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simplyxdolxstyles · 15 hours ago

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SWORN ENEMIES

A/N: i know its only august but i've been starting to feel the fall vibes and for me those mean college fics, so i had to write something to ease into the mood

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

SUMMARY: Y/N and Harry are sworn enemies, have always been. The teasing and banter just never stops when they are in the same room. One bet however turn things around and while Harry thought they were on the same page, he realizes that Y/N's denial is deeper than he thought.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Y/N adjusts the stack of textbooks on the corner of the worn oak table, her pen hovering over her notebook. Eyebrows furrowed, she is focused on the paragraph she’s been trying to understand, her leg gently bouncing underneath the table. She jots down a few more notes and leans back in her seat, turning towards the window. It’s only September, but the leaves are already turning golden and auburn outside. The weather is still warm, but not summery anymore, she needed a cardigan when she left her dorm.

She turns her attention back to the book, moving onto the next chapter just as she notices a figure approaching her table, then the chair across her scrapes the floor. Y/N looks up, but she already knows who it’s going to be.

“Really?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “All these empty tables, and you pick this one?”

Harry grins, shrugging, and drops his backpack onto the floor.

“Closest to the history section,” he says smoothly, nodding toward the shelves right next to her. “I like to minimize steps. Efficiency.”

“What a sports man,” she grumbles, looking down at her notebook. “Can’t walk an extra three meters.”

“Need to save my energy for practice,” he says in all seriousness as he sits. “And this table has the best view,” he then adds, gesturing towards the window, but Y/N just rolls her eyes, that breaks his act, a pleased smile stretching across his face as he grabs his own notebook from his backpack. And Y/N is bracing herself to try her best to ignore his presence.

Which is quite hard. Harry Styles is anything but ignorable. He is tall, cheeky, popular and liked by practically everyone. Captain of the football team, because of course he needs to be the cliché he started to turn into in high school. Y/N witnessed it all, they were classmates all through high school and somewhere along their journey of turning from teens to young adults, they clashed. Maybe it’s because all they kept hearing growing up was comparison.

Y/N, let loose a little, be more fun, like Harry.

Harry, you should learn to be more organized from Y/N.

Y/N, sports are just as important as good grades, look at Harry! He is doing them both!

Harry, you need to decide where your head is at. Like Y/N did.

They practically set them up to be sworn enemies without any real confrontation and when they found out they would be coming to the same college, they carried their dynamic with themselves.

For a little while they tolerate each other’s presence, but then slowly and not surprisingly, Harry starts to get on Y/N’s nerves. With the way he clicks his pen, taps on the table, turns the pages or keeps clearing his throat when he obviously doesn’t have to.

“Are you on crack or something?” she whispers at him when he has changed his position for the millionth time, making her lose her train of thoughts.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I bothering you?” he asks, pretending to be concerned. Y/N narrows her eyes at him, her whisper sharper than she intends.

“Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

Harry leans back, hands behind his head, looking completely innocent or at least he’s selling it perfectly.

“Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “I had no idea I was such a menace. Should I stop breathing too?”

She gives him a not at all friendly smile.

“Thanks for suggesting. That would be great.”

He grins, unbothered, and reaches over to tap the edge of her notebook with a finger, just enough to make confused about what he is onto.

“I’m actually just keeping you alert so you don’t fall asleep on your neat little notebook.”

“How noble of you,” she frowns and then goes back to reading or at least pretending, because it’s hard to focus when Harry is still in his peripheral vision, slowly crawling into her thoughts.

His phone buzzes and Y/N’s gaze flicks up as he pulls it out of his pocket and reads a text. Then he closes the book in front of him and stands from the table.

“That was a short study session,” she mumbles under her breath. Harry puts the book back on the shelf, grabbing his backpack from the floor.

“Aw, are you worried about my grades?” He slings his backpack over his shoulder, looking down at her with a pleased smirk that just irks her even more. “Don’t worry. I’m still good, better than you.”

“You wish,” she scoffs.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Y/N,” he chuckles and then walks away before she could retort.

***

By the end of September the weather gradually cooled down and the true autumn vibes have settled over the campus. It’s a gloomy Thursday morning when Y/N is sitting in the lecture hall, her eyes roaming over her notes from last week.

Harry strolls in two minutes before class starts, casual as ever, a grin thrown to someone across the room. He drops into the seat beside Y/N like he owns it. Even though they don’t share a major, they ended up taking the same psychology class for extra credit.

“Really?” she mutters, not even looking at him. “You couldn’t sit literally anywhere else?”

“This is a sweet spot,” he replies easily, pulling out his notebook. “Close enough to hear, far enough not to look desperate.”

“Have you missed all the other open seats in the row?”

“Oh, I don’t miss anything, ever,” he grins at her just when the professor walks in and the lecture starts.

They are actually interested in Professor Gautier’s class, so their bickering is paused and they both give their undivided attention to today’s topic.

“So, who can explain the significance of this concept in real-world applications?” the professor questions.

Y/N’s hand shoots up immediately. But at the exact same moment, Harry answers out loud without waiting to be called on.

“It’s about adaptability,” he says. “Theory is useless unless you can apply it to actual situations.”

“Yes, exactly,” the professor nods.

“You didn’t even raise your hand,” Y/N complains quietly.

“Didn’t need to.” He smirks. “Got the answer right though, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” she snaps, raising her hand again. “Actually, if you look at it from a structural perspective–”

And just like that, they’re in a back-and-forth game again, building on and undermining each other’s points while the rest of the class watches in amusement.

Finally, the professor cuts in with a chuckle.

“Well, I think we’ve just witnessed a live debate. Thank you both. Perhaps I should pair you together next time. It seems you bring… passion out of each other in arguments.”

The class laughs. Y/N wants to sink into the floor but Harry just leans back in his chair, satisfied, whispering: “See? We make a great team.”

“Over my dead body,” she hisses back.

Harry chuckles at how easily he can get a rise out of her. Then the class continues and Y/N ignores his presence until it’s over. She packs her stuff, feeling his amused gaze on her and then marches out of the room without even sparing him a look.

***

The house is packed, music pounding through the walls, the smell of beer and sweat in the air. Y/N is already regretting saying yes the moment she squeezes through the front door.

“How long are you planning to stay?” she asks her roommate, Tilda, who's been bugging her for weeks now to join her for a party, but Y/N did everything she could to get her out of it, until yesterday when Tilda practically cornered her and forced her to say she would come.

“We barely just got here. Relax, try to enjoy it!”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but this is not my style of relaxation.”

“Okay then we’ll do your version tomorrow, but today, we are letting loose!”

Unwillingly, but she tries her best to at least give it a go, not wanting to be the miserable party pooper. They grab a drink, look around, meet up with people they know from different classes and lectures and slowly Y/N eases into the whole party thing.

Then her peace is flipped over by Harry.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, red cup in hand, surrounded by people who are laughing at something one of his friends just said. When his eyes land on her, his grin shifts, sharp and smug, like he’s been handed a gift. He pushes through the crowd easily, towering over everyone until he’s right in front of her.

“Well, this is a surprise,” he says, voice raised just enough to be heard over the music. “Did someone lose a bet?”

Y/N crosses her arms over her chest.

“I don’t need a bet to come to a party,” she scoffs, keeping the tiny detail to herself that she was practically dragged here by Tilda.

“Ah, or maybe you just wanted to see me!” His grin widens even more.

“Not everything has to be about you.”

“But when it comes to you, I know your world revolves around me. It’s okay, I get it that you want to be like me, academically and athletically gifted, I’m the whole package.”

“A package I want to return to the sender,” she grimaces at him, but her retort just makes him laugh.

“Someone is in a bitter mood. I would bet a great amount that you’ll be leaving in an hour.”

“Maybe you should go to therapy about your gambling addiction. And that’s not happening. I’m here to have fun.”

“I don’t think you can do that. Not here, in a frat party,” he keeps teasing her, taking a sip from his drink.

“Really? You must know me so well then,” she gives him a sharp look. “Want to actually bet?” she suddenly challenges him and that brings a glint into his eyes.

“Alright, what do you have in your mind?”

“I bet you I will stay for at least two hours and actually let loose.”

“Make it three.”

“Okay, then three,” she agrees with an eyeroll.

“What does the winner get?” he cocks his head to the side. Y/N thinks to herself for a moment before answering.

“If I win you leave me alone at Professor Gautier’s lecture for the rest of the semester. You can’t sit next to me, can’t talk to me.”

Harry smirks, leaning closer so she has to tilt her chin up to keep eye contact.

“Fine. And when I win–”

“You mean if,” she cuts in.

“When,” he repeats firmly, eyes glinting, “you have to come to every party I go to for the rest of the semester.”

Y/N scoffs, but her pulse jumps, she wasn’t expecting that.

“Why would you want that?”

Harry shrugs. “Guess I just want to make you suffer.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Scared you’ll lose?” His grin turns mischievous, knowing he’s cornered her.

She narrows her eyes. “I’m not scared of you, Styles.”

“Then it’s settled.” He clinks his red cup lightly against hers like they’ve just signed a contract, before backing away into the crowd, still smirking.

Y/N glares at his retreating figure, the crowd swallowing him back up like he owns the place. She takes a long sip of her drink, muttering under her breath, “Arrogant son of a bitch.”

But her heart is racing faster than it should be.

Three hours. That’s all she has to last and then she can rub it into Harry’s face until the end of time.

It’s been maybe forty minutes, though it feels like an eternity of shouting over music, dodging spilled drinks, and politely refusing to play beer pong, when Y/N feels a presence at her side.

“Still alive?” Harry’s voice cuts through the noise, smooth and teasing. He leans against the wall next to her, casual in that way that makes her want to roll her eyes and… maybe stare a little too long.

“I’m thriving, actually,” she shoots back, tightening her grip on her cup. “You’re going to lose this bet. I can already see you sitting across the room in class.”

Harry’s lips curl into a smirk as his eyes scan her in a way that makes her shift uncomfortably.

“You call standing in the corner thriving? Hate to break it to you, but you look about two seconds from bolting.”

“I’m just having a break, thinking about whether I should play beer pong or join the never have I ever circle.”

She works hard not to sound sarcastic, she really does, but she is not fooling Harry.

“Really? Because I think I heard them needing one more person for the next beer pong match. Come on, you can join them!”

Her eyes widen and she replies out of instinct. “Absolutely not.”

Harry raises a brow, his grin spreading slow and wicked.

“What happened to letting loose? You’re already halfway to losing, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart.”

“Fine. Darling. Take your pick,” he teases, and when she opens her mouth to snap back, he suddenly takes her hand before she can protest.

“Harry–” she hisses, but he’s already steering her through the crowd toward the beer pong table.

“Relax,” he says over his shoulder, fully unfazed by the glares from people they squeeze past. “You might even be good at it. All that precision you’ve got from underlining every single word in your textbooks…”

“I do not underline every word.”

“Sure,” he smirks, stopping at the table and nodding at the guys waiting to start. “Got you a partner.”

The group cheers, and before Y/N could object, someone shoves a ping pong ball into her hand. Harry leans down, his mouth just inches from her ear.

“Show me what you’ve got, Darling.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she narrows her eyes at him, giving him a sharp look over her shoulder.

“Maybe,” he says simply, leaning back with that infuriating grin.

And with that, he steps aside, folding his arms to watch her like it’s the most entertaining thing he’s seen all night.

Y/N narrows her eyes at the table of red cups lined up like little soldiers. She’s never touched a beer pong ball in her life, but she refuses to let Harry see her squirm.

She takes aim, tongue poking through her lips in concentration, and lets the ball fly. It lands cleanly in the very first cup.

The table erupts with cheers, and Harry’s brows shoot up in mock surprise, while Y/N is actually shocked she made it with her first throw.

“You’re a natural, Y/N,” he teases her. She smirks with a shrug.

“Beginner’s luck.”

The game goes on, and to her own shock, she’s not terrible. Every miss makes her groan and every hit earns her a triumphant grin. Each time her team loses a round, she takes her turn drinking the foamy beer. It’s not good, kinda lukewarm, tastes cheap but after the second cup she can feel the effect.

By the fourth round, she’s laughing, genuinely laughing, shoulders looser than they’ve been in weeks. Her head is spinning just a little, but it actually feels nice.

Harry, of course, doesn’t miss a thing. He leans against the table, arms crossed, watching her like she’s a puzzle finally clicking into place.

“Look at you,” he says, grinning. “Didn’t think I’d see the day when Y/N Y/L/N is getting drunk at a frat party and actually enjoys it.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, brushing past him to retrieve a ball. “I’m still winning this bet.”

“Sure you are,” he chuckles softly.

Y/N and her partner end up winning the game. Following a bathroom break she reunites with Tilda, who welcomes this loosened up, carefree version of Y/N and the two of them join a bigger group outside.

Next time Y/N checks her phone she almost chokes on her drink. Three hours. Exactly three hours.

She did it.

She instantly rushes inside and pushes through the crowd, looking for Harry. She finds him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with some of his teammates. He looks effortlessly at home here, tall and commanding, but when his eyes flick across the room and land on her, his grin shifts. Turns sharper, like it was meant only for her.

She squares her shoulders and marches over, ignoring the flutter in her chest.

“Three hours,” she declares, holding her phone up like it’s evidence in a courtroom. “I win.”

Harry takes one look at her phone, then at her flushed face.

“Hm, you’re right.”

“Yes,” she says firmly, even though her voice wavers just a bit. “I stayed, I had fun, I even played beer pong–”

“And laughed,” he cuts in smoothly, stepping closer. “Don’t forget that part.” She glares at him, but ignores his comment.

“So, we’re done, right?”

He tilts his head, that infuriating smirk back in place.

“The deal was you let loose. You sure you weren’t just… pretending to prove me wrong?”

Her jaw drops. “Are you seriously trying to cheat your way out of this?”

“Not at all.” His voice dips lower. “I just want you to admit you had a good time. Otherwise I win and then I can enjoy your company at every party until the end of the semester.”

“You’re being unfair,” she argues, heat crawling up her neck. Maybe it’s from the alcohol, maybe it’s from Harry’s closeness, she can’t tell.

“It’s okay, you can admit you actually want me to win so you can spend more time with me.”

“You’re delusional,” she fires back. “Why would I ever want that?”

Harry just grins, unbothered. “Because deep down, you like me.”

She lets out a sharp laugh, a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

“I tolerate you. Barely. Don’t twist that into some kind of fantasy where I’m desperate to hang out with you.”

“Mm.” He leans back slightly, sipping his drink, eyes still fixed on her. “So you stayed three whole hours at a frat party, putting up with the crowd, the noise, the drunk people, and it had nothing to do with me.”

“Exactly,” she says quickly. Maybe too quickly. “I can have fun without you, Styles.”

“Then why are you so red right now?” he teases, leaning in again, his grin straight up devilish.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out and that just gets her even more flustered.

“You’re an asshole,” is all she says before turning around and marching through the people, towards the front door.

She doesn’t have to stay any longer. She doesn’t want to. Not if Harry will just keep making her feel uncomfortable.

“Y/N, wait!”

She’s halfway down the front steps when she hears him call out behind her. She doesn’t stop, but his longer strides catch up easily.

“Go away, Harry.”

“Come on,” he says, a little out of breath as he moves in front of her, blocking her path. The cocky grin is gone now, replaced by something softer. “I didn’t mean to push too far.”

She crosses her arms, staring him down. “You always push too far.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair, frustration flashing across his face.

“Alright, fine. Maybe I do. But that’s because…” He hesitates, then looks at her, really looks at her. “Because we have… something. You feel it too, don’t even try to deny it.”

Her stomach flips violently, but she scoffs, stepping to the side.

“You are out of your mind. There’s nothing between us except mutual annoyance.”

Harry shifts, moving with her, refusing to let her dodge the conversation. His voice lowers, more serious than she’s ever heard from him.

“If that’s true, then why do we always end up here? Why do you always get so worked up when I tease you? Why do you even care what I think?”

“I don’t!” she snaps, though the heat rising in her chest betrays her.

His eyes linger on her, searching, almost pleading for her to admit it. But when she doesn’t, when she just presses her lips together stubbornly, he huffs out a humorless laugh and steps back.

“Fine,” he says, jaw tightening. “Keep lying to yourself.”

And with that, he turns and walks back toward the party, leaving Y/N standing in the cool night air, pulse racing, his words echoing in her head long after he disappears inside.

***

Harry has lost his mind. Y/N is sure of that.

Why would he ever think they have anything between them? That is absolutely ridiculous. They are sworn enemies. They hate each other, with passion, have always hated each other.

There’s no other explanation to what he said other than that he is going crazy.

She is lying in her bed awake when Tilda arrives sometime around two am.

“Hey, you’re still up? Thought you’d already be snoring,” she jokes, kicking her shoes off as Y/N sits up.

“No, can’t sleep.”

“When did you leave?” she asks. Y/N texted her when she was already in the dorm just so she wouldn’t look for her.

“Until like one, maybe?”

“That’s great! Did you have fun?”

“I guess,” Y/N shrugs. Tilda sits on the edge of her bed, examining her curiously.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to combust?”

Y/N presses her palms to her face, muffling her groan.

“Because Harry Styles is the most infuriating human being alive.”

“Ohhh.” Tilda leans forward, eyes glinting with interest. “What did he do this time? Tease you about your color-coded notes again? Try to get you to dance?”

Y/N drops her hands and glares.

“He implied that there’s… something between us.”

Tilda blinks back at her like she sees no problem at all about that.

“But… there is,” she points it out.

“No, there isn’t!” Y/N insists, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at her. Tilda catches it with a laugh. “We’ve hated each other since high school. He thrives on having the upper hand, and I–” she gestures vaguely at herself, still breathless from the memory of him standing so close “--I’m not falling for it, unlike everyone else.”

Tilda smiles at her, but it screams that she doesn’t believe her bullshit.

“You only get this worked up about him. Tell me, if it’s really just hate, why do you let him get under your skin so much?”

Y/N groans again, flopping back against her bed.

“Because he’s everywhere! Same classes, same campus, and now apparently determined to make my life hell at parties.”

“Mmhm,” Tilda hums knowingly. “Sounds more like chemistry than hell.”

“Stop.” Y/N throws her arm over her face. “It’s not chemistry. It’s… static. Annoying, buzzing static. The kind you want to shut off.”

Tilda just grins, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so.”

But when the room falls quiet again, Y/N can’t stop hearing Harry’s voice in her head, low and certain: You feel it too, don’t even try to deny it.

She rolls over, determined to push it away. Except her racing pulse refuses to settle.

***

Next Thursday, Y/N is already settled in her usual seat, notebook open, pen lined up neatly along the margin, today’s date already written on top of the page. It’s been almost a week since the party and also since she has talked to Harry.

So when he walks in, she feels her gaze pulled towards him like he is a magnet.

Harry strolls in just a few minutes before the start as usual. He does look at her. Briefly. His gaze brushes hers for half a second before he heads straight for a seat three rows back, nowhere near her.

Exactly like she told him to during the bet.

She should feel relieved. She should be happy he’s finally giving her space, that he’s not sitting down right beside her to annoy her by tapping his pen on his notebook or kicking her feet under the table just to throw her off. But instead, her stomach twists uncomfortably.

It sinks in a little heavier, the things he told her that she hasn’t been able to get out of her head ever since. It’s been probably the longest they went without any interaction. No smirks in the hallway, no sarcastic remarks in class, not even an accidental run-in in the library.

But this is exactly what she wanted, right? To have some peace. So then why does it feel like something’s missing?

Her eyes flick back to him against her better judgment. He’s slouched in his chair, pen spinning lazily between his fingers, focused on anything but her. Like she doesn’t exist.

It bothers her. Way more than it should.

Y/N forces herself to look down at her notes again just when Professor Gautier walks in.

She’s not hurt. Not at all. This is what she wanted. So then why does it feel like she’s losing a game she never agreed to play?

***

There are several coffee places on and near campus, but the one next to the pilates studio is the best in Y/N’s opinion. Or maybe she is just biased, because after a killer class she likes to treat herself to a coffee and the place next door is the closest. It has become her Sunday ritual to attend the ten am class and then grab the coffee of the week from Chestnut Corner and either sit outside if the weather is nice enough or read a little inside before heading home.

By now she is a regular, so when she strolls in, wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, the barista, Alex is greeting him with a smile while already making her order.

“How was class?” he asks her as she walks up to the counter.

“Tiring, but good,” she chuckles. “What’s this week’s drink?” she asks, peering over the counter so she could see what he puts into it.

“Pumpkin Chai Cappuccino,” Alex announces as he places the mug in front of her.

“Wow, this smells amazing,” she hums as she taps her phone on the terminal, then digs into her bag and grabs a bit of change, dropping it into the tip jar.

“Reserved a table for you outside,” Alex nods at her with a warm smile.

“Thank you,” she returns the smile and taking her drink she heads outside.

It’s a warm noon, a little windy, but not too much, it’s even nice after sweating for an entire hour in class. She settles by the table Alex claimed as hers, rolls the sleeves of her sweatshirt up and just enjoys the sunshine while sipping on her drink, mentally trying to note what else she needs to get done today.

She is halfway done with her drink when Alex appears, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Mind if I sit for a sec?” he asks, already pulling out the chair opposite her.

“Sure,” she says with a shrug, though it surprises her. Alex has always been nice, but he usually just sticks to his role behind the counter.

“So,” he leans forward, elbows on the table, “I was thinking… You come here every Sunday, and we always talk a little, but maybe we should actually hang out? Dinner sometime?”

Y/N blinks, caught off guard, her fingers tightening around the warm mug. Alex is cute, charming, definitely the type plenty of girls would say yes to without hesitation. She opens her mouth, still trying to decide what’s about to come out, when Alex spots someone approaching somewhere behind her, so he nods their way.

“Hi there! I’ll be inside in a minute.”

Y/N turns and sees Harry walking up to the café, he is in sweats, hair damp, he is carrying a big sports bag so he must be coming from practice. Their eyes meet for a second and while her breath hitches, he appears completely unbothered and neutral about her presence.

“It’s alright, I’m in no rush. What’s up?” he asks, stopping by the table.

“Just trying to chat Y/N up,” Alex chuckles. “Asked her out to dinner.”

“Huh, that’s nice,” is all he says, but he doesn’t even look at her. That annoys her. His reaction and the lack of interest on his face.

“I would love to go out with you,” she then says, maybe a little too enthusiastically, but Alex’s face brightens at her answer.

“Really? That’s great! How about Wednesday?”

“Sure, that’s great,” she nods and keeps glancing at Harry, who is now on his phone, looking like he is not even paying attention to them.

She hates how infuriating that makes her.

Alex asks for her number to work the details out over text and hands her his phone. She quickly types her number in and then gives it back to him as he stands from the table.

“Amazing. I’ll text you then. Harry, your americano is coming right up,” he points at Harry, who finally looks up from his phone, nodding.

“Thanks.”

Alex jogs back inside, practically jumping in happiness and Harry is about to head after him, but Y/N stops him suddenly.

“Wait.”

Harry pauses, one eyebrow lifting as he shifts the strap of his sports bag higher on his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

Y/N swallows, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous she must sound, but the words tumble out anyway. “That’s it? No comment, no… nothing?”

His brow furrows, like he has no idea what she’s talking about.

“About what?”

“You just heard him ask me out.” Her voice drops, sharper than she intends. “And you’re acting like you don’t care.”

“I don’t,” he says simply, but there’s a flicker in his eyes she doesn’t miss, something quick and guarded. “Why would I? You can go out with whoever you want, Y/N.”

“Yeah but… Not even a joke?” she asks with her last sliver of hope.

Harry sighs, looks away, then back at her.

“No,” is all he says and walks inside, leaving Y/N stunned and at a loss for words.

Her thoughts are racing and her mind is blank at the same time. She can’t decide what to think of it, of his nonchalant act, the lack of interest towards… her.

She is still in a bit of a shock when Harry walks out with his coffee in hand. He walks straight past her and then starts walking towards the campus. Before she could even think twice, she jumps to her feet, her drink abandoned and she rushes to catch up with him.

“Styles! What was that?” she asks once she falls into steps with him.

“What do you mean?” he asks in an even tone, taking a sip from his coffee, not looking her way.

“You’re ignoring my existence, what the Hell?”

“I’m not ignoring your existence, Y/N. I’m giving you your much wanted peace. Isn’t it what you wanted?”

“That’s not– I don’t…”

Harry stops and finally looks at her.

“You want me to make a joke, tease you, pick a fight, because that’s safer than me actually saying what’s on my mind.” He shakes his head, a humorless laugh slipping out. “And the second I don’t play along, you freak out.”

Her heart hammers against her ribs.

“That’s not true.”

His eyes soften, but there’s something raw there too. “Isn’t it?”

She opens her mouth, but no words come. Because deep down, she knows he’s not entirely wrong. Harry lets out a breath, his jaw flexing as he starts to turn away again.

“Enjoy your date, Y/N.”

And before she can find her voice, he’s walking off again, leaving her standing on the sidewalk with her pulse racing and her chest aching like she’s the one who just lost a bet.

***

The restaurant Alex picks is cute, a small Italian place a few blocks from campus. Candles on every table, low music, the kind of place Y/N would usually find charming.

Alex is… fine. He’s attentive, asks about her classes, tells her funny stories about ridiculous customer orders at the café. He’s polite, his smile soft and friendly and she keeps telling herself this is nice. Normal. What she should want.

And yet…

She laughs at one of his jokes, but even as the sound leaves her mouth, she hears Harry’s laugh echoing in her head. The way he’d lean back, eyes sparkling, like he knew he was ridiculous and dared her not to find him funny. That would make her laugh even more, enjoying the banter she complains so much about.

She shakes the thought away, takes another sip of her lemonade.

“So,” Alex says, leaning forward slightly, “are you from around here originally, or did you move for school?”

“Moved,” she answers automatically, launching into the story she’s told dozens of times. He listens, nods, asks a follow-up question. Perfect date behavior.

And still, it feels like something’s missing. Like there’s a spark she’s waiting for that never comes.

When the waiter clears their table and Alex pays, strictly refusing to let Y/N cover her half, he gives her an easy smile over the dancing flame of the candle.

I’m really glad you said yes. Been wanting to ask you for a while.”

Her stomach twists, not unpleasantly, but not the way she wants, either. She forces a smile.

“It was nice.”

He offers to walk her to her dorm. She lets him, because it’s sweet, and when they stop at the steps, there’s a beat of silence. He shifts, looking nervous but hopeful.

“Can I… kiss you goodnight?”

Y/N hesitates for a second, but then nods at last.

The kiss is soft, a little too bland for her taste. Nice. But that’s all, it’s just nice. When they part, Alex looks pleased and she manages another smile before saying goodnight and heading inside.

The second the door closes behind her, her heart sinks. Because instead of replaying the kiss in her head, she’s thinking about a smirk, green eyes, and a voice that always manages to get under her skin.

***

Y/N slips into the library late in the afternoon, already stressed about the mountain of readings she needs to get through. She heads straight to her favorite table and just as she sets her bag down, unpacking her notebooks and pens, she spots an all too familiar figure a few tables away.

Harry is hunched over the table, curls messy, his feet gently shaking underneath the table. And he is not alone.

Y/N has seen Mila around, they had a couple of classes together last year, but she doesn’t actually know her. Only knows that she moves in the same circles as Harry, but seeing them right now, she realizes they might be closer than she thought.

Mila sits beside him, their chairs pushed close, a heavy textbook sprawled between them. They’re both leaning over it, Harry pointing something out with his pen, Mila smiling as she nods along.

Y/N doesn’t miss the way her stomach tightens.

She sits and finds the chapter she left off, but no matter how badly she tries to focus on the words in front of her, her gaze always ends up slipping over to them.

Every time Mila leans in, Y/N’s pen stills in her hand. Every time Harry grins at something she says, heat creeps up Y/N’s neck. It’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. She tells herself it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t care who Harry studies with. She doesn’t care if Mila laughs at his stupid jokes, or if Harry lets her sit closer than strictly necessary.

But the tightness in her chest doesn’t budge.

At some point, Harry leans back in his chair, stretching, and his eyes flick across the room. For one split second, they land on her. Y/N freezes, like a deer caught in headlights. She expects him to smirk, or wave, or toss out some teasing remark like always. Instead, he just blinks, expression unreadable, and then turns back to Mila without a word.

It’s a knife in her stomach.

She forces her attention back to her notes, but the pen doesn’t move in her hand, she just stares ahead of her, the words blurring into one big mess. Then she hears Mila’s muffled giggle and it’s the last straw.

She packs up in a hurry, shoves everything into her bag, not even caring if she rumples the pages and then bolts towards the exit, almost tripping in her own feet. When she reaches the heavy doors of the library she stops just for a short second, eyes jumping back to him, only to find him looking at her already.

The blandness is gone from his eyes, but she can’t read them. There’s something in them, something beyond the nonchalantness she’s been getting from him, but it’s not loud enough for her to make it out.

She breaks her gaze away and pushes the door open, fleeing from the library that felt more like Hell this time. On her way back to the dorm she can’t stop recalling the feeling in her gut the sight of Harry and Mila caused and she always ends up with the same conclusion, one she chooses not to acknowledge just yet.

***

Y/N steps out of building D with a heavy sigh. This study session for her economy class stretched way too long, group projects where they can’t find common ground are too draining, she thinks to herself as she starts walking towards the dorm.

On her right the doors to the gym open and Harry walks out, hair damp, drinking from his water bottle and he heads down the pavement that meets the one she is walking on. They lock eyes for a second, but she is quick to look away and set the tone for their encounter, which is going to be quiet, just like everything else between them lately.

The rain starts without warning, fat drops smacking against the pavement, then a full-on downpour. Y/N curses under her breath, pulling her bag tighter to her side as she starts jogging. Beside her, Harry does the same, his long strides catching up easily. Neither of them says a word, just racing down the pavement until they spot the small gazebo near the fountain.

They duck under the roof at the same time, breathless, Y/N shaking the water out of her hair while Harry drops his sports bag to the ground with a thud. For a moment, the only sound is the rain hammering against the wood and concrete.

“Great,” Y/N mutters, brushing at her damp sweatshirt. “Just what I needed.”

Harry smirks, leaning against one of the posts, his curls plastered to his forehead.

“What, are you afraid of thunder?”

She shoots him a glare. “You’re not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” He chuckles softly, then tilts his head at her. “What are you doing out this late anyway? Thought you were the type to be in bed by ten with chamomile tea.”

“Group project study session,” she answers. “Every student’s nightmare,” she adds then quietly.

“Mm. And here I thought you ace everything school related without breaking a sweat.”

“No one is good enough to make up for others’ stupidity,” she scoffs and it actually makes Harry huff out a laugh. It throws her off for a second, it’s the most interaction they’ve had since the party and just the sound of his laugh spreads warmth in his chest.

She walks over to the small bench in the middle and sits, dropping her bag to the floor, staring out into the pouring rain that hasn’t eased at all. Harry watches her for a long moment before pushing off the post and sitting beside her, leaving just enough space for the air between them to feel charged. He leans back, stretching his legs out, the damp fabric of his sweats clinging to him.

“Group projects really that bad?” Harry asks, playfully bumping his shoulder against hers. Y/N sighs.

“Worse. I have a guy in my group who thinks Freud is a painter.”

Harry barks out a laugh, head tipping back. “No way.”

“Yes way,” she smirks, unable to stop herself from joining his laughter. “And another girl spent half the time asking me if I could ‘just do her part too’ because she was tired.”

“Sounds like you’re carrying the whole thing.”

“Story of my life,” she mutters, but her lips are curved.

“Maybe you should let them fail.”

“That means I would have to fail as well,” she gives him a sharp, but playful look.

“Right. We can’t have that. You have a reputation to keep up” he smirks back.

“Says the guy who is literally the popular guy with the most cliché reputation.”

Harry places a hand over his heart, faking to be hurt by her words.

“What?! You’re saying I'm just another popular guy who will end up with crushed dreams and no achievements once he is out of school?”

“You said that, I didn’t,” she raises her eyebrows at him, but he just chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re so cruel, Y/N.”

“And you’re an idiot,” she retorts instantly and it feels like something was just clicked back into place.

Harry’s grin softens into something lighter, easier.

“Maybe. But at least I’m entertaining you.”

For a beat, neither of them says anything, just listening to the rain hammering around them, the air between them warmer than it’s been in weeks. Y/N realizes her shoulders don’t feel as heavy as they did a few minutes ago.

Then Harry stands, grabbing his bag.

“Come on, if we wait for the rain to stop completely, we’ll be here all night.”

“It’s still raining pretty heavily. You’re just gonna run for it?”

“Why not? Worst case, I catch a cold. Then you’ll feel guilty.” He flashes her a crooked grin that makes her heart squeeze unexpectedly. Before she can reply, he jogs out into the downpour, water splashing around his sneakers, curls bouncing as he disappears into the storm.

Y/N sits frozen for a moment, then bites down on a smile she can’t quite fight. For the first time in a while, she doesn’t feel like she’s losing.

***

Normally Y/N would be questioning her sanity now as she and Tilda are walking into yet another party, but she has done a lot of thinking lately so it’s not that big of a surprise she is here, not if we mention that Harry is here tonight as well.

They grab a drink, mingle a little, but Y/N keeps checking the room for one specific person. Then he finally appears.

Harry is across the room, red cup in hand, a few people orbiting around him like always. Mila leans in close to say something, her hand brushing his arm and Y/N feels a stab of something sharp and ugly in her chest. The kind of jealousy she can’t deny anymore.

Before she can overthink it, Harry’s eyes find hers. For a split second, his face goes neutral and then he smirks, like he knows exactly what she’s thinking. He doesn’t come to her right away. He lets her stew, lets her feel it, until eventually he peels away from his little circle and strolls over, curls falling into his eyes, confidence radiating off him as always.

“Well, look who made it through the door without a bet this time,” he teases her, stopping in front of her.

“Very funny,” she shoots back, though her lips twitch. “Shouldn’t you be busy entertaining your fan club? Keeping up the popular guy reputation?”

He glances back at where Mila is still standing, watching, before leaning closer to Y/N.

“If I didn’t know you better I would think you’re jealous.”

She scoffs, even though her pulse spikes.

“Of what? Please.”

He grins knowingly, sipping from his cup.

“That sounded a lot like denial.” He sings that last word and that just strengthens the urge in Y/N to smile, but she bites it back at last. She narrows her eyes at him, but the heat in her cheeks betrays her.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late. Already did.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming.

She feels that this is the moment when she should take a step closer, open up the door she previously shut in his face, but just when she opens her mouth someone calls out his name and he waves back at them.

“I’ll see you later. That is, if you stay longer,” he smirks at her teasingly and she just rolls her eyes at him before he disappears in the crowd.

Y/N does stay. Longer than she planned. Long enough that she’s finished her drink and is leaning against the wall in the hallway, trying to decide whether she should find Tilda or just head out, when Harry reappears out of the crowd.

“Told you I’d see you later,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wow. A man of his word.” Her tone is dry, but the way her lips twitch gives her away.

He nods toward the back door. “Come on. Too loud in here. Let’s have some fresh air.”

She hesitates, but curiosity and the flutter in her stomach makes the decision for her. She follows him outside, where the music dulls to a distant thrum and the cool night air brushes against her skin. They find a quiet spot on the porch steps, just far enough from the crowd.

For a moment, it’s silent, except for the muffled bass inside and the faint sound of crickets. Then Harry glances sideways at her, the corners of his lips curling up.

“So, how was your date?”

Her brows knit. “What?”

“Alex.” He says it casually, but there’s a tightness in his jaw he doesn’t quite hide. “Mr. Pumpkin Chai himself. I’m guessing it went well, since you were so… enthusiastic when you said yes.”

Y/N blinks at him, then laughs softly.

“You’re actually jealous.”

“Not jealous,” he says quickly, too quickly. “Just curious.”

“Uh-huh.” She lets the silence linger, enjoying the way his shoulders tense. “For your information, there was never a second date.”

That makes him look at her properly. “Why not?”

She shrugs, pretending to examine the rim of her cup.

“No spark.” She simply says, then she tilts her head, watching his expression shift. “You know what that’s like, right? When you’re talking to someone and you can tell it’s just… not there.”

His eyes darken, and this time there’s no mask of indifference. He leans closer, voice dropping.

“Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

The air between them goes heavy, electric, like it always does. Y/N’s pulse hammers in her ears, and she knows she’s not in denial anymore, hasn’t been for a while.

“You know, if you weren’t there when he asked me out, I don’t think I would have said yes,” she admits, heat crawling up her neck as she speaks the truth without playing games.

“What?” Harry laughs in disbelief.

“I was so mad that you were acting so… distant and nonchalant, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you. Which I didn’t get,” she adds with a chuckle.

“I was fighting for my life, actually,” Harry admits, joining in on sharing the truth.

“Really?” Y/N’s eyes widen as she turns to him. “Didn’t seem like that.”

“I was very close to turning into a mean little kid and mock him or something for asking you out. Not my proudest moment.”

“Well, none of that was showing. I’m surprised my ears were not steaming from the anger.”

They share a quiet laugh, then Y/N asks: “And what about Mila?”

Seeing Harry’s smirk she expects him to come back with some teasing, but then his features soften.

“Nothing. We’re just friends. She is actually crushing on one of my teammates, I’ve been wingmaning her.”

“Oh.”

Harry studies her, like he’s waiting for her to say something else and when she doesn’t, his lips twitch into the faintest smirk.

“So maybe we stop wasting time pretending.”

She purses her lips, pretending to think about it, but the smile that’s tugging on the corners of her mouth gives her away.

“Hmm. I don’t know, I like this dynamic, I like roasting you.”

“Oh sweetheart, you are giving yourself way too much credit,” he barks out a laugh.

“Hey!” she protests, bumping her shoulder against him, but then Harry’s arm comes up to curl around her, keeping her close this time. Suddenly, she doesn’t feel sassy anymore, not when his gaze flickers down to her lips and hers do the same. The air has shifted quickly, her heart is pounding in her chest and when Harry leans in, she doesn’t pull back. Instead, she meets him halfway and the kiss is all heat and inevitability, the weeks of tension between them finally snapping.

All of her denial unravels as his lips move against hers, the heat of his hand sliding up to the back of her neck gives her shivers.

Y/N makes a quiet sound in her throat she didn’t mean to let slip and Harry grins against her mouth, deepening the kiss just enough to steal her breath. She fists the front of his sweatshirt, dragging him closer, like she can’t stand the idea of space between them.

When they pull apart he curls an arm around her waist, the other one moving to her legs and he pulls them until they are across his, hand resting on her thigh.

“Look at you, kissing your sworn enemy,” he teases her.

“What if I told you I was dared to?”

His face falls and she can’t hold back her laughter.

“See, I think I’m pretty good at roasting you,” she grins triumphantly as Harry realizes she was just messing with him.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for this.”

“Yeah?” she keeps smirking.

“Absolutely.” He nods and he is already leaning in, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss and she thinks about how this is a price she would happily pay any day.

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#fic recs #harry styles

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