larry- one shots

from eight until late, i think about you

Year One

Harry has been living in Brighton for three weeks, and he loves it - loves the salty smell of the air, the calls of gulls and starlings, the wonderfully eclectic collection of buildings that make up the university there. Autumn has not been friendly, though, and the mid-October wind coming off the English Channel is bitterly cold, with a humid bite to it that leaves his skin feeling clammy and his clothes damp. He keeps his head down as he jogs from his Reviewing Shakespeare course back to the dorms, a sorry attempt at keeping his eyes clear and his face from freezing. He makes a mental note to buy a thicker scarf and a beanie to replace the one he'd left on the bus last week.

It's just as cold inside Phoenix Hall as it is outside, but the walls keep the wind out, at least. Harry takes the steps two at a time in an attempt to stomp some heat back into his limbs, scrubs mittened hands over his numb cheeks to try and defrost his face. It's loud in the hallway, a few of the doors propped open so that Harry can hear snippets of conversations and snatches of songs, peals of laughter and the occasional clip of dialogue from a television show. His door is shut, though, and he has to tug a mitten off with his teeth so he can fish his keys out of his satchel and unlock the door.

Harry waves absently to one of his suitemates as he crosses the little common area towards his bedroom door. He's scrolling through a whatsapp conversation his mum and sister have been having without him all morning when he pushes the door open, doesn't realize until he's dropped his bag on his bed that his roommate Niall is talking to someone. When he looks up, though, Niall is just staring at him. There's a guitar cradled in his lap and his computer is open, and he's saying, "Sorry, guys, that was just my roommate. C'mere, roomie."

Harry stares blankly at him, incredibly confused as to who Niall is talking to, and why he's waving him over with a hand gripping a guitar pick. His gaze drops to the back of the laptop screen and he freezes. "Sorry, d'you want me to come back? One of my classes was cancelled, so I'm back early. I can leave you -"

"Nah, s'alright, come here. Let them get a look at you."

"Niall, if that's your family -"

"Just come here, Styles."

Eyeing the back of the computer warily, Harry shucks his jacket and smooths his jumper down nervously before crossing the small room to stand behind Niall. He's sitting cross-legged on his bed with his computer in front of him, and instead of being met with one of the faces from the photos Niall has pinned to the wall behind his bed, or that of a friend Harry has never met but has probably heard about, he sees Niall and himself reflected back at them. Harry frowns, watches the smaller version of himself do the same on the screen, and says, "Niall, what is this?"

"Surprise, you're on camera!" He strums a chord on his guitar, the sound chaotic and discordant, then continues, "It's for my channel. Followers, this is Harry. Harry, followers."

Harry scratches his shoulder, immensely confused, but before he can ask Niall what the hell he's talking about, Niall says, "How was your day, bro?"

He shrugs and drops his arm. "Turned in an essay and got assigned a new book in Lit Theory." He thinks through his day, oddly mesmerized by the way his eyebrows furrow on Niall's laptop screen, and the way Niall is watching him watch himself. "A squirrel followed me from one building to the other between classes? Probably because I was eating peanuts."

Niall reaches back to grasp Harry's wrist and pulls him down onto the bed beside him, drapes an arm across his shoulders and points to the camera, thumb on Harry's cheek to keep him looking forward. "Harry is studying English. He's brilliant," Niall coos, ruffling Harry's hair, and Harry ducks his head, cheeks flushing. His head is forced back up, though, when Niall uses his other hand to cup his chin and turn his face toward the computer. "And look at this pretty face. 'S fit for the cameras, innit? He's a bit of a slow talker, though."