And they were roommates (Patreon)

Hello! I'm so sorry that I've been sort of down for the count, they have really tried slaughtering me with all these exams and labs, but I'm back at it! I'll have a professor Harry part out within the next three days and I've been working on the last part of gang harry! Lots of stuff coming!

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Harry likes the springtime. 

He likes that the flowers are blooming in the parks, the breeze is warm that blows the soft and subtly sweet scent through his nose, the sun bathes him in kisses like apologies for being gone for so long. He likes the way daylight pours through his windows half past six in the morning, golden rays slicing through his blinds. He likes how the rain patters against the roof of his flat, the dewy feel of the grass beneath his bare toes after a storm, how the birds begin chirping again when the grey cloudy sky rolls away. He likes the reinvigorating feeling of renewal, dead plants coming to life, branches of trees speckled with green leaves, shrub bushes flowering. 

And he likes Y/N. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely associated with spring, but his feelings for her only grow stronger in the times that he feels his happiest. Springtime always accompanies a more chipper side of him, and with it, his heart is prone to swell with immense love at every little gesture someone might do for him. Whether it be his mates, his family, his partner at the time -- everyone always wanted to be around Harry in the spring because Harry in the spring was just delightful. . .even Harry himself thought so. 

So it made total sense why the feelings that had just begun to sparkle in autumn for his new roommate Y/N, would germinate as fast as a marigold.

They had meant through Craigslist, crazy enough. Harry made a listing as a last-ditch effort to choose a roommate who could go half on rent with him -- he’d been living with his girlfriend prior, but after an incredibly messy breakup she decided that living with her mum thirty minutes from class beat having to look at Harry’s sad mug every day until she found an alternative (her words, not his own). So when Y/N came into his life, he was feeling wounded and soft, looking for companionship that wasn’t necessarily romantic. . .he just needed someone who could bring him the comfort of being home.

Y/N came to his doorstep with a worn-down Van Halen shirt, with the graphics chipped and faded around the edges of the picture, denim jeans that had a huge, thready hole at the knee, and a worried look on her face. 

“I forgot to mention that I have a bearded dragon that would be coming with me, and at first I was going to make you fall in love with me as a roommate and then spring it on you, but that would’ve been rude, and if you still said no, I wouldn’t have wanted to fall in love with this place so I’m telling you now, so there’s no chance I can lie about it.” She’s breathless by the end of her sentence, and Harry feels a little winded himself as he’s taking her all in.  She smells like cinnamon rolls and he would admit that the way her brows are knitted and she’s looking at him like she might have told him she ran over his mailbox. . .was pretty cute. 

“What’s his name?” Harry asks, watching as a small smile plucks at her mouth. 

“Gremlin.” She offers, then soon adding, “He’s really sweet, and -- like I know reptiles kind of get a bad rep, but he’s very cuddly too if you ever wanted to hold him.”

Harry pretends to think on it, humming a soft hmmmmm before he playfully starts to swing the door closed, only to stop it with his other hand and push it open wider, “I’m just joking, c’mon in. Reckon I’ve always wanted to hold a beardie but I’ve never been given the chance to.” 

He replays the smile that had blossomed on her face, which he would now equate to the beauty of the mountain-laurel (his favorite springtime flower) and the laugh that bubbled from her throat as she took a step in, “Thank god,” she sighed out of relief, her shoulders sunk, “I was pissing myself the whole way here, I was so nervous.”

Harry could tell from then on that they would get along just fine. He would never toot his own horn aloud, but he is a lovely judge of character and Y/N only proved him right.  A lot had been counted on her move-in day -- there was nothing more critical than seeing someone you’re meant to live within a time of stress. She handled it well, carried most of her boxes herself, but her mate Edward (who he thought might have been a boyfriend, until he later grumbled something about being in a fight with  “his girl”) helped some as well.

“I mostly came to make sure you didn’t give off murderer vibes. Y/N’s shit at reading people.” He told Harry as he plucked a chocolate donut (Y/N bought a case for them all to share).

“Fair enough,” Harry had agreed, “Have I passed?” 

“Do you put the toilet paper overhand or underhand?” 

“Over.”

“You passed.”

He helped her unpack, she told him she had nothing to hide and it might make them feel closer. It was also much easier to learn about someone when you were literally sifting through their things. Harry got many stories, from all the nick nacks she had, a shirt from the show that she watched that made her feel warm and cozy when times are hard, and even the quilt that she had from her grandma, that she treats like a treasure and folds it precisely -- it has to be just right to be placed on her bed. Harry learned that she had a lot of band tees even if she didn’t listen to the band because they were big and soft and she could get them two for twenty at the mall -- they play a game appropriately named “does she listen to them?” which opens them up to the discussion of songs, who they liked, what songs they put on for what occasion. . .it was good. By the end of the night, Harry could have sworn he’d known her for his entire life. 

Harry hadn’t gone into it expecting to feel anything more than a platonic friendship with her. The first few weeks it remained completely innocent, Harry just reveled in how nice it felt to come home to someone who exudes tranquil warmth. She is gentle, her voice is soft, and Gremlin nine times out of ten is sat sleeping on her shoulder. Harry could flop down on the couch cushion beside her and moan about his day, and get what Y/N calls ‘creatine cuddles’ from her bearded dragon who she says has “magical abilities where he takes all the negativity of the day and concentrates it into energy for himself”. 

“If you think about it, we’re feeding him. He likes it more than strawberry slices.” 

It was the seventh-week benchmark when Y/N first played with his hair.  After an entirely too hard, no good day that he told her he doesn’t even think Gremlin could fix (he had done well at fixing the rest), Y/N set the throw pillow from the couch in her lap and patted it, “Lie down then, I’ll play with your hair and we can watch that documentary about sea slugs.” 

If there was one thing that any of his friends could tell you, it was that playing with Harry’s hair was the key to his heart. It was a secret that most of his mates told girls who were interested in him, that if they wanted to get a jump on showing their affections, the best way was to card their fingers through his hair. Gently run their fingernails across his scalp, twist and play with the soft strands, smooth them out, ruffle them, then smooth them out again. 

Y/N had done it without prompt and Harry fell asleep in her lap thinking about how lucky he was to have found her. 

She baked bread like a Disney character, and apple cinnamon buns whenever she got the chance. If she made herself lunch for the day she would make him one too. If he left his laundry in the dryer she would fold it up for him instead of flopping it onto his mattress. And if he ever slept through his alarm or forgot to set it, Y/N would coax him awake with sweet words and rub his shoulder until he was conscious. He thinks the best way he’d ever woken up was to Y/N’s own sleep, puffy-eyed face. 

“Hey, button, you picked up a shift at six, remember?” She caressed him gently, only pulling the covers back a bit so he couldn’t cuddle back into them, “It’s five -- do you want a few more minutes?” 

“No, s’fine,” he remembers murmuring, his tongue a heavy lump in his mouth as he tried to make sense of the world around him, turning around on his back and stretching his arms up toward his headboard, “You’re saving me, I would have not woken up. Why’re you up, hm?” 

“Figured you would forget to set your alarm so I set mine.” 

His heart had swelled about ten times too big for his chest. 

And it isn’t like Harry wasn’t returning any favors. He was sweet on her always, he’d make her dinner or he’d cater to her drunken self when she returned from parties, tucking her in. Harry would feed Gremlin in the off chance she wouldn’t be home around dinner time or go pick her up from class when the clouds grew heavy with rain and he knew she had not prepared for it. If she needed to go anywhere at all he would take her in a heartbeat and if she wanted to watch the latest horror film that she had preoccupied google searches with, then Harry would gladly watch it with her (she got scared on her own, and she liked to chat throughout the boring bits). 

They were there for each other, and whether they could admit it or not, they were closer to one another than either had ever been with a significant other. 

Harry tells himself that he can keep it casual. Not everything has to go through the plot development of a Nicholas Sparks’ novel, or even turn out how he wants them to. He doesn’t know if Y/N’s feelings surpass that of platonic love and he doesn’t want to push it in fear of ruining something beautiful. Would she be uncomfortable? Would she move out? Those same two questions swirl through his head at their current situation too. 

Their current situation being that Y/N had just walked in on Harry touching himself. 

It had happened so quickly. Harry was pent up and stressed out, with a tension in his body that could only be released with a nice, strong orgasm. . .one that he might have edged and drawn out until he came. Of course, he tries to think about other things apart from Y/N (because he feels a bit guilty when he does) but she pervades his mind in every way imaginable. It doesn’t help that he had to use her laundry detergent the day before when he did his bedding after realizing he was out of his own, so when he tilted his head into his pillowcases it smells like he’s in her bed. And she dances through his mind, in the little burgundy shorts she wears that might be a little too short but she slips them on when she’s hot. She’d never been one to fear nudity, and would barely close her door if she was getting changed so he’d walked in on her a few times as she unclipped her bra, her breasts soft and supple as they fell from the cups. He’d close his eyes and apologize but she’d always tease him for being a baby before tugging a shirt over her head and letting him know by, “Alright Mr. Celibacy, I’m clothed.” 

He finds it hard not to think about her -- about splitting her open, fitting himself between her thighs and working her over. To make her feel good, with his fingers, his tongue, his prick. . .he could touch her, taste her, and fill her right up to the brim until she’s trembling, whimpering. He could pull her nipple into his mouth and suckle at it, laving her tongue over the bud, taste the salt of her skin and let her moans echo in his ears. Breathe her in, feeling her fingers nestled in his hair tugging at the strands. 

Lost in his thoughts of her is precisely why he didn’t hear the front door open, nor did he hear the subtle creak of weight shifting the floorboards, and he sure as hell hadn’t heard Y/N until she was pushing his door open and saying something along the lines of, “Do you want to cook tonight or do you wanna order in ‘cos -- Oh! Oh, god, I’m sorry!” She clapped her hand over her eyes and stumbled backward, fumbling for the doorknob looping her fingers around it and swinging it closed. 

Harry was left breathless, panting, his hand off his cock as a subtle bead of panic began to stream through him. 

That had been three hours ago, and he’s still worried about showing his face. Would she be uncomfortable? Did she want to move out? Harry couldn’t have told you if he was saying her name or not if he’d moaned it in any way that she was now interpreting. When he left his room to get a glass of water, her door was shut and there was silence on the opposite end. Did they need to talk about it? Or was this one of those things the both of them could pretend hadn’t happened? Or maybe pretending it didn’t happen would make it worse, and they actually needed to talk about it? 

He doesn’t know -- he’d never really been walked in on like that before, so he isn’t sure what to do. But after pacing in the kitchen for a good ten minutes and downing a cold glass of water, he makes his way back to the hallway, heading toward her bedroom. He’s determined -- to say or do what, he didn’t know -- but he didn’t want this to put any halt in their friendship together. . .things were too good for his cock to ruin it. 

Harry makes it outside of her door, and just before he loses the fire that had been burning under his bum to make him come to her door in the first place, it swings open. Y/N is standing there looking frazzled and shaking her head, “I won’t allow this to make things awkward,” she declares, holding out her hand to him and Harry barely hesitates before fitting his own against her palm, “Harry Styles, masturbation is a normal thing, and everyone does it -- hell, I probably do it more than I should,” he swallows hard at that, “But it’s natural and beautiful, so you’re not allowed to be embarrassed about it and I refuse to be embarrassed about it. I’m sorry I walked in on you, we will discuss a way we can let the other know indiscreetly that our hand is in our pants, yeah? Is that okay?” Blinking fast, he nods before he can even fully comprehend all the words that came out of her mouth, “Great! That’s done then. Do you wanna come on a walk with me to the park? It’s nice out and Edward said they’re handing out free ice cream cones to college students.” 

He nods again, and they split ways to put on clothes and get their things. Harry felt relieved because he doesn’t think he could have met a more understanding, amazingly kind person as she is and it only makes his feelings for her grow more fervently. 

But he’s happy to pretend that that isn’t the case if it means that they can stay like this forever. 

Even if his heart raced when she held his hand.