Harry Styles One Shots

Study Buddy

Two days. Two days until finals are over. Two days until I'm finally free from this relentless hell. Two days until the stress, madness, instability, and chaos come to an end. I can almost taste freedom, but these two days might just be the death of me.

"Go to college," they said. "It'll be fun," they said. "The best time of your life is during college—the parties, the boys, staying up late, no one telling you what to do." Why didn't anyone ever mention the mountain of work that comes along with it?

It's always, "Oh, I remember the time..." followed by a rosy memory of college shenanigans. Never once did I hear, "By the way, you're going to drown in assignments, and finals will make you question all your life choices." A heads-up would've been nice.

Right now, it's 7:40 PM. I haven't stopped studying since I rolled out of bed this morning. This entire week has been a blur of textbooks, highlighters, and caffeine. My daily schedule has boiled down to this: wake up, eat breakfast, study. Eat dinner, study some more. Go to bed, dream about studying, and then wake up to do it all over again. It's a thrilling existence. Truly.

And then there's Harry.

Harry has been nothing but understanding through this ordeal. He knows how important my grades are to me—how badly I want to excel. He's given me space, quiet, and endless support, all while managing to entertain himself. Whether it's writing music, hanging out with the lads, or grabbing a drink with James, he's kept himself busy to give me room to breathe.

But today... today, Harry is being extra.

Maybe it's the four hours of sleep I've been surviving on, or maybe it's his slow, deliberate hand running up and down my back as I attempt to make sense of this chapter on economic theory, but my patience is wearing thin. Normally, I'd melt under his touch—those little gestures of affection are one of the many reasons I love him. But right now? Every pass of his hand across my back is like a tiny spark, and not the good kind.

At first, I tried to ignore him. I thought, Maybe if I don't react, he'll get bored and go back to his own desk. But no. Ignoring Harry Styles is like ignoring a puppy—it only encourages him to try harder.

"Harry," I said finally, keeping my voice as steady as I could. I put my highlighter down and turned to face him, my irritation no doubt written all over my face.

"What's up, babe?" he asked, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. His hand stilled, settling on my lower back as he peered at my notes like he was genuinely interested in the intricacies of marginal utility.

I sighed, trying not to sound exasperated. "Could you give me, like, one more hour? Then we can watch a movie or something."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by my negotiation. "Nah, I'm good right here."

Of course, he was.

Before I could respond, he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "Harry," I said, my voice sharper this time. "I'm serious. I need to focus."

"I am letting you focus," he said, his tone so innocent I wanted to scream. "I'm just... supporting you. Moral support, you know?"

I turned to give him a withering look, but his green eyes twinkled with mischief, and I felt my resolve waver. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, grinning like he'd just solved world hunger.

This back-and-forth continued for the next twenty minutes. Every time I tried to focus, he'd kiss my cheek or ask, "Are you done yet?" in the same whiny tone a child uses on a road trip. Each time, my responses grew shorter and more clipped.

Finally, I snapped.

"Harry!" I slammed my pencil down on my book, spinning in my chair to face him.

"Y/N!" he mimicked, dragging my name out like a petulant child.

"Please. Thirty minutes. Just thirty uninterrupted minutes, and then I'm all yours," I said, practically begging.

"But you've been at this all week!" he said, his voice rising. "I want to spend time with my girlfriend."

"I know, and I want to spend time with you too. But if I don't finish this, I'll just end up more stressed later. Can't you understand that?"

Harry crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair with a dramatic huff. "Fine. Can I at least stay here?"

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no—to send him away so I could finish this last set of notes in peace. But the thought of him sulking in another room didn't sit right with me either.

I sighed, already knowing I was about to cave. "You can stay," I said, rolling my eyes. "But you have to be quiet."

"Deal," he said with a triumphant grin.

Of course, "quiet" lasted all of five minutes.

Harry started humming under his breath, tapping his fingers against the edge of my desk in time with the tune. When I shot him a warning look, he stopped—only to start running his hand up and down my arm instead.

I threw my hands up in defeat. "You know what? Forget it. Let's just watch a movie."

"Yes!" Harry cheered, jumping up from his chair like a kid on Christmas morning. In one swift motion, he spun my chair around and scooped me up into his arms.

"Harry!" I squealed, laughing despite myself.

"I'm rescuing you from the clutches of finals," he said, flashing me that cheeky smirk I could never resist.

He carried me to the bedroom, where he plopped me onto the bed and grabbed one of his old T-shirts and a pair of boxers from the closet. After helping me change—because, apparently, I needed assistance—he stripped down to his own boxers and climbed into bed beside me.

As he scrolled through the movie options, I snuggled into his side, my head resting on his chest. His arm wrapped around me instinctively, pulling me closer.

The stress of the day began to melt away as his warmth surrounded me. By the time he hit play, my eyelids were already growing heavy. I didn't even make it through the opening credits before I drifted off, safe in his arms.