Harry Styles One Shots

Y/N is on Harry's tour crew and Harry just thinks she's lovely

i.

Harry has a bit of a dilemma.

Okay, it wasn't really a dilemma at all, mostly just him being an idiot. He'd gotten to the venue he was preforming at in Amsterdam probably four hours too early, took a nap on a very uncomfortable leather couch in a more or less cramped dressing room, and woke up with a crick in his neck to Harry Lambert's something short of an apprentice Y/N hovering over him with a confused look and a smoothie straw tucked between her lips. And instead of being normal and saying he'd rather nap some more and wait to get dressed, he agreed to Y/N helping him in his get up for tonight's show right then because he was nervous, having forgotten what this particular garment looked like on himself.

So now he was foggy brained, wondering if he liked it on himself as much as he had liked it on when he first tried it, staring at himself in a full length mirror decorated with clear, translucent bulbs only kicked onto a dim yellow glow. Did he like it? Or did he hate it? Did Y/N like it? She'd been awful quiet behind him as she was straightening out the seams, checking out a stitching she'd fixed up earlier that day. Would everybody else like it?

Truth be told, no matter how many fashion risks he takes and despite the confidence he radiates on stage with them on, Harry is always quite nervous about his choices. It's one thing when he's picking them out and trying them on, but it's another thing entirely when he's about to go out in it in front of thousands of people. And though they never fail to make him feel loved and desired on the stage, he can never shake the fretful feelings beforehand.

"You know what," Y/N starts suddenly, startling him after being quiet for so long, "I thought you and Lamby were losing it when you picked out this top, but it really works," she gives Harry a nod of approval as she stands behind him, straightening out the long, frilly pussy bow at his neck. She tilts around so she shows in the reflection of the mirror, eying him up and down to make sure it was all in order he presumes, before catching his eye and giving him a small smile. Harry enjoyed most when she would fix herself behind him like this – a proper mother getting her daughter ready for prom which he did believe was a movie role she might've been destined to perform, but missed her calling for, "You're killing it. Looks all spiffy and like...dope."

The tense in his body eases some at the compliment, dawning his own smile on his mouth as he looks at himself once again, Spiffy and like...dope." He teases, mocking her, "Wonderful vocabulary choices Y/N, feels like I'm speaking with Yves Saint Lauren himself." She rolls her eyes, swatting his shoulder and reaching around to twist at a button, "What can I say? I've got an eye for Style – y'know, s'in the name n'all."

(He likes to pretend that he has no fear in what he wears with other people around too, and he tries as such especially with Y/N, but he has a suspicious feeling that she sees right through him, though she never calls him out on it).

She groans, pulling from his side completely in route towards her earlier mentioned smoothie, "Alright, enough outta you. One more shit joke and you're g'na have to start dressing yourself."

The both of them know full well that Harry could most likely dress himself but he enjoys not being alone in the dressing room when he's getting ready, and Ayae doesn't come around until a little later so otherwise – as he'd been the first tour – kicking about by himself for a little while (and, well, he definitely could go hang about with everyone else, but sometimes he worries that he's bothering them all and leaves them be...to no fault of their own, just his own looming insecurity). With Y/N around, not only does he have someone to lay out a few separate outfits for his choosing and be there to take care of any potential mishaps, but he has someone to play around with beforehand, and it helps that it was someone like her, it really does. Someone new to this world of hustle and bustle, but manages to keep the same composed smoothie in one hand and suits in the other. Someone who seems completely unbothered by the fact Harry is famous and talks to him like they're just partners for a UNI project. Someone who – without even realizing it – renders him completely at ease.

It's not like everyone he works with are just employees or coworkers – they're his friends too, don't get him wrong – but they all have a professional state of mind at hand that at times is good, but at times Harry doesn't need. They're there to support him but they're also there to get a job done...what they were hired for. And it's not like Y/N wasn't doing a job, because she was, its just most of her job had been completed beforehand when they were prepping for the show.

Y/N was a friend of Harry Lambert's (how Y/N – a college student had managed to befriend a stylist and worm into his heart – he wouldn't know, he just knows that she had been working on wiggling into his hear too) who had taken her under his wing in a way because she was taking a gap year from college to try and decide which path she wanted to pursue, either medical or something more in the arts. He'd discussed with Harry how he wouldn't be available to travel with him during the first leg of the tour, so he introduced the two, let Harry know that he had been prepping her for all of this with just the hope that Harry would say yes and well – how could Harry say no? Not when Y/N brought him a berry smoothie and a buttered croissant at their first meeting, then told him she liked his Britney Spears shirt, and they spent at least thirty minutes discussing her entire discography.

So this way Y/N got to see what the job was like and how it would be on the road in a job like this. There was a lot of planning and putting together with the three of them, a groupchat made for sending ideas in, coffee shop dates where they would spend half the time fucking around and half the time actually working. In that time he had gotten quite comfortable with Y/N with Harry Lambert around, so he had been nervous for a moment when he realized that he wouldn't be around in the beginning and Y/N is new and this is his first arena tour – but the first two nights she proved to be more than competent. Fixed a sleeve, found a missing undershirt (Harry had misplaced it), and assured Harry he would kick ass like Britney's Boa constrictor performance in a matter of twenty minutes.

And that was that, so far, he enjoyed the arrangement, no matter how big of a risk it had been. They're just lucky she isn't a panicked person under pressure.

"Heyyyy," he whines, hiking himself up into a makeup chair far too high for anyone who wasn't a giant, "Be nice, yeah? Or I'll start telling Lambert you still call him Lamby behind his back."

"Don't you dare," she furrows her brows at him, "I don't know why he doesn't like it, 'cos it's adorable and one of my finer nicknaming choices. It's also the only way I can differentiate between the two of you."

Harry tuts his tongue, reaching for his phone on the large counter, "Why not give me the nickname then?"

"Okay, pigeon feet."

He chuckles low, rolling his eyes and muttering, "Meanie," before his eyes fall onto the chocolate dipped stroopwafel's sat on the table Y/N was sat next to, stretching his arms out and gearing up to ask her to pass him some but his words fall short of his tongue when his gaze ticks over to her. She's got her eyes shut, slumped into the couch with her smoothie cradled in her arm and her knees kicked up towards her chest, dawn in a hoodie with Harry stitched over the breast that nearly swallowed her whole, a size or two too big. Harry will admit she's rather cute; the fact she's got her eyes closed on him doesn't put him off any at all. From what Lambert had told him, she was still finishing up her Gen Ed's but she was doing it online so that she wouldn't have to worry about it when she went back to pursue whatever she ended up wanting to, which means she was on the road, taking care of UNI work, and of suits and dressing room protocol. A driven little thing she was, and he thinks it's admirable.

That's why he gets up and gets them himself instead, making sure to keep the heels of his boots light on the ground as to not spook her. However, his act of kindness falls short considering she peeks an eye open at him, a small smile on her mouth, "M'not sleeping."

"I wouldn't mind if you were," he answers honestly, plucking three of the wafers from the platter, "Busy last few days – I'm sleepy and I've been doing this since 2011."

Y/N stretches big and loud, an obnoxious yawn leaving her mouth as she pops something in her arm unintentionally before slumping back into the cushions, "I've never been more awake than in this moment, what're you on about?" Harry bites down on his lip with a snort, ambling back towards his makeup chair. Before he can think of anything to retort, the door to the dressing room swings open to reveal Ayae and an entourage of people behind her, including Adam, Mitch, Clare, and Sarah along with two other stylists.

"Already fancied up then?" Adam grins, straightening out the suit jacket he wore, "And here I thought I was the one getting dressed too early."

"You were wearing your suit when y'got out of bed this morning." Sarah jests, going for the stroopwafels, handing one behind her for Mitch to grab it.

Harry grins at their arrival, leaning back in his seat, "You look quite spiffy Adam...dope, even," he compliments and his eyes immediately search for Y/N's, to share in on their little joke, but she's not where he last left her. Matter of fact, he's pretty sure he catches the tail end of her slipping out of the room, the door swinging closed in her wake and he feels his shoulders deflate some. She had a knack for that – disappearing as soon as everyone else showed up, and if not for the fact that he and Harry Lambert have both talked to her and hung out with her in the same room he might be convinced she was a figment of his imagination. He wishes he understood why she did it, and he wishes that she wouldn't because he knows that the lot of them would get on with her so well but he thinks she might be shy. When she's with him she's unreserved and warm, and he's seen her this way with quite a few of the tech people as well (Daren – the lights manager especially), but in certain group situations she clams up and just diddles on her phone or removes herself from the situation entirely.

Though he'd like to ask her about it, he doesn't want to embarrass her. Part of him knows that it's merely the third show and she hasn't had as much of a chance to get to know them as she'd gotten to know Harry, so he can't force her to assimilate into the group, no matter how well he knows she'd fit in.

"Yeah, I look dope," Adam snaps his fingers at Harry playfully and he laughs, dragging his mind back into the room.

He can't quite ignore the warmth Y/N takes away with her when she leaves.

. . .

"Did you know we share 50% of our DNA with bananas?" Y/N questions him, eyeballing him in an empty tour bus that she had more or less snuck herself onto – she was tasked with waking Harry up because she was the one who needed him. Had a question about which shoes he wanted to wear or something (because he'd fucked off and spilled red wine over the white glittered pair).

Harry likes to think he wakes up easily, with a smile on his face, and birds tweeting – butterflies fluttering around his face like a Disney movie. However, waking Harry from his nightly rest is a trying thing which is why he figures nobody would wake him up for her. From what he can remember, it started with her shaking his shoulder carefully and saying his name soft, then a little louder, and finally she flicks him in between his shoulder blades since he was facing away. "Five mo' minu'es yeah?" Harry had grumbled and tilted his face into the pillow, and he could hear Y/N sigh heavily despite his waning back into slumber.

"Oi, s'bout noon sunshine, you shouldn't have stayed up so late playin' karaoke."

He groaned in response, tugged the blanket closer around his body and tried to scoot deeper into his cubby, but Y/N had patted his shoulder, "C'mon, wake up Gremlin, we need'a talk boots."

Harry shoved himself up then with a huff, turning to face her as the sheets pool around his bare waist with his brows furrowed, "M'not a Gremlin," he reached up, knuckled his eyes, "I don't want the nickname anymore, your nicknames are mean-spirited."

"What?" Y/N had said and stood up to give him room, "They aren't mean-spirited! Gizmo is one cute little creature if anything it's a unique compliment."

Now Harry is stood at the small kitchen like space, leaned up against the counter in nothing but his boxers, chewing cow-ishly on a banana, brows raising to show his interest in her comment given he has tired, sleep puffy eyes, "Really?" He asks, his mouthful, "I must be a cannibal then."

Y/N nods, spinning her phone between two fingers as she sits before him, slouching into the couch, "70% of it we share with slugs."

"Oh, tell me more science nerd." He swallows, enjoying the grumpy look she gives to him as he lets the peel flop down empty, squinting her eyes at him.

"Okay, well next time you need a conversation starter and you have a really cool science fact to share, you can thank me." She tells him, now in a different hoodie, much too big for her. He wonders absently as he tosses his banana peel into the bin why her style seems to be a more covered up, one-dimensional approach of an exhausted college student trying to get through the day, but he figures that it's just comfortable. Though, he won't say he isn't surprised that someone who is skilled in fashion isn't showing him up in gaudy outfits every day.

Harry scrunches his nose, "Thanks in advance," he turns back to face her, "Now what is this about my sparkly white boots? I thought our chances with them were shot."

"I did some calling around and figured out that they had one last pair in your size at a Gucci store here in their outlet mall. I wanted to know if you wanted to wear them tonight still so I can go get them or if you had already decided on another pair."

He bites hard on his bottom lip in thought, tugging open the fridge in pursuit of one of his Greek yogurts – he thinks he's got one in a chocolate flavor that he wants to offer to Y/N, but upon further inspection, he finds that he must've eaten that one already. He feels rude not offering her something to eat, even if the chances are probable that she'd already eaten, so he pops through the cabinet to grab a granola, "Another pair would be nice – I think they'll look really good with this suit – but only if it's not too out of the way or too much, going shopping in a different country and all." It turns out he has no granola either and he's damn near about to pout...how had he run through all of his breakfast snacks so fast? Was Mitch getting his greedy hands on them?

"I wouldn't have offered if I was worried about that, silly," she begins, and lowly does Harry hear her stomach rumble – fucking hell, she was hungry? And he'd sat and ate a banana right in front of her with no regard to even ask if she wanted a bit? Y/N's brows raises at her own stomach's noises, placing a hand on it and giggling, before she stretches out her other arm and begins to stand, "Well, that was all I needed – if you want to go back to sleep, I won't tell, I'll just come around and wake you when I get back."

Harry's brows are furrowed, putting one finger up, "Wait right here," he tells her before stalking off to his bed, finding his wallet in the mass of covers and plucking out a note from the folds – the least he could do is buy her something to eat, but he didn't want to hold her back so that he could get ready for the day. Especially when he's the reason she has to do an errand – because he wore his boots a few nights too soon out of excitement when they were going out for drinks and was a little too loosey goosey with his red wine.

So he reappears into the kitchen area with the note in hand, folded and tucked between two fingers as he hands it to her and she takes it with a confused look, "Get something to eat, yeah? S'on me."

And whereas anyone else he'd give money to and tell them to get food would say thanks and walk off the bus, Y/N smiles soft and shakes her head, holding the bill out towards him, "Trying to buy my secrecy now, are you? I promise I won't tell Lamby you ruined his prized boots."

Harry shakes his head, "I feel bad that you've got to go out and do this, and I just downed a banana in front of you without offering any – m'feeling a bit rude, so please, get something to eat."

Y/N eyes him, her hand still holding the bill out towards him, "Its fine, I already told y–"

"I insist," he tells her, budging his body away from the counter and twisting on his feet, "Now off y'a get, m'about to shower and you don't need to see me bits just yet. Buy me dinner first and we'll talk."

She snorts but he believes he hears her toddling off the bus and he relaxes, knowing that he'd at least partially made up for being a terrible tour bus host.

However, when he realizes he left his phone out there and he has to wander back (Harry believes every day should start with a good shower playlist – one for dancing, soaping, and shampooing), but when he picks his phone up, he reveals just the fifty pound note he'd just given her sat folded with a small post-it stuck to it.

Thank you for the offer Gremlin, but you better not try it again.

P.S. I've already seen your bits, you flashed me the first show but I didn't say anything until now. I'll still buy you dinner though.

A smile quirks at Harry's mouth as he shakes his head.

A sneaky thing she is.

. . .

"So, how do you think I'll be looking in my suit t'night?" Harry calls to Y/N when he sees her walking through the venue that night on her way to the dressing room, noting that she again has a smoothie (he wonders where she's finding them constantly) and a box containing his white glittered boots – he does is specifically with Adam and Clare at his side. He won't force her to open up to them but he would like them to see what he is privy to each show night – almost like he's showing her off a bit, which he quite wants to do.

Y/N doesn't look back, placing her thumb up high in the air, "Pretty fucking dope."

Harry snorts, biting down on the inside of his lip as Adam turns to face him, eying him with a smile.

"Tha's where your new lingo has been coming from?"

. . .

"Do you want help?" Y/N looks up from where she's sat in the dressing room on her cellie, slouched over in the crook of the couch when Harry's got the pad of his thumb pressed against the oak coffee table set in there, black polish capped off and the brush near millimeters from his nail. She brings his attention towards her, a drip falling from the brush and sliding along the round of his cuticle, "I'm great at painting nails."

"Oh, so you don't trust me skills then?" He jests but he's putting the brush back into the bottle and sliding it across the table to her, "I'm offended."

Her eyes roll hard, lashes flickering as she grabs the bottle and instead of staying where she's at and dragging his hand across the table, she knees herself around to his side. Plots down in front of him and suddenly grabs him by his wrist, fingers pressing into the thin skin in such a gentle manner that he's taken aback for a moment. Everyone is a little rough with Harry – they hold him a little too tight, or play wrestle with him hard, or grab onto him firmly and tug – which he never much minded. Always liked to be roughed up a bit whether it be in bed or out, but this was different...something he wasn't quite accustomed too. Y/N touches him like he's made of porcelain; fine ceramic, held with the utmost care. She singles his thumb out carefully, strokes the black varnish delicately over the nail.

Harry's gaze flickers from the way the hairs spread out, stroking the paint thin, to looking at Y/N. A concentration is a lit on her face, lips soft as she runs her tongue over them before holding it between her teeth momentarily. Her cheeks appear soft under the dimmed glow of the room, a warm hue that flickers in the dark of her eyes. She was still wearing a hoodie, big and encompassing, swallowing her whole and just as he's about to open his mouth with the question as to why she has yet to forgo the hoodie – she pulls away. Sets the polish bottle down onto the table before grabbing at the hem of the sweatshirt and dragging it up and over her head.

For a moment, Harry is in owe, as silly as it may seem. She's in merely a t-shirt – just a simple, thin yellow shirt that shows off the soft budding of her nipple, revealing that she had forgone a bra today. Straightening out the ruffled fabric with a huff before setting her hoodie off to the side, grabbing the bottle again and twisting the top off again. Though she catches the way he's looking at her, making her brows furrow as she tilts her head, "What?"

"Nothing, s'just –" he watches as she brings his thumb to her mouth, pursing her lips and blowing a soft gust of wind, "I've never seen you without a hoodie before."

She draws back, taking his thumb back in between her fingers to do a second coat, "Oh," she nods, flicking the dark paint over the broad nail, "Yeah, I'm usually really cold but s'kinda hot in here." She pauses, looking up at him, a teasing light in her eyes, "Is that okay?"

Harry nods quickly, "Of course."

A smile pulls at her mouth before she refocuses, starting on his index finger carefully. Harry wonders why he becomes hyperaware of his heartbeat, sitting here on the floor with her, as she paints his nails with precision. He wonders why, as she uses the tip of her thumbnail to scrape away what sunk around his skin, Harry can't help but keep his eyes unmoving from her. Watches the seemingly tranquil look decorating her face, which makes him feel more akin to a pair of UNI students who were just taking a break from studying and not like he was a pop star on his world tour, with her helping him with his clothing.

And he likes that. Don't get him wrong, Harry loves his job immensely but sometimes it's nice not to feel famous. He rarely doesn't feel famous just before he's about to perform in front twenty thousand people. Yet, Y/N somehow manages to take the room, twist it into the palm of her hands, so now he's in her living room rather than a dressing room, and they're baking cookies instead of sipping on smoothies, and he's full, happy, feeling safe in the comfort of her presence.

"You're really good at this." He murmurs but Y/N shakes her head.

"M'not," she answers easily, capping the paint and waving her hand over him to create a tiny current of wind to dry them quicker, "I'm just better at it than you is all."

"How humble." He mutters but a smile is adorning his cheeks, taking his hand and holding it away from his face with a grin even spreading bigger onto his mouth, "Looks great! Thank you, Pet, I'm feeling mighty pretty."

Y/N drags herself from the ground, pressing up to a stand and stretching out all of her limbs, "You're always pretty." She says through a yawn and Harry's tummy does a small twist, "Like a painting or something."

"Oh stop it, Pet, you're making me blush!" He gushes, reaching out for her ankle and giving a pulsing squeeze, "What're you trying to butter me up for?"

"No buttering, just telling you the truth." She winks at him before giggling.

Harry's heart swells.

Y/N is very lovely, he decides.

. . .

Harry has had an awful day.

The day started dreadfully; waking up to the biting cold and shiver of rain leaking through the windows of his hotel room, and then getting in a bit of an argument with Jeff over the cellie (which he hates doing but he'd woken up in a piss poor mood to begin with). He skipped breakfast to go to the gym, thinking that might ease out some of the distress welted up inside of him, but this helps very little. So by the end of it he was sore, still drawn up too tight, and starving, but he only has time to grab an apple because he had an impromptu meeting (why he got in a tiff with Jeff for not telling him sooner), and then he got dressed in a haste. Was near silent in the makeup chair which wasn't like him, but when people asked if he was okay he would just nod and they left him be. Then to top it all off, he felt like he did absolute shite on stage – it felt like he was missing notes left and right, was breathless, he ripped his suit and it just...it just felt terrible. At least when he was off in One Direction there were four others (three after Zayn) that could back him up and the night would be good, but when it's just him singing and talking. . .there's nobody there to pick up any slack and that's a lot on him.

So when he runs off stage he's in a hurry – he wants to shove himself beneath the covers of his comforter in the tour bus and pretend like this whole day didn't happen. Most everyone falls back and lets him brood because they'd seen him like this before. But there was one person who hadn't...one person who calls his name and is sort of hurrying behind him, "Hey, Gremlin –" she begins, but Harry shakes his head.

"Not right now." He tries to brush her off, but Y/N doesn't listen – doesn't get that he's pissed, or thinks that she might be able to make it better but there's no way.

"Oh," she is still after him, "I just wanted to tell you that I can fix the suit since it just tore at the seam."

He rolls his eyes, pausing and turning around to face her, "And that couldn't have fucking waited? You couldn't have just given me a god damn second without you on my tail?" The aggravation and irritation had bubbled past the brim, spilling over and sloshing on her even though she is not where his frustration lies – really if anything she was the one thing that was unchanging and didn't piss him off at – at least at the beginning of the day. But that doesn't stop him from just about ripping his suit jacket off of his arms, tossing it at her, "Take it and fuck off." He grumbles.

The last thing he sees is her face, riddled with confusion and hurt but he has no time to feel bad about it. The fact that there was even a glimmer of guilt trying to bead in his stomach only pisses him off more. He just about stomps onto the bus, sliding his clothes off as he walks and leaving them in piles before he shoves himself into the cubby, slides beneath the covers, and presses his face into his pillow. He hates to be so dramatic but it gets to be too much sometimes, and though he's far better than when he was younger, Harry still has a terrible habit of picking himself apart. Normally he's able to just silently grump about it, but the day had been just so god damn dreadful he couldn't handle it anymore.

So he squeezes his eyes shut tight and pretends that this day didn't happen at all.

. . .

Harry takes his time to recollect himself in the following days.

He did some yoga, drank a lot of replenishing smoothies, skyped with his mum and then Gem a few times, just to re-center himself. The beginning of the tour is just as hard as the middle and the end, he'd say, that no part is particularly easy being on the road. As fun as it was, sometimes he does long for the simpler days of being a kid and tucking away in his room when he got pissed and not on a tour bus where he had to alienate himself from the pack to rediscover his Zen. But then with some critical thought and deep contemplation he counts his blessings for how things turned out, and ultimately relaxes and a happiness blooms in his chest that's indescribable. It's why he calls Niall even, who he knows on his arena tour as well, and has a chat about three hours long on just how lucky they are (and they reminisce on Mario Kart and playing chicken in hotel rooms for a while too).

The love in his body resurrected tenfold, so he apologizes to everyone for how much of an arse he must've been all that day and says sorry to Jeff for hanging up suddenly too. Even arranges for a bouquet to get sent to him as he feels just horrible for being so downright atrocious.

It's not until after sound check, however, when he ambles into the dressing room expecting to see Y/N in a huge hoodie and sleepy eyes with a smoothie in hand and is instead met with his clothes for tonight's show, he feels a whole rush of guilt flood him. The one person he should've apologized to first and foremost – who had taken the brunt of his anger after he'd let the whole day get to him but had no clue as to why she was being yelled at. Oh Christ, he's fucked up surely.

He hopes for a moment, that maybe she'll show. That she just had to take a wee, and she'd come back with a grin, call him a Diva or something before he apologizes and they can put it behind them, but around the time Ayae pops in, he knows she's not coming. The regret sinks low in his gut – an unshakeable weight that drags him down. He pulls out his phone almost immediately, planning to text her but just as his fingers begin hovering over the keyboard he realizes he's got no idea what to say and how to say it. Also, it felt insincere to just message it. If Jeff got flowers for getting hung up on, then Y/N deserved a whole damn garden for the harshness she'd endured from him.

"Are you alright, Lovie?" Ayae asks, raking her fingers through a section of his hair for a moment.

Harry nods quietly.

. . .

The next show day, Harry makes a point of showing up earlier than he should, with a box of warm cookies from the bakery down the road and an overly expensive smoothie he'd gotten at the hotel lobby (he wasn't sure exactly was in it or what she liked in her smoothies but he was hoping for the best). He figured that he could get there before she had the chance to, catch her trying to sneak in and out without having to see him and explain that he was just an arse who was having a bad day and that she didn't deserve a bit of it.

So he bunkers down, settles onto the couch with the smoothie and cookies set out before him, his knee bouncing anxiously as he waits. Scrolled through Twitter though his mind wasn't in it, and he was mostly just blankly staring at the screen worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, going through what he was going to say again and again in his head. He's not sure if he should start it out with the apology, to get it out of the way and let her know straight away that he's been riddled with guilt since, or if he should act more natural and casually bring up that he was a prick. Would the latter make him seem like he cared less? Or would the first make him seem a little batty for stressing over it? What if Y/N hadn't even been avoiding him...what if she was just tired and headed back to her hotel room early, and he was distraught for no good reason?

When the knob to the dressing room door twists, Harry immediately sits up straighter, eying it and waiting to see her swoop around the corner in a hoodie all too big for her, with a smoothie that he could take away from her in favor of giving her the one he'd gotten. Doesn't realize that he had his fingers twisted up in the hem of his t-shirt until he unclenches them, trying to appear at least slightly composed.

It was all for naught, however, because instead of the soft girl he expected to see, Daren comes in with his suit for the night in a suit jacket draped over his hairy, muscular forearm while his other hand is holding onto his phone, fiddling with the message app. He doesn't notice Harry is in there until he looks up and startles, "Oh! So you are in here early," he begins, "Thought Y/N was telling a fib."

"Where is she?" Harry asks as Daren sidesteps him and begins to unzip the suit jacket, sliding his phone into his back pocket before preparing the suit, "Y/N, I mean."

Daren – ever the father he is – looks around in their general area, pouting his lips into a frown and shrugging, "That is a good question but I'm not so sure," he begins with the undershirt, straightening it out, "She just gave me this a minute or two ago, said that you would be in here already and to lay it out for you, but I didn't quite catch where she was headed since I was convinced she was lying 'bout you being here so early." Harry's shoulders slump; she must've caught him when he was walking in, which means she is definitely avoiding him if she'd rather send Daren – a lights manager – in her place than come here and have to face the arsehole he is herself. Which makes him feel worse...he never wanted to create an environment where someone legitimately didn't want to see him.

"If you need her though, she should be 'round after the show. She's always watching it from the side stage."

As if everything else wasn't enough to plummet him into a trench of inordinate remorse, this last little blurb of information is what consumes him in all the entirety of his guilt. Makes it settle deep in his stomach, low and terrible, the feeling leaking into his veins and invading everything around him like a heavy cloud, thick with rain and deep regret. She was watching his show – which...which means she saw him rip the suit jacket, might've been able to tell how his mood had soured and thought that it might make him feel better if she let him know that she could fix it. Even if that isn't the exact mind process she'd been going through at the time, Harry knows that none of what she'd been trying to accomplish was with poor intent or malice. And he'd been so rude to her – so god awfully mean.

"She watches the show?" His heart feels heavy and he wonders if Daren can hear the thick dejection laced through his words.

He seems oblivious though, as he nods and folds the suit pants in half, slinging them over the hanger neatly before hooking it onto the rack, "Yeah, she sure does. Doesn't miss one actually. Matter of fact," he leans a bit closer to Harry, "M'pretty sure she was a big fan of yours beforehand when you were still in your band. Caught her jamming out once to the CD and from what I've gathered, you're her idol."

God, Harry feels like the worst person in the world. Her idol? He was her idol?

Harry had told poor, soft Y/N to fuck off and he was her idol?

He needs to talk to her – needs to clear the air and everything up, or he fears his guilt may swallow him whole. It's something akin to the feeling of accidentally stepping on your pet's paw or breaking something of your Nan's, only ten times deeper and more devastating. He can't even imagine something like it – your idol tossing their suit jacket at you in such a manner. If Stevie Nicks had told him to fuck off he thinks he would dig a hole and stick himself in it.

"Do you need to see her?" Daren asks as he begins walking towards the door, "I can try and find her now if you'd like – figure she may've gone off with Joshua. If you'd ask me I say the two of them would make a cute couple but they swear up and down nothing is happening between the two."

Harry doesn't have time to question the secondary sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of her being with Joshua instead of here with him and only shakes his head solemnly. He won't put her in the position where she'd have to awkwardly avoid Daren's questioning why she is trying her hardest not to see him, "No, it's okay, I'll find her later."

Daren nods with a smile, "Alright, I'm off then! Have a good show!"

Harry paints his own nails this time.

. . .

Later that night, when Harry has tucked away in the soft plush comforter of his bed, everything takes him entirely. He grabs his phone, pulls up her contact and nearly presses call but his finger just hovers over the icon, making circles around it. Call her and what? Hell, he wants to see her so bad and wants to talk to her about it, but how can he even face her at the show he put on. He wouldn't want to see him either if he's honest.

So he sets his phone back down, drags the covers over his head, and closes his eyes tight.

. . .

Harry has quite the predicament at hand.

First, he had slept very little the night before, whether it be the guilt that still settles heavily over him even three shows since it's happened or the storm that had been shuddering outside as he was tucked in his little cubby on the tour bus. So his eyes were a little sleep puffy and dark beneath them and he knew Lou would gripe at him for it. He'd gotten to the arena, early as he had been in hopes of catching Y/N, but he's met with Daren again who is setting up his suit. He takes one look at him and his brows raise, "Lookin' knackered, Mate," Daren told him, "Did you sleep?"

"Barely," Harry had told him with a frown, "Have you got any pain medicine?"

A smile had pulled upon on Daren's face, reaching into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts and retrieving a pill bottle, giving a little shake, "Sure do!" He presses the cap down, twisting it open, "The only reason I wear these types of shorts is so I can keep everything in them. Got cold and allergy medicine too! A few cough drops, n'I think a bendy straw or two."

He'd called Daren a true dad in every form as he took the pills, swallowing them back with a water, and when Daren asked if he'd seen Y/N yet, he'd tutted his tongue and shook his head, "Silly thing," he tuts his tongue, "I'll go get her, yeah? She's been helping with the lighting lately but she's not been giving me much a job to do." And before Harry could say anything about it, Daren disappeared through the door, leaving him alone in the dressing room now with a feeling between eager and nervousness billowing within him.

And as nervous as he was to see her after being avoided for an extended amount of time, that's not the only feeling that is coursing through him. No, not at all, because for some reason about thirty minutes after Daren left in his pursuit for Y/N, there is a warmth spindling in his abdomen that normally only makes itself present when he's planning on getting off in the next few minutes to an hour. A buzzy, tingle that sparks something inside, stiffing up his prick considerably. Which...which isn't normal. Sure, he's had random stiffs before, but none when he is this incredibly fretful. Matter of fact, in the last few days, he hasn't gotten hard at all – maybe it was the worry that had played a large hand in it, leaving him to face his nights with pondering over how to make it up to her and forcing himself to sleep finally.

(Don't get him wrong, it's not like he wasn't still having fun – he was, definitely, but there was still that lowly feeling plaguing his thoughts of what he'd done. Of how he'd hurt someone who had only shown him kindness.)

But now – his prick had come to life very suddenly. Very quick and abrupt, a lump solid in his trousers, and he's confused; no matter how he tries to will it away, his cock proves very persistent. Refuses to soften up any at all, and when he pushes down on it to not only relieve the pressure but see if he can hide it some, all he does is hiss – his toes curling.

This is bad...bad, bad, bad; especially when the knob twists and Y/N – who he's been so hard pressed on seeing, to quench the ache in his heart and squash the probably terrible feelings she might've conjured up for him – walks through the door. Looking soft as ever, in a jumper far too big for her, pooling around her thighs and hiding the shorts undoubtedly beneath them. The way her eyes look suggests she's not slept very well, but then again he can't attribute that to their fight entirely. She was still doing schooling, this is her first time on the road and she's not used to the fast pace life of it sometimes...and someone who might've been her idol told her to fuck off. But would it be egocentric for him to think any of her sleepiness was because of that at all?

His mouth is hung open around an apology that doesn't come out in the slightest because Y/N's taken a look at his prick bulging not so innocently in his trousers. Sees it tenting the fabric and her brows raise, looking up to him with an amalgamation of concern and bewilderment spread on her face. She stays standing by the door, lips parting around the air but she's just as silent as he is. He presumes this must appear rather weird to her, concerning that Daren just went to go tell Y/N that she needed to see Harry and she finally comes to face him after him being a right prick, but he's hard. He's hard, with sweat forming on his brow, leaning back on the couch just as confused as she is.

"I –" he starts, grabbing for the pillow at the edge and placing it over his stiff, "I don't know wha's happened." He begins, instead of starting with what he had wanted to say when he first saw her again, "I just took some paracetamol from Daren and then he left to get you n'my – I jus' got um –"

Y/N twists up with more befuddlement, before something close to realization floods over her, "Did – did he take them out of his top right pocket?" Harry knows now is not the time, but her voice sounds like a mellifluous symphony after not hearing it for so long. His heart twists up, a crinkle in his forehead as he thinks on it – goes back a little bit before in his memory to see Daren reaching down into the top right pocket of his shorts. He nods, trying to ignore the throbbing pulse he feels centralizing between his thighs, "Oh...oh no," she shakes her head, biting hard on her lip and Harry makes a little noise beckoning her to relay the information she's realized unto him, "He – um...his wife is here and...well, earlier I had a headache and he nearly gave me Viagra instead of a painkiller so I...I think he might've – he usually keeps his painkillers in that pocket but um –"

"Oh, bloody hell." Harry groans, pressing the heels of his palms to his eyes, slumping lower into the couch in defeat but even the fabric shifting against his cock makes his head spin, feeling absolutely dizzied. "What am I s'pposed to do, huh? I've got to be on stage soon enough, I can't go out with my prick stiff as a board!"

Y/N's face twists up, "Well, sort yourself out! I heard that stuff can last for 2 to 3 hours. 5 in some guys and you've got ..." she slips her phone out from her back pocket, checking the time, "Roughly three and a half hours until you've got to be on stage."

Harry whines, knocking his head back against the couch, "Do you mind if I do? Is this okay?"

For but a moment she pauses, before she nods quickly, "It's okay, yeah, it's okay. You don't mind if I'm in here?"

"Not at all, doll. There's a sign -- there's a sign hanging on the black dresser, with 'Do not Disturb' on it -- post that up on the door for me, yeah? Then prop up the wooden chair against the knob, would you? So nobody else can get in."

Only for a moment does he watch as she moves to fulfill his requests but then he shuts his eyes tight, feeling the small bit of relief unfurling in his abdomen. The skin is soft and wet beneath his fingertips as he drags them up and down the length of his prick, feeling the foreskin slide gently over the crown a few times but he was so hard that most of it had pulled back entirely. He wants to look at it -- needs to look at it, if there's any hope of him getting off, because he's got no porn, his mind is running a little to rampant to conjure up a past fuck, and really, try as he might, all he can think about is Y/N. Maybe its because she's in the same room as him while he's fiddling with his erection, or because his mind is still reeling from this being the first time she's seen him since he'd blown up at her. Whatever it may be, he's trying not to objectify her as he twists at the no doubt bright red tip -- pleading for contact that his hand just wasn't providing well enough -- but all he can think about is Y/N all soft and pretty, on her knees for him. Nuzzling her cheek at his cock and asking him if she could have just a little taste.

His brows pinch, puffy pink lips hung open around a silent groan, "You're sure you don't mind if I'm here?"

Harry shakes his head quickly, eyes flickering open, the light feels too bright on his pupils, "No, no, s'fine please. . ." he swallows thickly, reaching to shove his sweatpants down and reveal his aching cock to both him and her, and it was a sure sight. Harry always gets a bit breathless with himself, when he's this hard; the slit wet, precum glistening as it trickles down the side of his head. He's not fond of boasting, but his cock is pretty -- thick, a fleshy tone and pink, a vein running along the underside that he likes to feel against his fingers. He's long too -- when he'd measured himself last, around two or three years ago he was budding over eight inches which he thinks is pretty wonderful, "You can stay. . .with me if you want to, yeah? Don't want to be alone."

He catches her eyes, seeing as she processes for herself that she doesn't much want to leave either. . .wants to stay and watch, so she nods to herself, gaze flickering down to where he works on his cock. Harry doesn't mind if she looks though. . .welcomes the attention. Embraces her seeing him like this, breathless and wanting, feeling completely and utterly vulnerable. "D'ya like it?" His toes dig into the inside of his shoes, squeezing and twisting at that base for a moment as he searches for her gaze once again. Y/N's eyes dart away sheepishly, tucking her hair behind her ear but Harry shakes his head, kicking his legs out a bit as he drags a tug up, "No, no, s'okay, you don't have to look away. I like -- I like when someone watches."

"I --" she begins, weight shifting from one leg to the other, "I do like it. I like it a lot, but my brain is a -- my brain is going a million miles a minute. ""

"I know, m'sorry," he murmurs low, his hips bucking up into his own hand as he reaches down with his other hand, squeezing at his balls that are warm, swollen, full with cum aching to shoot up and across his chest, "I just need – need a little something to get me off quicker ... fuck." His eyes flicker back, "Please, come – would you move my shirt up? G'na cum and I don't wanna get me shirt dirty – cum stains are so hard to get out." The sound of him slicking his hand up and down is loud, almost echoing in the silence of the rest of the room, "Would myself but it feels – feels so good, don't wanna lose it."

He doesn't know why she does it. Doesn't know why she listens because she didn't have to, but she still just about tiptoes over to him, standing at his side and reaching over to take the hem of his cotton shirt to tentatively drag up his torso. When he feels the careful caress of her fingers simultaneously touching his hot skin as she does so, is when the bow breaks – frays and snaps and he cums. He shoots before she can take her hand away, landing on his belly and upward with a heavy noise. Harry's bucking up into his own fist again, twitching and his knees drag up as a white fire lit throughout his body.

Only opposed to feeling emptied and relaxed, Harry is still drawn taut as a bow. The hair at the nape of his neck begins to dampen, curling into little tendrils and the hairs near his forehead begin to adhere to the skin there. He looks up to Y/N for a moment, but catches her staring at her hand that's still holding his shirt. This drags his attention to it and sees – her delicate hand, that fix his buttons, straighten out his collars, pluck little fuzzies off the fabric or the one time she had even carefully fixed a bit of his hair when they were both staring at his outfit in the mirror – covered in his cum.

A whimpered noise leaves him, his spunk cooling on his tummy and on her hand as he twists his hand against his sensitive head. Whenever he's horny or in the middle of getting himself off, Harry likes to not take responsibility for the depraved images, scenarios, and words running through his mind. Like the one right now, where his hips are snug between Y/N's thighs and he's fucking into her, with his fingers tucked into her hung open mouth, nipping at the smooth skin of her jaw until he picks a spot to suck a messy, purple hickey on her skin. Thinks about having her ride him, with her bum stuffed with a plug, and her panties bundled and stuffed into her mouth, with him holding her wrists together in front of her. Imagines bucking into her raw, with her tit in his mouth, sucking at her nipple until it pebbled and hardened beneath his tongue before biting down at the bud until she whimpered. Pictures her on his sheets at home – pink silk swirling around her body like whipped cream as he licks into her, getting his chin wet with how sloppy he is, the noises of her juices echoing in his ears and him groaning because he bets she tastes nice...bets it would be intoxicating – the smell too, even.

Another pitiful sounding noise scrapes from his throat and he's looking at her again, blinking with watery eyes, "Please..." He doesn't know what he's begging for, but he does at the same time. Wants something from her – just doesn't know what that something is, but his hips twitch as he moves to grab her hand and drag it through the mess on his stomach, closer down to where he's pulsing in his own, "Please." He repeats himself.

Y/N peers at him for a moment, like she's truly contemplating his not so subtle request – before she plops down to her knees. Doesn't fit herself between his thighs as he'd particularly wanted but she does maintain eye contact with him, her brows furrowing, "You want my help?" She asks and he nods, huffing. Instead of completely throating him though...of taking him into her hand and into his mouth like someone normally does when he gets whiny and needy for them...Y/N keeps her hands to herself, face still knitted up with a mix of something he can't quite place. "You don't deserve it." She tells him, sitting back on her heels and Harry's hand doesn't stop...in fact it goes a little faster, "You were mean to me," she begins, shuffling a little nearer, "Yelled at me for no reason, n'told me to fuck off even though I was trying to help. Accused me of always being on your tail, so I left you be for the next few shows, but now here you are all bent out and desperate, asking for me to aid you?" Harry's slack-jawed, chest heaving, "You don't deserve my help at all."

Despite her words, so sure and damning, Y/N wiggles between his thighs, drags his hand away from himself and ignores when he whines as she presses it still against his abdomen, "Should leave you here, to get off all alone," Harry shakes his head, hips twitching up again, "Or tell the others your ready to get prepped up, so you can't even cum at all," she's leaning in closer, just a breath away from his straining cock and Harry shudders, "But I won't. M'not mean like you."

And despite the guilt and everything he'd felt – despite the realization that he really did hurt her, and the need for a proper apology was necessary – she fit her pretty, bitten puffy lips snug around the head of his prick and lulled her tongue around it, and Harry mewls. "M'sorry, I'm sorry!" His breathing is bated, as his clean hand – the one not covered in spunk and being held against his stomach, goes for the nape of her neck so he can hold his palm there, "M'not mean. . m'sorry, please make me cum."

Y/N's tongue is soft against the smooth head, licking carefully up to the slit where he's leaking and sensitive. The precum dribbling from him now directly to her tongue, and she loves it apparently – laps at it greedily, and mewls a little noise against him. When his hips buck, Y/N places her palms on them to hold him down so the muscles are left to flex beneath them.

She only takes his head in – licks and sucks until his toes are curling, "Further, take me further, please?" He begs but she shakes her head, tonguing at the crown. Pops off for a moment with a filthy wet noise but doesn't touch on him like he wants, keeping one hand holding his down and the other digging into his left thigh.

"No," she answers firmly, Harry cries out a little too loudly – just enough that if someone was passing, they might know what was going on inside, "I decide, yeah? You hurt my feelings. You're lucky m'even g'na let you cum at all."

Harry whines and whimpers when she returns back to his sensitive tip, slipping the slick of her lips over and returning her soft suckles at his slit. Despite her not taking him in very deep, Harry's well off, his orgasm going from lingering at his edges to spindling down his veins, rocketing towards his prick. His thighs tremble intensely and just like she can read his mind – knowing he needs just a little nudge over the edge – Y/N slides the hand that had been on his thigh, to his full, swollen balls and gives them a squeeze with her small hand. The noise that leaves him is sure one that he'll be bashful about later, but he can't find himself to care as his balls tighten up and he empties himself into her mouth. It's almost too much for the amount he'd came beforehand, and Y/N hums lowly.

She tightens her lips around the head, his sensitive cock twitching the rest out. Instead of spitting like he'd expected her to though, Y/N swallows. Swallows everything he'd given her down without question or hesitation. The fingers that had been holding at the nape of her neck, twisted at her hair were now finally relaxing but he didn't want her to pull away. Didn't want to leave the moment, as she pants all breathless, looking up at him with eyes blown of her own.

While Harry tries to regain his breath, Y/N stands, walks over to the little sink they had set up in there and grabs the glass cup that sat along the counter. He lets his eyes flutter shut, thinking that maybe she was just thirsty – he thinks anyone would be after what just happened – but when he feels a towel circling around his prick, still hard, he furrows his brows and looks at her. In a quick movement, Y/N pours freezing cold water over his stiffy, making him more or less squawk as his cock softens right up beneath her hand. Most of the water caught on the towel but she gently pads up what hadn't, then uses that to tenderly wipe away the dried cum on his tummy, tentative hands helping him wriggle back into his trousers.

Harry is still breathless, sensitive, and feeling exhausted when Y/N runs her thumb over the corner of her mouth.

"The others will be in here soon," she warns him, looking at the time on her phone, "Try to at least look like you haven't nutted off, yeah?"

. . .

When Harry preforms, he's a little lewder than he probably ought to be, but Y/N on her knees was on a film roll in his mind.

So what if he drags his crotch against the microphone stand? Or if he tosses his head back a little too sensually during Medicine? Or even if he just about fucks the air with a jut of his hips that he sort of wishes was into her?

If he does, then that's his problem, really.

. . .

If someone were to have asked Harry a month ago, if he would be outside of Y/N's hotel door in the middle of the night with a box of imported chocolate clusters, hoping that she wouldn't turn him away – he wouldn't have thought it would be true. He and Y/N were friendly enough before all this, sure, though he doubted he'd ever pop up at her door because he'd not only wronged her, but she'd also sucked him off and took care of him despite that. Patted him dry, was careful and gentle, and though she did upbraid him for what he'd done to her, she still catered to him with her soft little mouth and swallowed all that he'd given her. Then, not only didn't tell anybody about what had happened but after the show he found two actual ibuprofen laying out on the tour bus coffee table. There was no note, but he didn't need one to know that it was her who'd left them.

So here he was, nervous and shifting his weight from side to side, praying that she was as much as of night owl as Harry Lambert claimed she'd be. There were no words that could describe the immense regret he feels for how he'd treated her, nor were there any to exactly describe the way he is feeling for her right now. His heart is twisting weird at the thought of her and he isn't quite sure what it is; might it be the post-orgasmic love fever that stuck around for a little longer than usual, or his guilt playing tricks on his mind into wanting nothing more than to give her anything she wants in order for her to forgive him. He wouldn't know for sure.

What he does know, however, is when the door clicks open and there Y/N stand – in a thin, yellow tee and pajama pants with teddy bears decorating the fabric, looking so soft and sleepy – is that he needs to make things right, no matter what lengths he might have to go to in order to pursue it.

"Hi Pet," he holds up the chocolate clusters, the top off of the box and a sheepish smile, "I brought you a treat."

Y/N's brows skyrocket, reaching out for the box and taking it before immediately grabbing one, "Holy shit, thank you," she tells him, biting into the cluster before turning around, using her foot behind her to kick the door out a little further for him and he figures that's his invite in. So he ambles on in slowly, looking around at the small little suite she got as he nibbles at his bottom lip. She's got a set up on the floor beside the bed, papers, a book, and pens and highlighters scattered around it with the TV paused on a Netflix (she'd rigged her computer up to it, he supposes), "I haven't had a chocolate so fancy before in my life." She murmurs around a mouthful of caramel, dropping herself down to where she must've previously sat amongst the college wreckage, "What brings you here then?"

She is acting so casual – so positively normal, like none of anything ever happened – that it makes him want to pretend to. That he hadn't been a prick, that she hadn't avoided him for so long, that he didn't take Viagra and practically beg her to suck his cock...that none of it happened at all.

It's tempting...it really is...but he can't.

"I wanted to say that I'm sorry." Harry begins immediately, setting himself down onto the recliner tucked into the corner, but he doesn't allow himself to relax any. Sat on the edge of the seat, with his elbows on his shoulders in the striped slacks he'd been wearing that day, "For how I spoke to you concerning my suit jacket – I'd been so frustrated that day with so many little things it all just built up, and I felt like I hadn't performed well, and then the suit tore and...and those are all just shitty excuses. I misplaced my anger on you and that wasn't fair at all, because you were only trying to help." He twists his hand around his thumb nervously, trying to read her reaction from her face, "I – and then when you weren't around, I felt terrible...tried to catch up with you but I couldn't and when I finally did...when I finally did, you took care of me. So I wanted to say thank you and I wanted to say I'm unbelievably sorry. No amount of fancy chocolates could make up for it."

Things are quiet for a moment, as his words sink into the air around them and his feelings about the past week and a half become clear to her. His heart hammers against his chest, watching as Y/N nips at her own lip, looking down at the box of chocolates and nodding her head slowly like she's letting it settle in her mind. He wonders what she's thinking...if she believes him, or if she thinks he's merely doing it so things won't be awkward and she won't run off and tell the world how she sucked him off. He hopes the ladder doesn't even cross her mind.

Y/N reaches into the box of clusters, plucking one from the middle and holding it between her thumb and forefinger, "It's okay Harry. Thank you for apologizing." She holds out the chocolate towards him, "Sorry for not taking your cock all the way in my mouth. Truce?"

A smile broadens on Harry's mouth as he takes the chocolate from her, biting into it and trying to avoid getting the stringy caramel onto his chin (failing terribly) – a brash little thing she was, "Truce." He answers around a mouth full.

"Alrighty then," she begins, shoving the box of chocolates off to the side before swiping her fingers clean of any of the remains (dragging them against her pajama pants for good measure, "How dangerous is it for us to leave the hotel? D'ya think you'll get mobbed?"

Harry furrows his brows, lifting his wrist so he could check his watch, "Considering its 12AM, I don't think much of anyone wanting to go to the concert tomorrow is up roaming the streets of Germany." His gaze flickers back to her, "Why? Did you get something to eat? I think room service runs until 1AM here –"

"Shh, shh, shh, listen Gremlin," she presses herself to a stand, looking around hastily for her phone so she can unlock it and begin typing out a message – Harry tries to ignore the comfort he feels when she lets the familiar nickname leave her lips; he'd been worried that they wouldn't be able to fall back into how things had been. "I've got a friend who owns a bakery around here – met her online a long while back when we were maybe 14, and when I met up with her for coffee today she gave me a spare key and free reign to make as I pleased off the dessert books. She wanted me to take Joshua since apparently he has the "hot's for me" but he's passed out after an 8PM German drinking binge with the others, so I s'ppose you'll do." The smile on her mouth tells him she's joking and he does chuckle, however, a bitter taste is left in his mouth at the mention of Joshua. That's the same name Daren had mentioned a while back when Y/N had first been avoiding him.

But he tells himself that its just because the name is associated with a less than wonderful time for he and Y/N along with Harry's guilty conscience, which is a perfectly reasonable explanation for feeling a bit adverse to the reference of him.

He decides to ignore this though; something to save for a later date, because Y/N is retrieving the key from her purse and waving it in the air like a prize, "Yeah, sure, let's do it then," he says, and if he can be honest he's a little surprised with himself – he was often dawned the name Grandpa Styles because of his sleeping habits, but something felt good about this. He wanted to rekindle the fire of their friendship fully. Stoke it back to life entirely, where embers are floating and dissipating in the air, a blaze of oranges and yellows so full and warming, that anyone near the two of them together was instantly soothed in a way only the nicest, brightest of fires smoking a chimney on a wintered night could do, "What's gotten into you? Never seen you like this before." Plus, this is a side of Y/N he'd not been privy to – one who was on the cusp of her late-night revival, the moment in time where the sleep from the day exits the bones and one is left feeling well rested and perhaps a little hyper. He'd had many of his own during One Direction, when he thought he'd pass out as soon as he'd hit the pillow yet instead Niall coaxed him into a game of Fifa and about halfway in he'd felt enlivened to an alarming degree. However, he'd thought she'd have shown this more intense chipper side of herself earlier on perhaps, but she'd always kept herself a bit quiet around him. Not too terribly, but enough so that he could sort of pick up on when she's holding back.

"Well, I've had your cock in my mouth, so I'd say m'feeling quite comfortable with you now," she slings her purse over her shoulder, "Plus, you're giving me a wonderful excuse not to think about Microbiology."

Harry thinks that's fair enough, re-pockets his phone into his slacks and follows her as she heads towards the door, feet now covered with soft, lamb slippers.

"D'ya know how to make a German chocolate chiparoos from scratch? I heard you were a baker once."

A grin worms its way back onto his cheeks, stretching them wide.

. . .

It's safe to say, that Harry had more fun making Chiparoos in a bakery, at 1AM, in Munich Germany than he's had in a long while doing something not pertaining to his work. Turns out that Y/N is not the best baker, made the entire kitchen a mess, burned the first batch she'd tried on her own, had flour decorating the front of her shirt and pants and a few spots on her face. She squawks when she gets things wrong, insists on eating the leftover dough off the spoon, and flings a bit of flour onto his shirt as well. And somewhere in the wreckage Harry had managed to make at least two good batches, found out Y/N's got ticklish sides, sang a quite off-key rendition of Love is a Battlefield (that Y/N joined in on quickly and loudly), and just about destroyed his pants with coconut frosting.

But now they've got 48 German Chocolate Chiparoos, sat at the island counter in the back with the fluorescent bulbs above them shining bright, Y/N telling him the wonders of college life (it sounded both terrible and invigorating) and in return, he shares stories of the road, on and off. They talk for what feels like hours about anything and everything, twisting back and forth on the stools. The conversation had started out on fun, breezy territory but the deeper into the night they got the deeper their conversation became. Y/N manages to worm out his insecurities and he discusses them, so she tells him her own. They talk about growing up and Harry learns things about Y/N's life that makes his heart ache for her, even more so as she merely brushes it off and smiles, telling him that she's okay now, "Don't think it messed me up too bad, you know? Just something always lingering in the back of my mind."

Harry feels indescribably close to her, in a way he hadn't thought was possible. Closer to her than many people who have been in his life longer than she has. In a way, he thinks its something almost poetic – that in this bakery, they'd created a safe space for both of them to find solace in, and share things that neither thought they might share with the other. Like how the smell of peonies reminds Harry of being younger, specifically around the time his parents divorced, or how Y/N can't hear a certain song without her whole body tensing. Little facts that hold much deeper context than something like their favorite food, or colors (though he's pretty sure he's worked out what Y/N's favorite drink is).

The conversation had dwindled for a moment, when Y/N got a message from her friend who owned the place telling her to have fun, be careful, and "use protection!!". While Y/N responded, a thought occurred to Harry – one that he mulls over whether or not he should ask her. He wonders if it might bring them back to the real world a little too much...like it might blanket their night. But once it hits his mind he can't stop thinking about it.

"Y/N," he begins, and she hums her response, locking her phone with a click and flickering her gaze to him, "Why did you help me yesterday? With my problem. Not that I don't appreciate it, it's just – you were upset with me, weren't you? You could've just done the water trick and left but you...you didn't. And you were right; I didn't deserve your help after what I'd said to you."

She looks like she considers this for a moment, nodding her head slow and furrowing her brows, "Well, I don't know," she shrugs her shoulders, slumping further down onto the counter but she's turned to face him, "You were whiney n' in pain – begging too, and I'm not good at refusing cute boys begging me for a blowie." Biting at her lip, she plucks it from her mouth all spit slicked and pretty, "I guess I was curious too, about what you tasted like. And if I'm honest I've been hard-pressed to suck someone off for a minute now so that played a factor too."

"Was it good?" He asks without thinking and immediately wants to take it back, cringing at his own question and his mouth opening up to apologize but Y/N answers before he can.

"I've never tasted anyone sweeter," she smiles, tucking her face into the crook of her elbow, saying the rest with a fruitful yawn, "Must be all the healthy stuff you eat."

I've been wondering what you might taste like thanks to all those smoothies, is what Harry wants to say, but he keeps his mouth shut. Instead of mindlessly saying things, he decides to outline the curves of her face when she moves to press her cheek to her forearm with her eyes shut. Tries to store the freckles and spots on her skin into his mind. Her eyelashes that he thinks he might like to tickle against his skin, and her mouth that he figures he'd want warm against his jaw. A nose that he wouldn't mind being cold tipped and tucked into his neck. Eyebrows that he wants to stroke with the pad of his thumb, like he might be painting them on himself.

Y/N's sort of really beautiful, he decides.

Y/N who, he's finding, takes care of everyone else but seldom gets taken care of herself. Who paints his nails for him because he's shit at it, and won't take his money for lunch even though he knows she's struggling for money herself and he's got enough that he wouldn't miss a twenty. Who tells him he looks dope and spiffy, squashing any insecurities he might've had about an outfit before going on stage. Who took care of his stiffy when she didn't need to, and accepted his apology when she shouldn't want to, and took him to a bakery in Germany for goodies when she could've brought anyone else.

So maybe that's why when she sits up with a stretch, fluttering her eyes open, she's met with Harry a substantial amount closer than when she'd closed them. And maybe its why he lowers his mouth against her own in a careful, tentative kiss, with a gentle hand coming to cup the side of her face as their lips melded together. It's soft and warm and a little wet – Y/N's breath through her nose caressing his cupid's bow, making it feel even more real as he keeps purchase of her lips between his own. He isn't sure what he's going to say when they part, or how things might change now that he has, but he uses that to justify him kissing her longer in his mind.

And he thinks some part of him wished the kiss wouldn't be good – that it would be chapped and dry, unpleasant and awkward or something – just so he didn't have to deal with the inner turmoil of it. He was technically seeing someone, though they've never completely claimed to be exclusive, he still feels like he might be pushing a boundary. Doesn't know how Y/N feels about that...if she knows about that...but he's so wrapped up in her right now. Wrapped up in her and the sweet little noise that leaves her when he traces his tongue at her mouth, beckoning her to open up for him and let him taste her.

She does; opens up nice and easy for him to dip his tongue in, licking against hers as he shuffles forward to get closer. The hand cradling her cheek is a little firmer in place, holding her against his face and it feels like a kiss from a proper movie, he feels. Like one of those toe-curling, true first kisses that make you want to squeal a bit for the main characters when they finally share it. He allows himself to melt into it and her, his other hand slipping down around to her waist.

As much as Harry wishes the both of them could hold their breath for longer, they eventually part with a small gasp from the both of them. Harry sat with his face close to hers, breathing in her scent, trying to keep a grasp firm on this moment. On this lovely moment, where it's just them, and the German Chocolate Chiparoos, and his heart thumping sweetly in a way he hasn't heard it beat in a while. He's happy like this...wants to stay like this forever.

But it's not fair of him to kiss without explanation, so when Y/N's gaze falls to him and the look she gives him is both one of bubbled, giddiness and overwhelmed confusion – he tries to formulate a reasonable explanation. I just wanted to – doesn't seem like it would be a suitable response for this, even though that's the only bit he can really explain. She looked gentle and soft, and she's funny, and he'd just found out so much about her life that he would've never thought someone could handle and come out still smiling. He wanted to make her feel loved and secure...wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and keep her all to himself, all day, every day. Pet her hair out of her face, kiss her temples, keep her warm.

Harry swallows thickly, using the back of his finger to stroke a piece of hair behind her ear, "You're amazing." He says gently, nodding to himself, "I just want you to know, that you're really lovely."

Y/N smiles, a little bit of flour still spotted at where her eyes crinkle and it makes him feel so...weird. He's not felt like that about anyone's smile in a long, long time.

"You're amazing too, Harry," she grins, "Do you want me to suck you off again?"

Before Harry can much answer, Y/N slips off the stool she'd been sat on and pads her way towards the fridge (this is when he realizes she's kicked off her shoes, revealing the very untimely, fair isle socks she'd been wearing beneath them). Reaches into it and plucks out the whipped cream with a smile, spinning on her heel to face him again, "Pet, you really don't have to –" he begins, brows furrowed because he wasn't kissing her to get something out of it – well, get something out of it apart from being able to taste her lips. It was true, his heart was overwhelmed and he needed to unfetter the feelings in some way. But he had no hidden agenda other than that, "Not using you for a quick nut off or summat, Darling. "

"I know," she says, bending at her knees and placing them on the cold tile before him, looking up to him with big pretty eyes that makes him shudder, "Tha's why I wanna do it." She sets her hands down onto her thighs, holding the whipped cream loosely, her bum pressed against her heels, "Most I've ever really come into contact and have conversations with just wanted me to pull my pants down...didn't bother to learn about my life or make me weird German cookies...or even apologized when he hurt my feelings." She scooches a little closer, giving a loose tug at the bottom of his pants and he feels her cold fingerprint against his the skin of his ankle, "So I want to, if you'll let me."

And really, how could Harry say no to that?

He nods, bottom lip sucked into his mouth for him to nibble on as she reaches for the button of his pants and slips it out. Harry lifts his bum up so that she can wriggle it down his thighs revealing that he'd forgone boxers today as she presses his shirt up his torso, "Hold it here," she orders, the hem now clinched together with the collar between his fingers. Harry's not completely hard yet but he's stiffing up at the thought of it alone, even more so when she reaches for the whipped cream, gives the can a little shake, and presses down on the tip of the nozzle at his left nipple. The look painted on her face was one of pure concentration, tongue stuck out between her lips as she moves to the other nipple, spraying some there too, then going lower and making a half moon shape at the laurel tattoos framing his hips so it was a big smiley face.

Harry thinks if she leaned in just a little, she would probably be able to hear his heart hammering against his chest like an up-tempo metronome. He'd never thought such a carnal being would be beneath her swamping hoodies and weird, science facts that he's almost certain she spends most of her free time Googling. If anything, he'd imagine some soft, virginal shyness – worried eyes, hesitant touches, a carefully hidden desire that she would be afraid to show until he worked her open. But as he looks before himself to the gaze teeming with want as she drank the sight of him in, and the unwavering movement of her closeness, sliding as far as his pants would allow her between his thighs...well, he sees he had it all wrong.

The broad of Y/N's tongue licks against the sensitive, dusky pink bud all covered in white first before she fixes her lips around it and sucks. Pleasure undulates through his body, rocketing towards his abdomen as his cock further twitches to life as he jerks forward – his nipples had always been an erogenous zone for him but he was very diffident on who he shared this with. Most times he's topping, so his pleasure truly isn't the main focus...which he doesn't mind, in all honesty, he likes to take care of people and fulfill their desires and that alone fulfills his own. However, when he's alone and focusing on himself, he usually gives a good tease. He believes that touching himself is a very healthy form of self-love and one that can connect you to your own body – he gives himself careful, baiting caresses until he's brimming with arousal, and leaking his want all sticky just below his belly button.

It's like Y/N knows every one of those spots for him; suckling on his other nipple sweetly, as the tips of her fingers stroke down his sides, pressing small grape-sized dents into the soft of his hips. Harry's head tilts back, neck outstretched when a ragged groan scratches from his chest and the warmth sizzles in his lower belly. His cock gives another twitch, hardening quickly while Y/N still busied herself with his puffy, tender nipple until it pebbled beneath the pampering of her tongue and teeth. Carefully nipping at the bud, before releasing it, nosing down to the smiley.

His cock bobs as she grabs him by the sides a little firmer, starting just where his happy trail split the smiley in two and running her soft, wet tongue over the skin. The residue she returns for, sucking, licking, and biting at the skin until it's free of any cream and she's satisfied with him all sticky for her. Then, as she's moving to the other side, she pauses at the head of his prick to give a tiny, taunting lick to the very tip before withdrawing and returning to her previous venture. He whimpers lowly, still holding onto his shirt like she told him to while his other hand reached back and held at the granite countertop. It's a struggle to keep his hips from twitching up – he wants to be good for her. Doesn't want to push for too much too soon, so he uses all his restraint to keep his bum planted on the stool as she treats this line of cream just as she'd done to the last.

When she draws back, she wipes what little had made it onto the corner of her mouth off with the back of her hand. Gives him a bitten lip smile as she looks down at his now, aching, angry red cock like it was her handy work. "I did pretty good, didn't I?"

A breathless laugh escapes him as he nods, wiggling a little on the stool, "Yeah, Darling," he looks down helplessly at his prick, gaze flickering back to her as she still looks over him, "Want to finish what you started?"

"Hmm, I dunno," she trails out the o, taking a step further from him and Harry has to bite back a pitiful whimper, "Maybe if you ask nicely."

Harry just about pouts, "Please?" He tries and she shakes her head.

"More." She demands, and Harry feels his thighs tense, "If you're convincing, maybe I'll take you deeper than the head this time."

He groans impatiently, whining loud, "Pretty please?" He tries, "I just – you made me all achy, Love, need'a cum and I only want you to do it. Need you to do it." Y/N tilts her head like she's considering it, but he rushes to add more, just to drive it in, "You're best at it, Poppet...been thinking about you since you've done it the first time. Sweet lil' mouth felt so nice on me."

A smile graces her mouth once again as she sinks down to her knees, only instead of throating him – like he wants – she lies her head on his thigh and ghosts her fingertips along the shaft. Doesn't touch him really, only hovering but the awareness and sensation of it alone makes him buck his hips up impatiently. Y/N tuts her tongue, tilting her face so that she can bite at a portion of his thigh in a small, reprimanding him for it and Harry huffs out a, "Sorry."

"S'okay," she hums, "Bet you're not used to having to wait, huh?" Harry shakes his head, a pitiful noise leaving his throat, "You don't have to wait for people to suck you because everyone is dropping on their knees and pining for your cock in their mouth." Harry feels proper dizzy for it – lightheaded, and needy, as Y/N's fingers go back to hovering, only this time around his balls all swollen and full of cum, "I kinda wanna make you work for it though, y'know?"

"Baby," he mewls, his fingers digging into the counter, "Pretty, pretty, please?"

Y/N giggles, "Okay, okay," she lifts her head, circling her hand around the base of his prick, her breath washing over him all warm when she coos her next words, "Only 'cos you beg so pretty though."

In the next few moments, there is little to no preamble on Y/N's part as she draws his foreskin down, spreads her lips wide over the fat red head and slips her mouth around him. Despite her composure and her proclamation of wanting him to wait and beg, her tongue was eager. Stroking and flicking, wet and hot around him, making his toes curl. He moans again, loud as she surpasses the head and takes him further like he'd begged her to the first time, because now he wasn't mean. Now he's given her chocolates and they've connected deeper than he has with anyone in a while, and she's sucking on him like he's been thinking about since the first time it'd happened.

"f-fuck," he sighs, his hand falling from his collar, down to her head and he places his palm against the nape of her neck – fingers slipping into the hair there, curling up in it and just having it there to hold, "S'good...god, you're g'na make me cum too soon."

She hums around him lightly, slipping off but she only parts after she flicks her tongue against the smooth tip – precum and spit in strings connecting her swollen mouth to his cock, "You're sweet," she murmurs, still holding onto him and twisting it up and down looking up at him with a small smile, "Thanks Harry...gonna make you cum, okay?"

Harry nods, gnawing at his bottom lip as she sinks lower and suckles at his balls, bucking up to her mouth and the fingers in her hair get even tighter. It's intense – the heat unspooling within his body like threads of a spinning wheel, prickling at his nerve endings with a fiery glow of a promised orgasm. He watches closely when she stripes her tongue up the underneath of his prick, slipping him back into her mouth so he was engulfed in the wet heat of her once again, the pressure building high inside of him. The noises he makes are downright pitiful and borderline embarrassing – he'd be shy about them if not for how comfortable he felt with her – and they only grow louder and more frequent while she gets less calculated and more sloppy with her movements. Taking him deeper, more saliva, more little hums and moans around his cock until static begins rippling through his veins.

Then she pauses, pats at his thigh with her mouth still wrapped around his prick and moves the hand at the nape of her neck up to cradle higher on her head and oh – oh god, she wants him to fuck her mouth? "Y/N?" He rasps and she merely nods in return.

So Harry takes a further hold on her hair, fucks into her mouth shallowly once, twice, three times before her hand reaches down to palm at his balls once again and he's breaking apart at the seams, cock twitching in her mouth while he chokes around a moan. His orgasm splintering through him in hot waves, Y/N keeping her lips tight around him as if not to waste a drop of what he empties into onto her tongue, rope after rope of it. His vision is focused in on her and only her, as she pops off of his cock, swallows him down, and gives a soft, happy sigh.

"That was nice," she admits to him, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand for the second time that night – seems like she does it after having a treat, "You taste even better the second time."

Harry, slouched against his seat and panting along with attempting to regain his composure, laughs breathlessly. He must be a sure sight – all pink-cheeked, flustered, messy haired and messy.

"When're you g'na let me taste you, then?" He asks her, slipping his bottom lip into his mouth.

As Y/N is wetting a paper towel in the sink, ringing it out until it's an unappealing wet mass that she strokes against his skin where the whipped cream had left him sticky – she laughs.

"You'll have to earn that, I guess."

. . .

That night, instead of returning to their respective rooms, Harry follows Y/N into hers. He crawls into her bed half naked, exhausted from not only cumming but having to clean up their kitchen mess as well, so he's barely able to keep his eyes open. Had he technically been invited to spend the night with her? Not really, no, but that doesn't stop him from requesting, "Can I be lil' spoon?" with a pout that he's spent ages perfecting.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N sets herself higher up on her pillow, one hand on her phone and the other laid out for him to snuggle beneath. She's returned to wearing her massive hoodie, so she's got self-proclaimed empty bingo wings for sleeves that warm his bare shoulders. His cheek warm against her chest, listening to the steady rump of her heartbeat while her fingers take to his hair, combing through the freshly washed (or at least it was freshly washed at the beginning of the day), fluffy hair. Scratching at his scalp, twiddling strands between her fingers, combing it out of his face, tucking it around his ear where her fingers dance lightly. Harry's eyes flutter shut and he snuggles deeper into her, his own arms snaking around her waist to hold her tighter.

This felt normal...natural, even. Being wrapped up in Y/N was easily the easiest thing he's done all year.

"Goodnight Gremlin," Y/N murmurs and she figures she might think he's already might be asleep, "Sweet Dreams."

Harry hums low, and snuggles impossibly further.

"G'night, Moppet."

. . .

Y/N and Harry grow terribly close.

After that night in Germany, when Harry woke up to Y/N all sweet and soft, sleeping beside him, he'd decided then that he'd make an effort to properly pursue her. He's so determined to do so, that he calls things off with the girl he'd been seeing on and off that very same day. There was just something so alluring about Y/N – something so effortlessly warm and comforting that he wants her all to himself. And he knows that he's not supposed to date employees, or whatever, but technically she isn't an employee of his at all. Just a friend helping out, he likes to see it as. One who calms him before shows, paints his nails, and calls him Gremlin.

Since they'd slept in the same bed once, Harry has trouble not sleeping with her. So much so that he nabs her so that she's on his tour bus, they stay up and talk until one of them starts nodding out mid-conversation, and then they retreat to the bunk. It's barely big enough to fit him, let alone him and Y/N, but he gives her closest to the wall and eventually, in the midst of night, ends up with her atop of him instead. If its a hotel, he smuggles her into his room or moseys his way to her own, even if it's in a completely different location. When they're on a bed he usually claims the position of little spoon, which she doesn't seem to mind, and she busies herself playing with the curly tendrils at his head until she's falling asleep. Harry's taken to waking up before her and ordering room service so that she can wake naturally to the smell of a syrupy breakfast, but he usually has to rouse he awake himself.

("Rise n' shine sleeping beauty, m'bored and we've got brekkie.")

The feelings that had already begun swarming him, like bees to a honeycomb, only festered and mushroomed. His heart almost aches when he's not able to see her, and when he takes a little glance backstage and can see her bopping along to the songs with Joshua (who he'd found was terribly sweet) he feels all soft. When she meets him afterward (per his request) with a big grin, telling him well he'd done, his chest swells with emotion and he feels like a proper love-struck teenager with her.

(He'd even managed to keep her in the dressing room when the others came in, after finding she'd just been a bit worried they might not like her, Harry is insistent that they would love her. Of course he'd been right, because now Adam is walking around telling people weird science facts, Sarah and Clare both have found the comfort of two sizes too big hoodies, and even Mitch has started carrying around a smoothie more often than he wasn't.)

So that's why, after an amazing show where Harry is still reeling with the excitement and the love radiating off of the crowd towards him, he'd gone and ripped his pants clean down the middle but he didn't much care this time around, because he's jogging off stage and nearly tackles Y/N with a hug. She nearly drops her smoothie, a gasp leaving her when he lifts her and swings her back and forth as he walks deeper backstage, "Oi, oi, oi, what is it then?" She cries out but her arms wrap around him in return, hugging him back, "You had a good show?"

Harry nods, dropping her down and grinning wide.

"Let me take you out," he says above the chatter and noise of the arena, "On a date! A proper, non middle of the night date, wherever you'd like."

Y/N returns his smile, nodding her head, "Yeah, okay." She agrees, and Harry's heart flutters with joy "Let's go on a date, Gremlin."

If someone was to ask Harry, he's pretty certain this was the start of something wonderful.