Your Harry Fantasies.

“Dad? Dad, Rose has been in the bathroom for a while and I need to go in to get ready for school,” Darcy grunted through a yawn, stepping foot into the kitchen and wandering over towards the counter island in the middle of the kitchen that was filled with breakfast goodies baked by Harry that morning. Bowls filled with cut up from, courtesy of yourself once you’d roused from your sleep, varying from strawberries and mango pieces to lemon segments cut up evenly and ready to be squeezed onto the pancakes towering in the middle, giving the kitchen a certain aroma that had bellies rumbling from one waft. “All my make-up is in there so it’s not like I can do it in the toilet down here.”

“I’m sure she’s getting ready herself,” Harry stated, reaching for a plate to fill up himself, reaching for the top pancake and dropping it to his plate, “if she’s not out after breakfast, I’ll go and check on her and see if she’s feeling okay.”
“She didn’t complain about being ill last night,” you reasoned, reaching for the spoon stuck into the bowl of strawberries, “I’m sure she’s just showering and getting herself ready before she comes down to eat.”
“I need to get in there soon though,” Darcy groaned, shuffling on her bare feet as Harry passed her an empty plate, read to pile up with breakfast food to fill her stomach up for the hours running up to lunchtime, “it takes me 10 minutes and I’ve got half an hour before school starts. Georgie is coming through at twenty past eight and that’s in twenty minutes. I can’t be late again.”
“You’ll get in there, Rebel. For goodness sake, it wouldn’t hurt you to go to school without make-up for one day,” Harry sighed teasingly, his fingers picking up a banana from the fruit bowl, “you don’t need it. You’ve been sent home for wearing too much before, so, we don’t need a repeat of that. The headteacher of the school is already close to giving you a warning.”
The house phone was no foreign object to the constant phonecalls and yourself and Harry were no strangers in being called into school because of the disruptive actions and activities she’d played out that went against the school rules put in place for the academy to remain in tip top condition against OFSTED and school communities.
“I don’t understand why,” the 15-year old muttered beneath her breath, “school is about education. I don’t know why they’re so pissed about us wearing make-up and having skirts that are short.”
She’d been told off for wearing a skirt that was too short, for sporting a jumper that had holes littered around the sleeves, and make-up that went over the average amount said to be applied for girls.
“Language,” you grumbled, with a smirk toying on your lips.
“It’s not like we’re giving the male teachers boners or anything,” you heard Darcy say as she turned on her heels and sat at the kitchen table with a plate of pancakes in front of her, a soft but breathy laugh leaving your lips as Harry gave you a widened-eyed look with raised eyebrows, “I’m serious though. They’re skirts. It’s the fashion in school to have them pass up and over the kneecap. We’re not nuns, for god sake.”
“You, Rebel, are getting a bit insubordinate, aren’t you?” Harry wondered, his own feet taking him over to the table, where he cleared the newspaper and a couple of piles of folded and fresh from the tumble dryer laundry to make a clear space to sit at.
“I honestly can’t wait to leave school at the end of this year, dad. It’s a shithole,” Darcy grunted, as Harry took the seat beside her, earning a look of sternness as the words rolled from her lips; yes he let the odd curse leave his mouth subconsciously, but he found it vulgar to leave the words of his young teenage daughter, “sorry.”
“Eat your breakfast,” Harry chuckle, “I’ll go and check on Rose in a couple of minutes. Let me just have a bit to eat,” he finished, reaching for his knife and fork and proceeded to cut up the banana-dotted pancake sitting in front of him, a dollop of Nutella sitting at the edge and waiting to be spread across the surface of the pancake on his fork.
A comfortable silence drowned the three of you, with the only consistent sounds filling the room being the kettle whistling behind you as the water boiled inside and the scraping of Harry’s knife and fork as he began cutting his pancake up into pieces, the sounds of swallowing and gulping coming into earshot often before it was replaced with the ear-piercing scrape on the china.
“Do you want some tea?” You hummed, as the kettle came to a stop, “hot chocolate? Maybe a coffee?”
“I’m alright thanks, mum.”
“I’ll have a cuppa,” Harry muttered through a mouthful, earning a distasteful and scrunched look upon your features that formed a smile to rise up on his lips, his cheeks puffed out with a mixture of pancake mush and air, “come gi’me a kiss,” he teased.
“Please,” Darcy groaned, “stop. This is worse than watching Alfie suck his girlfriend’s face off on the sofa at the weekends.”
“How’d you think you Styles lot were made, Rebel?” Harry spun around in the chair, his upper torso twisting around into a contorted posture to face you, a smirk on his lips as he heard Darcy portray a look and a sound of disgust, her eyes widening as she feigned throwing up, “I’m joking. There was a lot more nudity than what Alfie does.”
“Dad!”
“Dad?”
The identical term came from two mouths; one coming from beside him, and one coming from behind him, his chest squeezing tightly as the second voice came out strained and tight.
“Dad, I don’t feel well,” Rose whispered, her cheeks pale and her darkened green eyes loosing all the spark they once had, a ghost of his bubbly youngest girl standing before him, his attention focused fully on the pyjama-clad girl that looked as if she was about to fall weak to her knees, “I feel so hot and sweaty and my stomach aches and I was sick and I’m just so tired.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Harry whispered, bending his toes against the floor and standing to his feet, abandoning the half eaten pancake upon his plate, his eyes channelling towards you as you looked towards the sickened looking girl standing in the doorway, “go get back into bed. Go on. It’s alright. You can stay off school today, okay? I’ll stay off work to look after you.”
“I can,” you perked up, “I can look after her. I’m not necessarily needed in the office today. Just to finish paperwork off, so, I’m okay to stay home.”
“No, no,” Harry smiled, cupping the back of Rose’s head in his palm and pulling his youngest to his chest, “I’ve got it. I can do my writing from home, and, I can answer my emails and get some more bookings in for the studio. All things can be done at home.”
“Wan’a stay with dad, mum,” Rose whispered, her nose nudging against the t-shirt covering Harry’s chest, “he lets me sit in his office and play his guitar when I’m sick.”
A loud and over exaggerated gasp left your lips as you gave Harry a smirk.
“He does? I had no idea,” you laughed, “he does a lot of things with you kids when you’re off sick, doesn’t he?”
“I can’t let them sit around and do nothing,” Harry retorted, “Rose is a jolly good guitarist, need I say. Heard her strummin’ the strings of my guitar when she took the day off the other month for the hospital appointment.”
“Uncle Niall taught me one weekend when we went to stay with him. When you and mum went out to that comedy show in Brighton,” Rose whispered, her voice breaking and her words coming out as sickened slurs, the sounds leaving her lips being muffled by the material of Harry’s t-shirt.
‘C’mon, Petal. Let’s get you back in bed,” Harry sighed, holding her to his chest, “I’ll make you a plate of pancakes and you can eat upstairs. Just this once, okay? This doesn’t happen again, alright?”
She gave him a curt nod against his chest and puffed out a heavy, shaky breath.
“I’ll call the school and let them know,” you promised, “daddy’s gon’a look after you today, okay? I’ll pop home at lunchtime and bring some food back for you both as well as check up on how you’re doing.”
“Mm-hmm,” Rose mumbled, pulling back from the warmth Harry was radiating to give you a soft yet weakened smile, “bring back a Subway?”
“Ham and turkey?”
A confirmation smile and a nod was given in response, a smile on your lips as you wandered over towards the two and ran a hand through her slightly greased up and limp hair hanging down her shoulders.
“Get some sleep, Petal. I love you. Daddy will take good, proper care of you today. He knows what you all like when you’re sick,” you stated, your vision changing to turn towards Harry, a smirk toying and twitching at your lips as he looked down at you, “I love you too,” you whispered, pressing up your toes and catching his lips with your own.
“Please, don’t do this now or I will puke on the floor,” Rose grumbled, pushing herself from Harry’s hold and stepping foot back into the living room, “m’just going to go to sleep. M’not really that hungry right now.”
“A’right. I’ll be up to check on you in a while, okay? I’ll make you a nice cuppa and get you some biscuits and, after lunch, if you’re feeling up to it, you can come and sit with me in my office, yeah?” Harry hummed, your arms snaking around his waist as you nestled beneath his arm, “call me if you feel worse and we’ll get you to the doctors, okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
And with that, she disappeared around the corner, the distinct sounds of her feet stomping up the stairs being heard around the house.
“She doesn’t look good,” Darcy grumbled, “heard her wincin’ in the bathroom, if that means anything.”
“I’m sure she’s alright, Rebel,” you sighed, looking over towards her, “come on. You can have the bathroom now. Then you need to get off to school, alright? Georgie will be here for you soon.”
* *
“Rose?”
Harry wracked on the door, his knuckles knocking against the white-wood door, the soft bangs echoing around the upper level of the house.
“Rose?”
A sigh left his lips as he knocked a little louder against the door, in hopes he could rouse her from the sleep she stated she was having.
“C’mon, Petal. I’ve got the kettle brewing and a nice plate of biscuits on the coffee table,” Harry described the soft layout downstairs, “I even warmed up a blanket, ready for you to get cosy under.”
He still earned himself no response, his instinctual movement going to running his hand through his hair and tugging soft at the strands upon his head.
As he turned on his heel to make his way back downstairs, he could hear the soft winces and grunts and moans coming from the bathroom located between the master bedroom and the desolate bedroom that used to belong to Persephone, before she moved out to accommodate herself at Southampton University. His ears perking up over the creaks of the floorboards, to the sounds of the disgruntled hisses coming from behind the closed door that no doubtedly belonged to his youngest daughter.
“Rose? What’s the matter?”
“Nothin’. M’fine, I promise,” she whispered back, almost and slight inaudible to Harry’s ears, “just feelin’ sick, dad.”
“Don’t lie to me, Petal. Come on,” Harry egged on, a sigh leaving his lips as he wrapped his hand around the doorknob, rattling the handle and coming to the conclusion it was locked shut and not giving away as easy as he though, “Rose, come on, now. If you don’t feel well, you need to let me know so I can see whether or not to talk you to the hospital.”
Silence fell between them, before he heard a sob leave her mouth, muffled by the door and quite presumably her hand as she tried to silence herself.
“I can’t wee, dad,” she cried, “I can’t. It hurts.”
“Hey, hey. No, don’t cry, Petal. It’s alright,” Harry cooed, “do you want to let me in or are you going to wait for mum to come back? She’ll be back in about 20 minutes. If you feel comfortable with her, then, we ca-”
The clink of the lock sounded from the door, cutting him off mid-sentence, as he pushed open the bathroom door, coming face to face with his youngest daughter sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Pyjama trousers pulled down to her knees and the hems of the legs hanging over her feet.
“How badly does it hurt?”
“It just burns,” Rose sobbed, “it’s a painful sting and I can’t go and it just hurts, dad. It hurts.”
With a groan leaving his mouth as he bent down and crouched in front of his daughter, he took her delicate hands in his larger hands and squeezed them tightly. Bringing the backs to his lips and pressing soft kisses to them as she continued to sob and hunch over slightly.
“We need to take you to the hospital, alright? I can’t help you, but, doctors can, okay?” Harry hummed, his eyes widening as the cries intensified from Rose’s mouth, deeper and guttural cries that broke his heart and clenched his chest tightly and restrictively, “hey, hey. Come on, Petal. It’s alright.”
“It’s my kidneys, isn’t it? That’s why it hurts so much,” she sobbed loudly, pulling her hands back from Harry’s hold and dropping them to her sides, her head tilted down as her cheeks glistened beneath the natural lighting of the bathroom, “my stupid, ill-functioning, shit as fuck kidneys!”
Harry’s chest ached at the ear-piercing sounds and the vulgar terms coming from her mouth, rolling off of her tongue without an inch of a thought behind what she was saying.
“I’m fed up with being this way, dad! I just want a normal body. A normal, functioning, healthy body that isn’t prone to getting illnesses all the time and doesn’t have to ingest tablets and medicine on a daily basis; breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’m fed up,” she cried, her sobs turning into pants as she tried to regain her consistent breathing, “I’m so fed up, daddy.”
Daddy.
She only ever used that when she felt scared and frightened or when she felt tired and in the mind-set of giving up. The term of endearment rolling off of her tongue with a weakened tone behind it, capturing his attention and informing him that she needed as much cheering up as possible – including a squeeze to his chest when she gave in to his constant pleadings, an extra handful of sweet treats after they’d cleaned their plates, a bowl of ice-cream to top off the evening as the traditional movie-night pursued before he squeezed in extra cuddles when the hours turned swiftly into the late hours of the night.
“It’s alright, Petal, I promise. You’re okay,” Harry cooed, reaching his arms up and cupping her cheeks in his palms, “I promise you, I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll be right there, holding your hand and making sure nothing hurts you, yeah? Just like I do when I’m with you at your annual appointments.”
“Will they keep me in?”
“It depends on how well you respond to the treatment they give you, and it depends on what your diagnosis is,” Harry whispered softly and soothingly, “we’ve been told about this, haven’t we? It might be a UTI, okay? I don’t want you to worry though. I’m not self-diagnosing you, but, me and your mum have been informed this might happen.”
He couldn’t cope with another infection in her body.
He’d experienced enough of them in her young childhood, starting right from the moment she was born and continuing into the ages where she knew what was happening but was unknowledgeable about what the science was behind it – at such a young age, she wasn’t clean on why she had an infection, what caused her to have an infection and why she was more prone to getting sick.
Just moments after you’d given birth to her, your body falling lax after the treacherous labour of pushing two twins out from within, she was taken away before you and Harry could catch a glimpse of how perfect she looked. She was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit almost immediately, and, as you and Harry were informed of what was really happening with her, she was left there in the hands of the nurses and doctors who kept her under close observation, jotting down notes for track records to be used and looked at in future appointments. With a crying baby left in your care and nestled under her mother’s touch after spending a long while tucked into her father’s arm, Harry took it upon himself to visit the NICU when the both of you were asleep, to see for himself just what was happening to his little girl. Unprepared for the sight he came across as soon as he’d stepped through the hallway, courtesy of the instructions given by the midwife.
Wires and tubes connected from her tiny and fragile body that was encased in a bed that was difficult for him to touch her through, his desire to just let her hold his finger to give her a sense of home and that she wasn’t on her own. With tears of his own dribbling down his cheeks as he sat beside her plastic bassinet, he couldn’t shake off the stares coming from sympathetic doctors and nurses and parents who had received the good news about their baby’s development in health.
He wanted to yell.
Scream at the top of his lungs.
Beg for everything to be okay with his little girl.
Bottling up his emotions wasn’t good, and, the night he broke down on your shoulder was his breaking point – he cried, and cried, and cried, and cried. Sobbing loudly with wet cheeks and a running nose, as he held you and Darcy close to his chest, refusing to let his mind tear away to the bad conclusions and drown his mind from what should have been a happy and positive moment in his life.
The day she was brought home, into the comfort of the Styles household, was the day Harry went into protective dad mode – something you’d only ever seen when your children had only been born just moments before, informing that they were only fragile and delicate and needed more attention than any, yelping when he thought things were getting too rough and tearing the small baby from whoever’s grip they were in because they were getting handsy and occupying their attention elsewhere – and he made sure that he kept a close eye on his special little miracle to ensure he was there if anything went wrong.
For days which then turned into weeks, you caught him with his children settled and lounging around him, explaining to a young Persephone and a curious Alfie that Rose needed tending too more than ever because she was sick and had a tough battle in her first few weeks of life. His explanation cut short by curious questions and the shrill cries of a baby sounding around the house, egging on her sister to cry for the attention and predilection of the comfort from their parents.
Everything ran smoothly from then on, and with much deliberation and scolding from you, Harry finally gave up the strong suit and proceeded to let his children grow up without him powering over them and shadowing what they did.
Everything was great, until the twins turned 8-years old, things began to get sour.
A piercing scream and shrill cry jolted Harry from his sleep, catching him off guard as he swung his legs from the edge of the bed in a manner that had you attentive to his movements, your figure rising from the mattress shortly after, leaving the sheets rustled and forgotten about. Uncaring of his tattered appearance – a pair of boxers and a sock on his foot – he pushed into the room that obtained the cry, his vision coming across his crying daughter sitting upon sheets that were stained and wet and a puddle of what he could presume was a bodily fluid.
His weakened knees rushed his body to the edge of the bed, lifting the young girl into his arms as he spun on his heels and caught your widened-eyed and distressed look, cradling her head to his shoulder.
“We need to go the hospital,” he had grunted over his daughters loud and heart-breaking cries, “now!”
And with a call to Louis, who was the closest in location to the two of you, and with panic-stricken children woken in the commotion and standing in the doorway, questioning everything that was happening, you managed to pack a bag of necessities without breaking down and letting your emotions take over. Whilst Harry strapped Rose into his car and settled in beside her, letting you take over the driving towards the hospital due to his shaking hands and nauseated feeling in his belly, you whispered goodbyes to your children and explained that everything was going to be okay with their sister, giving Louis a kiss to the cheek and a promise to keep him updated as you left the porch way and settled into the car.
The moment you’d arrived and stepped foot in the Accident and Emergency department of the hospital, Rose was immediately taken from Harry’s arms, much to his dismay, and taken down the corridor. His booted feet following the on-hand gurney that situated his daughter as comfortably as it could, despite her cries for ‘daddy’, carrying her towards a designated room assigned for her where tests and prognosis equipment sat around the perimeter.
With shaking knees and foot tapping upon the linoleum floor, and a hand holding yours tightly with a head resting on your shoulder, his bottom lip almost completely bitten and bleeding in some areas, you both sat in complete silence. Neither of you wanting to go for the verbal comfort, and much rather preferring the physical comfort to keep at bay that the other was there beside them.
The constant ringing of the reception phone being heard, over the slight morning chatter of the on-call doctors, as well as the beeps filtering from the rooms and the wards in the distance of the corridor, and it made Harry feel uneasy.
It made him feel guilty.
He felt he was to blame.
It made you feel guilty.
You felt you were to blame.
When in reality, neither of you were the reason she was in there.
“She’s gon’a be okay,” he’d rasped out softly, more for himself to believe than for you, from his position beside you, “she’s a Styles. She’s a fighter. All our kids are fighters. They’re strong.”
At 8, Rose wasn’t understanding of what was happening. All she could focus her 8-year old mind on was the pain settled at the bottom of her belly that seared through her fragile body, as well as the IV stuck into her arm and the constant beeps of her heart monitor that sat just beside her head as she laid upon the bed beneath her.
At 15, Rose was understanding to the pain coursing through her body but she wasn’t fully understanding of the science of what was happening; all she had was the jist of why it was happening.
“M’scared, dad.”
“I am too, Petal. But, we’ll be okay, yeah? You’re going to be just fine,” Harry smiled softly, his legs stretching up as he held his palms out and wiggled his fingers in front of her, “do you want to try and go for a wee again for me? Just one more try and if you can’t, we’ll go to the hospital now?”
She gave him a soft yet embarrassed and shy nod, her cheeks flushing as Harry pulled her to her feet, gently as he could as he watched her face contort into an expression of discomfort and pain. As Harry turned his back to her, she hooked her fingers into her underwear and pulled them down, her body falling towards the toilet as Harry gulped softly.
Soft winces could be heard behind him, before a vicious hiss left her teeth, his stature turning on his heels as he caught his daughter with tear-filled and doe eyes upon his face. His figure dropping to his knees on the rug of the bathroom as she dug the heels of her hands into her leaking eyes, a stabbing feeling in his chest as watched her bottom lip tremble and a sob leave her mouth.
“I’m goin’ to call the hospital, okay, Petal? We’ll give your mum a ring on the way and let her know, and, we’ll keep her updated on what happens the rest of the day,” Harry clarified, standing to his feet, “get in some warm clothes, pack a bag in case we’re there for a while, get your lunch-time and maybe your night-time medicine and tablets, and meet me at the car, yeah?”
“Okay.”
* *
Watching as Rose was wheeled into a room, the door closing before he could enter with her, he couldn’t help but feel sick to the stomach.
Being informed to take a seat on the floor below the wards, to wait patiently for her doctor to come down with information credible for Harry to know, he felt even worse. Like he needed to alleviate his stomach from whatever was churning up inside; banana pancakes, a couple of slices of toast he’d made once you’d left for work, and the couple of cups of tea he’d consumed throughout the morning as he tried to occupy himself as his sick and feverish daughter slept on the level above him.
All he wanted was to be in the room with her, holding her hand and rubbing her knuckles with his thumb to ensure and reassure her that he was there and that he wasn’t going anywhere; he was her only source of homely comfort right now, with you being at work, Persephone down at Southampton University and her other two siblings at school and college for the day.
He’d yet to inform Persephone of the happenings back in London, knowing that he would only panic her and worry her. And he’d yet to respond back to the text Darcy had sent to him just before she went on her lunchtime break, when she wondered how her sister was feeling, adding in that she’d popped into Rose’s lessons and collected work that she’d missed in case she wanted to catch up in her own time when she fit and well and ready to go back to school.
He called you in the car, over the winces of Rose as the car rolled over the bumps and potholes of the concrete beneath them, a promise to keep you updated with everything that happens since you were unable to drop the paperwork you had invested yourself into and get off from work for the afternoon to sit with Harry and be his source of comfort.
In times of panic, you didn’t like to leave him alone.
In times like this, you didn’t want him to be alone.
You wanted to drop your paperwork on someone elses desk, explain how you had a sick daughter and that you needed to be there to support your husband because he couldn’t do it alone. You wanted to clock out of work, hop into your car, and speed your way to the hospital to be with your husband, to see for yourself just how Rose was coping. You wanted to sit with Harry in those uncomfortably padded hospital chairs, hold his hand tightly and pull him close to pepper kisses to her cheek and his shoulder and the wobbling lips that were an indication of tears about to leak from his eyes, promising him that everything was going to be okay with her and that they’d be home before they knew it to eat dinner and have a big cuddle on the sofa to forget about the day that had passed.
With his foggy and blurred mind unable to keep him occupied, his eyes stayed trained upon the door in front of him, labelled Dr Westman in black print – he’d been there from the moment that Rose and Darcy had had their first injection jabs, ensuing plenty of cries and screams that two new-born babies could make, and he was there to give them the check-ups throughout the treacherous moments when Rose had fallen ill or when Darcy had broken a bone and was in need of some medical attention to re-fix the break – his ears perking up and waiting to here the shuffles of the leather soles at the bottom of his feet.
“Harry?”
The voice came suddenly, bringing Harry back from his dazed state, causing him to sit up in the chair he’d situated himself in and ready himself for what he was about to told, alert to his name as he looked up to the bright blue eyes of the doctor standing above him, papers held in his
He awaited information patiently, his chest rumbling with each pounding beat of his heart caged by his ribs. A smile on the doctor’s lips as he signalled with head for Harry to follow him, disappearing around the corner and back into his office, Harry hot on his heels.
“Is she, uhm, is she okay?”
“She’s doing well,” the doctor stated over the sound of the door closing with the little amount of pressure behind Harry’s arm, smiling as he settled down at his desk, Harry following his actions in mirror synchronisation, settling down in the given chair opposite the desk himself, “we’ve got her on an IV with antibiotics in right now, and we’re pumping that through her system to get rid of the infection in her kidneys. She’s reacted well to what’s happened and she’s been a little fighter for us, as always. No tears at all, and she’s been chatting away to me and the nurses,” he chuckled, a smile forming on Harry’s lips, “now, we did an ultrasound on her kidneys and we had her take a urine sample for us, and with the results coming back now,” he waved the paper in the air, “we found a nasty little infection sitting in her renal glands. A urinary tract infection, which isn’t bad or life-threatening to her at all. You brought her in at the right time, Harry.”
A breath of relief puffed from between his cheeks, the shaking feeling covering his body disappearing as he rubbed his face with his palms.
“She’s going to be okay?”
“She’s going to be fine, Harry,” the doctor confirmed happily, “we’ll prescribe some antibiotics for her to take, on top of the medicine she already takes through the day, and she’ll be ready to go home tomorrow. I think it’s best we keep her in overnight to ensure it doesn’t start up again,” Harry felt his stomach clench; he’d never left his children for a night in the hospital, “feel free to go home, freshen up and get some cleaner clothes for her to bring back tomorrow, if you wish. A lot of visitors go home to get some clothes for their patients that don’t smell of strong hospital,” he chuckled.
“It’s alright,” Harry stated, “can I go and see her? Is she up for visitors?”
“I believe she’s been asking for you, if I’m correct,” the doctor smiled, reaching forward and holding his palm out for Harry to take in his hold, “go on up when you’re ready. She’s munching on some pots of jelly right now, brought by the nurse for her, and watching some TV on the telly in her room. I’m sure she’d much rather have you there with her.”
With a shake of his hand, Harry stood to his feet and thanked him honourably before spinning on his heels and proceeding to rush with his footsteps, pulling open the door to his office and picking up the pace of his legs, the heels of his boots clicking and tapping with each step on the linoleum coating the tiles beneath him. His main focus on getting to the lift and squeezing in before the doors closed; which is exactly what he did.
Arriving on the next floor up, he was the first out of the lift.
Room number 3 of the floor he was on coming into view, the door slightly opened and left alone to create a gap between the door itself and the doorframe lining the cornered archway. A smile lifted up his lips as he caught sight of his youngest girl, a soft laugh coming from her mouth and filtered to his ears as Harry neared closer.
“Knock knock,” he said with a grin, pushing the door open with his palm and making himself noticeable to Rose and the nurse keeping her company as she checked her blood pressure for the hours recording, “how’s my girl doin’, hm?”
“Dad!”
“Hi, Petal,” Harry cooed, stepping into the room, “how are you feeling?”
“I still have the pain in my stomach but it’s not as bad anymore,” Rose grinned, her cheeks popping dimples as Harry settled in the chair beside her bed, “graphic, I know, but I went for a wee just now and it came out sting-free,” she giggled.
A chuckle left Harry’s mouth.
“That’s great, Petal,” Harry praised, reaching for her hand and squeezing it tightly, “did they tell you what happened? What it was or-”
“Told me it was a urinary infection and that they want to keep me in overnight,” she huffed, rolling her head back as she set the spoon in her hand down. And it had only taken Harry a second in that moment that her cheeks looked sticky and her lips were glistening from the juice of the jelly that she’d consumed moments ago, “can you go home and get my laptop and my phone? I left it when we were in a rush to come here. Wan’a call Connor and tell him I’m okay. I was supposed to meet him afterschool today, but I text him before I fell back asleep this morning and told him that I’d let him know when I was feeling better. He’s probably blowing my phone up right now,” she smiled.
“Are you sure? I can get mum to bring it,” Harry explained, squeezing Rose’s hand and settling comfortably in his sitting stature, “she’s going to visit later anyway, with Alfie and Rebel. I’m going to stay until I’m told to go home, yeah? I don’t want you to stay and feel like you’re on your own.”
“I’ll be fine, dad. They’re bringing me some nice dinner and then more pots of jelly because it’s so good,” Rose groaned in pleasure, rolling her head back against the pillow, “y’know those pots that mum buys when we go shopping? They’re like them but only a little worse because, c’mon, it’s hospital food.”
A chuckle left Harry’s mouth.
“You’re better, aren’t you, hm?”
Rose nodded with a smile, her cheeks flushing pink as she caught a look into the corridor through the open door, nurses walking past with patients in wheelchairs and helping families find who they were looking for.
“D’you think if I ask really nicely, they’ll let you stay for the night? I don’t want to sleep here on my own and you always know how to help me sleep,” Rose hummed softly, her words coming out shyly as Harry leant forward and pressed his lips to her forehead, “like, if you bring your laptop because it has more films on it than mine does, and your guitar, too? You can teach me more songs, because, you write really nice ones and I want to play guitar for them.”
“How about we take a rain check on the guitar but I’ll get mum to bring my laptop and we’ll watch some films and have a cuddle, okay?”
“Okay,” Rose grinned, “I love you, dad. Thank you for being so caring.”
“I’d do anything for you kids, you know that, Petal.”
* *
Staying the night was exactly what he’d done; in a position that was no good for his back but was reassuring enough for Rose to be reminded that he was there.
He was slumped over in the chair designated for him at the side of her hospital bed, a chair that was an almost and better upgrade from the waiting room chairs but still uncomfortable on his bum and against his back as he stayed sat in a similar position ahead of the monitors connected to his daughter’s fragile body. Opposite the IV that was consistently pumping an antibiotic fluid into her veins, ridding the infection as best as it could as the hours went by. His arms were folded upon the side of the bed and his forehead was resting upon his forearms, snores leaving his mouth that almost sounded inaudible against the beeps of the heart-rate monitor set beside him. His boots had somehow found themselves at the foot of the bed where his bag had been sat, stocking his laptop and a few magazines as well as his Bukowski book that he’d taken to reading when Rose had fallen into a sleep. His socks falling over his feet, the thick material hanging more over his toes as his socks fell down his ankles, as his feet settled in strong solidarity against the floor, knees tense and bent up beneath him.
You and Alfie and Darcy had left him alone with Rose, with your lips pressing a kiss on the cheek and your arms squeezed him to your body as your eldest children bid a farewell and a get-well soon to their sister. You’d left him in a state of contentment, his earlier panic seemingly disappearing and being replaced with good emotion.
The small lamp was switched on in the room, as soon as you’d left with Alfie and Darcy, so Harry had it easy to read his book as Rose watched a movie dart across the laptop screen. A movie that had her giggling every so often – a movie that Harry was prone to watching more than not as she grew up.
His eyes accompanied with his reading glasses scanned the words of Bukowski’s mind, recapping the poems and the written pieces that he had become so familiar with over the years; reciting specific poems to you every so often when the chatter fell short and conversation topics just didn’t seem to come to mind. A common occurrence after he’d set a bookmark between the pages and set it down for the night, a smirk on his lips when you’d join him in bed and listen as he spoke the sweet yet pornographic lines that had you challenging his innocence.
As Rose roused from her sleep, a sniffle leaving her mouth and a soft yet dry-throated cough leaving her mouth as she cleared her throat, she woke Harry in the process.
“Mornin’, Petal. Did you sleep alright?”
“Slept fine,” Rose smiled, “did you? That looks uncomfortable. You could have gone home; you know? I would have been fine on my own.”
“I didn’t want to leave you,” Harry grunted, wincing and hissing slightly as he straightened his back and pressed a palm to the arch settled between his hips, “you’re coming home today anyway, so, I’ll catch some sleep in bed later.”
“Thank you,” she hummed, “like, you’re the best, you know that?”
“M’your dad, Rose. I’d do anything for you kids. I’d be a pretty bad father if I didn’t,” Harry breathed out softly, standing to his feet and feeling the soft yet thick material of his socks slide across the floor, his knees sore and aching at the joints, “do you need anything? I was thinking if they let you go before lunchtime, we can pop into McDonalds and get some breakfast, yeah?”
“Sounds good to me,” Rose admitted positively, letting the room fall silent as she watched her father tug on his boots, shuffling from foot to foot as having an issue with the balance he needed to stay upright, “dad?”
Harry hummed softly, looking towards his youngest as she gave him a smile.
“Can we wait to see if I can go home?” She wondered curiously, looking to the IV stuck into her hand and wiggling her fingers softly, “can we cuddle? Y’know like we used to do when I was a baby?”
“Of course we can,” Harry smiled, his tummy fluttering as he manoeuvred around the bed and stepped over his bag, settling himself down on the edge of the bed before he swung his legs up and wrapped an arm around Rose’s shoulders, pulling her into his side and sighing softly as she nestled comfortably against the curve of his body, “you know, when you were sick and you felt clingy and needed some comfort, me and you used to cuddle like this all the time. I did the same with your siblings, too.”
“Really?”
“Mm-hm. You never wanted mum to cuddle you,” Harry chuckled, “Persephone preferred me but always cosied up to mum when I wasn’t around, Alfie preferred a bit of the two and Darcy loved cuddling mum, but, you loved having cuddles with me.”
A giggle left Rose’s lips; but she knew it was the truth.
“Always threw tantrums when I wasn’t there,” Harry chuckled, shuffling down and revelling in the sweet feeling his back ow had access too, the pillow soft against his aching spine, “mum always had to call me when I was busy and I dropped everything to come home and soothe you. You were a little bugger, but, I would change anything about that.”
A smile lifted up Rose’s cheeks, silence engulfing to the two of them as they stayed nestled together as closely and as comfortably as they could upon the small and fit for a single person bed. Harry’s jean covered legs stretched out with his ankles and booted feet almost hanging over the end, his feet tapping together from time-to-time and drowning beneath the sounds of the heart rate monitor. Soft breathes and sighs being heard every so often as the time passed, Rose’s arms snaking around her father’s waist as she cosied into his body heat.
It gave Harry time to think; she was okay.

Notes