harry styles blurbs

hey, neighbour!

harry is your insufferable, yet slightly hot neighbour.

word count: 2.8k (slay)

warnings: swearing, sexual references (not smut), illness (mild), Wicked slander, cuteness, more cuteness, ...thighs

Harry found you insufferable. He just did. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that you blasted music too loud in your flat, or how loud he could hear you talk when he was sat by his Juliet balcony. Either way, he'd dread the moments when you'd leave your flat doors at the same time and share the same stinking look at each other, occasionally issuing your weekly complaints. It was a shame you were such a cow, he always thought, because he thought you were pretty. Like, really pretty. Almost too pretty, and he found himself having to stop wandering off in thoughts about you.

It was okay, though. You thought was Harry was a bit of a prick...an attractive prick, at that. You simultaneously dreaded and anticipated the evenings you'd reach your doors at the same time when you got a glimpse of his rugged-work-day look. Or when you'd catch him before his morning run, kitted out in short shorts and your favourite muscle tee of his.

You both wordlessly agreed to not mention the night you were coming home on a late and saw him getting handsy in the corridor with a leggy blonde. Although, you'd be lying if you didn't try to picture his glossed over eyes and flushed cheeks sometimes when you were alone.

Sadly, his personality somehow cancelled out his attractiveness. You'd experienced the brunt of his bad moods just as much as his sly comments, specifically one morning last week.

"-I mean seriously, if you're gonna rattle my fucking bedroom wall with your music, at least play something good." Harry's voice had filtered back into your daydream and your eyes re-focused, zeroing in on his frustrated expression and his hand white-knuckling his doorknob. You really worked this guy up, it was quite amusing.

"I have no choice, Styles. I mean, if you didn't nearly break the plaster of the wall with your bed frame every night I wouldn't have to," you grinned, shoulder leant on your doorframe as you observed him, "that reminds me, tell your lady friend to keep her voice down next time."

"That's funny, I haven't heard a peep from any visitors in your flat recently. Dry spell?" He mirrored your taunting smile, dimples poking out annoyingly.

He could dish it and take it, which was something that made your dynamic so good. Harry was chronically miserable, and you were looking for a bit of entertainment during the day.

Just to prove him wrong, you'd invited a guy from a club back to yours the night after to finally break said dry spell. Unfortunately, the guy had been obnoxiously vocal...almost too enthusiastic. The mood was ruined when Harry's door slammed and you heard him sprinting out into the hallway before he banged on your door, screeching: "You've got to hear this. I think someone in the building is conducting an exorcism! Get up, you need to get out of there before the spirit inhabits your body too!"

Safe to say you weren't ever seeing that guy again. And Harry had ammo indefinitely. You'd actually considered ending your lease early and moving out.

.

"So, how's nightmare neighbour doing, still shagging anything with a pulse?"

You laugh loudly at your friend Saoirse, tapping the ash off your cigarette as you lean on the tiny railing of your balcony.

"Still the bane of my existence. Although I haven't seen him in a while, I'm wondering if he's away or something." You ponder. You're met with silence as you blow smoke into the muggy English air. You're about to call your friend's name when you hear her speak again.