you, me, and the taylor swift society

"Harry! Slow your long legs down!" y/n yelled, running as fast as she could whilst trying to control her swinging tote.

Halted by her voice, Harry stopped and turned to see his best friend chasing him down. He couldn't stop the wry smile from growing on his face. He put his hands out in front of him to catch her and braced for impact. As predicted, she crashed into his hands with a soft "oof", unable to stop herself in time and slow the momentum of her tote swinging her forward.

"Why are ya charging at me for huh?" he asked, taking her tote and hitching it over his shoulder. "I told you to stop putting so much stuff in your bag, you're gonna get a droopy shoulder."

She gave him a pointed eye roll. "I was just excited that's all."

"Of course, you're excited. Everyone's excited to see me."

She nudged his hip with hers hoping to throw him off balance, but his body barely moved.

"Not everyone is foaming at the mouth and creaming themselves for a chance to hang out with you, you conceited oaf. The Taylor Swift society is having a social soon and it's finally my turn to plan it. I am so excited, I have so many fun ideas."

Harry looked down at her and immediately softened upon seeing how eager she was – her wide eyes, her constant smile, and her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. She was too precious.

The pair of them were quite the sight, him constantly in athletic wear and y/n always donning the cosiest sweaters and prettiest pastels. Their opposite aesthetics reflected their opposite personalities: Harry was outgoing and sporty, being a prominent member of the football team since year one and a regular at socials; y/n was less popular and preferred spending her time indulging in fan theories and conspiracies for her favourite shows and musicians online.

Despite that, Harry had somehow weaselled his way into y/n's life, cementing his position as best friend. She had been in the library one random afternoon watching an episode of Pretty Little Liars, and unintentionally gasped louder than appropriate when A was revealed. Harry was sitting behind her, and he nosily turned to peek at her laptop screen to see what the fuss was about when he too gasped a bit too loudly and said, "PLL!"

After her initial shock and embarrassment, he introduced himself and asked if he could watch the rest of the episode with her. Stunned by his confidence, she didn't really know how to say no. So, they sat shoulder to shoulder, hunched over a small laptop screen sharing a pair of headphones.

After the episode ended, they stayed and shared their different theories and opinions in excited whispers. Before they knew it, it was evening and neither of them had checked a single task off their to-do lists.

"So, y/n, do you usually come to the library to watch old American sitcoms?" he asked.

Blushing, she replied, "I was trying to motivate myself to get work done by allowing myself to watch one episode. But then, the episode ended with a huge A cliff-hanger, so I had to watch the next one."

"Of course, you had to." Harry nodded sarcastically.

She didn't know what possessed her to return the volley, but she couldn't help but fall into a comfortable conversation with him. "Don't make fun of me. You immediately ditched your work once you saw what I was watching."

Their spontaneous viewing party soon turned into scheduled PLL marathons, which then evolved into regular sitcom nights where Harry would crash on her floor, and they would get a full English breakfast together the next morning, donned in bathrobes and fuzzy slippers.