Odds || H.S.

XXIII

"Dylan?" I gasped, he never told me he was coming over- I don't even know how he got into the building. 

"Dylan," I repeated, trying to catch his attention, but he was too focused on the figure standing behind me to notice. He was staring at Harry in awe while Harry stared back in confusion. 

"The soufflé looks great," I continued, finally Dylan snapped out of it and his focus returned to me.

"Yeah," he cleared his throat, "I made it for you," he smiled, "I was planning on surprising you in the lobby, but your doorman recognized me and allowed me to come up here," his glance flitted back to Harry, "but, um, I see your busy so I guess I'll see you later."

"No, no, don't be ridiculous! I was planning on hanging out with you tonight, come in," I rushed out, gently pushing Harry back to open the door wider. 

"Okay," Dylan hesitantly agreed, stepping through the door clearly hyperaware of the other man here. 

I quickly shut the door behind him. "I'm sorry for being so rude, Harry this is my friend and co-worker Dylan, and Dylan this is-"

"Harry Styles," Dylan finished, outstretching his hand to shake Harry's, "I am such a big fan, especially of you Fine Line album, it was absolutely genius," he gushed. 

Harry visibly relaxed at Dylan's flattering words, "Thank you, I appreciate it," he said, firmly shaking Dylan's hand. I watched their interaction with a small smile on my lips, so far so good, I thought. This situation could have gone much worse if Dylan wasn't a fan, but Harry would never disrespect a fan. 

"Okay, let's go into the kitchen a try this," I said, motioning to the desert, "it looks delicious."

We made our way and much to my dismay Harry was following close behind. As I made my way around the kitchen, grabbing spoons and plates for us, Harry began his interrogation. 

"So, you work at the UN together?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning back on the counter. 

"Yeah, Lila and I work in the same branch and right now we're working on the same project," Dylan answered, not phased by Harry's intimidating stance. 

I came over with the plates, just as Harry opened his mouth to say something else, "Do you want to serve it, or should I?" I asked Dylan.

"I'll serve you, after all, I made it for you," he grinned. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Harry roll his eyes in annoyance.  

He dropped a dollop of the souffleé on my plate and it tasted heavenly, "This is so delicious," I practically moaned, "Were you faking being a horrible baker at the cooking class just so I would feel better about myself?" I laughed.

"What cooking class?" Harry cut in.

"A few weeks ago, Lila and I went to a cooking class and it was interesting," Dylan answered with a chuckle.

"Apparently we are 'not talented chefs'" I said, mocking the french accent of our instructor. Dylan and I burst into laughter at the memory of our less than perfect soufflé. I bit down on my lips to prevent my laughter from escaping as I noticed the pained expression gracing Harry's face. 

"Well, it was nice meeting you Dylan," Harry nodded in his direction, "I'll be my room unpacking my stuff Lila," he said pointedly before exiting the kitchen. We were silent until we heard the sound of his bedroom door close. 

"So, when you said you lived with your rich friend, I assumed Addy was it, not Harry freaking Styles," Dylan chuckled in disbelief. 

"Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I mean I couldn't for privacy reasons and stuff," I shrugged.