Fluffy Harry being supportive and sweet when you had a stressful day
the time you make it to the door of the apartment, you’re so flustered
and exhausted that it takes a good couple of minutes before you can get
the key into the lock and open the door. The moment you step inside, the
sweet scent of vanilla washes over you and floods your nostrils. You
smile at the comforting smell. It must be one of the gourmet candles
from the box set you’d bought for Harry a couple of weeks back, seeing
how he had a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the waxy things. You
close the door and kick off your shoes, and you only realize then how
sore your feet are, how much it hurts to even walk across the soft
carpet of your home. Doing your best to ignore it, you walk further into
the flat, past the kitchen and common room, and into the hallway where
your bedroom is located. You softly knock on the closed door. Silence.
You gently turn the door knob, and slowly push the door open.
in bed, his hair pushed back up out of the lenses of his eyeglasses,
headphones on his ears, and the light of his laptop illuminating his
face. He doesn’t seem to notice you’ve entered the room until you toss
your bag aside, walked to the side of the bed, and lay your back over
his legs, startling him. You can feel him jump, and his kneecap
accidentally hits the center of your back, sending a dull ache through
your body. You groan, and watch as he lifts his laptop. When he realizes
that no, no one’s broken in and attempted to murder him, and yes, it’s
just you, he relaxes.
“Jesus Christ, woman. You know that you
could’ve just-” He cuts himself off when he sees the pained grimace
that’s plastered onto your face.
“Hey, are you alright?” He asks,
concerned. He puts the laptop onto the beside drawer, and takes off his
glasses. You shrug, not answering his question, your hands coming up to
rub at your temples, trying to soothe the migraine that came about during
your commute home.
“Rough day?” The heavy sigh that comes out of
your mouth is telling enough. Harry gestures for you to scoot up next to
him in the bed, throwing the comforter over the both of you. Once
you’re settled, he hovers over you, one hand holding himself up and the
other gently combing through your hair. He’s so close you can smell his
cologne, the earthy lavender scent is not only on him, but on the sheets
as well. Paired with the lingering vanilla in the air from the candle,
you can feel your breathing start to slow, eyelids getting heavier by
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, breaking
you out of your trance. You decide he deserves to know what’s got you
so worked up, so you tell him about your overbearing boss (”Always
suspected he was a bit of a tyrant.“) and when you spilled coffee all
over your laptop and shorted out the battery (”I’ll get you a new
one.” “No, Harry, you don’t-” “Oh hush. PC or Mac?”)
listens as you recount the little occurrences throughout the day that
completely and utterly exhausted your patience and drained your energy.
You look up, and see the sympathetic smile that’s taken shape on his
face. His hand hasn’t stopped running through your hair, and he can tell
he’s about to lose you to Dreamland. He kisses you, and your eyes
flutter shut. You can hear his soft voice as you begin to drift off.
get some rest, love. Tomorrow is a new day. I know you can do it.” You
feel him kiss your cheek and lay next to you, arm winding around your
waist to bring you closer, your head falling against his chest. His
heartbeat lulls you to sleep, and you feel warm and content. Relaxed,
Bad days will always come around. Harry just happens to make them a bit