I consider myself to be a considerate person. I try to care about others. I gladly pay for other people's things (with my parent's money, but still). I grace Liam and Harry with my presence. I am fairly considerate, in my own eyes.
"You're not considerate, Niall." Louis states, organizing the books on his desk.
"Yes I am!" I argue for the millionth time, rolling over onto my side. "I'm so nice."
"You tell dead baby jokes on the reg."
"To make people laugh." I explain myself. "Dead baby jokes are funny."
"You need a brain transplant, dear God. Dead baby jokes are not funny." Louis shakes his head, not looking over his shoulder at me. I take the time to flip him off, before I sit up in my bed.
"What's the different betwee-"
"I swear to fucking Christ, if you tell me another dead baby joke, I will strangle you with the strap of my new Balenciaga purse." My best friend threatens me, and I close my mouth on what was going to be the greatest dead baby joke ever told. (True fact.)
"Your loss."
"Hey, guess what the light of your life was talking to me about earlier when we were supposed to be working on our project." Louis turns around and leans back against his desk.
"Our date?" I told Louis about Harry and my's Writerscape conversation last night in an attempt to get his mind off of Hunter.
"He did mention you coming over to eat. I considered asking him if he meant food or his ass, but I didn't." Louis smirks. "You're welcome."
"Dear God." I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling.
"No, but Mr. Styles is a very sexual creature, did you know that?" All I can do is mewl, hoping Louis understands. He does, and he continues. "Never fails to bring sex into the conversation."
"What did he do this time?" I ask.
"Next time you look at Miss Kettering, think about how she probably role plays." Louis goes back to organizing, keeping himself occupied so that he doesn't have to look at me. I'm grateful, because that means I also don't have to look at him.
"You talked about our teachers' fetishes?" I close my eyes in disbelief. Jesus Christ. This is the boy I might be in love with. This is what I'm into. I'm so ashamed... So ashamed.
"We did." He nods. "Mr. Peters spanks Sarah. Harry would bet five dollars on it."
"I have to see him Monday morning, Louis!! I have to be TAUGHT PHYSICS by that man, and now all I'm going to think about is him spanking his wife." I stand up, regretting my decision to allow Louis speaking time.
"You're welcome."
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"What's the difference between a limo and a pile of dead babies?" I ask him, before opening our dorm room door.
Louis gives me a look. "Don't do it..."
"I don't have a limo in my garage!"
Louis kicks the air in front of him, and I close the door behind me. It serves the bastard right. Walking down the hallway, I peek into the open dorms to find a few guys snoozing in their beds. It's a Sunday afternoon. Most of us are usually passed out sleeping, legs hanging off of the edge of our beds, clothes all over the floor. That's where I would be right now if it weren't for Louis waking me up, reminding me that I promised Harry I would hang out in his dorm today.
"Niall, quit creeping." Nick yells at me when I poke my head into his dorm.
"Never."
"I know I'm sexy, but please."
"What are you doing?" I ask, walking into the room and standing beside Nick, who is sprawled out on the floor.
"I had really good intentions to do some sit ups." He explains. "But once I laid down on the floor, I decided a nap would be wiser."
Barking out a laugh, I roll my eyes at the guy my best friend decided to fall in love with. For all of his impeccable style choices, his boyfriend choices are debatably lacking. "Right."
"Don't judge me, Mister I Walk Through The Halls And Creep."
"If you must know," I look down at him. "I'm going to Harry's dorm for lunch."
"Harry's?" Nick sounds obscenely interested. "He's got a waffle maker Niall. A waffle maker." Also, a nice face. He has one of those too.
"I heard he's got a panini maker too."
"That boy is a god in human form." Nick sighs, laying back down completely. "Go eat with your boy toy. I have sit ups to do."
"You mean a nap to take?"
"Same difference." Nick grumbles, rolling over. I laugh and wave a goodbye.
At the beginning of every year, Art Club and Student Council get together to make name signs for every dorm. They're just first names and what year the boy is, and most of the time, guys rip them down within the first week. Not Harry. When I reach his dorm, I find his name taped up to the door in a graffiti style font, and what the hell? Why wasn't my name design half as cool?
I knock on his door, and honestly I'm expecting some random senior boy that I don't recognize to open it, because isn't that how it always is? The random roommate opens the door. He's usually attractive, but taken. The protagonist steps into the apartment, and their love interest walks out with no t-shirt on. Our protagonist nearly faints, but they keep their cool, so that later the protagonist can make out with them both. See? You can learn a lot about life by reading fan fiction.
"Hey, Niall!" Harry smiles widely at me as he opens the door. I falter for a moment, but smile back.
"Hi."
"I have food."
"Thanks for reminding me why I stopped by." I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. Harry opens his door farther, and I step inside and look around.
His dorm is different than any other dorm I've been inside: two mini fridges, a small counter, various machines that resemble torture devices possibly from 50 Shades of Grey, but probably for making sandwiches, and a single bed.
"Do you not have a roommate?"
"I requested a single room. I have to pay a little more for it, but it's nice." Harry shrugs. "I like it, anyway."
"I'm jealous."
"Aw," he smiles cheekily. "But you share with your best friend. That's fun."
"You would be surprised."
He scrunches up his nose, and I swear to God. I'm going to smack the cute right off of his face if he doesn't stop. "He take up all your closet space?"
I give him a look. "Yes, actually."
Harry laughs aloud, and motions to the kitchen appliances-turned sex toys lining his counter. "There's a panini maker, and a waffle maker, and a blender, and one of those grill things, and a-"
"I get the idea."
"What would you like?" He asks, rambling. "I've got two mini fridges full of-"
"Dead bodies?"
"No, I keep those in the school's deep freezer. In here, I've got fruits, lunch meats, tortilla shells, the works."
"Can we make smoothies?" I ask, suddenly craving a mango flavored one.
"Sure." Harry walks over to the mini fridge on the ground and bends down to open it. I would What Are The Odds myself, but why play the game when I can just slap his ass for the heck of it? "I've got strawberries, bananas, that variety pack thing of berries, two mangos, g-"
"Mangos!" I cut him off, bouncing on my heels.
"Well we know what Niall wants." Harry jokes, pulling out mangos and strawberries. "I happen to want a strawberry smoothie."
"Classic." I nod. "Good choice."
"Thanks, bro."
"Welcome."
"Your gadgets look like sex toys." I say aloud, and Harry doesn't miss a beat.
"They are."
"Knew it." I smile, and he gives me a look.
"Come back another day, and we can use the fryer."
"For chicken or sex?" I ask.
Harry doesn't answer. Instead, he messes with the blender, shuffling around his makeshift kitchen-thing to grab all of the necessary ingredients. "You can sit on my bed if you want."
"All right." I sit down on his bed, and look at his walls. Posters of bands and photos of friends/family line them, and I look for one of The Wonders. Nothing. There's not a single poster for Sam, the one Harry swears up and down is his favorite. There's not a poster with even just the band name on it, and I know those exist, because I have one in my room back home. Maybe Harry is the same as me. Maybe we're soul mates.
"I'm really good at making smoothies. My sister taught me how to when I was eight, because she was sick of making them for me that summer, and all I had wanted was peach smoothies." Harry explains, just talking to talk. "At first, I wasn't very good. I was shit, actually. They were disgusting. Usually, the peach chucks got caught in the straw and the smoothie part was more of an apple juice part, and I think I was depressed because of it. No lie." He laughs at himself, tossing slices of mango into the blender.
"But when I was nearly nine, I perfected my banana smoothie. Bananas are easier to use, because they're mushy, you know? So, banana smoothies are a good way to practice. If you don't like bananas, then learning how to make milkshakes is probably a better option to start. Although, if you aren't good at those, then you're shit out of luck, and should probably stick to cereal."
"You talk a lot." I observe, laying back onto his pillows. Damn, I could get used to this. One hundred percent.
"You're not talking at all, so I'm trying to make up for the silence."
"I would talk, but you haven't given me a pause to interject at."
"You have one now." Harry says, flipping on the blender and talking over it. "And all you use it for is complaining."
I make a face at him, standing up and walking closer so that I can both hear and get my smoothie. Harry turns it off and shakes the orange colored drink around. He grabs a cup and pours the smoothie into it, topping it off with a straw.
"Ta-da!"
"You're a blessing to the earth." I say, taking the drink from his hands. "Thanks, mate."
"Anytime." Harry smiles widely and goes about making his own smoothie. "Taste good?"
"Lemme check." Sipping a little bit of it, I nod. "Fantastic."
"As to be expected."
I laugh, "Cocky."
Harry mumbles something, and I don't quite catch what it is, but it sounds vaguely like "in more ways than one," and if that is what he said, Lord help me, I'm going to need a harder drink than this silly smoothie. "Strawberry smoothies are easier to make." He says louder, understandable.
"Are they?" I ask, leaning against the counter and sipping my smoothie.
"Of course." He nods.
"Why?"
"Strawberries are..." He makes a motion with his hands.
"Squishy?"
Harry nods, smiling. I go back to looking around his room, noticing how clean it is, and I wonder if he cleaned just for me, or if he's a freak of nature that cleans regularly... like Louis.
"Hey, do you have any rum?"
"Rum?"
"Rum."
"Are we pirates now?" Harry teases me, and I roll my eyes.
"Does being pirates mean I get to have rum?"
"It might." He says slowly. "I don't know..."
"Why not?"
"I just...if you get drunk, then, like...this won't... I mean, like... It just..." Harry stutters over his words, and without him truly saying it, I understand.
"Hey," I stop his word vomit. "I don't need rum."
"But-"
"It was just an idea." I shrug it off. "Now make your smoothie, and then we can discuss that Lana Del Rey poster on your wall."
"You like Lana?!" Harry asks excitedly, turning on the blender for his own smoothie.
"She's great."
"I'm obsessed with her."
"Favorite song?"
"Yayo." Hint, hint.
"Ever been to a concert?"
"Twice."
"Met her?"
"In passing."
"Do you follow her on Twitter?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"I dunno." Harry stops rapid firing the questions and shrugs. "Who else do you like?"
"Lots of things." I say, casually. "Beyoncé, Bleachers, The Killers, Fall Out Boy, Taylor Swift- the list goes on."
"All great." Harry nods approvingly. "I love Bleachers."
"They're one of my favorites."
"Really? Who is your ultimate favorite then?" Harry pours himself his smoothie and puts the blender back in its holder.
"How do you clean that?"
"In the bathroom at the end of the hall." Harry moves to go to his bed and motions for me to follow. "Sometimes the kitchen moms clean things for me."
"That's nice." I say, plopping down on his bed, trying to not sit so close as to raise suspicion.
"But unimportant. We were talking music." Harry takes a drink. "Who is your absolute favorite?"
Do I risk it? I could tell him. He could fall madly in love with me. We could have cute Bri-Irish babies. "My favorite is probably Ed Sheeran." I chicken out, lying through my teeth.
"Oh, I love him too! I met him once. My mom pulled some strings, and I got to sit next to him on a plane." Harry tells stories like you would not believe. Harry has stories that you would not believe. "Hey..."
"Yeah?"
"Can I have a sip of your smoothie? I did make it."
"No." I shake my head.
"No?" He pouts his lip on his straw, and godDAMN IT.
"You might have Ebola."
Harry snorts, choking on the smoothie. "That joke is so old."
"Life threatening diseases are not a joking matter." My sentence is broken off by my laughter, and Harry's meshes in by the end.
"Can I try a sip?"
"Can I try some of yours?" I ask. It is only fair...
"Sure." He pats the spot on the pillows directly beside him. "Come and get it."
Holy fucking shitballs I fuckinasdfghjkl. I scooch closer to him, holding out my cup so he can have a sip of mine. He moves the straw of his own, so that I can use it. This is one of those moments that I could make eye contact or I could close my eyes or I could stare somewhere else, and no matter what I do- the level of sexual tension is still a mile high. "It's pretty good."
"Yeah?" He asks, taking a drink of my mango smoothie. "You like it?"
"Mine is better, but yours is all right." I say, trying to speak with an incredibly dry mouth.
"Yours is better." Harry agrees, moving his smoothie down to his lap and away from our faces. I can't tell if it's just my mind or if things are actually going in slow motion. Holy hell, is this how Keanu Reeves felt in The Matrix?
"Yeah." What the fuck do I do? I can't tell what Harry is going to do. He's staring at me. Why is he staring at me? Jesus fucking Lord, stop staring at me!
"I like your glasses." Harry reaches up to tap the black frames. "I don't think I've ever told you that."
"Thank." I totally forgot the 's' of thanks. This is what being less than a seven inches away from Harry Styles does to a person. Why are we worried about the effect of marijuana on today's youth? We should be worried about the effect of Harry Styles.
Harry smiles at my mistake, and steals the straw from my smoothie- still being held up between us. He takes another sip of my drink, and whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Cute boy or not, my smoothie is my smoothie and chugging is not a sip.
I pull it away from him, and he smirks, as if he knows precisely what he's doing, even though everybody knows Harry has no idea what's going on at any point in time. Where is the lie?
"I, um, I like your rings." I fumble and point to the rings on Harry's hands. He looks down at them and spins them on his fingers.
"Thank." He mocks me, and I shove at him, feeling my face flush.
"Shut up, dickhead."
Harry laughs and pulls off the ring on his pointer finger. "I got this one at a pawn shop in New York City." The ring has zig zags engraved around it, and small script on the inside that I can't quite make out. "It's pretty cool. You can have it if you want."
My eyes widen as I stare at his outstretched gift. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," he shrugs, shifting the pillows. "I've got a box full of rings."
I take it from his hand and slip it on slowly, still trying to figure out if this is a dream or not. "Okay, yeah. Thank you."
"Of course." He says, laying back into the pillows surrounding us, giving me more space to breathe in air.
"I would give you my glasses, but they're prescription." I look down at him and watch his eyes scrunch up in laughter.
"Please don't give me your glasses."
"I just told you I wasn't going to!" I say, laughing along. Not thinking, I grab his drink from between his legs and take both mine and his, setting them on the floor. Within four seconds, tops, the drinks are out of mind and I'm laying beside the long haired bimbo, questioning my life choices.
We're quiet for a bit. It's not awkward, just quiet. Harry messes with his hair, and I roll around like a rolly poly, ending up on my belly. I hear both of our stomachs talking, and I take the time to wonder if stomachs can communicate with one another. Probably not. If brains can't be telepathic, then stomachs most certainly can't be. It wouldn't make sense.
"Whatcha thinking about?" Harry breaks the silence, and I burst out laughing. "What?"
"You had to ask that."
"What? Ask what you're thinking about?" Harry is incredulous, and I'm in fits of hysteria beside him. I'm seventy percent certain he uses my insanity as an excuse to turn me on my side and rest my head on his arm. Seventy percent certain. "I wanted to know."
"I was thinking about..." I try to catch my breath. "I was thinking about whether stomachs could talk to each other."
Harry is quiet for a moment, not looking at me. I can feel the disappointment sinking into his shoulders, and I start to giggle again.
"Niall...." Harry starts. "You're supposed to be our valedictorian." I watch him fight a smile as he finally looks down at me. "And you're thinking about telepathic stomachs?"
"Think of the possibilities."
"This is almost as bad as our talking cocks conversation." His smile widens, and he shifts so that he's almost completely on his side too. "Only, I'm not supposed to be smart."
"You're smart." I state.
"Shh!" Harry places his finger on my lips and looks around the room. "That's supposed to be a secret."
I poke my tongue out to lick him, and he makes a strangled noise, wiping his wet finger on my cheek.
"You're disgusting!"
"Eh."
"Hey..." Harry is quiet again, watching me with his ridiculously green eyes. "Niall?"
"Hmm?" I ask, closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep.
"Is this a date?"
I freeze, unsure of how to answer. "You...you did make me food."
"I did." He agrees. I want to open my eyes to see the expression on his face, but I'm a fucking chicken, and if I open my eyes I might do something psychopathic.
"So, I guess. It could be a date."
He is even quieter this time. "Do you want it to be a date?"
I don't hesitate, only nod once. "Yeah."
"Okay." I can feel Harry relax beside me, and I hear the smile in his voice. "Great."
"Did you by any chance lock your door when you closed it?"
"What?" Harry sounds confused.
"Did you lock it? Your door, I mean?"
"No... I don't think so." Harry says slowly. "Why?"
"Because." I say, not opening my eyes, but feeling around for Harry's hand and hoping that I don't (do) accidentally find his crotch. Whether he puts his hand in mine or not, I don't know, but I pull it and his arm over, so that we're closer together, and I burrow farther into the pillow. "I want to take a nap."
"What does that have to do with the door being locked?"
"If it's unlocked, Louis will come check on us like the fucking mother hen he is, and he'll probably take photos of us." I explain. Harry shifts around.
"Do you want me to lock it, then?"
"No," I grab his shirt to bring him back to where he was, and I yawn. "No, it's all right."