only angel (tattoorry)

extra: proud

"Harry?"

Y/N's gnawing on the skin of her bottom lip as she wrings her hands in her lap, nervousness apparent on her facial features. Harry glances up from his phone — he's been mindlessly scrolling through cat videos on Instagram for the past half an hour or so, Friends on in the background as he and Y/N sit snuggled up in cozy throw blankets.

She'd been working up the courage to say something for nearly two hours now, but everytime she went to part her lips and force the words out of her throat, she clammed up.

She couldn't help the anxiety that crept through her bones, especially because she was used to constantly being looked down on. She knows Harry would never make her feel bad for any choice she made for herself, but what if he thought she was crazy? What if her trauma was too much to deal with? These were the worries that circulated her brain for days, ever since deciding that she wanted to seek out professional mental health help a few weeks ago.

"Hm?" he puts his phone down, locking the screen, "What's up, dovie?"

Fidgeting with the skin surrounding her chipped nail polish, she swallows tightly. His eyes are analyzing her body language and she suddenly feels small and foolish beneath his gaze, solely because of the trauma from her parents.

They always treated her like she was less than, to the point where she wholeheartedly, truly believed it. In the few months that Y/N's been on her own and officially dating Harry, he's been helping her in ways she could have never imagined, but she didn't want all of her issues to fall on him. It's the main reason why she decided to find a therapist.

"I've been thinking," she rasps out, her voice cracking. "I think I'm going to start seeing a counselor. To deal with my, um... parents."

Harry's posture straightens and his eyebrows furrow, a concerned wrinkle forming between them. (It always showed up when Y/N mentioned anything relating to her family.)

"What do you mean?"

Rolling her lips into her mouth, she prepares the speech she's been practicing in her head for days.

"I just know I have a lot of trauma from them and I don't want you to feel responsible for helping me through it all the time," she says, reciting the explanation word-for-word, "It's important for me to figure this out on my own and I want it to come from a mental health professional."

Harry's look of worry almost instantly morphs into a gentle smile. He reaches out to intertwine their fingers together and gives her hand a small squeeze, much to Y/N's relief. She was terrified he'd take it the wrong way, but the proud expression on his face says different.

"That's incredible, dovie. I'm so proud of you."

He leans forward to press a kiss to her forehead, the showcase of love instantly slowing her heartbeat.

"You're not mad?" she asks, peering up at him through thick eyelashes.

"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I could never be mad at you for wanting to work on yourself. I think it'll be really helpful for you. Have you found someone yet?"

"No. I wanted to run it past you before looking."

His heart cracks a bit but he tries not to let it show on his face. "You never have to do that, okay? You're your own person, baby, and I have no right to tell you what to do with your life. Alright?"

It's a strange way to look at life after having every decision of her life planned out for her since birth. She's still adjusting — that much is obvious, but it isn't her fault, and Harry works regularly to help her realize that in small doses.