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Discipline

Summary: Agent Harry cherishes discipline, but he doesn’t like the fact that Y/n has been lacking it.

Trope: Agent Harry

WC: 6.8k

Warnings: MEAN Harry, shouting at Y/n, Angst, mention of blood tests and deficiencies, NO SMUT.

Agent Harry Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Choosing to become an agent would either be the worst decision in your life or the best. In Harry’s case, it was the latter.

He was born a leader—at least according to his mother. He had the household controlled from a young age, something that was perceived as adorable by adults.

But behind all his antics and “boss orders”, was a man eager to assert dominance starting from his early years.

His behavior was a replica of a leader or a man in power. His mother didn’t oppose his personality, perhaps a part of her thought it was just a phase, while the other was okay with it.

Little did she know that this stubborn young man would grow up to become one of London’s best secret agents.

As some would say—he didn’t choose the path, the path chose him. A fresh High School graduate eager to take a bite from what the world was offering him with little to no guidance.

Instead, he poured all of his focus on training like a man ready to enroll in the military—something that his mom disapproved of.

How could she allow her son, her boy to sign himself up like that?

Underneath his rough exterior and judgmental persona, his mother’s beliefs were dear to him. To this day, no one has deemed himself as important as her, and perhaps no one ever will.

So, after her sudden death when he was merely twenty—he allowed himself to get lost in grief, to go against the orders he created, and betray his strictness. His body dragged him around from one place to another, asking for fights, a punch here and there to transfer his emotional maim to a physical one.

The last time he would do that was also his first chance at a new beginning. Drunk and out of his mind at a local bar, the whiskey still fresh on his tongue with rage bubbling in his core.

Just like every previous time, he ensued a fight for no reason. But this time, it was different because he had an admirer and more of a stalker.

Ezra Nakrosa, the director of the London Intelligence Agency. A man whose reputation preceded him and Harry’s mentor for the upcoming years.

He wasn’t actively pursuing him, but he kept his eyes on him after he managed to take down three men with alcohol in his system.

He watched him drink one glass after the other and scoffed to himself when he caused a fight. The last thing he expected was for Harry to outpower them all.

Since then, he watched him from afar, studied his file, and was even more interested upon finding out that he had no family.

The agency always preferred recruiting agents with little to no loved ones, for many obvious reasons and Ezra felt like he hit the jackpot.

That night, he watched Harry intently observing his moves and his body language, before approaching him after the bar owner kicked him out.

Again—he didn’t choose this path, it chose him.

Ezra didn’t even have the chance to speak because Harry was quick to confess that ‘he wasn’t dumb to not notice men stalking him’.

His agents were the best, so how did a man from a small town detect undercover agents?

He knew in that moment that he would work hard to recruit Harry, and ironically he didn’t have to ask twice.

From that day onwards, Harry climbed the ladder to the top with the help of his mentor. He found a purpose to live again, somewhere to cage his rage, and use his strategic thinking skills paired with his physical strength.

While most agents took time to adapt to the new environment, and around two years to be qualified as a field agent—Harry got his first mission in one year.

Not because Ezra secretly favored him compared to others, but because he managed to prove himself worthy, making the board demand his transfer to the field.

He was aware of the progress he made and with every milestone, his ego inflated a bit (and his biceps too).

He turned thirty-one recently, marking eleven years of being a skilled agent. Ezra’s retirement is approaching by the second and everyone is whispering rumors about Harry becoming the next chief director.

It’s a decision that hasn’t been discussed yet, but Ezra is aware that Harry will approve instantly because no one can do it like him. Besides, the agency is his entire life.

He has no loved ones and he dedicated years and hard work to the agency. He knows nothing else.

What could make Harry Styles so busy other than his position as a secret agent?

The agency is preparing for a major attack on a drug cartel, and Harry has been training everyone ruthlessly. The plan he devised was strategic and well-planned from A to Z. It can’t go wrong.

But for today, he allowed them some rest after some bargaining with the other trainer. So instead, he directed his focus towards other agents.

According to him, time can’t be wasted.

The room was filled with agents in every corner. Most of them were beginners while the others trained for their upcoming missions that weren’t as important as the drug cartel attack.

The smell of sweat and tiredness reeked from their exhausted but energetic bodies. Harry focused on strengthening their stamina because a weak one won’t benefit them in the field.

“Faster! A child can do better than you.” His voice echoed in the tight space as he stood in front of the lined agents on the ground.

Even his position whether he was sitting or standing declared his authority and sense of power. His arms were folded against his chest, showcasing his pumped biceps and his facial expression did not harbor any warm smile or softness. No one dared to look him in the eyes anyway.

“With a stamina like that, you’d be dead already!” His loud shouting wasn’t helping the poor beginner agents who cursed their luck that landed Harry as their trainer for the day.

Their current exercise was pushups. A basic one but effective in Harry’s opinion, but their exhaustion makes sense when he wants them to do 200 consecutive pushups without resting, and with sudden planks in between that don’t stop until he says so.

Harry may be a bit biased, but he fully believes that the other trainer (whom he doesn’t like) is being too soft with the newcomers. Something that shouldn’t happen.

He glanced at their worn-out faces and rolled his eyes before dismissing them.

“I’ll be discussing your weaknesses with Agent Ian. Go eat and rest but know that you shouldn’t be called agents for this shitshow.” He spat his criticism mercilessly uncaring for their feelings.

He watched them stumble out of the room, some of them limping as he remained in his place with the same posture of a leader.

Once everyone was out, his gaze drifted to the punching bag in the corner. He felt like it was calling for him despite the four-hour workout he did in the morning.

His thirst for combat or any type of martial arts could not be tamed. But upon gazing a bit too much at the punching bag, he remembered something he was supposed to do.

His legs immediately take action before his brain as he flees out of the room heading towards a private floor that is restricted for regular agents.

Only Harry, Ezra, high-ranking agents, and members of the board can access this floor. But for an unknown reason, Harry found himself giving Y/n access to his private gym.

There are many layers to things that shouldn’t happen but it seemed as if Harry didn’t care or was perhaps unaware of his actions.

Agents like Y/n shouldn’t be on this floor, but they also can’t be trained privately.

The first restriction is more important, but the second is rather for caution—to maintain a professional relationship between regular agents and higher rank ones.

All agents were trained in groups and if they needed to work on certain issues, their trainer would give them advice but not train them individually.

Harry doesn’t always train Y/n’s group but as of late, he noticed her lack of discipline and physical stamina when it comes to combat.

He knew that she wasn’t that weak which meant that she had been slacking off with training and that pissed him off.

So he ordered her to wait for him in room 309 at exactly two in the afternoon. His boots left an echo as he walked through the corridor with a confident stride. Yet, something kept poking at his brain allowing anxiety to settle in his stomach. He wasn’t entirely comfortable.

He pushed the door to the gym open, reaching his hand for the light switch. It was somewhat dim, obscuring Y/n from his view. She sat on the ground in a corner with her head tilted upwards. In the few seconds between moving her head and meeting his sharp eyes, he got to catch a glimpse of her in a calm state, almost unobserved. Even then, she looked obscenely beautiful.

“You’re late.” She gestured to the clock on the wall in a sarcastic tone that indicated his five-minute delay.

“No. You’re early.” He tried to hide his smirk before failing upon seeing the frown on her face.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and supported her body using her hands to get up—something that caught Harry’s eye.

“You’re an agent. You shouldn’t act like a 70-year-old woman at a retirement home.” His tone could cut a vein open, but at this point, she kind of got familiar with it.

She avoided responding or looking him in the eye because one answer would drag the other and he would end up questioning her on her performance—and frankly, she doesn’t have a proper response for that.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t take it any further and instructs her to warm up for fifteen minutes in a corner.

She does so with exhaustion traveling through her veins. The only thing that helps her through it is the sight of his athletic body.

His shirt is still on but it perfectly outlines his biceps that he wraps around her body to manhandle her during sex—

She quickly shakes her head to rid herself of the sinful thoughts she’s having. But again—would it be so bad to crave something that happens every other day?

Their steamy encounters keep increasing behind closed doors, and he puts on his boss’s facade once they’re out. She’s not sure if she likes that or not, but either way, she doesn’t have a say in it.

Their relationship is strictly physical.

Even if her lips begged her to find his at random moments throughout the day, even if their naked bodies molded after sex, and even if she was awake when he kissed her temple.

“Okay, that’s it.” The expression on his face held ambiguous cues, but he refrained from saying anything.

She caught her breath as shame creeped up her face planting a rosy color on her cheeks. She walked over to him with her head hung low, and nails digging into her palm.

“I need you to do some boxing because your game is getting weak.” He sighed as disappointment reeked from his words, causing more redness to settle on her face.

He helped her wear the boxing gloves as he intently glanced at her worried expression.

The first ten minutes were okay. Some form of another warm-up in Harry’s opinion. He has seen her train many times before and by now she would have the bag swinging left and right.

It made him think back to her friendly match with another agent and how she got a hit to the stomach—if he hadn’t stopped it, other areas would have been affected as well.

Not to mention her stamina in recent training—Harry simply could not let her lose her strength out of everyone else.

“Focus harder.” His posture was a warning—an indication of his bubbling anger. His arms were crossed, giving more room for his biceps to rightfully appear.

His legs were parted as he stood motionless, simply burning Y/n’s shame with his piercing gaze. She could feel it. How he had something going on in his mind, aching to roll off his lips.

His jaw ticked while his eyes followed the movement of her hands in sync with the boxing bag. It was a disaster.

“You know who gives this fucking performance? A beginner.” His tone began to increase gradually.

She swallowed down her throat, trying to ignore his intimidating posture and body that could be warm at times and cold at others.

It wasn’t odd for him to be harsh and strict during training—except that he never spoke to her like this. Not even when she was snarky and replied at things that had nothing to do with her.

Superior agents were not allowed to train any lower-ranking agent privately, and she wasn’t an idiot to dismiss that rule. But why was he acting this way?

She punched harder gathering all the strength left in her muscles, for the bag to only move a bit farther. She almost lost her footing but kept going for him. She never wanted to disappoint him.

“A fucking shitshow.” He mumbled quietly under his breath—but she heard it, and it went straight through her heart like an arrow.

“For the love of god, you’re a skilled agent so act like one!” His shouting echoed through the room making her stop and glance at him.

He was visibly furious with a vein bulging from his neck. His hand was trembling and his breaths were laboured. She hasn’t seen him in such a state before, and she regrets that she just did.

No one wanted to be on the receiving end of his anger but especially not her.

Besides, underneath all the tough facade that she puts on and her bold replies, she’s very sensitive and completely vulnerable when it comes to him.

Getting shouted at and taking orders from superiors was just another day for agents, but Harry? She was fucking falling for him.

She sighed, gathering her pride before continuing to punch the bag, ignoring the signs her body was giving her to stop.

He observed her for a minute or two, with his eyes darting between her hands and the sway of the bag. He slid down to her legs, and how they were positioned and stationed.

He took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and shook his head in frustration. Did everything she learn evaporate in thin air?

“If you were in the field right now, you’d be fucking dead.” He began walking around her, throwing one sharp comment after the other.

“Are your legs paralyzed? Are you supposed to stand like that when fighting?! His shouting kept getting louder, pushing at her tear duct to open.

He suddenly punched the bag with his bare hand causing it to swing way farther, almost hitting the mirror facing them.

“Is it that hard, Y/n?” He gestured to the swinging bag.

“Where is your strength!” He was fucking fuming.

What would he do if she went on a mission with such weakness? What would happen to her if he wasn’t there?

He was too occupied with his fears to notice her frantically taking the gloves off with tears streaming down her extremely rosy cheeks.

“Y/n…” He tried to speak but her sobbing was louder than his words.

It was just another training. He has been way harsher before but this was his first time seeing her cry because of him. It was more painful than a bullet.

“J-just stop!” Her words were barely coherent with how hard she was crying. He stood in front of her unable to do or say anything.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was never supposed to cry because of him and he shouldn’t have raised his voice this way.

The boxing gloves hit the ground as she hiccuped from sobbing. She picked up her bag from the ground and turned around to face him with red eyes and a broken expression.

“Leave me alone.” The loud thud of the door closing made him flinch. He still hasn’t moved an inch trying to grasp what he had done.

Being mean and strict was all he ever knew. He never toned it down for anyone and it didn’t reflect how he felt towards them. When it came to Y/n, it was more out of protection and fear of something happening to her. He wanted her to defend herself properly and be a skilled agent. He didn’t understand why she was slacking with training like that, missing some sessions, or letting other agents beat her.

She was an amazing agent and managed to reach the top ranks in a short period, just like him.

He lost himself while training her, but he shouldn’t have assumed that she could take all of that as a motivation. There’s no such thing as being gentle in the agency, and Y/n is one tough woman. Still, he didn’t speak to her like that before. If anything, she was the only agent he praised in his ten years of service.

Did that have to do with their secret meet-ups?

Whatever the reason, he fucked up. If someone made her cry, he wouldn’t let them see the light of the day again, and no he doesn’t know why he feels the need to protect her from everything or why he isn’t running after her this instant.

He’s a pretty shit communicator—that’s the only thing he knows.

“Harry.” Ezra snapped him out of his thoughts. He was standing in the doorway with a worried expression.

“In my office. Now.”

Harry was all too familiar with this office. He has been here a million times for the good and bad. The leather sofa he’s resting on is somewhat his signature sofa, no one else uses it but him.

His legs are spread and his left knee is bouncing as his fingers tap repeatedly on the edge of the sofa. His expression is serious as always and holds no room for bargaining. If you get close enough, you’d hear his blood boiling in his veins and the echo of Y/n’s cries repeating in his head.

“Harry.” Ezra cleared his throat, letting out an exhale before clasping his hands together.

He didn’t need to wait for Harry to turn around and acknowledge him, he had his body language memorized by heart. He instantly caught on and noticed his agitation and stress—something that he doesn’t exhibit regularly.

“I will not question you as to why an agent like Y/n had access to this restricted floor.” Ezra trusted her but if it were a different agent, he could not let it slide easily.

“What I will ask is—why did she run from here crying?” He wasn’t born yesterday. Harry’s bias toward her and his extra attention was easy to catch, especially when he had known him for a long period.

His question was met with silence and the tightening of Harry’s jaw. He kept observing him shamelessly wondering when was the last time he showed such distress over another human being.

“At least tell me why you were training her privately. You have never done that nor should you, but what’s so simple—“

“She’s getting weaker!” Harry slammed his hand on the mahogany desk, catching Ezra off guard and spilling some of his coffee.

“Low stamina and endurance, weak punches, wrong posture, and allowing others to win in matches.” His nostrils flared while his hand trembled from the pent-up anger. The tick of his jaw was unsettling and his brows furrowed with great agitation.

Ezra remained calm partly because he was familiar with Harry’s outbursts, but also because he was shocked by his response.

It would be hard to recall a decade of knowing someone, but if he’s not mistaken, Ezra has never witnessed Harry giving two fucks about someone other than his late mother, let alone an agent.

But damn it if it didn’t make sense.

“So what? Many agents slack sometimes.”

“Well, she’s not any agent. She’s smart, strong, and a skilled agent. Have you thought about what would happen to her in the field?!” His body language was less tense, but his defense grew stronger giving Ezra the final piece of the puzzle.

As the chief director of the agency, he’s slightly disappointed by Harry’s lack of professionalism, but as his mentor and nonbiological father figure, he’s happy for him.

He’s on the road to finding love and caring for someone else is a promising step to de-freeze his cold heart.

Ezra didn’t convey any form of emotion and sported a poker face. Harry looked as if he was still gathering evidence in his mind while simultaneously waiting for Ezra to say something.

“A while ago, Y/n asked for my help.” Harry’s expression changed completely.

“Wha—“

“Patience Son.” He warned, gesturing for him to relax a bit—which he did reluctantly.

“She wasn’t feeling well and told me that she wanted to get some tests done.” The words rolled off his lips smoothly as if he wasn’t casually telling him that something was wrong with her. If it weren’t for Ezra, Harry would be halfway through the door right now.

“The only obstacle was you.”

“Me?” Harry’s voice was rather timid this time—another surprise for Ezra.

“Yes. If she asked for the agency’s doctor to perform them, then you would have known one way or another. The reason she avoided telling you remained unknown to me—but I did help her to get them done.” Harry’s mouth went dry and he felt his vision getting blurry.

Y/n was not feeling fine, and he thought she was slacking.

He was frozen in his place, stuck to the sofa trying to comprehend what his mentor just said. His chest tightened and his heartbeats increased gradually.

“I—“

“The tests came back and the doctor I contacted said that it’s mild anemia. Nothing too scary, it’s treatable.” Ezra stopped right there after noticing the change of color on Harry’s face. He looked like he was about to faint.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He immediately passed him a water bottle and watched him take a few sips with furrowed brows.

What is up with this boy, Ezra thought.

“Do you need food—“

“She doesn’t have a history of anemia, where the fuck did it come from?” He returned to his normal angry self by posing more questions.

“The doctor said that mild anemia can develop suddenly—due to lifestyle practices of course but Harry it’s manageable.“ He could no longer tell his body language. Was he angry? sad? overwhelmed?

Harry stared at the wall, avoiding eye contact but continued his knee bouncing. He unconsciously began cracking his knuckles as Ezra’s presence was erased from his mind.

Only Y/n occupied his thoughts.

His little minx.

She was sick, refused to inform him and all he did was make it worse. His nails dug into the leather sofa, almost tearing off a piece with how hard he pressed.

He was a fucking idiot for not noticing her cues. What kind of sick bastard was he?

“Harry!” Ezra stood in front of him, snapping his fingers to coax him back from his dissociation.

He had a file in his hand that he threw in Harry’s lap. “These are her tests. Take them and fix what you have done son. I know that you hate apologizing—but sometimes it’s what you should do with certain people like Y/n.”

Harry was up on his feet in seconds heading towards the door with the file in his hand.

“And Harry?”

He waited for him to turn around before continuing.

“I know nothing about this.” A hint of a smile was painted across his face with some mischief.

Y/n was curled up on her couch under her fuzzy blanket with a half-eaten chocolate bar next to her. Her tears barely dried before another wave came through upon remembering what unfolded a few hours ago.

She glanced to the other side of the room where her beloved (and only) companion was staring.

“He’s a meanie TimTim.” She wiped her tears using her sleeves as her sniffling increased.

Unfortunately, her companion cannot comfort her verbally. TimTim is a penguin plushie that has been with her through everything. The nature of her job prevented her from adopting a pet—something that she wanted so badly. Her constant absence did not make her qualified to look after a small creature, but TimTim sufficed.

“…but he has a good dick… and a good heart sometimes.” She rolled her eyes at her stupidness. No matter how badly someone hurt her, she’d always find an excuse to justify their actions.

Her recent argument with Harry had many layers to it. To begin with, he wasn’t exactly a love-dovie type of person. His attitude toward her was slightly less bitchy compared to other agents—but she also drove him nuts by throwing back sassy replies and remarks.

He was the most stubborn and cold-blooded man she had ever met, not because he liked to do it for fun or out of sadist tendencies—it was just his character.

Discipline, Respect, Loyalty. Those were his most sacred traits. Most agents nowadays were weak according to him, so he found himself resorting to tougher training and a harsher approach.

Her eyes didn’t swell with tears because of his sharp words and anger. Frankly, she knew how he could turn into someone else during training, and rightfully so.

But validation from him mattered. If she placed her biased feelings aside, she would find that he was her favorite superior. He’s a talented agent with the right principles and morals. She looked up to him.

She never wanted to disappoint him, but she managed to.

The more she thought about it, the more tears flowed out of her tear duct. The fury and frustration that he expressed pained her, it was so different from his usual smirks that were followed by praises.

When she could no longer handle his disappointment, she broke down revealing all the ache that she had been carrying.

Letting him down was never on her agenda, but neither was getting sick. She began noticing her decrease in performance a while ago, along with fainting twice. She dismissed it thinking that she just needed more sleep or perhaps more days off.

But when the symptoms persisted, she knew something was off. Telling Harry was not an option, mostly because she didn’t know how he would react but it also felt like something that must be kept a secret from him, so she resorted to Ezra.

He hasn’t replied but she spotted him from her peripheral vision upon leaving earlier today, and her emotions were all over the place to give two fucks, which explains why she came to her apartment.

Usually field agents like her sleep at the agency and dedicate their time to the secret service. She was one among many who became orphans at a young age, and this made it easier for the agency to make them stay there instead of in apartments.

No loved ones always meant a safer life for people like them.

Still, Y/n liked the idea of having a designated space for her. If she was destined to be lonely, she might as well learn to enjoy it.

So despite not being allowed to leave without prior notice, she immediately found herself in her cozy flat munching on chocolate and ranting to TimTim as she hiccuped and sniffled repeatedly.

What confused her even more was his expression of regret upon seeing her cry. She was too upset to register it, but now that she let everything out and recalled what went down, she was certain that it wasn’t something usual of him.

His entire demeanour switched and he was confused whether to step forward or backward as he softly whispered her name.

Did he act the same way with other agents? Fuck no.

But does that mean that he regretted what he had done?

Maybe his eyes that tried to decode her feelings exposed him, or his hand that unconsciously moved forward towards her body—

Y/n covered her face with her hands and groaned loudly as if her thoughts would stop colliding. Everything was puzzling her more and more. Was he disappointed or not?

The loud banging on her door pulled her out of her tangled thoughts and vulnerable character.

She certainly wasn’t around enough to become besties with her neighbors or have friends to pop in for girls’ night.

Perhaps the agency sent someone to get her, but how would they know that she came here? Maybe they just tried their luck—

The banging got louder as if it was a warning. Whoever was outside, planned to come inside no matter what.

Y/n immediately switched into agent mode and grabbed a gun from the nearest drawer. Better be safe than sorry.

She walked slowly to the door with careful footsteps and high heartbeats. The door didn’t have a hole in it, so she’d either have to ask who was outside—or open the door.

But her guest beat her to it.

“Y/n…open the door.” Harry’s voice made her take a step back. The fresh tear stains on her cheeks burned upon hearing his words. What brought him here?

Hell, a serial killer would’ve been less surprising.

“No.” She lowered her gun and relaxed her shoulders a bit. More tears threatened to fall as she slowly turned around toward the couch.

He hasn’t been to her apartment before which means that he had some fun with her record. He’s most likely here to drive her back to the agency where she’ll receive a warning for leaving—what else could be here for?

“Y/n… I can pick the lock, break the door, or you can just let me in.” He huffed in annoyance at her stubbornness. She might as well turn on the TV to ignore him.

They both knew that he wasn’t joking. He could break in if he wanted, but Y/n was too busy trying to understand why he came here.

“Listen, I know about the lab tests.” Y/n’s eyes widened in shock. Damn it, Ezra.

So this is what he’s here for. A double warning. One for leaving and one for not informing him of her sickness.

She was near the door in two seconds, unlocking it and facing him despite her messy look and tired teary face.

“Since when—“ She meant to stay focused. She really did. But as usual, he found a way to make her forget about her anger.

He was dressed normally. It was odd to see him in something outside of his work attire, even if it was a simple hoodie with matching joggers. He looked cozy.

But what made her jaw drop was the fresh bouquet of yellow tulips in his right hand.

He got her flowers?

He cleared his throat making her realize how shocked she looked, and he didn’t blame her. She was the first woman he bought flowers for, ever.

The sight of her swollen eye and dried tears made him tighten his grip on the bouquet. A sight that will never leave his mind.

“I—“ She tried to let out something but she failed and moved aside for him to enter.

“Why the tulips?” She stood with her arms crossed trying to decipher what was going on.

“You like them.” His answer was short and clear but it held more meaning. She doesn’t recall letting him in on her favorite flowers—

“I overheard you telling Tania.” He shrugged as if it was not a big deal to eavesdrop on other agents and then memorize Y/n’s favorite flower.

He scanned the apartment with his eyes carefully—a habit of his for safety. It was more out of curiosity as if it would whisper to him secrets about Y/n.

“Why are you here?” Her voice seemed timid and broken.

He ignored her query and continued scanning his surroundings for a hint of her personality.

“Chocolate…?” He furrowed his eyebrows at her but it was hard to focus or look her in the eye without noticing her puffy face.

“Here to lecture me?” She scoffed, walking past him to the safe corner she made on her couch.

She covered herself and returned to her previous position as if her superior at work was not standing before her—with her favorite flowers still in his hand.

What the fuck is up with the flowers, she thought.

“If you want to stand there and give your lecture, then be my guest.” She mumbled coldly without blinking once. The coziness from the soft blanket slowly came back, but Harry’s cold stare fought it.

The last thing she expected him to do was sit next to her and rest his hands on her legs. She had a billion questions swimming in her head and she bit her tongue to not ramble and ask what the fuck was going on.

“I’m Sorry.” It rolled off his lips so easily, but her ears couldn’t process it. She stayed silent and did not move an inch as she stared ahead, ignoring his warm touch.

If she can’t understand anything, she’ll just listen and observe cluelessly.

“I had no idea that you were sick— I wouldn’t have pushed you this much if I did. But still, that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t push you at all.” His words were direct and his voice was unshakeable. He was fully confident of what he was saying, with no shame.

She swallowed down her throat, fighting the tears threatening to fall down her face.

“I spoke with Ezra…and he gave me your tests. A doctor reviewed them and said it’s mild anemia.” The tears fell silently on her face disobeying her. Harry stopped speaking as if he felt her sadness.

“Could you get up a bit? Hmm?” He rubbed soothing circles on her skin and waited patiently for her answer.

She slowly lifted herself despite her reluctance, but still refused to look him in the eye. He can see her tears falling from the side and it makes him want to punch a wall.

“Attagirl. Look at me please.” He stroked her cheek softly with his knuckles.

She slowly turned her face in his direction as his hand reached out to wipe her tears.

“You’re pretty when you cry, but I don’t like it.” He whispered with his voice being barely audible. His eyes were fixated on her gorgeous lashes that she batted at him. How did she exist like an angel so casually?

“Yeah well, it was you who made me cry.” She mumbled like a child, crossing her arms at her chest.

“I’m a dickhead.” He laughed at the cute face she made with his hand still wiping any new tears that fall.

He’ll be damned if he’ll let her cry again.

“I know.” She rolled her eyes and reached out for the file next to him.

“Y/n—“

“What did the doctor say?”

“Like I said, it’s mild anemia. But nothing too dangerous. I got you the supplement he prescribed.” Harry gestured to the bottle placed near the flowers.

“And you missy will have your diet monitored by me. I want you eating iron-filled foods—“ He barely completely his sentence before Y/n was groaning loudly and slumping backward on the couch.

“Get up. Don’t make me tickle you.” He warned and she lifted herself within seconds with a pout on her face.

“Now the question is… why were you ignoring your needs?” It was the only question that she wished he wouldn’t ask. But nothing can stop him from knowing what he wants.

She stared at TimTim despite his piercing gaze on her hoping that the plushie could rescue her somehow.

“I wasn’t ignoring them, I guess I simply didn’t realize.” She swallowed down her throat, avoiding eye contact.

“You didn’t want to tell me.” He pressed further. His tone was soft but impatient—he’d beg on his knees if he had to.

“I—“ She focused her gaze on TimTim again causing Harry to turn his head around for a look.

“A plushie?” He scrunched his face in shock.

“So?” She raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms against her chest. She seemed ready to punch him if he made fun of her.

“No comment.” He raised his hands in the air letting out a soft smile. It was a rare sight, but a beautiful one. She liked seeing him smile as his dimples popped up on his soft face.

“Don’t run away from the question though.” He whispered with his eyes begging her for the truth.

Her tears had dried but her face was still puffy and her eyes were swollen. There weren’t any tears to wipe but that didn’t stop Harry from reaching out his hand to caress her cheeks.

His warm touch was weird to decipher, it seemed able to burn her at times, just like his words.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” She blurted out suddenly before inhaling sharply in shock as if her mouth betrayed her without permission.

Harry’s facial expression shifted from softness to something she couldn’t decode—but the pain was recognizable.

She lowered her gaze as her cheeks became flushed with embarrassment. His hand slowly inched away from her skin, feeling unworthy of touching her.

“You could never disappoint me.” He whispered it like a promise. A sacred one. He couldn’t believe that she would think like that even for a second.

He was so fucking proud of her. He pushed her earlier today but he was lenient with her before. A bullet wound would’ve been better to take than her confession.

She mattered to him whether he was aware or not but the clutch in his chest must’ve given him a hint.

“Look at me, please.”

She lifted her chin reluctantly and looked him in the eye. This was her first time seeing him this vulnerable—it was so easy to read his eyes.

“There’s no way you could disappoint me. Ever.”

“I slacked in performance—“

“Fuck that. You need rest.” He shook his head, denying all the false thoughts she had.

“What I did earlier was a mistake and it won’t happen again.” It was more of a vow than a promise.

Silence filled the apartment after his last sentence. They shamelessly stared into each other’s eyes despite the intrusion of TimTim. Harry knew that if he didn’t do or say something—he’d have his lips on her in mere seconds.

“I should get going.” He cleared his throat and stood up.

Y/n was still going through a rollercoaster of emotions. She ached to ask him something back, it was fair to do so. But instead, she decided to let him go.

“Also…” He fetched a paper out of his hand and left it on her couch. “You’re allowed a week of rest. That means no training, no gym, and you can stay here.”

Surprise was prominent on her face. She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

“No objections. I need you to rest.” She’s not sure if this was allowed—if the board knew about the leave he granted her. It seemed to pile up amongst many of the other things she wondered about.

“Okay…” She balanced herself on her feet and walked him to the door.

“This doesn’t mean I’m done being mad at you.” She mumbled sarcastically.

“Good. I like it when you’re bratty.” He winked at her as he opened the door.

She watched him walk away before turning around and looking at her.

“Oh and Y/n? I’ll have a customized meal plan delivered to your house. For fuck’s sake don’t live off chocolate.”

“But—“

“No buts and take your supplement.” His voice echoed in the building as he descended the stairs.

She stood motionless at the door with her arms folded against her chest as she scrunched her face and rolled her eyes at his bossy orders.

“Don’t roll your eyes missy.” His voice was distant signaling that he reached the ground floor. She slammed the door shut in response, unable to contain the smile that crept up on her face.

She didn’t lie to TimTim—he does have a good heart sometimes, but discipline remains cherished.

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