4.6k. otherwise known as "the break up fic" :(
tell me what you think of this fic! as always, happy reading! x
***
It's at 8pm, when Y/N's washing the dishes, that he brings his plate to the sink. She gives him a nod as she takes the dish from him and places it in the sink as she focuses on her place first. He turns around to head upstairs, but his jaw locks and suddenly he inhales sharply, looking over his shoulder and pushing out in one quick breath: "I want to talk about something. Can you come upstairs?"
Now, she can't say she isn't expecting this, but she certainly didn't think it would be flung at her after a lovely late dinner and right before the bath could even begin to call her name. To his confession, she gives him the same nod that she'd given him upon receiving his plate. "Okay," she says in an even voice. "I'll be up in a bit."
"Okay, thanks."
It's no secret; they're going to break up. More specifically, he's going to do it. She's been preparing for it, but that doesn't mean this is any easier than it probably should be. She's aware that she will spend the next few days, possibly even weeks, packing her things and returning to her old apartment. She knows all of this and what's about to happen, and she's meditated on it more times than she can count, taken anxiety pills, and even had a consultation with a second therapist about it, yet the fear that settles in the pit of her stomach goes unmatched. No dosage of a powerful drug or any amount of bribing will get her out of this one, and perhaps ripping off the band-aid is the best thing she can have done to her poor, raw skin, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. Just get it over with. As she puts the clean plates away, she decides that this is for the best.
She fixes her hair into a ponytail so Harry can look into her deep brown eyes when he stomps all over her heart.
When she reaches their room and sees him sitting on the edge of the bed nervously toying with his rings, she vows to herself that she won't be crying tonight. She needs to fool at least one of them.
He's removing his watch when she finally enters and then he pats the place next to him. "Come here."
Why didn't he attach a pet name with that sentence? She sits beside him wordlessly and witnesses his toss his watch to the middle of their bed.
"You wanted to talk about something," Y/N says. It's not really a question or a statement. It almost sounds like an accusation.
"Yes."
"Well, I'm listening."
Harry attempts to gather the words in his head, silently mulling it over.
"Well, it's something I've been thinking about."
She picks at her nails. "Right."
"And I feel like I shouldn't keep it to myself anymore."
She rips a hangnail, allowing the pain to spread through her digit. "Okay."
"Could you at least look at me?" There's an underlying frustrated tremor to his voice, and when she glances at him, apprehension scrawled over her face, that same frustration she'd detected is on his. His mouth is cast downward, frown on his features as if it belongs there, but she knows that there was a time when it wasn't ever there. She doesn't know when it arrived and decided to make his face it's home, but if she could go back to that day, she would have removed it instantly. She wants to push his brows apart with her finger, and her hand twitches, yet by some miracle she holds herself back. How she does that, even she's not aware of.
"Thank you," he says, shoulders tense. And then he goes quiet. Ironically, he glances down at his lap after that, studying the threads of his worn out faded blue jeans.
