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slothgiirl · 5 years

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Y/N and Harry are best friends

“Hey you,” you call out, arms outstretched towards your best friend, Harry, “long time no see!” It was ironic, you'd graduated uni and moved to london just as Harry went on his world tour.

He smiles widely, enveloping you in his arms, smelling of musk and dark florals and something warm that you couldn't name but always associated it with Harry. “Miss me much babe,” his eyes sparkling as he teased you easily, all these months meant nothing now that you were together again.

“You have no clue,” You answered honestly, “I had no one to bother late at night or eat my terrible bread creations.”

“It's a recipe,” he says with a shake of his head, swinging you both slightly, “I don't know how you can mess it up!”

“Whatever mr I can't park,” you snap back.

“At least I can drive.”

You both burst out laughing and he lets you go briefly before taking your arm in his, and leading you into the restaurant, both of you pretending not to notice the far off paps in the corner of the street. It came with the territory and the mad obsession the media has with your friend.

It was monday afternoon and you'd been looking to this for days when he told you he was flying back from japan, which sounded like a dream. You'd never been further than Scotland.

“Cebu is always so freaking good,” you tell him, taking a sip from your vodka cranberry, “but tell me more about japan! It looks so cool! I'd love to visit the Aniu or sleep in one of those cube hotels.”

Harry laughs, drinking from his own beer, “It was cool. I mean I sent you all those pics didn't I! It was good to get some downtime after the past year.”

“At least you make friends easily,” you say, scrunching your nose, “my first term at uni was so lonely, I don't know what I'd have done if I'd never met Julia.”

“You just have to talk to people I mean you wouldn't love you! I spilled coffee on you and you didn't completely hate me. That's best friend material.”

“Think that says more about you than it says about me,” you laugh. “Still Japan is much cooler that spending the workweek in a lab.” It had been cool at first, but the novelty of being out of school and getting paid and not having exams had worn off by now.

“You get to do crazy wacky science,” he teases, “how long until you’re an x man!”

“I'd rather be spider-man,” you tell him without missing a beat, “when the rami movies came out I spent a good few months looking for spiders in the garden to bite me.” It had been so dumb in retrospect but you'd always hoped one day you'd wake up with superpowers.

Harry roars with laughter, “how'd you get into Oxford again?”

“Don't be an ass,” you reply, “we can't all being amazingly talented singers.”

“You forgot the wildly attractive part,” he says with a smirk, leaning close to you.

Unable to help yourself, you snort, “there goes your giant head again!”

“Hey,” he protests, looking the very picture of offended. If you didn't know him any better, you'd think you'd gone too far. But there's a hint of smile pulling at the corner of his lips and you just laugh.

“My most sincerest apologies,” you respond a girl to match his on your own face. Harry has a way of just making you so freaking happy no matter what else is going on. There's never been a time in your friendship when talking to him hadn't made you feel better. “maybe bangs?”

He brings a hand up to his chest, mock offense written into his expressive features before his face lights up with glee. You know you're in for it now. “Oh where oh where has my baby gone,” he sings just loud enough to for you alone to hear.

“Stop,” you protest, flushing red and laughing, tears welling up in your eyes. You teared up easily when laughing. “Please the puppies are begging you to stop!”

Harry laughs, his gaze completely focused on you, “did you finish the art project you were working on then?”

Despite him being the only person you trusted with your super secret art projects, you still felt yourself blush, hand coming up to brush stray hairs back behind your ear, “the initial photography, but I’m still working through the editing. The ones I've finished are coming out almost the way I pictured them.”

“Almost?”

“Well things are never exactly how you imagine them are they,” you note, “or maybe I'm just overthinking things and have been working on them for too long.”

“You probably just need a pair of fresh eyes,” Harry says as they bring out your food. Their eggs in tomatoes looked deceptively simple and yet yours were never as good.

“Smooth,” you utter, grinning at him. “Do you hit up everyone's DMs like that?”

Harry shakes his head, “no but really baby, can I see what you have so far?” His lips are drawn earnestly.

You nod, “sure, we can make a movie night out of it too. I've been dying to try out this no bake chocolate cream pie.”

“Only if I get to pick the movie?”

“Deal.”

You slump on the cheap ikea couch you and your roommates had pooled cash together to buy once you get home, bag full of snacks.

“Tired,” Julia asks from the kitchen, shamelessly eating straight out of the pan.

“Yeah,” you tell her, “Arjun called in sick and since I'm the newest hires I got the short end of the stick and pulled a double shift.”

“Isn't work amazing,” Julia replies, bring the pan and an extra fork for you, settling down next to you. “My boss called me this morning at 6am and had me call a bunch of places in India to find some extra fabric for a client. I wasn't due til 9!”

“What an outrage,” I deadpan.

“Maybe we can still be witches in the midlands,” she offers, “or raise cows in the highlands.”

“God that's such a mood,” you sigh, taking the fork and eating her cheesy pasta dish. “I thought working in a lab would be nice and easy compared to school and it is but dealing with my boss and the hectic hours has left me with no social life.”

“Right! I've missed so many parties and good djs because I'm on call talking to far off places sourcing textiles! I just hope I get promoted so I can go on trip to source and not just spend all hours of the day being an errand girl.”

You nod, mouthful of pasta, “I heard hospital labs are pretty good but I've been told I need more experience.”

She laughs bitterly before gazing at your loot of snacks, “Harry coming over?”

“Yeah,” you reply, “we’re watching a movie and pigging out after a long ass week.” You has been looking forward to it all day despite how drained you were; to the bone, to the point coffee wasn't much help.

Opening snapchat you see harry's sent you a couple photos.

Him in a ruffled white shirt, loosely buttoned, caption reading in the mood for a period romance? ;))

The next was of him in a tastefully ripped shirt that probably cost more than your rent, and a worn flannel, or a rom com?

The there was Harry wearing an old dark knight shirt you'd gotten him for his birthday at a charity shop, or will we go full superhero landing!?!

Rolling your eyes and smiling your reply with a blurry selfy, the most dramatic frog to ever prince.

“God I can't wait til we're all sixty and you've both been married and divorced and finally get together,” she says teasingly, “or worse it's like you're both gotten together and your s.o’s are the third and fourth wheel!”

“Shut up,” you tell her, “we're literally the same. You spent most of fresher in my dorm once we met. You made me help shave your back.”

“That's friendship bitch,” Julia says with a laugh, “just keep in mind Imma be like dead to the world.”

“Wow,” you state, “you've come such a long way from being a complete party animal.”

“Right,” she mutters, “I miss drinking and showing up hungover to class.”

“It's all downhill from here,” you tease.

She swats your fork away from the pot, “what a depressing thought.”

Harry texts you to let you know he's here and you buzz him up, hugging him before saying, “i might have to steal this sweater from you.” It ridiculously soft the way only old sweaters are.

He laughs, “I brought a bottle of rose.”

“ooh let me try this knife trick i've been practicing,” you tell him as he kicks off his boots and settles in.

“Don't want to die today but thanks.”

“Harold,” you respond mock affronted. “So what movie have you chosen for us today art hoe?”

“You're the one who can quote the cool girl monologue by heart,” he retorts, grabbing the wine opener and starting on the cork. Unlike you, he managed it without cursing for half an hour and deciding boxed wine wasn't a bad idea.

“The movie harry,” you say, grabbing a couple of blankets and pillows for the couch along with your art journal.

“Searching,” he answers, “Sarah said it was really good and slept on.”

“And even if it's not there's always chips and hummus.”

“Very true,” Harry responds, pouring wine into mugs like a maniac and settling down next to you on the couch, his own worn journal in hand. “But it's Sarah and Mitch they have great taste in pretty much everything.”

“High praise coming from you,” you note palming through your journal, over the drawing and words you'd written down over the last few months.

He grins, looking perfectly at home in your modest flat. Harry has never been weird about being famous and rich and- it made it that much easier to be friends with him. To forget about all that and just be friends with Harry, not Harry styles. “It is ain't it,” he utters lips curled into a sinners smile, the kind he gave girls and boys when you went out to clubs.

“There goes your big head again,” you retort, putting your journal down and curling up with a handful of popcorn.

“Oi!” Harry furrows his brow staring you down for a second before launching himself at you, pinning you down and tickling your sides, “take it back!”

“Never,” you yelp, giggling madly, Your arms against his chest as you push him off easily. It's so easy to be comfortable with him, he's just such a hugger and you can't say you don't like it, the warmth and security you feel.

He laughs, “so long as you let me see your journal baby,” is his only response, chest still shaking from laughter.

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours,” you respond jokingly. The sense of humor middle schoolers had still there in your head.

“Deal,” he replies, shifting so his head is resting in your lap, passing you his own journal before grabbing yours off the coffee table. You'd never felt as grown up as you did when buying a coffee table, even more so than buying pans and dishes instead of eating everything out of a mug.

Mindlessly, your fingers run through his hair, soft and silky and starting to curl up behind his ears. You wonder if he'll let it grow out again. You prefer him like this but it was fun to braid his strands of hair.

His journal is more full of words than drawings, in his sloppy scrawl, like in old letters. Leather bound parchment, it's tons nicer than your own moleskine you'd gotten on sale, with the true victorian era feel you'd been obsessed with in your younger years.

There's a dreamy quality to the writing, fragmented thoughts that he trusts you with.

The tv plays quietly in the background, you’re too immersed to say anything, to break the comfortable silence with any words, occasionally reaching for a chip, smothering it in hummus.

In the beginning, when Harry had first crashed at your small cramped flat at uni, he'd drunkenly looked through your journal, well one of your journals, covered in all your loose thoughts and many many drawings and sketches, ideas for pieces that you'd spend what little free time you had doing.

You'd gotten annoyed and a little mad, because your journal was private and personal and who did you think you were? Frida Kahlo? It wasn't like he'd meant to, drunk and a little high. It wasn't one of your best moments but he'd bought you a cuppa tea the next morning before you'd woken up and let you flip through his own journal, just to make it up to you.

That's how he'd become the person you trusted to show your art to.

“Don't laugh at my sad attempts at poetry,” he mutters, his gaze meeting yours somewhat self consciously. His cheeks are flushed red but you can't tell if it's from laughing or because he's actually embarrassed.

“Trying to be just like Bukowski,” you tease. You'd never actually read anything by him, you just read about him being kind of an asshole in real life.

He rolls his eyes at you, “ever since you sent me that song I can't think about him the same!”

“I just thought you'd want to know. That song is such a depression mood though.”

Harry grows serious, looking up at you. Your hand stills in his hair. “Are you alright?”

You nod, “yeah I'm fine I was just joking.” It's true. You haven't felt depressed in months, haven't been bad in longer. Progress.

“You'd tell me if-”

“Oh course,” you cut him off with a smile, closing his journal. “Want to see how my latest and greatest projects progressing?”

He smiles softly, “why else do you think I'm here for?”

You smack him lightly with his own journal, getting up and getting your laptop. This latest idea of yours has come at the cost of having to learn to use digital editing. Thank god for youtube.

Harry sits up and watches as your scroll through some of the more finished pictures of both women and men you'd reached out to, dragging Julia with you to feel braver about approaching strangers. Something you wouldn't have done a year ago.

Their pictures have been edited to exaggerate their insecurity, ranging from overly larger noses to small eyes and thin lips. It had been an idea since you'd read about Jacqueline de Ribes who someone had said how sad it was if you didn't have a great big nose like she had.

“Especially in this era of face tuning and filters and contouring where everyone is trying to hide what they feel insecure about,” you tell him, watching the shift of his lips, his pensive gaze, trying to gage his reaction. No one but you has seen these. Although when you’re done they'll also be sent to your models, who'd been nice enough to open up about their insecurities to you. Maybe it was easier to talk to strangers you'd never see again about these things. Wasn't that the whole idea behind therapy?

“At first I only edited it slightly but I didn't think the idea came across as strongly and in your face. I mean maybe by airing out and owning our insecurities we can overcome them? Or maybe just stop idealizing one specific type of feature?” These were the questions that you thought would be answered by doing this, but there didn't seem to be any easy answers.

“I like them,” he tells you, “It's like things you wouldn't have noticed I mean most people are alright looking and then you actually get to know them and it all warps how you see people. Like gee doesn't Tom look like such an bloody asshole.”

You snort, shaking your head, “you had me in the first half I'm not going to lie.”

After that you both mess about, putting on parks and recs for the hundredth time, skipping to the second season when Ben and Chris come in. It's still as funny as the first time you had watched it.

It's late and your both half asleep on the couch and smiling at the tv, legs bumping against Harry's much longer legs.

“I should probably go,” he mutters.

“No stay,” you tell him, “it's late and you can just crash with me.” You’d both slept in the same bed lots of times by now, the initial awkwardness long gone as you stopped to you underwear and an old t shirt that was long enough to pass for a dress.

“Should I be worried about your alarm?”

“I can actually wake up even if my alarms just on vibrate,” you let him know, because god you wish you didn't have work tomorrow so you could wake up late and go get overly expensive breakfast at the dinner down the street who made the fluffiest american style pancakes. It was a treat you loved to get yourself.

Harry helps you drag some of the blankets into your room, tossing them onto the bed. You curl up next to the wall, nestling into the covers. From the corner of your eye you watch Harry pull his shirt off before kicking off his jeans, ripped at the knees.

He's fit and you can't help but mentally trace over the butterfly he has tattooed that you thought stupid at first but had grown on you. Gracelessly he flops onto the bed, sliding under the covers.

“Your feet are always freezing,” he complains which just makes you kick him lightly. “Ow! Woman!”

“Shut up and sleep,” you tell him turning over on your side, curling into near fetal position.

“But what about going on my phone for an hour in bed?”

“Good night harold,” you say in lieu of an actual reply.

“I won't let the bed bugs bite you.”

“Your so dumb,” you whisper fondly, closing your eyes and easily falling asleep after a long day.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #will be part one of more and eventual romance if i can mkae myself write #*youtuber voice* let me know what you guys think in the comments

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