in which...

...harry and y/n exchange rings all the time

In which Harry and Y/N exchange rings all the time (or at least they used to)

Y/N is so nervous she feels like she might throw up.

Her hands are shaking over the steering wheel and it's truly a miracle she even made it to the destination without crashing her car. Her foot is still resting on the gas pedal, contemplating just speeding away and not looking back – it's not like he would know she was there anyway. But she knows she has to do it, and as much as she tries to convince herself of that, getting out of the car still seems like such an impossible task.

She hasn't been here in what feels like months, even though it's been just a couple weeks. The house that once felt like a home looks gloomy and haunted now; it's not somewhere she would want to live. There are no lights along the driveway like there used to be whenever she came home from work later than usual; there's no sound of the neighbor's dogs barking and of that bloody raccoon that used to always dig through the trash; it's almost as if no one wants to be here anymore.

She wonders if he changed the locks; maybe he wanted to make sure she wouldn't be coming back again. No, he wouldn't do that. Maybe she could just very quietly let herself in, place the stuff she needed to give back on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, and then just sneak back out; easy as that. No, she wouldn't do that. He didn't deserve that, she had to do it; if not for herself, then for him.

Breathing in shakily, she brushes all the thoughts away and finally presses on the door handle, stepping outside the car. As soon as her feet hit the pavement, she wants to crawl back in the comfort of her car, because it all feels foreign and strange; she doesn't like it in the slightest. It sends shivers right down her spine (the bad kind) and it makes her want to curl up in a ball and weep quietly.

She pushes the feeling away though, and tightens her hold on the notebook in her hands, afraid her shaky fingers might slip and let it fall to the ground. She feels her knees weaken when she reaches the small set of stairs, but she's even more intimidated by the big door waiting at the end of them. Biting straight into the bullet, she climbs the first step, wanting to hold onto the railing but afraid that if she does so, she might drop the object in her hands.

She takes another step – she wonders if he goes to bed late and cries himself to sleep until the early hours of the morning as well.

She takes the next step – she wonders if he's talked to his mum in these past couple weeks; she'd been dodging her calls and still feels terrible about it.

She takes one more step – she thinks about the small kitten that would hide in the garage; does he still feed her and give her ear rubs?

She steps onto the last one – she thinks of all the Friday nights in which they used to bake one of those silly dessert recipes she'd find on Buzzfeed and then watch reruns of Friends. Does he hate the thought of muffins and sitcoms now as much as she does?

Her finger hovers over the doorbell – the light in the hallway flickers on.

With a surprised gasp, her hand slips and she presses the button. Cursing out loud, she moves her arm away and clutches it tight to her chest as if she had just been burned. This is way too soon, she's not ready right now, still needed a couple more minutes, maybe even more, to give herself a pep talk and brush away all the thoughts of him. But it's too late now, she's already done it, the sound of that stupid doorbell piercing her ears and making her whole body shudder.

Waiting there for something to happen seems like the longest minute of her life; she contemplates about three times running away or hiding in the bushes so he wouldn't see her, but knows that her feet are pretty much planted on the last step and there's no way they'd be able to carry her away so fast, not with all the shaking in her body. She breathes in deeply and holds the notebook tight to her chest, for what will probably be the last time. Counts the seconds in her head and stops when she reaches thirty-four – that's when the door unlocks and swings open.