HEATWAVE
A/N: i've been meaning to cook up something for the tour and also involve the heatwave so here it is! Some assistant!yn to entertain you in the heatwave!
WORD COUNT: 7k
WARNING: sexual content
SUMMARY: The London heatwave is bringing out the slutty little shorts and some complicated feelings between you and Harry. Then a plumbing disaster happens and you move in with him just until it's solved, however a broken AC forces the two of you to share a bed as well. A pop star, an assistant and lots of unspoken feelings in a bed. What could go wrong?
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
London is melting. The heatwave has been pushing the temperature to extreme measure for days now and it will most likely carry on for a couple more.
That’s not stopping Harry’s Wembley residency though. Show must go on.
It’s night seven and he is doing his usual pre-show shenanigans. Take a shower. Have a peek at Shania’s set. Get dressed while warming up his vocal chords in his dressing room. It’s always the same.
The extreme heat has switched up the planned outfits a little bit, going from pants to shorts at the past couple of shows, but the fans are definitely not complaining and Harry kind of likes flaunting his toned legs as well, so it’s a win-win.
Standing in front of the mirror he is humming Bridge Over Troubled Water while trying to fix his tie when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” he calls out, eyes still fixated on his reflection.
The door opens and he doesn’t even have to turn around to know who it is. It’s like he has a sixth sense when it comes to you.
“Oh, I see the slutty little shorts are coming out to play again,” you tease him instantly upon walking into the room and closing the door behind you. Harry smirks as he turns around, though his smile halters for a second when he sees you.
He hasn’t been the only one the heatwave has been affecting when it comes to outfits. As his shorts got shorter, you, his long-time assistant, started putting on shorter dresses as well. Tonight you chose to put on a pale yellow sundress, one that’s short but flowy, demands his attention in an instant, making his eyes glued to your smooth legs and flirty neckline.
Fuck, he thinks to himself before recovering as quick as humanly possible. Truth is, he’s been crushing on you since… well, probably day one, but only admitted it to himself about a year ago, when the two of you somehow ended up sharing a bed at a mutual friend’s party and he woke up with you curled to his side, your scent filled his nose and as he listened to your quiet snoring, which you absolutely denied you did, he realized just how much in love he was with you.
But he’s been doing everything he could to keep his feelings at bay, not wanting to ruin your friendship and he also happened to be your boss, though your work relationship is quite different than at an office job. However at moments like this, when you completely take his breath away and make it quite hard for him to think of anything else than ripping your dress off and–
“You okay, Styles?” you snap him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah,” he smiles, shaking his head. “Not a fan of shorts?” he asks with a flirty smirk, still fiddling with his tie.
There’s a beat of silence on your end, something crosses your face, but it’s gone before he could catch it.
“Everyone is a fan of the shorts,” you end up saying. “Let me help you with that,” you offer as you step closer and swat his hands away so you can fix his tie.
The AC is working perfectly in the room, but suddenly Harry feels like he is burning up, standing so close to you, your hands brushing against his chest a few times and even though it’s only through the fabric of his shirt, it’s maddening. He can only hope you can’t feel or hear his hammering heartbeat.
“There,” you smile softly stepping back and admiring your work.
“All good?” he asks, squaring his shoulders.
“The best,” you reply, smile widening. “Everything is set, Shania just got off the stage,” you inform him. “Sarah and Mitch are here as well.”
Harry hums with a nod. His drummer and guitarist have been the last ones to arrive at the venue after doing bathtime with their kids and leaving them with the nanny before heading out for their night shift at the stadium.
Harry looks at you and notices a bit of worry etched onto your expression. Tilting his head he narrows his eyes at you.
“Something is wrong,” he says and it’s not a question. He knows you enough to notice these small details.
“Nope,” you shake your head.
“Oh yeah. Tell me, I can handle it, I’m a big boy.”
You chuckle, shaking your head.
“It’s nothing work related.”
“Okay, I still want to know about it.”
You hesitate for a second before giving up, knowing he’ll bug you until eternity if you don’t tell him.
“Just… I had some problems with a pipe in my apartment,” you say dismissingly. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if it’s bothering you. There’s still an issue?”
“Kinda,” you sigh. “I need to change the pain pipe in the bathroom, which means they have to rip the wall out. But they are coming in the weekend, so hopefully it’ll be settled.”
“But can you use the bathroom until then?” Harry asks suspiciously. You don’t answer and avoid looking into his eyes at first before shaking your head no. “So you can’t use your bathroom until the end of the week?”
“It’s fine, I’m gonna stay at my sister’s place until then.”
Harry gives you an amused look.
“Y/N, your sister lives in Southampton. That’s… what, like a three hour commute to London?”
“Two,” you correct him, earning an eye-roll.
“You’re not going to your sister’s.”
“Well, I’m not paying for a hotel either,” you stubbornly say.
“Of course not, because you’re gonna stay at mine.”
He says it out loud before he could even think it through. But as soon as his words land, he knows he might have brought hell on himself. It’s challenging enough to spend so much time with you during the day, but having you in his home might be another level of torture.
You bark out a laugh.
“No I’m not,” you simply say, not even taking him seriously.
“Yes, you are. I live close, I have two guest rooms, this is the best solution,” he argues, pushing his own doubts to the back of his mind, because putting his feelings aside, this is actually the best solution, saving you from the hours spent on a train every day just to get to London.
“Harry, I can’t just move in with you.”
“Just until your apartment is fixed,” he shrugs. “I’ll drive over to your place after the show, you can grab whatever you need.”
You stand there, just blinking at him for a couple of long minutes, like you’re expecting him to say he was just joking, but he stands his ground. As bad of an idea it is regarding his situation, he would never let you down.
“I mean… If you’re sure,” you give in. Harry nods with a satisfied smile.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, thank you then. Show time in twenty,” you remind him then, switching back to work mode before walking out of the dressing room.
The second the door clicks shut, Harry lets his head fall back with a quiet groan. Brilliant idea, he thinks to himself. Invite the woman you've been secretly in love with into your house, for several days. What an idiot you are, Styles!
A generous, caring idiot, but still an idiot, because he might have just made the worst decision in his life.
The show goes down without a hiccup. He puts on his best performance, as always and the fans love him, as always.
You watch most of the show from backstage, but you love Season 2 Weight Loss way too much not to go out, so you dance in Circle for a little and sneak back before any of the fans could recognize you. Harry however totally saw you and the smile that stretched across his face is the absolute sweetest.
When the show is over Harry quickly showers while you do your usual rounds settling things. When he’s ready the two of you roll out of the garage in his car, passing by the fans leaving the stadium.
You’ve just bought your apartment last year and Harry realizes he hasn’t even been there when he pulls up in front of the building. He follows you up to the third floor and bites back the excitement he feels upon stepping into the apartment.
“I’ll try to be quick. Make yourself at home,” you tell him before disappearing in the bedroom, leaving him alone in the open concept kitchen and living room.
“No need to hurry,” he calls after you, already curiously eyeing up the place.
The apartment is small, not cramped, but very lived-in. The vibe suits his expectations of your home pretty well. The couch is tucked beneath a large window overlooking the street, a knitted blanket carelessly thrown over one arm. Books are stacked on every available surface instead of neatly shelved, plants occupy nearly every windowsill and there are tiny trinkets everywhere, little ceramic animals, candles in mismatched holders, postcards pinned to a corkboard over the faux fireplace.
It looks exactly like you and it makes him smile as he wanders farther inside, hands buried in his pockets as if touching anything would somehow feel too intrusive.
His attention lands on the fridge, it’s covered in magnets, lists, sticky notes and quite some polaroids. He instantly moves closer to look at them. He sees his family, friends, crew members and random moments from the past years, including ones with him as well.
One of them is from Tokyo last year, the two of you squeezed into a photo booth, both pulling ridiculous faces.
Another one is from backstage at Madison Square Garden where you're laughing so hard your head is thrown back while he's clearly saying something dramatic, a moment Anthony caught on camera.
There’s one where he is giving you a piggy back ride in Italy and one taken in his mom’s backyard, the two of you posing like the worst models.
His smile stretches wider with each photo he spots that features him, feeling warm that you cherish these memories just as much as he does.
Then he moves over to the living room and the cushions seem familiar. It takes a moment for him to realize it’s because they have the cases on them the two of you chose out together at a flea market in Berlin two years ago. He teased you, saying you’ll probably never use them, but now you’re proving him wrong.
His eyes continue roaming the room until they snag on the wall opposite him. His smile softens instantly. There’s a painting hanging over the couch, one he gifted you for your birthday three years ago. An abstract piece he found in a gallery and instantly thought the vibrant colors would fit you so well. He was afraid you wouldn’t like it, but here it is, hanging in your home years later.
“Snooping around, I see.” Your voice makes him turn. You're standing in the hallway now, duffel bag slung over your shoulder, another backpack hanging from one arm.
“Nice decor you have,” he nods towards the painting.
“Ah, yeah, right? Some rando just gave it to me,” you tease him, pulling a laugh out of him.
“Dude’s got taste,” he adds. “You’re done?”
“Yes. If I forgot anything I’ll just swing by.”
Harry nods and follows you out of the apartment, glancing back one last time, a smile tugging on his lips knowing he is there, in your home in the tiny details.
Unlike him, you’ve been at Harry’s place a million times, so there’s nothing surprising there. Walking into the spacious townhouse he bought a couple of years ago in Hampstead you already know the way to the guest rooms.
“The one facing the backyard has AC, use that one,” he tells you.
“Ah, I get the fancy room?” you tease him, standing on the stairs.
“You’re VIP,” he grins before he disappears down the hallway leading to the kitchen and you make your way up to the room.
He pours himself a glass of water and stares out the window sipping on it. That’s when he hears you shuffling around upstairs. The faint footsteps, the closet opening and closing, the facet in the bathroom turning on before you shut it off. He’s so used to being alone here, it’s an odd feeling having someone else here, but knowing it’s you warms him.
A couple of minutes later you appear in the kitchen as well.
“Hungry?” he asks, leaning onto the kitchen island and he catches your gaze jumping to his biceps just for the shortest second before shaking your head.
“I inhaled half of the catering at the stadium,” you admit, making him laugh.
“Well, feel free to raid the fridge anytime. And… you know where to find everything,” he chuckles.
“Thanks,” you smile at him bashfully. “And for letting me stay here too.”
“I didn’t let you, practically ordered you to stay,” he corrects you, making you laugh.
“Whatever. I’m gonna shower and then head to bed. Good show tonight.”
“Thanks,” he smiles softly before you nod and then head back upstairs.
Minutes later he hears the shower running in the guest bathroom and his thoughts are quick to wander. Knowing that you’re up there, standing under the shower naked has him going crazy. All evening he tried to convince himself it won’t be any different than staying at the same hotel, but it is. There’s a kind of domesticity in your presence he is not used to and it has him spiraling a bit.
He shakes his head, annoyed at himself.
“Get it together, Styles,” he mutters under his breath, finishing his water and forcing himself to move.
He has spent years being around you. Years of late nights, long drives, hotel rooms, dressing rooms and airports. He knows what your coffee order is, how you like your fries, the exact face you make when you’re trying not to laugh during serious moments.
So why does hearing you move around his house feel so different? Probably because you’re not here because you’re working late or because everyone decided to stay over after a party. You’re here because he asked you to be. Because he wanted to make things easier for you. Because a selfish part of him wanted you here, sharing the same living space, spending even more time together.
By the time he finally gets ready for bed, the house is completely quiet again. He walks past the guest room on his way to his bedroom and stops for a second, staring at the closed door. The ridiculous thought crosses his mind that maybe he should knock and say goodnight, but he is quick to shake it.
Instead, he lies in his bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking of you sleeping just down the hallway until his spiraling thoughts eat him away and he finally falls asleep.
He is gonna have a rough couple of days.
***
The next few days pass in a blur. Somehow, somewhere between rushed mornings, stadium chaos and late-night drives back home, the weirdness of having you in his house disappears. It becomes normal, having you around not just while working but at the end of the day as well, when Harry retreats from being Harry Styles, the pop icon.
It probably helped that he didn’t need to act like a host because you didn’t act like a guest. It was like you belonged there, in his home and he realized he liked it a lot.
Having coffee with you in the morning, running to the grocery store together or grabbing lunch from the nearby Chinese restaurant. He liked finding you on the couch, typing away on your laptop or making calls when he came back from his run and he liked that on show days you left together, did your own things and went home together at the end of the night, had a a glass of wine or two on the patio before going to bed and starting it all over again.
When you got a call three days into your stay at Harry’s that your bathroom works will be postponed to next week Harry tried to focus on easing your stress instead of the absolute happiness he felt for having you at his place even longer. It’s like even fate wanted him to enjoy more of the time spent together.
It’s another show day and Harry is already downstairs, getting ready to leave while you’re still upstairs.
“Have you seen my charger?” he calls up.
“Which one?” comes your answer.
“The black one.”
“It’s in the kitchen!”
He runs into the kitchen and is not surprised to find the item he’s been looking for everywhere lying on the counter. Laughing at himself he walks back to the front door while tucking the cord into his totebag, just when you come down the stairs.
Glancing up he freezes for a second, because you’re wearing jean shorts and an old band tee. His band tee to be precise and you look a lot better in it than he ever did. He doesn’t even care that it's one of his favorite ones, he would be fine if you wore it from now on.
“Is that my shirt?” he asks, recovering.
You look up at him innocently.
“Is it?”
“Yes, it is,” he chuckles.
“Ah, it must have ended up in my pile of laundry.”
“Interesting, because I haven’t worn it in a while, so it was not even near the laundry,” he keeps teasing you with a growing smirk.
“Your memory is shit, Styles,” you wave at him dismissingly. “Let’s go, we’re gonna be late,” you say, changing the subject. Harry just shakes his head chuckling, but follows you out the door.
That stupid t-shirt messes with his head. Or to be more precise, seeing you wearing his clothes is what has his panties in a twist.
Every time you walk past him it’s like electricity buzzes through him. Then he starts picturing you more of his things. His running shorts. His shirt. His boxer briefs… It’s a trap he walked straight into.
When the show starts he manages to shut you out, but then you decide to go into the pit again. No matter how badly he fights the urge to ignore you, he can’t. During Dance No More he stops right in front of you, dancing while looking straight into your eyes. At first you just shake your head at him and try to shoo him away, but when he doesn’t, you end up mirroring his dance moves that makes him laugh.
“Okay, I accept defeat,” he says into the mic before finally moving on, the fans going crazy over what they just witnessed and that’s when you decide to return backstage.
By the time the show ends, Harry is still smiling. Partially because the show felt extra good tonight, but mostly because of the interaction he had with you and the thought that now he gets to go home with you.
“You’re in a good mood,” Mitch comments when they’re backstage, wiping sweat from his face.
Harry looks up from the bottle of water in his hand. “Am I?”
“Yes,” Anthony answers from beside him, his camera is still in his hand. “It’s actually slightly annoying.”
“Sorry my happiness is inconveniencing you,” Harry chuckles.
“Not the happiness,” Mitch says, pointing at him. “The lovesick teenage boy energy.”
Harry almost chokes on his water. “What?”
“Please, I’m kind of hurt you think I wouldn’t notice the change in you,” Mitch scoffs. “Besides, I know this exact feeling,” he adds, his gaze jumping over to Sarah who is talking to a crew member in the corner of the room.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry shakes his head, but he can’t help the smile that tugs on his lips.
“Yeah, okay. Keep lying to yourself. See you tomorrow,” Mitch pats his shoulder before walking over to his wife.
Harry looks at Anthony who has his camera in front of his face and snaps a picture of him. Then he checks the screen and nods to himself.
“Yep, lovesick teenage boy,” he says before walking away.
Harry just shakes his head in disbelief before heading over to you, throwing his towel at you.
“Ew! Get your sweaty towel off me!” You cry out, throwing the towel right back at him.
“I’m gonna shower and then we can leave.”
“Take your time, you stink!” You call after him teasingly, to which he just flips you off before walking away.
By the time Harry finally finishes showering, you’re already waiting by his dressing room, scrolling through your phone.
“Done?” you ask, looking up from the screen.
“Squeaky clean,” he grins, proud of himself for quoting his own song. You just roll your eyes, but he spots the smile hiding in the corners of your mouth.
The ride home is the same. You’re talking about bits from the show and then sing along to some music, it’s been his favorite after-show ritual lately.
Arriving home you’re already heading into the kitchen to pour the usual glass of wine for the two of you while Harry heads up to his room to drop his stuff off before joining you downstairs. Just outside his bedroom he starts to feel like something is off, but only realizes what it is when he walks in.
It feels like hell in there. It’s hotter than in a sauna.
“What the…” He grabs his phone to check the app that’s connected to the AC system in the house and sees that the one in his bedroom is not working. He taps on it several times, but it just wouldn’t turn on.
Then he digs out the remote, hoping to start it with that, but that doesn’t work either. It’s dead.
“Hey, what’s taking you so long?” You walk in with two glasses of wine, but instantly feel the heat in his room. “Holy shit, did you set your room on fire or something?”
“The AC is not working,” he sighs in defeat.
“Damn, okay, no worries. We can call someone tomorrow,” you say, handing him one of the wines. He takes a big gulp, since it’s pretty cold at least.
“Sure. I’ll just sleep in the other guest room tonight,” he says, but then he quickly realizes. “Fuck, there’s no AC there either,” he groans, his head rolling back in frustration. “Okay, then the couch it is for tonight.”
“What?” your eyes widen. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, you need to rest, you have a show tomorrow.”
“Where else am I gonna sleep then?” he chuckles helplessly.
“In my room. I’ll take the couch,” you say right away.
“Absolutely not,” he shakes his head.
“Harry–”
“No.”
“You need to fucking sleep! In a bed!” you argue, slightly raising your voice from the frustration of how stubborn he is being.
“And you don’t need the rest? You’re working too, Y/N.”
“Yeah, but I’m not performing at Wembley.”
“You’re not sleeping on the couch in my house,” he states, making you roll your eyes.
“Well, you’re not sleeping on the couch in your house either.”
“Y/N, I’m not taking your bed–”
“It’s your bed in your guest room in your house.”
“No, right now it’s your bed.”
“Jesus, you’re so fucking annoying!” you growl. “Then we’re sharing the bed,” you then say, surprising probably the both of you.
“What?” he chuckles awkwardly.
“It’s big enough, we can just share it tonight and then we can have the AC fixed tomorrow. No big deal,” you explain and this time he can’t argue.
Well, he would love to, but he would rather not say out loud his arguments. He can’t just say he doesn’t want to share the bed because it’s too intimate for him and he would very likely spiral, so he chickens out and just nods.
“Okay. I guess… you’re right.”
Satisfaction takes over your expression.
“See? There was no need to be this dramatic about the whole situation,” you say, taking a sip from your wine. Harry’s eyebrows arch.
“I’m literally the least dramatic person you know.”
You look at him and that look speaks for you.
“Okay,” he sighs. “That might be a lie,” he mumbles.
You carry on with the evening as usual. It’s still so hot outside that you don’t sit on the patio too long, just until you both finish your wine and then head back inside. Harry uses his own bathroom and you use the guest one just like every evening since you’ve been here.
But once he is done he feels ridiculous for being nervous at the thought of going over to your room and get in bed beside you.
“Get your shit together,” he mumbles to himself before finally making his way down the hallway.
The door is open and you’re already sitting on the bed, scrolling on your phone when he walks in. When you look up you smile softly at him that already has his stomach sinking.
“Come on in! Make yourself home!” you gesture at the bed. Harry chuckles.
“Well, it is my home.”
“Shut up,” you flip him off as he takes the right side of the bed.
Tentatively he sits on the edge at first, then a little awkwardly lies down.
“Are you going to lie like a board all night?” you tease him.
“What if I am?” he scoffs.
“Okay, do whatever you want. It really is your home,” you say teasingly.
Harry wills himself to relax and get under the covers finally. The bed is big. Big enough that you’ll probably not touch all night, but Harry is still worried.
“I hope you haven’t started snoring since the last time we slept in the same room,” you break the silence. Harry peeks over at you.
“You’re the one who snores.”
You gape at him dramatically.
“I told you I don’t snore!”
“Can you hear yourself while sleeping?” he arches an eyebrow.
“Well, of course not. I’m sleeping!”
“Okay, I have heard you. And you were definitely snoring.”
That’s a lie. It was just loud breathing probably, but he loves teasing you with that, he loves seeing you get all heated up while defending yourself.
“Yeah? Then you fart all night!”
At that, you both stay silent for a second before uncontrollable laughter bursts right out of you both.
“Fart all night? That’s the best you could come up with?” Harry asks, wiping the tears away from his eyes.
“Did you want me to say you pee your pants?” you wheeze out, making him laugh even harder.
It takes long minutes for you to calm down, silence settling over the room. Now Harry feels a lot less awkward about the whole bed sharing situation.
“Goodnight, Harry,” you whisper at last.
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he replies and falls asleep with a smile on his face.
***
Harry wakes up before his alarm, which is unusual. With his eyes still closed he buries his face further into the pillow and at first the scent doesn’t even register, your scent all over the pillow. Then feels the warmth, not excruciating, but definitely warmer than what he feels in the morning. Almost like… A body. Pressed against his.
The memories of the two of you fighting over the bed situation last night creep back into his mind and then he slowly puts the picture together before he even opens his eyes, that it’s you who’s pressed up against him.
he is lying on his side, one arm stretched out forward, right under the pillow on which your head is resting. You’re lying with your back plastered against his front, his other arm thrown over your waist, his palm touching your bare stomach where your top has ridden up in your sleep. Your legs are tangled together and the cherry on top is what’s happening around your midsections.
Spooning you his crotch is perfectly pressed up against your ass and just to make things even more interesting, he is sporting an erection.
It’s all settling in slowly but surely, his pulse picking up and then he completely freezes when you stir in your sleep and rub your ass even more against his cock. A silent groan slips from his lips. He’s still groggy and half asleep, but he can tell this should not be happening.
The rational part of his brain is screaming at him to pull back and get as far from her as possible, but that voice is tuned out as he takes a deep breath and your scent fills his nose, making his cock twitch from the need to touch you. He stays put, slight panic creeping up his spine as he tries to figure out what to do, but that’s when you start moving again. At first he thinks you’re just wriggling in your sleep, but after a few seconds he realizes it’s different.
You’re rubbing against him. Like, fully rubbing.
His muscles flex as he tries to control himself, another groan bubbling from him as he dances on the edge of a very dangerous territory.
You must be still asleep and it’s just an instinct, it’s totally normal to get horny in your dreams, he tells himself, so he shouldn’t take advantage of it, but it’s getting so fucking hard to resist.
But then…
“Harry…” you breathe out, arching even more against him and that’s when he snaps.
His hand that’s been on your stomach grips your hip and he finally lets himself grind against you, creating more friction and making you both moan.
“Fuck,” he grunts as he keeps moving his hips, his cock straining against his briefs.
Your hand finds his on your hips and taking it you tug it towards your core. He is quick to realize what you need and he gladly slips his hand under the elastic of your sleeping shorts, cupping your heated cunt at first, before gliding two fingers between your wet folds.
“Yes, please,” you groan, head falling back and he rests his forehead against your shoulder as he keeps rocking against you, his fingers slipping inside you.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes, feeling like he is losing his mind as you grind against his palm and cock at the same time, chasing your own relief while he is inching closer to his as well.
Your hands find his that’s under the pillow, gripping the sheets and you bring it to your mouth, placing an open-mouthed kiss into his palm at first but then bite the tender skin when his fingers inside you hit the right spot.
“More,” you choke out.
The hand you bit moves to your chest, slipping under your top, palming your breast and you arch into his touch, eager to get more of him. You’re both close to the edge, panting and moaning, Harry is in a state of disbelief and overflowing joy at what’s happening and that’s when the bubble is popped.
His phone starts to ring on the nightstand, loud and sharp, making you both jerk at the interruption. You both move away and sit up, looking at each other like you were just caught doing something you shouldn’t have, the pleasure you were feeling quickly morphing into shock and panic.
The phone is still ringing and Harry snatches it clearing his throat before answering the call. He tries his best to focus on whatever is being said to him, but his mind is still stuck from just moments ago when he was basically dry-humping you and he was very much on the edge of coming.
“Yeah,” he croaks out. “Sure, I’ll head over.”
When he ends the call you’ve moved to the very edge of the bed, an unreadable expression on your face.
“I need to go to the stadium, something is wrong with the sound system, they need to do an emergency sound check,” he tells you and you nod. He hesitates for a second then tries to reach out towards you just when you jump out of the bed.
“Then we need to get ready,” you say, looking everywhere but at him.
“Y/N…”
“I’m gonna take a shower and then… You know what? You’ll have to go alone, I have some errands to run.”
That’s a fat lie, he knows. But he doesn’t call you out as you practically sprint into the bathroom, shutting him out. He stays there, sitting and staring after you for a few more seconds, absolutely no idea what to do. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated breath as he stands and walks out of the room. He is dying to go after you and talk to you, ask you what you’re thinking, but the look on your face sent a clear message that talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do. He definitely doesn’t want to push you too far, so he is left with drawing his own conclusions and right now those are pretty clear.
You regretted it and now everything is fucked.
***
You don’t go to the stadium with him and when he returns home you’re gone. He fights the urge to call you and beg you to come back and talk to him, but instead he just texts you that the issue has been solved, to which you just reply with liking his message.
He is on the edge, waiting for you to return until the very last minute he needs to leave for tonight’s show, but you text him you’ll just get a taxi to the stadium, he doesn’t have to wait for you. Harry swallows down the disappointment, but forces himself to carry on.
He has done this a thousand times. Walk into a stadium, leave everything else behind, become the person everyone came to see, except today he is having a hard time shutting his mind off. He keeps looking for you everywhere as he goes through his usual pre-show rituals, but you’re nowhere to be found. But he knows you’re there, because everything gets done, it’s just as if a ghost is doing your job.
When he steps out onto the stage he more or less manages to get his focus straight, but he can tell he is not giving his best performance. He can only hope the fans won’t notice it. When he runs out to his short break after Fine Line and he is on his way back, that’s when he runs into you for the first time.
“Hey, you’re here,” he stops in his tracks.
“Of course, where else would I be?” you ask with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. He is debating being late for the next set just to talk to you.
“Are we going home together afterwards?” he ends up asking.
“Sure,” you nod shortly, though your expression has him worried. He doesn’t have time to talk more however.
He somehow gets through the second half of the show, even kind of gets more into the flow after the short interaction with you, but once he is off the stage he is eager to get home with you as soon as possible so you can talk.
When he walks out of his dressing room and you’re there relief washes over him. Part of him was afraid you might ditch him and say you’re spending the night at your sister’s place.
“Ready?” he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder and you nod.
The ride home is suffocating. Silence takes over the car and it’s driving Harry crazy how just hours ago in the morning he had his hands on your body and now you feel miles away even though you’re sitting right beside him.
He is working up the courage to start a conversation when you walk into the house and that’s when realization hits him.
“Fuck,” he breathes out.
“What?” you ask him.
“I forgot… I didn’t get anyone to fix the AC.”
You stare back at him for a second, expression unreadable.
“That’s okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch,” you say at last.
“No, Y/N.”
“Shut up, I’m not arguing about this tonight,” you snap back, but it triggers something in him.
“Oh, okay. Then let’s argue about why you’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“I was not avoiding you.”
“What a fucking lie,” he scoffs in disbelief, his bluntness making your eyes widen.
“I’m not having this conversation, Harry,” you shake your head.
“Why?” he challenges.
“What?” you blink at him.
“Why are you not having this conversation?”
Your jaw tightens as you stare back at him.
“Because I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.” Your voice is low and steady, but he can see the tornado behind your eyes. Harry lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“Nothing to talk about?”
He takes a step closer, but stops himself before he gets too close. He’s not going to corner you, not when you already look like you’re moments away from running away again.
“Y/N, this morning we were moments away from making each other come.”
“I know,” you hiss.
“And then you just ran away.”
“I did not.”
“You locked yourself in the bathroom and didn’t come out until I was gone.”
“Okay, fine!” you snap. “I’ve been avoiding you. Happy? Can we move on?”
“No, not until we walk about this!”
“There is nothing to talk about!” Your voice is raised, chest heaving as you stare back at him.
“I beg to differ,” he scoffs.
“Then let me rephrase it. I’m not gonna listen to you say it was a mistake and we shouldn’t have done it.”
That hits him hard in the head and chest, his anger quickly morphing into confusion.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“Don’t give me this lost puppy face,” you huff out a dry laugh. “That’s where we would have ended up at. You saying shit like let’s pretend it never happened and just go back to how it was, so I was just cutting it short.” Your voice wavers at the end and it finally clicks for Harry.
You weren’t acting this way because you regretted it, you did it because you thought he would want to forget about it. The realization hits him so hard he almost laughs, except there is nothing funny about it.
“Y/N…” he breathes out.
You look away, suddenly uncomfortable now that you’ve said it out loud.
“Don’t,” you mumble.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t stand there looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you feel bad for me.”
Something in his chest twists as he takes a step closer.
“Y/N, that’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” you ask, looking back at him. “Because I know you, Harry. I know you better than almost anyone. You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean it, that you were caught up in the moment, that it’s complicated and we shouldn’t ruin what we have.” A tear rolls down your cheek, but you continue. “And you know what? You’re right, it’s way too complicated and I feel stupid, because there’s no way you–”
He cuts you off with a rough kiss, making you instantly forget what you were talking about as you melt into his arms. It’s desperate, passionate and ignites a fire inside you in an instant. It’s also speaking for him, loud and clear, because as his tongue licks into your mouth you have no doubt he did not regret what happened in the morning, in fact, he is aching for more.
You’re fisting his shirt and his fingers dig into your waist, pulling you even closer, though that’s not possible anymore. His hands then start roaming your body, your back, your ass and then thighs before he grabs the back of them and urges you to jump, legs curling around his waist as he holds you.
He carries you up the stairs without breaking the kiss, but you both start laughing when he almost slips, throwing you both down the stairs.
“Fuck, please don’t kill us now,” you laugh, planting a hand onto the wall next to you.
“That would be pretty unfortunate,” he grins, but then his face turns serious for a second and he even puts you down. Standing on the step above him, you’re about the same height. “This is real, Y/N. I want you, so fucking bad, I’ve wanted you for so long and–”
Now you’re the one cutting him off with a kiss, though it’s a lot less aggressive than his. When you pull back, you just smile at him.
“It’s real. Now would you just keep talking or we could–”
The words turn into a laugh as he picks you up, running into your room so fast, you haven’t seen him move this fast before, not even on stage. He throws you onto the bed and once he is on top of you, the broken AC in his room is long forgotten, along with all the unnecessary tension you put each other through today.
***
The heatwave is still raging, melting London and Wembley Stadium, but the residency continues. The show blows up the place as usual and Harry parades around the stage in his slutty little shorts, as they are now officially called.
It’s the part of the show where everyone is moved out to the runway, bringing the show even closer to the fans in the pit. Harry is dripping from sweat as he dances past Mitch.
“Feeling hot?” the guitarist asks, trying to shout over the music. Harry laughs nodding as he saunters closer, Mitch then leans over to his ear. “Did you get your AC fixed?”
“What AC?” he asks, confused.
“In your fucking bedroom! Have you been sleeping in hell all week?” he asks, but then it clicks for the both of them. “Holy shit!” Mitch laughs as Harry just dances away with a knowing smile. “Holy shit! You and Y/N!” he shouts after him.
But Harry just giggles and grabs his mic and then starts singing.
“Ready, steady, go!”
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