Harry Styles Imagines and Preferences

"Come Here Love"

"Come here, love." He rasped, reaching his arm out for you. All you could focus on was the white bracelet on his wrist that presented his name, date of birth, and a few other details that only the hospital would recognise.

Seeing him in the stark white room, restricted to a hospital bed, was tough. Every time you looked at him you got the lump in your throat and your eyes would sting with tears.

You knew it was stupid because it wasn't anything life threatening. He'd just been stupid enough to drink a whole bottle of Vodka and give himself alcohol poisoning, but the situation just terrified you. Riding in the ambulance with him was the worst. Seeing the paramedics rush around him while you just clutched onto his hand... that was hard.

But once you were allowed into his room - only an hour after he'd passed out - he was waking up and making some stupid joke which failed to make you laugh.

He knew how worried you could get, so he knew that he'd literally put you in a position where you could've dropped dead from a heart attack. But he always stressed you out - so you weren't exactly surprised that he'd gotten himself in this situation.

After a moment, and a sharp inhale, you held his hand and forced yourself to finally look at him. His eyes were hooded, and he was pale, but his eyes were sparkling, and he was smiling. He was happy, yet a little nauseous Harry.

He guided you to the bed, getting you to sit beside him as he laced your fingers and brought your hand to his lips. He kissed the back of your hand and sighed.

"Sorry for scaring you." He said, pulling the biggest puppy dog eyes.

"Oh whatever Styles. Just don't be such an idiot next time." You smiled, making him laugh.