Hiii, hope you enjoy your walk through my little gallery!! (◕ᴗ◕✿)
This is what I'd call my masterlist of art and whatever else I create! (Alternatively you can also browse the #my art tag on my blog!)
I'm definetely more of an artist than a writer, but occasionally I can't hold myself back :D
I have a Ko-Fi, where you can buy my self made stickers!
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Inbox!Harry
My Harry character, who lives in my ask inbox. He's just a cute lil guy who keeps check of my asks and messages. This is supposed to be an interactive project of sweet doodles! :)
You can interact with Inbox!Harry by sending me an ask! Send him stuff or ask him questions and I'll respond on his behalf with a doodle of his reaction!
You can find all posts regarding him by searching for #inbox!harry on my blog or having a look at the Inbox!Harry Masterlist
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Paintings:
Green Grass Harry
Painting of one of the photos of the shooting for Home and Gardens
Harry's House
Painting of the Album cover of Harry's House
His Big Moment
Painting of him in the rain for his Wembley show 2022
Merman!Harry
Flamboyant and arrogant playboy of the tidepools. Will lure you in with his songs. He will also break your heart.
Shy Merman!Harry
Sweet and shy. A touch of japanrry (he has a koi inspired tail)
Vampire!Harry
Smirking man with red eyes, what's there not to like
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Fanfiction Fanart:
Thumper
Fanart of Lil Thumper for @stylesloveclub's Neighborry fanfic!!
Aster's y/n with a onesie
Fanart for @moonchildstyles's fanfic Aster
"Put some bloody clothes on!"
Bonus: You dare to slap Harry's ass
Fanart for @avocadoguru 's Lupus Noctis
Wolfrry mini animation
Fanart for @avocadoguru 's Lupus Noctis
Y/N with Eddie on her tummy to help her with her period cramps
Doodle fanart for @avocadoguru 's Lupus Noctis
Richrry eating his lemon sorbet
Fanart for @lukesaprince's Rich H.S.
Someone’s losing their grip
Manip for @avocadoguru 's Lupus Noctis
Wolfrry manip gifset+concept
Manip for @avocadoguru 's Lupus Noctis
"Hold on tight 😈"
Fanart for @avocadoguru 's Lupus Noctis
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My Writing:
All I want is a Waltz
Fluffy, soft fanfic I wrote because I was obsessed with the concept of Harry dancing a waltz :((<3
Summary: You’re an aspiring actress waiting to be discovered—the embodiment of sunshine itself: radiant, stubborn, and perhaps a little too kind for your own good. Then you step into Harry’s world, one painted in shades of grey, and nothing for either of you is ever the same
A/n: Hello my lovessss! I don’t even know where all this inspo came from, but I’m so happy with how it turned out! I’m always looking to grow and write better, so I’d love any feedback you have. Thanks for reading, love you all!
Word count: 20k
Warnings: Slow burn, angst, a bit of a mean Harry not too much, smut, virgin reader, oral sex m to f, unprotected but then protected sex lol.
You stared at the number in front of you—301—etched in gold serif font, elegant and a little old-fashioned. Pretty numbers, you thought. Your gaze dropped, scanning the ground for a welcome mat, but your brows knit together when you found nothing. No cheerful “hello,” no quirky quote. Just bare floor.
Balancing two large suitcases and a tote bag slung over your shoulder, you adjusted the strap of your pink, flower-patterned sundress, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door with the biggest smile you could muster.
It was supposed to be one of those clichés—you knock, and someone warm and welcoming swings the door open, shows you around, tells you about the neighbors. A sitcom moment. But instead—
“Oh. You’re here.”
The voice was flat, the expression even flatter. He didn’t step aside or offer a hand with your bags, didn’t even invite you in. He just turned around, leaving the door wide open, and walked away.
You blinked, confusion tugging at your smile, but dragged your suitcases inside anyway. Grey walls greeted you, minimalistic décor in every shade of beige, black, and dull gray. Cold. Quiet. Not exactly welcoming.
And then—him again. Standing in the middle of the living room, holding out a piece of paper. At the top, in bold capital letters:
HOUSE RULES
No loud music.
No guests without permission.
Don’t touch my stuff.
Quiet hours: 10 p.m. – 7 a.m.
Do NOT go into my bedroom.
Respect my food in the fridge.
Always carry your keys.
You skimmed through them, lips twitching. Some rules seemed normal enough, but others practically screamed: Hi, I’m grumpy as hell.
“Rules,” he said matter-of-factly. “They’re easy to follow. Your room’s down the hallway. Mine’s across from it. If my door is closed, don’t knock unless the apartment’s on fire.”
You blinked, swallowing hard like a stray kitten caught in the rain. “Yes, understood.”
“Great.” He didn’t even look at you as he disappeared into his room, door clicking shut.
He didn’t even ask my name, you thought with a sigh.
Dragging your bags down the hall, you found the room he’d pointed out. Grey walls again, a slightly crooked bed, but a large window and a big closet. Simple, but enough. It surprised you how quiet everything was—the neighborhood, the apartment, him.
You weren’t used to quiet. Back home, silence didn’t exist. A big country house full of noise: two brothers, three sisters, mom, dad, grandma, an aunt and her twins. Someone was always crying, laughing, or arguing over a lost jacket. Pots clattered in the kitchen, dad’s lawnmower roared at dawn, and voices spilled through every corner.
Now—just silence.
You exhaled slowly, glancing at your suitcases. “It’s fine,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.
You unpacked piece by piece, filling the room with tiny comforts: lavender bedding that smelled faintly of home, your worn bunny plushie, two pink mugs with cat ears, and a colorful French press. The quiet pressed in around you, but little by little, the room began to feel like yours. You wandered into the kitchen, opening cabinets until you found one with a strip of masking tape labeled with your name. So…he had remembered it from your application. That counted for something, right?
You carefully placed both of your pink cat-ear mugs inside and set your colorful French press on the counter beside his sleek, black Nespresso machine. The contrast made you smile—sunshine versus storm cloud, side by side.
When you turned around to head back to your room, you startled, letting out a tiny squeak as you jumped. He was standing right there, silent as a shadow.
“What’s that?” he asked, brows furrowing.
“This?” You pointed at the French press, forcing a smile. “It’s my Bodum French press. You like coffee?”
“Yeah,” he said simply.
You waited, hoping he might add something more—a follow-up question, a joke, anything. But instead, he moved past you, sat down on the sofa, opened his laptop, and that was the end of the conversation.
You exhaled softly. Moving away from home, you’d expected challenges. You braced yourself for missing family, for the hunt to find a job. But this? Living with him? That already felt like a new, impossible level of hard.
Later that day, you finally finished unpacking the last of your things in your new room. The space looked warmer now, a little more you. Still, your stomach reminded you that your side of the fridge was empty, and maybe—just maybe—you could even bake something later.
You tucked your wallet into a tote bag, slipped on your shoes, and slid the final cardboard box into the back of the closet. With a deep breath and a smile, you headed for the front door. A new start. You weren’t going to let a stranger—or his rules—dim your light and…
“Forgetting something?”
The voice made you pause, one foot already out the door. You turned back to see him leaning lazily against the wall, keys dangling from his finger. He wasn’t even looking at you, just spinning the key ring like it was second nature.
“Oh…right…” You crossed the room, plucking the keys from his hand with a sheepish smile.
“Rule number seven,” he said flatly. “Always carry your keys.”
🍒
When you came back from the grocery store, tote bags digging into your hands, the faint sound of sizzling reached you before you even stepped into the kitchen. Peeking in, you spotted him at the stove, working a pan with calm precision—stir-fry, by the smell of it.
“Hi,” you said softly, almost careful, already knowing not to expect much of a reply.
He didn’t look up, didn’t say the word back, but you caught the tiniest twitch in his jaw. Taking the silence as permission, you slipped past him and began stocking your side of the fridge, then the pantry.
Even with that stern, unreadable face, you noticed it—his eyes flicking, quick and subtle, toward what you were unpacking. Maybe he was silently judging your colorful cereal boxes, or maybe he was just curious. Either way, the thought made you bite back a smile.
You placed the last box of cereal into the pantry, then hesitated, glancing at the sizzling pan in front of him.
“Smells good,” you said softly. “Do you, um, want me to help with anything? I’m a pretty decent vegetable chopper.”
He didn’t even look up, just shook his head once. “I’ve got it.”
That was the end of the conversation. You lingered for a moment, then nodded, more to yourself than him. “Alright… I’ll just wait until you’re done to make mine.”
He gave no reply, so you slipped away to your room, scrolling idly through your phone to pass the time. The house was quiet except for the faint clatter of pans and the hiss of steam drifting through the walls.
Peeking out, you padded softly into the hallway. The kitchen lights were still on, the air fragrant with soy and garlic. He was there, already at the small dining table with his laptop open beside him, eating from a bowl like nothing in the world could disturb him.
On the counter, set neatly near the edge, was a second plate.
Your eyes flicked from the food to him, but he didn’t look at you—didn’t acknowledge you at all. He just kept eating, focused and unbothered. But something about the way that second plate sat waiting in plain view left no room for doubt.
With a small, grateful smile, you pulled the plate toward you, whispering under your breath, “Maybe not all grump.” Before you could even finish, he pushed back his chair, scooped up his laptop, and disappeared down the hall. A second later, the sound of his bedroom door closing clicked through the silence.
You stood there for a moment, half amused, half frustrated. No words, no nothing, just action.
Still, you felt like you needed to say something back. When you finished and cleaned your plate you went straight to your room, grabbed a sticky note from your desk, you scribbled quickly:
“Thanks for dinner ♡”
With a grin, you tiptoed to his door and slid the note under the crack. It felt silly, like sneaking around in a game, but it was the best you could do.
🍒
The next morning, you woke to sunlight spilling through the big window and the faint hum of the city outside. The apartment, though, was silent. Too silent.
You stretched, rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and padded into the hallway barefoot. His bedroom door was wide open now, bed neatly made, no trace of him anywhere.
With the apartment empty, curiosity itched at you. You wandered slowly through the living room, eyes scanning the plain gray walls and beige furniture. Nothing personal. Not a single photo frame on the shelves. The counter was bare, save for the black Nespresso machine and the French press you’d left beside it. You even peeked toward the side table by the couch, but there were only chargers and a coaster.
No pictures. No postcards. No magnets from trips. Not even a forgotten grocery receipt.
You stood in the middle of the room, tote bag from yesterday still by the door, feeling both amused and unsettled. “Who lives like this?” you murmured.You circled back towards your room, ready to give up, when something caught your eye. A slip of paper sticking out from under his laptop charger on the coffee table.
Curiosity won over hesitation. You tugged it free—a folded bill, crumpled at the edges, like it had been stuffed in a pocket and forgotten.
It wasn’t just a bill, though. Your eyes flicked to the bold letters at the top: The Rusty Note — Live Music Fridays.
Beneath it, smaller print listed the lineup. And there it was: Midnight Avenue. The band name had a scribbled circle around it in black pen, and at the bottom of the receipt was a drink order—two beers, one soda.
Your brows lifted. So he’s in a band.
Suddenly, the quiet, guarded guy in the next room didn’t feel so one-dimensional. You pictured him under stage lights, guitar in hand, the opposite of the silent shadow you’d met at the door.
You set the bill back exactly where it had been, heart racing a little. A secret. A clue.
“Midnight Avenue,” you whispered, trying the words on your tongue like they were part of a puzzle you’d just begun to solve.
And also, just like that you broke rule #3
Back in your room, you sat cross-legged on the bed with your laptop balanced on your knees. The name still echoed in your mind—Midnight Avenue.
With a guilty grin, you opened a new tab and typed it in. The search results popped up quickly: a modest Instagram page, a couple of tagged posts, a handful of grainy bar photos.
You clicked on one video. The sound was tinny, recorded from someone’s phone, but it was enough. There he was, on stage under dim neon lights, guitar slung across his chest. His face was the same unreadable mask, but the way he played wasn’t. Confident. Alive. Like the music pulled out a side of him you couldn’t imagine in the quiet gray apartment.
You scrolled further, finding flyers for past gigs, a few comments about the band’s “moody sound” and “late-night energy.” In one picture, he even looked like he was smiling—not big, not obvious, but enough to make you blink.
You leaned back against your lavender pillows, heart thudding faster than it should. So he wasn’t just the silent, rule-obsessed roommate. He was someone people went out of their way to see. Someone who belonged to a world you hadn’t known about until now.
The thought of asking him about it crossed your mind—then you pictured his face, that flat tone of voice, the shut door. No. BAD IDEA.
🍒
The first few days in the city slipped by in a blur. You woke early, sometimes to find the apartment already empty, other times catching the faint sound of the shower running through the walls before his door closed again. He came and went like clockwork, never volunteering where he was headed, never asking where you were going.
You tried. Cheerful good mornings, small comments about the weather, even casual questions about the best grocery store nearby. He’d answer, but never more than the bare minimum. Words from him felt rationed. So you filled the silence with your own noise.
There were auditions. One ended before you’d even spoken a line, the casting director waving you off with a polite, “We’ll be in touch.” Another felt promising until the girl before you walked out clutching the script with the confidence of someone already chosen. You told yourself it was fine. There would be more.
In the evenings, you propped your phone against a mug and FaceTimed your family. Your sisters talked over each other, your dad asked if you were eating enough, your mom wanted a tour of the apartment. You tilted the screen carefully, avoiding the gray walls and keeping your lavender bedding in view instead.
When your friends called, you laughed and exaggerated the quirks of city life—the subway, the pigeons, the endless honking. But you didn’t mention him. Not really. How could you describe someone so silent, so carefully walled off?
Still, curiosity lingered. You caught yourself listening for the sound of his guitar through the walls, sometimes you peeked into the kitchen just to see what he cooked, hoping for a clue about who he really was. But if he noticed your curiosity, he never showed it.
It was 10:30 p.m. when you stumbled back into the apartment, makeup smudged and your tote bag heavier than usual though you carried nothing new. You had spent all day chasing a role that had slipped right through your fingers the moment you walked into the audition room. The casting director’s blank stare, the clipped thank you, the way no one looked up when you left—it all replayed in your head like a cruel loop.
By the time you reached your bedroom, you could feel the tight ache in your chest breaking into sobs. You didn’t even bother turning on the main light, just dropped onto the bed and fumbled for your phone. One ring, two rings, and then your best friend’s familiar voice filled the silence.
You let it out—how you felt humiliated, how maybe you weren’t cut out for this city, how every step seemed to prove you didn’t belong. Your words cracked, spilling into tears, your friend’s voice on the other side a lifeline of soft encouragement. “You’re not a failure,” they repeated. “You’re brave for even being there.”
Your knees were curled into your chest, the phone wedged against your ear as you tried to steady your breathing.
“I’m just… I don’t know what I’m even doing here,” you sobbed into the speaker, your best friend’s voice a soft murmur on the other end. “I thought I could handle rejection, but they didn’t even look at me, like I wasn’t worth the two seconds it would take to listen. And maybe they’re right—maybe I’m not worth it.”
Your words tumbled out, jagged and breathless, not realizing how loud you’d gotten in the quiet apartment.
The knock on your door startled you so badly you almost dropped your phone.
“Hold on,” you whispered to your friend, wiping at your face with the heel of your palm.
The door creaked open just enough for Harry to appear, his hand still on the knob. His hair was mussed, his expression sharp and impatient.
“It’s past ten,” he said flatly, voice low and firm. “Walls are thin, so—”
He stopped.
The second his eyes met yours, glassy and rimmed red, his words faltered. He didn’t move for a beat, like he’d been caught in something he hadn’t meant to step into.
You pressed your lips together, mortified. Your friend’s voice was still faintly audible through the speaker, asking if you were okay.
Harry’s jaw flexed. “Sorry,” then, without another word, he stepped back and shut the door gently.
You stared at the closed door, your breath still shaky.
Swallowing, you lifted the phone back to your ear. “Sorry, I—uh—I’ll call you back,” you whispered, hanging up before your friend could protest.
For a long while, you just sat there in silence, the air heavy with what had just happened. After that you just went to brush your teeth and slumped in the bed praying to fall asleep quickly to forget about the audition and about your very grumpy very unknown roommate seeing you cry and making him uncomfortable.
You had broken almost three rules by now—it was silly how you were more worried about the rule breaking and making him uncomfortable than your actual feelings. The thought made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. Instead, you pulled the blanket over your head and tried to will your brain into silence.
But of course, it didn’t work. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the way he’d stopped mid-sentence, the flicker of something softer in his expression before he shut the door.
Somehow, Harry being witness to your tears felt worse than the casting director telling you “thank you, next.” And the worst part? You couldn’t figure out why.
The next morning, sunlight bled through the curtains, nudging you awake far earlier than you wanted. Your head throbbed faintly, your throat raw from crying. With a groan, you rolled over, half-expecting to hear faint kitchen noises or footsteps.
But the apartment was silent.
Dragging yourself out of bed, you padded into the hallway, hair messy, socks slipping on the wood floor. When you stepped into the kitchen, you stopped short.
On the counter sat a plate—scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, and a small bowl of cut fruit, still fresh enough to glisten. A mug of black coffee steamed beside it, the smell curling warmly through the air.
Your chest tightened.
There was no note, no sticky reminder, nothing dramatic—just breakfast, plated neatly, waiting for you.
You glanced around as if he might appear from behind the fridge or step out from the hallway, but the apartment was empty. His keys were gone from the hook near the door.
Still, you sat down at the small table, staring at the food for a long moment before taking the first bite. It was simple, but somehow it tasted better than anything you’d eaten since moving in.
And you couldn’t help the small, ridiculous smile tugging at your lips.
You spent most of the day in your room, alternating between scrolling job boards and rereading the audition notes that made you feel worse the longer you looked at them. But the thought of the breakfast kept sneaking back in, softening the edges of your mood.
By late afternoon, you heard the sound of the lock turning.
Harry stepped in, hair a little messy from the wind, guitar case slung over his shoulder. He kicked his boots off near the door and set his case down without noticing you at first.
Your heart thudded. You wanted—needed—to say something.
“Hey,” you started, voice tentative. “About… last night.”
That caught his attention. He looked over, unreadable as ever, one hand still resting on the strap of his bag.
You twisted your fingers together. “I—I’m sorry if I was too loud. I didn’t mean to break your rules. I just… had a rough day.”
For a moment, you thought he was going to brush you off with a shrug and retreat to his room. Instead, he leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest.
“You don’t have to apologize for crying,” he said simply, his tone even.
Relief washed over you, but also a little courage. “Right. Okay. Um… thank you. For breakfast.”
His jaw worked for a second, like he wanted to deflect, but then his gaze flicked to yours. “Figured you probably didn’t eat last night. Don’t make it a big deal.”
You smiled despite yourself. “I won’t. Promise.”
For the first time, something like the shadow of a grin tugged at his mouth—small, fleeting, but real—before he pushed off the wall and grabbed his guitar case.
“Good,” he said, and disappeared into his room.
Still, the moment lingered. And for the first time since moving in, you felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t entirely untouchable.
That evening, you were in the kitchen again, determined to bake something. The cupboards were still half-bare, but you had managed to grab flour, sugar, and a carton of eggs earlier. Cupcakes weren’t home, exactly, but they felt close enough.
You were whisking the batter when you felt that prickle at the back of your neck—the same one you always felt when he suddenly appeared without a sound.
“Do you always hum when you cook?” Harry asked.
You jumped, nearly spilling the bowl. “God—you’re like a ghost,” you muttered, clutching your chest before setting the whisk down.
His lips curved—just slightly. “Didn’t mean to sneak up.” He moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.
You eyed him as he twisted the cap. “I didn’t know you noticed things like that.”
“I notice a lot of things,” he replied evenly, though his eyes lingered on the bowl, the bright silicone spatula, the messy bit of flour on your shirt. “Cupcakes?”
You nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah. Thought it might make the place feel less… gray.”
Something flickered across his face, quick as lightning. “Not a bad idea,” he said, softer than you expected.
You blinked. “Do you… want one? When they’re done, I mean.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just took a sip of his water, watching you over the bottle’s rim. Then, after a beat:
“Maybe.”
And with that, he retreated back to the sofa, laptop in hand—but the word stuck with you. Maybe. It wasn’t much, but from him, it felt like a door cracking open just enough to let a sliver of light through.
The smell of vanilla and sugar soon filled the apartment, warm and inviting in a way the gray walls never managed to be. You pulled the tray from the oven, setting it on the counter, and carefully spread pale pink frosting across the tops.
You hesitated before carrying one over to the living room, your heart thumping faster than it should for a simple cupcake.
Harry was exactly where you’d left him, laptop balanced on his knees, fingers tapping lightly at the keys. His hair fell into his face until he pushed it back absently.
“Hey,” you said softly, holding out the plate. “They’re ready. You said maybe.”
His eyes flicked up, then down to the cupcake, then back to you. He didn’t move for a second, as though testing whether this was some kind of trick. Finally, he closed the laptop with a quiet click and set it aside.
You placed the plate in front of him, feeling a ridiculous rush of nerves as he picked it up. He turned it in his hand once, studying the frosting swirl, before taking a bite.
For the briefest moment, his expression shifted—just a flicker—but you caught it. His jaw relaxed, the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile.
“It’s good,” he said, voice low.
Relief bubbled out of you in a laugh. “Thanks. I was afraid you were going to say you don’t eat sugar after nine p.m. or something.”
That earned you a look—sharp at first, then unexpectedly amused. He shook his head, taking another bite. “Not one of the rules.”
His eyes met yours then, and for the first time, he didn’t look away right after. The silence stretched, softer this time, before he returned to his cupcake like it was a shield.
Still, that sliver of light through the door grew just a little wider.
You lingered nearby as he finished the last bite, trying not to stare too openly but unable to help it.
“So…” you started, voice casual. Too casual. “Do you play often? The guitar?”
Harry’s eyes lifted to yours, unreadable. “Yeah.”
“Are you, um—like, in a band or something?” you pressed, tilting your head innocently.
For a second, you swore you saw his mouth twitch, not in amusement but in recognition. His gaze narrowed, sharp but quiet, like he could see straight through you.
“Funny question,” he said slowly, leaning back against the cushions. “Makes me wonder how you’d even think to ask it.”
Your stomach dipped. You tried for a shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just… curious. Most people don’t have a guitar case lying around unless they use it.”
He studied you for a long moment, as though weighing the truth in your words. Then he leaned forward, setting the empty plate on the coffee table.
“Curiosity’s fine,” he murmured, his voice even but edged, “as long as it doesn’t cross into rule three or five.”
Your breath caught. You plastered on a smile, forcing your tone light. “Noted.”
But the way his eyes lingered, sharp and knowing, made your pulse thrum faster. For the first time, you wondered if he already suspected how much you wanted to know.
🍒
The days blurred into a quiet rhythm. You tiptoed around his rules, careful not to push too hard, and he—well, he started giving you more than one-word answers. Not a lot more, but enough to feel like cracks in his armor.
A muttered “Morning” when you crossed paths in the kitchen. A dry “That smells edible” when you burned your first attempt at pasta. Even the occasional question tossed your way, quick and casual, as if he regretted asking it immediately after.
Still, the apartment was missing something. It wasn’t just the silence—it was the sterility of it all, beige and gray swallowing every corner. So, one afternoon, you came home balancing a small terracotta pot in your hands, a tiny green plant with wide leaves that practically radiated cheer.
You set it on the coffee table in the living room and stepped back, smiling. “There,” you said to no one, brushing the dirt from your hands. “Instant upgrade.”
You didn’t hear him until his voice came from the hallway. “What’s that?”
You turned, caught in the act, but didn’t back down. “A plant. His name is Finn.”
Harry’s brow furrowed as he walked closer, hands in his pockets. He looked at the plant for a long moment, and you braced yourself for the inevitable rules lecture.
Instead, he crouched slightly, tilting his head as if assessing it. “It’s not fake?”
You blinked. “No. Real.”
His lips pressed together, and for the first time, you saw something like approval flicker across his face. “Looks… good.”
The words were quiet, almost reluctant, but they warmed you more than you wanted to admit.
You grinned. “So Finn can stay?”
He straightened up, glancing at you briefly before turning toward his room. “As long as you water him.”
It was a small thing, but to you, it felt monumental. Like he’d just admitted—without saying it—that maybe he didn’t mind sharing the space with you after all.
🍒
Friday night, the city buzzed with life around you, but you didn’t feel like part of it. You were just tired—bone-deep tired—from the week. When you reached the apartment building, though, your stomach sank.
Your tote was lighter than it should have been.
Keys.
You dug through the bag twice, then three times, even checked your pockets though you knew better. Nothing.
Your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering over his number. Rule seven screamed in your head—Always carry your keys. You could practically hear his voice reminding you. Calling him felt like confessing a crime.
So instead, you sat down against the door. I can wait a while. At first, it was just to think, to stall for a minute. But the hallway was quiet, and the cool wall behind you made your eyelids heavy. Hours blurred, and before long, exhaustion pulled you under.
The sound of steps jolted you awake. Your head shot up.
“Jesus Christ—Y/N” Harry’s voice cut sharp before it faltered. He crouched down, frowning as he took in the sight of you curled against the doorframe, your dress wrinkled, your face marked from leaning on your arm.
“What happened?” His voice was low, urgent in a way you hadn’t heard before.
“I—uh—” You rubbed your eyes, embarrassed heat rushing to your cheeks. “I forgot my keys. Didn’t want to bother you. With the… rule.”
For a second, he just stared at you, something tightening in his jaw. Then he shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
“In this scenario,” he said firmly, almost like he was scolding himself more than you, “it’s obviously okay to call me. You don’t sit out here all night.”
The guilt in his eyes was clear, even if his voice stayed even. He stood, reaching down to help you up. “You could’ve been freezing. Or worse.”
You took his hand, letting him pull you inside. “I didn’t want to break the rules,” you murmured
He exhaled, something like frustration threading through it. “Forget the rules right now, alright? I don’t…” He trailed off, jaw tight, shutting the door behind you. “I don’t want you waiting out there again.”
The words lingered between you, heavier than any rule taped to the fridge.
You hovered in the entryway, clutching your bag. He set his guitar case down with more force than necessary, then disappeared briefly into the kitchen. When he came back, he was holding a glass of water, which he pressed into your hands.
“Drink,” he said, softer this time.
You obeyed, the cool water easing the dryness in your throat. When you set the glass down, you caught him watching you, something unguarded flickering across his face before he looked away.
“You were out late,” you said, trying for lightness. “Gig?”
He gave a short nod, toeing off his boots. “Yeah.” He paused, glancing at you again. “Went alright.”
It wasn’t much, but it was the first piece of his life he’d willingly offered. And after the night you’d had—sitting on the floor outside your own home, waiting, doubting—you clung to it.
“Good,” you whispered, the corner of your mouth tugging up.
For once, he didn’t retreat straight to his room. He lingered a moment longer, then jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Get some sleep. You look wrecked.”
And though the words were blunt, there was no edge to them this time—only a strange, quiet concern that followed you all the way to your bedroom door.
The next morning, the smell of something warm and toasty pulled you out of sleep. Blinking at the clock, you realized it was barely eight. That alone was unusual—Harry was never up this early unless he had somewhere to be.
Padding into the kitchen, you found him again at the counter, sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy, sliding scrambled eggs onto two plates. A small stack of toast leaned precariously beside them, and the coffee machine gurgled as it finished its last cycle.
Your throat went tight, remembering last night—the door, the guilt in his eyes, how small you must have looked curled up outside.
“Morning,” you whispered.
He glanced over, jaw flexing like always, then nodded once. “Sit.”
You did, suppressing the smile tugging at your lips as he placed a plate in front of you. He didn’t linger, didn’t hover. Just poured himself coffee and sat across from you, silent but present. It was more than enough.
And then you noticed it—tucked under your plate, almost like a placemat. A sheet of lined paper. The familiar scrawl made your stomach flip.
The Rules (modified):
Don’t go into my room.
Don’t touch my stuff.
No loud calls after ten. (exception: emergencies, yes crying is an emergency.)
If you forget your keys, call me.
Your eyes flicked up, and he was already watching you. Not glaring, not scolding—just watching, a little stiff, like he wasn’t sure how you’d react.
You traced the paper with your fingertip, lips curving despite yourself. “So… exceptions exist.”
He grunted, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. “Yes.”
You bit back the flood of gratitude rising in your chest, choosing instead to take another bite of toast like it was the most casual thing in the world. But your heart was racing.
Because for the first time since moving in, the rules weren’t just walls. They were… bending.
And that, you decided, was your biggest victory yet.
🍒
You smoothed the hem of your new dress in front of the hallway mirror, it was a pale yellow dress that looked like it had been plucked straight from a fairytale. The fabric was light and airy, layers of sheer tulle falling gracefully into a full, mid-calf skirt that swayed with every step. Tiny dotted patterns scattered across the material caught the light, adding a subtle shimmer. The bodice was fitted like a corset with sweetheart cups that framed your neckline and delicate ribbon ties rested on your shoulders.
Exactly what you needed for today’s audition.
Behind you, you heard footsteps. Harry’s, slow and even, padding down the hall toward the kitchen.
You turned, smile blooming nervously. “Hey—um. Do I look okay?”
He stopped dead a few feet away. For a beat, he didn’t say anything, just let his eyes flick over you once—quick, but not quick enough. His jaw flexed, like he had to physically lock something back down.
Then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out. “You look like the sunshine.”
The heat that rushed to your cheeks was instant, impossible to hide. “Sunshine?” you repeated, the smile tugging at your lips betraying how flattered you were.
He blinked, as though realizing what he’d said. His mouth tightened, and he cleared his throat. “I meant… bright. Loud, even. Hard to miss.”
But his ears were pink, and you could tell he was scrambling for cover.
You tilted your head, biting your lip to stop your grin from growing. “I’ll take sunshine,” you said softly, brushing past him toward the door.
And though he didn’t answer, you caught the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth before he ducked his head.
Later the door swung open with a dramatic push, and you all but burst into the apartment. Your tote bag nearly slipped off your shoulder as you stumbled in, laughing breathlessly.
“I got it!” you squealed, tossing the bag on the couch. “I actually got the part!”
Your whole body seemed to glow, the yellow dress still fluttering around your knees as you spun once in the middle of the living room, too thrilled to care if you looked silly.
Harry had been stretched across the sofa with his laptop, but at the sound of your voice he froze, watching as you beamed at nothing and everything all at once.
He’d seen you smile plenty of times, but not like this. This was blinding, unrestrained, pure joy radiating out of you until it filled the room. It made something sharp twist in his chest.
Because, if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything like that.
Still, he found himself staring, jaw slack, as the corners of his own mouth tugged upward without permission. It was… contagious. Your happiness. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t just want to observe it from the safety of his own silence.
He wanted—just for once—to share it with you.
“You got the part?” he asked
You stopped twirling, eyes wide with delight, and nodded so hard your hair bounced. “I got it, Harry! They actually picked me!”
He set the laptop aside, shifting forward on the couch. A strange, cautious warmth pressed against his ribs, a feeling that made him nervous to name. But still, he let himself smile, small but real. “Then I guess… congratulations.”
Your laughter bubbled again, brighter than before, and he thought maybe—just maybe—he could get used to this sound filling the apartment.
You spent the next hour pacing around your room, phone pressed to your ear as you called everyone you loved. Your mom. Your dad. Each one of your siblings. Your best friend. The words I got it! echoed again and again, your voice bright, bubbling, unstoppable.
Through the thin apartment walls, Harry could hear it all—your laughter, your excited footsteps, the rise and fall of your joy spilling into every call. And even though he tried to keep his focus his lips betrayed him, tugging upward into a quiet smile.
It stirred something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not jealousy—no, he didn’t begrudge you your happiness. It was more like a tug, an ache he couldn’t name. The way you trusted so openly, the way you shared so freely, like happiness was meant to be scattered around without fear it might run out.
He set the laptop down, running a hand over his jaw. Maybe… maybe he should do something.
His mind immediately began spinning. Should I buy a bottle of champagne? No—too posh, too over the top. Dinner, maybe? Invite her somewhere nice? What? No, that would feel like a date, and he wasn’t—this wasn’t—
He groaned, scrubbing his hand through his hair. Maybe I should just cook? Something simple? But then he pictured himself fumbling around the kitchen and her bright eyes watching him, and his pulse spiked. No, no.
Beers? he thought desperately. That was safer. Neutral. But even that felt too forced.
Then it hit him. Of course. The gig.
She could come, watch the band, have a fun night, soak up the music, the atmosphere. It wasn’t a date, not really—it was casual, public, easy. And maybe, just maybe, it would let him share a piece of himself without having to strip down all his walls.
The idea settled into him and he sat there, rehearsing the words in his head like he was preparing for battle: You should come tonight. It’s just a small set. No big deal.
Casual. Harmless. Nothing more.
So why did his heart pound as if it meant everything?
You ended the last call with your best friend, still smiling so wide your cheeks ached. Your phone slipped onto the bed beside you as you leaned back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, replaying every little detail of the day in your head.
A soft knock on your door startled you. Not much of a knock, really—more like the back of a knuckle brushing against wood.
“Yeah?” you called, sitting up.
The door cracked open, and Harry leaned against the frame, arms crossed like he hadn’t been pacing in the hallway for the past three minutes working up the nerve. His voice was calm, casual—at least, that’s what he was aiming for.
“Big day, huh?” he said.
You grinned at him, still unable to contain yourself. “Huge. I can’t believe it, Harry. I thought they hated me, and then—” You stopped yourself before launching into another retelling. “Sorry. I’ve been talking everyone’s ears off.”
His lips twitched. “Could hear that.”
Heat rushed to your cheeks, but he didn’t sound annoyed—just… aware. Observing.
Then, after a pause, he shifted his weight and spoke quickly, like ripping off a bandage. “Listen, uh. I’ve got a gig tonight. Just a small set, nothing major. Thought you might wanna come.”
Your brows shot up. Of all the things you thought he might say, that wasn’t on the list. “A gig?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, gaze darting past you to the corner of the room, like he couldn’t quite hold eye contact. “Bar downtown. We start around ten. You don’t have to—it’s just…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “Figured it’s a way to celebrate?”
The way he said it—so offhand, like it didn’t matter either way—didn’t quite cover the faint pink climbing his ears.
You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. “You’re inviting me.”
“I’m… mentioning an option,” he corrected, deadpan, though his jaw worked a little like he regretted opening his mouth at all.
Still, you could feel the smallest crack in his armor, and it warmed you all over. “Well,” you said lightly, “then I guess I’ll take the option.”
His shoulders relaxed just the faintest bit. “Cool. I’ll… we leave at 8.”
And with that, he nodded once, retreating back down the hall before you could see the tiny, nervous smirk tugging at his lips.
🍒
The bar was dim, alive with the low hum of chatter and the clink of glasses. A string of colored lights zigzagged above the small stage, casting everything in a warm, intimate glow.
Harry walked in beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black jacket, shoulders tight like he already regretted bringing you. You, on the other hand, practically bounced on your heels, your yellow dress a burst of light in the low-lit room.
As soon as you reached the stage area, a couple of guys looked up from tuning their instruments.
“Harry!” one of them called, grin spreading wide. He had curly hair pulled back into a bun and sticks tucked under one arm—clearly the drummer.
Harry gave a nod. “This is—” He hesitated for half a second before gesturing toward you. “My… roommate.”
You stepped forward with your brightest smile, offering a hand. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you.”
The bassist, tall and lanky with glasses slipping down his nose, chuckled as he shook your hand. “Roommate, huh? You don’t look like the type Harry would put up with.”
“Hey,” Harry muttered, shooting him a look.
But you just laughed, the sound light and unbothered. “Guess I’m lucky then.”
After a round of quick introductions, Harry mumbled something about needing to check the set list and drifted toward the back of the stage, leaving you to find a spot. You chose a small table off to the side where you could see clearly, resting your chin in your hand, still smiling like the whole night was already magic.
Back on stage, as they plugged in cables and adjusted mics, the bandmates couldn’t resist.
“So,” the drummer said under his breath, nudging Harry with his stick. “Who’s the sunshine?”
Harry’s brows drew together. “What?”
“The girl,” the bassist chimed in, jerking his chin toward you. “She’s, like… a flower come to life. All bright and smiley. Total opposite of you.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “She’s just my roommate.”
“Uh-huh.” The drummer smirked. “Funny how your roommate shows up looking like she wandered out of a fairy tale.”
Harry busied himself with tuning his guitar, but his ears burned.
“She’s sweet,” the bassist added, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Smiled at me like I’d just handed her a winning lottery ticket. Can’t remember the last time someone looked that happy to be here.” He shot Harry a teasing grin. “No wonder you brought her.”
Harry’s head snapped up. “I didn’t bring—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “She wanted to come.”
“Sure,” the drummer said, smirking. “Just a coincidence the grumpiest guy we know suddenly has sunshine tagging along.”
The bassist chuckled. “Honestly, I like it. It’s like yin and yang. You, all broody and dark, her, all light and joy. Balance, man. It works.”
Harry’s blush deepened as he muttered, “You two sound ridiculous,” but his fingers fumbled on the strings, betraying him.
Meanwhile, you sat at your little table, completely unaware, still smiling as you waved when you caught Harry glancing your way. He quickly looked back down, but not before the drummer elbowed him again with a knowing grin.
When the lights dimmed, a ripple of excitement spread through the bar. The casual chatter quieted, replaced by the anticipation of music about to begin. You leaned forward in your chair, elbows braced on the table, eyes fixed on the stage.
Harry stood near the mic, guitar slung low across his chest, head bent as he adjusted the strap. Even under the glow of red and amber stage lights, he seemed the same as always—closed off, unreadable.
But then he strummed the first chord.
The sound filled the bar instantly—confident, rough around the edges, alive. His bandmates joined in, the rhythm locking tight, and suddenly Harry wasn’t your grumpy, rule-obsessed roommate anymore. He was something else entirely.
The lines of his face sharpened in the lights, his jaw tight with focus, his eyes half-closed as if he was lost somewhere only the music could take him. He leaned into the mic, voice spilling out low and raw, pulling every head in the bar toward him.
You sat frozen, goosebumps prickling up your arms.
He didn’t just play the guitar—he commanded it, every strum a piece of him let loose into the room. It was loud and unapologetic and yet so clearly his truth. For the first time, you understood why the rules, the silence, the walls—maybe he needed them just to contain this.
Your lips parted as you watched, unable to stop the slow smile spreading across your face.
And when his eyes flicked up for the briefest second, scanning the room, they landed on you. Just for a heartbeat.
Your smile widened, a little breath catching in your throat.
Harry’s fingers faltered for the tiniest moment, a split-second stutter in the strings, before he caught himself and pushed harder into the chorus, jaw flexing like nothing had happened.
But you saw it. And he knew you saw it.
By the time the song ended, the bar erupted in applause, whistles and cheers bouncing off the walls. You clapped so hard your palms stung, still beaming up at him like he’d just revealed a secret side of himself meant only for you.
And maybe, deep down, that’s exactly what it felt like.
The walk back to the apartment is quiet at first, though not uncomfortably so. The night air is cool against your skin, humming with the distant buzz of traffic and the echo of laughter spilling from nearby bars. You walk beside Harry with your usual bounce, coat wrapped tightly around your shoulders, a smile that hasn’t dimmed since the very first song he played.
Harry keeps his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, head ducked, curls clinging damply to his forehead. He looks tired in that flushed, post-gig way, but there’s something warm in the corner of his mouth, like even if he doesn’t admit it, he’s still buzzing too.
“You were amazing,” you blurt suddenly, unable to keep it in any longer.
He glances at you sideways, caught off guard. “Mm?”
“Like—Harry, seriously. Amazing. I don’t even know how you didn’t tell me you play like that! You just—” you wave your hands, as though words aren’t enough to capture what you feel. “Your voice! And the guitar, oh my God. And the way everyone just… followed you, like you were the center of everything. You don’t even realize, do you?”
His steps falter, just barely. Compliments usually skim off him, deflected with a shrug or a joke, but you aren’t teasing. You’re looking at him like he hung the stars, and it makes him visibly uncomfortable. He shrugs, tugging at his sleeve.
“It was fine.”
“Fine?” you gasp, scandalized. “Harry, it was so much more than fine! You were brilliant. I wish you could’ve seen yourself—actually, no, I wish you could’ve seen yourself through my eyes. The way your face changed when you sang? And when you did that solo? Everyone was staring at you.”
Harry’s chest tightens. Too much. Your happiness, your belief in him—it’s warm and suffocating all at once. By the time you both climb the stairs and step into the apartment, he looks like he’s carrying a weight only he can feel.
You kick your shoes off by the door, still glowing. “Harry, I swear, you’re gonna be huge one day. Not just local gigs, not just little bars. Bigger. People need to hear you. They have to.”
“Stop,” he mutters, moving toward his room.
You blink, mid-sentence. “Stop what?”
“Just—stop.” He doesn’t look at you, his hand already on the door. His voice comes out harsher than he means, rough with nerves. “You don’t need to say all that.”
The silence after that cuts deeper than anything.
You stand there, frozen in the middle of the living room, arms still lifted in a gesture that now feels awkward. The smile slips right off your face. “Oh,” you whisper, small and stung.
He disappears into his room, the door shutting firmly behind him. Not a slam, but solid enough that it feels like a line.
You stay rooted where you are, heat rising in your cheeks. Embarrassment washes over you in waves. Maybe you’d overdone it, maybe all that excitement spilling out of you was too much. You’ve been careful, trying not to overwhelm him, trying to respect the way he pulls back. And here you went, dumping everything on him in one breath.
You sit on the couch, hugging your knees. The silence presses heavy, but after a moment you remind yourself—this isn’t cruelty. He wasn’t trying to hurt you. This is Harry, retreating into himself, unsteady under the weight of kindness. It’s not about you being wrong. It’s about him not knowing how to hold it.
Through the wall, you think you can hear the faint creak of his mattress as he sits.
Inside his room, Harry is dragging his hands down his face, cursing himself. Every word you’d said replays in his head—brilliant, amazing, bigger than this. And he can’t believe any of it. Can’t let himself. But the way you’d said it, like it was the truest thing in the world, burrowed under his skin. He shuts his eyes, listening.
Your voice carries faintly through the wall, muffled but clear. You’ve picked up your phone, calling someone—maybe your sister again, maybe a friend. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your laugh filters through, bright and unguarded.
“I’m just… so proud of him,” you’re saying. “You should’ve seen him tonight. He was everything. I’ve never seen someone glow like that before. And he doesn’t even realize. He doesn’t see it at all. But I do.”
Harry’s chest aches. He presses a hand against it, as though that will keep the feeling at bay, but it doesn’t.
Because even after he pushed you away, even after he shut the door, you’re still out there believing in him—louder than he can ever believe in himself.
And for the first time in a long, long time, he finds himself smiling in the dark. Not a smirk, not a mask. A real smile. Small, fragile, but real.
Maybe, he thinks, it wouldn’t be so terrible to share in some of that happiness you carry so easily.
🍒
The morning light filters into the kitchen when you shuffle in, still in socks, hair messy from sleep. The apartment feels unusually still, like it’s holding its breath after what happened last night. You hesitate for a second before stepping farther in, half-expecting to find Harry already gone like most mornings.
But he’s there.
Sitting at the table, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other tapping lightly against the wood. His guitar leans against the wall nearby, and there’s a plate of toast and eggs on the counter—your plate, you realize.
His head lifts when he hears you. His eyes meet yours, green and sharp in the early light, but softer than usual. Almost uncertain.
“Morning,” you say carefully, testing the air.
“Morning,” he echoes, voice rough from sleep or nerves—you can’t tell which.
You walk over, fingers brushing the edge of the counter as you pick up the plate. For a moment, you wonder if you should just sit in silence, let it all fade. But then you notice the way he’s watching you, like he’s waiting for something—like he’s the one holding his breath now.
So you smile. “Thanks for breakfast.”
He clears his throat, gaze dropping to his mug. “’S nothing.”
You sit across from him, plate between you, and the silence stretches again. Only this time it’s not awkward—it’s heavy, expectant. You can feel him wrestling with words.
Finally, he exhales and leans back, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “About last night…”
You look up. His jaw flexes, like he’s bracing himself.
“I didn’t mean to—shut you down like that,” he says slowly, carefully. “I’m… not used to it. People saying things like that about me. About the band. I don’t… I don’t know how to take it.”
Your chest softens instantly. The words aren’t smooth, not polished, but they’re honest. Maybe the first honest thing he’s given you since you moved in.
“I know,” you say gently, setting your fork down. “I figured it wasn’t about me. I didn’t take it that way.”
His eyes flick up at that, sharp and searching, like he’s checking if you’re telling the truth.
You nod, holding his gaze. “You don’t have to explain or make excuses, Harry. I meant what I said, but you don’t have to believe me yet. You will, someday. For now, just—don’t worry about it.”
Something flickers across his face then—relief, disbelief, something warmer underneath. His lips twitch, almost like a smile, though he presses them together quickly, hiding it.
“You’re not mad?”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Mad? No. Embarrassed maybe, for rambling so much, but never mad. Not at you.”
His shoulders drop a fraction, like a weight has eased off. He looks at you differently now—not just the noisy, sunny roommate he can’t keep up with, but someone patient enough to see through the walls he’s built.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The sunlight spills across the table, catching in his hair, warming the quiet between you. And then, almost too quietly to catch, he says:
“You’re… easier to be around than I thought.”
Your heart skips, but you don’t let your smile falter. You just reach for your toast, keeping your tone light. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far.”
He huffs through his nose, shaking his head, but then it happens—an actual laugh. Low, short, almost like he didn’t mean for it to escape.
You freeze mid-bite, eyes widening. “Wait.” You set the toast down carefully, pointing at him with exaggerated seriousness. “Was that a laugh? Did I just make you laugh?”
Harry smirks, trying to bury it behind his mug, but you catch the way his shoulders shake slightly.
“Oh my god, it was a laugh!” you say, grinning so wide it hurts. “I should write this down. Mark the date and time.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face, but you swear there’s still the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but it’s softer than usual—lighter, almost fond.
And you can’t stop staring at him, at how different he looks in that moment, not weighed down by walls or silence. For the first time since moving in, you feel like you’ve just caught a glimpse of the Harry that lives underneath the rules, the stern looks, the quiet.
And it makes you want to see it again.
That night, the apartment was unusually calm. You sat curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling half-distractedly through your phone while the glow of the TV played in the background. Harry walked in from his room, hair still damp from a shower, and for a moment he just stood there, hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or retreat.
Then, quietly, he asked, “So… the audition?”
Your head snapped up, eyes wide. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up. Not him.
“It—” your voice cracked on the first word, and you laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It actually went really well.”
Harry tilted his head, watching you closely, waiting for you to go on.
“They said I had something different, that I wasn’t like the others. I swear I thought I’d bombed it, but then—then they called me back in and said they wanted me for the part. I couldn’t believe it!”
You were grinning so hard your cheeks ached, your words spilling out like water bursting through a dam. You told him every detail—the waiting room, the nerves, the moment they said your name.
And Harry… he listened.
Not with that half-distracted air he usually carried, not with the distant coolness you’d grown used to. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you as though your joy was something rare, something worth holding on to.
When you finally stopped for breath, cheeks flushed, he gave the smallest nod. “Knew they’d see it.”
Your smile faltered just a little. “You… what?”
Harry shrugged, but his lips tugged in a tiny almost-smile. “Knew they’d pick you. You light up when you talk about it—it’s hard not to notice.”
Your chest tightened at his words, unexpected warmth rising in your throat.
And then, as if he realized he’d said too much, he cleared his throat and straightened. “If you need help practicing… lines or whatever—you can… ask me.”
You blinked at him, stunned. “You’d actually do that?”
His eyes flicked away, a faint pink brushing his cheeks. “Don’t expect me to be good at it. But yeah. I’d help.”
For a long moment, you just stared at him, smiling so wide it was almost ridiculous. “Harry Styles, volunteering to rehearse lines with me. I should definitely mark the date and time for this too.”
He let out another one of those quick, reluctant laughs, shaking his head as he muttered, “You’re impossible.”
But you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you, softer now, like he was secretly glad you were.
🍒
The first time, it was the rain.
You hadn’t realized the sky had cracked open until you were already halfway back from the store, juggling two bags of groceries and drenched head to toe. By the time you stumbled into the apartment, your hair was plastered to your cheeks, sundress clinging uncomfortably to your skin.
Harry appeared from the hallway almost instantly, eyes widening. “Bloody hell—” He grabbed a towel from the closet and pressed it into your hands before you could even drip onto the rug.
“Take a shower. Now,” he said firmly, another towel already tossed over your shoulders. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay like that.”
You blinked up at him, water dripping from your lashes, lips curving into a small, surprised smile. “You sound like my grandma.”
“Don’t argue,” he muttered, turning toward the kitchen. “Go. I’ll make you tea.”
And you did—heart thudding at the thought of him in there, waiting with a steaming mug when you came back warm and dry.
The second time, it was the couch
You’d meant to just rest your eyes for a second, the script still open on your lap as you curled up on the couch. But when Harry came back into the living room, he found you fast asleep, cheek smushed against the cushion, soft breaths evening out.
For a long moment, he just stood there, frozen.
Then, carefully, quietly, he slipped into your room and returned with your blanket. He shook it out once, then draped it gently over you, making sure it tucked around your shoulders.
You stirred, shifting slightly under the sudden warmth, but didn’t wake.
Harry lingered only a second longer, watching the way your lips parted in sleep, the faint crease between your brows softening as you relaxed deeper. Then he turned off the lamp, leaving just the glow of the hallway light behind, and disappeared back to his room.
You didn’t know why you woke up the next morning with your blanket around you. But you smiled when you did.
🍒
The door rattles open and you glance up from the couch just in time to see Harry come in, shoulders hunched from the late evening chill, arms weighed down with two grocery bags. His curls are damp at the edges, a sure sign he walked the last blocks in a fine drizzle, and there’s something about the way he kicks the door shut behind him, exhaling like the weight of the day is still clinging to him, that makes you smile.
“Let me help” you say, standing and automatically moving toward him.
He shrugs, setting one of the bags on the counter with a heavy thud. “It’s fine” he says.
You reach for the other bag before he can protest, pulling out a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, a pack of pasta. “Still,” you say, lining them neatly on the counter. You shake your head at the way he always fusses with the smallest things, then reach deeper into the bag — and freeze.
Because tucked between his usual oat milk and black coffee beans, you find it. Your cereal. The one brand you always keep on the top shelf, half-hidden because it feels a little childish. And right after that, your favorite kind of chips. The exact flavor you’d torn through last week.
You turn, eyes widening, the box in your hand like evidence. “Harry,” you say, your voice pitched higher than you intend, “you bought my cereal.”
He glances over, expression unreadable, like maybe he hadn’t expected you to notice so soon. Then, with a casual roll of his shoulders, he says, “Saw you were running low.”
That’s it. No grin, no joke, no acknowledgment of what it means. Just a quiet, almost dismissive explanation, like he’d picked up a spare roll of paper towels.
But your chest tightens, because you know him well enough now to read between the lines. You know this man who insists he doesn’t care much about details but somehow notices when you’re down to your last coffee pod, who pretends he doesn’t listen yet recalls every small thing you mention. You know, and your heart beats faster because of it.
“You noticed?” you ask softly, unable to keep the excitement from lacing your words.
Harry exhales a laugh through his nose, reaching for the bread as if that might save him from answering. “Hard not to. You have a whole ritual with it every morning. Box was nearly empty yesterday.”
There’s a warmth in his tone he doesn’t seem aware of, a fondness tucked into the edges. You can’t stop staring at him, at the way his profile looks in the golden kitchen light, jaw tight like he’s holding something back.
You want to tease him — you want to say, Since when do you pay that much attention to me? — but the words stick in your throat, too fragile to risk. Instead you smile, wide and giddy, and tuck the cereal against your chest like a prize.
Harry finally looks at you then, eyes flicking to your grin, and for a fleeting second his calm mask falters. His lips twitch as though he might smile too, then he clears his throat, busying himself with lining cans in the cupboard.
But the air has shifted. You can feel it humming in the space between you, charged and bright.
“Thank you,” you say at last, voice softer than before.
He shrugs again, but slower this time, like the gesture costs him something. “Don’t mention it.”
And in that silence, something clicks in you.
This isn’t about groceries. It’s not about cereal or chips or keeping track of what’s running low. It’s about him seeing you. About the way he can’t help but take care of you, even if he doesn’t have the words for why.
And maybe it’s about you too — the way your pulse races, the way you’re suddenly warm all over at the thought that Harry notices, that Harry cares.
You bite your lip to keep from laughing, because the happiness bubbling inside feels too much, too obvious. But he hears it anyway, the little sound that escapes, and he glances back with raised brows.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
You shake your head quickly, grinning like you can’t stop. “Nothing.”
Harry studies you, long enough that you almost squirm under his gaze. Then, to your shock, his mouth curves into the smallest, softest smile. The kind you haven’t seen from him before. And it’s enough to make your breath catch, because you realize he isn’t annoyed, he isn’t brushing you off. He’s letting you see it — the quiet, hidden piece of him that wants to make you happy.
And standing there in your shared kitchen, surrounded by groceries and rain-damp air, you know: this is how it begins.
🍒
Harry stood frozen at the edge of the sidewalk, staring at the flower shop window like it had personally offended him. Bouquets of bright pink peonies and sunbursts of yellow tulips smiled back through the glass, an explosion of color against the gray street. He adjusted his leather jacket, jaw tight.
“This is ridiculous. I’m going.” He muttered it more to himself than anyone, already shifting his weight as if he could walk away from the whole idea.
Before he could move, Sam caught his arm, grip firm. “Nope. Not a chance.”
Harry turned, glaring at his best friend. Sam only raised a brow, smug. The two of them — tall, dressed in black, boots scuffed from late nights in dingy bars — looked wildly out of place lingering outside a flower shop. Like predators afraid of bouquets.
“You heard me,” Sam went on, nodding toward the cheerful window display. “She just finished her first big project. You need a way to say you care. To show her you’re proud. That you want to celebrate her.” His grin widened as Harry’s scowl deepened. “That you liiike he-e-er.” The last words came in a sing-song tone that made Harry want to sink into the pavement.
“Shut up,” Harry snapped, heat creeping up the back of his neck. “I don’t like her.”
Sam’s gaze flicked to Harry’s cheeks, now faintly pink. “Mm-hm,” he said, drawing the sound out like it was a verdict. “Sure you don’t.”
Harry jerked his arm free, but he didn’t move away. He looked back at the flower shop, heart thudding. Inside, a florist was rearranging a bucket of roses, humming to herself. It should have been simple: walk in, pick something, leave. But every single bunch looked like it might scream too much or not enough.
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “What flowers do you even buy for… a literal flower?” The words slipped out, low and almost pained.
Sam burst out laughing, earning a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh, that’s rich. Man’s out here buying her favorite snacks one week and can’t figure out if daisies are too obvious.”
Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, muttering, “Forget it. She doesn’t even like this kind of thing.”
“Oh, she does,” Sam countered immediately. “She’s the type to light up over something thoughtful, doesn’t matter if it’s a fifty-dollar bouquet or one daisy wrapped in paper.”
Harry exhaled slowly, eyes flicking back to the flowers. He could already imagine your smile if he got it right — that warm, unstoppable kind that made his chest ache. And that was the problem.
Sam gave him a push toward the door. “Go on. Worst case, you leave with nothing but pollen on your jacket. Best case… she keeps smiling at you.”
Harry hesitated, but his hand found the shop’s door handle anyway.
The little bell over the door chimed as Harry stepped inside, shoulders tense like he’d walked into enemy territory instead of a flower shop. The air was thick with perfume — roses, lilies, carnations, all blending into something both sweet and overwhelming. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, scanning the room like he might find a sign that said For Sunshine, Buy These. Because of course he started to call her sunshine in his mind.
The florist, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and pruning shears tucked in her apron, glanced up. “Looking for something special?”
Harry cleared his throat. “Uh… yeah. Something like that.” His voice came out rougher than intended.
Sam was already poking around the displays behind him, whistling, enjoying every second of Harry’s discomfort.
The florist tilted her head. “Anniversary? Birthday?”
Harry’s jaw flexed. He hated this. Hated how easily the question made his pulse spike. “No. Just… congratulations.”
“On what?” she asked pleasantly.
He hesitated. Saying her first big film went well out loud felt like exposing too much. Like admitting that he listened to you when you talked about your dreams, that he stored the details away. He shifted his weight. “Work thing.”
“Got it.” She smiled knowingly. “Something cheerful, then. Something that says I’m proud of you.”
She guided him toward a bucket of sunflowers, tall and golden, their faces practically glowing. Harry stopped dead, staring at them. Sunflowers. Too on the nose. Too obvious.
Sam sidled up beside him, grin wide. “Perfect. Literal sunshine for your sunshine.”
Harry gave him a look that could kill. “No.”
He turned away, landing on a bunch of white daisies. Simple. Fresh. Not too heavy with meaning. But then his eyes caught on a cluster of yellow tulips, soft and elegant, like bottled warmth. Then there were the roses — classic, romantic, dangerous.
“This is a nightmare,” he muttered under his breath.
The florist chuckled, watching him circle like a trapped animal. “What’s she like?”
Harry blinked. “What?”
“The person you’re buying for. What’s she like? That usually helps.”
For a moment, his throat went dry. What were you like? He could list a thousand things, all of them lodged in his chest. You were bright. Brave. You filled a room without even trying. You had this way of making silence feel less heavy. You made him laugh when he thought he couldn’t anymore.
“She’s…” He swallowed hard. “She’s a lot. In a good way.”
The florist’s smile deepened. “Then you need something that won’t be swallowed by her light. Something that will stand beside it.”
Her hand landed on a bunch of mixed wildflowers — yellows, whites, soft pinks, all tangled together like summer in a bouquet. Not too polished, not too formal. Just… alive.
Harry stared at them. They weren’t overwhelming. They weren’t cliché. They looked like something you’d actually put in a jar on the kitchen counter and smile at every morning.
Sam leaned close, whispering, “If you don’t get those, I will.”
Harry sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “Fine.”
When the florist wrapped the bouquet in brown paper, tying it off with twine, Harry’s stomach twisted. It felt like too much and not enough all at once. He paid quickly, muttering a thanks, and bolted out into the street before he could change his mind.
Sam followed, smirking. “You’re so gone for her, man.”
“Shut up,” Harry said again, but this time the words lacked bite. He held the flowers carefully in one hand, staring at them like they might reveal whether this was a mistake.
🍒
By the time Harry reached the apartment building, his palms were damp against the brown paper wrapping. The bouquet crinkled softly every time he adjusted his grip, and it drove him mad how fragile it felt in his hand — how fragile he felt, standing there with something so bright meant for you.
He stopped outside the door to 301, heart thudding in his ears. The hallway was quiet, save for the hum of the overhead lights. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, jaw tight, the words he thought he’d say looping in his head and tangling every time.
Congrats. That sounds stupid. You deserve these. Too much. Saw these and thought of you. Christ, no. She’ll know. She’ll know.
Harry scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “It’s flowers, not a bloody marriage proposal.”
Still, his chest tightened every time he pictured your reaction. Would you laugh? Tease him? Smile that blinding smile and make him feel like he was standing in the sun without a way to shield himself?
He tried to rehearse it again.
Hey, you did good. Proud of you. The words burned his tongue even in thought. Pride wasn’t something he knew how to hand out. Not even to himself.
He took a deep breath, staring at the door handle like it might bite him. He could still turn back. Leave the flowers on the kitchen counter, no note, no explanation. You’d find them and never know it took him ten minutes of pacing in the hallway to gather the courage.
But something in him — the same reckless thread that had pushed him onto stages, that had kept him from walking away the first time he saw your smile — held him there.
Harry tightened his grip on the bouquet, exhaled slowly, and muttered, “Alright. Just… don’t be a dick about it.”
Then, finally, he turned the key and stepped inside.
You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on your knees, still buzzing from the last few texts your best friend had sent congratulating you. The front door clicked open, and you glanced up. Harry stepped in, shoulders hunched, leather jacket half-unzipped, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hand like it was a weapon he didn’t know how to wield.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my god… are those—?”
He cleared his throat, eyes flicking everywhere but at you. “Heard the short film closed well and, uh, wanted to… congratulate you. To like—” He winced, adjusting his grip on the flowers. “Be proud. I mean—I am proud. Like… yeah.” His voice trailed off into a mumble.
Your heart soared so hard it nearly hurt. Harry. Harry, who never said more than a few clipped words if he could help it, was standing there in your living room, cheeks faintly pink, tripping over sentences just to tell you he was proud.
You practically flew off the couch, grabbing the flowers before he could change his mind. The brown paper crinkled under your fingers, and the colors of the wildflowers were so bright they looked stolen from a dream. “Harry! These are gorgeous!”
He scratched the back of his neck, lips twitching like he was fighting a smile. “They’re just… flowers.”
“No, no, they’re not just flowers,” you insisted, spinning once with the bouquet clutched to your chest. “They’re beautiful, and they’re thoughtful, and—” you stopped mid-sentence, breathless with excitement. “Can I hug you? Please let me!”
Harry froze. You saw the hesitation flicker across his face, like his brain was trying to process the request through a hundred filters of rules and walls and distance. But then his shoulders dropped just slightly, the fight leaving him.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost like he was giving permission to himself more than to you.
You didn’t wait a second longer. You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face against his chest, the flowers squished between you both. He smelled like rain and coffee and something distinctly him. For a moment, his arms hovered awkwardly at his sides, and then—slowly, cautiously—they came up to hold you back.
The hug lingered longer than you thought it would. You could feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady but a little fast, and it made you smile even wider. When you finally pulled back, you kept bouncing on your toes, clutching the bouquet like it was the most precious thing anyone had ever given you.
“Harry, I love them so much. You don’t understand. No one’s ever given me flowers before, not like this. And you remembered about the short film! And you said you’re proud, oh my god—do you know how much that means? I swear my heart is going to explode right now. And we have to see the short film together!”
You were rambling, words spilling out faster than you could control, but you didn’t care. The happiness was too much to hold in, and you wanted him to feel all of it.
Harry’s ears were pink, his lips pressed into a thin line like he was trying desperately to keep them from twitching into a smile. “You’re… you’re making a big deal out of it,” he muttered, gaze darting to the floor.
“It is a big deal!” you insisted, hugging the bouquet tighter. “It’s huge. It’s—you’re huge, in like, the nicest way possible. Do you realize how sweet this is?”
He gave a tiny huff of breath, almost a laugh, and dragged a hand down his face. “Christ, you’re loud when you’re happy.”
But you caught it—the way his voice was softer, lighter than usual, like he wasn’t actually annoyed. His hand lingered on the back of his neck, nervous, but his eyes flicked to yours and didn’t look away as quickly as they usually did.
“Sorry,” you said through a grin you couldn’t tame. “I just can’t stop smiling. You’ve basically ruined me for the rest of the night. I’ll probably go to sleep smiling, thanks to you.”
That earned you another almost-laugh, the sound breaking past his defenses before he could stop it. It was small, quick, but it was there, and your chest lit up like fireworks.
You gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, was that a laugh? Did I just make Harry laugh AGAIN?”
“Don’t push it,” he warned, but there was no edge in his voice this time.
You held the bouquet up between you both, wiggling it slightly. “New rule,” you teased, your eyes bright. “You’re not allowed to say you’re not sweet. Evidence: right here.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the way his lips curled at the edges, traitorous and soft. And you thought, maybe, just maybe, you were starting to find the cracks in his walls.
You darted off to the kitchen to rummage for a vase, humming happily under your breath, the bouquet cradled like treasure. Harry stayed rooted where he stood, watching you move around with that unstoppable glow in your smile, and something inside him shifted so sharply he almost stumbled.
The walls he had spent years stacking brick by brick—rules, silence, distance—felt flimsy now, like paper left out in the rain. All because you had looked at him with that much joy over something as simple as a bunch of flowers.
He let out a low chuckle, surprising even himself. It wasn’t the short, bitter sound he usually made. It was lighter, easier. And in that moment, he realized there wasn’t a better feeling in the world than putting that smile on your face.
Harry leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely but no tension in his shoulders, watching you arrange the wildflowers into a vase far too small, your tongue sticking out a little in concentration. His lips twitched upward again, the warmth curling in his chest so foreign it almost scared him.
Bloody hell, he thought, shaking his head at himself, but he couldn’t look away.
And for the first time in years, Harry didn’t feel like hiding.
The flowers were still on the counter days later, their petals unfurling lazily toward the sun that spilled through the apartment windows. You made a habit of topping up the water every morning before rushing out to run errands, humming like you always did. Harry noticed. He noticed more than he cared to admit.
Because every time he passed the vase, he felt the faintest tug in his chest—like a reminder of how your eyes had lit up when he’d handed them over. He hadn’t meant it to mean anything, hadn’t thought through the weight of the gesture. But the memory of your grin lodged itself inside him, stubborn as ever.
Harry had never been good at lingering feelings. He was used to shutting doors before they creaked open, keeping people at arm’s length with clipped words and that hardened look that usually made strangers back away. But now, somehow, his sharp edges felt dulled around you. And worse—he didn’t hate it.
Then one day he found himself outside your audition building. He hadn’t planned it, not really. He had errands to run downtown, but when his phone buzzed with your quick text—Heading in now, wish me luck!—his feet had moved on their own.
He leaned against the brick wall across the street, cap tugged low, trying to look casual even though his stomach felt oddly tight. He wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for. Maybe to make sure you didn’t walk out looking defeated. Maybe just to… see.
And sure enough, twenty minutes later you appeared, clutching your bag, your shoulders slumped just slightly. Not devastated, just tired. He almost turned back—almost let you walk home without knowing he was there. But then you spotted him.
“Harry?” you asked, surprise lifting your voice.
He shrugged, forcing a lazy smirk. “Don’t look so shocked. I was nearby.”
Your eyes softened instantly, the tiredness draining as quickly as it had come. “You came.”
“Don’t make a big deal of it.” But it was a big deal, and you knew it. The smile you gave him in return—it was softer than the one you wore when you were excited, but just as powerful. Something in him unclenched again.
It started happening in small ways after that.
He brewed an extra cup of tea in the mornings, leaving it on the counter beside your travel mug without a word. You always noticed. He began timing his grocery runs around yours, carrying the heavier bags without you asking. When you protested, he muttered something about how your arms were too scrawny for the weight, but his grin betrayed him.
Even his silences changed. Before, they had been sharp, pointed, a barrier between him and the world. Now they were softer. Sometimes he lingered in the kitchen while you cooked, leaning against the counter, just listening to you ramble about your day. He didn’t always answer, but his eyes stayed fixed on you in a way that made your cheeks burn.
And you noticed. Of course you did.
By the end of the week, the flowers on the counter had begun to wilt. Their petals curled, drooping against the glass. You went to toss them, but Harry stopped you.
“Leave ’em,” he said quietly.
You tilted your head. “They’re dying, Harry.”
His jaw flexed, like he was fighting with himself, then he let out a sigh. “Still pretty, though. Don’t need to get rid of ’em just yet.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard by the softness in his tone. Something unspoken passed between you, thick in the air.
The apartment felt quiet when you came home that night, the city noises muted behind the closed door. Your shoulders sagged with the weight of the day—another audition that hadn’t gone as planned, another reminder that the road ahead was harder than you’d imagined. You just wanted to collapse onto your bed and disappear under the covers.
But before you could even cross the threshold to your room, Harry appeared from the kitchen, eyes soft but sharp, like he could read every ounce of your fatigue and disappointment the moment you stepped inside.
“You’re home early,” he said, voice calm, but there was an edge of… concern? Anticipation? You couldn’t quite place it.
You barely managed a shrug. “Yeah… rough day.”
He tilted his head, that familiar furrow in his brow settling, and the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly. “Sit down,” he said, almost a command. “I’m making dinner.”
You froze for a moment, unsure if you should protest, but the look in his eyes—something protective, insistent—made you sink into a chair at the counter. He moved around the kitchen with surprising ease, chopping vegetables, stirring sauces, setting the table. And all the while, your chest warmed at the way he seemed to… notice you, notice everything.
It wasn’t just dinner. It was the effort, the timing, the small attention to detail that made you feel like he wanted to take the day’s weight off your shoulders, even if he didn’t say it outright.
Finally, he plated the food with care, sliding a dish in front of you. “For sunshine,” he said, almost shyly, but with enough confidence that you felt it in your chest before your mind even processed it.
You blinked, a laugh escaping your lips before you could stop it. “Did you just?...”
He shifted, cheeks coloring faintly, but he didn’t address the nickname. Instead, he placed a plate in front of himself, muttering under his breath, “For me,” though his eyes kept flicking to yours, trying not to betray the fluster creeping across his face.
Your fingers itched to reach across the table and touch his hand, just to confirm he was real, and that he had called you that. You smiled so wide it felt like your cheeks would hurt later.
He rolled his eyes, pretending to check the pasta on his plate, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a tiny, victorious grin. “Don’t make it weird,” he murmured, voice low, but there was no sharpness in it this time.
Your heart thudded. Weird? That’s exactly what it was—but the best kind of weird. The kind that made your chest feel light, like you could laugh and cry and grin all at once.
You reached for your fork, but couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at him every few seconds, catching the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw flexed as if holding back words or feelings. You didn’t have to say anything—he’d made himself clear in the softest way possible.
And as you ate, you realized something: Weeks of slow, careful pacing had allowed this moment to exist, allowed him to start showing his feelings in the smallest, most intimate ways. You hadn’t pushed, hadn’t demanded, and in return, he was giving pieces of himself that no one else had ever gotten.
The two of you ate in quiet companionship, the kind that didn’t need constant chatter, the kind where glances and half-smiles said more than words could. You felt warmth in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips, because this—this effort, this subtle affection—was far more meaningful than any grand gesture.
When the last bite was gone, he finally looked up at you, eyes soft but alive. “You like it?” he asked quietly, almost as if asking for permission to care this much.
You nodded, heart swelling. “I love it. Thank you… for everything,” you said, voice catching slightly.
Harry’s lips twitched, and for the first time, you heard the sound of him laughing—a low, easy chuckle that felt like it belonged only to you. You blinked, surprised and elated, and that laughter wrapped around you, lifting away the tension of the day.
🍒
The nickname had started to settle into your days, quiet and teasing, but every time you saw it, your chest did that little flutter.
One afternoon, your phone buzzed while you were curled up on the couch reading. You picked it up and grinned.
Harry: “Sunshine, I’m at the Chinese place. Do you want spicy or not spicy?”
You rolled your eyes, but the smile didn’t leave your face.
“Spicy please!”
.
A few days later, you were doing laundry together in the cramped laundry room of the apartment building. You were folding your clothes into neat piles when Harry appeared behind you, holding a shirt in his hands.
“Sunshine,” he said, voice calm but eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Is this shirt yours?”
You froze for a second, caught off guard. “Oh yes! unless you want to wear a pink shirt i can lend it to you”
.
Over the next week, it became harder to keep track of how often he used it.
“Sunshine, can you grab some coffee with me later or do I need to bribe you?”
“Sunshine, your favorite yogurt is on the counter. Don’t eat it all in one sitting.”
.
You weren’t in the room, but Harry’s thoughts were tangled with you so tightly that even the familiar clatter of his bandmates backstage couldn’t shake it. He leaned against the counter, guitar case propped nearby, as Sam pulled up a stool beside him, arms crossed.
“You’re an idiot,” Sam said bluntly, shaking his head. “Seriously, Harry. Sunshine? Really? You’re calling her Sunshine and doing… what? Nothing?”
Harry snorted, but it came out tight, defensive. “It’s… not that simple.”
“Oh, come on,” Sam continued, leaning closer, voice dropping. “You’ve been staring at her like she’s the only person in the world since day one. You call her Sunshine, you text her like she’s the most important person in your life, and then you… don’t move. Don’t ask her out, don’t kiss her, don’t—”
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. “I don’t know if she… I mean… I’m not sure she—”
Sam barked a short laugh, cutting him off. “She’s not going to push. She’s too smart for that. You’ve got a girl who’s clearly fallen for you without you even asking, and you’re just… sitting there, letting her wait. For what? For you to figure out how to be brave?”
“I—she doesn’t even know…” Harry muttered, then trailed off, shaking his head.
Sam slammed a hand on the counter. “She doesn’t know because you’re not acting like someone who wants to be with her! She’s giving you space, Harry, because she can read you. She’s not stupid—she knows you’re figuring yourself out. But that doesn’t mean she’s going to wait forever. And you? You’re losing your chance because you can’t admit you want her as much as she clearly wants you.”
Harry stared down at the counter, chest tight. “It’s not that I don’t want her. I… I just—”
“Just what?” Sam pressed, eyebrow raised. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
Harry let out a breath, the sound almost inaudible over the low hum of the bar. “I… maybe I am,” he admitted, voice low, almost a whisper. “But what if she… what if she deserves more than… me? What if I’m not ready?”
Sam laughed—harsh, incredulous, but full of exasperation. “Harry, she’s giving you everything she’s got without asking for anything in return. And you’re going to let your stupid fears get in the way of that? She’s already letting you in, Harry. She’s already letting you see her, trust her. And you’re over here pretending you’re not just as messed up as she is.”
Harry closed his eyes, jaw flexing. “It’s not just fear. I… I don’t want to screw it up. I’ve never—never let anyone in like this.”
Sam leaned back, hands on his hips, voice softer now but still firm. “Then stop overthinking. Be honest. Stop hiding behind your grumpy wall. She’s waiting, yeah, but she’s also not going to wait forever. You need to act. And right now, while she’s still smiling at your stupid little jokes and calling her ‘Sunshine’ without a clue that you’re a mess for her—you need to do something. Or you’ll regret it.”
Harry let out a long breath, leaning back against the counter. His mind was spinning, a mix of panic and longing. Do something. That simple phrase echoed, hitting him harder than he expected.
🍒
The bar was buzzing that night, louder than usual, packed with bodies swaying to the music and laughter spilling into every corner. You slipped inside, excitement practically vibrating through your chest. Even in the crowd, you found your usual spot in the first row, close enough to see the faint sheen of sweat on Harry’s forehead as he tuned his guitar.
Your heart was racing for more than just the music. You’d told yourself to keep it casual, just congratulating him, letting him know you were proud. But now, standing here in the thrumming energy of the crowd, you felt every nerve in your body tingle.
The lights dimmed, the chatter quieted, and Harry and his band launched into their first song. The sound hit you like a wave, the guitar warm and alive under his fingers, the drums steady and grounding. You sang along quietly under your breath, a little off-key, a little breathless, but entirely immersed.
Harry’s eyes caught yours during the second chorus. That flicker, that subtle acknowledgment, made your chest tighten. His lips quirked up in a small, almost shy smile—sweat glistening on his forehead, his hair sticking slightly to the side of his face—and it made your heart thump faster.
The songs flew by, each one tighter, sharper, more electric than the last. You cheered, clapped, and swayed with the crowd, but your focus never wavered. You were there for him, for the music, but also for the man behind it—the one who had somehow worked his way into the corners of your thoughts, the one who called you Sunshine in a way that made your stomach flip.
Finally, the set ended. The crowd roared, hands clapping, whistles and cheers echoing through the small bar. Harry’s chest heaved slightly as he nodded to the band, brushing his hair back and taking in the applause. And you—well, you couldn’t wait for him to come to you. Waiting felt unbearable.
So, without thinking too much, you ducked through the side door that led backstage, weaving between cables, guitar cases, and scattered sheets of music. The air smelled of sweat and wood polish, still warm from the energy of the show. And then you saw him.
He was leaning against a table, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, guitar strap slipping slightly off one shoulder, chest still rising and falling rapidly from adrenaline. You couldn’t help but grin, practically bouncing in place.
“Harry! That was—oh my gosh—you guys were amazing! Seriously, I’ve never seen anything like it—your energy, the sound, the—” You babbled, words tumbling over each other, cheeks flushed from excitement and heat.
He lifted his hand, gently but firmly holding it against your shoulder, stopping you mid-rant. “Whoa, hey,” he said, voice low but warm, eyes searching yours. “I—I heard you from the crowd… what are you doing here?”
You nodded vigorously, cheeks still burning. “I had to! I just—I had to tell you… You were incredible! The whole band, the new songs, everything! I can’t even—”
And then, almost before you could catch the breath in your chest, his hands found your face, quick but steady.
Your words froze in your throat as his lips clashed against yours, soft but urgent, shutting down everything you were about to say. You felt his heartbeat thump against your own, a rapid, uncontainable rhythm that made your chest ache in the best way possible.
It was over in seconds, but those seconds were infinite. When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, eyes dark and luminous, you could barely breathe. His hands lingered, fingers lightly tracing your jaw, and he exhaled, almost a sigh of relief.
“I couldn’t… I couldn’t wait anymore,” he muttered, voice hoarse but steady, eyes locked on yours. “You… you make me—everything else doesn’t matter when you’re here.”
You blinked, still catching your breath, and then the grin spread across your face, unstoppable. “You really mean that?” you whispered, voice trembling with joy and disbelief.
He nodded, leaning in again for a soft brush of lips, more tentative this time, like he was testing the water before diving in. “Every word,” he said, and you could feel the sincerity wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
You laughed softly, a sound of pure delight, and your fingers curled around his wrists, grounding yourself to him, to the moment. “I think… I think I’ve wanted this for forever,” you admitted, heart pounding in your chest. “Seeing you up there, doing what you love, and… and knowing I’m here with you—it’s too much happiness for one person.”
Harry’s grin was slow and deliberate, the kind that crumbled walls and set everything on fire at once. “Well… guess I’m selfish then,” he murmured, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead, “because I want all of it. You. Me. Right here. Right now.”
You felt yourself melt into him, laughing softly at his words, at his seriousness, at the way this moment, this utterly chaotic, perfect, heart-thumping moment, felt like it had always been meant to happen.
He pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against yours again, hands still cradling your face. “I don’t know how I kept quiet for so long,” he admitted, voice almost a whisper. “Seeing you… being here, cheering me on… it just—it made it impossible. You’re everything, Sunshine.”
You shivered, caught between disbelief and pure happiness, heart racing so fast it was almost painful. “I’m so glad… you didn’t,” you said softly, brushing your fingers against his jaw.
His laugh, that soft, almost nervous chuckle you’d come to adore, broke through. “Yeah,” he said, voice still trembling slightly, “because I… I think I’m in trouble now.”
You laughed too, breathless and giddy, pressing your lips to his once more, slower this time, savoring the sweetness and heat of it, letting yourself sink fully into the moment. The music from the stage faded behind you, the world outside blurred into insignificance.
Here, in this warm, sticky backstage room, amidst sweat and cables, the two of you existed entirely for each other. And for the first time, you both let go of every hesitation, every wall, every unspoken fear, surrendering to what had been building quietly between you for weeks.
When you finally pulled back, both of you breathing heavily, Harry rested his forehead against yours again, eyes soft but sparkling. “You’re really… something else, Sunshine,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion and amusement.
You grinned, heart soaring. “I could say the same about you,” you whispered. “But I think… I think I already know.”
And as he leaned in for one more kiss, just soft and lingering this time, you realized that nothing—no awkwardness, no grumpy walls, no slow-burn tension—had ever felt so perfectly, completely right.
The ride home was quiet, both of you lost in the aftermath of what had just happened, the city lights streaking past the windows like sparks against the dark. Your fingers brushed once, then again, and neither of you pulled away.
Once inside the apartment, the silence felt different—warmer, charged with something that wasn’t there before. You set your bag down by the door, glancing at him. He looked… vulnerable. A little unsure. That rough, grumpy facade softened into something else entirely, something open, something that made your chest flutter.
“Uh…” he started, scratching the back of his neck, gaze darting around like he was trying to find the words in the air. “So… uh… you—want something to drink? Or… or do you want—”
You tilted your head, noticing the hesitation. “I… uh… I’m okay,” you said softly, voice tentative, but there was a small smile on your lips. “You?”
He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath. “Yeah. I’m… good,” he said, trying to sound casual, but the slight hitch in his tone betrayed him. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.
You could see it in the way he shifted from foot to foot, in the way his eyes kept flicking to your face. He wanted—needed—you to be close, but didn’t know how to bridge that gap between the living room and the sanctuary of his bedroom.
“I—uh…” He took a step forward, then stopped. “You… you can… um… if you want, you can sleep in my room tonight. Or… I mean…” His voice trailed off “If that’s okay. I… I just…”
You blinked, heart leaping at his words. “I’d like that,” you said softly, the excitement and warmth pooling in your chest making your words sound breathless.
His eyes widened just slightly, a mixture of relief and surprise. “Right. Okay. Yeah. Sure. Uh… come on then,” he said, stepping aside to gesture toward the hallway, hands still slightly trembling at his sides.
You walked beside him, careful not to step too fast, letting the quiet tension settle around you. The apartment felt different now—not just a space where you coexisted, but somewhere charged with new possibilities, charged with this strange, electric intimacy neither of you had dared to explore fully until now.
Once inside his room, you paused at the doorway, taking it all in. The soft lighting, the scattered music sheets, the guitar resting against the wall—it all felt like a glimpse into him, into the parts of Harry he rarely showed anyone. And now, here you were, allowed to be in it.
He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… bed’s, uh… big enough. I… I mean, you can—”
You grinned, stepping in closer. “I know.” chuckling
He gave a short, almost nervous laugh, cheeks coloring faintly. “Yeah.” he muttered. “You… you make yourself comfortable. I… I’ll… uh… get ready.”
You watched as he shuffled toward his dresser, awkwardly fumbling with the sheets, avoiding your gaze, and you felt this strange, sweet tension settle between you. Neither of you wanted to make the first move too obvious, yet every small glance, every slight smile, every hesitant word carried meaning.
You slipped under the covers, hugging your knees, trying not to fidget too much, heart racing from both the adrenaline of the evening and the warmth of being this close to him. You could hear him moving, quietly, deliberately, preparing his side. Each creak of the floorboard, each soft shuffle made your chest flutter.
Finally, he settled beside you, a careful distance away, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. The silence stretched, comfortable yet charged, until he finally whispered, voice low and careful, “You… okay?”
You nodded, smiling softly in the dim light. “Yeah. I’m… perfect,” you said. “With you.”
His lips curved into the tiniest grin, almost imperceptible, but it made your heart leap. He let out a small, almost relieved chuckle. “Good,” he murmured. “Because… I… yeah. Me too.”
You let out a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a moment, then, before you could stop yourself, you burst out laughing. A full, uninhibited laugh that made Harry blink at you in surprise.
“You know,” you said between giggles, turning slightly to face him, “we’re acting completely ridiculous. Both of us. Here, lying like a couple of teenagers, and we’re… I don’t know…” You shrugged, still laughing, the tension in your chest finally breaking.
Harry’s jaw loosened, and a small, relieved chuckle escaped him. “Yeah…” he said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
You couldn’t help yourself—you scooted closer, brushing against him in a casual, playful way. “Ridiculous together,” you added, grinning.
For a second, he froze, as if weighing the consequences of what to do next. And then, with a quiet determination that surprised even you, he shifted closer, letting his arm snake around your waist, pulling you gently into his chest. His head tucked just under your chin, careful but firm, as if anchoring himself to you while still testing the waters.
“I… uh…” he mumbled against your hair, voice low and flustered, “I think I’m good here”
You laughed again, letting your fingers trace lazy patterns over his arm. “Looks like you’re just finally admitting you want to cuddle.”
His cheeks colored faintly, and he gave a small, sheepish laugh. “Maybe. Just… maybe,” he admitted.
You snuggled against him, letting the warmth of his body seep into yours. “Good,” you whispered, smiling against the curve of his shoulder. “Because I think this is exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
He chuckled, quiet but full of contentment, pulling you closer without a second thought. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right,” he echoed, the words soft but loaded with everything he hadn’t said yet—everything he was feeling but still figuring out how to name.
Now, neither of you felt the need to overthink, to hesitate, to pretend to be brave. You were simply here, together, letting the closeness, the warmth, and the quiet joy of being with each other speak louder than any words ever could.
Over the next few weeks, a rhythm began to settle between you. It started small—an arm brushing your waist as he settled in, a leg draping over yours almost absentmindedly. There was something comforting about letting him be needy, letting him rest his head against you like he had nowhere else in the world to be.
“Sunshine…” he’d murmur in the half-light, voice hoarse from just waking or from some unspoken longing. “Stay… just five more minutes.” And you’d laugh, letting him curl tighter against you, heart thudding in a way that left you dizzy with affection.
One night you’d had a long day, auditions that went nowhere, and you’d come home frustrated and exhausted. Harry was still at the bar, and you found yourself curling up under his blankets
When he came back, he paused in the doorway, watching you curled against his pillow, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. “You’re… making yourself at home, huh?” he teased softly, but the heat in his eyes told you he didn’t mean it as a joke.
You grinned sleepily. “It’s your fault for having such comfy sheets.”
He walked over, climbing onto the bed carefully, like he didn’t want to crush the tiny bubble of space you’d claimed. And then—without thinking, without hesitation—he curled up behind you, chest pressing lightly against your back, one arm thrown over your waist. “You… you smell like happiness,” he whispered, voice low and husky. “And… I like it.”
You giggled, squeezing his hand, heart fluttering at how unguarded he suddenly was. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured.
He hummed, pressing his nose to the nape of your neck. “Yeah… but I’m yours,” he said softly, and you could feel the honesty in the words, the vulnerability that had been buried under weeks of grumpy, sarcastic walls. That night, he didn’t just take up space in your bed—he let you take up space in his heart, too.
Over time, these small habits became a flow. One night in your bed, one night in his. Sometimes he was clingy and needy; sometimes you were the one clinging, wrapping your arms around him while he hummed softly against your hair. The nickname “Sunshine” slipped into conversation naturally now, soft, teasing, and intimate.
One evening, after a long day where auditions had worn you thin, you found yourself on the sofa, sprawled out with a mug of tea, Harry settling beside you. You were laughing about some absurdity from the day, and his fingers found yours, entwining lazily. The warmth of his hand sent a shiver up your spine.
“I can’t believe you actually said that,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face.
You leaned in closer, and without warning, he kissed you. Soft at first, testing, like he was still measuring the line between comfort and desire. You responded instinctively, lips parting, fingers tangling in his hair.
The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more insistent. Your body pressed against his, heat pooling in your chest, in your stomach, in ways that made your breath hitch. And then, as his hands moved, you hesitated—pulling back just slightly, heart thudding, eyes wide.
“Hey…” he murmured, still close, his forehead resting against yours. “What is it?”
You swallowed hard, cheeks flushing bright pink. “I… I’ve never… with anyone,” you admitted, voice trembling, embarrassed. “I… I don’t know…”
Harry’s eyes softened instantly, full of care and warmth, his hand cupping your cheek. “Hey, hey,” he said gently, brushing his thumb across your jaw. “It’s okay. I… I’m not here to rush you. Never.”
You breathed out, relief washing over you in a warm wave. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, voice steady but husky. “… I’ll want to make you feel good. In all ways. From now on.”
Your heart soared, and a shy, happy smile spread across your face. You nodded, pressing your lips to his in a gentle, lingering kiss, letting yourself trust him fully. He responded with a mixture of tenderness and desire, careful yet confident, guiding, attentive, letting you take the lead when you wanted, and holding you close when you needed it.
The heat built slowly, tenderly, as you explored the intimacy between you. His hands were gentle but purposeful, tracing lines along your body with a reverence that made you feel both safe and wanted. Every movement, every sigh, every whispered word from him was measured to comfort, to excite, to reassure.
By the time you finally pulled back, hearts racing and foreheads pressed together, the air around you felt electric. You laughed softly, breathless, and he mirrored you, chuckling low and warm.
“Sunshine…” he murmured, his voice thick with both amusement and desire. You smiled, curling against him, letting the weight of his arms hold you close.
“We can try,” you whispered, heart pounding.
“Only if you want,” he said softly, brushing his lips against yours.
“I want,” you replied, certainty in your voice.
That was all he needed. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slid up your shirt, moving with care and patience, waiting for your signal to go further. His lips never left yours, the kiss open, intimate, tongues beginning to meet in a gentle dance. When he felt your shoulders relax, he cupped your bra, squeezing just slightly, getting a small, breathy moan from you.
He smiled into the kiss, reading every reaction, every little sound, knowing you were not only enjoying this but trusting him completely.
“Have you… touched yourself before?” he murmured between breathy kisses, his other hand sliding your shirt upwards with deliberate gentleness.
“Yes,” you admitted, a little embarrassed, but you knew it was natural.
“Good,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “Tell me what you like, okay, Sunshine?” His lips trailed to your neck, pressing soft, teasing kisses, gently sucking without leaving marks… not yet.
“M’kay,” you breathed, your heart racing, your body tingling at the careful attention he gave you, the slow, patient way he explored, always making sure you felt safe and desired.
Your shirt slid up easily, and he paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you in that delicate beige tulle bra. He could already see your nipples through the sheer fabric, perked and inviting, silently begging for attention.
He lifted his gaze to your face, just for a moment—cheeks flushed, strands of hair sticking to your forehead—every detail of you was breathtaking, a true work of art. His fingers twitched lightly, wanting to trace every curve, every line, but he held back, savoring the view, letting the tension build, knowing how much you were trusting him.
He leaned in again, lips brushing the sensitive skin just above your bra, breathing warm against you. His fingers hovered for a moment at the edge of the tulle, teasingly light, waiting for you to shift, to give him permission to go further. Every little sigh, every subtle arch of your body told him exactly what you wanted, and he followed, patient, attentive.
“Relax, Sunshine,” he whispered, voice low and husky, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone. “Just… let me take care of you.”
You shivered, leaning into him instinctively, trusting him completely. His hands moved carefully, tracing the curve of your waist, sliding beneath the sheer fabric of your bra. He cupped you lightly, fingers pressing just enough to make you gasp softly, and he smiled against your skin, savoring your reaction.
“You feel… amazing,” he murmured, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “So soft… so perfect.”
Your hands found his shoulders, fingers gripping lightly as you closed your eyes, letting yourself melt under his touch. There was no rush, no pressure—just him, you, and the quiet rhythm of your shared breaths.
He pulled back slightly, tilting your chin with a gentle finger, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me if it’s too much… or if you want more.”
“I… I like it,” you breathed, cheeks still flushed, voice soft but full of trust. “I like… this. You.”
His smile was slow, a mixture of pride, desire, and pure awe. "Good," he whispered, pressing another feather-light kiss to your lips. His fingers drifted to the hem of your biker shorts, his touch both a question and a promise as his hands slid slowly to the curve of your ass. "Can I take these off?"
"Yeah, but... can you take something off too?" you asked, the words feeling like a shy favor.
"Of course," he said, a soft apology in his tone. He pulled his shirt over his head with a smooth, easy motion. You had seen his naked torso before, his tattoos like a map across his skin, but in this moment, it felt so different—so vulnerable and real. With your eyes closed, your hands shyly found his abs, tracing the lines as if you were trying to memorize them.
When he tugged at your shorts, you pushed your hips up to give him easy access. The sight of you had him in a state of awe; a pair of beige tulle thongs were all that remained, their sheer fabric making his brain feel like mush. He could see the faint outline of your pussy lips and the darkening wet patch blooming against the material. He felt his own dick twitch inside his briefs, now fully hard, and unzipped his jeans to get them off and get comfortable.
You snuck a peek at him too, the hard shape of his cock so clearly defined in his briefs. A mix of nerves and desire swirled inside you, even as your own muscles clenched in anticipation.
"Has anyone tried to eat you out, sunshine?" he asked, his voice low.
"No," you whispered.
"Would you let me?" he asked, his voice breathy with need as he looked at that wet patch like a starving man.
"Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible. A flicker of self-consciousness crossed your mind; you had shaved a few days ago, but a light stubble had already returned. He didn't seem to notice, and if he did, he didn't care. He simply knelt before you. You parted your legs on the sofa, and he began to press open-mouthed kisses against the thin fabric of your thong. His tongue found you, tasting your sweet juices through the sheer material. Your hands, seemingly on their own, found their way into his hair, gripping it softly. Your hips instinctively bucked just the slightest. The scene was gloriously messy, your slick wetness and his eager kisses, while his hand moved in a soft, steady caress along your thighs and waist.
"Harry..." you moaned, the sound catching in your throat. "Uh..."
A wave of sensation washed over you as he moved the thin, damp fabric to the side, his tongue making direct, intoxicating contact. You let out a soft cry, a sound that was half gasp, half moan. Your hips pushed downward, a small, involuntary push that he met with a low groan against your skin. The sound was so deep, so full of his own pleasure, that it made you feel powerful.
His hand left your thigh, sliding between your folds as a single finger circled your clitoris. You tangled your fingers deeper into his hair, holding on tight as the world began to shrink to just the feel of his mouth, his touch, and the consuming heat building deep within you.
He slurped, kissed, and lapped with his tongue, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in his throat. "Sunshine... your taste... is addictive," he managed to say, his voice thick and low. Hearing your next moan, he went faster with his tongue against your clit, your own moans growing louder in response.
"Harry," you cried, your eyes squeezed shut, feeling how incredibly close you were.
"It's okay... just do what you want," he breathed between his deep kisses. "You look so pretty from here, sunshine. A perfect pussy, all for me."
"Uh... fuck," you said, the raw word escaping you. Hearing you swear for the first time in that state stirred something new in him. And without warning, you felt it—that intense heat consuming your body. You came with a loud moan, a wave of pleasure washing through you. It was a dizzying surprise to look down and realize, in your blissful haze, that he had slipped two fingers inside you. His tongue was still on your clit, his fingers deep inside, and your body was clenching around him, a perfect, unspoken agreement.
He pushed himself up and leaned in, capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. You could taste yourself on him, a sweet and carnal flavor that only sent another jolt of desire through you. You were still coming down from the high, your body humming, your breath coming in deep, uneven gasps.
"You're perfect, sunshine," he murmured against your lips. "You look so good like this." He groaned the words into the kiss, pulling you closer. His right hand slid from your thigh to your hip, his thumb tracing the curve of your bone. The look in his eyes held a new promise—that this was just the beginning.
He kissed you, and with a hand still inside his briefs, he began to pump his dick. You noticed immediately, your gaze dropping to the visible movement.
"Teach me," you breathed, the words escaping you as you looked at the glistening tip peeking out. He pulled his head back, his eyes searching yours for a moment.
"You sure? We don't have to go all the way today," he said, his voice gentle but thick with desire.
"But I want to try," you insisted, the words a mix of curiosity and need.
"Fuck, sunshine," he moaned softly, a blend of surrender and excitement. Without another thought, he took your hand and placed it on his. His briefs were discarded, and now it was both of you, your hand guided by his, pumping his hard cock. The heat of him was a shock against your skin, a warm, pulsing weight that felt both foreign and thrillingly right.
He leaned in, his forehead pressed against yours. "Keep going," he groaned. "Just... like that. Your hands feel so fucking good."
The praise made you bolder. Your movements became more deliberate, your grip just a little tighter. He kissed you, messy and urgent, his free hand tangled in your hair. Your heart raced, the feeling of his skin on yours, the raw, unspoken want was overwhelming.
He pulled back with a small groan, his eyes dark and unfocused. He slowly brushed his cock through your slick folds, the sensation making you gasp. "Do you want to feel it raw first?" he said, his breath ragged. "Just the tip, and then I'll put a condom on."
"Yeah," you said, your insides clenching again.
"Fuck," he swore, his dick twitching. "You're gonna feel so good."
He pushed the head slowly inside of you and groaned low, feeling your walls tighten around him. A flicker of pain crossed your face, and he immediately kissed your jawline. "Talk to me. Does it hurt? I won't push further."
"No, it's good." He pushed in a little more, then stopped, waiting. "Okay," you said, and he pushed again, his own groan leaving his mouth.
"You're so fucking tight." Once he was halfway inside, you both stayed, getting used to each other.
"Harry," you breathed, your body adjusting to the new fullness.
"Does it hurt? Do you want me to stop?" he asked, a frown of concern on his face.
"No, I want to feel you inside, all the way," you said. His cock twitched at your words.
"I'll go for a condom. Don't move," he said. You moaned, a low, yearning sound as he slid out, the sudden emptiness making you ache. Your eyes dropped to his cock, glistening with both of your fluids.
"The sensation will be a bit dull," he warned. He came back, put the condom on, and pushed back inside you, a bit quicker this time, groaning as he felt the new sensation.
"Slow," you said, flinching slightly.
He did as told, and once he was all the way in, you were both panting, his breath hot against your ear. "Are you okay sunshine?" he asked.
"Yeah."
He began to move, the friction a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. Your hands gripped his back, scratching him lightly. "Shit, that feels good," he groaned.
"More," you pleaded, wanting him deeper.
"Fuck, sunshine," he moaned, moving faster. The sounds he made were the hottest thing you'd ever heard, and you let out your own soft "uhs" and "ahs" in his ear. The thought of being inside you was all he needed, and your small sounds pushed him to the edge.
"Harry..." you said, gripping his hair. "Fuck... I'm close again, I'm sorry."
"Don't you even dare... uh!... say sorry," he said, not hiding his own imminent climax. "Come whenever you need to."
"Ah... Harry," you moaned, and then he circled your clit with his thumb. Your legs began to shiver, and a loud moan of release escaped you.
Seeing your face, feeling your walls clench around him, he buckled his hips in sync with your spasms and came into the condom, hot cum filling it as he squeezed his eyes shut and held your waist tight.
You both breathed, your bodies still connected in a shared haze of heat and satisfaction. He pulled out slowly, taking a moment to compose himself. The raw passion was fading, replaced by a deep tenderness. He looked at you, his eyes still dark but now soft and gentle, and he reached out to gently push a stray hair from your forehead.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low and a little rough, a stark contrast to the rough moans from moments before.
"Yeah," you said, a small, genuine smile gracing your lips. You were still humming with the aftereffects of the climax, a quiet thrumming of pleasure under your skin. "More than okay."
He looked down, his gaze traveling over your body before meeting your eyes again. "Did anything hurt? At all?" The concern in his face was so real, so disarming. It wasn’t a perfunctory question; he genuinely needed to know.
"A little at first," you admitted, the honesty feeling easy between you now, "but it was fine. You went slow, just like you said." You reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze. "You were so good, Harry. You took such good care of me. Thank you"
His expression softened completely, a hint of a smile touching his lips. He leaned in and kissed you, this time a slow, lingering kiss that tasted of you and of the profound intimacy you'd just shared. There was no urgency, just a deep, abiding affection in the touch of his lips, then he suddenly scooped you up into his arms, bridal style.
"Hey!" you said, a surprised laugh escaping you as your arms went around his neck.
He just looked at you, a soft, loving smile on his face. "You're coming with me"
He carried you through the apartment, your head resting against his shoulder, your body still weak with pleasure and now cradled in his strength. You could feel the warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against your chest. He gently set you down on the edge of his bed, the plush comforter feeling soft beneath you. You watched him disappear into the bathroom, and the sound of water running soon filled the quiet space, and then came back with a damp towel, and softly wiped you, making sure it was gentle.
“Come” he said placing the towel on the bedside table and offered you a hand, now in the bathroom the bath all filled and smelling a bit like peaches, he helped you inside and crouched on the side making sure you were comfortable in the warm water, looking, no, admiring your body. “feels good?” he said softly
“Mmm yes” you said closing your eyes but then turned to look at him “Aren’t you getting in?” she asked
“I’ll go take a shower in yours and then i’ll fix you up some dinner” he said kissing your forehead “Thank you Sunshine”
You blinked and looked again at him “for what?”
“For coming into my life and changing it…thanks for making it better, thanks for bringing sunshine into me” he said softly and kissed your hand.
A/N: AHHHH!! this!! im so excited about this!! i love their chemistry and i really hope i did this trope justice and i can't wait to read your thoughts on it!
WORD COUNT: 17k
SUMMARY: We know well the trope this story starts as: the fratboy makes a bet to hook up with a random girl his friend points out to him. But what happens if she heard the whole conversation and hands his ass to him, treating him like no one did before?
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
The temporary warmth that welcomes students in the beginning of the semester is just a scam to make them believe they can spend all their time outside between classes, lying in the grass, sipping iced coffee, soaking up the lazy sunlight the early September brings.
But then, like a slap across the face, the temperature drops, rainy days take over and no one wants to lounge in the grass anymore. This is autumn’s way of saying hello.
It’s the third day in a row with massive rain, forcing students to seek shelter somewhere inside. The common rooms in the dorms, the cafeteria and all cafés around campus along with the library are the go-to places to either study or at least pretend studying. The latter is less common for those who don’t actually intend to work on a paper or do some reading, but that’s where the group of boys end up, taking one of the larger round tables. They all have books and notebooks spread out in front of them, notes from classes and previous pop quizzes, but it’s mostly just for the show, some of them are on their phone, some are watching movies on their laptop and some are just simply talking in a hushed voice so they don’t upset Mrs. Carter, the librarian.
Harry is one of those on their phone, scrolling through social media as his economy notes are lying abandoned in front of him. He knows he should be studying or at least doing some research for his paper, but he is not in the mood.
When three girls walk past their table he only glances up for a moment, catching the eyes of the one in the middle before looking back to his phone. Jake next to him kicks him under the table.
“Dude, did Melody just eye-fuck you?” he asks, leaning closer. Harry shrugs.
“Dunno.”
“I think she did. Maybe you should go for her on Friday.”
“Already had her two weeks ago,” he smugly replies, making Jake laugh into his fist so he doesn’t make too much noise.
“You didn’t even tell me!”
“Why would I? Are you keeping tabs on all the girls I fuck? The list must be long.”
“Well, well, well. The real fuckboy just came out of you,” Jake grins as Harry smacks his arm, though he doesn’t deny.
He is kind of a fuckboy, a ladies’ favorite on campus and it’s a fact he has hooked up with quite a few girls. He is having all the fun he can and he is not ashamed of it.
“Dude, is there even a girl here you haven’t fucked?” Jake grins, looking around the open study place among the shelves. There are at least a dozen tables and even more students, a bigger chunk of them girls. Harry’s gaze swipes over the room and actually lists all the girls he has hooked up in the past two years.
At first he tries to recall names, but then some he can’t remember, so he just goes for the faces.
Eight. Eight girls out of the twenty-seven he sees in the room. Even he realizes that’s a lot, seeing that this is only a fracture of the female students in the school.
“Shut up,” he tells Jake and goes back to his phone, but the lingering smirk on his lips is enough of an answer to his friend.
“Jesus Styles, you’re the living definition of a womanizer,” Jake laughs, but then corrects himself. “Or a fuckboy.”
“Stop calling me that,” Harry rolls his eyes.
“Why? That’s what you are. You’ve hooked up almost half the girls in school. I only fucked four girls since freshman year.”
“I didn’t fuck half of the girls,” he gives Jake a look.
“Okay, but you fucked at least… what, like… thirty girls?”
“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, but his first thought is that it must be a lot more.
There’s a party somewhere almost every weekend and he usually hooks up with someone new, sometimes even two girls, if he has a lucky night. Adding all of that up, it must be more than thirty, but he is not about to admit that.
He goes back to scrolling on his phone, but it appears Jake is not over the conversation.
“You know, I don’t blame you. Most chicks jump you even just from you smiling at them.”
“It’s not that easy for me,” Harry protests. “I just know the right things to say.”
That’s kind of his super power, he reads others well to steer the conversation in the direction he wants at last. It’s a plus that girls are easy targets because he seems to be everyone’s type, but it still requires some work from him too.
“I bet you could get anyone,” Jake scoffs, leaning back in his seat, then he looks around, his eyes stopping over a girl at the next table.
She is seemingly deeply focused on the thick book in front of her, a notepad under her right hand, holding her pen over the paper, ready to make notes. Her hair is in a ponytail, face bare, wearing a worn, oversized crewneck with the school’s name on it. She looks… not at all outstanding, the type of girl you would probably walk past and never remember.
Jake’s smirk widens.
“Her. I’ll pay you… a hundred bucks if you chat her up.”
Harry almost says no instantly, but then his competitive side takes over. He looks at the girl, totally unaware of the boys’ conversation and suddenly he wants to prove it to his friend that he can actually get whoever he wants.
“Okay, but a hundred bucks is not too motivating.” Harry challenges him.
“Then what do you want?”
Harry thinks for a moment, then a devilish smile curls on his lips.
“Loser pays for bottle service on the Vegas trip.”
Jake’s eyes widen for a moment, but he is quick to control his expression. They have a Vegas trip planned for right after graduation and they will most likely spend all their time in clubs and casinos. Bottle service will be a fortune, so it’s quite the prize.
“Alright, I’m in. You have to hook up with her until… spring break.”
“Okay.”
They shake hands and Harry is already on his feet, confidently strolling over to the girl’s table. It’s a small one that fits at most three people, but she is the only one sitting there, so Harry casually takes the seat across from her.
She glances up, only for a second and Harry expects her to be excited that he is there, but she simply goes back to the book in front of her.
“Hey,” he whispers, trying to catch her attention. She doesn’t react, so he clears his throat and repeats: “Hey.”
“What?” she sighs, looking up.
“What’s your name?”
She frowns and looks at him as if he just grew another head.
“What do you want?” she asks, ignoring his question.
“Just saw you from the other table and I wanted to talk to you.” He tries his best to be charming and welcoming, but she is like a wall of ice.
“No you didn’t,” is what she says and it throws him off.
“What do you mean?”
She sighs and drops her pen, closes her book and leans back in her seat.
“Are you actually this stupid?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.
“Um… no?”
“I think yes. You think I didn’t hear you?” Harry’s lips part at the unexpected turn of this conversation and the best he can come up with is to pretend he has no idea what she is talking about.
“Hear what?”
“That you just made a bet with your asshole friend about fucking me until spring break. Your table is literally right next to mine and you do not talk as quietly as you think.”
Well, shit.
“That’s not…”
“Fuck you, you’re not gonna tell me it’s not what I think it is.” She grabs her book, notepad and pen from the table and shoves them into her bag as she stands from the table. “You’re not the man you think you are. Do me a favor and leave me the fuck alone.”
Panic rises in Harry as she turns on her heels and starts marching away. He does not want to pay for bottle service, but that’s exactly where he is heading right now. He looks back at Jake and realizes all the guys are trying not to laugh loudly at his failed performance. Anger takes over the panic, because why did she just treat him like that? Even if she knew about the bet she didn’t have to be so mean about it.
“Fuck,” he growls under his breath as he jumps to his feet and runs after her.
He catches up with her right when she steps out of the building. On top of the stairs that lead up to the entrance there’s a little space that’s covered, she stops to find her umbrella when Harry appears.
“Hey, what was that?” he asks, clearly pissed off. She gives him a grimace.
“I should be the one asking that.”
“I didn’t do shit and you lashed out on me, what the fuck?”
Her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief as she finally looks at him.
“Are you for real?” When Harry just stares back at her expecting, she laughs bitterly. “Oh, so you really meant that, wow. Okay, let me break this to you. It is disgusting to make bets on having sex with others. It’s even more fucked up to do it right next to them so they can hear you and the fact that you’re pretending like that’s totally normal is mindblowing to me. Go get yourself checked.”
Her attitude is just fueling him, no one has talked to him like this ever before and he is not liking it, not even a bit.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have just turned me down or told me you heard us, no need to be so dramatic about all this.”
She gives him a pretentious puzzled look, like she is actually trying to figure him out.
“Yeah, because I owe you the decency, right?” she coos and for a second Harry thinks she is finally understanding his point of view, but then she continues. “The same kind of decency you failed to show when you made a bet to sleep with me when you don’t even know my name?”
That stuns him. He is speechless and it frustrates him that he has no comeback.
“That’s exactly what I thought,” she gives him a not at all genuine smile as she opens her umbrella. “Fuck you and leave me alone.”
And with that she runs down the stairs and heads to the western dorm, leaving Harry standing there, completely shocked, but that slowly turns into anger and a hunger for revenge, because no one can get away with talking to him like that and he also wants to win the bet, though that now sounds way harder than he initially thought.
***
The library encounter has Harry thinking nonstop for the next couple of days. On his way to practice or back to the frathouse or even when he is playing videogames with the boys, he finds himself hearing Y/N’s words replaying in his mind, like a never ending tape. Slowly, he lets go of his pride and wanting to get revenge. When he thinks of it over and over again he realizes it really was kind of fucked up that she heard them talk about the bet. He still thinks she overreacted, but he is ready to put it aside for the sake of winning the bet.
Because he hasn’t given that up.
Jake has been teasing him nonstop about how he will end up broke after the Vegas trip and it just fuels his dedication to win, he just doesn’t know how and the odds are not quite in his favor, since he doesn’t even know her name and he doesn’t remember seeing her around campus before. It’s a mystery what year she is in, so he really has nothing to work with.
That is until he is out on his usual Saturday morning run and he passes by a tiny coffee shop and through the window he spots her.
Standing behind the till, she is wearing an apron with pumpkins all over it, a simple white shirt underneath. She is smiling kindly at the customer that’s ordering currently and her face is far from the expression he saw on her in the library last time.
He stops and before he could think twice, he is pushing the door open, the bell above announcing his arrival. She looks up, still smiling, but it quickly disappears when she sees him. For some reason, he finds it entertaining that she so visibly resents his presence, it’s like a challenge.
He walks up to the counter and looking down he spots a nametag pinned to her apron.
Y/N.
“Nice, at least now I know your name,” he smirks.
“What do you want?” she asks in a flat tone.
“That attitude is awful customer service.”
“Like I care,” she frowns. “What do you want?” she repeats, growing irritated by him.
He sighs, knowing what’s his only option to even have a shot with her.
“I want to apologize,” he says, but all he gets is an arched eyebrow and a bored look. “I shouldn’t have talked about the bet so loud. That was very rude.”
Y/N stares back at him blankly and after a couple of seconds he starts to feel awkward that she is not even acknowledging his apology.
“This is the part where you say it’s okay and we start with a clean slate.”
“No,” she simply says. “Do you want a coffee? If not, leave.”
“But… I just apologized,” he points out as if she didn’t hear him.
“Yeah. You apologized for talking about the bet loud enough for me to hear it. Not for making the bet, which is the initial problem.”
Harry blinks at her.
“Come on, it was just… We were just messing around.”
“You do that, but leave me out of it. Are you buying coffee or not?”
“Are you seriously that pissed off about that stupid bet?”
“Yes and I’m also incredibly pissed at how ignorant you are and don’t seem to realize how shallow and disgusting you’re acting.” She folds her arms over her chest, her face is still expressionless.
“It’s the second time you’re calling me disgusting, isn’t that mean too?”
“Wrong. It’s the first time. Last time I said the act of betting on having sex with someone is disgusting.”
The frustration awakens in him again. It seems like anything he says is used against him.
“Why are you so against me?” he finds himself asking.
“Make a guess.”
“No, for real. Why do you hate me so much? You don’t even know me.”
“Oh, I know enough,” she barks out a laugh. “I know that you’re Harry Styles, star football player, the most infamous member of whatever frathouse you’re in. I know at least four girls who have slept with you and you never even looked their way again after. You think everyone is here to cater to your needs and no one has told you no before, because everyone wants a piece of you or your privileges. But I have news for you.
“Girls sleep with you just so they can tell others they did. Did you know there is a group chat where girls keep score of hookups with football players and you alone have slept with more girls than all your teammates? Girls are making bets who you’ll fuck the next weekend.”
That is actually news to him. He knew some girls hooked up with him just because he is popular around campus, but this… this is shocking.
“How does it feel?” she asks, with a devilish smile. “It’s not that nice when you’re on the other side of a bet, right? If you think all those girls slept with you because you’re such a good lay, you’re wrong, they just wanted the imaginary badge that says ‘I had sex with Harry Styles’ so they can brag about it.”
Fuck, he can feel his face growing hot, this is not where he wanted the conversation to head. It puts everything in a whole different light, but he can’t deal with it just yet.
“Now, do you want coffee?” she asks, leaning onto the counter, knowing well she won this battle, just from the expression on Harry’s face.
He clenches his jaw and steps back, staring at her for another second before he turns and walks out of the café.
He starts walking, thoughts swirling relentlessly, but then he stops and turns back around. Through the window he sees Y/N is already talking to a new customer and he is close to walking back inside, but then he spots a sign on the window.
HELP WANTED
He smirks and saves the phone number from the sign before continuing his run back to the frat house.
***
Y/N turns the alarm off right away, groaning lightly into her pillow. She gives herself a few more minutes of just resting before she opens her eyes. She sits up and just stays like that for a bit, watching her roommate sleep peacefully, like probably every other student in the building on this Saturday morning. Gina came home around two am, Y/N woke up when she accidentally kicked into her dresser in the dark. There was some kind of frat party somewhere probably, Gina loves to be there at all of them, she has a rough case of FOMO in Y/N’s opinion.
She jumps over a pile of clothes Gina left on the floor when she got home, her pink dress looks worn and wrinkly unlike when she left for the party.
As she gets ready she finds herself thinking about what the party was like. Or to be precise, if Harry was there.
He surely was, he is always there, there’s no party without him. Gina is actually one of the girls he has hooked up with. It happened last year, she just broke up with his boyfriend and used him as a rebound.
They got back together two weeks later.
It’s just past seven when Y/N leaves the dorm and heads to Mug Shot, the café she’s been working at for the third semester now. It’s a comfortable place to work at, Peter, the owner, lets her decide how many hours she takes up each week with no pressure, which comes in handy when she is swamped with assignments and would rather use her time studying than making coffee. Otherwise, she likes to work as much as she can to save up more money.
When the café comes into view she finds herself thinking about Harry again. It’s been a week since he stumbled in and made her want to kick him out. She has only seen him once on campus from afar, but he hasn’t made any more attempts to talk to her.
She is still mad and can’t quite believe how shallow of an asshole he really is. The true definition of a fuckboy. It just fuels her hatred that she has seen him run past the café a million times. He takes the same route every time and he even ordered from her before. He didn’t even notice her until the bet, so there’s absolutely no way she will ever believe him when he says he caught his eyes.
Bullshit, she thinks to herself as she lets herself in with her key and then locks the door behind her.
“Morning Peter!” she calls out, knowing well he is already in the back.
“Hi Y/N,” comes his answer.
She starts her usual opening routine, she turns on the espresso machine, prep everything they will need for the orders, grind some fresh coffee beans and so on, just like she has done a million times before.
When Peter emerges from the back she is restocking the napkins on the counter.
“The newcomer is starting today,” he drops, like it’s no news, but Y/N’s eyebrows rise.
“Newcomer? You didn’t tell me we’ll have someone new.”
“Yes I did,” Peter waves at her as he starts pressing buttons on the till.
“Nope.”
“Okay, then I’m telling you now,” he shrugs.
“I assume I’ll have to train them.”
“Fantastic assumption, yes. Don’t go too hard on him, just do the basics today.”
“Him? It’s a guy?” She can’t mask her surprise. Peter usually hires girls, it’s not his preference, but more often girls want to work in cute little cafés.
Peter nods and looks up, towards the door where Y/N sees a tall figure from the corner of her eyes.
“There he is, let him in would you?”
Y/N turns to the door with a soft smile, but it’s quickly wiped off when she realizes who the new hire is.
Harry is standing by the door, smiling at her, even waving through the window, but Y/N returns none of that.
“Fuck no,” she turns to Peter.
“Uh, fuck yes,” he nods. “Diana is only until the end of the month, we need someone to cover her hours and I found no one who wants to start asap, only him. I need the newbie to be trained by the time she leaves.”
“O-Okay, I get that but… he can’t work here.”
“Why?”
That she cannot answer.
Because he is a spoiled brat who is so full of himself that he thinks the whole world revolves around him.
No, Peter would laugh into her face at that.
“Why does he want to even work here? He has money! Lots of it!”
“Y/N, I don’t care why he wants to work. He could use the money to go to strip clubs, I don’t care. I just need him to do the job. Now let him in and start training him. I’ll be in the office.”
And with that, he disappears, leaving Y/N in her misery.
She turns back towards the door where Harry is still standing, curiously looking into the café with his hands in his pockets. He gives her a questioning look when their eyes meet to which she just groans before dragging herself over to the door.
She unlocks and opens the door, but doesn’t step back just yet.
“Is this a fucking joke?” she asks with a not too pleased look.
“I’m sorry? I’m here for my first day of work.”
“You don’t need work, you probably haven’t worked a single day in your life. What’s your deal? Are you trying to get on my nerves?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little self-centered to think? That I’m here because of you?”
She narrows her eyes at him. He has a point.
Rolling her eyes she lets him inside, but when she closes the door she turns to him with a serious expression.
“Whatever game you’re playing, this is my job. I actually need this money. And I won’t change my mind about you, not even if we’ll be coworkers. I still think you’re a spoiled asshole.”
“What a nice way to greet the new hire,” he scoffs. “Peter said the staff is extremely friendly.”
She just stares back at him, then rolls her eyes and decides to ignore his comments. Her new goal for the day is to survive without strangling him to death.
***
Maybe Harry didn’t think this plan through that well. Applying to the café seemed like the best opportunity to force Y/N to at least talk to him and he desperately needed to repair his reputation with her, since the bet was still on and he refuses to go down without even trying, though his current position is less than ideal.
Theoretically, this was an amazing idea, but when Y/N starts training him on how to use the espresso machine he realizes he actually needs to work.
And it’s hard.
“Okay, so you pull the portafilter out, fill it with coffee, tamp it down evenly, lock it in, and then—” Y/N demonstrates with precise, fluid movements, like she was born doing this. The espresso machine hisses and gurgles, sounds Harry only heard from the other side of the counter and he never really paid attention to the baristas when they made his order. He realizes it kind of felt like magic, putting in his order and then it appeared at the end of the counter and what happened between those two was a total mystery for him until now. But now it seems more like rocket science than magic.
Harry nods, pretending he gets it, though inside his brain he is already screaming. He grabs the portafilter, dumps too much coffee in it, tampers it unevenly, and locks it in. The machine sputters. A high-pitched whistle pierces the café, steam erupts from the wrong nozzle, and the portafilter shakes violently.
“Uh… did I do it wrong?” Harry asks, voice tight, as if the machine just personally insulted him.
Y/N stares. Deadpan.
“Yes. Very wrong. Try again, but this time don’t murder the espresso in the process.”
Harry grits his teeth, but does as she said, trying his best to mimic her earlier actions. He thinks he’s got it this time as he presses the button.
Nothing. The machine groans, spits some water into the cup and with another groan it stops. Harry now can’t hold back his frustration, he smacks the side of the machine with a groan.
“This think fucking hates me!”
“Would you stop beating it up? It’s not a punchbag,” Y/N scolds him. “I’ll show you again, please pay attention.”
Harry nods and runs a hand through his hair as they change places. Y/N works the machine like it’s second nature, it purrs and whistles perfectly and the result is a perfect cup of espresso. Harry stares at it like he just witnessed witchery.
“See, it’s not that hard.”
“It’s easy for you, what if I told you to throw a perfect spiral?” Harry scoffs.
“I wouldn’t do it. But I didn’t show up to your football practice either.”
Harry opens his mouth, but quickly shuts it, realizing she is right.
He wills himself to focus and do his best without blowing the espresso machine up. It takes a few tries, but at last he finally makes an acceptable cup. He can’t enjoy his victory too long though, because Y/N starts telling him about all the different types of coffees and he gets lost instantly again.
She has no mercy on him. Harry can barely keep up with her as she goes from one task to the other, all while doing her job, taking and fulfilling orders. His mind is blown, how well she is managing everything while he on the other hand is completely lost.
By the time it’s lunch time Harry feels like he just played three football matches in a row. He’s exhausted, confused and his brain feels scrambled.
“You can have your lunch in the backroom or I like to go out to the back, there’s a bench. You have thirty minutes,” Y/N announces to him and he just blinks at her expectantly. “What?”
“Do we not get food?”
“No,” she frowns. “You bring your own food.”
A defeated sigh slips past his lips as he scratches the back of his neck. For a second, Y/N takes pity on him.
“Take one of the sandwiches,” she nods towards the food display.
“I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s okay. There’s always leftover at the end of the day,” she shrugs. “Just don’t tell Peter.”
Harry gives her a thankful smile as he grabs a ham and cheese sandwich and takes his lunch to the back. He sits on the bench, stretching his legs out, dreading the moment he has to go back. This was not his plan at all. When he came up with the idea to apply for the job he thought he would just hang out behind the counter with Y/N, pour coffee, wipe a few tables and find common ground with Y/N, maybe even flirt with her.
But he barely even talked to her, it was her training him all noon, giving him orders, instructing him with growing frustration when he couldn’t do the easiest tasks even after the fifth try.
He is impressed by Y/N though. She knows the whole menu by heart, can memorize at least three orders without messing them up and she is so nice to everyone who comes in, the total opposite of the attitude Harry has been getting from her.
He checks his phone quickly, scrolls through the text messages he got. Mostly it’s the group chat with his friends, trying to decide the plan for the evening, but there are some girls awaiting his response as well. Usually he likes to see women sliding into his DMs, some flirting, messing around, but now as he sees the names in the list he doesn’t feel too thrilled to talk to anyone.
Is there really a group chat where girls share all those things Y/N told him about? And is it true most of them see him just as a prize?
He leaves the messages unanswered as he finishes his sandwich and then returns.
The afternoon is a little easier. He is put on cleaning duty which he can manage alright.
When Y/N walks past him balancing a tray of drinks and sees him hunched over a table, scrubbing with unnecessary force, she mutters just loud enough for him to hear.
“It’s a table, not a crime scene, Styles. You’re rubbing a hole into it.”
Harry throws her a look but doesn’t say anything, partly because she intimidates him and partly because she’s kind of… funny. He doesn’t want to admit it, but her dry humor is sharper than Jake’s or any of the frat boys’.
By the time it’s nearing closing Harry’s hair is sticking to his forehead, his apron is stained with coffee, and he smells like a mix of espresso grounds and disinfectant. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked less like himself.
Y/N notices as well and she actually loves it. This isn’t the Harry Styles everyone else drools over. This is Harry, sweaty, irritated, completely humbled.
As Y/N locks the door once the last customer has left Peter emerges, stepping over to Harry.
“Not bad for a first day.” Harry actually lights up like he just scored a touchdown.
Y/N, however, adds when Peter is not listening: “Not good either.”
He groans, looking up at the ceiling.
“You’ve got zero mercy, do you?”
“Nope,” she replies with an overly sweet smile, untying her apron. “Better get used to it. You’re not here to flirt, Styles. You’re here to work.”
He wants to come back with something, but he’s got nothing. The realization that she is right is a heavy weight on his shoulders as they start to do the closing chores.
It takes over thirty minutes to finish everything and when Y/N finally says they are done, Harry almost sings hallelujah.
“Thank God. Thought you were gonna find something else to torture me with,” he moans, throwing his apron into the laundry bin.
“It’s not torture,” she says simply, grabbing her bag from under the counter. “It’s called working.”
Harry leans against the counter, smirking.
“Oh, I know what it’s called. Doesn’t mean I’m built for it.”
“Clearly,” she mutters, and it should annoy him, but for some reason it makes him grin.
They step out into the cool night air. Y/N locks the door behind them, Peter has left just ten minutes ago so it’s just the two of them. Harry shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, walking beside her. For once, his usual egoistic rizz is dialed down. He’s tired, and it shows.
“Hey, so… are we good?”
Y/N raises her eyebrows as she drops the keys into her bag.
“Good?”
“Yeah. I mean, we are coworkers now, let’s leave the past behind.” He is hopeful that this full day of labor has at least eased the tension between them.
Well, he is wrong.
She scoffs out a laugh, folding her arms over her chest.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Harry groans, but wills himself to keep his calm even though his instinct is to stab back.
“Look, I know you think I’m this… entitled asshole.”
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest dramatically. “Cold-blooded.”
Y/N shakes her head, not at all impressed by his little act.
“I don’t have time for your games, Styles. Whatever bet you and your buddy cooked up, you can tell him you lost. I’m not interested.”
With that she turns around and heads back towards the campus. Harry just stands there, staring at her back, jaw tight, fighting the sting of rejection.
And Y/N? She doesn’t even look back.
***
Some kind of rap song is blasting from the speakers, the lights are dimmed as usual and you can smell the booze probably from the street. Normally this is Harry’s element.
He’s got a drink in his hand, an arm slung lazily around the back of the couch, soaking up the attention. A couple of girls are gathered around him, laughing too loudly at things he says. One of them, a tall brunette with glittery eyeshadow, slides closer. Her hand rests on his thigh, nails tracing patterns moving further up with each movement. She leans in, lips brushing his ear as she says something about how hot he looked at practice this week.
Harry smirks automatically, the compliment caressing his ego. He leans back, letting her get closer and it feels like a comfortable, well-known scene he often endures. It’s easy, effortless and predictable, because he knows she’ll willingly join him in his room once he decides he wants to move on from the party.
But then, out of nowhere, Y/N flashes across his mind.
The unimpressed look on her face at the café. The sharp bite in her voice when she called him shallow and disgusting. The way she didn’t fawn over him, didn’t even blink when he flashed his usual smirk.
He’s been working for two weeks now at the café, slowly getting a hang of things, learning more and more from her, but the most he has earned was a laugh at one of his jokes that wasn’t even intended as one. Otherwise, she’s been like a wall of ice, instantly brushing off all of his attempts to change things between them.
It’s been an experience he never had before.
The brunette’s lips are on his jaw now, moving toward his mouth. Normally, this is where he would suggest to take it upstairs, but this time he stiffens as the girl’s body presses even more into him.
He gently catches the girl’s wrist and pulls back.
“Hey,” he says, forcing a soft smile. “You’re… gorgeous. But I’m not really in the mood tonight.”
A look of surprise takes over her face, mixed with confusion.
“Seriously? You’re Harry Styles. You’re always in the mood.”
That hits harder than it should. He laughs it off, mutters something about being tired, and slips away before she can argue. He ends up seeking some peace outside on the porch, sinking down onto the steps. The muffled thumping of music shakes the house behind him, but all he can think about is Y/N’s words from earlier.
Girls are making bets who you’ll fuck the next weekend.
And the worst part? She was probably right. If he asked anyone from that circle inside why they wanted to get his attention, de fears not many would say because they are interested in him. It’s the prize they are interested in that he actually is, nothing more. And deep down he probably knew it all along, but it never really bothered. He could easily rid himself of the bitterness of it all for a night of fun. Until now.
Until Y/N pointed it out.
***
The table of the corner booth is crowded with notebooks, half-empty milkshake glasses and an almost empty basket of fries in the middle with only a few lonely pieces left. Y/N is supposed to be studying with her two closest friends, Danica and Jordan, but as usual, the conversation has wandered pretty quickly.
Y/N is in the middle of telling them about how a customer spilled their coffee all over the counter last week when she makes the mistake of mentioning Harry in the story.
“Wait, hold up,” Danica interrupts. “Harry? Who is Harry?”
Y/N instantly regrets not keeping this detail to herself.
“Um, just our new hire. Harry Styles.”
She is met with two sets of widened eyes.
“What?! Harry Styles is working at Mug Shot? Since when? And why? Isn’t he loaded?” Jordan throws her the most important questions.
“He started like a little over two weeks ago. And yes, he is loaded, but his new goal is to get on my fucking nerves,” she mumbles, grabbing a fry, but as soon as she chews on it she frowns at how cold and dry it is.
“Okay, elaborate. That sounds like something we should have heard more about.”
Y/N fills them in quickly about the bet, butting heads with him and then him starting at the café and the girls are gasping and giggling at her words.
“Oh my God, this sounds like a movie or something,” Danica laughs. “So what is he like?”
Miraculously, Danica and Jordan are the rare kind of girls who haven’t hooked up with Harry. That’s probably because Jordan has been dating her boyfriend for four years now and will get engaged probably before graduation, while Danica is simply not interested in males.
“He’s exactly what you think he is. Cocky, spoiled, annoying as well,” Y/N shrugs, but then starts raging about what it’s been like to work with him and lists everything he has messed up so far.
“Mhm.” Danica nods thoughtfully. “And yet, you’ve managed to talk about him for a solid three minutes without us even asking for more details.”
“Because he’s incompetent! I swear, watching him try to steam milk is like watching a toddler with a science experiment. He burned himself twice.”
Jordan snorts out a laugh. “You know most girls on campus would kill to be the one working with him, right? And here you are, complaining.”
“I didn’t ask for it so I don’t care,” Y/N frowns, fumbling with the straw of her milkshake.
“Ah, poor you! The most wanted guy on campus is following you around, practically begging you to give him the light of day!” Danica sighs mockingly.
Y/N shoots her a glare. “He’s not begging. He’s just… stubborn. And irritating. And–”
“And kind of hot,” Jordan cuts in, raising her brows.Y/N nearly chokes on her milkshake.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on,” Jordan says, smirking. “Don’t act like you haven’t noticed. Tall, messy hair, arms for days–”
“Gross,” Y/N lies, too fast, and both her friends catch it immediately. Danica gasps theatrically.
“Oh my God, you totally have noticed.”
“I have not!” Y/N insists, heat rushing to her face. “I notice that he doesn’t know the difference between a cappuccino and a latte, that he can’t remember a single regular customer’s order, and that he thinks wiping down a table should be done at most once a day.”
“Sure,” Jordan drawls. “But also the arms.”
Y/N groans, dropping her head into her hands while her friends dissolve into laughter.
“Okay, and what if I find him hot? That doesn’t change the fact that he is a shallow asshole.”
Jordan and Danica exchange a knowing look, grinning triumphantly. Danica leans in across the table.
“You realize that’s basically step one in every enemies-to-lovers romance novel ever written, right?”
Y/N gapes at her, horrified.
“This isn’t a romance novel. This is my actual life, and in my actual life, Harry Styles is the definition of a red flag.”
Jordan props her chin in her hand. “And yet, you just called him hot.”
“That was hypothetical!” Y/N snaps, but even she hears the weakness in her own defense.
The girls start laughing again and Y/N stabs at the melting ice in her milkshake with her straw, cheeks burning.
“Okay, stop!” she waves them off. “Objectively, he is a good looking guy. But that doesn’t change the fact that he is an egoistic, bratty fuckboy who expects everyone to kiss the ground he walks on. We are living in two entirely different universes and I don’t want to mix them. End of discussion.”
The girls bite their lips, exchanging a look before nodding and letting the conversation go in a different direction.
But not long later, Y/N finds herself picturing Harry again. Hair falling into his eyes as he cursed at the espresso machine, the lopsided grin when he thought he’d finally gotten something right, the flash of genuine gratitude when she’d let him take that sandwich.
She shoves the image away, shaking her head. Hot or not, arrogant or not, Harry Styles is the last person she should be wasting brain space on.
***
Y/N is locking up the café when Harry rounds the corner, jogging in a steady pace. Only he notices her and he quickens his strides to catch up with her just as she starts walking.
“Hey,” he calls, slightly out of breath as he slows down into a walk next to her.
She glances up, a little surprised by his presence.
“Hi. Are you stalking me now?” she asks in a flat tone. Her eyes flicker up to the sky that’s an awfully dark grey color. She prays it keeps it together until she gets back to the dorm, because she has no umbrella.
“Yeah, I snuck an AirTag into your bag so I know where you are all the time,” he grins at her, but she just rolls her eyes.
They fall into an easy stride together, the air feels charged from the storm brewing in the distance.
But then it hits. A fat, sudden raindrop, and another. Within seconds, the drizzle turns into a downpour.
“Shit,” she hisses, tugging her hood over her head.
They dash toward the nearest building, spotting a wide arch that leads to an entrance. The overhang provides shelter, leaving them dry for the moment, though the rain pounds around them like a waterfall.
Harry shakes his hair back, laughing.
“Well, I’m having my shower earlier than I planned.”
Y/N folds her arms, glaring at him despite the small smile tugging at her lips. The rain is falling relentlessly, the houses across the street blur behind the curtain of the downpour. They are pretty much stuck unless they want to get soaking wet.
Standing under the arch suddenly she is highly aware that he is close enough to feel the heat from him and hear the quick rhythm of his breathing.
With a sigh, Harry sits, back leaning against the wall behind him. She looks down at him with a puzzled look.
“What? Seems like we’ll be here for a while, might as well make myself comfortable.”
Y/N shifts her weight from one leg to the other, watches the rain some more and when she realizes it hasn’t eased at all, she sits across from him. Harry runs his hands through his wet hair and Y/N finds herself following his movements more closely than she probably should.
“Before you accuse me of actually being a stalker, I don’t have an AirTag on you,” Harry clears the air with a soft smile. “This is my usual running route.”
“I know,” she says before she could think twice and that sparks Harry’s interest.
“Do you?”
“I’ve seen you run past Mug Shot a few times,” she shrugs.
Harry leans back against the wall, one arm resting casually on his knee, still smirking.
“So, you’ve been… watching me?”
Y/N blinks, caught off guard.
“I wasn’t… I mean, I noticed, okay? You’re hard to miss when you’re sprinting past like some caffeinated gazelle.”
He laughs, the sound low and warm against the pounding rain.
“Caffeinated gazelle. I like that. You’re full of surprises, Y/N.”
She folds her arms, pretending to be annoyed.
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” he teases.
For a little while, they just listen to the rain, feet almost touching but there’s still some distance between them.
“Wow,” Harry breaks the silence.
“What?”
“This is the longest you didn’t call me incompetent, an asshole, spoiled or a brat.”
Y/N snorts softly, shaking her head. “Don’t push your luck, Styles.”
Harry grins, leaning back against the wall with one hand propped behind him.
“I’m just acknowledging progress. It’s… impressive.”
She glances at him, one brow raised.
“You really know how to flatter someone.”
“Only when it’s earned,” he says, eyes flicking to hers with a spark of mischief. “And this… this counts.”
Y/N rolls her eyes but can’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But at least I made you smile. That’s a milestone.”
She just gives him a look, but he doesn’t miss the smile hiding in the corners of her mouth and he takes that as victory.
Slowly, the rain eases and it doesn’t feel like a waterfall anymore. When it seems like they can walk back without drenching themselves they leave the shelter of the arch and continue their way. When they reach the edge of the campus Harry needs to turn left while Y/N’s dorm is right ahead.
“See you tomorrow at work?” Harry asks, inching backwards.
“You still haven’t given it up?” she sighs.
“Nope.” Harry’s grin grows wide. “It’s our thing now. We are colleagues, buddies!”
“Shut up,” she scoffs and starts walking, shaking her head.
“Tomorrow it is then!” he calls after her, to which she just flips him off without even looking his way. Harry laughs, turns around and starts jogging again.
And after a few steps Y/N finds herself turning and glancing at his back as he disappears down the street.
***
It’s Friday evening, there was supposed to be a frat party, but it was cancelled last minute when some unexpected pipe problems rewrote the plan. Now somehow, part of the crowd that was counting on the party has gathered in the western dorm’s lounge area. Groups of students crowd around couches, tables, and the small bar, laughing, playing games, and swapping stories from the week. Y/N sits with Danica and Jordan, sipping a soda and laughing at some inside joke. Across the room, Harry is with Jake and a few of the football guys, tossing a football back and forth and joking loudly.
Y/N glances toward Harry, catching him watching her for just a second before he looks away with that easy smirk she’s been trying to ignore. She rolls her eyes but can’t help a small smile tugging at her lips.
It’s been a week since their rainy encounter and things between them have been… lighter.
She is still rejecting his every attempt at flirting, she still calls him an asshole and a brat every opportunity she gets, but it all carries a different weight now. A more playful weight.
“You’re distracted,” Danica teases, elbowing her lightly. “Who’s got you staring off like that?”
“No one. Just checking if Gina is here,” she lies, taking a sip of her soda.
Jordan leans closer, smirking.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that while Mr. Popular is three feet away.”
Y/N groans, ducking her head. “Shut up, both of you.” The girls just giggle, but let her off the hook and they start chatting about the upcoming Halloween party.
When her drink empties Y/N gets up and walks over to the bar that’s more like a buffet for snacks, sodas and energy drinks. She joins the short queue, waiting patiently for her turn. She is eyeing the bags of chips when a familiar, smooth voice speaks up behind her.
“Well, well… if it isn’t the caffeinated gazelle herself.”
She doesn’t have to turn around to see Harry’s pleased smirk in her mind.
“That’s actually you,” she corrects him, earning a low chuckle. “What are you even doing here? You don’t live in this dorm. Are you following me again?”
“I’m just hanging out with my friends and some of those friends do live here. It’s sheer coincidence that you’re here as well.”
“Sure,” she scoffs, stepping up to the counter as the last person in front of her leaves. She asks for a bag of chips and another can of soda and as the lady turns to get her items she spots a hand on the counter beside her, tattoos swirling up the arm it belongs to. Her eyes linger on the veins a moment longer before she wills herself to look away.
“Maybe it’s fate,” Harry adds and she is super aware of how close he is behind her, she can faintly feel the warmth of his chest on her back. “That we keep ending up at the same place.”
“Fate?” she scoffs. “Or maybe just poor planning on your part.”
Harry leans just a little closer, careful not to crowd her but enough that she can feel the brush of his arm. “I prefer to call it… strategic coincidence.”
She snorts softly, trying to sound unimpressed.
“Strategic coincidence. That sounds like something an idiot would say to cover up stalking.”
“There we are, calling me names again,” Harry chuckles as the lady returns with Y/N’s items and she pays.
“Aw, did I hurt your fragile little ego?” she coos at him walking past him. Harry places a hand to his chest dramatically.
“Oh, totally mortally wounded,” he says, voice dripping with mock despair. “I’ll need weeks of therapy to recover from that one.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but a small smile tugs at her lips.
“Good. Maybe then you’ll learn how to behave in public.”
“Never,” he smirks just as she walks off and back to her friends.
She finds it hard to get back to the conversation with the girls and when she spots Harry moving back to his group from the corner of her eye, she can’t stop herself from glancing over. He is already looking her way and then he crowns it all with a tiny, mischievous smirk before joining his circle.
Y/N chews on her bottom lip, putting herself in timeout for the thought that followed his smirk, because it definitely did not come from rejection.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room Jake nudges Harry and smirks knowingly.
“So… have you figured out your strategy for her yet? You know, the bet?”
Harry freezes for a fraction of a second, a weird, uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. He shakes it off quickly, trying to hide it behind a grin.
“I’m just… chilling tonight, man. No need to strategize.”
Jake raises an eyebrow, not fooled.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Chilling.”
Harry shifts uncomfortably but forces a laugh, tossing the football to a teammate.
“Yeah. Totally.”
***
The café is quiet now. The last customer has left, the espresso machine hums softly, and the smell of coffee lingers in the air. Y/N wipes down the counter for the last time, glancing toward the door as Harry lingers near the pastry display, pretending to be busy arranging muffins.
“What are you doing?” she says, rolling her eyes, though there’s a small smile tugging at her lips.
“I’m just… supervising quality control.” He smirks, stepping back, admiring his work, then looking at her.
“Quality control?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “You mean judging my work after a whole shift?” she asks, knowing well she was the one putting them into the display earlier and Harry didn’t care about the arrangement then.
“I was busy before. But I take my supervision very seriously.”
Y/N shakes her head, laughing despite herself. “You really are impossible.”
“And yet,” he says, smirking, “here I am. Still standing. Still supervising. Still… charming.”
She tosses a rag at him playfully.
“Charming isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Then what is it?”
“Annoying,” she answers right away as Harry throws the rag over his shoulder effortlessly.
“Annoyingly charming,” he retorts.
“Shut up and do your job and that’s not quality control.” She points a finger at him, hoping to appear tough, but she doesn’t fool him or herself.
They carry on with the closing chores, their chatter laces together with the soft clink of dishes and the hum of the refrigerator. They tease each other, adding to their playful banter that’s been forming between them for a while now.
Finally, Y/N leans against the counter, sighing. “I’ll admit… you make this shift less boring than it should be. But don’t get used to it.”
“Too late,” he grins at her. “I want this as a motivational quote, framed over my bed.”
“If that’s what motivates you, maybe you need therapy.”
“No, I just need your validation,” he grins.
Out of instinct she rolls her eyes, but there is this funky feeling in her chest that’s been happening more and more often when she is around him, though she’s been doing her best to ignore it.
Once everything is done Y/N locks up and they head back towards the campus together, it’s become their usual.
Y/N teases Harry about stalking her again and Harry says he is just giving her free bodyguard services.
“Bodyguard services?” she scoffs, stuffing her hands into her pockets against the evening chill. “What are you gonna do, smirk the danger away?”
Harry gasps dramatically.
“Excuse you. These arms aren’t just for decoration, you know.” He flexes them just enough to make her groan and look away, though she can’t stop the smile tugging at her lips.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he says in that same sing-song tone he’s been using more often lately, “you keep walking home with me.”
“This is literally the way to my dorm and to your frat house, what do you expect? I won’t just go around the whole block just to avoid you.”
“Wow, that sounded almost nice!” Harry teases her some more. “Also, this is another strategic coincidence.”
“Stop saying strategic coincidence, it makes no sense.”
Harry just chuckles as they keep walking. Then they fall silent for a bit.
“Are you coming to the Halloween party?” Harry asks, breaking the silence when they are nearing the campus.
“Not sure yet. Danica and Jordan have been bugging me about it.”
“Oh, you have to be there, you have to see my awesome costume!”
“Are you dressing up as a gazelle?” She smirks, throwing him a playful glance.
“Nope. And I’m not telling you what I'm dressing up as. You have to come and see.”
“You are overestimating my curiosity about your costume,” she scoffs.
“I know deep down you’re dying to know what I’ll be wearing.”
“This might be a shocker for you, but I don’t think about what you wear, Styles. Ever.”
“Nah, I don’t believe you,” he shakes his head, bumping his shoulder against hers playfully. Y/N shakes her head at him, but she doesn’t step away when his shoulder brushes hers.
“You’re so delusional.”
“And you’re so bad at lying,” Harry shoots back, grinning. “Your face always gives you away.”
Her mouth drops open. “It does not!”
“Oh, it does. Like right now, you’re trying really hard not to smile, but look at you,” he points out, his tone smug but his eyes warm.
Y/N clamps her lips together, heat rushing to her cheeks.
“You’re impossible,” she mumbles.
“And yet…” he sing-songs again, making her groan.
“God, I hate you,” she mutters, but it comes out too light, too playful to carry any real weight.
They’ve reached the split in their path now, the point where she heads toward her dorm and he takes a turn toward the frat house. For a moment, neither of them says anything, just lingering in the glow of the streetlamp.
Finally, Harry tips his head toward her with a crooked smile.
“So… see you tomorrow, gazelle?”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but the corners of her lips betray her.
“Told you, you’re the gazelle. And don’t be late again or I’m making you mop the entire floor by yourself.”
“Would do anything you ask me.” He shrugs, already walking, but his head is still turned towards her.
“Sure, I’ll remember that!” She might have meant it as a warning, but it comes off as something light and playful, making them both laugh.
They exchange one last look before going their separate ways.
When Harry arrives to the frat house he can already hear the boys from outside, most likely shouting at the TV as they play some kind of video game. Stepping inside he is instantly met with the smell of pizza and he sees that they are locked into a game of FIFA. Jake’s the first to notice him, lounging on the couch with a beer in hand.
“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up. Where’ve you been, Styles?”
Harry shrugs off his hoodie, tossing it onto a chair.
“Work.”
That earns him a chorus of groans and laughter.
“Work?” Matt chimes in from the armchair. “You mean that café gig? You’re still doing that?”
“Thought you’d last, what, a week tops?” someone else calls, and laughter erupts again.
Jake smirks knowingly. “Nah, he’s still there because of her.”
“Who?” Matt asks, leaning forward with interest, console in hands, but the game has been paused, all eyes are on Harry who takes the free beanbag in the corner of the room, stretching his legs out.
“The girl from the library. Y/N. The bet girl.”
That gets the guys going, a mix of whistles, chuckles and even clapping.
“Oh, shit, he’s really putting the effort in,” Matt laughs. “Barista Harry. Grinding beans, maybe hoping to grind something else too...”
Another round of laughter, but Harry doesn’t join in.
“Someone is desperate not to pay for bottle service.” Jake’s shit-eating grin usually doesn’t bother Harry, but this time he feels a sudden urge to wipe it off.
They tease him a little more, but then they return to the game when Harry walks out to the kitchen. He is rummaging through the fridge when Jake joins him.
“So how is it going? What’s your plan?”
“I have no plan,” he truthfully says, grabbing some leftover pasta he ate the other day. Jake hops onto the kitchen island as Harry reheats his dinner.
“No plan, huh? That’s not very you. Usually you’re really set on whatever you put your mind into.”
Harry shrugs, eyes on the microwave as it hums.
“Maybe I’m improvising.”
“Improvising?” Jake echoes, amused. “Translation: you’re winging it and hoping she falls for your pretty face.”
Harry chuckles under his breath, shaking his head, but it’s quieter than usual. “She’s not falling for anything, mate. She actually hates me half the time.”
“Half the time is better than all the time,” Jake grins. “So, what, you’re gonna keep pouring lattes until she cracks? Bet’s not gonna win itself.”
The microwave beeps, startlingly loud in the pause that follows. Harry pulls out the container and pulls out the drawer to grab a fork. For a moment, he doesn’t answer and Jake watches him closely.
“What? Don’t tell me you’re actually catching feelings. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
Harry sticks his fork into the pasta, twirling it like the conversation doesn’t even entertain him.
“Relax,” he mutters. “I’m not catching anything.”
But the words taste like a lie the second they’re out of his mouth.
“So you’re still the good old Styles whose only goal is to fuck every woman he lays eyes on.”
Jake laughs at his own words and Harry forces a smile on his face. It’s not at all genuine, but convincing enough to put Jake’s suspicion to sleep. Hopping off the island he walks back into the living room, leaving Harry alone.
He stares down at the food and suddenly he is not even hungry anymore.
***
The frat house is glowing orange from string lights and jack-o’-lanterns lining the porch. Inside, music pulses through the packed rooms. People in every kind of costume: slutty devils, superheroes, slutty cats and nurses and… basically every possible character in a sexy version fills the house.
Y/N arrives with Danica and Jordan, all three dressed up as Minions in yellow t-shirts and overalls with goggles on their head, buzzing with excitement. They cut through the crowd, immediately heading to the kitchen to find something to drink.
Jordan mixes up something for them and neither of them questions what it is. They all drink a shot and then move to the living room with their cups in hands.
Y/N tries to play it cool, but part of her is already scanning the crowd.
“Looking for someone?” Danica wiggles her eyebrows at Y/N, catching her searching eyes. Y/N scoffs, taking a sip from her cup.
“No. Just trying to figure out which of these costumes is the most tragic. That guy in the half-assed vampire cape is a strong contestant.”
“Mmhm,” Jordan hums, grinning into her drink. “Sure, it’s the cheap cape that’s got you so distracted.”
Before Y/N can snap back, a voice cuts through the music at her side.
“Well, well, if it isn’t our most loyal customer.”
She doesn’t even have to turn to know it’s Harry. Though the girls’ face also gives it away as they hide their smile in their cup, moving a few feet away to let them talk.
When Y/N turns around her mouth hangs open. He is wearing his usual light-washed jeans and white t-shirt with an apron covering his front and it’s his Mug Shot apron he wears at work. He is even using a paper cup from the café for his drink with his name written to the side with a Sharpie.
“You–” Y/N stares. “You came to a Halloween party dressed as… a barista?”
“Correction,” Harry says smoothly, already smirking. “I came dressed as the barista you’re training.”
Danica and Jordan absolutely lose it somewhere behind her, clutching each other for balance as they laugh.
Y/N narrows her eyes. “That’s not a costume. That’s literally just what you wear at work.”
“Exactly. Authenticity is important.” Harry raises his cup with a shrug, tapping it against her red solo cup. “Besides, I look good in it.”
“You look ridiculous,” she huffs out a laugh, though the longer she is looking at him the funnier she actually finds it.
“Ridiculously good, yeah,” Harry corrects her again.
Jordan wheezes with laughter, nearly spilling her drink. Danica fans herself dramatically. “Oh my god, this is so much better than I expected.”
Y/N shakes her head, groaning, but she can’t stop the small smile tugging at her lips as Harry winks and disappears back into the crowd, but Y/N catches him glancing at her one last time over his shoulder before she loses sight of him.
Danica and Jordan step back to her and the latter leans closer to her ear.
“Oh, honey. You are so doomed.”
***
As the night stretches on Y/N’s cheeks grow warmer with each drink she downs. Or maybe from the teasing Danica and Jordan won’t let up on. By the time she excuses herself to grab another drink, she’s buzzing, lighter, a little less guarded than usual.
She is mixing everything she can find, and doesn't care to make it even remotely close to any existing cocktail. She is tasting her creation when a familiar presence appears on her left.
“Careful,” Harry drawls, leaning one elbow on the counter beside her. “That looks more like battery acid than a drink.”
Y/N glances at him, apron still tied around his waist, now a rag hanging over his shoulder, ans she snorts.
“Says the guy cosplaying as minimum wage labor.”
He grins, but doesn’t correct her.
“So what, are you going around the party taking orders? Should I ask for a pumpkin spice latte?”
“I’d make you one,” he says, voice softer than she expects. His eyes linger a second too long, and for a moment the crowded kitchen feels smaller. “Extra foam, just how you like it.”
Her chest tightens in a way that’s both thrilling and irritating. She covers it with a laugh.
“You don’t even know how to steam milk without burning yourself.”
“Not true,” Harry smirks. “I only burned myself twice this week.”
Y/N shakes her head, sipping her drink to avoid how his eyes are still fixed on her.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet…” he leans in just slightly, enough for her to catch the faint smell of his cologne over the alcohol and sweat in the air, “…you’re still talking to me.”
Y/N tips her cup toward him, lips quirking.
“I just don’t want you poisoning anyone else with your terrible barista skills. Public service.”
Harry chuckles low in his chest. “Admit it. You’d miss me if I quit.”
“Miss you?” She laughs outright, shaking her head. “Please, I will pop champagne the day you finally quit.”
“Ouch!” He clutches his chest, putting up a show to pretend like he is hurt. “I’m actually making progress, don’t you think?”
“Nope,” she shakes her head, grinning.
“I’ll have you know, last Tuesday’s flat white got a customer to leave a smile on the receipt. A smile, Y/N. That’s basically a five-star Yelp review.”
“Or pity,” she fires back without hesitation. “Sometimes you look awfully sad when you’re trying to figure out the milk-coffee ratio in drinks, I don’t blame them.”
Harry grins wider, clearly enjoying himself. He dips his head closer, lowering his voice just enough that it feels private despite the noise around them.
“You like arguing with me, don’t you?”
She raises a brow, refusing to give ground. “No, I like winning.”
“And how often does that happen?”
“Every single time.”
Their eyes lock, the kind of stare that feels like a tug-of-war. Daring, electric, playful but threaded with something that feels dangerously close to attraction. Y/N’s stomach flips, though she forces her face to stay cool as she sips from her cup.
“Careful,” Harry says softly, watching her over the rim of her drink. “If you keep looking at me like that, people might think you don’t hate me as much as you claim.”
She chokes on her sip, coughing. “You’re delusional.”
“And yet…” he repeats, letting it hang in the air with that infuriating smirk.
Y/N opens her mouth to retort, but just then, someone shouts Harry’s name from across the room. One of his teammates waves him over, pulling him back into the crowd.
He gives her a look, a quick wink, before he disappears again.
Y/N exhales, realizing she’s been holding her breath. Danica materializes seconds later, suspiciously eyeing her.
“Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” she nods eagerly.
“Was that Harry I saw you talking to?” She asks with a knowing smirk. “Are you sure there’s nothing between you two?”
“Nothing,” Y/N says quickly, too quickly. Her pulse is still hammering. “Absolutely nothing.”
***
It’s past midnight when Y/N steps out to the balcony on the second floor for a breath of cooler air, the loud music muffled behind the sliding glass door. She lets out a small sigh, sipping the drink in her hand. Danica and Jordan are still inside with a group of guys, lost in conversation, giving her the perfect excuse to take a moment alone. She leans against the railing, scanning the crowd below, when her eyes land on Harry beside one of the beerpong tables.
He is laughing at something the others around him said, but Y/N is fixated on the girl beside him in a sparkly witch costume. Her hand is on his arm, leaning into him and he’s leaning back slightly but… Y/N can’t see clearly. From where she is it seems like they are quite cozy, watching the ongoing game in front of them.
The image makes Y/N’s stomach twist. Her pulse spikes and the tipsy warmth she felt earlier cools abruptly.
She turns around, not wanting to see something more than just them being close. She closes her eyes, willing herself to take some deep, sobering breaths, both from the alcohol and the thoughts the scene just caused in her.
Then she hears the sliding door open and when her eyes pop open, she sees Harry stepping out.
“Hey,” Harry starts softly, joining her by the railing.
“Hi.” Her response is dry and flat, her uninterest kind of slaps him in the face, it’s not what he was expecting. A few weeks ago maybe, but not tonight.
“You alright?” he asks, unsure how to approach.
“Yeah, I’m fantastic. You?” She turns to him, eyebrows slightly raised, but there’s nothing playful in her expression, it’s more alarming.
“I’m… good?” It comes out as a question, he is too lost in her sudden change to focus on his answer. “You don’t seem fantastic, actually you look… pissed off.”
“Excellent observation,” she scoffs. “Aren’t you supposed to be busy with your next hookup?”
“Next hookup? What are you talking about?”
“The sparkly witch,” she nods towards the backyard where she saw them not long ago. “I saw you two get cozy.”
Harry looks down, searching his mind, trying hard to put the picture together why Y/N is acting this way.
“Penelopé? You’re talking about her?”
“Whatever her name is.” Y/N rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “You know what? Actually, it’s my bad, I was starting to think you might be more than just a fuckboy, that hooking up with girls is not all you do, but apparently, I was wrong. This is you, the real you.”
Harry’s eyebrows arch at her sudden outburst and Y/N is expecting him to jump in on the argument and defend himself vehemently, but instead…
She sees a smile curling his lips. That makes her pause.
“What’s so funny? That you’re the same shallow fuckboy I originally thought you to be?”
“Nope,” he shakes his head, now full on grinning. “What’s funny is that the sparkly witch, Penelopé, is actually my cousin.”
Y/N feels the blood rushing out of her face. Instantly, she recalls the image, her hands on his arm, leaning close, at that moment it looked like they were coupling up but now that she thinks about it… it could have easily been an innocent scene.
She feels like a fool, an idiot not just for misinterpreting the situation but for getting so worked up about it. She has no business caring this much whether Harry hooks up with someone or not, but still, it put a knot in her stomach even just thinking about it.
“Huh. Didn’t know your cousin went to school here.” Her tone is soft, the accusation has dissolved quite fast.
“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Gazelle,” Harry arches an eyebrow at her, the smugness on his face is now making her cheeks heat up.
“I know enough,” she narrows her eyes at him. “And I’m still not the gazelle.”
“Oh, but I think I know more,” he starts in a teasing tone that has her frowning. “I think you got so upset about seeing me with Pen because you were jealous!”
She scoffs, dramatically and ignores the drop in her stomach.
“Jealous?” she repeats, her voice dripping with mock disbelief. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Harry leans an elbow on the railing, watching her with that infuriating smirk.
“Mhm. You were practically breathing fire, Gazelle. I should be flattered. No one’s ever gotten jealous over me hanging out with my cousin before.”
“I wasn’t jealous,” she insists, rolling her eyes so hard it almost hurts. “I was just… disgusted.”
“Surely, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Harry shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re so bad at lying. I swear, I should start counting every time you deny liking me. I would need an extra hand to count.”
Y/N snorts, trying to bite back her laugh.
“The only thing you should be keeping a tab of is how many times you’ve managed not to spill coffee on yourself at work.”
That earns a laugh out of him, loud, genuine, and warm. For a beat, the air between them feels lighter again, as if the storm from a few minutes ago hadn’t even happened.
Harry tilts his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “So we’re good, then? Truce restored?”
“Truce. But only because I feel bad for your cousin, having to deal with you not just on holidays but in school as well.”
Harry’s grin widens as he steps just a little closer, enough for the tension to hum between them.
“Careful, Gazelle. You’re almost flirting with me.”
She shakes her head, smirking as she slips past him toward the door.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she repeats his words from just minutes ago. Harry watches her go, still grinning, because this might have started as an argument, but now he knows she is actually having at least some kind of feelings for him other than hatred.
And that’s enough for him for now.
***
Y/N sits at her desk, textbooks spread open, highlighter in hand. She stares at the same paragraph she tried to read for the third time, the words blurring in front of her eyes. She sighs, underlines half a sentence she hasn’t even processed, then leans back in her chair.
Her mind isn’t on sociology. It isn’t even on the looming midterm that’s creeping up on her slowly. It’s back at Mug Shot.
Back on Harry, fumbling with the espresso machine, flashing his smug grin every time he manages not to burn himself, tossing jokes at her until she’s biting the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing.
She tells herself she’s just curious. After all, today’s his first solo shift, no one hovering over him, no safety net. For all she knows, the café could be in flames already.
Yeah. That’s it. She’s just worried about the café. With a groan, she slams her book shut and grabs her jacket. Gina looks up at her from her laptop.
“Where to?” she asks as Y/N puts on her sneakers.
“Just gonna run to the café quickly.”
Gina’s knowing smirk already lets her know what she is thinking. If Jordan and Danica’s pestering wasn’t enough already, now Gina is also team Harry after finding out that Y/N has been working with him.
The news spread just about a week ago that The Harry Styles is working in a nearby café and female customers have been more frequent since then.
“What?” Y/N snaps when she sees her with a suggesting look as she steps to the door.
“Nothing,” Gina says innocently, returning to her laptop. But the little hum she makes says everything.
By the time Y/N pushes open the café door, her excuse about “just checking in” has worn thin even to herself. The bell jingles, and the smell of coffee greets her, warm and rich.
And there he is.
Harry’s behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, hair a little messy, focusing hard on the steaming wand. His tongue pokes out just slightly as he adjusts the pitcher, he looks ridiculous. And… annoyingly good.
The second he notices her, that grin spreads across his face like he’d been waiting.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite critic,” he says, straightening up. “Come to supervise again?”
Y/N crosses her arms, lifting her chin.
“Came to make sure you hadn’t burned the place down.”
“Not yet,” he smirks. “But I still have a few hours of my shift.”
Harry wipes his hands on a towel and grabs a clean cup, eyebrows raising like he’s about to perform a magic trick.
“Since you’re here, Gazelle, you might as well witness greatness. My latte art skills are unmatched.”
Y/N snorts, perching on one of the stools at the counter. “Unmatched? Says who?”
“Says me,” he grins.
He starts pouring with exaggerated care, tongue peeking out again in concentration. Y/N leans her chin into her hand, watching in silence until he triumphantly turns the cup toward her.
“Ta-da!”
Y/N blinks at the foam, tilts her head, then tilts it again. “What… is it supposed to be?”
Harry looks down, frowning.
“It’s obviously a heart.” He sounds like a hurt little kid. She bites her lip to keep from laughing.
“More like… a blob. An amoeba maybe, or a potato. The uglier kind.”
Harry gasps dramatically, clutching his chest.
“That was harsh.”
Y/N chuckles, shaking her head. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s… not terrible.”
“Oh, so now I’m not terrible?” he shoots back, smirking as he slides the cup toward her. “Progress.”
She rolls her eyes but takes a sip, and it’s… actually not bad. Better than she expected. She raises an eyebrow at him.
“Okay… I’ll give you this one. Not the worst latte I’ve had.”
Harry grins like she’s just declared him king of the world.
“That’s going on my résumé. Maker of not the worst latte, recommended by Y/N.”
She shakes her head again, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips she can’t quite fight off.
“Alright. Actually, I came here to study,” she clears her throat, setting her thoughts straight.
“Sure you did,” Harry murmurs, still grinning.
“I did,” she insists. “So I’ll be over there in case you have any questions or issues,” she says, nodding towards a table in the back.
“So noble of you to help me even when you’re off the clock.”
“That’s just who I am,” she sighs with a shrug, but the smile on her lips gives her away as she walks over to the empty table.
Y/N flips open her textbook, pen tapping absently against the margin. For a few minutes, she actually manages to read a paragraph. Maybe two. But her focus keeps drifting back to the counter, where Harry is moving with surprising ease behind the machine. His cheeks are slightly pink from the steam coming from the machine, curls falling into his face and every so often he looks up and catches her sneaking a glance. Each time, he smirks knowingly and she quickly buries her nose back into her notes.
She’s in the middle of pretending to highlight something important when the bell over the door jingles. Two girls walk in, giggling and whispering, eyes zeroing straight on Harry.
“Hi,” one of them sing-songs, leaning against the counter like she’s the main character. “Can we get… two iced caramel lattes?”
“Extra caramel,” the other adds, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Please.”
Harry nods, polite but neutral, already reaching for the cups.
“Coming right up.”
The girls keep talking, not about the drinks, but about him, asking if he’s new, where he’s from, what he’s doing later. Y/N’s grip on her pen tightens. She keeps her eyes glued to the page, but the words blur together as she catches bits of the conversation. Her stomach knots for reasons she doesn’t want to admit.
Harry sets the drinks down a few minutes later, flashing them a small smile.
“Here you go. Two iced caramel lattes, extra caramel.”
One of them leans in closer, lowering her voice just enough for Y/N to hear anyway.
“So… you should come hang out with us later. We’re having people over.”
Harry dries his hands on a towel, shaking his head lightly.
“I appreciate the invite, but no.”
The girls blink, clearly not expecting rejection.
“Oh. Okay. Well… maybe another time.” They shuffle out, leaving behind the faint smell of vanilla perfume. Y/N dares a peek at Harry. He doesn’t look smug, doesn’t even glance at her for validation. He just goes back to wiping down the counter like nothing happened.
And somehow, that makes her chest tighten even more.
She puts her textbook down and walks up to the counter.
“What was that?”
Harry looks up with a puzzled expression.
“Two iced caramel lattes with extra caramel?”
“No, I mean… those girls were practically drooling after you and you turned them down.”
Harry smirks, leaning his elbows on the counter.
“You were keeping tabs, huh? I thought you were buried in your textbook.”
“I wasn’t keeping tabs,” Y/N shoots back quickly, maybe too quickly. “It was… hard to miss. They were loud.”
“Mmhm,” he hums, clearly not buying it. “And you were definitely not eavesdropping.”
“Obviously not,” she deadpans, though her ears feel a little hot. “I just… expected you to say yes.”
“Why?” He tilts his head, studying her with that infuriating grin.
“Because it’s you. Harry Styles. Human flirt machine.”
Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe I’m full.”
Her brows furrow.
“Full?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, picking up a rag again. “Can’t say yes to every pretty girl who bats her eyelashes at me. Gets exhausting.”
Y/N scoffs, though her stomach does a little flip at his phrasing.
“Exhausting? Please. You’d probably die if people stopped flirting with you.”
“Maybe,” he says with a grin. “But I didn’t die just now, did I?”
Y/N narrows her eyes at him, searching his face for a hint of smugness, but he’s not teasing her the way he usually does. There’s something steadier in the way he looks at her, something she doesn’t want to put a name to.
“You’re hiding something,” she mutters, more to herself than to him, before retreating back to her table. Harry lets her go without comment, but when she sits down, she feels his gaze linger a little too long.
***
The café has emptied out, it’s now only Y/N and Harry. He is wiping down the counter as she packs up her books.
“Closing up soon?” she asks, fiddling with the strap of her bag as she walks up to the counter.
“Yeah. A couple more things, then I’m done.” He gestures toward the half-wiped tables. “Unless you want to help speed things up.”
She should say no. She always says no when he tries to rope her into extra work. But instead she sighs and drops her bag.
“Fine. But only because watching you wipe down a table is painful, you always leave out a spot.”
Harry smirks. “Quality control supervisor, back at it again.”
They move through the motions together, collecting mugs, wiping counters, stacking chairs. Their banter fills the quiet space, light and teasing, until Y/N realizes it’s almost… easy. Too easy. And when Harry steps in close to grab the rag from her hand, his fingers brush over hers just long enough to make her breath hitch.
“Careful,” he says softly, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A reaction like that might make me think you actually like me.”
Y/N rolls her eyes, yanking her hand back. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
But her voice doesn’t carry the bite it usually does, and Harry catches it. He tilts his head, studying her with that infuriating mix of curiosity and mischief. Then, bold as ever, he takes a half step closer, close enough that she can feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint coffee and some of his cologne on his shirt.
“Y/N,” he says, low, almost testing the way her name sounds like this. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re scared.”
Her stomach flips, her pulse stumbles. For a terrifying second, she is tempted to let him close the distance, to stop pretending she doesn’t want him.
But then she steadies herself as an alarm goes off in her clouded mind. She takes a sharp breath, and shakes her head.
“No,” she says firmly, backing up just enough to put the rag on the counter between them. “There’s nothing to be scared of here.”
“Nothing?” Harry challenges her. “And what about that something we both just felt?”
“There’s nothing here. At best–” her throat tightens but she forces the words out, “we’re friends. Nothing more.”
Harry stares at her and she stubbornly holds his gaze. Frustration rises in his gut, at her denial and her unnecessary coldness. He knows she felt something too, it wasn’t only in his head.
“Right,” he says finally, voice clipped. “Friends.” The word tastes bitter in his mouth.
He grabs the rag, turns back to the counter, and the shift in him is immediate, movements sharper, quieter.
Y/N watches him for a moment, chest tight, but she can’t figure out why she said it, why she feels so empty saying it. She told herself the truth. Didn’t she?
She forces herself to move on and not dwell on it too long, because deep down she knows if she did she would regret what she said.
Harry locks the café and then should come the part where they walk back to the campus together, but this time he turns to her with a closed-off expression.
“I have some things to take care of, so I’m not going that way.”
“Oh,” she breathes out, surprised. “Okay. Then… See you later?” She tries hard to mask her disappointment.
“Sure,” he nods, but it’s not at all convincing.
“Bye Harry,” she faintly smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Harry gives her a tight lipped smile and then they part ways.
The stinging in her chest just strengthens when she gets back to her dorm and as she lies in bed awake that night she keeps repeating that one scene in her head over and over again, venturing to what could have happened if she didn’t back out.
***
As the end of November approaches it’s not only the weather bearing some serious coldness.
Following that short but heavy conversation in the café things shift between Y/N and Harry. Their playful banter is not the same anymore, Harry feels distant and not as open towards her like before. They still talk, they still joke around, but it’s different.
Then the campus empties out on the weekend of Thanksgiving as students travel home, most of them for the first time since the semester has started.
It goes by uneventfully for Y/N, it’s the exact same as the years before, only this time she keeps finding herself thinking about Harry and how his weekend is going. She even considers texting him, but talks herself out of it at last, letting herself sink into this doubtful swamp.
She feels oddly excited to return to school and she even awaits her first shift, knowing it overlaps with Harry’s.
When Monday rolls around and she pushes through the café’s door, she finds Harry already behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, wiping down the espresso machine. For a moment, she just watches him, how he doesn’t look up right away, how focused he seems, how much she’s missed the rhythm of having him around.
“Huh, you’re here before me, are you sick?” she calls out as she walks in, sliding behind the counter.
Harry glances up, expression unreadable for a second. Then that familiar half-smile curves his lips.
“No, I’m just full of surprises.”
“Uh-huh, a fire in the kitchen could be surprising as well, but definitely not pleasant,” she teases him. He laughs, and for the first time since their awkward “friends” conversation, the air feels lighter, almost like before.
“I’m just keeping you on your toes,” he shrugs, smirking.
And just like that, their rhythm finds its way back. The shift moves smoothly, teasing, bickering, sharing quiet moments when the café slows down. There’s still an invisible line between them, but it doesn’t feel that harsh anymore. More like… a line they’re both quietly circling.
***
By December, the semester wraps itself in frost. Finals week blurs past in a caffeine-fueled haze and before Y/N can blink twice everyone’s back home for the holidays.
But this break feels different from Thanksgiving.
Y/N and Harry start off with quick, casual check-ins, a sarcastic text from him about “missing her quality control” or a meme she sends when she sees someone spill coffee in a movie. But the quick check-ins turn into longer conversations. A call after family dinner to talk about what went wrong, an endless string of texts before going to bed because they just always find something else to discuss.
She tells herself that it’s “just banter, just keeping up the friendship.” But when her phone buzzes and it’s Harry, her stomach still flips in a way she refuses to name.
Harry doesn’t push. He doesn’t mention the “friends” conversation, doesn’t make moves that could scare her off. But there’s an unmistakable shift in his tone, softer in a sense and the way he remembers little details she’s mentioned, the book she’s reading, the family tradition she complained about, makes it impossible to pretend nothing is happening.
And though Y/N insists, to herself, to her friends, to anyone who’d ask, that Harry Styles is just a friend, the truth is clearer with every call, every late-night laugh through the phone, every text that makes her cheeks warm in the glow of her screen.
They’re circling closer.
***
The campus is buzzing with post-holiday energy and the first big party of the new semester is already in full swing by the time Y/N arrives with Danica and Jordan. The music pounds, red cups in every hand and laughter spills across the packed rooms.
She’s determined to keep it light, dance a little, drink a little, enjoy being back — but the second she sees Harry across the room, all her plans unravel. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, talking with his friends, but his eyes flick to hers almost immediately. That pull between them sparks to life again, like it never left.
Their paths don’t cross for the first hour, but then they finally end up by the drinks table at the same time.
“Well, if it isn’t my New Year’s resolution in the flesh,” Harry says smoothly, pouring soda into his cup.
Y/N raises a brow.
“What? To annoy me even more?”
He grins. “Exactly. And I’m already crushing it.”
They fall into their usual banter as they talk about winter break even though they already shared everything over the phone.
Someone bumps into Harry from behind at one point and he spills his drink onto his shirt, so they head up to his room for a quick change. It feels natural that Y/N stays with him, but when they are in his room alone, the noise of the party shut out, she realizes that she is actually standing in his room, his private sphere and her eyes almost bulge out of his head when he just simply takes his stained shirt off.
Y/N quickly looks away, cheeks and ears heating up from the view, but Harry catches her flustered look.
“What is it, Gazelle? Too stunned by some muscles?” That cocky grin is right back on his face as he puts on a clean shirt and steps closer to her.
“Muscles? Where?” She intended it to come out smugly, but her voice did not cooperate, which boosts Harry’s ego even more.
“Don’t be shy. You know, friends share things. I’m not opposed to sharing all this with you,” he teases her, running his hands over his chest, still grinning.
She gulps, hard, and when her eyes flicker down to his lips, he just can’t dance around that line any longer, he launches to cross it.
He starts leaning in and for a second Y/N tilts her head up, ready to give in, but the alarm in her head goes off and she steps back.
“I can’t… I can’t do this,” she blurts.
Harry frowns, straightening. “Do what?”
“This.” She gestures between them, frustrated with herself. “You! Me! Whatever this is. Because I keep remembering that stupid bet. And all I can think is… the second you get what you want, you’ll throw me away like every other girl.”
“Y/N, you’re not like every other girl.”
“I hope you do realize how cliché that sounds,” she scoffs. Harry exhales a laugh, shaking his head.
“Yeah, maybe it’s cliché. But that doesn’t make it less true.”
She studies him, arms crossed like she’s trying to armor herself.
“You say that now. But I’ve seen how this goes for you. Girls fall, you win, then you move on. That’s your pattern.”
Harry takes a step closer, not crowding her, but enough that she feels the pull again.
“And what if I don’t want that pattern anymore?”
“Old habits die hard,” she whispers, her gaze jumping down to her feet.
“Can I prove it to you somehow?” he keeps trying. She looks at him, her gaze full of uncertainty and maybe even fear as she shrugs.
“I don’t know.” She expects him to grow frustrated, but instead… he smiles.
“You didn’t say no. That’s enough for me.”
“And what are you gonna do?” she asks with a tired sigh, but it still doesn’t break the smile off his face.
Harry shrugs.
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.”
She blinks at him, like a lost little puppy, but all she sees in him is determination. At last, Harry reaches out and pulls her into a hug. She melts into his embrace, burying her face into his shoulder as he holds her tight.
“It’s alright, Gazelle. We’ll get there,” he mumbles into her hair and closing her eyes she prays that he’s right.
***
By the time February rolls around, Harry isn’t subtle anymore. He shows up at the café on time, sometimes early, with a small coffee he knows she’ll like, just because. He leans against the counter in that easy, casual way, letting her see that he’s paying attention: remembering that she takes her iced latte a little less sweet, that she prefers the blueberry muffins toasted.
She catches him doing little things for her, holding the door open when she’s loaded with books, grabbing a stray chair for her at the library, teasing her lightly when she frowns at a difficult order. His charm is still there, but softer, more deliberate, and strangely considerate.
And yet, every time he makes a move, a joke meant to make her laugh, a casual touch to brush off a spill, Y/N hesitates. She notices the shift in him, sees the way he’s actually trying, but she can’t fully let herself believe it. The shadow of the bet still lingers in the back of her mind, whispering that maybe this is just another game.
***
Y/N waits by the edge of the practice field, bag slung over one shoulder, notebook tucked under her arm. The late afternoon sun dips low behind the bleachers, painting everything in a warm, golden hue. She glances at her watch again. They’d agreed to study together right after practice and she’d been looking forward to it, a rare chance to interest outside of Mug Shot, where they met the most lately.
A familiar laugh catches her attention and she looks up to see Harry emerging from the locker room carrying a big sports bag, his hair still damp from his shower, Jake trailing behind him with a smug grin.
“Hey Gazelle,” Harry smirks at her. “Ready for the study sesh?”
She smiles and for a moment, everything feels normal. That is, until Jake clears his throat.
“So, Styles,” Jake begins, the smirk still plastered on his face. “Still trying to win over the stubborn lady? Or are you finally ready to pay up for Vegas?”
Harry stiffens, his usual playful tone faltering slightly.
“Jake, come on. Can we not… not do this right now?”
“Why not? It’s been months, you’ve been running around like a lovesick puppy, working at that café, staring at her, might as well admit it!” Jake teases, nudging him with an elbow.
Y/N feels her stomach tighten. She knows all about the bet, it’s the one thing she can’t forget about it and hearing it get brought up like this, so casually, makes her feel… weird. Jealous. Hurt. And a little annoyed that she still cares.
Harry’s jaw tightens. He exhales, then turns to Jake, voice low but sharp.
“Enough. The bet? It’s done. I… I lost. Fine, I’ll pay whatever I need to, but you never bring it up again. Ever. Got it?”
Jake blinks, momentarily thrown, then shrugs, smirking, but Harry doesn’t wait for a response. He looks over at Y/N, and for the first time, she sees the seriousness in his eyes, not the usual teasing sparkle. Jake wanders off to meet some other guys, leaving Harry and Y/N alone. She can’t help the flutter in her chest, the way her hands tighten around her notebook.
“Ready to… study?” Harry asks, voice softer now, almost hesitant.
They settle into a quiet corner of the library, textbooks open, pens in hand. Harry’s focus is genuine, his attention fully on the material, but Y/N can’t stop thinking about what he just did, the way he snapped at Jake and finally ended this whole bet situation, even accepting to pay if it means it’s over.
Hours pass and the library grows quiet as night falls. They pack up and Harry offers to walk her home. Their hands brush a few times, but he doesn’t make a move out of it, then they arrive at her dorm. Y/N knows this is the moment she can’t miss out on.
“So…” Y/N starts, glancing at him, playful but nervous. “Do you ever plan to make a bolder move than just walking me home?”
Harry raises an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Should I?”
Before she can answer, he steps closer, the space between them shrinking. The cool night air swirls around them, but all Y/N can feel is the warmth radiating from him. Her heart hammers in her chest as he tilts his head slightly, eyes locking with hers.
Harry leans in, his lips brushing hers lightly at first, testing the waters. Y/N freezes for a moment, then instinctively tilts her head to meet him, letting herself melt into the contact. His hand comes up, gently cupping her cheek, thumb brushing along her jaw, while his other hand rests lightly at her waist.
The kiss deepens slowly, teasing and unhurried, a mix of the playful banter they’ve always shared and something softer, more vulnerable underneath. She feels herself responding, her hands instinctively finding his shoulders and a shiver runs through her as the closeness hits her in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before.
When they finally pull back Harry rests his forehead against hers, arms still circled around her. He brushes his nose against hers and it makes her laugh softly.
“If only I knew that I should just snap at Jake to finally win you over, I would have done it way earlier.”
Y/N now laughs, head falling back and Harry leans in, pressing a kiss to her chin before she looks into his eyes again, that cheeky grin on his face making her want to kiss him stupid.
“I was just keeping you on your toes,” she shrugs innocently before Harry kisses her again, this time it’s shorter. When they part, her expression turns serious. “It’s really not just a game to you, right?”
Harry tugs a strand of hair behind her ear, placing a soft kiss to her forehead.
“I’m done with games. I don’t want any of that. The only game I want to play is how long I can annoy you before you flip me off.”
Y/N chuckles softly, then nods. She still has doubts, they have a long way ahead of them, but at least they are taking it together.
***
The frat house is a mess with last minute packing and shouting as the boys load up their bags into the cars. Excitement radiates from them, Vegas is finally happening. Y/N stands off to the side, leaning against the doorway, watching Harry hustle with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
Jake walks up, smirking from ear to ear.
“Man, I can’t wait to see you pay for bottle service tonight, Styles. I’m gonna make you broke.”
Harry groans, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I lost. Can we move on?”
Y/N pushes off the doorway, walking toward them with a sly grin.
“You know… technically, Harry won.”
Jake freezes mid-laugh, eyebrows shooting up.
“Wait, what? No, he did not.”
“Well,” Y/N continues, tilting her head at Harry with a teasing smile, “we did… you know… hook up before spring break. So technically, the bet was fulfilled.”
Harry’s smirk is smug but relieved, the corner of his mouth twitching with pride. Jake’s face falls in slow motion, disbelief written across it.
“No, no, you said the bet was over!” Jake sputters, pointing at Harry like he can’t believe it. Harry steps forward, voice calm but pointed.
“I did say the bet was over, but we never actually shook hands on it.”
“No, nope! Nope! It was over!”
The other boys, who have been watching nearby, start chiming in, nodding and laughing.
“Yeah, he won. Come on, man. She said it herself.”
Jake throws his hands up in surrender, groaning.
“Fine! Fine, I lost! I accept my fate. But this isn’t over, Styles. I’m gonna make you pay for this!”
Harry just shakes his head, grinning at Y/N, who laughs softly. She steps closer, arms snaking around his neck and he pulls her closer by her hip.
Somewhere in the background Jake groans dramatically, making them both laugh before their lips finally meet.
“Be good, don’t let Vegas make you crazy,” she mumbles against his lips. “I don’t want you to come home and tell me you married some random chick in a chapel next to the casino.”
“Mm, not happening. I don’t need chicks when I have a gazelle for myself,” he shakes his head, smirking before he kisses her again.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. You can bet on it.”
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
A/N: this one is for my doctorry anon! hope you'll like it! i have put a trigger warning into the story for blood right before the scene starts, so if anyone gets easily triggered by that you can just jump to the end warning!
WORD COUNT: 12.1k
WARNING: sexual content, blood
SUMMARY: Y/N is determined to prove herself under the harsh supervision of Dr. Harry Styles, the brilliant but notoriously grumpy attending surgeon. The pressure to be the best is high, Dr. Styles seems to be living up to his reputation and Y/N can't help but think he pays extra attention to torture her. But can something else lie behind his cold behavior?
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
An excited buzz fills the conference room that’s packed with new, eager residents, nervous whispers, shuffling papers and whispered guesses about what’s gonna happen on their first day. They’ve dreamed of this day for years throughout medical school and today they will finally start doing what they studied so hard for.
Y/N is sitting in the third row in her brand new scrubs, heart thumping in her chest, she could barely sleep last night, nonstop dreaming of what this day will be like.
The door swings open and the room falls silent. A tall, broad-shouldered man walks in, a stone-cold expression on his handsome face. He hasn’t even said a word, but everyone knows who he is: Dr. Harry Styles, attending surgeon, a name every resident knows and… fears.
He puts his clipboard to the table, cold eyes sweeping over the room as he stands in front of them, arms crossed over his chest.
“Congratulations,” he says, voice low and clipped. “You made it through medical school. Now the real work starts. And let me be clear–” his eyes flick to the residents, sharp and serious, “you will not all make it as surgeons. Some of you won’t even last this year.”
The silence is almost deafening, the only sound in the room is the humming of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling.
“I don’t care what honors you collected or how much your professors loved you. None of that matters in my OR. What matters is focus. Discipline. The ability to think faster than everyone else in the room. If you can’t do that, you’re a liability.”
His words land heavily. One of the residents shifts uncomfortably in their chair. Another swallows audibly. Harry’s gaze glides over the fearful residents, eyes landing on Y/N in the middle. Her stomach drops instantly.
“What’s your name?” he barks.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” she says, sitting a little straighter. She smiles, determined not to look intimidated. “Sir.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Sir,” he echos, as if he is testing how it sounds. His gaze slips down to the front pocket of her scrubs that holds a few colorful pens. “Give me those.” He holds his hand out nodding towards the pens.
With a puzzled look she does as he requested. He holds the pens up, examining them as if they are from a spaceship, then he walks over to the trash can in the corner of the room, then drops them into the can.
“Surgeons don’t use glitter pens,” Harry says flatly, dusting his palms together as though ridding himself of the offense. “We use precision instruments. Black ink. Clear notes. Anything else is a distraction.” His gaze snaps back to her, unyielding. “Do you plan on distracting me, Dr. Y/L/N?”
Heat creeps up her neck, but she forces her chin high, her smile never quite faltering.
“No, Dr. Styles,” she replies, though her voice wavers just slightly. “I plan on learning everything I can.”
Something flickers in his expression, maybe amusement, maybe annoyance. It’s impossible to tell before his face shutters back to stone.
“She’s the type to leave stickers on lab results.”
The guy in the back wasn’t as quiet with his whisper as he thought and Dr. Styles heard every word. His gaze snaps to him, catching him grinning to himself, but when he realizes that Dr. Styles is looking at him, his face falls.
“What’s your name?”
“Dr. Scott.”
“Care to share your thoughts with the whole group?”
Dr. Scott’s cheeks turn pink, at first he just stares back at Dr. Styles, thinking he didn’t mean it, but when he doesn’t budge he realizes he was serious.
“I-I was just… I was joking that she would put stickers on lab results.”
Dr. Styles arches an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side.
“Dr. Scott, don’t bother to come in tomorrow. Pack your stuff and leave.”
Dr. Scott blinks at him, pure shock on his face. He looks to the side, as if his mate would help him out, but everyone is just as shocked as he is and they don’t even dare to look him or Dr. Styles in the eyes. But Dr. Styles just waits patiently until Dr. Scott finally starts moving. He grabs his backpack and then saunters down the stairs and out of the room.
“This is not a playground, not the place where you come to hangout. I don’t want to hear about drama or fighting or mockery. If that’s what keeps you going, you can follow Dr. Scott out the door. You’re here to learn how to save lives, probably one of the hardest things known to mankind. I need you focused and mentally prepared at all times. Understood?”
The residents nod and mumble their answer, but that’s not enough for Dr. Styles.
“Understood?” he repeats, raising his voice, to which the room replies loud and clear.
“Yes, Dr. Styles.”
He then nods, eyes glancing over to Y/N one more time before he checks his phone.
“Rounds in fifteen minutes,” he announces, already striding for the door. “Bring your brains. Leave your egos.”
And then the door shuts behind him.
For a moment, the residents sit frozen, as if afraid any sudden movement might summon him back. Then the whispers start, mutters of shock, nerves, dread.
“He’s even worse than the rumors,” Y/N hears someone whisper behind her.
Y/N exhales slowly, her shoulders tight, pulse still racing. This did not go as she planned, but she won’t let it ruin the experience for her. This is everything she dreamed of, an arrogant surgeon will not shatter everything in ten minutes.
***
The coffee still tastes awful, even after chugging at least three at every shift for the past month, but Y/N drinks it anyway. It’s like a ritual she needs to do before starting work.
She has another long day ahead of her, but she doesn’t mind it. She quickly found common ground with some of the other residents and she even won the nurses over with some home-baked goods on her first week. Even when they are swamped and the patients just keep coming, she still enjoys and loves what she does.
The only downside? Dr. Styles.
That first day truly set the tone for working with him and he hasn’t eased since then. If something, he’s proven to be even tougher.
Ten residents quit in the first week. He fired three more the week after and now there are only seven of them. He chews them up and spits them out every single day and though he teaches so much, more than probably anyone could, he also makes them work harder than anyone.
“Are you ready for another beautiful day?” Nelly rounds the corner as she is putting her hair up into a ponytail.
“I was born ready.” Y/N does a little silly dance, making Nelly chuckle.
“Do you think Master will make someone cry today?”
The nickname for Dr. Styles was born their first week. After a particularly tough shift some of the residents went to grab a drink and they ended up making up theories about Dr. Styles and what he must be like outside of the hospital and someone said he must be dominant and probably gets off on being called Master and then the name just stuck. Of course, only behind his back.
“I’m praying he is in a good mood today,” Y/N gives Nelly a look as they head over to the nurse station where they always start their rounds.
A few minutes later the group is full, talking and laughing, but it all dies down when Dr. Styles appears. His clipboard is tucked under his arm, hair a little messy, eyes cold as usual. Y/N only allows herself to examine him only for a couple of seconds before she turns her gaze down at the tiled floor.
She was once caught by him, staring at him probably longer than she should have and she had to answer every damn question during that round. She has learned her lesson.
It’s hard though, not to stare at him and not just because of his reputation but also because he is annoyingly handsome. Despite the constant unapproving look on his face, he looks quite pleasant with his chiseled jawline, unruly curls and piercing eyes, let alone the tattoos that sometimes peek out from under his lab coat. He’d been unfairly blessed with his looks, that’s for sure.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” he barks, stopping in front of the group. “Fifty-four-year-old male, post-op day three following an open cholecystectomy. Fever overnight. What’s your first concern?”
“Anastomotic leak,” Y/N replies immediately, heart thumping but voice steady.
“And labs?”
“CBC, blood cultures, liver function tests. I’d also get a CT with contrast to evaluate.”
Dr. Styles narrows his eyes at her, but then nods curtly. He then fires away a few more questions, two more at Y/N which she answers correctly, but merely gets another nod.
“Alright, that’s it for today’s question round. Let’s start the actual work.”
The residents breathe out in relief as they follow him down the hall to the first room. With each visited patient, he keeps throwing questions at the residents and whenever someone answers wrong, they get the next about ten questions or at least until Dr. Styles gets bored of hearing their voice.
Y/N is an exception, however. In each room she gets at least a third of the questions. it’s like he is testing her. way more than anyone else in the group.
Once everyone is sent on their way to their separate tasks for the upcoming few hours they all sigh with relief, except those who are going into surgery with Dr. Styles. Y/N today is signed up for some ER work along with Nelly and Jason, a good team to be stuck with in her opinion.
“Jesus, what did you do to him today?” Jason asks on their way.
“Nothing, I guess he just really hates me,” Y/N rolls her eyes.
“If he does, why hasn’t he fired you yet? He has the power. why torture you?” Nelly muses.
“Because she is the most brilliant out of all of us,” Jason points out.
“No I’m not,” Y/N protests, heat crawling up her neck. She knows she is good, she works a lot to be the best she can, but she doesn’t take praise well, it gets her all flustered and nervous, never knowing how to react.
“Whatever, Teacher’s Pet,” Jason teases her.
“I’m definitely not that!” She laughs, holding up a hand. “She probably has a woodoo doll of me at home and he prays for the day I answer something wrong so he can get rid of me.”
“Or,” Nelly starts with a sly smirk, “he is actually into you, but doesn’t know how to approach you so he is picking on you like a kid.”
They all grab their clipboards with patient cases as they get to the packed ER, carrying on the conversation.
“I highly doubt that,” Y/N scoffs, scanning over the papers on her board.
“Why? You’re hot, he is hot, it’s a no brainer.”
“Ah, he is so hot!” Jason moans. “It would be like the perfect enemies to lovers story!” he chimes in, already getting carried away with his fantasy. “The grumpy, highly respected and feared star surgeon falls for the cheery resident, but because of their power imbalance nothing could happen between them so he does what he knows best: be the biggest asshole to her!”
“Oh my God, stop!” Y/N laughs, covering her face with her clipboard. “I don’t want to hear about this again, okay? See you at lunch?” She is backing away, eager to escape this conversation.
“Yes! And then we can discuss how you’ll hook up with Master!” Jason calls after her, way too loud to her liking, so she sprints away, heat creeping up to her ears.
***
The pager goes off just as Y/N sinks into the stiff couch of the residents’ lounge. She groans, rubbing her face before glancing at the glowing screen.
Trauma bay, incoming in ten.
There goes her chance to have a break.
She jogs down the hall, adjusting her scrub cap, and sure enough, Dr. Styles is already there. He stands at the foot of the empty trauma bed, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes flick to her as she enters, then back to the doors. Like there’s something he wants to say, but he keeps it to himself.
The doors burst open and the patient is rolled in. Adrenaline surges through Y/N’s veins and within seconds they are working in tandem. Harry barking orders, Y/N inserting an IV, relaying vitals, answering his sharp questions without hesitation. For almost half an hour it is pure chaos, until the patient stabilizes and is whisked off to surgery.
Only then Y/N feels like she is breathing evenly again. She leans against the counter, sweat cooling on her neck.
“Well,” she says between breaths, “that was fun.”
Dr. Styles shoots her a look, one that usually gets all the residents silent immediately, but then Y/N notices the twitch in the corner of his mouth that almost resembles a smile. She files it away in her memories as a once in a lifetime sight.
“You think that was fun?” he questions.
Maybe it’s her exhaustion, maybe it’s the double espresso she drank an hour ago, but she feels bold instead of scared as she answers.
“Sure,” she replies with a tired grin. “You’re terrifying, the patient’s bleeding out and somehow I’m the only resident on call with you tonight. This is surely fun.”
He huffs and it’s almost a laugh, as he shakes his head at her.
“It’s a hospital, not a circus.”
And with that he walks off, a growing grin stretching across Y/N’s face, because this interaction wasn’t even half bad, almost kind of human, which is something she hasn’t experienced with him before.
Two hours go by, Y/N makes a quick round fixing IV’s and checking temperature before she finally heads to the break room at around two in the morning. She expects no one to be there, so she almost jumps in surprise when she walks in and finds someone lying on one of the beds. Well, not just someone, Dr. Styles.
He’s stretched out on the too-small cot, one arm thrown over his forehead, chest rising and falling steadily. In the dim light, with his scrub top rumpled and his jaw slack in sleep, he looks… different. Not the sharp, unyielding surgeon who makes residents sweat through their coats, but a man who’s just as exhausted as the rest of them.
Y/N freezes in the doorway, suddenly unsure if she should retreat. Her brain tells her to slip away quietly, but her feet don’t move. It feels almost like walking in on something private, like seeing a wild animal at rest.
The floor creaks under her shoe, and Harry stirs. His arm slides down from his forehead, and his green eyes blink open, heavy with sleep. For a second, he just stares at her, caught between dream and waking.
Then his brows knit.
“What are you doing?” His voice is rough, lower than usual, almost intimate.
“Sorry,” she whispers, raising her hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I’m just here for a nap too. But I can do that later, if you want some… privacy.”
He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face as he sits up. His hair is messy, falling over his forehead and his voice is still husky when he says, “It’s a break room, not a hotel suite. You don’t need my permission to be here.”
Y/N hovers near the door for a beat, then crosses the room to the other bed, tossing her jacket down like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Still, her pulse hammers in her ears. It feels strange being in the same room with him like this, quiet, stripped of the chaos of the hospital and bleeding patients.
“Is this your second break?” he asks her, sitting on the edge of the cot.
“Um… no, first one.”
He frowns instantly.
“First? Y/N, you started at 8 am. It’s two am. You’re no good if you faint from exhaustion.” The scolding tone makes her feel like a kid who was caught doing something. She feels small and shameful as she buries her head more into the small pillow.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. But then she processes something else: he just called her Y/N instead of Dr. Y/L/N. There’s something oddly intimate in hearing him call her by her first name, it’s weird but warming as well and her first instinct is to tease him about it, but seeing his disapproving look she swallows her words.
Dr. Styles shakes his head as he stands from the cot.
“I don’t want to see you out in the halls before three am,” he orders in a low voice as he walks over to the door.
“Yes, Sir,” Y/N mumbles in reply and he freezes for a moment, hand on the doorknob, but then he twists the knob and walks out, leaving Y/N alone in the dimly lit room.
Eyes closed, she turns towards the wall, willing herself to sleep, but the way he said her name keeps replaying in her mind until her exhaustion really kicks in and she finally drifts off to sleep.
***
She emerges from the break room a little after three. She checks the time, making sure it really is past three so she doesn’t upset Dr. Styles before she returns to the trauma bay. After a few cases it calms down and she starts on some paperwork by the nurse station when Dr. Patel, one of the ER attendings, walks past and pauses.
“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, glancing down at the file in his hands. “Good work in there earlier. That intubation you did? Smooth, efficient. You saved us precious minutes.”
Y/N blinks, caught off guard by the praise.
“Oh… thank you, Dr. Patel. I just… I just followed protocol.”
The doctor shakes his head with a soft smile.
“Plenty of people know the protocol, but not everyone executes under pressure like that. You’ve got great instincts. Keep it up.”
Before she could get a response out he is already shuffling down the hallway. Her cheeks burn as she clutches her chart to her chest. It was a simple compliment, but it got her all flustered and nervous, lips pressed together tight, fighting the urge to smile like an idiot.
From a few feet away, Dr. Styles watches the whole exchange. Leaning against the doorframe of one of the rooms, arms crossed, expression unreadable as the thoughts swirl in his mind and when Y/N ducks her head, obviously flustered and glowing from the praise, something stirs in his chest.
He’s used to residents either puffing up with arrogance or scrambling for validation when they get recognized. But Y/N… she looks like she doesn’t even know what to do with it. Like someone just handed her a gift she never thought she’d deserve.
When Y/N looks up and turns around, Dr. Styles is nowhere to be seen however.
***
A young patient lies on the table, a complicated trauma case that came in less than an hour ago. The room is packed with nurses and scrub techs, but it feels like everyone is holding their breath. A handful of the residents are standing at the edge of the room, watching the surgery, Y/N being one of them, eyes glued to Dr. Styles by the head of the operating table.
His gloved hands are steady, if you only saw his face you would never guess how complicated the surgery is he is doing right now. His focus is incredible, voice calm as he dictates each step.
“Clamp. Suction. Retractor. No, more to the left.”
Y/N can’t take her eyes off him, drawing in nervous breaths behind her mask. She has seen him work before, several times, she’s even assisted him before, but this seems different.
He’s in his element here, precise and unflinching, commanding the room without ever raising his voice.
When the bleeder comes into view, Y/N feels her stomach drop. It looks impossible, too hard to reach, at least for her. But it’s not her standing by the operating table, it’s Dr. Styles and he doesn’t even flinch.
“There you are,” he murmurs under his breath, like he just found a treasure he’s been looking for so long. His hands move with a speed and certainty that makes the impossible seem almost easy, the tension in the room just keeps growing as everyone waits for him to do his magic.
A couple of seconds and the bleeding slows, the levels on the monitors even out and a collective exhale sweeps through the OR.
Y/N stares, heart pounding, unable to hide her awe, she feels like she just witnessed a miracle.
Dr. Styles orders to start closing the wound up and his gaze flickers up and over to the residents. Or, to be more precise, to Y/N, who is still standing by the wall, hands over her chest as she is still coming off the high witnessing this operation gave her. Their eyes meet, he is even more unreadable than usual, since his face is almost fully covered, she can only see his eyes, but he is wearing glasses, so those are half hidden as well. Yet, she feels like there’s something in them, in the way he is staring at her from across the room, but she can’t make out the actual message.
He turns his attention back at the patient and finishes up the surgery, not looking her way again for the rest of the time.
Later that day Y/N sits wedged between Nelly and Jason in the cafeteria, her scrubs wrinkled from the long shift, a cold sandwich on her tray. Jason is recounting his last overnight call, arms waving as he tells the story of nearly fainting in the middle of a code. Nelly laughs so hard she nearly chokes on her fries, and Y/N can’t help but smile, warmth settling in her chest.
Her gaze wanders across the room though. Dr. Styles sits at a table near the windows, his posture relaxed in a way she rarely sees, but it looks good on him. Across from him is Dr. Rowe, one of the cardiothoracic attendings, a sharp, confident, undeniably beautiful woman everyone likes in the hospital. They’re leaning in slightly, heads bent together in a quiet conversation and when Dr. Rowe laughs softly, Dr. Styles’ mouth curves into an answering smile.
Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, a sharp feeling cutting into her chest, down to her stomach. She wonders what they talk about, what she said that made him smile, if they hang out outside of the hospital as well.
She’d seen him in the OR today, steady and brilliant, and she hasn’t been able to shake the image. And now, watching him look so… human with someone else, it stings in a way she doesn’t expect.
“Earth to Y/N,” Jason says, waving a fry in front of her face. “You spaced out. Who’re you staring at?”
Her cheeks flush instantly.
“No one,” she blurts, poking at her sandwich.
Nelly follows her gaze before Y/N could look away and hide her sudden interest. Her eyebrows shoot up, a sly grin tugging at her lips.
“Oooh! Dr. Styles and Dr. Rowe. Interesting.”
“That’s an unexpected pair, but I can see it,” Jason huffs, staring at them unapologetically.
Y/N forces a laugh, the sound a little too high.
“You watch too much reality,” she mumbles, biting into her sandwich, determined not to look at that table across the room.
***
The afternoon is dragging when Y/N gets paged to room 312, where a post-op patient is crashing. She sprints down the hall, heart hammering and bursts in, finding Dr. Styles already there along with two nurses.
The monitors are shrieking, the patient seems to be in immense pain and for a second she panics, but she is quick to shake the feeling and focus on what matters.
“Blood pressure is dropping,” one of the nurses calls out. Y/N’s eyes dart to the IV line, and she immediately spots that it’s dislodged.
“The line’s out!” she blurts, already grabbing a new catheter.
Dr. Styles glances at her once, sharp and assessing, then nods.
“Fix it, Dr. Y/L/N.”
Her hands move quickly, almost on autopilot, sliding the new line in place. The monitors steady within seconds and the room’s frantic energy simmers down. Relief floods her chest, though her hands start trembling just slightly as she tapes down the line.
Once it’s ensured that the patient is stable, the nurses take over while Y/N and Dr. Styles step back, getting rid of their used gloves.
“Good catch,” Dr. Styles says while Y/N is still watching the patient, but at his words she turns to him with wide eyes. He is looking at her, not with his usual gloomy expression, but with something that almost looks fond.
“You saw it before anyone else,” he continues. “That’s the kind of focus that saves lives.”
Her throat goes dry and suddenly she’s very aware of how hot her cheeks feel.
“I, uhh–I just… It was in front of my e-eyes,” she stutters.
“No,” he says firmly, his gaze still locked on hers. “You assessed the situation well, everyone missed the IV. Including me.”
“Well… Thank you,” she nods, or maybe more like bows to him. She becomes a nervous mess when someone compliments her, but now that it came from Dr. Styles, she has no idea what to do with herself. Her chest swells with a mixed feeling of nervousness, excitement, pride and… lust? Is that what she’s feeling at his praise?
In the meantime, Dr. Styles is watching her, intrigued. He can see the way her cheeks flush, the way her eyes flicker down before darting back up to his. She’s rattled, though not by the chaos of the patient or the emergency.
By him.
By his words.
His lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile tugging at them. He enjoys it, more than he probably should. The way her throat works as she swallows, the way she fumbles with her chart like it could shield her from his gaze that’s practically setting her on fire and burning her up.
When one of the nurses throws a question at him he snaps out of his awe though. Clearing his throat he answers and then walks out of the room, leaving Y/N a little confused about this tiny, but major interaction they just had.
But she’s not the only one, stuck on it. Because as Dr. Styles is walking down the hallway, he urges himself to forget about the sight of her as she reacted to his praise.
***
Y/N thinks of just going home when she arrives at the event, clutching her invitation in her hands like a lifeline. This whole gala is so out of her comfort zone with all those sparkly chandeliers, trays full of champagne everywhere and dresses that cost probably a thousand times more than her simple, long dress she bought in a vintage boutique a few years ago, but never got to wear.
Two days ago she wasn’t in on tonight on her own, Nelly and Jason swore to join her as well for the fundraising gala they hold for the hospital every year, but they both bailed kind of last minute. Nelly said it’s a family emergency, while Jason texted their group chat just two hours ago that he is deathly ill.
Aka terribly hungover probably, since he told them a million times the week before that he is going out with his old high school friends.
So now it’s just Y/N here, surrounded by surgeons and donors in expensive suits, and she feels wildly out of place.
She lingers near the edge of the room, sipping a glass of sparkling water, already planning to leave in about thirty minutes to spare her from having to be the weird resident no one really knows or wants to talk to. She tries the food which is at least good, she sees a few familiar faces, but none from her closer circle she spends her breaks with or eats in the cafeteria.
She then grabs a glass of wine, allowing herself that much fun and that’s when a familiar voice calls out her name.
“Dr. Y/L/N?”
The deep voice at her side makes her jump. She turns and nearly forgets how to breathe.
Dr. Harry Styles is standing there in a perfectly tailored suit, dark curls swept back, bowtie crisp. He looks nothing like the sharp, scrubs-clad figure she’s used to in the OR. He looks… devastatingly good.
“Dr. Styles,” she manages, forcing her eyes not to linger. “Hi.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying her.
“Where did you leave your friends?”
For some reason, she is surprised that he knows she made friends with some of her fellow residents, she always imagined that he has absolutely no interest in knowing any details about his students.
Y/N nods, feeling a bit embarrassed.
“The others… bailed. I’m starting to regret showing up.”
For a moment, she expects him to give a cutting remark about residents needing to network. But then he takes a sip of his drink, eyes scanning over the room as he nods.
“Yeah, me too.”
She blinks at him in surprise.
“You don’t like these? But everyone here must know your name and wants to talk to you.”
“That’s the problem,” he mumbles under his breath, making her laugh.
“So you don’t like the attention?”
“Not this kind.” His eyes cut to her, with a hidden meaning behind them, but she can’t translate it before it’s gone.
Before Y/N can press him, his gaze sharpens. He’s looking at someone across the room, a silver-haired man with a booming (and annoying) laugh making his way toward them, along with two other men. Dr. Styles’ composure changes rather quickly, his jaw tightens.
“Come with me,” he mutters, already placing a hand lightly at her elbow. It happens so fast she doesn’t even have the chance to freak out that his skin is touching her skin for the first time ever.
“W-What?!” she questions, but he just shakes his head. He steers her through the crowd with practiced ease, muttering a quick “excuse us” when someone tries to stop him and in moments they’re slipping through the glass doors onto the terrace.
The night air is cool, a relief after the heat of the crowded ballroom. String lights twinkle overhead, the muffled hum of conversation drifting from inside. Y/N blinks at him, breathless from being whisked away.
“Okay, what was that?!” she breathes out, placing a hand over her chest, feeling her heart thumping against her ribs.
He exhales, loosening his bowtie which alone would be enough to make Y/N forget about what she even asked.
“I needed to get away. That man–He talks so much and for so long and he always finds me at these events and I was just not in the mood to deal with him tonight.”
Her jaw drops slightly as realization settles over her.
“Wait. You used me as your escape?”
His mouth twitches the slightest.
“Well, it’s more excusable to walk off with someone and you happened to be standing there, so…” He shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets and Y/N is staring at him in awe. Not just because he just used her, but because he looks so different now, so mundane, so… approachable. It looks great on him, but she definitely has to get used to this version of him.
She lets out a soft chuckle, folding her arms over her chest.
“Wow. Maybe I should feel honored. Dr. Styles using me as cover.”
His expression twitches, but this time it looks more unpleasant and Y/N instantly panics that she said something wrong or went too far.
“S-Sorry, I’m…”
“Sorry? For what?”
“You just looked like you heard something you did not like.”
He presses his lips together, glancing down at his shoes before his gaze returns to her.
“I just don’t quite like being called Dr. Styles when I’m not working,” he admits.
“Oh.”
“You can call me Harry. Outside of the hospital.”
His offer shocks her and part of her wants to bring some teasing into their conversation, ask him if they will see each other more outside of work, but she definitely thinks that’s too much, so she just bites her tongue, nodding.
“Well, you have called me Y/N already, so I have nothing to offer,” she chuckles shortly.Something flashes across his face and it looks like realization, like he just actually realized that he did in fact already called her Y/N before. That makes her think it was unintentional, which is weird, because she hasn’t heard him call anyone by their first name before.
She shakes herself from the thought, taking a deep breath as she glances inside through the glass door.
“So… what now? Are we gonna hide out here for the rest of the gala?”
Harry follows her gaze toward the lively crowd inside.
“Wouldn’t be the worst idea,” he says, his tone dry, though there’s a faint curve at the corner of his mouth. Y/N just nods absentmindedly, but then a laugh bubbles from her mouth, earning a puzzled look from Harry.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, I just find it funny that the man who terrifies half the surgical floor hiding out on the terrace with a resident.”
He thinks about her words for a few seconds and she starts to regret saying that thought out loud, but then a faint smile appears on his lips.
“Well, that’s my strategy. If people fear me they won’t bother me.”
She raises her eyebrows at him, smiling wide.
“But you just revealed it to me, now I’ll just bother you anyway.”
“You’re way smarter than to do that,” he answers quickly and that shuts her up, because it was another compliment. Dr. Harry Styles just called her smart.
She nervously smoothes her dress with her hands and then tugs her hair behind her ears, avoiding his gaze that’s examining her quite closely.
“You don’t like to be praised?” he questions, but there’s no mockery in his tone, it’s filled with curiosity.
“No–I mean I do! I just… I never know what to say or how to react when I get a compliment. That’s it.”
Even talking about it makes her nervous and she wishes she could just switch to another topic. Harry hums, tilting his head as if he’s studying her, the same way he does when they are discussing a case. Only this time, his gaze feels warmer, heavier.
When she dares to look his way, she feels like he wants to say something and maybe it’s the champagne she has drunk or the unusual setting she is talking to him, but she actually speaks her mind this time.
“What?” she tilts her head gently with a curious smile. Harry shakes his head. “Come on, I know you want to say something.”
“I do,” he curtly answers, but doesn’t continue just yet. Though when he sees her determination, he gives in. “I just… You might not know how to react, but you already have a pretty standard reaction to compliments.”
“Brushing them off?” she huffs out a laugh.
“No,” he shakes his head, eyes glued to her face. “Your shoulders hike higher and you start fumbling with your fingers, like you need to occupy them. You start blink rapidly and press your lips together.”
Her mouth parts at his observation, a sense of warmth jumping through every spot he just mentioned. Starting from her shoulders, down to her hands, up to her eyelids and then to her lips. Heat crawls up neck to her ears and she keeps glancing away, but this time her gaze is pulled back to him every time, like it’s magnetic.
“Do you observe all your residents this closely?” she finds herself asking in a hushed tone and though she meant it as a rhetoric question, she gets a reply instantly.
“No.”
She swears sparks ignite between them and for a second she expects him to close the distance with a stride and she realizes she wishes he would do that.
She wants him to get closer, she desires him to press up against her and she aches to be wrapped up in him.
When the glass door opens somewhere behind them they both sober up from the moment. Y/N nervously clears her throat, rubbing her hands on her upper arms as the evening chill hits her skin. Harry then realizes that she is out there in just a dress.
“Let’s… Let’s get back inside,” he suggests.
“What about your cover?”
“I’ll suck it up and be a big boy,” he says with a tight-lipped smile that makes her laugh.
They head inside and Harry holds the door open for her, placing a hand to her lower back out of instinct as she steps through the door, a spark of electricity traveling down her spine instantly and even when his hand is long gone, she can still feel the warmth of his palm, indented into her skin even through the fabric of her dress.
There’s a beat of awkwardness as they stop, unsure how to go on and Y/N is the first to break it.
“I’ll go to the restroom. I’m sure many want to have a chat with you.”
“Probably,” he nods with absolutely no excitement on his face.
“I’ll… see you later, I guess.”
“Sure.” Another nod.
After a moment of hesitation she wills her legs to move and carry her over to the restrooms, putting a much needed distance between them.
Once inside, she leans onto the counter, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she takes at least a dozen deep breaths to calm her racing heart’s pounding. But her mind is turning against herself, because she can’t shake the sight of him when he said he doesn’t pay that much attention to other residents and then the feeling of his hand on her back…
“Fuck,” she mutters, splashing some water into her face as realization sets in.
She is in trouble.
***
The hospital is in its usual rhythm. Beeping pagers, squeaking sneakers on the linoleum, the low murmur of nurses exchanging updates. But to Y/N, something feels off.
She notices it on Monday morning rounds. Usually, Dr. Styles fires his toughest questions at her, his sharp gaze pinning her in place until she answers. But today, he barely glances her way, his questions scatter across the group, never landing on her and when she offers an answer voluntarily, his only response is just a barely noticeable nod before he moves on to the next person, paying her no questions until they are done.
At first she tries to shake it. There’s nothing unusual, maybe he just grew tired of hearing only her voice. That’s something she should be thankful for.
But by midweek, she can’t ignore it anymore. He doesn’t make eye contact with her in the OR, even when she assists. Checking up on a post-op patient he hands the charts over to the other resident by his side, something that doesn’t happen often and only then does she realize just how much attention he was paying her all along.
And now it’s gone.
By Thursday afternoon, Y/N is convinced she messed up. She replays the terrace conversation over and over in her head. Maybe she acted too friendly. Maybe she asked or said something she shouldn’t have. She picks it apart over and over again, finding new details she could have done wrong.
She sees him a few more times in that shift and almost musters up the courage to ask him, but whenever she sees his hard expression she talks herself out of it.
***
Two weeks pass by in that cold manner and Y/N starts to settle into it, but it doesn’t mean she has stopped worrying about it. Her mind is still gnawing at the strange distance between her and Harry.
When the ER calls up with a patient who needs surgical evaluation, she jumps at the chance to prove herself again. Maybe if she works harder, sharper, better, everything will get back to how it was before the gala.
The patient is a middle-aged man, disoriented and bleeding from an abdominal wound. He is sitting on the edge of the exam table when Y/N walks in and starts checking her vitals as always, doing her best to soothe him.
But then something shifts in him when she tries to check the wound from closer. His eyes get glazed and Y/N notices his hands jerking before everything goes to shit.
TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD
An alarm goes off in her, but it’s too late, he lashes out.
A tray crashes onto the floor, Y/N stumbles back as his arm swings, catching her across the cheek with a brutal punch that sends pain flashing hot through her face. Then a sharp sting blooms across her forearm too, the punch threw her off enough that she didn’t realize he grabbed the scalpel and sliced through the air with it, nicking her arm with the motion.
Y/N stumbles towards the wall, back smashing against it and the man is already readying himself to launch at her again, eyes widen, a guttural growl bubbling from his throat and for a moment Y/N thinks this is it, this is how it all ends.
“Hey!” a nurse shouts, rushing forward. But the man is thrashing, shouting incoherently and Y/N is frozen, blood dripping down her arm, to the linoleum.
Then it all happens just as fast as the attack.
Harry burst into the room, throwing the man against the wall across, holding him down with one arm, the other one catching the man’s hand that still holds the scalpel, pushing it against the wall as well with so much force, his fingers let go of the tool and it falls to the ground.
“Sedate him! Now!” he barks the order to the two nurses that followed him inside. A moment later an injection is pinned into the man’s thigh and while he is still shouting, his muscles start to relax from the medication. Once it kicks in at full force, the nurses take over, lifting him onto the bed, restraining his arms and legs this time.
Then Harry is at Y/N’s side.
“Y/N,” he softly calls out, the distance is long gone from his tone. “It’s alright. Come on, let’s clean this up.” He gently takes her arm and that’s when she looks down at the cut. It’s not deep, she can see that, but the blood has painted her lower arm and hand red. Harry doesn’t care that her blood is staining his lab coat too, he carefully steers her out of the room and into an empty one down the hall, sitting her to the edge of the exam table while her hands are still shaking and the pain starts to set in now that the adrenaline has worn out of her veins. The cut stings and the whole left side of her face feels like it’s on fire. But the worst of it all is the shame.
END OF TRIGGER WARNING
She watches as Harry cleans her arm and then focuses on the cut, tending to the wound with such care she hasn’t seen from him with other patients before.
He disinfects it, takes a closer look to see if she needs any stitches, but luckily it’s not that deep, so he wraps her arm in a bandage before looking up at her face to see the damage there, but then he sees the expression on her face.
“Y/N…”
“I–I must have messed up,” she stammers, tears pricking her eyes. “I must’ve said something wrong, I should have handled him differently, maybe I didn’t see somethi–”
“Stop.” His tone is quiet but commanding, cutting through her panic. His hand takes hers, giving it a gentle squeeze that successfully zeroes her mind out, the warmth of his touch sending shivers down her spine.
“This wasn’t your fault,” he reassures her as her lips wobble and she bites into it to stop herself from fully sobbing.
“B-but–”
“You did everything right,” he insists, eyes locking on hers. “Patients like this… it happens. No one could have predicted it. Do you understand? You did nothing wrong.”
The weight in his words steals her breath. For once, there’s no criticism, no test, no impossible bar to clear. Just reassurance.
At last she closes her mouth and nods in defeat. Harry exhales sharply through his nose as his eyes start assessing her face. A bruise is already starting to form over her cheekbone and the left side of her lower lip is swollen with a little split. Under his scrutinizing gaze she runs her tongue over the wound and she swears his eyes darken just then.
He reaches up, palm cupping her jaw as he lifts her head as if he is examining the bruise, but his gaze stays glued to her eyes. Her breath hitches in her throat when he runs his thumb across her bottom lip, but it’s not because the split hurts.
She swallows, time has stopped moving around them as he leans in the slightest. She even questions if she saw it right, but when she does the same, he moves again and this time she is sure he is getting closer.
Her hand finds his lab coat, fisting the fabric in anticipation and she has already closed her eyes when something is dropped outside, the loud thump making them both jump and just like that, the bubble is popped.
Harry’s hand drops and when he takes a step back she lets go of his coat and she has to fight the urge to pull him back.
He looks away before his eyes flutter closed and when they open again, he is back to reality.
“Get an ice-pack for your face. Change the bandage after you shower tonight.”
They sound like orders, but come out softer than usual. Her mind is racing, still stuck on what was about to happen just moments ago and all she can do is nod, dazed and confused.
Then Harry walks out of the room, like he wasn’t about to kiss her just a minute ago.
***
Y/N is way too disoriented after the incident. And it’s not just because that patient attacked her, what happened, or more like almost happened afterwards is what has her all over the place.
Everyone starts asking what happened and how she is, the nurses get her an ice-pack and some soothing gel, though the bruising is already there, a vivid reminder of what happened.
She tries to get back to work, but patients give her weird looks when they see her beaten up face and she also notices that her focus is definitely elsewhere.
Because of the incident, she is let off early this time so she can rest. She changes out of her scrubs and heads out, but only reaches one of the benches just outside the hospital. She sits, her mind still replaying that scene with Harry, the touch of his hand on her face, his soft gaze, the way he leant closer, the kiss already hanging between them.
She won’t be able to get it out of her head and the more she thinks of it, the surer she gets that she needs answers. The gala could have been just her imagination, she could have just made up whatever she felt then, but today was not just in her head.
He almost kissed her and she wanted him to, she ached to be kissed by him.
When she glances towards the entrance, Harry walks out just then, backpack over one shoulder, still wearing his scrubs, he just threw his jacket over.
She moves like she’s on autopilot as she stands and starts walking towards him. When he spots her, the surprise on his face is obvious.
“Y/N,” he softly says, his steps coming to a halt. “I thought you already left. How… How are you feeling?”
She ignores his question, the urge to get answers is now taking over her.
“What was that?” she asks and his face gives him away just for a split second before returning to its unreadable state again.
“What was what?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. In the exam room, when you were bandaging me up. What was that?”
He exhales sharply through his nose, looking away for a second before his eyes return to her.
“Y/N, don’t do this.”
“I want answers,” she demands, standing her ground. “Ever since I’ve started working here, it seemed like you were fixated on always questioning me, you were obviously harder on me than on any of the other residents. I thought that was just because maybe you hated me, or maybe… maybe you saw potential in me and expected more from me, whatever. But then at the gala…”
Harry’s jaw tightens, just like his hands on the strap of his bag, but he doesn’t interrupt, so she continues.
“I thought I just imagined it, the… the spark, I thought I was just an idiot for thinking there was more to it, but then you acted so distant, like you wanted to shut me out of your life and then today…”
Her throat is closing up, she is getting worked up, but she fights through it, she needs to say all of it out loud finally.
“You wanted to kiss me, didn’t you?”
She waits for an answer, but it never comes, he is just staring back at her, eyes darkening.
“Did you want to kiss me?” She repeats the question with more force and this time his answer comes instantly, like he’s been trying to swallow it down, but he couldn’t hold it down any longer.
“Yes.”
She was expecting this answer, but it still feels like something bursts in her. Her thoughts are racing and she can’t get a word out, but he takes over the talking.
“I wanted to kiss you even though I’m your supervisor. That’s… It’s one thing that I’m not supposed to do that, but I shouldn’t even think of that, Y/N.”
His voice is hard, clipped, but in a different way, he seems to be angry at himself this time.
“It’s messed up, I’m messed up. I’m trying everything I can to… get you out of my head, but I can’t. Not since… since…” He is breathing heavily, eyes on fire.
“Since when?” she questions, just as worked up.
“Since the first damn day I walked into that conference room!” he snaps. It’s like the wall he’s been building up around himself relentlessly is now falling apart. “I saw you with your… colorful pens and bright eyes and I couldn’t think of anything else for the rest of the day. And since then, with every right answer you gave me, every operation you assisted me, every shift spent together, it just grew inside me no matter what I did.
“Then I saw you at the gala, no scrubs, no… rubbing alcohol smell and… Fuck.” He rubs his face with his hands before continuing. “Today was a mistake, but it would have been an even bigger one if I let myself go further. I can’t want you this way, I’m your mentor, your teacher. This is… I need to keep a distance.”
This last part is more like it was said to himself rather than to her, but she hears it and speaks before she could think twice.
“But what if I want you the same way?”
There’s a whole storm raging behind his eyes when his gaze snaps back to her.
“Y/N, stop…”
“But I do want you the same way.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he shakes his head and tries to step away, but she grabs his hand, the physical contact immediately changing their balance. Involuntarily, his fingers hook together with hers.
“Please…” she whispers, but she’s not even sure what she is begging him for. Yet, he understands her.
There’s a few moments of hesitation, a staring contest and then he shakes his head and she thinks she lost, but then he gently tugs on her hand.
“Come with me.”
She follows him blindly, not even questioning where they are going. In the parking lot Harry unlocks his car and Y/N takes the passenger seat without a word. He starts the car and rolls out of the parking lot, the hospital shrinking in the mirror as Y/N sits in the heated seat, a little anxious, but more excited.
They don’t speak on the short ride, not even when Harry parks in front of an apartment building. She just follows him inside, up to the second floor where he stops in front of one of the doors and he unlocks it, holding it open for her.
She walks in, cautious but also curious. She never really thought of what Harry’s home looks like. Is it modern? Tidy or messy? A small and cozy place or a spacious, cold one?
When he flicks the lights on she is met with a mixture. She finds herself in an open concept kitchen that flows into a living room that’s just the right size. The furniture looks updated, but she spots several vintage pieces that bring character to the place. She sees colors, but not too many to overwhelm her, warm reds and oranges mixed with blue, purple and a little bit of yellow pops out here and there.
It fits him, oddly. Even despite his gruffness, she sees him in the apartment.
Behind her Harry closes the door and drops his backpack to the small bench by the door. She turns around, staring back at him expectantly, unsure what is going to happen next.
He starts moving closer, slow and calculated and Y/N feels like a prey. He stops, just a step away from her and reaching up his palm cups her face again, running his thumb across the bruise on her cheeks. She flinches, just a bit, but it makes him frown.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not that much,” she shakes her head lightly. “I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, surprising her.
“For what? For saving me from him? For tending to my wounds?” she asks in disbelief.
“I… If I went in there with you this wouldn’t have happened. But I saw you go in and thought I would just take the next one, but I should have gone in with you, so he would have attacked me instead.”
He is visibly beating himself up and she wonders how long he’s been doing that. She reaches up, curling her hand around his wrist gently.
“None of it was your fault. You haven’t been coming to the exam rooms with us for weeks, there was no reason for you to come with me.”
“But I wanted to be close to you,” he admits, surprising her once again. “I always want to be around you.”
“You do?” she asks, almost in disbelief.
Harry nods and she leans into his touch, closing her eyes.
“You’re so smart and passionate about everything you do. You take care of everyone the best possible way you can, never exclude anyone. I have… never met anyone like you, Y/N.”
A shaky breath slips past her lips, the familiar heat crawling up to her ears already. When the blinking starts, Harry breaks out in a tiny smile.
“And I love how you react when I praise you,” he adds and she almost whimpers at his words. “Tell me, Y/N. Do you like to be praised? Does it feel good?” He reaches up with his other hand, cradling her face in both palms now, eyes grazing her face relentlessly.
“Y-yes.”
He nods, almost approvingly, running a thumb across her bottom lip, making them part and the words roll down her tongue before she could think twice.
“But I love it the most when you praise me.”
He groans, his thumb pushing into her mouth and she sucks on it without a second thought, swirling her tongue around the tip and as she pushes herself closer to him, her front meeting his, she can already feel his erection pressing against his scrubs.
“Fuck, Y/N. You’re… so fucking perfect,” he groans, forehead pressing against hers and she is trying to push closer so their lips could finally meet, but he pulls back. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“I don’t care,” she shakes her head. “I want this. I want you.”
“But I’m your–”
“I don’t care,” she repeats with more force.
“What’s gonna happen after? What are we going to do at work?” He is not asking these to sober them both out, but because he actually worries about these and these questions are the last restraints holding him back.
“We will figure it out. I promise.”
“It’s not that easy and you know that too.”
“You think we are the first one to do this? Harry, it’s nowhere near impossible. We can just… keep it out of the hospital, focus on work and when we’re not there…”
Harry stares back at her, his face is unreadable again and panic starts to rise in her chest as she thinks he is about to back out.
But then he reaches up, gently running his knuckles down the side of her face before his hand moves to the back of her head.
“I need you to say out loud that you want this and not because I have power over you in the hospital. I need to hear this.”
“I want this, out of my own free will. It has nothing to do with–”
She doesn’t get to finish before his lips crash against hers, hard and demanding, almost knocking her off her feet. But she’s quick to return it just as vehemently, her arms hooking around his neck to bring him even closer while he pushes against her, backing her until she bumps against the wall.
He pushes a knee between her legs, his thigh making contact with her center and she moans into his mouth when she grinds against it shamelessly.
“Fucking Hell, you sound so perfect,” he groans between kisses.
She blindly grabs his jacket and drags it off him, just as he is pulling her sweatshirt up and over her head and he doesn’t waste a second before he does the same with the tanktop she wears underneath. For a moment Y/N regrets not putting on something sexier, the simple wireless bra is definitely not the most flattering piece she owns, but when she sees the look on Harry’s face roaming her body, she couldn’t care less about what she’s wearing.
She wiggles a little, eager to get close to him again, but he keeps her in place with his hands on her waist, pinning her against the wall.
“Are you gonna be a good girl and do what I want? Do you want to get praised, Y/N?” he asks in a low, lustful tone. She nods eagerly.
“Yes! Please!”
“You’re gonna follow my orders as if we were in the OR?” A wicked smirk tugs on his lips and she squirms when one hand moves to her chest, hooking a finger into the cup to pull it down so her breast spills out.
“Yes, Sir” she breathes out, back arching when he pinches her nipple, playing with it.
“Remember when you called me Sir the first day?” he asks, hand moving to her other breast to do the same. Y/N nods, unable to form words as he starts playing with both of her nipples at the same time. “I almost got a hard-on from that. I could see you call me that while kneeling in front of me. I had to distract myself so I don’t embarrass myself in front of the whole group.”
Y/N’s head falls back against the wall, when he tugs on her nipples, letting go of them, only to replace his fingers with his mouth. His hand slips to her back, unclasping her bra with a practiced motion, throwing it to the side as he sucks and bites on her nipples and all over her breasts, most likely leaving marks on her chest, but she couldn’t care less. She is sure she could come just from this if he kept doing it for long enough.
She whimpers in protest when he takes a step back, already craving his touch.
“Stay right there,” he orders, when she tries to push away from the wall and she obeys instantly.
He takes a moment to look at her, bare top, her jeans still on but judging from the way she is pressing her thighs together she is aching for more friction. He takes his top off too, revealing his tattoo littered, hard chest and her palm is itching to touch him everywhere she can reach, but she wills herself to stay put. His erection is fully visible though his pants and she gulps hard seeing the indent of it.
Harry takes his time ridding himself of the pants, leaving him in only his briefs, then he steps back to her and starts undoing her jeans, pushing them down but only to mid-thigh. He then reaches between her legs and cups her through her panties that are already drenched, all while he keeps her eyes locked on hers.
She gasps for air when he pushes the fabric to the side and runs two fingers over her cunt, coating his digits in her arousal.
“Fuck, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?”
“Yes,” she whines, hips tilting with the intention to guide his fingers inside her, but he just keeps teasing her, dragging them back and forth between her slick folds.
He hums, his free hand cupping the back of her neck as he leans his forehead against hers.
“Such a good little girl, so perfectly wet for me.”
Her mouth slacks open when his fingers push past her opening and just as they enter her, he kisses her at the same time, tongue pushing into her mouth.
She whimpers and moans and wiggles some more, eager for more friction, but he drags his movements slow, teasing her as he lazily moves his fingers in and out, in again and then he curls them inside, making her cry out from pleasure before they move out and he does it all over again.
She can feel her orgasm building already when he pulls his hand back. Her eyes pop open just in time to see him lick his fingers clean before his hand moves down to palm himself through his underwear. She runs her tongue across her lips, her eyes talking for her.
“You want a taste too?” Harry asks, cocking his head to the side slightly, almost curiously.
“Yes, Sir,” she nods.
Harry leans down and grabs his jacket from the floor, throwing it down in front of him and Y/N kneels onto it instantly, hands clasping his hips.
“Go ahead. Do what you want,” he gives her the go.
She blinks up at him once more before she hooks her fingers into the elastic and pulls his underwear down, his cock springing free right in front of her face. Her legs starts shaking for a moment, seeing how big he is, hard and ready, his precum glistening on the pink tip. She wraps her hands around the base at first, as if she is testing the waters, then she leans in and takes just the tip into her mouth, sucking on it gently.
“Fuck,” he groans, one hand coming to the back of her head, but it’s not doing anything, he just feels like he needs to be touching her.
Then, slowly, her head starts moving, back and forth, taking more and more of him with each movement, her saliva coating his length while her hands squeeze the base.
She glances up at him through her lashes and finds him watching her with a burning gaze.
“So good for me,” he mumbles, hips moving forward slightly so she swallows even more of him and he thinks she is about to pull back but she surprises him by grabbing by his ass and holding him in place, then pushing some more so her nose is almost touching his pubic bone, the tip of his cock in the very back of her throat.
“Shit, Y/N,” he groans, head falling back at the sensation.
Tears prick her eyes when she pulls back, gasping for air. Harry helps her up in a rush, gathering her in his arms, his erection wedging between them as he kisses her with full force.
“I want to fuck you,” he grunts against her lips.
“I want you to fuck me,” she rushes out, clawing at her shoulders.
“How were your last test results?” he asks and she needs a few moments to make out what he asked and then she remembers. Everyone got the chance to test themselves just last month in the hospital and Y/N took it as well as Harry if she remembers correctly.
“Clean. Haven’t been with anyone since,” she breathes out.
“Same for me. Do you want me to use a condom?”
“No, I want to feel you,” she practically begs. Harry nods and then kisses her while pushing her jeans down her legs fully, so she can step out of them.
Then he picks her up, a gasp slipping past her lips that turns into a chuckle before they are kissing again, Harry carrying her into the bedroom. She finds herself on his bed in seconds, but she doesn’t have the chance to even look around before he is on top of her, erection pressing against her lower stomach as he kisses her again with so much hunger and lust her mind blurs and only senses him.
Slowly, he starts kissing down her neck, her chest and stomach, then moves to her thighs, pushing them open as he nears her center. He takes off her last piece of clothing, her panty flying across the room so Harry now has full access to her.
At first he is gentle, just tasting, licking at her, but then he buries himself into her more and more, sucking on her clit and pushing his tongue inside her, turning her into a full mess with each swipe of his tongue.
Once again she almost comes, but before she could tip over the edge, he pulls back, climbing up her, kissing her with the taste of her arousal still on his lips. This kiss a little slower, gentler, as he settles between her legs. Reaching down he grabs the base of his cock and positions himself, the tip already pushing in, but he stops there, lifting his head just enough that he can look at her face. Her eyes flutter open and just then, he pushes in.
He is moving slowly, letting her adjust, but he doesn’t stop until he is in fully, every inch of him. She is gasping for air as she opens her mouth to say something, but her mind blanks and words die in her throat. He stays still for a bit, then shifts a little before pulling back and then thrusting in again.
Gradually, he picks up a rhythm, pushing into her all the way every time. He buries his face into her neck, kissing and nibbling on the soft skin as she stares up at the ceiling, clawing at his back, her orgasm building up in the pit of her stomach rapidly.
Harry can sense that she is close, her walls tightening around him. He lifts his head and kisses her.
“You’re doing so good for me. So fucking good, Y/N.”
The praise just adds to the sensation. She moans out something that almost sounds like his name, then he wraps his arms around her and turns them over, but keeps her locked against his chest as he sets his feet into the mattress firmly and starts thrusting up into her fast and hard, essentially tipping her over the edge.
She moans and grunts against him, even bites into his shoulder as her hips grind against him as well. He drags out his thrusts as she is riding her orgasm out, her walls still pulsing around him when he bursts inside her too.
He holds her so tight, almost knocking the air out of her, but she doesn’t mind, she loves feeling and seeing him fall apart, his usual, guarded self now fully bare for her.
They stay like that, even when he has stopped moving and their breathing has slowed. He is still inside her, even though he is has softened, but she just don’t want the physical contact to be cut. With her face pressed against his chest she listens to the steady beating of his heart as his fingers gently graze her naked back.
“I thought you hated my guts,” she eventually breaks the silence. She lifts her head and rests her chin on her hand over his chest so she can look at him. “I always thought you asked me the most because you were just waiting for me to give one wrong answer so you could kick me out.”
Harry chuckles softly, the vibration dancing through her body too.
“I did test you a lot and was waiting for you to mess something up at first, but only because I wanted to prove to myself that you weren’t as special. As brilliant. But then you proved me wrong over and over again and then I just… I wanted to hear your voice, your quick thinking, your clever ideas.”
“Then how come you never praised me?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed. Harry shrugs.
“I’m not big on that, I tend to brush over that kind of things. But then I saw how you reacted that day, when you spotted the IV.”
Y/N nods, remembering that day and how it was the first time he praised her work.
“It messed with my head, seeing you all… flustered and nervous. Wanted to know how much effect I could have on you.”
“Guess we found that out now,” she smiles cheekily, making him laugh.
“Yeah, yeah we did.”
Pushing up on her hands she hikes herself up until she can reach his lips with hers. She kisses him, slow and tender, taking her time tasting him and he does the same, exploring each other with no rush. Then Harry grunts and she pulls back, giving him a puzzled look.
“What is it?”
“Now that I know what some praising does to you, I want to do it all the time, but I can’t, because people would notice.”
“You’ll have to go back to acting like you hate me,” she grins and he slaps her ass gently, making her shriek, but it turns into a laugh pretty quickly.
“I have a reputation to keep up or else overly-eager fresh residents would bother me all the time.”
“Oh, am I bothering you? I’m sorry, let me just grab my clothes and–” She tries to climb off him, but he is quick to pull her back, caging her in his arms.
“Shut up, Dr. Y/L/N and kiss me.”
“Is that an order as my boss?”
“Yes. It’s critical for your learning curve, they don’t teach this in medical school.”
“They really don’t,” she grins. “But I guess I want to learn everything,” she hums before doing as he said.
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Once they get to the lounge, Harry can admit two things: he barely knows who they’re meeting, and both he and Y/N are far too overdressed for the situation. At least, club vibes are a little more relaxed, aren’t they? But Y/N and Harry are coming straight after their 9-to-5 (that had been more like an 8-to-7 as of late), Y/N was in a sleeveless silk blouse, a petal pink with bottoms in the same color. She’d been wearing a cardigan all day, too, but the first moment they stepped into the hot car park, Y/N gasped and ripped it off to tie around her waist, “You’re trying to kill me, you really are.”
“Huh?” Harry frowned, “I don’t make the weather; how is this my fault?”
“I saw your bank statements to Helios. Do you think I’m dumb?”
Harry’s face twisted, “Who is Helios? Wait, and can you see my bank statements?”
or
Harry can't be normal about his PA & Y/N is softer than she lets on
part 1
(18.5k+ words)
ii.
“You’ve been jumpy today.”
When Harry had seen what his schedule was going to look like for the next couple of weeks, he knew it was going to be daunting. There are two peak seasons, both in winter and in summer; this past winter had been his first peak, and it had gone semi-horribly, even with all the effort and elbow grease Y/N put into keeping things straight. Harry was crashing and burning badly, frantic and frazzled, feeling the impostor syndrome wiggling deep in his bones and reminding him this job had been handed to him, not earned.
He remembered Y/N, even as stressed as she was, and even with as much as he seemed to annoy her, was kinder to him about it than she probably should have been. Her kindness had been shown in ordering him to take an hour-long lunch and threatening a shock collar on him if he tried to do any work during it because, “You’re useless when you haven’t eaten.” It’d also been shown in her delegating less important meetings to other floor and department heads, she thought could handle it. Then Harry mysteriously got a 2-hour-long massage gift certificate as a “promotion” opportunity that their company would somehow post about. Y/N went into a whole discussion on social media outreach and analytics, only for nothing to ever come of it.
Harry didn’t want to be a burden on her this time. To be fair, he felt much more comfortable in his position as the company head now, even with only six additional months under his belt. His work/life balance was still shot to hell, but he knew when it was necessary to carry stress and when it wasn't. He could work out if someone was trying to hustle them or if negotiations were actually good. Harry had an easier time answering emails, interacting socially, and at least putting on a face that didn’t expose that he felt like he had no idea what he was doing. “Fake it ‘till you make it” is a saying Harry had lived by all of his life, starting from when he lied his way into the neighborhood footie team by saying he’d been playing since he was 4 (he’d never kicked a ball in his life at that point). That’s when Harry learned that as long as you say things with enough conviction, people will eventually just believe you.
So he does a lot of that, and the more he does it, the more comfortable he is doing it. Which means hopefully he doesn’t have to rely on Y/N as much this time.
. . .at least, not in a way that she’s necessarily aware of.
Watching her live was something close to a religious experience; the way it eased the tension from his muscles and turned his brain all ooey-gooey was something he’d not experienced in a very long time. The constant humming, buzzing energy of every atom that makes him up had slowed to something slow-moving, gentle – the plodding waves of an ocean drawing the grains of sand back and forth. Harry had missed feeling this way – honestly, Harry doesn’t even know if he’d felt that way before. He’d felt something like it, but he was truly boneless, brain melting through his ears onto the pillow, crawling beneath it to hide until the sun came back out. He was peaceful, cozy, even covered in cum with his robe half undone.
And that was just from one live stream. A block of 15, maybe 20 minutes of her getting off, and it was better than any lay Harry had experienced up to that point. It was hard to wrap his head around it. . .so obviously, he had to make sure the next night. . .and the night after that. . .and the night after that. Harry would have loved to watch a plethora of videos, but he only permits himself one a night because – well, he doesn’t have a reason. He just feels like he needs to pace himself, or he’ll goon himself right into a coma or something.
Each night, though, after he cums watching her, an orgasm that rattles his brain into nothing and morphs him into a useless puddle on the mattress. He thinks his imprint is probably deeply embedded there. If he touches his prick anymore, he’s going to fucking chafe, and his palm is rubbed raw. He’s worried about showing people his hand, thinking that the skin would be noticeably pinker than the rest. Even on Monday, when he first had to look her in the eyes after cumming to the thought of her, she asked him to hold his hand out for something and tilted her head when he held out his left hand.
“Weird,” she remarked, sliding the stack of papers into her left hand, “You’re right-handed.”
Harry blinked at her, “Uh. . .yeah.”
Y/N blinked at him in return. “Yeah,” her brows furrowed, “Okay, anyway –”
The first few days he had to see her were a little easier because he was so busy that he barely saw her. From meeting to meeting, lunches, and daytime drinks. The fashion industry has so many moving parts, so there are always so many people to speak to. But on Wednesday, he sees Y/N the first thing in the morning – actually, he sees Y/N at his doorway, bright and early, 5 AM.
He startled, only half-dressed in his briefs and the 4-inch inseam shorts that Harry had in 10 different colors in because his friend Adam told him it was necessary. He had one sock on, pulled up over his ankle, and the other sock in his hand. Harry was confused, digging through his head, trying to remember if his sister had planned a trip that he forgot about and was showing up to stay, or if he was about to get robbed. But then he looked through the peephole and saw Y/N with a very unimpressed glare.
“What’s going on?” Harry said instantly as he opened the door, “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
“Am I okay? No.” She answered immediately, pushing passed him to get into his flat, “I had to wake up at 4 AM to get fucking work out clothes on, so I can do a 2 mile run with you and this fucking Versace ambassador,” she slammed her purse down on his counter, frowning, “I hate running, I don’t like being up this early, and I want to go back to bed immediately. Worst of all, you definitely forgot that this was a thing, even though I put it in your calendar. I should’ve set reminders, but I figured you would be up this early to run anyway, you exercise-loving freak.”
Harry checked his phone, and sure enough, in the calendar, Y/N had input it.
Running With Versace /ᐠ •̀ ˕ •́ マ
The angry cat seemed to speak about how she felt, without the small monologue when she walked through the door.
“Oh, I definitely – I definitely remembered that,” Harry scratched the back of his neck, “Um, yeah! Just remind me where we were going for the run? And why?”
It was kind of like getting whiplash, seeing Y/N on the screen and in person. Last night, he’d watched 40 minutes of Y/N rutting her swollen clit against a Fleshlight, whining and pouting, begging to cum while Harry tried and failed to edge himself twice. That morning, she seemed like she was struggling (and failing) not to glare at him every time he opened his mouth. Fair enough – Harry could admit that his brain still hadn’t turned on yet all the way, and seeing the person who had been responsible (unknowingly) for his peaceful, sleep-filled nights wasn’t helping him reboot any quicker.
“You stupidly agreed to it when he was flirting with you,” Y/N replied, shaking her head, “Which I totally get; he’s a smokeshow, but so is his husband, and I don’t know how well you’d do in a throuple.”
Harry does vaguely remember smiling and nodding, staring into the stranger’s pretty eyes, and agreeing to go on a morning jog since they’d both bonded over a love for running. Still, he’s confused, “So, wait – why are you going?”
Y/N’s glare couldn’t have gotten more severe. “Why am I going? Oh, I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Maybe because my super sweet, stellar boss told Aki that I loved running too, that we go every morning, because what a coincidence his assistant runs with him too! And that’s so nice, because we all get to turn our work brains on and discuss the distribution of a summer collection in our stores without having to meet in a stuffy old conference room.” The more she said, the more Harry remembered, the more he cringed at himself. He was a sucker for a pretty face; he could admit that. He’d probably have agreed to skydive and discuss the distribution if Aki had asked. And, more than likely, he probably would’ve had Y/N come too.
The thing was – Harry doesn’t even mean to include Y/N all of the time. It just comes out whenever he’s agreeing to something, to also rope her into it. If she notices that he does this, then she never says anything about it outright, but she definitely complains about it in the moment.
“Ah, yeah, that’s starting to sound a bit familiar,” he pointed toward his room, “I’m g’na finish getting dressed.”
So, Harry had started out relatively normal this morning, even with the sudden change in plans. He was feeling satiated and calm, clear-headed, like he could talk the ambassador into speaking to Donatella and selling him half of the company or something crazy. And then he walks into his room, and sees his laptop on his bed, plugged into the charger with the lid open, and suddenly remembers that he fell asleep with Y/N’s video on it. Y/N, who, if she suddenly needed to use his computer for something, would have no problem about grabbing it, typing in his password, opening it up, and –
Harry slammed the lid closed and shoved it up under the pillow, his heart hammering against his chest. He immediately starts to scan the room, like maybe he forgot that he wrote “I WATCH YOUR STREAMS LIKE A FILTHY PERVERT” on the walls or something. Really, the only thing that could have indicated anything was his laptop but he put that away. And really, what were the chances that Y/N would want to use his computer that early in the morning?
“Harry,” he could hear the floorboards shifting, her voice getting closer, “Where’s your computer? I forgot to forward our numbers to the finance department.”
If it was possible to break out into a cold sweat in two seconds, Harry did so.
“Wh-what?”
Y/N is standing at his doorway, and it’s – it’s weird to see her close to his room like this. In his panic, he finally registered what she was wearing. The leggings that hug her thighs so tightly, he can almost vividly imagine them bare, so he can only imagine what it looks like when she turns around. She has a purple jacket on, but he’d already twisted it tight around her waist to reveal the t-shirt she wore beneath it. It was nothing spectacular, but he knew what lay beneath it, and that was enough to twist something deep in his belly. Her hair was pressed from her face, her eyes were bright despite how tired she was, and her lips looked as glossy as they did when she was whimpering about how good it felt to grind on something last night.
“Your computer,” she repeated, then her eyes moved around the room, and Harry saw where they were trained – at the head of his bed, where he’d just placed it. He thought for a moment she was using her freaky, psychic demon powers on him, but when he turned, he saw that his charging cord was still clearly on the bed, stretched and leading to where his laptop hid. “I just need it for a second.”
“No!” He answered maybe too quickly, then swallowed hard, because god, that was a little obvious that he was hiding something, “Not–um, not that one, it doesn’t work, I – my office,” he nodded, pointed to the left, “Down the hall! You can – go in there. My desktop is already logged in.”
Y/N peered at him curiously, because as always – she knew something was up, but she must be too tired to fight him on it. Like a small act of mercy, she nodded her head and pivoted on her heel, going deeper into his flat. Harry let out a tiny breath before he pushed his knuckles into his eyes and told himself to get it the fuck together.
So, yeah, after that, he was kind of on edge. Jumpier than normal, which is why Y/N comments on it as they drive to the trail Harry had agreed to run at.
“You’ve been jumpy today.” She told him, after they’d reached for the air conditioner dial in his car at the same time and Harry snatched his hands away Edward Cullen style, “What’s going on with you?”
“Huh? Nothing,” Harry tried to play it cool, “I’m always jumpy.”
He could feel her boring holes into the side of his head with her gaze. He hoped, once more, that the sun just wasn’t high enough in the sky for her to bother with bothering him. Like, hopefully, maybe, he was praying that she just let it go, how she let the laptop thing go this morning. That would be the ideal scenario, at least.
“If you were watching porn on it, I don’t care,” she replied suddenly, “Just say that’s your porn computer and tell me to use the other one next time, instead of being all weird.”
Harry’s blood runs ice cold, “What?” He all but squawks, his face flaming with heat instantly, “That’s not–no! That’s not it at all!”
“Hey, there’s no reason to be so shy,” she raised her hands, “Everyone watches porn. As long as it’s ethically sourced, I don’t see why it would be an issue. Self care includes masturbation and –”
“Stop!” Harry squeaks, definitely not sounding as assertive as he would like to. The comfort that she has to speak about Harry’s sex life is mind-boggling to him, because he’s certain that most people don’t discuss that with their bosses, but Y/N seemed to have no issue. And honestly? She was a huge part of his supposed sex life right now, so she really did kind of have the right to bring it up, but Harry was not about to do that with her right now.
“Jeez, you’re shy.” She lowers her seat, leaning it back a bit more. “Niall has gone in-depth with me about every possible position he’s been in, with demonstrations, and all the nasty little kinks he’s into. Nothing I could see on your laptop would surprise me.” She sighed, shaking her head, and Harry can almost guarantee that what is on his screen would surprise her, “I thought you went out this past weekend, though? With your friends?”
Harry’s mouth is permanently hung open. “So you did set that up?”
“Of course I did,” she replied without a hint of shame, “I got my ass handed to me because you were all flighty, so I was looking out for me.” The navigation system tells him to turn left into the parking lot, and Harry had never been so excited to arrive somewhere to work out before. “We can table this conversation for now. You need to de-blush yourself before we see Aki, or I’m g’na have to tell him you were watching porn this morning.”
“I was not watching porn this morning!”
“Oh, sorry,” she corrects, “Last night.”
Harry feels like he’s going to explode. Y/N gives him approximately 1 minute and 15 seconds to “de-blush” before they get out of the car (she set a timer), so he really has no time to settle himself before they’re walking up to Aki, who is alone. And Aki, ever the flirt, almost immediately makes Harry blush all over again when he sees his gaze lace over Harry’s body like a snake, slithering from his legs upward.
“So this is what you’ve been hiding under those suits,” he smiles, and Harry’s heart was already hammering because of Y/N, so this does little to help it slow, “Have you thought about modeling?”
All giddy, Harry scrunches his nose, “Ah, that – is very flattering, but I’d much prefer to stay away from the lens if I could help it.”
“That’s a shame then,” Aki winks at him before turning to greet Y/N, “Always a pleasure, Miss. Y/N. How are your cats?”
Before Harry can be confused about how Aki knows Y/N has a cat (and he wonders if he even knew that Y/N had a cat), Y/N – who has all but cussed him out this morning through her vicious gaze – sounds like she couldn’t be happier to be awake this early. Like going for a run was the best thing Harry could have signed her up for, “The pleasure is mine! They’re doing well. Greedy little things, though. They try to wake me up an hour before my alarm every morning to feed them.”
“Mine does the same,” Aki groans, shaking his head, and reaching up to pull his hair back to place a small bun. It looked like he’d just stepped off a shampoo commercial, and he could almost hear Y/N grumbling about how the world is so easy for pretty men. “You’ll have to forgive my running buddy. She was not in the mood to come out this early – practically told me to fuck off when I called to wake her up,” he chuckles warmly, and Harry thinks he feels Y/N go rigid beside him. Admitting that was probably the worst thing Aki could have done to Harry, he’s pretty sure, save for him slapping Y/N in the face and saying Harry told him to do it.
“Ahh,” Y/N clears her throat, and maybe to the untrained ear, she still sounds chipper, but Harry can sense the edge to her voice – the way it sours into something that sounds like I’m going to beat my boss' ass as soon as you turn around, “I hope I’m not intruding then. I can leave you both two it if –”
“Nonsense, nonsense,” Aki waved his hand, “Don’t worry about that! I’m looking forward to spending my morning with both of you.”
It had been her one out, but even Harry could have told her Aki wouldn’t send her away. Y/N just had that way about people, even ones who had only met or spoken to her a couple of times. It still drives Harry crazy how effortlessly this all comes to her, despite her clear distaste for most of the social settings they’re put in. Even now, she stretches and grins at Aki like she were an avid runner, and chats idly with him about the “runner’s high at the halfway point” that he could guarantee she had never experienced. Maybe she was the one who could convince Aki to sell them half of the company somehow.
The weather isn’t miserable for a run, actually. There was a threatening heat wave this week, but this early in the morning, the sun hadn’t begun to bake the earth just yet. Morning dew still moistened the grass in little droplets clinging to the blades, the air smelling the way it only could during the summer, at this exact time. It was not yet humid, what was left over of the nighttime breeze still whistled carefully between the trees, lingering long enough to cool the back of his neck when sweat started to build at the nape.
All things considered, Y/N keeps a pretty even pace with both Harry and Aki, though she’s quieter than typical. Y/N has never been much of a “speak when spoken to” individual, but right now she only replies when they say her name directly. When Harry looks over to check in on her, he can tell she’s focusing on her breathing, probably more than the conversation, and there’s a pissed off glare reserved just for him to see. Especially when she senses that he’s looking over at her, so she jabs her finger ahead like she’s scolding him to look forward.
They actually don’t speak about work at all, which is good, depending on how you look at it. For Harry, on one hand, it is nice because then he just gets to focus on his run and being bracketed by two people he heavily fantasizes about without them knowing. On the other hand, he knows the point of Y/N being on this run has diminished to completely moot, which means he’s going to definitely get his ass handed to him.
“Will you be attending Craig’s gala? It’s only two weeks away.” Aki inquires, and Harry feels Y/N tense beside him. He’s unsure what her deal is, but Y/N’s reaction instantly puts him on edge, so he treads carefully.
“Yes, we’ll be there,” Harry sounded more winded than he would like, but they were about to finish off, and this is always the point in time where he feels like his lungs are starting to work against him. For some reason, with Aki’s tone, Harry feels like he has to make an excuse for why he’s going, especially when Aki turns away from the trail to look at him, “He’s a long-time friend of my father’s. I imagine he’ll be attending too.”
Aki hums, low, gentle, “I see,” he nods, “I’ll be there as well then. I just wanted to make sure I was among. . .friends, y’know?” He gave another small nod, mostly to himself, “It’d look bad if I didn’t show, but I didn’t want to be made a mockery of either.”
Honestly, Harry has absolutely no idea what the hell he’s talking about. He’s sure Y/N would update him later, but for now, he thinks something along the lines of “What would Y/N do?” and he’s definitely sure she wouldn’t have asked Aki what he was talking about. He also doesn’t think she would speak too favorably to Craig either, considering the weird tension that stirred at his name being mentioned. So he’s good, he keeps his answer as vague as he can without sounding robotic.
“Yeah, of course. We’ll spend time together there, yeah? Y/N will be there too! Hopefully, we can sit at the same table.”
He thinks that’s good enough, and the sudden, soft breath Y/N lets out either suggests he did bad or he did good. It didn’t sound irritated, though, and when he spared a glance at Y/N, she wasn’t glaring at him more than usual. Actually, he receives a curt nod, which is as close to praise as he thinks he’ll get from Y/N today, so he’ll take it.
Aki sighs happily, “That’s a relief,” and then he loops his arm around Harry, squeezes him as they run, and then extends his hand further to pinch at Y/N’s shoulder, “Don’t tell anyone else, but you two or my favorite to work with by far. This industry gets so muddled and fucked with such shitty people. You two are the best little duo.”
In Harry’s head, he’d always interpreted people seeing them as boss and unwilling, annoyed assistant – but he supposes that wouldn’t make sense. Y/N comes off in a much different light than she shows him, so it makes sense that people see them differently. A little duo – a pair; if you saw Harry, chances are Y/N was close by, more by his own design than hers. They weren’t “dumb boss who marathon masturbates to his begrudging assistant’s secret streaming account”, but “the CEO of a fashion company and an astute, clever personal assistant that keeps him on track”. The ladder definitely sounded more professional and had a much better ring to it.
The rest of the run goes by well. Aki wanted to go for breakfast, but one look at his watch and he realized that both of them needed to head home and get ready for the day. Once they crawled back into Harry’s car, the doors closed, and out of earshot, Y/N twisted in the seat to face him, “For once, you didn’t make a socially inept offense. I’d like to tell you I’m proud.”
Harry’s insides fizzle from the praise, despite it being kind of a backward compliment. Still, any amount of approval from Y/N is few and far between, so he has to take it while he can.
“Thank you,” he murmurs gratefully, “But what exactly was that about?”
“Craig’s wife, may or may not have cheated on someone who shares a striking resemblance to Aki, and Craig got pissy drunk, kind of blew up at him at a dinner, accused him of ruining his marriage, all that,” Y/N waved her hand like it was old news, but Harry’s mouth fell open, “Craig either forgot Aki was happily married or what, I don’t know all the details. What I do know is that they’ve since “made up,” but it was more for appearances in the rich people's social circle than actually putting it in the past. It’s best not to get in the middle, so just keep sitting there and being pretty, minding your business.”
His insides go from fizzling to full-on boiling bubbles, proliferating and popping through his veins.
“You think I’m pretty?”
Y/N looks at him, rolls her eyes, then clicks her tongue.
“Don’t fish for compliments, it’s unbecoming.”
. . .
Y/N was in a bad mood.
Harry thinks that it’s probably a well-deserved bad mood. Tuesday morning, they had woken up early for the run with Aki. Then, Tuesday night, she had stayed over late with Harry, attending a meeting that lasted far too long over drinks. On Wednesday, they were slammed with quarterly reports, which technically should have been Harry’s job, but with the negotiations for autumn collections being released in his stores, Y/N had to take the brunt of it. Her fingers must ache from all the typing she’s had to do, because he passes by her desk midday, and Niall is massaging her knuckles while she pouts. Thursday, there were quarterly evaluations, again, something that should be Harry’s job, mostly, but he’s been so busy he hasn’t been able to check in with most of his employees besides a passing ‘good morning’ and ‘have a good night’. So once again, Y/N had to take over. Then Friday is another late meeting, but Harry barely knows how much it can be classified as a meeting when it’s at a club lounge. This one Harry offered to go alone, so Y/N could at least have her Friday, but she rolled her eyes and said she’d be there.
She didn’t have to tell him she was in a bad mood for him to notice. With how busy both of them had been this week, despite seeing each other, Harry could sense it from miles away. Each update in his calendar, the cat emoticons get progressively angrier as the days go by, ranging from /ᐠ - ˕ -マ to /ᐠ •̀ ˕ •́ マ. Her insults toward him lack the typical bite they have, but Harry can only deduce that’s because she’s actually pissed. An Y/N that’s insulting him is a Y/N that’s having fun; Harry had long since come to terms with that. But the version of Y/N he’d been privy to all week was having the opposite of fun – she was miserable and sleepy, and forgetting to hydrate, much less reminding him.
And what better way to end a hard, dehydrated work week than piling on cocktails around important businessmen? Y/N could come up with several different ways; she’d actually made a list on a post-it and placed it on Harry’s desk.
Things I’d rather be doing:
Sleeping
Lying down in oncoming traffic
Changing a cat cafe’s litterboxes with my bare hands
Having a nice meal at home
Drinking wine and painting
Make friends with an eldritch monster hiding under my bed
Watch the shows I’ve had to ignore this past week
It’s like she couldn’t decide on real or fake answers, but the list was entertaining, to say the least. When Harry sees her a little bit after lunch (his consisted of a banana, and Y/N, at her desk, was eating a bag of Chex Mix and mini muffins, so both of them weren’t having the most fulfilling meals), he checks in with her, “Did you get any sleep last night?” Harry asks and is almost instantly answered when she turns to look at him, her face pulled into a frown.
“Don’t ask stupid questions.” She ordered, “I’m forwarding all of the evaluations. I need you to sign every single one because I’m not going to jail for unlawfully forging a signature.”
Once they get to the lounge, Harry can admit two things: he barely knows who they’re meeting, and both he and Y/N are far too overdressed for the situation. At least, club vibes are a little more relaxed, aren’t they? But Y/N and Harry are coming straight after their 9-to-5 (that had been more like an 8-to-7 as of late), Y/N was in a sleeveless silk blouse, a petal pink with bottoms in the same color. She’d been wearing a cardigan all day, too, but the first moment they stepped into the hot car park, Y/N gasped and ripped it off to tie around her waist, “You’re trying to kill me, you really are.”
“Huh?” Harry frowned, “I don’t make the weather; how is this my fault?”
“I saw your bank statements to Helios. Do you think I’m dumb?”
Harry’s face twisted, “Who is Helios? Wait, and can you see my bank statements?”
Harry was still in his suit for the most part, though he’d taken off the jacket and left it in the car. He’s pretty sure that if he lifted his arms up, there would be pit stains, because it was humid and hot outside, even from the walk from the valet to the inside. Plus, Harry was just left with the horrid thought that Y/N could see his bank statements, and that made him want to lock himself in a sauna and melt. If she could see his bank statements, then she definitely saw her camming site all over the fucking place. From breaking behind paywalls to the one livestream he’d attended and spent way too much money on.
They were sitting, waiting patiently, somehow fashionably early despite the meeting time being at 7 PM. Y/N goes through the email three separate times to make sure they weren’t reading the date or time wrong, and on the third check, she locks her phone with a grunt. “Fucking rich, dumb CEOs not giving a fuck about people’s time,” she leans back into the couch they were sitting on, the rented out area, “I’m gonna put you all on a deserted island without a boat.”
“Can’t I be left out?” He pouted, “I’m also suffering with you.”
“I’m suffering because of you.” She muttered spitefully.
Harry leans forward, grabbing one of the four cocktails that had been sitting on the table, but hands it to Y/N instead, “Here,” he suggested, “I’ll make sure we don’t stay here too long, yeah? An hour tops, then I’ll say I have to pick up my dog at the groomer.”
“Yeah, for a timely 8 PM pick up,” Y/N grumbled.
“Then I’ll get a migraine or something,” he promised, “Leave it to me. Just get tipsy or something so the time goes by quicker.”
Y/N eyes him for a moment, seeming distrusting, “What’s with you?” She asks, “You’re being suspiciously agreeable today.”
She isn’t wrong. In the past, when Y/N’s in a particularly harsher, grumpier mood than usual, Harry tries to steer clear of her in any way he can. And if he can’t, then he relegates himself to abject silence to avoid saying something to put her in a foul mood. Even if it were just the two of them in a room, he’d avoid eye contact with her, tense at her side, worried that his next breath might make her implode.
Guilt is what keeps him from doing that today. While Harry is the reason for Y/N’s stress, Y/N is the reason Harry is handling this busy week relatively well, in ways that she isn’t even aware of. Every night he goes home, he picks one of her videos to watch, he cums so hard that his vision whites out, then he has a nice hot shower, crawls into bed, and falls asleep in less than 5 minutes. He feels well rested when he wakes up, even though he’s been sleeping in late enough to miss some of his exercise time, it doesn’t even send him spiraling like it might in the past. He ambles about his kitchen, makes himself breakfast, and hums quietly until it’s time to leave. Hell, he’s even singing to the radio on the way in and the way home! He overheard Y/N tell Niall that if she isn’t listening to something that’s mostly guitars squealing and drums being hit, then she’s driving home in silence. Silence –and that’s never been something okay with her.
So, yeah, he’s trying to be accommodating to her shitty mood since he plays a huge part in it. If he were better at his job – more suited and proficient at the role – then Y/N wouldn’t have to pick up so much slack. She helps him here, she helps him at home; Y/N helps, but there is nobody to help her, with all of it, besides Niall and his finger massages. And Harry’s offer for her to get at least a buzz on company time and to speed this along.
“Can’t I just take care of my employee?” Harry decided to answer a question with a question, one of Y/N’s least favorite tactics, but before she can grill him further, their evening guests arrive. From Y/N’s irritated debrief in the car, it’s the two owners of boutiques Harry’s father helped build five years ago, hoping to merge facilities into a larger shop. Harry didn’t know much about the boutiques, but how Y/N described them, it was ritzy for people who didn’t want to spend a thousand quid on a white shirt, but wouldn’t be caught in anything less than 80. They’d been trying to meet up with Harry for months now, but all of their schedules finally aligned.
Y/N had a feeling that they wanted to discuss Harry helping them rebrand and rebuild, because somehow she knew they were in contact with a well-known contractor, whose prices are never pretty. Like many things, Y/N was absolutely right – after some light small talk, getting comfortable with each other, Vada and Juniper wanted to discuss if Harry wanted a part in the finances of the build, plus a spot to soft launch one of his company’s newer, working brands. Expensive jewelry, high-dollar watches – things that Harry didn’t think necessarily needed a store rented out to sell when they weren’t sure how well they would do anyway. For now, it’d just been an online storefront, but their bartering chip to place it in their boutique was pretty good. Even Y/N seemed impressed by their pitch, and she’s notoriously harder to sell things to, despite the final call not being her own (she aligns with what Harry thinks relatively often).
“Ah, I don’t see why not?” Harry shrugs, then looks at Y/N, who has finished the rest of her second cocktail, now playing with the toothpick and a slice of strawberry between her teeth. She nods along, but he doesn’t know much she’s actually listening once her part in the conversation is finished, “Let me work out the semantics of it, and I’ll get back to you by the middle of next week. Does that sound okay? It seems like a symbiotic relationship.”
For as confident as they came off in their suggestion, they both looked ten times more relieved by his reply. Harry thinks his father was infamous for being a hard sell. He’d never be trying to make you feel stupid for it, Harry knew that much, but there was a level of condescension that comes with being the head of a company for so many years. He’s sure that when they first asked for help five years ago, his father probably really had them chasing their tails to explain how it would profit them. It would explain their near thesis-statement-like proposal.
True to his word, Harry gets them out of there pretty quickly. He forgoes both excuses from before and instead says he’s relieving his dog sitter so she can get home to her children. Harry doesn’t have a dog, nor a dog sitter with children, but they didn’t seem suspicious at all. They bid their goodbyes, Harry and Y/N excuse themselves first, and they make their way out of the lounge at 8:02. But Harry doesn’t realize just how pleasant of a buzz Y/N put on until she lets a gust of air from her lungs, nudging his body with hers playfully.
“I’m glad you agreed,” she told him, and it’s then too that he realizes she’s got a slight stumble in her step, “Being a woman having to ask a man for help already feels degrading when it shouldn’t, and some people are such dickheads about being in a position of power over people who need them. Apparently, your dad was a huge dickhead to them last time, is what I heard – no offense.”
Harry snorted, “None taken,” he replied, reaching out to steady her when they got close to a curb, “Aish, maybe the second drink was pretty strong?”
“Oh, definitely too strong,” she agreed, reaching up to pop the top button of her top while they waited for the valet. It does very little to uncover much skin, but it’s still more than she’d been showing before, and Harry is just a man at the end of the day. Her throat looks pretty, he feels kind of like a vampire staring at it, and there’s a necklace around her throat that lies delicately between her collarbones. It twinkles in the light – he wonders if someone bought it for her.“You’re g’na have to drive me home, I’m not taking a subway like this.”
“Of course.”
“And you’re stopping me to pick up food too, since you tried to starve me today.” Harry laughed again, nodding, “And it’s your treat.”
“Is that so?” He’s amused, “You’re quite the bossy drunk, aren’t you?”
This is a version of Y/N he hasn’t gotten to see. Harry has witnessed Y/N in work mode, both at the company building and outside of it. Then he’s seen her in work mode with several layers of fabric missing, doing filthy things with an even filthier tongue. He’s seen her grumpy, he’s seen her mildly displeased, he’s seen her smile genuinely, he thinks like a handful of times. . .but he has never seen her this relaxed and unfiltered. And he would say that she’s pretty unfiltered as a person already.
The valet pulls Harry’s car around, then walks to the passenger side to open up the door for Y/N. It’s a young guy, in his early 20s, Harry would guess, and he’s giving her heart eyes while he waits for her to get in the car. Y/N switches the arm that her cardigan is stretched across. “Thank you,” she nods in his direction. “Very chivalrous, Harry, give him a good tip.”
Harry huffed a breath through his nose and thumbed a couple of notes from his wallet, rolling them up and sliding them into the boy’s hand. He holds back a laugh when Y/N reaches out to grab the handle and yanks the door shut, almost (unintentionally) dragging the valet’s hand with it and slamming it in the door. He pulls his fingers back just in time to avoid it, but the gasp he lets out almost echoes in the garage. “Sorry about her,” Harry patted his shoulder, “She’s a bit tipsy.”
“No problem, thank you, Sir,” he nods his head, “Have a good time with your wife.”
Wife? Oh my god. . .were they giving that impression? Neither of them is even wearing rings on their left hand!
When he gets in the car, he chews around the thought of telling Y/N, but he decides to hold his tongue. Knowing her, she’d probably make a disgusted noise and say something that would hurt his feelings, so he’d rather just pocket it as a silly comment that he’ll inevitably think about until 1 in the morning when finding sleep is difficult.
Y/N is already messing with the radio, connecting her Bluetooth without asking. Not that she would ask if she wasn’t drunk, she usually just lets him play whatever is on the radio or whatever playlist is on his phone. Not that she’d ever let him get away with a song that she thought was shitty; a grunt here or a long drawn sigh there that suggested he should switch to the next while she was still considering being kind about it. One time, she said something along the lines of, “You like a lot of music that seems like generic Love Island songs,” and Harry spent an entire 48-hour period reconsidering his music taste.
She puts on something whose album cover is neon green and a beat that startles Harry before she adjusts it to a lower murmur, “Wow, we should probably go clubbing like a real club one day. Ni and I go to this one down in the city, and like – yeah, the floors are pretty sticky but the vibes are immaculate.”
Harry’s brows furrow as he spins the wheel left, pulling them out of the parking garage, “Was that not considered a real club?” He chances a look at her, to see her staring at him with a horror-stricken face, “No?”
“Of course not. You can tell you grew up rich,” she jammed her thumb back toward the building that was slowly getting smaller in the rearview, the bracelets on her wrists making a twinkling sound when they knock together, “That’s like a smarmy, pompous, look at my red bottom heels kind of thing. You can’t even really relax and get fucked up ‘cos someone’s sticking their nose up at you, and there’s a CEO being creepy in the corner – no offense.” Y/N presses the button for the air conditioner, kicking it on harder, “I mean like, neon lights, so dark that everyone looks like a ‘New York 10’, the drinks are sugary sweet, and someone’s humping in the bathroom stall next to you while you pee. Oh! And like – any song from BRAT playing top volume.”
This is the most entertaining he thinks Y/N has ever been (save for what he’s been seeing on her videos), at least with Harry in her presence. Usually,1` she’s so annoyed with every breath he takes that there’s no time for any conversations outside of work. Except that one time she spoke to him about how he shouldn’t be embarrassed about watching porn, but that was less entertaining to him and more like seeing a hungry colossal squid slowly making its way toward him while he’s in a rinky-dink wooden boat.
“What is a brat?” Harry inquired, and Y/N groaned, “What?”
“You act like an old man, y’know,” Y/N clicks her tongue, “Where have you been this whole summer? It’s the second BRAT summer, mind you, and we’re already a month in; you should’ve been paying attention.”
“I really have no idea what you’re saying to me right now.”
She moves her seat so she’s leaning back, “I want Mexican food,” she tells him, “No, actually – I want ramen.”
“Oh, okay,” he murmurs, “Where do you want to go for it? Is there a place around here?”
“On Brickmount, yeah,” Y/N starts to type an address into her phone, and the navigator talks loudly over the speakers, “Let me read the menu to you so you don’t waste time looking.”
They’re an 8-minute drive from the restaurant, and Y/N combs through every aspect of the menu and all the different combinations that he could choose from. From how she’s describing it, he doesn’t think it’s a sit-down restaurant, so he’s unsure why he would have to make a decision right now, but he lets her read it off to him anyway. This is typical of their dynamic, Y/N instructing Harry on things, so he’s used to following her train of thought, even if it was a slightly drunk version of it.
Street parking is a hassle (“Not everywhere has valet, you princess.”), but Harry does find a spot just a couple of meters away from the store. It looks nice from the outside, a bowl with a face blushing is what indicates that this is the store, but Harry sees no actual name sign. The windows are frosted glass, so he can’t see much beyond the warm glow of lighting that warms the inside. This part of the city isn’t as bustling right now as he thinks it usually is, but there’s still a good number of people ambling about.
Y/N barely waits for him to put the car in park before she unbuckles and opens the car door, which musters a squawk from his throat that she pointedly ignores. The way Harry scrambles out of the car would be funny if he weren’t the one scrambling, but he fumbles while he grabs for his wallet and his keys, tripping over his feet when he rushes up the sidewalk to get to catch up with her. She’s already at the door, holding it open for him, but loudly greeting someone from behind the counter.
“Yeah, can I have my usual bowl?” She grins at the guy behind the counter, a tall, slim man who looks like he didn’t sleep much the night before. His hair is dark and buzzed short, and he has a silver ball at the tail of his eyebrow and a second piercing around his bottom lip in the right corner. He’s like. . lowkey ethereal, and the smile he’s giving Y/N is boyish and sweet, “And he’ll have. . .hey, what are you getting?”
Harry’s gaze darts over the menu, choosing the first thing he sees, “Uh, the spicy pork ramen seems good,” he decides.
“And he wants an extra egg.” The guy asks, and there are literally stars in his eyes when he looks at her. Have this many people been interested in Y/N, and he just hasn’t noticed it? The last time he made note of someone flirting openly with her was with Xia in HR during the end-of-year party last December. Twice in a night was kind of crazy, but he guesses she does look good tonight. He doesn’t know if she’s done something different with her makeup, or if her hair is just particularly shiny, or if it’s just nice to see her shoulders, bare arms, collarbone, and neck – she looks good. She deserves to be flirted with, probably, if anyone wanted to outright tell her she was beautiful. And Harry would just ignore the heavy weight sitting in the center of his chest.
“Does he want the extra egg, or are you just going to take it?” He looked down toward the screen, using the tip of his index finger to input Harry’s order, “The last guy you brought here told me you took his extra egg.”
Harry’s chest twists – what other guy?
“Niall is a liar, you can’t believe a word he says.” Y/N replied.
Oh. Okay, it was just Niall. Why did that matter? Certainly, Harry didn’t really care, is all. . .he was just curious. Y/N complains often that she barely has time to wipe her ass with how busy Harry keeps her, so he had always assumed she wasn’t dating or seeing anyone. But he guesses that could be wrong. It’s not like Y/N would tell him anyway – she could have been with someone for 4 years at this point and Harry wouldn’t know. Hell, she and Niall could be dating and he’d be none the wiser. Did her potential, maybe partner know about her streaming? She never mentioned one on there, but she guesses that would ruin the illusion.
“Theoretically, if that extra egg was for me, though, would you forfeit the upcharge?”
“Theoretically, that’d triple the upcharge.”
“Ah, then yes, it’s for me, not him, go ahead and run his card through.” With a laugh, he sets his eyes back on Harry and swallows a little nervously while he waits for Harry to dig out his wallet. He slides one of his platinum cards over the counter.
As he takes it, he clears his throat, then swallows again. His adam’s apple bobs with it, “So I take it you’re the boss she’s always talking about?”
“Oh! Oh, um, – yeah,” Harry is caught off guard by the sudden mention. Y/N talks about him? God, what the hell is she saying? Oh, my creepy boss watches my videos, and I see him breaking through the paywalls all of the time, but he thinks I don’t know, fucking loser. And how did he know what Harry looked like? Was she showing pictures? “She’s complaining about me, isn’t she?”
The guy smiles gently, “Ahh, when isn’t she complaining?”
“Fair enough.”
“Hey, stop talking about me like I’m not here,” she grumbles, fixing her purse around her shoulder and pivoting on her heel. The click of her Aquazzarra dupes (he knew that of her own admittance, that because he took a guess) echoes in the small restaurant. The ankle strap looks like a delicate bow tied around the back of it – Harry thinks he could wrap his whole hand around her ankle, probably. The thought twists something heavy and hot in his lower belly, but he chooses – for his self-preservation – to ignore it.
Y/N chooses a booth halfway down the left wall. She plops on the plum colored upholstery, scooting her bum across until she’s sat in the middle. They were the only ones in here right now, and the table was almost sparkling, like all they’ve had to do for the last couple of hours is clean. She must notice him looking around because she mentions, “It gets really busy around 10-11 PM, when people start heading home after drinking.”
Harry hums, resting his elbow on the table, and then his chin on his knuckles, “So you come here with Niall?”
“Niall begs to come with me, but usually I send him home. This is my come-down after drinking time.”
With curled brows, he readjusts his hips on the seat, “So you go home alone from here? That doesn’t seem safe.”
“I’ll make sure to start calling you to come get me.” Y/N slips her phone from her purse – a little lilac thing she got from the COACH outlet, and Harry only knows because he overheard her gushing about the prices versus their comparable pricing.
Harry wouldn’t mind if she did. Call him, that is, to come and get her. He’d rather have her wake him up in the middle of the night than trek home in the city in any sort of state of inebriation. Even though the crime rate isn’t high compared to other cities around the world, it’s still dangerous.
“You are welcome to call a car on the company card,” he suggests, while her fingers slide around the keyboard of her phone, typing something, “The service we use runs until 2 AM on weekend nights.”
Y/N looks up from her phone, narrowing her eyes at him for a second, then looks back down to her phone, “I’ll just call you instead.” She’s trying to brush him off.
“That’s fine too,” Harry replies coolly.
When she clicks her phone shut, a second later, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Did she just text him? Or was he CC’d in an email? “I have to piss,” she announces, slipping her phone back into her purse and letting it slide off her shoulder, “Don’t steal my things.”
While she made her way to the bathroom, Harry took his phone from his pocket. His heart drops down to his stomach.
Like, maybe a week ago, Harry had missed two of Y/N’s livestreams. He was sifting his way through all of her old, posted videos, but there was a headrush he got when he watched her live that one time, that he hasn’t been able to replicate. So he’d downloaded the streaming app, and put on her notifications just to make sure he didn’t miss it the next time. He guesses it sends messages when she just sends a regular post.
I’ll be streaming soooon! ≽^•⩊•^≼ ₊˚⊹♡ Wait up for me!
Another hot pull of arousal tugs at his gut. She’s going to stream when she gets home? After spending all this evening with Harry, she’s going to go upstairs to her flat, turn on her camera, split her thighs – Harry has some questions. Like, does she have a set streaming schedule, and it just so happened that they had this planned on the night of one of her usual streams? Or was she horny right now and knew that she could get money for getting off? Was she going to keep wearing this outfit, split the buttons down the middle, and reveal whatever pretty bra she had on underneath? Or would she get out of her clothes, get washed up, come on cam with skin all supple, soft, and warm from the bath? Harry doesn’t know which would be better. Both stir an itch that he wants to dig his nails into, scratch until it’s satiated, scratch until it hurts a little, scratch until it starts to feel good again.
“Here you go,” Harry jumps, his phone nearly slipping from his hands and clattering on the table when the guy from behind the counter delivers their food. He places Harry’s steaming bowl in front of him first, then sets Y/N’s where she’ll sit across from him. In Harry’s ramen, he sees two eggs: “I gave you an extra egg just in case you really did want it. I already put a 3rd one in hers, the egg-loving weirdo.” Then, he goes back to the cooler behind the counter and pops open the drawer, grabbing two cans and returning to place them in front of him. “If you aren’t careful, she’ll try and snatch this too.”
“Thank you,” Harry smiles gratefully up at him, taking one of the cans, “You know a lot about her, huh? She comes here often?”
The guy smiles – he doesn’t have a name tag on, but Harry would feel kind of weird to ask for it. Like he was being a possessive creep or something, wondering what his name was. Does that make sense? He isn’t sure. “Yeah. She came in here drunk last summer, and it’s been hard to get rid of her since,” he jokes. “Is she like this at work? I’ve always wondered.”
Harry shrugs, “A little bit. Usually, she is scolding me for forgetting something a bit more.”
“Ahh, that’s our Y/N, isn’t it?”
Our? As in like. . .Harry and the employee? Or as in the employee and the rest of the people running the establishment? Or like, they’re friends. Is she friends with this guy? Outside of just eating here? Harry needs to know desperately.
Before he could do any further prying, Y/N comes back out. There’s a pleased sound that leaves her throat when she realizes the food is here. Even more overjoyed when she sees the drink he’d placed in front of her, “Oh! God, you love me so bad,” she scooted back into the booth.
Eating with Y/N like this is different than how they’ve eaten together before. One, Y/N was still a little tipsy and far more relaxed than she usually is when they were eating together. Typically, the meal is forced, whether it’s a mandatory group event of some kind that requires his attendance and he makes her join, if they’re trying to foster employee bonding, or if they were eating snacks at their desks that are within eyesight of each other. This is much more relaxed; Y/N isn’t shoveling food down her throat to finish it to get to the next task, nor is she trying to eat prim and proper while they discuss marketing. She eats, she rambles, she catches Harry up on celebrity drama and controversies (like JoJo Siwa, whoever that is – he needs to get Y/N in contact with Kai, they’d probably have a great time together).
This version of Y/N is scarily similar to the version that is on her streams. Someone unwound, speaking with her friends – he even makes her laugh once, because he doesn’t know who Sabrina Carpenter was (he finds out quickly, with photo proof that she exists, a snippet of her song, both from Y/N singing and a YouTube video). Her eyes are soft, big, and her voice is so much different when she isn’t stony with him. This is a version of Y/N he’d like to see more often. One that he could only hope he’d earn the privilege to.
But there isn’t really a way to do that, is there? Harry is her boss, Y/N treats him as such. They weren’t friends. Not how Y/N is with Niall, or how she is with the guy who works here. Not even how she is with the people who are watching her streams, whether that’s put on for money or not. All Harry is to Y/N is her incompetent boss, who she has to be a rotten brat to because he pisses her off (which is different than a brat girl summer, mind you – Harry’s learning).
“Hey,” he feels a foot tap against his shin from across the table, “Why do you look so depressed all of a sudden?”
“Hm?” Harry flickers his gaze up to her, “I’m not,” he assures her, “Just tired.”
Y/N stares at him, then clicks her foot against his calf again, “I told you, you need to be sleeping more.” She reaches for her phone again, “I’ll have some of this lavender, chamomile tea ordered to your flat. It tastes like plants, but it puts me right to bed.” She jabs a thumb in the direction of the counter, “Puts him to bed too, and he has insomnia pretty bad.”
Harry leans over, “Oh? How much is it?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
His brows furrow, “But –”
“Listen, I’m on your payroll, technically you’re already paying for this,” she waves him away, then swats his calf with the side of her foot again, “Express shipping will have it here by tomorrow night. You can give me a raise as thanks.”
They don’t stay for much longer after that. Harry drives Y/N to her flat, feeling a weird mix between warm and sad, and she’s blissfully unaware. Or at least she acts like she is, cranking the same neon green album (what he learns now is BRAT – he’d gotten a full lesson on what a ‘Brat’ summer entails and how he hasn’t been living one), and fiddling with the settings of his air conditioner. Her hair is in a low bun, but the front pieces are messy around her face. This is the most relaxed he thinks he’s ever seen her with him.
The drive to her building isn’t too horrible, and Harry almost finds himself wishing that it were a little longer. Now that he really thinks about it, it’s probably for the best that Y/N isn’t always like this around him. She’s done it for a total of maybe 2 and a half hours, and he’s already wanting to know who every person in her life is and what they know about her. Was this a side effect of the whole fucking himself to her or what? Maybe she has pheromones oozing from her pores.
Y/N gathered her things and twisted to look at him, “Thank you for driving me home and also for the meal,” she reached behind her to pop the door open, “I think you should’ve gotten out and opened my door for me too, but I guess chivalry isn’t a thing anymore.”
Harry’s eyes widened, “Oh, let me –” he started to unbuckle, but Y/N cackles and pushes the door open with her foot.
“You better rest up this weekend,” she ordered him, “We have a busy week ahead.”
“You too,” he waved when she turned back to look at him, now outside of the door, “Goodnight Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Harry.”
Harry watches her up until the point she walks into glass doors, and he sees her disappear into the lobby. With a soft sigh, he puts the car in drive and starts to make his way home. It would do him some good to go home and get some rest. He could have a nice, long, hot shower and finally put on those silk pajamas his sister sent him from her trip to Greece. He dabbles with the idea of shaving his legs so he could feel how smooth it’d be against it per his sister’s recommendation, but he also doesn’t know if he wants to waste any time doing that. At this point, he’ll already be struggling to convince his future self to wash his face before bed.
When Harry’s pulling up to a stoplight, his phone buzzes with another notification. It’s from Y/N.
Or better yet, it’s from Y/N on her site again.
Like he’d been Pavlov’d into the response, his cock threatens a small twitch in his briefs. From where he has his phone propped onto a vent holder, he leans forward and swipes the notification, and is greeted with a photo that she must have just taken. It’s her neck down, the buttons of the top she’d been wearing are undone to about midchest. He can see the periwinkle scallops of her bra, the white bow that sits between the two cups, the soft swell of her breast. The twinkle of her necklace draws his eyes to her throat, and it makes him feel like a vampire, how badly he wants to sink his teeth into her.
For the most part, Y/N had such a stark difference in her behavior toward him and from what he’s seen on the site, that it hadn’t been as hard to differentiate the two. To keep his brain in locked segments so that he could act right around her, without giving off any indication that he’d edged himself for two hours with her on an uploaded stream in his time off.
But for this – to see her in the outfit that he had just been with her in – oh, it’s a lot to process.
Isn’t my necklace pretty? I’ll be on in 10 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
The honk from a car behind him is what lets him know the light had switched from red to green. Harry flinched hard, sheepishly waved in his rearview, and pressed on the gas. There was some urgency to get home now that he’d been reminded that there would be a little more to his night than just showering and heading to bed. He’d been so caught up with the idea of her streaming before, only for it to get smushed by him being bummed they weren’t friends. God, wasn’t he pathetic? Who even wants to be friends with their personal assistant that badly? Except maybe Aki, who has a very good relationship with his PA, but – but that’s besides the point.
Harry gets home in record time. He forgoes the elevator when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, another notification, and he realizes that this one must be her already on live. He takes the stairs two at a time, acknowledging that this was a little pitiful, but his cock urged him not to care. To not think about anything or with anything, other than getting off, and how nice that’ll feel before he hops into the shower and goes to bed.
He barely closes the door before he pulls his phone from his pocket and clicks on the red ₊˚⊹♡ ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ streaming now!
The screen takes a moment to buffer, but once it does, he can see Y/N. She’s not in her usual spot where she likes to stream and take videos. It looks like she’s in the same room, at least by the purple and pink coloring, but the background is different. She was in a pillow-filled area, though, like a little nook in the wall where she placed a ton of cushions to make it cozy. Maybe Harry has seen it in a video before? But he doesn’t know – he’s usually staring at her, not assessing the background.
Surrounded by the pillows, she’s in the center, her bum on the floor. The quality is a little fuzzier than usual, so she must be filming with her laptop – at least that’s what he guesses, “What do you think the difference between a kink and a fetish is?” She’s continuing whatever she was talking about before he got on, leaning comfortably against the pillows, still in her outfit from tonight. Only now she has glasses on, nipping at her thumbnail and squinting at the screen. If Harry didn’t know Y/N, then he would think she was just trying to use the topic as a spin-off into something sexy, but the look in her eyes suggests that she’s actually curious. The slight furrow in her brow is one she only does during meetings, when someone says something she doesn’t understand.
People are answering, and Harry can see the responses in the tiny corner. Maybe he should just mind his business on his couch where he’d plopped down and keep one hand in his pants, but. . .well, last time he was involved in a live, it was kind of fun, wasn’t it? And Y/N was so nice to him last time. He doesn’t expect the same response, because last time he was new and she was trying to retain a viewer. But maybe she’ll greet him.
tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 3000 coins!
How I’ve always understood it is that a kink is more of an “add-on,” but a fetish is more of a requirement, right? But maybe I have that wrong.
Y/N’s eyes light up when she sees the username – or maybe they just light up because of the 3000 coins. Regardless, her eyes light up and she leans forward, “Oh! Hi Tappy,” she smiled, but then pouted, “Actually, wait no, I’m mad at you. You gave me a crazy orgasm and then disappeared! I thought maybe you didn’t like it enough to come back.”
She had noticed his absence. That makes his heart race more than he thinks he’d like to admit. He’s quick to type back into the chat.
tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 2000 coins!
No, of course not! I loved every second of it. I’ve been busy. . .watched your other uploads in the meantime.
Her lip is still pouted as she reads, but she heaves a big, very Y/N sigh. One that he hears often, typically followed by, “Do you think you’d be able to function without me, or would you just end up a bug under a rock?”
“I guess that’s okay,” she is barefoot now, he notices, playing with the fabric of her pants around her ankle, “You came just in time though! I like your explanation, that makes sense. I was just wondering because while I was eating today, I was trying to decide if my thing for men in watches was a kink or something.” Harry blinks at his screen, then at his left wrist, where his Cartier watch was strapped tightly. Had she. . .had she been looking at his watch? Wait –
wolfienightt21 tipped 100 coins!
ooooh, who was wearing a watch that caught your eye?
“Oh, it was my boss,” she answers easily, and Harry thinks his heart is going to speed out of his chest, “He has this one – he doesn’t wear it all the time, but when he does, I can’t stop looking at it.” She admits, “But I’m really good at being inconspicuous, so he doesn’t know.”
Y/N is great at being inconspicuous, because Harry had no fucking idea. He thinks he saw her, maybe looking at his hand once, and it was while he was picking up the noodles with his chopsticks, so that’s what he thought had caught her eye. But it was his watch?
“Yeah, he has nice hands, they’re pretty. You can tell he’s never had to lift a shovel a day in his life,” he huffed a breath through his nose – of course, she’d slide a dig in there, but he can’t even be mad about it. Not when she’s saying his hands are nice – that they’re pretty, “And his fingers are long, and kind of thick. He’s always got these nice rings on. . .so the watch just kind of adds to it. Anytime my ex wanted me to suck on his fingers unprompted, he’d just wear a watch, and I’d be begging for them in my mouth.”
This is a lot to take in. Even more so when Y/N starts casually unbuttoning her top the rest of the way. Was this Y/N’s roundabout way of saying she was thinking about putting Harry’s fingers in her mouth all dinner, or was she just sharing an anecdote about her little kink? Either way, the image of her pretty lips stretched around his knuckles is enough to make him unbutton his pants. He uses one hand to wriggle them down his thighs, keeping his briefs on because when he cums, he’d prefer not to do it on something that would need to be dry cleaned. And he didn’t trust his sofa’s upholstery to hold up in his home washer.
“Oh, shut up,” she’s answering some more of the comments, “I don’t have a crush on my boss. He’s a thorn in my side,” before Harry’s feelings could get too hurt, she continues, “He is hot though. Like, really. Sometimes he can be cute too, but I’d rather walk on melting glass than ever let him know that.” Her eyes scan the screen as she reads more, “Why can’t he know I think he’s cute? Well, besides the obvi reason that he’s my boss,” she slips the shirt off her shoulders, revealing more of her skin, soft, smooth, his fingers twitch like they wish they could reach out and touch her but instead he slips his hand down and squeezes his hardening prick, “--I like when guys are a little scared of me. If he knows I think he’s cute, then he won’t be nearly as jumpy around me. That just won’t do.”
Harry shouldn’t be hearing this. He definitely shouldn’t be hearing this, or getting hard over it, or having to remind himself to swallow the spit collecting in his mouth while she wiggles out of her bottoms without any fanfare. Yet here he is, doing all those things, as she parts her legs and shows off a pretty wet spot on the fabric of her panties, “I wasn’t even planning on streaming tonight, but I’m a little tipsy and very horny, so here we are.”
tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 2000 coins!
Was it the watch? lolll
He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. Harry just had to know.
“Hmm, yeah, I was kind of – yeah,” she nods, slipping her fingers under the waistband of her panties, and the fabric stretches around her knuckles, “Plus he was being very respectful to women, that’s always hot. Then I saw his watch, and I’m always a little more. . .more susceptible to horny thoughts when I’m drinking. You know how it is.” She sighed, slowly starting to rub, and Harry slid his hand under his underwear too, wrapping his fist around his cock. The pull is a little dry, but he thinks he deserves for it to hurt a little (and he likes it, more than he’d care to admit), “And he lets me boss him around sometimes. I like that too.”
bugboibottom3 tipped 200 coins!
omgomg switch y/n!! when r u going to do a dom stream? U look gorgeous btw!!! <3
“Thanks, Buggy,” Y/N’s voice was a little tight, her head relaxing back against the pillows, “Dom stream, huh? You’d like that?”
There are so many messages, Harry doesn’t have to add his input. He’d very much enjoy watching that, seeing what she’d come up with, hearing how she’d boss them all around. His head is spinning, and the coil of arousal in his gut is burning hot from everything he is learning right now. Y/N thought he was cute, liked the watch on his wrist, thought about his fingers in her mouth (maybe, but he’s choosing to believe that it happened), and liked bossing him around. And she’s always bossing him around. Like, all of the time. Was she thinking about domming him while she did it?
He could imagine it – he could imagine their dynamic going both ways. Just as Harry could picture clearly, Y/N bent over his desk, drooling over the reports that she’d just dropped by while he stretched and speared her open on his cock again, and again (deep, just how she likes) – he could picture her running the show. Could picture himself edged for hours, tied up, begging her to let him cum. Could imagine his arms twisted behind his back, bound by the wrist while she rode him, nice and slow, squeezing her walls around him every time she sank down, pussy drooling down to his balls.
“Maybe we will,” she hums, “Maybe I’ll convince my boss to come on stream, yeah? We’ll really live the fantasy, like. . .like ‘mean secretary fucks boss into submission’ or some cheesy porno storyboard name. I bet he’d let me,” her hips roll into her hands, “He lets me do everything else.”
Harry would, he realizes. He’d let her do anything. If she wanted him to boss her around and tell her what to do like he did the first stream, then he would. If she wanted to boss him around and make him beg to cum, then he’d do so not only willingly, but gladly. The best of both worlds – like being with Rafayel and Kai at the same time, but she’s one person. His personal assistant, who has no idea how much she’s been making him cun the passed couple of weeks.
Because he’s just been overloaded with intel that he’s going to spend a minimum of three years thinking about, including that Y/N is fantasizing about fucking him on a stream with her hand in her panties – he cums without even registering he was about to. It hits him hard, fast, dirty as he fills up his briefs, emptying his load into them. His mind is literally swirling – he’s bummed out because he usually likes to hold out with her, at least in her videos, and cum with her. But he couldn’t help it. Not when she’d said all of that. Not when he started to imagine it too.
Just because he’d cum, though, doesn’t mean that he can’t be helpful. Harry has always prided himself on being almost overly generous in bed. And from the looks of it, from what he knows about how Y/N likes to get off (or at least from what he’s picked up on from watching her videos), is that her fingers weren’t going to be enough for her.
tapiocaenthuiast93 tipped 4000 coins!
Why don’t you get that silicone pink vibrator you like so much? The double-sided one. Make yourself cum, Sweetheart ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎
He uses the emoticon because it was offered for how much he’d tipped.
Y/N’s eyes go wide, then her gaze softens, and she grins, pulling her hand from her panties.
“Okayyyyy,” she answers, “But you have to stay and watch the whole thing, okay?”
Harry wouldn’t miss it for anything.
. . .
The next week is a whirlwind.
On Monday, they really do hit the ground running. After a busy morning, they go to get fitted for their formal evening attire that they’ll be wearing for the Gala on Thursday. Y/N had a navy blue suit tailored to his body in a way that even Harry can admit he looks good in. The way the bottoms hug around his bum makes it look like all the squats he does in his workout routine have been paying off, and he likes how the jacket hugs around his shoulders. Everything is very crisp, down to the socks they suggest he wear with the polished leather shoes. His watch gleams on his wrist under the light.
He should keep his mouth shut, probably, but there’s an itch in his bones that makes him have to ask it. “Do you think I should wear the watch with the suit?” He looked at Y/N, who had been sitting on a velour chair to the right of the mirror, waiting patiently for him to finish up.
He asked when the tailor had disappeared out of the room in search of a needle. Harry doesn’t know what he expected from her. Maybe for her lashes to flutter, or for her face to change, or for there to be any indication that she might be affected by the watch, how she’d said she was on Friday. Just to see if it was real or if he’d hallucinated the entire stream.
Y/N looks at him blankly, picking at her fingernail.
“Why would I care? Do what you want.”
That shot that down pretty quickly, but Harry deserved it. What did he expect? For her to say yes, he should wear the watch because it turns her on, and she just told all the people watching her stream that? He was stupid to even bring it up. Y/N doesn’t look suspicious of him, though; she just goes back to plucking at her nail and grumbles something about being too bloated to try on a dress right now.
Once they get Harry out of his suit and have it carefully tucked away in an outfit bag, Y/N is next to go. She disappears in their dressing room for around 10 minutes before she comes out in a floor-length, navy blue dress. There were sparkles all along the fabric, so every time she moved and it caught the light, it looked like her body was made up of hundreds of twinkling stars. The draped sleeves were off the shoulder, and there was a slit that went up just above the mid-thigh.
She looked amazing in it. Whenever the accessories were added and her hair was done, he knew she’d look even better. It would be difficult to try and act normal around her, for sure. Especially after he’d just spent the entire weekend watching her livestreams (the one from Friday, her actual scheduled one on Saturday that he left dinner with Adam early to catch, and a little Sunday quickie that she did about midday when Harry was making himself lunch). After being called out for not being there, Harry made sure he was there for every single one, from the moment it started to the moment it ended. On the third day, when she said, “You’ve been making every single one, Tappy, I’m happy, good boy,” Harry could have combusted and cum right there, so it’s not like he really had a choice from then on, right? He needed to be at each one.
“Does this color match well enough with your suit?” Y/N inquired, pinching the fabric and rubbing it between her fingers. Harry nods quickly, so fast that it feels like his brain is bouncing around in his head.
“Yes, it does, it’s beautiful,” he swallows hard, “I think this is a nice cut on you.”
“Yeah?” She seemed surprised to hear it – there wasn’t even any snark in her response when she turned away from the mirror to look at him. She points to the neckline and traces over it, “The off-the-shoulder doesn’t look stupid? Sometimes I feel like it looks too bare on me.”
Harry is also surprised that she seems to care about his opinion at all. “Once you accessorize, you won’t feel that way. The necklace should be a bit big, though, yeah? Like a white diamond with a rain effect, I think it would look great. There was – I feel like I saw one here, hold on.”
They brought the necklace out at Harry’s request, and he watched with keen interest as they carefully wrapped it around her neck, clipping it. It does its job to make her neck and chest area less bare, and to draw attention to her neck once again, making Harry feel like he was a vampire obsessed with her throat once again. He imagined her hair in one of those messy, wedding-style updos, and he thought she’d blow away most of the people attending, Harry included.
“Yeah, this is perfect.”
Her fingers trace delicately over the diamonds, all various cuts – pear-shaped, round, marquise. “How would I word this in a Google search? I need to find one that isn’t more than a month’s rent – I’m already spending a pretty penny on this dress.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Harry waves his hand, “I’ll take care of the dress and the necklace. I’m sure there are some earrings too.”
Her brows furrow, “Hey –”
“I won’t hear it,” his phone starts to buzz in his pocket from a call, so he stands to reach for it, pulling it out, “I’ve got it covered. Think of it as a bonus check or summat, whatever makes you feel better about it.”
(The call was from Adam, so it hadn’t been that important to answer, but it was easier to cut the potential for her arguing with him on it quickly. “There’s a new gym that we need to go to,” Adam had gleefully shared, “It’s jungle-themed, for some reason, and there’s like an obstacle course, it’s fucking crazy!”)
Tuesday and Wednesday are a blur of the usual meetings, calls, reports, and whisperings of Paris Fashion Week. They were trying to decide if they should have a few company representatives fly out to it this year, and if one of those representatives should be Harry or not. His father had only attended one or two in his time running the company, but that was for the mere fact that he hated the phony socialization part of it. Harry also isn’t a fan, but is better at faking it than his father is. It’s more so moving schedules around than it is getting a spot at the show, though, considering they’d already received several invitations to attend.
That was the big topic of discussion, plus Wednesday, they got a call from Callum, ensuring that they were still going to attend the next day, and then another call from Aki, who was also ensuring they were going to attend the next day. Y/N placates Aki while Harry is on the phone with Callum, in the same room, because as if to test them, they both called at the same time.
(Harry sneezed once during his call with Aki, so an orange came flying at his chest around 3 PM, but Y/N had no time to sit and talk to him about his water intake, because she disappeared from the door quickly after.)
Thursday comes, and of course, the entire first half of the morning slows almost to a standstill. They have this big Gala to get ready for, and again, though it wasn’t Harry’s, he still feels a sense of nerves slither beneath his skin. It’s one of the first big events that he’ll be running the company for, so he has to put on a good face; be amicable and nice. Not only is it a fundraising event, but it also functions as a mixer, a popularity contest, and a networking affair all at once. There are always so many people that he’s met, so much drama to follow, so many things that he can’t mention to this person about that person, and vice versa. Y/N helps, sure, but she’s pulled every which way, too.
Around 4 PM, Y/N and Harry have to leave to get ready. When he was walking up to Y/N’s desk earlier, he overheard Niall, who still makes his presence very brief around Harry, ask a fair question. “I mean, I always kind of consider you two as peas in a pod, but do you really have to go to this, too? Like. . .I feel like most PAs aren’t this heavily involved.”
Y/N shrugged, “I think it makes him feel better if there’s someone with him,” she answered, “And I don’t mind pretending to be important for a couple of hours.”
Harry definitely expected a snarkier reply. Maybe something like, “Well, when he figures out how to run a company by himself, then he can, but he’s an idiot, so he needs me.” But she doesn’t. She was doing it to legitimately be helpful to him – to be kind. It reminds him that she thinks he’s cute too, and he’d never realized that. It makes him wonder what else Y/N thinks but doesn’t let him know.
They would part ways for the getting ready aspect, both in their own flats. Y/N hired someone to do her hair, Harry knows that much, but he thinks otherwise, she’s getting ready by herself. He almost suggested that they just share his bathroom – it’s big enough, they could just both take separate showers, because getting ready by yourself is kind of a bummer. . .but he holds off. It would be weird to invite her, he knows, because just because he is under the illusion that they are closer to each other because he’s been watching her streams, doesn’t mean they are. She doesn’t even know that he’s been watching them.
So he gets ready alone. Talks to Adam on FaceTime for the duration of him after the shower, while he washes his face, rebrushes his teeth, and just as he started panicking about what he’s going to do with his hair (because he didn’t think that far, and gelling it down hasn’t been an option lately with how long it’s gotten), there’s a knock on his door. Harry takes Adam to go answer it, only to find that Y/N has scheduled someone to come do his hair for him.
“Wow, she’s really always about 10 steps ahead, isn’t she?” Adam said over the speaker, “Like seriously, she might be clairvoyant. Or – wait, didn’t you say you think she might be a demon because it’s starting to add up.”
“Okay, I’m getting off the phone now, Adam, bye.”
The hairdresser is one he’s had before – Michael always does really well with his curls. This time, he even stayed over to help Harry get in his suit, so Harry tips him extra (even when he’s notified that Y/N has already paid and tipped). He fixes his watch on his wrist, his driver shows up at 6 PM to pick him up, and Harry’s pleased to find that Y/N’s already in the car. She’s buckled, a small clutch in her lap – she looks beautiful. The necklace and the earrings, her hair pulled from her face except for a few intricately displaced strands, and a hairpin placed in the braided bun. Her makeup is light, her lips so glossy they look like jelly. Beside her thigh are the two boxes with the pins in them.
“That was kind of sad,” Y/N said as soon as he got inside and buckled, “Like, I do not like getting ready by myself. I talked to Niall on the phone the whole time,” Harry chuckles, because they really are more alike than he thought. “Next time, let’s just figure out how to get ready together. Now take your pin.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, to leave no room for any questions about how he’d feel about it, “That’d be nice.”
The drive is actually 20 minutes out to the convention center, so it does take some time, but Y/N fills the space with mindless chatter about who is going to be there, and who might be cheating on whom, how he needs to interact with Aki and Callum. They’re there before Harry even realizes, and his nerves have been alleviated for the most part, with Y/N at his side. This is how he always feels, though, and he doesn’t even know if he’s surprised that she’d been able to notice this.
It’s immediately having to turn on, from the moment that they step outside of the car, he hears his name being called. So much happens at once, all from people whom he only sort of vaguely remembers, but he turns on as quickly as he can, smiling, shaking hands, sharing cheek kisses – all of it. It takes them about 20 minutes to even get inside the convention center, after taking pictures and having fun little small talk. At the very least, while it’s overwhelming, it’s a good introduction to what the rest of the night was going to be like.
Y/N does good as always, at getting them away from the conversation and continuing on to the next person or group of people. Once they get inside, there is much more to see, like the whale ice sculpture that Callum did end up choosing, and hundreds of more people. For the most part, they needed to get to their seats at the dinner table so that they could eat. Dinner would be served at 7 PM. They were cutting it close. By the grace of the universe, they are sitting at the same table with Aki and his personal assistant, with a couple of others. Callum is sitting with Harry’s father at a table toward the front – he makes a note to go greet him later on.
The dinner was good. There are at least 50 tables with 7-10 people sitting at each, so it was a good turnout. It’s what every one of these events looks like, with decor, flowers as decorations, velvety light grey curtains that are ceiling to floor length. Callum does a speech, thanks everyone for coming, discusses his company and how he pursued his dreams from a young age, all of that feel-good, cheesy storyboard stuff. Harry thinks it’s cute, especially when he starts to tear up a little bit. He gives a shout out to Harry’s father, who stands up and gets an arm around his shoulder and a squeeze, and then a shout out to Harry, who raises his hand and waves. Aki doesn’t seem too perturbed by this, and Harry notices Y/N reaching over and patting his bicep inconspicuously.
Now that Harry’s looking for it, he notices Y/N staring at his hands, especially the left one with the watch. Not only that, he catches her staring at a lot of hands with watches that accompany the wrist, like Aki’s, and one guy named Caleb across the table. Then there was a waiter who Y/N was eyeballing kind of hard, and he noticed that he had a thick banded watch on his wrist too. She really likes a wristwatch – more than he’d even thought, and then he wonders if maybe it is a fetish.
After dinner, there is more networking. Y/N goes with Harry to meet up with his father, but not before taking Harry’s phone and slipping it into her clutch so that he could have them free. It’d been a hassle to juggle it, and his suit had no pockets, so he’d just been tucking it into his waistband, but that takes away from the look of the suit, according to Y/N. Harry had no problem handing his phone over, though – he doesn’t even think anything of it.
They go to greet his father, who hugs him tightly and fixes his tie, also wearing a matching Dove pin, “Look at you, handsome,” he says, squeezing his shoulder, then turns to Y/N and squeezes hers as well. “And of course, Miss. Y/N, it’s always a pleasure to see you. You look beautiful.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Sir.” She reaches up to touch his hand, “Thank you! You’re so sweet.”
Harry is having a good enough time. He’d indulged in quite a few drinks at this point, so he was feeling pleasantly tipsy, as was Y/N, and he recognized the swimmy look in her gaze. He’ll be happy when this is over and he can take his shoes off, put on his pajamas, and go to bed. There’d already been like 3 “let’s go out for drinks after this” invites that he had declined because he really isn’t interested. Despite outer appearances and how he presents himself, Harry has a relatively low social battery. The only person who has ever realized just how low that social battery is is Y/N, who will take the reins of the conversation when he starts to falter.
That’s what he thinks she’s doing when she appears after going to the bathroom. Y/N taps his shoulder in the middle of his conversation with a designer named Penelope, who actually used to date Harry’s second-year UNI roommate. “Hey, Aki wants to see you,” she smiles, unassuming, and the look in her eyes says that she’s lying. Besides that, Harry knew that if Aki wanted him, then he’d just come up to him, himself; he wouldn’t send Y/N to do it. But Harry figures that Y/N is helping him out, giving him a break from the constant conversation – maybe they could just stand outside for a little while.
So Harry follows her until they’re out of view from Penelope, before they slip through the doors into a hallway. They make a lot of twists and turns in the halls, but Y/N seems to navigate them easily, like she’d already mapped this out before coming to get him. They are in a far more secluded part when she finally stops, twisting around to look at him, her eyes set in a serious gleam. Harry starts to realize that this is not about giving him a break. What had he done?
“Harry,” she begins, “I saw something interesting.”
He blinks at her.
“Um, okay?”
Y/N reaches into her purse, pulls out his phone, and flips it over so the screen is facing him. When she taps it to wake his phone, Harry is staring at his lock screen, a mountain wallpaper background from his trip to Norway, and. . .
. . .and a notification from Y/N.
Not from her phone number, but from her camming site.
Harry blinks at the phone. His heart sinks to his stomach at the same time that his blood rushes to his face, warming his ears, pinking his cheeks. The spit in his mouth all dries out, that’s left agape as he searches for the words to say. What was he even supposed to say? This was literally like – worst-case fucking scenario.
Hi, sorry, as your boss, I definitely shouldn’t be touching myself to your secret online camming account, but I also definitely am! You’re just really hot, and it’s the only thing that makes me cum so hard that I can smell colors, and I finally go to sleep.
“Oh.”
Y/N scoffs a laugh, “Yeah, oh,” she closes his phone and slides it back into her purse, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Wait, what? “I – what?”
“Like, are you trying to work up an HR case against me or what?”
“Oh my god, no, I –”
“Because why do you have the notifications on, huh? Does anyone else know? Are you doing this so that you can get evidence or something against me? Because I’m so mean, you’ve been collecting all these screenshots and video clips to –”
“No!” Harry all but shouts to stop her, shaking his head, “No, of course not, I have them on because I want to watch, for fuck sake,” he admits, his face feels like it’s flaming red, but it’s better than her thinking he was watching her with a vindictive state of mind.
Y/N pauses her tirade, realization dawning on her face, the furrow in her brow soothing out just enough to uncrinkle her forehead, “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Harry heaves a big breath, shaking his head, the alcohol in his system makes it a little easier for words to spill from his mouth, “I – a – it’s the only thing that gets me off like that, y’know? Like – like my brain stops working so hard, and I cum like so much, it’s embarrassing, and then I go to bed. S’why I’ve been so well rested lately, s’just – you’re good, at. . .at what you do. You’re good at that. And this job too – you kind of excel at everything.”
Y/N’s eyes are darting across his face, like she’s searching for any hint that he might be lying. It looks like a thousand things are running through her head at once.
“Are you attracted to me?” She finally settles for.
Harry nods, swallowing thickly, “Well, obviously.”
“How long have you been watching me?”
“For a couple of weeks now.”
“And what’s your username?”
Harry pauses, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “I don’t wanna say.”
“Say it.”
“I’m – uh – tapiocaenthusiest93.”
Y/N’s eyes go wide, “What the fuck, Harry –”
“I know, I’m sorry, I –”
“I thought you hated tapioca.” She shook her head, “Were you lying to me this whole time?”
Harry pauses again – this is so fucking crazy, his head is spinning. That’s what she had taken from that? “I mean –”
Her fingers loop around his wrist as she pulls him to follow after her. They wind through a couple more hallways until they find themselves in the bathroom – this one clearly not readily available for the event happening, meaning it would be empty. The motion lights had even been off when they stepped inside it, a family restroom, so she pushes him in and shuts the door before locking it with a click that echoes off the walls. Harry is confused until she looks at him, arms crossed, staring him down.
“You’re a pervert,” she tells him, and Harry frowns but doesn’t deny it, “You’ve been watching your employee fuck herself in front of a camera, and have been cumming lots from it, according to you, yeah?”
Harry clears his throat, “Ah, I-yeah.”
“You’ve probably been thinking about fucking me, haven’t you?” He flinches from the blunt lilt to her voice, before nodding again, “Filthy. I bet you – I bet you’d get on your knees right now and beg if it meant you could even smell me.”
At first, he thought he was being scolded. He thought that Y/N took him to the bathroom to scold him more thoroughly, and Harry would have to beg her for forgiveness. But this. . .how she’s looking at him, the last sentence she’d just said – Harry thinks that this is going in a different direction than he thought her finding out would go. This is going in what he would say is arguably the best direction it could have gone.
Harry can take a hint. He sinks to his knees right there in front of her, on what he considers a considerably clean bathroom floor. His hands hover, trembling, over her thighs, his heart moving from his stomach to his throat, beating wildly before he lies his palms against her legs. He feels the warmth of her skin on the left hand, where the slit opened up. Y/N is looking down at him, arms crossed, but she looks a little nervous. It makes him feel better, that he isn’t the only one whose heart might be racing.
“Go on,” she nods her head, “What do you say?”
“Please?” He swallows again, “Please, I – I’m filthy. I’m disgusting – I’ve been dreaming about burying my face between your legs for weeks now, and I – it’d. . .it’d make me – fuck,” he wonders if his pupils are blown, or if he looks as fucked as he feels. His cock is hard in his trousers – he thinks that all of the blood in his body rushed so fast to his dick, that's why he’s a little lightheaded. That, and the way that Y/N uncrosses her arms, carefully wiggling the fabric of her dress up her thighs while she leaned back against the door.
Harry leans in without thinking – this is all going so fast, he wonders if he’s going to pass out. She splits her thighs just enough for him to fit his face in between them, pressing his nose against her powder blue panties. Harry knows his nose is big – he knows it feels good when it’s pressed up the right way. He’d watched so many videos at this point that he knows exactly where her clit is hidden beneath the fabric, so he dances the bridge of his nose along the swell of it, and sucks in a deep breath.
It’s a lot – she smells so good, heady, somewhere that Harry thinks he needs to be forever. He breaths in again when she twitches, her thighs twitching when he runs his nose up and down her slit. It feels extra filthy, just sniffing her like this – distantly, Harry remembers leaving a comment with a 2000 coin tip that said he wanted to smell her (to be fair, Harry had been edging for a couple hours with her at that point, so he was liable to say every bit of his pervy thoughts and ideas). He doesn’t know if she remembers that, and this is why she’s doing it, or if she has just assessed that Harry may or may not be into sniffing panties.
Either way, Harry is happy where he’s at. Enough that when he looks up at her from where he’s pressed himself, and sees how jelly lips agape, and her lidded eyes, he doesn’t think twice before pushing his lips against hers. At first, just to kiss over her, but when her hips buck into his face, and her crossed arms loosen from around her chest, Harry does it again, only this time it’s open-mouthed.
“You wanna taste me, huh?” She asks, and Harry nods, not taking his face away from her, curling his arms around her thighs and urging her to lift one over his shoulder, and she does so easily, “One get your filthy tongue inside of me?”
“Fuck, please,” he whines, muffled against her, “Please, please.”
Y/N laughs, breathlessly, “Fine,” she murmurs, “But you only have 5 minutes to try and make me cum. If you can’t, then you’re never doing this again.”
Harry doesn’t know how much weight the threat actually carries, but he wasn’t going to risk it. In a perfect world, he’d take his time with her – spend hours pulling her apart and carefully putting her back together again with his tongue alone. Once, he’d eaten Kai out for so long that his jaw and tongue hurt the next morning, but he still called her up and wanted to go again before she’d even showered. Harry likes eating pussy – he’s good at it too, or at least he’d been told.
But right now, their situation wasn’t ideal. They couldn’t disappear for too long without there being questions of where they ran off to. So Harry is quick to run the flat of his tongue over her panties first, one long strip from back to front, only to curl his fingers in the crotch of them and pull them to the side. Harry doesn’t swallow any of his drool, instead letting his spit wet his tongue and make it messier. Y/N likes it messy, from the amount of lube she’s always using, he’d determined that. He slides his tongue between her folds with purpose, slurping around her clit and echoing the moan that she lets leave her throat.
She tastes good and feels soft against his tongue. Harry’s whole nose is shoved against her while he does these long strokes, trying to taste every bit of her that she has to offer. His arms tighten around her when he slips himself back to her clit, lulling his tongue in circles before smacking his lips against it. She likes a lot of stimulation on her clit – it’s actually pretty difficult for her to cum untouched, and Harry was not about to try and figure out how to do that right now. Not when he’d had a clear task delivered before him.
So Harry puckers his lips, he suckles at her clit, and moans so that it vibrates around her. He’s messy with it, feeling how his spit and her juices are coating his chin, his lips, and his cock is throbbing so hard in his trousers he has to make a concentrated effort not to cum in them. He wishes he had time to look at her pussy, to be gentle with it, and tender before getting messy and rough, but maybe he could have that a different time. Maybe, if he were good now, she’d let him spend as long as he wanted down here.
“Oh my god,” Y/N breathes out, head knocking back against the door, “No wonder Kai and Rafayel always want you around, huh?” She cards her fingers through his hair, gripping him at the root, “Your mouth is insane – f-fuck, I’m – I’m close.”
Harry gets excited and doubles his efforts. He sucks and licks, swirls his tongue, even pulls back and spits, then licks it all right back up again. It’s only when he focuses back on her clit, looking up at her while she stared down at him, before his eyes fluttered closed as her thigh on his shoulder started pressing closer to the side of his head – that she cums. She doesn’t warn him, but he can feel it, the way she starts to throb deliciously against his tongue, before she starts getting wetter, pulsing, covering her mouth, and moaning while she bites into her palm to quiet it.
Harry keeps licking until she pushes his head away, her leg sliding off of his shoulder, heels clicking back against the floor. “Jesus,” she laughs, trying to restyle the messy but clean appearance his hair had before she’d gotten her hands in it. It feels good – Harry thinks he could purr, with his face all wet, his eyes closed while she touched him, “That was – wow. You’re more slutty than I thought.”
He pouted, “Heyyyyy,” his whine makes her laugh again, “I – did I do good? Can I do it again?”
“We should probably talk before we do this again,” Y/N tells him, “About. . .um, this whole thing. Can you make it look like you didn’t just eat pussy in the bathroom for like 30 more minutes? Until we can leave and go somewhere?”
He blinked his eyes open at her. From this angle, with her taste on his tongue, and the glow of someone who just had an orgasm, Y/N looks like a goddess. He nods, using her hand to help him stand up from the floor, no matter how badly he wants to just push his face into her thigh until she recovers enough for him to eat her again.
Harry had been so worried before, about what her finding out would mean. Even when he was in his fantasies about fucking her, the post-nut clarity would always sour the mood, wondering how awkward it might be between them afterward. If she might avoid his eyes, or he wouldn’t be able to speak to her without stuttering. Would they forever change their dynamic? Would Y/N stop scolding him and teasing him in favor of just being silent? Then she’d have to leave and be someone else’s PA because things got too weird.
That worry had lasted all of 3 seconds because when Harry tries to walk out of the bathroom, she grabs his wrist, “Ah! What are you doing?”
“Going back?”
“Jesus, Harry, your face is a mess – hold on,” she reaches out, waves her hand in front of the paper towel dispenser, and rips one off, “What, were you going to tell them you were just eating me out in the bathroom?” She wipes his face, roughly around his mouth, “You really are hopeless sometimes. I’m going to start charging you for making me use my brain too often.”
It seems like it may be just fine, after all.
As he walks behind her back to the event, Harry smiles.
I loved everything about that conversation they had hahahaha I had to laugh so hard omg
And then the smuttttttt, girl you know what you're doing to us, this absolutely has been worth the wait, I'll reread this over and over until we get the next chapter 💕💕💕
