good at reading them all and you got bored easily of them because of that. Harry wasn’t easy to read, and knowing him meant getting more interested in his intellect and how different it was from the people around you. He wasn’t dumb, and although a genius either, but he was knowledgeable enough in many topics, he had a way with words when he got comfortable and his opinions were quite radical for conventional expectations, he was sensitive and patient, — you utterly adored that about him, much to your dismay.

Humming to the songs both knew, you swung your clasped hands a little bit. Upon approaching the compound your steps slowed down to finish the current song, something that had happened so often throughout the walk that his car was already parked outside.

“You came here on foot in this weather?” A familiar voice screeched as you closed the door.

You stopped abruptly at that. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this was worse than liking Harry. “Dad,” you greeted through a small smile, letting your fake boyfriend’s hand go. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I texted you an hour ago.” Your dad’s eyes were on you, brows lifted in expectancy of an explanation.

Harry handed you your cellphone so you could check. Pressing the button to look down at the screen you found a photo of your own self as a lock screen. It had been taken earlier, and you had to admit he was right when he said he was good at taking photos, the lighting in the school’s library wasn’t ideal and still, the angle was so good you didn’t look as bad as you often did and the way you were looking up —surely at him— made your eyes shine.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized behind you, “I gave you mine.”

You turned around to face him, “didn’t we talk about... that?”

He nodded, taking his cellphone from your hand and placing yours instead. “We said I wouldn’t put (Your Favorite Artist) in a plaid shirt as a lock screen.”

“We said you wouldn’t put me.”

“We said you wouldn’t send me a photo of yours to put, never that I couldn’t take it and put it.”

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you nodded. He was right, you should have been more specific. The short conversation wasn’t helping your case, now your dad knew something was going on between you two and you didn’t want him to; it was fake, and you didn’t want to introduce your dad to a fake boyfriend when the relationship wouldn’t last more than a few weeks more because of its nature. To be fair, it would last only a few weeks even if it was real but the point stood, strongly.

You felt so small you could’ve scurried off and in your mind, no one would even realize. Both men stared at each other with curiosity, your dad was trying to intimidate Harry and it would have worked if he hadn’t been Norman Osborn’s son.

Gwen, God bless her, cut through the slight tension. “Your dad was telling us you liked to play doctor as a ki—“ the blonde’s eyes widened as she stood in front of you when your dad moved out of the way to look at her as she spoke, the sight of Harry’s attire wasn’t one she had expected. “Did you wear... your girlfriend’s clothes to school?”

Harry cleared his throat, “out of coincidence.” He nodded to make emphasis, avoiding looking at anyone in particular.

Peter called for Harry. “Can I talk to you in private, Har?”

The tallest young man nodded, casting you a sideways glance. You blinked rapidly, too nervous suddenly. There was nothing wrong with sharing clothes, and Peter knew the reason why you had lent Harry a sweatshirt in the first place — why did you feel like you’d get an anxiety attack at any moment?

Peter leaned against the closed door, crossing his arms against his chest — he knew Harry wouldn’t be intimidated, but he had to get the point across of how serious the topic would be. Harry lifted his eyebrows, signaling for Pete to start talking.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Harry just stared at his best friend. Peter set his jaw. “I told you to stay away from her, and now you’re wearing her clothes to school!”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Harry defended his actions. “You share clothes with Gwen, why can’t I share clothes with (Y/N)?”

“That’s not the point! The point is you shouldn’t be dating her.”

’Here we go again’ Harry thought. Peter had annoyed him with that every time he stared at you, even when he didn’t do it on purpose. “Why, Peter? I’m not forcing her!”

“Because it’s weird! You’re like my brother and she’s like my sister, I know the two of you very well and I know you’re not right for each other.”

Harry huffed, pinching his nose to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “You and Gwen keep saying that but you never say why!” He exploded. “Peter, I adore you, man, but only (Y/N) and I know how our relationship is like.”

“I’m worried,” Peter hurried to explain. It was clear he didn’t mean to offend Harry. “Maybe at least take it slower? She needs a lot of patience, more than we can give her.”

Harry didn’t really get why Peter was telling him the same Gwen did days ago, but he nodded in understanding. His best friend pushed himself off the door and opened it, letting him out of the room first.

The living room was dead silent. Harry observed you weren’t there, but your belongings were. Gwen nodded upward, toward the hallway you had guided him through after your first ‘date’. Seeing him tilt his head, she withdrew her cellphone. His own device buzzed in his jean pocket.

Backyard

He found you with your back against the wall, cornered near the outdoor table. As he got closer , he saw the slight shake of your upper body. Harry silently sat beside you, trying not to stare too much so you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. From the corner of his eye, he caught the tremble of your lip and how you bit down into it — he hated that you were trying not to cry in front of him.

You were angry. Gwen had tried to apologize for her impressed state but it was of no use, your dad asked why didn’t he know about your boyfriend which angered you, he hadn’t called in a month — how could you say anything if he didn’t contact you? Your cold answer had been that the relationship was very new, but instead of moving on your dad had to make a comment about how it seemed like it had been longer.

It was like everyone was trying to decide how you should live your life or how you should develop your relationships. You understood that it looked like Harry and you were moving fast, but it wasn’t real — it wasn’t real and it bothered you which made it more fucked up.

The cataclysm was the inquiry that came before that. Your dad had asked if you were happy, prompting Gwen and Tony to perk up to stare at you. All that focus on you had made you nervous, so you explained you were comfortable. It hadn’t been enough for your dad who insisted on speaking about your happiness.

You hadn’t expected him to push it, and you didn’t know where the question had come from when he implied the relationship was too volatile due to its newness. His severe look as he reminded you how fast you were moving had been too shocking, and so you exploded, done with the stupid conversation already, saying you didn’t know if you had ever been happy.

Your own comment had dawned on you like an ice-cold water bucket poured harshly onto the head. It had soaked you in sudden anguish, adding itself to the list of things that chilled you to the bone although this one felt deeper, it seeped into every fiber of your being and still had enough composition to leak in the form of tears.

Harry got closer to you, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “It’s okay,” Harry murmured. His free hand slid up to trail up and down your back.

You shook your head, it was everything but okay. You didn’t dare to tell him and prayed for the first time in years that no one in the living room had.

The memory of the last time you prayed only worsened your state. You did the only thing that came to your mind and threw your arms around his shoulders, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck as you continued crying.

He massaged the nape of your neck softly with the hand that had been on your upper back. Harry wasn’t very good at consoling people, he was only doing what he would’ve liked someone to do with him. Feeling you sob, he tightened the arm around you to muffle your cries.

“Harry, let me calm her down,” Bucky, whom Harry hadn’t heard come outside, muttered, “she can get angry and it’s not—“ he interrupted himself when the young man shook his head.

Your hands started shaking at Bucky’s words and Harry didn’t think to let you go would help. He realized that when Gwen told him you had deep issues she had meant anger issues or something of sorts by the way Bucky was staring at your back as if you would explode at any second.

Slowly shifting to a kneeling position on the concrete, he flushed your body to his, your face fell onto his shoulder and slid to his chest. He rocked you lightly, only enough for the movement to be processed by your brain without startling you. He knew it would work, he had seen you rock yourself sideways a few times.

As your sobs simmered down, the shake of your hands did too and you placed them firmly on his shoulders. Parting from him to sniff comfortably, you avoided his eyes.

He kissed your forehead, shushing you from apologizing. He would’ve done that at least, and the thought of you doing it almost broke him there. He withdrew an arm off you, tightening the other one so you wouldn’t move. Taking his cellphone out, he texted Gwen again so his friend would bring him his backpack.

Gwen hurried to do it, holding it for him to open it.

“There are Kleenex in the front pocket, give me a few?”

The blonde worked quickly, withdrawing the pocket-sized pack of Kleenex and retrieving a couple from it. Harry took them with his free hand, wiping your tears slowly to not hurt your skin. You giggled nervously when he tried cleaning your nose, snatching the Kleenex from his hand to do it yourself.

You mumbled that you needed to wash your face, prompting him to nod as he moved his arm away from your body. Harry followed you inside, telling you he would be back in a few minutes as you made your way toward the elevator to get to your room.

Washing your face wouldn’t be enough. You needed a hot shower and a Xanax. For the second one, you would have to eat something first but that could be fixed later. The hoodie you took off carefully, laying it softly on the bed. Kicking your sneakers off, you peeled yourself off the remaining clothes quickly, desperate to feel clean again.

The sense of dirtiness didn’t have to do with Harry, or with anyone downstairs. The realization that you had never experienced happiness, that realistically your chances of ever doing it were pretty low... it was too much. It made you feel less than nothing— dirty for once thinking you could be normal, have normal relationships like everyone else did.

One thing, out of the multiple ones, you had always enjoyed of taking showers was its sound and how it could be confused with rain if you closed your eyes tightly enough. Opening the shower, you got in immediately and allowed yourself to breathe slowly.

You were getting dressed when someone knocked on your door, presumably to check on you. Hurrying to get into a pair of shoes, you left the walk-in closet, crossed the bedroom, and swung the door open.

“Hi, so...” Harry scratched the back of his head, worriedly examining your face. “I don’t know which soup is your favorite and I can’t make your favorite soup if I don’t know which is it, can I?”

You stuttered, confused by the fact that he wanted to cook for you. “Uh— you don’t have to.”

“I want to, tell me.”

Sighing heavily, you lifted a hand only to slap it down against your thigh and simply told him what to add and how.

“Got it!” He assured, turning on his heel to go back downstairs.

Harry trotted down the stairs quickly, skipping a few steps. He could feel Peter and Gwen staring at him, sat around the dining table to have a better view. It should’ve made him feel nervous but he felt confident he would do it fine, the instructions were clear and he wasn’t stupid.

What compelled him to make soup for his fake girlfriend who had cried her soul out while clinging to him earlier was a mystery. A mystery as scary as welcomed. He was starting to enjoy showing more of himself to you and in consequence to the people involved in your daily lives — a sharp contrast to what he felt on Saturday. Aware of that, he wondered if he should say something about it.

In three days you would be sat in front of his dad. In three days you would be scared off. In three days he would be back to feel alone. He would lose the warmth and scent he liked so much, the complicit looks, the music recommendations, the intellectual stimulation, the hope for everything to be okay one day.

He wished there was a way to keep it from happening, but the odds were against him. His only chance was that you’d be willing to keep faking it, and how fine he was with just that startled him.

You hesitated going downstairs when you were summoned but ultimately decided to do it so Harry wouldn’t feel bad. Gwen lightly patted your thigh as you sat down in a kind gesture that you realized meant she was glad you were feeling better. She didn’t tell you anything directly, but she very nicely started speaking to everyone around the table so they wouldn’t bother you while you ate.

Harry sat to your other side, participating in the conversation and sporadically giving you his attention to making sure you were okay.

“I think your soup is better than mine,” you communicated to him when you walked him out.

He breathed a laugh, looking down so the blue-ish light wouldn’t highlight his blush. “I’m glad you liked it.”

You nodded, “thank you for going through all that trouble. You didn’t have to.”

He lifted his gaze, leaning more comfortably on the hood of his car. “It wasn't troubling at all.” Harry then added, not able to help it, “are you feeling better?”

No, you weren’t. There were so many things wrong, you would have to face your dad as soon as Harry was on his way home, an explanation as to what was going on with you would ruin everything you had built in the past months, and then... then there was something you could’ve avoided — you were sure you had a crush on your fake boyfriend, also sure he didn’t have a crush on you; you were certain he was into Gwen and had the suspicion the fake dating thing was his attempt of making the blonde jealous. You didn’t blame him, even you thought Gwen was perfect.

“Yeah,” you faked a tight smile. “Nothing a good cry can’t fix.”

He nodded, slowly moving his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Harry cursed himself for sounding as unsure as hopeful.

“Have a good night,” you wished him, turning on your heel to get back into hell on earth.

That was an exaggeration, yet you didn’t care because it would feel just like it. But your reality hadn’t changed, you still didn’t know if you had ever felt happiness, you still felt like something was wrong with you, and you still felt there was a piece missing in your life — you had lost so much already that you couldn’t put your finger on what said piece could be nor where could it fit. You just knew you wished it wouldn’t matter.

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter One

       There are 34,000 species of fish in the world and only four hundred of them are sharks. You're more likely to be killed by a dog than from a shark but I find this complicated to think about, seeing how bad of a reputation great whites have. For the longest time, I struggled as an aquaphobe and I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why keeping away from water was better in my head than getting out there and gaining back my long lost courage. I couldn’t even swim with friends in a kiddy pool without convincing myself it wasn’t safe and I was better off ten metres away. But I guess I got myself into enough danger away from water already. Like walking into traffic.

       I felt a rough yank on my arm, pulling me back from the street in what I can only now remember as a blur. I replaced my smudged vision with a clear, blank stare into the oncoming traffic and my heart leapt into my throat as an obnoxious car horn hollered down the street past the corner of the sidewalk. With my hair now in a mess and one of my shaky hands fiddling with my clothes to sort myself out, I turned my head to my left hand, watching tight squeezing fingers wrap around my wrist. I bent and rose my arm so my hand nearly met my face and traced whoever held me to a man standing too close for comfort.

       "You alright, lass?" he asked. His voice rang through my head clearly, blocking any other noise out and his raspy, low accented tone was filled with concern. My eyes lifted from his chest to his face where my sudden shock must've been fooling my eyes. It was as if the man had some sort of green shade blended in with his skin and perhaps even one of his eyes was glowing a soft red, almost pink sort of colour. I just stared at his facial features, unsure of how to answer his question. I took notice to his greasy black hair, unnatural skin which must've not been shaved that morning and foreign scent I'd never experienced before. In a strange way, everything about this man seemed to pull me in and I found myself stuck in a trance as he stared back at me, waiting for an answer. Time stood still and eventually, my eyes wandered to the people who stood around us, staring at me with confusion or frustrated disturbance and annoyance. I looked back at the man in front of me as he watched me with now irritated, furrow-browed eyes.

       As soon as I parted my lips to speak he let go, leaving an empty space between us which, in some dramatic way, made me feel lost. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and held it to his ears, already arguing with somebody on the other side. Just like that, I blinked once more, only to find him gone. In fact, nearly the whole crowd of people by the curb was gone already halfway across the street. Realizing I was supposed to join them, I sped after them, ignoring my embarrassment. I would've rather paid attention to where that man went, I couldn't let him get away without thanking him for saving my life. After attempting to look through the busy crowd in front of me I felt guilty losing hope. There was no way I could find him in this mess, even if that man was someone who stood out so well if you were playing a game of hide and seek like I was. Accepting my failure I sighed and backed up, remembering my plans for the day. I couldn't take the day off and search London for him, could I? I cursed to myself in frustration, quickly escaping the crowd around me and leaving down the other street where the community health clinic was.

       After the fifteen-minute walk I had left, I arrived at my destination, opening the wide glass doors and entering the building. As always, I waved to the lady at the front desk and carried on down the hallway to my left. I headed towards the usual room I arrived at every Tuesday afternoon, pushing the door open and coming face to face with the same familiar and comfortable people. I smiled warmly, looking at the chairs all set in a circle and a few of the typical attendees of the program chatting quietly. They glanced my way before smiling at me then continuing their conversations. I counted four of them in the room so far not including myself or counsellor Phoebe. She stood in the other room holding her clipboard as she, I can only assume, marked off my absence. I sat down in my own little bubble, pulling out my phone to wait for the session to begin.

       I was never one to talk to others in the program. I just sat and listened to their stories and only ever spoke when addressed. Aside from greeting others, saying hello and goodbye, I was probably one of the least talkative people in group therapy. That also meant I'd never opened up about myself as much as the others; some of them barely even remembered my name. I laughed it off to myself, scrolling through the pictures on my phone to entertain myself. As minutes passed, more adults entered the room and I put my phone away, crossing and rubbing my arms as Phoebe walked across the room to close the door. Altogether there were nine of us and honestly, we were all a family in a way. It had just been us the majority of the time, and for months now. We'd watched people come and go, we'd seen people on cloud nine then crash back down and I'd listened to some of the heaviest, heart-wrenching stories I'd ever heard. I guess that was the point of Alcoholics Anonymous, however, in a twisted way. Perhaps the more stories you hear the stronger the determination to not risk drinking yourself to death will eventually become. If you're not already suicidal, that is.

       Phoebe straightened her skirt and sat down, fiddling with the edge of her jacket. She placed her clipboard on the ground and clapped her hands together. "We were supposed to get somebody knew today, but it looks like they may not be coming," she said to herself, her face twisting into slight disappointment. I always enjoyed Phoebe's voice and how she spoke, as well as her overall presence. She always found a way to turn something around and make it feel good, or at least, less of a burden on somebody's shoulders. It sounded cliché, but she was such a beautiful person both inside and out. She was gentle, even in aggressive situations. She didn't need to yell in order to get your attention. After all she had done for her clients, she gained enough respect to have you turn your head towards her and stop everything and anything you were doing when she simply cleared her throat. She had curly blonde hair that just passed her shoulders and bounced above her chest when she walked. Her face was unreal, a living Barbie doll right in front of me whenever I watched her; a natural pale beauty. She had lovely blue eyes that seemed to glow, just like her smile. Even when she didn't look very happy, which was rare, she had a nice shine to her. Everybody listened carefully when she took a breath in to speak. "Well, good morning, anyway," she began. "As I know you're all aware, this program is about thinking of how we can cope, as well as crafting ideas to express ourselves. But I think it's always a good idea to encourage people to speak and release anything inside that they would like to talk about first. Why don't we go around the circle and ask each other how our weekends were?"

       Group therapy most definitely seemed more like a GSA meeting at a middle school with the school's guidance counsellors. To some people, the way Phoebe handled the program didn't feel mature enough for adults who were meant to be thirty to 59, but it surprisingly worked for all of us. Probably because not a lot of us were in our fifties or forties yet. For me personally, it made me feel better to be treated as I would be in high school, but that was just me and for my own reasons.

       I turned towards one of the women as she began to speak, only to be interrupted by the door being swung open with what felt to be no hesitance whatsoever. On the other side of the door was a man, maybe 5'7, dressed in all black. His hand still gripped the handle of the door and he paused, his eyes dancing around the room as if he was awaiting some sort of invitation to enter, even if he had already opened the door.

       "Are you the new attendee for this program?" Phoebe asked, pulling her clipboard back into her lap with enthusiasm.

       "I should hope so, bad first impressions are hard to recover from," the man answered in his low gravely voice. He furrowed his eyebrows at her like he was waiting for her to help solve his confusion.

       She stuttered a little, looking through her list. "A-are you Murdoc?"

       "That'd be me," he smirked and nodded, walking forward and shutting the door behind him. His Cuban heels tapped the floor loudly and he sat in one of the chairs, pulling his leather jacket off and carelessly placing it behind him.

       "Well, lucky for you, we only just started. Perhaps while we talk about our weekends, we can introduce ourselves to you," Phoebe offered, gesturing everybody to turn back to the woman previously talking. As she started over, I found myself looking back at Murdoc. Something about him fascinated me; like maybe I knew him, or we had crossed paths on the sidewalk and his face was still buried in the back of my mind somewhere, waiting to be dug up. I finally lost myself in a daydream, not realizing I was staring. His dark eyes, along with the rest of his bored expression skimmed across the room, absorbing his surroundings. Soon enough his eyes swept over mine and I immediately choked on my breath. His face said it all; green skin, raven black hair, one red eye and sharp jawline in need of a shave. He turned his attention back to whoever was talking but his eyes widened, quickly looking back in my direction. As soon as our eyes met, they were locked, and we each melted into our seats awkwardly. Murdoc hid his discomfort well, but I felt I had the right to say I knew when others felt secretly under attack. He might have looked unhappy to be there, but I couldn't have been more happy and relieved to find him. Right in front of me, I found the man who had saved my life.

       My green knight in shining armour.