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haroldslovekitten · 7 years

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Sweet Creature - Pink Series pt. 1

Hello lovelies! Here is part one of that angsty, slow burn, friends to lovers series I’m starting! The series will be called Pink and there will be 10 parts in total, each one inspired by/including one of the songs on Harry’s album.

Word Count: 5k

Enjoy! .xx -M

“So, you’re ready to get back into the game again, huh?” you ask around a mouthful of scone, crumbs tumbling from your lips as you speak.

“Yeah, I think I am. It’s been a long break, and I think I’m ready to really start writing again,” Harry smiles, the future career he’s planning seeming like more and more of a reality.

“Well, I for one, am excited. Always wanted to know what you’d do on your own.”

“You’ve heard some of my own songs,” he questions, sipping his tea.

“Well yeah, but like, none of those were written for your own personal album, H, they were more for fun. I wanna see you in your element,” you say.

Harry smiles at that, thinking about all the possible directions his music career could take now that it’s just him. The prospect is exciting and terrifying. He has to admit though, having friends like you supporting him is a huge help, and he knows the boys will be supportive too as they branch out themselves.

“What about you?” Harry asks. “What are you planning now that you’ve graduated?”

“Psssh,” you huff nervously. “Honestly, I have no fucking clue. Might just be a bum. Or maybe I can be a groupie for Harry Styles on his solo tour!” you say sarcastically, dodging the question.

“I’d be happy to take you along, you know that,” he says, but you just roll your eyes. “Really though, what are you going to do?”

“Honestly, making a career as a filmmaker isn’t exactly easy. It’s not like I can just go audition on a TV show and have my entire life made for me,” you tease. “Think I’m going to have to try to be an assistant to some hotshot first, then get my scripts out there.”

“I could talk to some people, if you want?”

“No no no no, Harry. No,” you say firmly. “I will not have you doing all my networking for me and let myself become successful just because I’m Harry Styles’ best friend. Gotta do it on my own, you know?”

“Mmmm,” he nods his head, understanding completely the need to make it on your own merit. The same thought is what’s haunting him about his solo career. “Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Even if it’s just reading your work or summat.”

“Yeah, I will,” you smile, reaching over and squeezing his hand in thanks. “So, how’s the love life?”

“You’re a blunt one aren’t you?” Harry laughs before actually considering his answer. “It’s pretty nonexistent.”

“What about that one model?”

“Yeah, that’s over. Very, very over. Just don’t think it’s the right time for me. Don’t know when it will be, but I spend all my time with people I don’t really know. Not exactly fairytale circumstances for me.”

“Well, you spend time with me. I could be your fairytale,” you giggle at the absurd thought.

“Mmm, my tea-slurping, messy-eating, in her head entirely too often fairytale,” he teases right back.

“Oh yes, I’m quite the catch,” you respond, harmless flirting being a staple of your friendship for years now.

“What about you? Any prince charmings on the horizon?”

“As if. I have a very steamy conversation with the barista at my local Starbucks every morning if that counts.”

Harry snorts at the pun and nods, knowing the feeling.

You spend the next hour talking about mutual friends, family, venting about work and media and discussing just how important it is that Harry continue to wear women’s pants.

“Never thought me wearing ladies’ jeans would be such a fucking deal,” he laughs.

“Yeah well, you look better in them than I do, so you can go fuck yourself,” you respond, laughing.

“Nonsense,” Harry says, ever the gentleman.

You pick up your phone, reading a text and gasping. Harry looks up, slightly disappointed. You must have to leave. You never get to hang out enough, in his humble opinion, but any time he spends with you feels just like old times, so he’ll take what he can get.

“James just text, the actor we hired for our short film just bailed. Got a part in a commercial and thinks his career is going to take off, so he quit this. I’ve got to go sort this out. I’m so sorry,” you apologize.

“Don’t worry about it, good luck finding someone else. If there’s anything I can do, let me know,” he tells you, genuinely wanting to help and spend more time with you.

“Actually, yeah, come to my house Friday around 8? I’ve missed hanging out with you. We’re always so busy, I never feel like I know what’s going on with you. Let’s make an effort to see each other more, yeah? Now that you’re on a break and all? It’ll be something to look forward to for the rest of the week. Get me through the hell I have to put up with at work,” you smile and Harry feels like he might blush, which is weird. He guesses he’s just not used to being the reward for a long week of work, it feels so domestic.

“Sounds perfect. I’ll bring that wine I know you like too.”

“You’re literally the sweetest,” you reply, grabbing your purse, giving him a quick kiss to the cheek, and rushing off.

Harry finishes up his food, paying for the both of you before he heads home, a silly smile on his face the whole way there. When you live the life of a popstar, sometimes normalcy is hard to find. Life is big, luxurious, fancy, and damn expensive. Having you as a best friend brings him back down to earth as he goes to coffee shops with you where you always order the cheapest thing, despite him often paying, drink the cheapest wine he’s ever bought but knows you love it, and having conversation that doesn’t revolve around this and that famous person or catty feuds with people. You’re his breath of fresh air and he’s ecstatic that you wants him around more often, possibly more ecstatic than he should be, he thinks, but he’ll ignore that for now.

The next two days go by in a blur as he begins doing a little more writing for his album, getting his brain back in music mode. Honestly, knowing he was going to spend time at your apartment on the weekend put him in an incredibly good mood. As he finds himself writing, his song is happy, chipper even, and he finally feels like strumming away on his guitar is a fun activity, rather than an obligation. Just before he jumps in the shower Friday night, he gets a text from you.

Okay, I’m super lame and went on Pinterest to find something to make tonight and I found the most complicated recipe for cheesy chicken pasta I’ve ever fucking read. Be prepared to work your butt off suzy-homemaker.

Who says I’ll be helping?

He replies with a giggle before showering, washing his newly short hair with way too much shampoo. He still hasn’t gotten used to using like half the product he used to. By the time he’s finished getting ready, he’s smelling like Tom Ford cologne and looking good enough to eat, if he does say so himself. He doesn’t like to be a particularly cocky person, but he is well aware of how swoon-worthy he looks sometimes. He checks his phone once more before leaving.

Well, unless you want burnt chicken and overcooked pasta for dinner, you’re helping.

Only because I love you x

He winces a little after he texts that. You used to tell each other you loved each other all the time. He tells most of his friends that, if he’s being honest, but they’ve been so busy lately and have kind of drifted, so he’s a little worried that you won’t feel quite as close as you used to, that it might weird you out.

Love you too, asshole. Now hurry up, I’m hungry.

Harry’s breath huffs out in a relieved laugh when he sees the response, and he promptly jumps in his car and drives over as quickly as possible. He stops by the corner off-license to grab the wine, getting two bottles because he knows you will probably drink a whole one yourself, and makes it to your place just before 8. When you open the door, you’re in short shorts and a t-shirt with holes all in it, obviously dressed down for the occasion. Harry looks down at his skinny jeans and floral button down and instantly feels overdressed.

“Someone looks fancy,” you chirp, taking the wine from him and ushering him inside.

“Yeah,” he laughs nervously.

“You know, you don’t have to rub in how unbelievably handsome you are, right? You could at least try to look like a normal person every once in awhile,” you tease, getting all of the ingredients for dinner and setting them on the counter.

“Sorry about that, ‘m just so irresistible. Do you have that spare pair of sweats I used to keep here? I could maybe dress down? Make you feel better?” he jokes.

“And what shirt would you wear?”

“Ummm, none? Or one of yours I guess?”

“Yeah, shirtless you is going to make me feel loads better. Actually…I might have the perfect thing,” you say after contemplating for a moment.

You wave him to follow you into your bedroom, the once familiar territory looking much the same as it did two years ago when he’d spend nearly every free weekend he had hanging out here. You rustle through one of your dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of sweats from the very back. Harry can’t lie that he’s a little disappointed you had these stuffed in the back of a drawer, rather than wearing them yourself every once in awhile. He pushes the thought away though, you’re is just his best friend. Why would you wear his clothes? With a smile, you goe to your closet, thumbing through shirts until you find one.

“Aha,” you giggle, handing him a small white t-shirt that has his face from about 2014 plastered on it.

“What the actual fuck is this?” he cackles.

“Told you I was a fan, you know, before we met,” you laugh.

“This picture wasn’t taken that long before we met!” he doubles over in laughter, clutching the shirt. “Plus, it could fit a 12 year old!”

“Shut up! I developed late, okay? You know very well that I look much different now than when we met!”

“Mmm, true. Now you’ve got those cuuurves,” he giggles, beginning to unbutton his shirt to change.

He doesn’t miss the blush on your cheeks as you watch him, then shake your head and leave the room to give him some privacy. Once he finishes changing, he realizes just how absolutely ridiculous he looks. For starters, the shirt used to fit a tiny 18 year old you and barely stretches over his broad frame. His face is all dimples on the fabric, and you can see his tattoos through the shirt. It’s the silliest thing he’s ever seen. But, to top it off, he hadn’t thought about the fact that the sweats were also a few years old, and much too short for him now. So now, rather than looking hot as hell in his tight jeans and designer top, he’s wearing high-water sweats and a shirt with his own fucking fetus face staring out from it. Just what he needs.

He walks back into the kitchen slowly, head hanging in mock shame.

“Oh my god,” you shout, almost immediately falling to the floor in laughter. “You look insane,” you say between harsh breaths.

“Oi, shut up. I make this look good,” he drawls ironically, which just encourages further laughter.

“Okay okay, I need a picture. I need a picture.”

“No no no no, absolutely no fucking way,” he says, eyes going wide with worry.

“It’s not like I’m going to post it, you idiot. But I need it, for posterity’s sake. Pleeease?” you whine, and how the fuck can Harry resist those big blue puppy-dog eyes.

“For your eyes only,” he says sternly, pointing his finger at you for emphasis.

“Mmm, course,” you reply in mock seriousness before grabbing your phone and snapping a quick shot with him pouting angrily.

Now that you’re both dressed down and more comfortable, you dim the lights a little bit, and begin cooking, you doing most of the chopping and slicing of things, Harry handling anything to do with fire. You could not be trusted to not burn down the house, and to be honest, he was actually quite worried about you having a knife in your hands as well. More than once, he almost intervened and said he’d cook the whole damn meal. But, you looked so happy and excited to be cooking this new recipe with him, he couldn’t be the reason that giddy smile and look of concentration left you face when it warmed his heart so much to see it there, so instead, he kept a close eye on you, making sure you didn’t lose a finger. You both wiggle around each other in the kitchen, singing along to the Motown playlist you had put on, cooking and sipping wine together in complete harmony. Harry could not honestly say that his eyes didn’t linger as you wiggled your hips to a particularly upbeat song, or that he didn’t bite his lip when you’d bend down to get another cutting board from the cabinets. More than once, he stopped himself from reaching out and pulling you close, these new feelings definitely shocking him. Sure, it’d been awhile since he’d seen you, but he’s never thought of you as anything more than a sister before. So why now, is he sitting here struggling to keep his gaze purely platonic? You really were a sweet little thing, a sweet little creature, and he couldn’t deny that nearly everything you did put a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’ll burn the chicken if you keep looking at me like that!” you shout, swatting at his arm and bringing him out of his daze. “Don’t look that hideous, do I?” you laugh somewhat nervously.

“Not at all, love, just got a bit of something on your face,” he mentions before reaching out and smearing a bit of the cream they were using for the sauce onto your cheek.

You look at him aghast, picking up one of the cherry tomatoes you were slicing and throwing it directly at his forehead.

“Come now, don’t waste food,” he scolds, to your utter shock!

“You’re the one who initiated it!”

“No need to go pointing fingers,” he grins before going back to cooking.

“Dick,” you mumble under your breath, but can’t keep the smirk from your face.

Soon enough the meal is cooked and you are already halfway through your bottle of wine and still barely tipsy. When you sit down and eat, Harry laughs at the way you stuff your face with pasta, no shame at all. He feels a little pride when you groan in satisfaction at the taste of the pasta, knowing he did most of the work. As you both eat, Harry’s phone buzzes with a text from Gemma.

Always knew you were a self-obsessed ass.

Apparently there is a picture attached and when he opens the message he sees the photo of himself, ridiculous shirt and sweats and all. His jaw drops as he looks at you as you unsuspectingly finish one of your last bites of food.

“What?” you ask, confused by his gaze.

“I said for your eyes only, little lady!” he scolds, showing you his phone.

You nearly spit out the food in your mouth as you realize Gemma is just as bad at keeping secrets as you are.

“Come on, how could I not send that to her?”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies, knowing his sister probably enjoyed it immensely. “Never gonna trust you again though.”

“Hey, you can trust me!” you pout, taking a gulp of wine.

“Can I really? Said you’d keep that private and now my sister’s sending it to me. Tell me the truth, did you even for a second think about actually keeping it to yourself?” Harry accuses.

“Not for a second,” you laugh loudly. “But you tell me the truth, did you ever for a second really think I would?”

“Not exactly,” he laughs, admitting defeat.

“Knew we still knew each other well,” you smirk.

“Mmm, bet there are some things we don’t know though, yeah?” he asks, a suspicious grin coming across his features.

“I suppose,” you respond, giving him a questioning look.

“What do you say to a bit of truth or dare?” Harry asks and you can honestly say you’re shocked, though it could definitely be fun.

“Hmmmm, alright then,” you say after a moment’s hesitation.

“Who first?” he asks.

“Well you, obviously! You suggested it!” you laugh, taking another admittedly huge gulp of wine.

“Alright, truth,” he says, making eye contact with you as if challenging you to ask him something really good.

This is almost your least favorite part of the game, coming up with something interesting to ask the other person. You don’t want it to be so embarrassing that they’ll lie, but you also want to find out something really great while you can. After a moment, you finally come up with your question.

“How much did you hate me when we were at that bar last year, during the summer, and that really hot blond gave you her number and offered to go home with you, but you couldn’t because I was drunk off my ass and needed you to take care of me?” you ask, almost nervous of the answer. You two had had an amazing night that night. Though you can’t remember much of it, Harry caught plenty of your drunken karaoke in his living room on video and those are some of your favorite not-so-well-remembered memories.

“Honestly, I was completely angry at first, probably a little rude to her too when she offered to come home with me and I told her no. But that night was worth it, oh so worth it,” he says, laughing at the memories he still has perfectly in his head.

You flush at the thought, knowing you probably did some terribly embarrassing things that night that you don’t recall but that Harry would have in vivid memory.

“Okay, your turn! Truth or dare?” he asks, the excited light in his eyes letting you know you definitely have something to worry about.

“Hmmm, dare,” you say, though completely nervous as to what he’ll make you do.

“Call your sister and tell her you’re in love with me and that we’re running off to get married,” he says after only a moment’s pause.

“Oh my god, we’re bringing her into this?” you ask, but take out your phone nonetheless.

“Sure are,” he chuckles, his eyes on you. “And have it on speaker too.”

With a mumbled ‘shit’ you put your phone on speaker and call your sister.

“What do you want?” she answers, always the courteous one.

“Hello to you too, asshole,” you laugh.

“Hi,” she says, obviously annoyed.

“Oh my god, lighten up, what are you doing?”

“Nothing important,” she says shortly.

“Okay, well,” Harry nods at you excitedly, some of his now short hair falling onto his forehead when he does. “I...uh, I just called to tell you I’m madly in love with Harry and uh, we’re eloping,” you try not to giggle as you tell her the blatant lie.

“Am I supposed to be surprised?” she asks coldly. She’s always had a strange way of showing affection, but you know she means no harm. “Uh...yes,” you laugh awkwardly, looking at Harry whose eyes have gone wide, mouth open slightly. “Especially since it’s a total lie, Harry dared me to tell you. How could you even think I’d be in love with Harry?” you laugh, quite enjoying this dare.

“Oi, being in love with me’s not that wild of an idea, is it?” he asks, mock offended.

“Shut up,” you giggle, trying to listen to your sister.

“Oh, ok. Well, whatever. Hi, Harry,” she says after having heard his voice.

“Hiiiii,” he drawls, giggling and apparently already a little tipsy.

“Is that it?” she asks.

“Yeah, that was it,” you respond, now wanting this conversation to be over.

“Ok, well bye.”

“Bye, love you!” you say, rushing the ‘love you’ to squeak it in before she hangs up.

“Love you too,” she says quickly before ending the call.

“Oh my god,” Harry cackles, proper rocking in his seat from laughter, but you know him well enough to see that it is at least a little fake.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” you laugh, avoiding eye contact.

“Mmhmm, course not,” he giggles.

“Anyways, truth or dare?”

He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are avoiding his when you ask, but that could be the wine and your sleepiness after a long week. It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?

“Ummm, dare,” he says, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You nod, thinking for a moment before finally deciding on something. This is so much easier when you have other people to discuss with before choosing your truth or dare…

“I dare you to play me the newest thing you’ve been working on,” you smile, proud of your dare. He probably would have done it anyway, but now he has to!

He stares at you for a moment, debating if he will actually do it or not. His gaze is intense, as it always is, but there’s something new behind this look. He is internally panicking, wondering what you will think of the song and also if you’ll be able to figure out it was mostly inspired by you. Of course, a few of the lines were inspired by Gemma, but you were the general idea backing the song. If you knew that...he doesn’t think he could handle it. You, on the other hand, have never heard him so nervous to sing to you, but chalk it up to the fact that this is his first solo work, the first stuff that is only him, so it carries a bit more weight.

You both move into the living room where you keep the guitar that used to be your grandpa’s but you never play, despite having tried to teach yourself how multiple times. He picks up the guitar, tuning it quickly as he sits on the couch. You sit down on the floor below him, amping up the feeling that this is a performance, and he can’t help but stare at you, looking at him so expectantly with those eyes, those fucking eyes that drive him crazy and feel like home. Your face is full of support and admiration, and it’s the fact that he knows you will support him even if you think it’s shit that gives him the courage to really do it.

“Okay so, well this song is about Gemma really, so yeah…” he says as if excusing it somehow, to make the blow less painful if you tell him it’s awful, which you know it won’t be.

He plucks along the first few notes and already you’re in love, staring at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen on your face, and his voice wavers a little when he begins to sing.

“Sweeeet Creature,

had another talk about where it’s goin’ wrong,

But we’re still young,

we don’t know where we’re going, but we know we belong...”

He begins and the awe on your face gives him the courage to continue the song. His belly is flip-flopping as he does, but he ignores it because here you are, listening to him sing this song, which is really all about you, though you’ll never know, and he loves your adoring eyes so much he’d sing forever if it meant you would keep looking at him that way.

“Sweet creature, sweet creature,

Wherever I go, you’ll bring me home.

Sweet creature, sweet creature,

When I run out of rope, you’ll bring me home…”

He continues and he swears to god he’s getting tears in his eyes and he’s never sang this as emotionally as he is right now and he really needs to bring it back before he scares you. One glance at you, with a small smile and watery eyes as you look at him like he put the stars in the sky makes his heart jump and he finishes the song with as much precision and passion as he can muster, wanting nothing more than for you to like it.

When he’s done, he sits in silence, not making eye contact with you, afraid of your reaction and wanting you to have space to hate it if you do.

“Harry,” you whisper, bringing your fingers up to your mouth, covering it slightly. “That was...incredible.”

You can see the breath he’s been holding leave his body in relief as he finally looks at you, and he looks like a child again, seeking approval, wanting to be liked, and boy, do you like him.

“You’re not jus’ sayin…” he trails off before you can let him finish.

“Harry, no. Don’t you dare do that. Don’t doubt yourself for a second. I’m your best friend, I of all people would be completely honest with you if it sucked and it definitely doesn’t suck, not even a little. That’s the sweetest most heartfelt song I’ve ever heard, H. Have you sung it to Gemma yet? I know she’ll adore it knowing you wrote it about her,” you say, only imagining what she’d think of it. She’d probably tear up, and you knew Gemma - she wasn’t one for tears.

“You really think it’s good?” he asks, needing as much praise as you’re willing to give.

“Absolutely stunning, Harry, just like everything you do,” you respond.

His stomach is in knots, his face blushing and whether that’s from nerves from performing new material or just the fact that he performed for you and you loved it, he’ll never be completely sure.

“I haven’t told Gemma yet, don’t think she’d care that much,” he huffs, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

“Trust me, H, if I had someone write a song like that about me, I’d about die of happiness, she’s going to love it,” you soothe him.

He tries to control his reaction to your last statement, tries to keep himself from muttering anything about the true inspiration to the song, and he keeps a good lid on it, still not completely sure why he’s so nervous to tell you. You are his best friend after all, it’s not surprising that you bring him back down to earth, that you are a super important influence in his life, and that he’d write a song about you. It doesn’t seem crazy at all, actually, but yet, he knows how he felt while writing that song, knows how he felt while performing it, and honestly, those feelings are much too intimate, even for best friends, he thinks. It’s really something he’s got to get sorted out and soon if you’re to be spending so much more time together now that he has more control over his schedule.

Sensing his discomfort, you get up from the floor, take the guitar from him and settle down next to him on your couch. He sighs when he feels your body next to his. Things are good, they are the same, nothing has changed just because you heard the song, he’s going to be okay, you’re both going to be fine, he tells himself over and over as you turn on the television and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Feels a little silly playing truth or dare after you unloaded that masterpiece on me,” you say, flicking through channels.

“Mmm, yeah, I suppose,” he agrees, wrapping one arm around your shoulders carefully so as not to cross any ‘best-friends don’t do that’ lines.

You can feel his body tense slightly when the channel lands on a rom-com, Friends with Benefits it’s called, with Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis, so you leave it at that, assuming his reaction means he likes the film.

As he sits next to you, your body pressed against his and watches this film about two best-friends having lots of wild sex and ultimately falling in love, his body simply can’t relax. He wonders what’s going through your brain, if you’re having the same kind of ‘maybe we should try that’ thoughts that he’s having. If you’re busy staring at the glorious creature that is Justin Timberlake or if your mind is focused on the way his body feels next to yours, because he can say with absolute certainty that he hasn’t been able to pay Mila Kunis a second of attention with you against him like this. He runs his thumb along the skin of your shoulder soothingly and you nustle deeper into him, your sweet smelling vanilla perfume wafting into his nostrils and absolutely intoxicating him. He really needs to get a lock on what he’s feeling, if these are real feelings, if they’re just lust, missing you as a friend since it’s been so long since you hung out like this, or if he just desperately needs some physical attention from a female. Yeah...he decides, that’s what it is. He hasn’t been laid in at least 3 months, too busy with family and setting things up for work to worry about it and now, having you here like this is reminding him of what he’s missing. That’s it, nothing serious. You’re just a woman and he can’t help feel this way, even if you are best-friends. But that’s all you are and all you’ll ever be - friends. And he’s completely okay with that...he thinks.

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