That Sounds Fake But Okay

Chapter 1

"I can't believe I agreed to write this. I'm such an idiot!"

Harry leans forward in his chair with every intention of banging his forehead on his desk dramatically, but thinks better of it at the last second and opts for a few soft taps instead. No sense having a literal headache to go along with his metaphorical one.

Liam is leaning over the top of their shared cubicle wall (which could hardly be called a wall, by the way, it barely comes up to his chest), eating a sandwich and lazily scrolling on his phone. He doesn't look nearly as sympathetic as Harry thinks he should.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Liam says, still not looking up from his phone. "I mean, it is your job after all. It's not like I love every story that comes across my desk, either."

Harry snorts. Easy for Liam to say. They're both three months out of grad school, and Liam already has his dream job. After interning here at New York Weekly last year, they'd both been offered staff positions and accepted. Only, Liam is assigned to the political desk which is exactly where he wants to be, and Harry—well, Harry is stuck writing gossip articles about one vapid celebrity after another. It's a far cry from the serious journalistic work he wishes he were doing.

"Excuse me, Liam," Harry retorts. "Reporting on a city council measure you disagree with is definitely not the same as having to come up with 500 words on Louis Tomlinson's latest fling. Ugh." He wrinkles his nose in disdain. Harry could come up with 500 words about almost anything in his sleep, but when it comes to some of the drivel he's faced with, it feels more like 100,000.

Liam finally looks up at Harry but remains unfazed. "Grin and bear it, Styles. One day this will all be a memory. You'll be interviewing the Dalai Lama or crafting long-winded, pretentious literary fiction before you know it. You just gotta put your time in."

Harry sighs. He knows Liam is right. Success comes from hard work, and it doesn't happen overnight. He's barely out of journalism school, and most of his classmates would have given their right arms for an opportunity—any opportunity—at New York Weekly. And, it's not like all of his assignments have been bad. He attended the premiere of the latest Avengers movie (he prefers rom-com, but whatever), and he also had the chance to meet Stevie Nicks (Stevie Nicks!) when a senior writer let him tag along to an industry party. Plus, he can get free tickets to almost any concert or event in the city. Not that he really has anyone except for Liam to take with him.

Of course, at the exact moment Harry starts thinking about his empty social calendar, Ben walks by, looking like he just stepped out of a J. Crew catalog and smelling like expensive aftershave. Liam smirks as he watches Harry's eyes trail after him.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Not nothing. You were smirking."

"I was in no way smirking."

"You were definitely smirking. Stop smirking."

"I'm just saying. You should try actually talking to him instead of drooling over him every time he walks past your desk."

"I do not drool! That's simply offensive, Liam." Harry frowns. "And what do I have to talk to him about, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know. I mean, you work at the same magazine, you live in the same city, you're both hot. You like sports, he's a sportswriter..."

"Liam! I like sports, but I don't know sports. What if I said something stupid?"

Liam just rolls his eyes. "You couldn't sound any stupider than you look when you stare at him with those puppy dog eyes."