You wake up on a crisp October morning by a text from your best friend. You read the message; it said “Oh my god (Y/N), look at Harry’s Facebook pix from last night!” She was referring to Harry Styles, the gorgeous, curly-haired boy from One Direction. But you know him as your best friend since you were 11. The boy who asked you out when you were 13, but you rejected him. The boy you’ve been madly in love with since you were 15, but didn’t dare to tell anyone except your best friend.
You throw your phone on your bed and run to your laptop, logging into Facebook as fast as you can. As soon as you log in, your news feed is filled with pictures of a tipsy-looking Harry surrounded with overly-tan, model-looking bimbos. “Ugh, my day has officially been ruined,” you say to yourself, plopping on your bed. You try to go back to sleep, but your mind is moving a mile a minute, filling with thoughts of Harry.
After hours of just sitting around and thinking, you decide to go for a jog, to get your mind off the pictures. You put on your favorite hoodie (the one Harry gave you for your birthday last year), lace up your shoes, throw your hair up in a messy bun, and run out the door.
The London air feels calming and cool, but you are still over-thinking. “Why did I reject Harry? Why do I still have feelings for him? Why doesn’t he have feelings for me? Why did he get so goddamn sexy?” you keep thinking over and over. You don’t realize your shoe comes untied, until you step on your laces and fall in the middle of the street.
“Oh my god!” you hear a deep, raspy, English voice yell. “Are you alright?”
You sigh and yell “Yes, I’m perfectly fi-” You look up to see Harry Styles running across the street to see if you were really okay. He was wearing a red hoodie, baggy grey sweatpants and a matching grey beanie, and he was carrying groceries. You immediately forget about the fact that you’re on the ground and think “Damn, he still looks so good in sweats.”
As he gets closer and recognizes you, he says “Oh my god (Y/N), your knee!” You look down to see that your knee is completely cut open, blood dripping all the way down to your ankle. You gasp, and say “I swear it doesn’t hurt, I’ll be fine.” But Harry insists that he helps you. He takes a tissue out of his pocket and cleans your leg up, takes a box of bandaids out of the grocery bag, sticks one to your knee, and lightly kisses it. “There, all better.” You thank him and start to limp home, but he stops you, and asks “Why don’t you just come over to my house? It’ll be a closer walk, so you don’t have to limp to the other side of town. Besides, we haven’t chatted in a few months.” You accept his invitation, agreeing that it would be a great opportunity to catch up.
You walk into his flat and you hear Louis Tomlinson, Harry’s bandmate and best friend, yell from across the house “Hazza! What took so long? Did you bring home another mum?” You look up at Harry, as he yells back, “Nah, it’s just (Y/N)!” Louis comes out of his room, sees you and says, “Oh hello (Y/N), you’re not a mum, you’re much too young! Not to mention you’re much more fit than a mum.” You giggle and sarcastically say “Yeah, but not by much.” Louis laughs and says to Harry “I like this one, she’s a keeper,” and walks out the door.
“Oh ignore him,” Harry says, as he takes off his hoodie, and exposes a skin-tight white undershirt. You notice his defined abs and try your best to hold back a smile. You start unzipping your hoodie, only to remember you were only wearing a sports bra underneath. To make an excuse to change out of your sweaty clothes, you ask Harry if you can use his shower. “Not a problem,” he says, and he grabs a towel and some old clothes for you to change into.
As you shut the bathroom door, you suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotion. Just (Y/N)? You hate the sound of that. You turn on the shower, because you knew you were about to cry, and you didn’t want Harry to hear. You get in the shower and start washing your hair, trying to think of anything besides the beautiful boy in the next room over, but you can’t. He’s your everything. But you’re “just (Y/N)” to him. You start singing “I Should’ve Kissed You”, the 1D songs that fits your situation rather well. At first, you sang at almost a whisper, but eventually you got louder and louder until you were screaming and crying, all of your emotions leaving the body.
Suddenly, Harry barges into the bathroom, opens the shower curtain and sees you curled up at the bottom of the shower, crying your eyes out. He turns off the shower, picks you up, puts a towel on you and holds you for a few minutes. He then leaves the bathroom to let you change.
When you come out of the bathroom, wearing one of Harry’s undershirts and a pair of his old basketball shorts and your hair soaking wet, you see Harry in the kitchen, sitting on the counter. He sees you looking at him, and his smile broadens as he says “You don’t look too bad in my clothes.” You giggle and flirtatiously reply, “Well they don’t look so bad on you, either.” He chuckles, and as you sit next to him on the kitchen counter, he asks, “Do you want to talk about what happened earlier or would you rather me forget about it?”
“Well I don’t want to talk about it, but I have to, because I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now.”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, love. It’s alright.”
“I need to, Harry.”
He grew silent, waiting for you to speak. You thought about your words very carefully.
“I was upset,” you start “because I regret not dating you. Harry, I’ve been crazy about you for three years now, and I couldn’t tell you because you’re always with cougars and groupies who are way prettier than me, and I’m just some girl you’ve known since you were a kid. And every time I hear you sing ‘I Should’ve Kissed You’ I break down because the words relate to me so much. If I hadn’t rejected you when we were younger, I wouldn’t be in this situation, wondering what it’s like for you to share the same feeling that I have for you. Harry Edward Styles, I’m in love with you.”
Harry was still silent.
You sigh, realizing that it was a bad idea, and you get off the counter to start for the door, when you feel Harry’s hand grab your wrist. “(Y/N), wait.” You face him, confused. “I do feel the same way about you. I love you, and I have since I was 13. All those others girls, they might be easy and super confident, but they’re nothing compared to you. You know why? Because you’re real. I don’t want a girl with a fake tan, fake boobs and a fake personality. I want you. You’re cute, you’re a laugh, and most of all, you’re modest about it all. You have no idea how great you are. I want you, (Y/N), and only you.” And then he does what you’ve been waiting for for three years. He kisses you. At first it’s soft and gentle, as if your lips are flower petals, and then it gets intense. Your tongue and his tongue are intertwined with each other, almost in sync even. He pulled away, gasping for air. He looks at you, "I never stopped loving you."
