Synopsis: Abby takes you to the hospital luckily your ok to go home but Abby takes you back to hers instead
Content: fluff, hospital, y/n use, half proof read, angst, dual pov
A/n: I did first person for Abby’s pov hope yall enjoy
ITags: @slutformangos @kamogrrl @hornyscissorsister @cupidletterss @mybodyismadeofcrushedstars @sillyme12356 @roseisadyke @megansstrap @mel6ncholixc @astenth @chrimson-ghost @infinitevortexfleet
You don’t remember much from last night, your brain’s foggy but even then you remember Abby’s touch, voice protectiveness.
When suddenly you wake up in the hospital lights are to bright.
Everything smells sterile. Clean. Wrong
Abby doesn’t leave your side once.
Not when the nurses take your vitals.
Not when they ask questions she doesn’t fully have answers to.
Not when they say words like “monitoring” and “dehydrated” and “you did the right thing bringing her in.”
It’s weird that she’s staying by your side after everything that happened I mean yall aren’t even close so why was she doing all of this.
She stands there with her arms crossed like she’s holding herself together by force.
When you finally wake up fully, your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.
Your mouth is dry your brain can’t even comprehend words to leave your mouth
Abby is sitting in the chair next to the bed, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor.
Her hair is messy. Her hoodie is gone. She looks… wrecked.
You shifted in the hospital bed uncomfortable as fuck
Her head snaps up so fast it’s almost violent.
For half a second she just stares at you.
“You’re awake….thank god, you look like shit tho.”
her voice cracks at the end.
The nurse comes in not long after. Explains gently that you were given fluids, that you’re stable and that you’ll be discharged tonight. You’re told to rest. To not be alone.
Abby doesn’t even hesitate.
The drive to her house is quiet. Heavy quiet All of the questions stuck in your throat.
Streetlights pass over her face in slow flashes. You notice the tension still sitting in her jaw. Finally you’re able to muster some words out.
“You didn’t have to stay,” you say softly, throat dry.
She laughs once. Dry. Humorless.
When she pulls into her driveway, you hesitate.
“You’re not going home alone tonight, your parents can’t see you like this.” she says, already getting out of the car. “Don’t fight me on this.”
Her house is darker than you expected. Calm. Quiet. Nothing like the chaos from earlier.
She kicks off her shoes and gestures toward the couch. “Sit.”
She disappears down the hallway and comes back with sweatpants and a hoodie.
“They’ll be big,” she says. “Deal with it.”
You almost smile, even while she’s taking care of of you she’s still upset
She turns away while you change, giving you privacy without making it awkward.
When you settle back onto the couch, she hands you a glass of water and sits across from you, elbows on her knees again.
For a minute, neither of you speak.
It’s quiet. Honest. No attitude.
She’s not looking at you. She’s staring at her hands.
“I walked into that room and you weren’t responding right,” she continues. “I thought…” She stops. Swallows. Tries again. “I thought I was too late.”
Her head lifts immediately.
“No.” Her voice is firm now. Protective. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I should’ve tried harder that night in the car.”
“You were right,” she admits. “I don’t get what it’s like for you. I thought I did. I don’t.”
You’re seeing the true Abby.
“I don’t see you as a phase,” she says quietly. “I never did.”
She finally looks at you fully.
And suddenly, the fight from weeks ago doesn’t feel the same.
She stands and grabs a blanket, draping it over you. Her hand lingers at your shoulder for just a second too long.
“You’re taking my bed,” she says.
When you’re tucked in, she turns off the main light, leaving only the lamp glowing soft gold.
She stops in the doorway.
It’s barely above a whisper.
She doesn’t even hesitate this time.
She crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bed first like she’s testing the space then carefully lies down on top of the blanket, leaving space between you.
But close enough that you can feel the warmth.
After a minute, your hand drifts across the sheets.
Her fingers intertwine with yours.
“I’ve got you,” she murmurs into the dark.
And this time, it doesn’t feel like a promise made out of panic.
Like personally offended that you’re trying to sleep.
You groan and turn your face into the pillow
Only for something warm and wet to drag across your cheek.
A slobbery tongue swipes across your nose.
You squint your eyes open.
Lion is standing over you like he pays rent here, tail wagging, absolutely thrilled that you’re alive.
“At least I know lion likes me at first meeting.”
You try to sit up too fast.
Your head throbs instantly.
“Okay. Noted. We move slower today.”
From somewhere down the hall you hear a pan clink. The low hum of a stove. The smell hits you then eggs, toast, something sweet.
Abby appears in the doorway.
She’s wearing gray sweats and a black tank, hair pulled back, a little messy. There’s a dish towel thrown over her shoulder like she’s been doing this her whole life.
She stops when she sees you upright.
Relief flashes across her face before she smooths it out.
“Morning,” she says carefully. “How’s your head?”
“Like someone hosted a marching band in it.”
She huffs a small laugh. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Lion finally hops off the bed and trots toward her like he just completed his morning mission.
She scratches behind his ears automatically.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” she says, looking back at you.
She crosses the room and hands you a glass of water and two pills.
“Doctor said these would help.”
You hesitate for half a second.
nausea washing over you, your brain conflicted on if you can trust her.
“It’s just pain relief,” she says gently. “Promise.”
The silence after isn’t awkward.
You notice things now. The way her room looks lived in but not messy. The guitar leaning against the wall. The framed photo on her dresser turned slightly away like she doesn’t want people asking about it.
She shrugs. “I can survive.”
“That smells more advanced than survival.”
Then she sits on the edge of the bed.
“You feeling dizzy?” she asks quietly.
“Not really. Just tired.”
She nods, studying your face like she’s memorizing it.
“You really scared me,” she says again. Softer than last night.
You look down at your hands. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Dina texted me,” she adds. “Like thirty times.”
You groan. “She’s never letting me live this down.”
“She was freaking out,” Abby says. “Ellie too.”
“I didn’t even know you’d be there.”
Her jaw tightens slightly.
“I wasn’t supposed to be.”
She exhales slowly. “Because I couldn’t sit at home thinking about what you said in the car, I needed a distraction.”
Lion jumps back on the bed, settling between you like he’s buffering the tension.
“You still think I see you as a phase?” Abby asks quietly.
You don’t answer right away.
“I think,” you say carefully, “that I don’t know how to matter to someone like you without losing myself.”
She leans back slightly, processing.
“You matter,” she says finally. Not defensive. Not rushed. Just certain.
The sun catches the gold in her hair.
“You mattered before we even started fighting,” she adds.
Your chest feels tight in a completely different way now.
“You made breakfast,” you say softly, almost like you’re trying to deflect how intense that just got.
She rolls her eyes lightly. “Yeah. Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s pancakes, isn’t it?”
You smile for real this time.
And for the first time since the car argument, she smiles back without restraint.
“Come on,” she says, standing and offering her hand. “Eat before Lion steals it.”
She doesn’t let go right away.
Not just temperature wise. It feels lived in. Quiet. Safe.
Sunlight spills across the counter in golden strips, catching the steam rising from a stack of pancakes on a plate way too neat to be accidental.
“You’re staring,” Abby says, flipping another pancake like she didn’t just hear her own heartbeat in the silence.
“Whether this is a manipulation tactic.”
She snorts. “Yeah. I drug you with kindness.”
You freeze for half a second.
Her face drops instantly.
“Sorry,” she says quickly. “Bad wording.”
“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I know what you meant.”
There’s a beat of quiet understanding. Careful. Gentle.
She plates the last pancake and slides the stack toward you. “Eat.”
You sit at the small kitchen table while she grabs forks and syrup. Lion settles at Abby’s feet like a loyal guard.
“Okay,” you say slowly. “Why is this actually good?”
Abby tries to hide the pride in her face and fails. “Because I can cook.”
“You made these from scratch?”
You take another bite, slower this time.
Not in a weird way. Just… attentive.
“You don’t have to hover,” you say without looking up.
“You’re literally leaning forward.”
She leans back immediately. “Better?”
You smile faintly. “Worse. Now you look offended.”
She relaxes a little at that.
For a minute, it’s just forks scraping plates and the soft hum of the fridge.
“I meant what I said last night.”
She’s staring at her hands again.
Her jaw tightens slightly.
“I hang out with you because I like you.”
And somehow that makes it hit harder.
“You’re bad at timing,” you say softly.
She huffs a breath. “Yeah. I’ve gathered.”
You twirl your fork between your fingers.
“I don’t want to be something you try on and then outgrow,” you admit. “I don’t survive that kind of thing well.”
Abby’s eyes lift immediately.
“I don’t outgrow people,” she says. “I shut down when I’m scared.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Scared of what?”
Her lips press into a thin line. She debates it.
“Of caring more than the other person.”
“I wouldn’t have said all that in the car,” you say quietly, “if I didn’t care.”
Her shoulders drop just a little.
Lion shifts, bumping Abby’s leg.
“He’s definitely judging us,” you mutter.
“He hates emotional conversations,” Abby replies. “Very anti-communication.”
You both laugh. Soft. Real.
The tension eases, but it doesn’t disappear. It transforms.
You reach for the syrup at the same time she does.
She doesn’t pull away immediately.
“Your hands are cold,” she murmurs.
She almost smiles. Almost.
Then she gently wraps her fingers around yours.
“You’re staying today,” she says quietly. Not a question.
“You gonna keep feeding me?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
You squeeze her hand once before letting go.
You finished eating and offered to help Abby with the dishes, but she kept insisting you needed to rest. So now you’re sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, watching her from across the room.
Her back is turned to you.
Her shoulders are broad, arms flexing slightly as she washes the plates. The veins in her forearms are faintly visible, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until your thoughts start spiraling.
Is it even okay for you to be looking at her like this?
Or are you something more?
You slump down in the chair, with a quiet sigh.
“Are you okay?” Abby asks without turning around. “Do you want to go back to bed?”
“Oh! I’m fine,” you reply quickly. “Just thinking.”
She shuts off the water and glances over her shoulder.
She shifts, leaning back against the sink with her arms crossed. The position makes her look even better, and that does absolutely nothing to help your focus.
“Are we… friends now?” you ask shyly.
Abby lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah. We are.”
For some reason, that’s not the answer you wanted.
You pout slightly before you can stop yourself.
And you’re not even sure why it feels disappointing.
I shouldn’t have laughed.
The second she asked, “Are we friends now?” I knew that question meant more than it sounded like.
So I said the safest thing.
I notice everything about her.
The way she stares when she thinks I’m not looking.
The way she overthinks every sentence before she says it.
The way her voice gets smaller when she’s scared to want something.
I don’t know when my feelings towards her change I met her four months ago and now she’s all that I think about.
But I don’t think she wants me.
I think she wants the closeness. The attention. The feeling of being chosen after everything that happened.
God that sounds shitty of me to say
Plus there’s no way she’s gay
So I decide right there in the kitchen, with soap still on my hands that I’m not going to push it.
If she wants friends, I can be friends.
Even if it feels like swallowing glass.
I turn back to the sink so she doesn’t see my face.
“Do you need anything?” I ask casually. Too casually.
I dry my hands and grab a towel, walking past her chair.
I don’t mean to brush my fingers against her shoulder, but I do.
I keep walking like I didn’t notice.
I grab her phone off the counter and toss it gently onto the table in front of her.
“You should text Dina. Let her know you’re alive.”
She rolls her eyes a little. “Bossy.”
I smirk. “You’re in my house.”
I move to the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and set it in front of her without asking.
She looks up at me like she’s about to say something.
“You’re still pale,” I mutter. “Drink it.”
It does something dangerous to my chest.
I lean against the counter again, arms crossed, pretending this is easy.
Pretending I didn’t stay up half the night making sure she was breathing evenly.
Pretending I didn’t almost say something in the hospital that I couldn’t take back.
And I don’t know how to stop myself from looking back.
Her eyes drop to my arms for half a second.
But I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything.
“Rest today,” I say, voice back to neutral. “We’re just taking it easy.”
I say it like it’s automatic.
I turn away before she can read my face.
Because if she ever figured out how much I want more than that.
And she didn’t feel the same.
I don’t think I’d recover.
I’ll keep my hands to myself.
I’ll ignore the way she looks at me.
And I’ll be whatever she needs me to be.
Even if it’s just a friend.
Soon we’re back in my room
I tell her we’re watching something “low effort.”
Translation: I need background noise so I don’t overthink the fact that she’s in my room.
She sits on my bed like she belongs there. Tucks her legs under herself. Adjusts the pillow behind her back.
I stay on top of the blanket.
Lion jumps up immediately and curls near her feet like he’s chosen sides.
I grab the remote and put on the first random movie I see. I don’t even register what it is. Something with explosions. Something loud enough to fill the silence.
She shifts closer to see the screen better.
It is the smallest contact.
I pretend I didn’t notice.
My arm is resting behind her, technically on the mattress.
She smells like my hoodie.
The movie starts, dialogue spilling into the room, but I don’t process a single word.
All I’m aware of is how warm she is.
How every time she laughs at something on screen, her knee nudges mine.
She doesn’t move it away.
“Am I crowding you?” she asks softly.
She relaxes again, leaning back into the pillow.
Five minutes later, she yawns.
She tilts her head slightly and it rests against my shoulder.
Every muscle in my body goes still.
If I move, she’ll pull away.
If I don’t move, I might actually combust.
Her hair brushes my neck.
She’s not asleep. I can tell.
And that’s the part that messes me up.
Because if she were into me like actually into me wouldn’t this feel different?
Wouldn’t she be nervous too?
I feel like I’m holding back a tidal wave.
My arm, the one behind her, starts to ache.
Instead, without thinking, my fingers curl slightly.
They hover near her shoulder.
Just the tips of my fingers
Her breathing starts to even out.
A small crease between her brows like she’s still fighting whatever dream she fell into.
The movie keeps playing, light flickering across the room. I should move. I should turn it off. I should create distance.
Instead, I let my head rest gently against hers.
Just to see what it feels like.
Her warmth seeps into me.
Her breathing steadies mine.
The tension I’ve been holding all morning slowly drains out of my shoulders.
I don’t even realize my eyes are closing.
The last thing I register is the weight of her against me.
And for once, I let myself believe maybe this isn’t one-sided.