Narry: One Shots

Maybe You're My Snowflake (!)

by: pintsandguitars

Summary:

Harry Styles loves the snow. Niall Horan loves the stars. And somewhere between snowflakes and night skies, they start loving each other.

For Rayvans:
Uni! au where Harry doesn't have anywhere to go for Christmas break, so his roommate Niall invites him to spend the holidays with him. (bonus if they end up sharing a bed in Niall's small childhood room).

*This summary is terrible. I am posting a minute before the deadline

°•°•°

Maybe You’re My Snowflake

 -

Harry Styles loves snow.

Albeit, he’s never actually seen snow in person before, but he knows he loves it.

He remembers watching lots of Christmas movies as a kid, even in the middle of July, marveling at the thick glittering blanket of white covering everything from rooftops to mailboxes.

“Mommy, why doesn’t it ever snow in Homestead?” he had asked his mother one day, sticking his fingers into the batch of cookie dough she had prepared.

“Because it’s too hot, honey,” she had told him, “And keep your hands out of that bowl or else you won’t get any cookies when they’re actually ready.”

Scrunching his nose at her, he had licked his fingers clean and gone back to watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

He started making paper snowflakes when he was nine.

His friend, Alex, had taught him during recess.

“Harry, you’re making a mess!” Anne had exclaimed when he’d first grabbed a pair of scissors and a stack of paper.

But he kept cutting regardless, unfolding the piece of paper to show her the intricate design he’d cut out.

“Look how pretty it is!” he exclaimed.

Annie couldn’t help but smile. “It’s beautiful,” she’d admitted.

“And every single one of them is unique, mama. Even the real ones!” he told her, his eyes wide with wonderment.

Truth be told, Anne Styles never really understood her son’s fascination with snow. Every spare moment he had, he’d be cutting out snowflakes. He’d hang them up in his room, stick them all over his schoolbag, and there would be a fresh pile of them in the kitchen every night.

But he did his homework and cleaned his room and always helped Anne with dinner. So, she didn’t see it as a problem. It was a phase, it would pass. Children went through phases like this. That was what Harry’s teacher had told her too.

It didn’t.

Harry first asked her to take him to see some snow when he was eleven.

“Can we go somewhere where it snows for Christmas, Mom? I really want to see it!” he had asked over dinner.

And Anne had tried to smile at him, but it came off more as a grimace. “I’m really sorry honey but I can’t get that much time off of work this year. Maybe next year?”

Her older daughter, Gemma, had glared at Anne as she lied through her teeth, but what was she supposed to say? She couldn’t tell her eleven year old son that she couldn’t afford a vacation, that just getting by was hard enough.

And Harry had nodded, going back to his spaghetti and meatballs.

But they didn’t end up going the year after, or the year after that.