One Direction Imagines Book Three

Harry - The Kind Doctor

Opening your eyes, you found yourself in a bed, surrounded by machines that were beeping loudly next to you.

You realised you were in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines which were connected to you, along with a wire attached to your nose and face, helping you to breath.

The door opened and in stepped a tall looking man; his hair long as he wore a beautiful smile that slightly calmed your hammering heart.

"Hey, there." He smiles, clipboard in hand, as he approaches you.

"I'm Harry and I'm the doctor who's been taking care of you the past few days while you've been here. You had a bit of a nasty accident." He explains.

"How are you, Y/N?" He then asks, sitting down in the chair next to you.

The thoughts of the accident suddenly came flooding in as you remember the feeling of the impact, the fear and the tiredness you felt right before you passed out.

"Hey, don't get upset love, your alright." Harry soothes.

"I-I know what happened, I remember it all." You tell him finally, your voice dry and tired sounding.

"I know," He replies, sadly.

"But that's why I'm here, I'm going to help you through this." He tells you, sincerely.

"Thanks doctor." You reply, gratefully.

"Call me Harry." He smiles, patting your hand gently.

*

Two weeks and you had been here; having to have your bandages from your wrist and your ankle redressed and being waited on hand and foot. Yet, you didn't like it. It wasn't enabling you to be independent again and it bothered you.

"Hello, Y/N." Doctor Styles smiles, entering your room.

"Hi." You mumble back, barley paying him any attention.

He was the one looking after you and although he was kind and thoughtful - not to mention good looking - you hated the idea of someone taking care of you, when you were sure you'd be fine by yourself.

You'd been that way for as long as you could think back to, and now, you relied on yourself and no one else if you could help it.

"Ignoring me, again?" Harry asks, snatching the attention from your thoughts to him.

"Can't you just let me go home? I'm fine, just a couple of bruises and a few  broken bones. I can manage." You plead, hoping to go home so that you could get back to normal.

"I'm afraid not. I'm worried about you and I genuinely believe we need to keep you here a little longer." He explains.

"Why? This is ridiculous." You say, with a scoff.

"We have reason to believe you need to be kept in as a precaution. Your blood pressure is still very much high and you have a recovery process to go through... The accident was pretty nasty." He tells you, as you stare at the walls, refusing to get yourself lost in those green eyes he has.

"Surely two weeks is too long for this kind of thing though, is there something else wrong?" You question, panicked.

"Hey, hey, it's nothing to worry about.
Many people stay in for a couple of weeks after accidents." He assures you, sitting down in a chair next to the bed.