larry smut

last first kiss

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29668050

last one for tonight loves, enjoy!

~✰~

He wasn't nervous, Harry contended, repeatedly pacing the length of his dreadfully, uncomfortably, and annoyingly small room, where his bed and single overstuffed bookshelf took up most of the space.

The pictures littered haphazardly throughout his walls watched him, posters of Niall Horan from when he was in love with him in middle school staring at him past a beaming, mockingly radiant grin.

Harry wasn't nervous, he promised, and not because Harry wasn't the type to be nervous. Not for things like this, at least. Especially not for something as silly and insignificant as his final SAT test. Definitely, he was positively not nervous. Obviously.

Against his will, he reached for his phone sitting on his bed, still plugged in despite having full battery, playing soft music he could barely hear (because Harry never played music loudly, far too scared his neighbor next door could hear his obscenely horrible taste). He unlocked his phone through fidgety, near trembling fingers, and opened to the top contact.

I'm nervous, he sent, immediately throwing his phone away from himself to resume pacing around his room, likely drilling a path into his brand new carpet, pausing way too many times in front of the full-body mirror to inspect his outfit. He looked pretty, he repeated over and over, desperately trying to convince himself. His new pair of boots were shiny and clean, his jeans freshly ironed, and his shirt - the cute button-up he'd ordered online - fit nicely. He looked pretty, he nodded, over and over, definitely.

A loud ping coming from his phone darted his eyes to his bed, where he could see it light up from within the pile of pillows he'd thrown it into.

Why?

Harry rolled his eyes, collapsing face down onto the bed and hugging the soft frog pillow he'd bought himself at an amusement park a few years ago. He could just picture his best friend, Zayn, sitting on his couch and scoffing at Harry, who was always way too nervous for the dumbest reasons.

I feel like I'm overdressed.

There was a long pause, where Harry waited anxiously, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Alewife" by Clairo played softly through his busted, water-destroyed speaker, the soft voice a sharp contrast to his violently bouncing leg.

What shoes are you wearing?

The much-awaited reply had Harry pausing immediately, confusion ransacking his brain before he replied.

Boots.

Zayn replied almost immediately, as if he had already anticipated Harry's response.

Wear your slides instead.

Harry didn't hesitate to stand up and saunter over to his pile of shoes, shoving aside his extensive collection of converse until he found the ugly, permanently creased sandals. But he complied with the demand, quickly taking off the stiff boots, his soft yellow socks with ducks on them fully showcased. Harry grinned, contently wiggling his toes before he stopped, dread growing in his gut again when he checked the time. 6:20. His exam wasn't until eight. Though it didn't stop him from texting Zayn, What time are you picking me up? Let's get breakfast.

Another long pause followed before Zayn responded.

Ten minutes.

Harry sighed, standing up again to replug his phone into the charger, afraid it would die before he even had the chance to leave (as it did way too often). Reaching for his bag hanging on the hook next to his door, he carried it over to his tiny, messy desk and dumped everything within it on top of it.