Harry Styles x Male Reader

The Night We Met

I found myself standing outside the famous Troubadour in Los Angeles, a club rich with musical history. Tonight, it wasn’t just any show. Harry Styles, the pop icon himself, was performing an intimate set, and I, by some stroke of luck or destiny, had managed to score a ticket.

The line was long, filled with eager fans chattering excitedly. As I made my way inside, the anticipation buzzed in the air. The venue was packed, the lights dimmed, and the crowd collectively held its breath as Harry took the stage. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the room, sending shivers down my spine.

(Time skip)

After the set, I lingered by the bar, sipping a drink, still under the spell of his performance. I noticed a small door slightly ajar, leading backstage. The security guard was momentarily distracted, and I took a chance, slipping through.

Backstage was a flurry of activity, but amidst it all stood Harry, laughing with his bandmates. He looked over, catching my eye. There was a moment of surprise, followed by a warm, inviting smile. He excused himself and walked over to me.

"Hey there," he said, his British accent making the words sound infinitely more charming. "Enjoy the show?"

"Absolutely," I replied, trying to keep my cool despite the butterflies in my stomach. "You were incredible."

"Thanks, mate," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Want to join me for a drink?"

I nodded, barely able to believe my luck. We found a quiet corner backstage, away from the chaos. Harry ordered a couple of beers, and we started talking. What surprised me was how easy it was to converse with him. Despite his fame, he was grounded, funny, and attentive.

"So, what do you do?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I’m a graphic designer," I replied. "Mostly freelance. It gives me the freedom to travel and catch shows like yours."

"That sounds amazing," he said, leaning in a little closer. "Traveling and designing? You’re living the dream."

I chuckled. "I suppose I am. But it’s nothing compared to what you do."

"Trust me, it’s not all glamor," he said, his gaze lingering on mine. There was an intensity in his eyes, a connection forming. "Sometimes, it gets lonely."

There was a pause, the air thickening between us. "I can imagine," I said softly, my heart pounding. "But you’ve got your music. And your fans."

"Yeah, but it’s different," he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Sometimes you want someone who sees the real you, beyond the spotlight."

His hand brushed against mine, a spark igniting at the contact. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us in that intimate space.

"Maybe," I said, my voice barely audible, "you just need the right person."

Harry’s eyes searched mine, his hand now fully holding mine. "Maybe I do," he murmured, leaning in closer. Our lips were inches apart, the tension between us electric.

And then, in a moment that felt both inevitable and surreal, he kissed me. It was gentle at first, a tentative exploration, but quickly grew more passionate. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, both breathless, he rested his forehead against mine. "Stay with me tonight," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

"Yes," I replied, no hesitation. "I’d like that."

And in that moment, I knew that my life was forever changed.