Harry Styles Imagines

Plans to..... [ the end ]

Swallowing, you flicked through a few pages, eyes growing wider with each word your adsorbed. There were...lists, and collections, each detailing possible date ideas, some of your favourite things, small, minuscule details about you. It seemed as though Stiles had been compiling meticulous research over the past eight months. When you moved onto the other folders, you discovered they were full of the exact same things, just more up to date.

You didn't know how to feel. On the one hand, you felt as though you should be feeling a little weirded out. The amount of time and effort that must've gone into the files was on a scale you couldn't even begin to comprehend.

However, another part of you felt flattered, and a little optimistic. It was so undeniably Stiles that you couldn't help but view the man in a new light. He'd gone through the time and the effort for you. Had paid attention to every detail, every sentence you'd spoken. All because he liked you.

The man you'd spent the best part of eight months lusting over liked you.

You were determined that this newfound information would not go to waste.

"They had a deal on so I got double egg rolls- don't say what I know you're gonna say, I promise I'll finish them. I'm so hungry I think I could legitimately eat a horse and I'm not kidding. I drove by a pet shop on my way home and- yes, I know horses don't live in pet shops, but it really got me thinking and I decided that, yeah, I could go for a horse. So anyway, I went for the egg rolls. Sue me!" HowStiles managed to ramble so much in just one breath, you had no idea. You did know, however, was that you found yourself becoming more and more open to the idea of walking up to him and kissing him straight on the mouth.

Suppressing that urge, you walked over to take the plastic takeaway bag from his outstretched hand. "Good day?" You asked, moving over to your kitchen. Stiles trailed after you, groaning somewhat as he slid onto one of the stools scattered around your breakfast bar.

"Long," he replied, looking up through tired eyes. He managed a small smile, the action lighting up his entire face. "Hey," he added, eyebrows furrowed, "isn't that my shirt?"

Glancing down, you felt heat warm your cheeks as you realised you were wearing his flannel. "Um, yeah," you murmured, slightly bashful. "It came out of the dryer and it was soft. I can, uh, I can change if you want."

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "You look cute in it- well, uh," he cleared his throat, swallowing, "better than I do, anyway. That's not exactly surprising, though."

Grabbing a few plates from a cupboard, you took the opportunity to let a smile spread completely over your face. "Well, thank you."

Stiles's amber eyes watched you as you began to divide the food between your two dishes. "What about you, though? How was your day?"

"It was alright. Caught up on my work, filled out a few forms for work. I did a bit of cleaning, too. Oh! Your washing's on your bed."

You handed his plate over to him, not missing the expression of adoration that briefly flitted across his face. "Thank you," he said graciously, grabbing a knife and fork from your outstretched hand. "Game of Thrones?" He offered, causing you to nod in agreement

Following him through to your sitting area, you tried to decide out when would be a good time to broach the subject. You weren't sure if you should tell him that you disobeyed his clear instructions and went poking through his personal records, or should instead start by admitting that you liked him. Your voice of reason told you to go with the latter, but your heart urged you to confess your betrayal.