Wings on Tailored Suits // Zarry

viii.

Harry shapes himself into the best version of himself he possibly could. He's Harry Edward Styles with a hint of just Harry. He's an adult, wise with a whiskey in his hand but also a teenager with traces of coke under his nose. He's nonchalant and confident but also playful and a little slutty. It's a carefully crafted blend created purely for Sebastian. Another version of Harry that will have to be catalogued and put away for safekeeping at the end of the night until he faces Sebastian again.

The suit he wears is casual like he's not trying too hard to impress. He unbuttons the shirt almost to his navel because after all, it's a party, isn't it? Harry wouldn't normally bring the jacket with him to a party if he wanted to get laid but Sebastian is a junior in fucking law school. He mustn't give a fuck about teenage guys in Louis Vuitton x Supreme hoodies or some shit.

It's been a few years since Harry was nervous before a party but now he's walking around their roof terrace like a lion in a cage, chain-smoking with jittery fingers. He didn't think he could be phased by a boy here and yet his heart is beating like a drum in a fucking marching band. There's a cloud of anxiety following him, the same one he last felt when he asked Beatrice Kincaid out in 9th grade. He wasn't this nervous even when he was about to have sex with a guy for the first time and fuck, he better stop thinking about that one because it was with Zayn fucking Malik and he hates that it was perfect, considering they were both fifteen and had no idea what they what the fuck they were doing.

He shakes his head to get rid of those imagines, taking his phone out of his pocket and texting Peyton to see where the fuck is she since she was supposed to come to pick him up five minutes ago. She texts back just a few seconds later, saying she's three minutes away, max. Harry sighs in relief and stubs his cigarette out, leaving the stub with the rest in a nearly full ashtray on the half wall. He goes back inside, only then realizing that it's actually pretty cold outside, considering it's the beginning of September. As he's walking down the hallway to his room, his mom walks out of the office. Harry stops, freezing up like a statue.

She notices him and gives him a big smile, almost identical to Harry's. "Sweetheart, I haven't seen you all day. You're going out?"

"Yeah, I'm going to a party," Harry says reluctantly, a tight-lipped smile on his face. His mom walks to him and starts fussing with his hair.

"What party, angel? A school one?"

"Yeah, I guess."

She hums and looks at Harry contemplatively before scrunching her nose. "You smell like an ashtray, darling."

"Sorry, mom," Harry mumbles.

Anne just smiles once more, buttons up two buttons on Harry's shirt and kisses his cheek. "Have a good one, sweetheart."

And just like that, she's gone, the sound of her heels clicking on the hardwood floor following her exit.

Harry goes to his room, straight into the en-suite bathroom and puts on his Tom Ford cologne. He considers brushing his teeth but he settles on some mouthwash because with his luck, he would get toothpaste all over his clothes and face, and then he would need to change his clothes and would be even later to the party than he already is.

As he stares at himself in the mirror, he considers ditching it and not going at all because what if everything turns out shit? What if Sebastian won't even say hello to him and Harry will embarrass himself in front of dozens of Columbia Law juniors? What if it ends up like the last party he went to and the night will end with him drunk in his bed alone, crying his fucking eyes out? He leans on the counter and stares himself in the eye in the mirror. Is it all worth it? Probably not but Harry realizes he has to try. It's only September and he's graduating in June. That's a lot of time and a lot of parties he will have to attend. The Winter Ball, Prom, so many events he doesn't even know about yet. He will have to be Harry Edward Styles, in a tailored suit with a winning smile on his face, many times in the next ten months so one more night can't hurt, right?