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purplecoffee13 · 2 months

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I’ve had this scenario in my head for ages now and yesterday after watching Harry’s performance with Stevie Nicks I couldn’t stop thinking abt it. I was wondering if you could make a one shot or smth abt y/n getting ready to see Harry perform (solo or w some1) and all of her emotions growing considering she was/still is a fan but not like before when she was a teen ykwim? She’s so in awe and loves him so much!! Once the show or wtv it’s over they get back home/ or hotel (you choose) order room service (or delivery) eat and then cuddle till the fall asleep. Idk it’s just so cute and It’s one of my fav scenarios to make me fall asleep 🤍

STAHP this is so cute yes ofc🥹💞 it’s on the short side, but I hope it lives up to your imagination at least a little bit, enjoy! xxx

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Proud was understatement for the way you felt about Harry performing with his friend Stevie tonight.

His friend, Stevie fucking Nicks.

The fact that he could call her a friend was insane. You knew how much he had looked up to her all his life, and for her to ask him to join her on stage once again was an honor which he couldn’t believe was bestowed upon him.

There was a giddiness that traveled through your entire body as you got ready for Harry’s performance. He had been gone since midday, as his presence was required for sound check. The smile on your face couldn’t have been beaten off with a bat; you were too happy for him.

He had been so nervous this morning, checking whether his keys were in his pocket three times before finally taking off. Last night in bed, after taking up your offer for a massage, he confessed he was afraid he’d mess it up. You assured him that he wouldn’t, but he merely sighed.

“This is different.” He had said. “She asked me, to help her.”

You had temporarily stopped massaging him then, almost tearing up at the worry in his voice. It made sense. She was asking him for a favor, and she’d never really done that before. It wasn’t just a performance, it was a tribute. It was about more than just Stevie, so he wanted to get it right.

And my god, did he get it right.

Your vision was partly blurry during the entirety of his time on stage, and you were glad that you had simultaneously—albeit badly—recorded the performance. Harry was shining of course; he always did when on stage.

It wasn’t the first time you had seen Harry perform. You had been to many shows since you started going out with him, and before that.

A show of his was actually how you two met.

It was years ago, and you were still working as a receptionist at one of New York’s finest hotels, when one night you had to check in someone under quite a peculiar name.

Ricky BlueLetter.

You had chuckled to yourself upon seeing the reservation, wondering who could possibly be so lucky as to have been named after Fleetwood Mac songs. No one, it turned out to be. It was Harry Styles’ alias.

It was hard to contain your heartbeat when Harry stood at your desk, greeting you and handing you his I.D. while he waited for the check-in to be completed. You were trembling a bit, and when he asked you if you were okay, you quickly made up a lie about being cold. To be fair, the air conditioning was always blowing quite harshly.

The following night, you were attending his concert. Your plan was to stay in the back of the pit, but upon realizing the stage went around the pit, you knew that you were going to be close to him anyway. You were far too nervous that he’d see you; it would’ve been too embarrassing considering you pretended not to know him the night before.

Safe to say, Harry did see you. He spotted you as he hopped around the stage, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds before laughing. You swore you could have melted through the floor, especially since you probably had to be confronted with this situation at work. You did have to work the rest of the weekend—it was the only way you would’ve gotten the night off—and Harry was performing both Saturday and Sunday. You wanted to slap yourself in the face for being so nonchalant the night before.

The next morning, you had a shift from 7am to 2pm. Upon going to soundcheck, Harry saw you, and approached you. He was cocky when he asked what you thought of his show, and you rolled your eyes before you could even stop yourself. Harry liked your playfulness, and before his stay officially came to an end, he asked you for your number.

Of course you said yes, the little girl inside of you was screaming and throwing a party. You couldn’t believe that the guy who you used to read about in a magazine as a kid was asking you out in real life. However, you never thought it would’ve lead to a stable, three year long relationship.

That first show, despite how embarrassing you thought it was back then, was the most special and defining event you’d ever been to.

And yet, it felt different this time.

Maybe it had to do with the audience not being there solely for Harry, and him performing songs he had loved so deeply ever since he was a kid, instead ones he wrote. There was a different type of love attached to those songs, and you felt the radiation of it burst through the speakers.

It was simple, yet intricate. The gruff edges of his voice blended perfectly with the soft tone in which he sang, making for an almost impossible cohesiveness that was as complex as the feeling of grief itself. Without necessarily intending to, he had mirrored the harsh reality of loss interwoven with precious memories. It was pure, in a sad way. In a way that had you go through two packs of tissues in the short time that he had accompanied his friend on stage.

It was beautiful— he was beautiful, and perfect.

Your eyes were red, and your make-up was ruined by the time Harry left the stage. The fact that the first thing he did was walk towards you and pull you into an embrace could’ve made you run through seven more packs of tissues. How lucky were you to have a man who could not only write and tell you his feelings, but express them with the sole sound of his voice? You felt blessed.

Afterwards, Harry introduced you to Stevie—which was the second most scary thing you had ever done, because meeting his sister was the first—and you talked for an hour or two. The active reminder in your head that these were normal people with normal feelings who just happened to have a shit ton of money and talent was the only thing that kept you slightly calm, as did the touch of Harry’s hand on you at all times.

Later that night, as you lie in bed with Harry, eating some grapes from the dessert plate you ordered, you are still gushing about every aspect of the night.

“She called me pretty.”

“Well, you are pretty.” Harry says, pulling you further into him. The soft noise of the TV playing some random movie makes the night feel a lot more normal than it actually was.

“And smart!” You giggle, biting your lip at the feeling of Harry’s lips pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You’re very smart, too.” He responds softly. You turn around to face him, and climb onto his lap. Observing his beautiful face, you run a hand through his hair. His eyes shut for a moment at the soothing feeling, before they softly flutter open again.

“I am so proud of you, Harry.” You whisper. The smile on your face feels light and easy, just as easy as it is to love him.

“Thank you baby.” He breathes, the corner of his mouth slowly rising as he looks down. You cup his face, moving his face until it’s directed toward you again, and inch closer to your boyfriend.

“I don’t think you understand. I am so fucking proud of you, Harry. The way you sang on that stage, it— you are the first person who has ever made sorrow look so stunning to me.” You elaborate, needing him to know the significance of what he did today. Not only did he not mess up at all, he went above and beyond the definition of a great performance. “She saw it too, she felt it.”

A breathy laugh escapes Harry’s throat, and he slowly shakes his head, his hands sneaking around your waist. His head dips down as he pulls you closer, and he buries himself into your neck. It stays awfully quiet, but the deep breath that follows from his side tells you enough. That exhale made way for the anxiety and nervousness to leave his body, so that he could be proud of the perfect memory that replaced those feelings. You both stay like that for a few minutes, before you interrupt the self-made silence, and tap him softly on the back of his head.

“Harry…”

He hums from inside your neck, tightening his grip around you to communicate that, in case you were gonna ask him to let go, he doesn’t want to.

“Could I interest you in a grape?” You offer. It had occurred to you that so far, you had been the only one to eat from the plate, and you want to make sure that Harry eats something before he goes to bed. You don’t know how much he ate since he left home early today, because he was too nervous this morning.

Harry pulls his head away from your neck, a lazy smirk on his face as his eyes meet yours. He chuckles at the way you grab the plate and hold it up in front of him with a sweet smile.

“You’re a dork.” He says. You frown at the comment.

“That’s not an answer.” You pout, pushing the plate further towards him. He laughs, grabbing the plate from your hands and putting it next to the two of you where it was before. He plucks two grapes and throws them into his mouth, raising his brows at you as he chews and swallows them.

“Happy?”

You grin. “The happiest.”

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