Harry Styles Imagines

How You Meet

It's open mic night at your favorite bar, and you've just finished singing 'Why'd You Only Call Me When Your High?' By The Arctic Monkeys.

This is how you have to pay the bills because the one job you have isn't enough.

The crowd had liked it more than you were expecting, and had been very generous with the money they threw into your guitar case.

You've been singing since you were a little child, and it hadn't gotten you anywhere.

As you're putting your guitar back in its case a curly haired guy approaches you, a smile on his face.

He stands near you for awhile, not saying anything. You impatiently wait for him to speak.

"Wow. Can I just say you have like the prettiest voice I've ever heard."

You roll your eyes, recognizing a lie.

"Ya right."

"Ok maybe not, but you are the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

He smiles, then tucks his hands in his pockets.

"You are, love." He says, his voice lowering to just above a whisper.

You roll your eyes again, and then head towards the bartender.

He follows you closely.

"What do you want from me?" You ask, the tone of your voice harsh.

"I wanted to tell you that you're pretty, is that a crime?"

"No."

"I'm Harry. Harry Styles." He holds out a hand for me to shake, but I only stare at it.

He says it like the name has some importance to it.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

He contemplates it. He opens his mouth like there are words on his tongue.

"No."

You quickly order 2 shots of tequila before he can interrupt again.

"Usually when someone introduces themselves, the other is supposed to do the same."

The bartender places the shots in front of you. You quickly dump them down your throat, leaving a burning.

"I am not telling you my name." You say, grabbing your guitar and leaving.