#its raining and cold tho :( | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kennedy-brooke · 1 year ago

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i dont usually reblog harry fics - they are my "dirty secret" - BUT OH MY GOD

never before have i felt more targeted by a fic in my life bc i kid you not, this reader is ACTUALLY me (no not in the quirky "i am yn" way but like in the "this girl literally is me and im in shock")

Prose (part 1)

In which y/n's taking way too many units, and Harry's the graduate assistant for her Literature class.

+++

It’s a gloomy autumn day, the sun nowhere to be found, the sky cloudy and gray. Y/n stands in front of Dr. Richmond’s door, nervously pulling back her hair and righting the state of her sweater.

The wind outside was not forgiving today, blowing harsh and cold and whipping her hair all over like she was caught in the middle of a god damn tornado. She tucks any stray pieces behind her ears and pats her wind-stung cheeks – oh gosh, she probably looks a mess.

She should’ve worn something more professional, she thinks to herself as she tugs her skirt down. Maybe trousers and a blazer– or at least a pair of jeans. Not this stupid little black skirt that keeps riding up, halfway hidden underneath her cream-colored knitted sweater. It keeps riding up, no matter how firmly she keeps tugging it down, and she’s got a horrible inkling that she might’ve accidentally flashed her bum at the workers in the street while she was walking to campus today.

She looks down at her shoes, a pair of black mary janes, paired with some lacy white socks to decorate her ankles. They looked super cute when she put them on this morning – but now she’s worried that she looks like a kindergartener. Is she too old to be wearing frilly socks? They’re just so darn cute… but she doubts the sixty-something year old professor that’s on the other side of the door would think the same thing.

Wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt, she takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. She lifts her hand up to the door, and nervously brings her knuckles down to knock.

It took all of her confidence to come to Dr. Richmond’s office today. She’s not a huge fan of talking to professors outside of class – drafting emails to them literally sends her into a spiral of stress, and she always feels like she’s gonna shit her pants when she goes to office hours– but she has no choice but to come and directly talk to Dr. Richmond today. She’d sent him two emails already (both of them had taken her over two hours to send because she actually despises writing emails and is always nervous that she’s gonna make a typo, or call the professor the wrong name, or accidentally attach her sex tape ((even though she doesn’t have a sex tape?)), but he hadn’t responded to either of those emails and she needs a response from him ASAP.

The door opens before her knuckles even make contact with wood, a short stout man walking out of the office with his briefcase in hand. He’s balding, with only a thin circle of gray hair lining the back perimeter of his head, and a pair of classes sit on his large, oily nose. Y/n stumbles, her eyes widening as she embarrassingly lowers her knuckles from the door and takes a startled step backwards.

“Oh– um, Dr. Richmond?” she stammers nervously, her voice at a much higher pitch than usual. She’d love to stick a pore strip on his nose and unclog all those blackheads.

“That’s me,” he grumbles, sighing heavily, not even looking at her. He’s the head of the English Language and Literature department, a busy man surely. Students probably pester him every hour of every day. Still, she wishes that maybe she could’ve gotten a more… enthusiastic response from him.

“Hi, sir,” she says, swallowing thickly. “I-I was having some issues with enrolling in your English 270 lecture and– um,” she’s starting to lose confidence as Dr. Richmond blatantly ignores her, rummaging through his briefcase for his keys. “I was… wondering if you had a second to, um, discuss it?” Her voice quietly fades towards the end, not sure if Dr. Richmond was even listening at that point– as he’d taken out his phone and started replying to a text while she had still been talking.

He takes a solid five seconds to type out and send his text before responding to y/n. “Take it up with Harry,” he mumbles, still not looking at her. “M’done for the day.”

“Harry?” she repeats, her voice confused and eyebrows pinching together. But Dr. Richmond’s already walking away from her, halfway down the hall. “Oh,” she mumbles to herself sadly, lips pouting. All that, for nothing. He literally just walked away from her.

She sighs heavily, ready to turn on her heel and walk back to her apartment from this failed mission – but then a voice sounds from inside the office. "In here!" it calls out.

She peaks her head inside timidly.

Behind the desk sits a boy, with chocolate brown curls swirled atop his head. “Hello,” he hums, putting the essay he’d been reading down on the desk and looking at her with all his attention. There’s a soft smile on his pretty pink lips, twisted to the side with a dimple poking at his cheek. His eyes are green and glimmer kindly, framed by a pair of dark tortoise shell glasses. “How can I help you?”

This man is much more attractive than grumpy old (and oily) Dr. Richmond.

Y/n struggles to find her voice. “Are you… um, are you Harry?” Her eyes flicker all over this attractive young man’s face, trying to figure out if this is a hallucination or if a boy that pretty actually exists in real life.

“Indeed I am,” he chirps, his chair squeaking as he leans forward. She briefly remembers seeing the name “Harry E. Styles” listed as the graduate teaching assistant, underneath Dr. Richmond’s name on the course website, and is finally connecting the dots. He’s dressed in a white button up, the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms and an anchor on his wrist. His fingers tap against the desk rhythmically, and she finds her eyes drawn to the glittery rings decorating them. Her mind goes blank.

It’s clear that he’s a few years older than herself – but not in a bad way. He just looks taller and broader and… smarter than most of the boys her own age. He has just the slightest bit of stubble on his upper lip, and his eyes just shine with wisdom and intellect.

“Did you have a question?” he asks, voice a little teasing as he jolts her out of her little trance. She tucks her hair behind her ear, embarrassed, and quickly averts her eyes from his hands.

“Yeah, um– Dr. Richmond said you’d be able to help me with my enrollment issues?”

“Sure,” he crosses one leg over the other (y/n definitely notices the way his meaty thighs bulge) and leans back in his seat, hands folded neatly on his knee, “What’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to enroll in English 270, the Romantic Literature and Society lecture–” Harry nods attentively, “ –but the class is restricted to students in the Department of English Literature… which I’m not.” His eyebrows furrow hesitatingly, and she’s quick to defend herself. “I’ve taken all the prerequisites, though! I did well in all of them, and I emailed the department coordinator and they said that it’s fine for me to enroll in this class. It would just be a manual enrollment instead of the standard enrollment but they’ve done it for me for all the other literature classes I’ve taken that were also major restricted. All I need is a permission code and the professor's approval!” She pauses, taking a breath after her big ramble. “Or your approval, I suppose,” she adds as an afterthought.

He’s silent for a bit, sitting there with furrowed brows and pursed lips, just staring at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, squirming under his intense gaze.

Finally he asks, “What do you study then? If not literature?”

“Um– I’m a psych major.”

“And… why would a psychology major need to take an upper division literature class?” he presses. Not trying to be rude, but just to understand.

“Oh. I just… really enjoy books,” she says shyly. “It’s not for any credit toward my major. But I promise that I’ll stay on top of the work and participate and all that!”

He leans his forearms on the desk. His eyes are thoughtful, and he takes his time before speaking. “Your name was…?” he trails off.

“Y/n,” she fills in quickly. He nods.

“Miss y/n,” he sits up straighter, and looks her in the eye, “How many other units are you taking this semester?”

“Um…” she counts them off in her head. “16?”

“So with this class you’d be at 20?” he confirms.

She nods, nervously chewing on the inside of her cheek. That is a lot of units. The last time she took 20 units she had a mental breakdown so intense that she spent an entire night just crying to her roommate (Iris), incapable of doing any work or studying because she was just so stressed out and overwhelmed. She had to skip classes just to catch up on the work that she’d fallen behind on for her other classes, and found her weekends swamped with essays and studying and missed assignments. She only just barely survived, and as soon as finals week was over, she literally collapsed with exhaustion, her body and brain so burnt out that she was sick for weeks. She’d promised herself that she’d never do it again… and yet here she is not even two semesters later.

She can already imagine how stressful this semester is going to be.

“You understand, miss y/n, that this is not an easy class?” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and somehow it’s attractive. “We have weekly readings and essays and discussions, and the final paper is not a matter to be taken lightly. You truly believe you can manage that on top of all your other classes?”

She gulps nervously, but timidly nods. He can tell that he’s laid it all on a bit harshly.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says softly. “I’m just trying to be… realistic. You seem to be a highly motivated student – and I admire that you’re pursuing topics that truly interest you – but I’d hate to see you burn yourself out.”

“I think I can handle it,” she says, quiet but confident. “It’s something I enjoy so it’s more like a hobby than a class. And I think it’ll be fun? I saw on the syllabus that we’d be analyzing Frankenstein, which is one of my favorites…”

His lips twist in a soft, endeared smile. He also loves Frankenstein.

“Very well then,” he murmurs, his eyes glimmering thoughtfully. “What was it you needed to get enrolled? A permission code? I think if you just give me your student ID number I can get that sorted out…”

+++

The weather today is better.

It’s still cloudy and gray outside, but the wind is much more forgiving, just a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. Orange and red leaves fall to the ground, crunching underneath y/n’s feet as she walks to class. They match the red sweater that she’s wearing today, soft and knitted with hidden tones of orange and brown woven between the threads. The colors of autumn, her favorite season.

A pair of wired headphones trail from her back pocket to her ears. She’s listening to her fall playlist, Lana Del Rey’s Season of the Witch setting the tempo of her walk to campus. In one hand she carries her book – The Secret History by Donna Tart – and in the other she carries her iced chai latte. Her fingers are freezing as she holds her iced drink, and a shiver crawls down her spine every time she takes a sip – but she doesn’t regret her drink order at all. She’ll have an iced chai in her hand no matter the weather.

Wanting to make a good impression on the first day of classes, she got up extra early today to get a head start. She washed her face so that she’d look extra bright and awake, ate a proper breakfast at her dining table instead of her usual banana-on-the-walk-to-class, and put on an outfit that she thought gave… studious. Her autumn sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and white sneakers. She even chose her book to match the academic vibe she was going for today (she was between The Secret History and Happy Place, and Happy Place just felt too summery for such a gloomy day… plus The Secret History has been on her TBR for way too long.).

She arrives at the lecture hall approximately… 20 minutes too early. But it was on purpose! She’s only taken a few classes in the literature building (most of her classes are in the social science buildings) and wanted to have enough time to find the room before class started. How horrible would it be for her to be late on the first day, when she’s desperate to make such a good impression on Harry? And Dr. Richmond, of course– but mostly Harry.

He was nice. And she wants him to like her. Ballad of a girl who craves academic validation.

The door to the lecture hall is locked, so y/n takes a seat on the floor right next to the door, and cracks her book open. She’s only 15 pages in, but she’s already enthralled. She can’t count how many times this novel has been recommended to her – always in those “best books to read in fall<3” tik toks, or the list of classics recommended by the New York Times – and she gets it. She zones in, her eyes flickering from one page to the next as her headphones softly play Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac. She’s not one to usually listen to music while she reads (she usually finds it to be too distracting), but she’s so engrossed in this world and these characters that she barely remembers that she’s still listening to music. The people walking past her in the hallway fade away, the fluorescent lights transform into the dark library her book characters are currently huddled in, and no sound passes through her wired headphones – not even the heeled boots clicking against the tile floors, getting closer and closer to her.

She only realizes that she’s not alone when those brown boots stop right in front of her, shining brightly in contrast to her worn out sneakers. She looks up suddenly, yanking her headphones out of her ears. Harry towers over her, key in hand, which he sticks into the lock. A soft smirk twists at his lips, and his green eyes flicker to where she’s looking up at him from the floor.

“Miss y/n,” he says with a pleasant nod, a hint of amusement in his voice, “You’re here early.”

She folds the corner of the page she’s on and stands up, gently shutting her book. “I didn’t want to be late,” she responds, fussing with her stubborn headphones, which refuse to tuck into her back pocket. “I don’t have many classes in this building… didn’t want to get lost or anything on the first day.”

He opens the door and lets y/n in first, following in closely behind her. “Punctuality is good.” He props the door open.

She looks around the lecture hall. It’s not nearly as big as the classrooms she usually sits in for her psychology classes – those classes are huge, usually filled with a bunch of freshmen from all sorts of majors trying to fulfill their lower division GE requirements and whatnot. Those lecture halls could fit up to 400 people. This one probably wouldn’t fit more than 60.

Not a problem though, considering that this class only had about 40 students enrolled (she checked last night).

She wonders where she should sit. Too far in the back and she’d make the wrong first impression… but too close to the front and she might be the annoying kid that asks too many questions. Third row is her best bet.

There’s still about 15 minutes before the class is scheduled to start, and she’s still the only one in the lecture hall apart from Harry. She feels a bit awkward, being the person in the sea of seats, but Harry pays no mind to her, shuffling through papers and logging onto the computer at the front podium. Though her book sits opened on her lap, she can’t help but stare at him.

He’s wearing brown trousers, well fitted around his legs and cutting off perfectly at his ankles as if they were custom tailored for him. Cream colored socks adorn his ankles and those shiny, brown leather boots click against the floor with his every step. Very professional, but also casual with the way his white button up is rolled up at the sleeves and unbuttoned at the top. He’s missing those cute glasses today, though.

She watches as he struggles to turn the projector on, his eyebrows furrowed as he presses all the buttons on the panel. The lights in the classroom turn on and off again, and the computer audio mutes and unmutes before he finally figures out how to get the screen to roll down and the projector to flicker on. Despite him being only a few years older, he looks like an old man toggling with the buttons and trying to get technology to work in his favor. She bites back a smile, and quickly looks down to her book when Harry’s eyes briefly flicker to hers. From her peripheral vision, she can see him laughing as well and shaking his head at himself.

She traces her fingers over the pages of the book, clearly well loved and worn out. She got it from the library just last week, after having been on the waitlist for the book for the past month. She can see why it’s so popular though, already so engrossed by the plot. The pages are old and yellow, the edges folded and ripped with years of use, and it has that old book smell that she just adores. How old is this book? It was published in the 90’s, wasn’t it?

Harry’s voice interrupts her thoughts. “Reading something good?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes. He’s managed to successfully display the course syllabus on the projector screen, and is now walking around the desk with a stack of papers in his hand. He stands in front of the very first row, leaning his weight onto one leg with a hand in his pocket.

“Oh, um–” she falters, “I actually just started it. I’ve heard it’s supposed to be really good.” She sits up straighter in her seat, “Have you heard of it? The Secret History?”

Harry purses his lips, “Sounds familiar… haven’t read it though. You’ll have to tell me if it’s worth reading, alright?”

She nods, smiling shyly. Call her delusional but… it feels like a bit of an honor for him to trust her with a book recommendation. That takes a lot of trust, doesn’t it? To trust that someone will recommend a good book to you?

She’s totally making a big deal out of nothing. She does that sometimes.

“How about you?” she asks, her voice embarrassingly quiet. She’s shy, and nervous, and she’s not that good at small talk, and Harry is looking at her with these intense, green eyes that make her feel like she’s saying the most important thing in the world. She clears her throat, forcing her voice to not come out scared and shaky, “Read anything good lately?”

He grins, and she can tell this is probably his favorite thing to talk about. “M’reading, like, five books at once,” he admits sheepishly. “Kafka on the Shore, if you’ve heard of it… Notes from Underground, by Dostoevsky for one of m’own classes…” he purses his lips in thought, “Started re-reading Paradise Lost as well. We’re analyzing it in one of the other classes im TA-ing, n’ it’s one of my favorites to teach,” he says with a shrug. His eyes are so thoughtful as he lists off the books that he’s reading, flickering green and gold. He’s just… beautiful.

“I haven’t read any of them,” y/n says regretfully, wishing that she could impress him with some sort of intellectual talk about one of these books. “I’ve had Kafka on the Shore on my list for a while, though.”

He smiles. “S’a good one.” There’s a dimple in his left cheek that pinches cutely, the glimmer in his eyes a sight to behold. His pretty pink lips purse thoughtfully, his heart shaped cupid's bow twitching as though he has more to say – but then another student walks in.

Harry’s head whips around. His jawline is sharp, and he nods politely at the new student. “Good morning,” he murmurs to the girl – that same welcoming voice that had made y/n’s heart flutter that first day that she met him.

He turns back to y/n, and hands her a paper from the stack in his hands. “The syllabus,” he says, his eyes kind and warm.

She swallows thickly as he walks away from her, enamored already.

+++

“Classes will be Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Dr. Richmond lectures from the front of the class. His voice is croaky and old, so he has a tiny microphone clipped to his shirt pocket to project his voice to the back of the class – despite the small size of the lecture hall. “Thursdays I’ll lead the class,” he drones on, “We’ll analyze the romantic era… how their literature was a reflection of their politics… how they set the foundation of modern day consumerism, capitalism, patriarchy, globalism, imperialism…” he waves his hand passively. “The works.”

He takes a long sip of water, and his swallow echoes through the class, amplified by his shirt microphone. Y/n cringes at the wet mouth sounds as he smacks his lips together.

“On Tuesday’s–” his voice booms through the microphone again, “you will come to a class discussion led by Harry. This means that you’ll have the entire weekend to do the readings…”

Nearly all the eyes in the room flicker to Harry, who’s been standing quietly in the corner with his hands folded behind his back while Dr. Richmond continues to lecture. He gives a small, almost bashful wave to the class at the mention of his name, his eyes scanning the room of unfamiliar faces. Their eyes meet, and his lips twist into a smile. This is the third time she’s caught his eye during the lecture.

He stares at her for a second, eyes glinting as if the two of them have a secret that they’re not sharing with the rest of the class. It makes her heart race in her chest, smiling back at him secretly.

She breaks their eye contact when Dr. Richmond croaks out with the last of his voice, “Any questions?”

He’s met with silence.

“No? Okay good, class dismissed. See you all on Thursday.”

The class bustles with life, backpacks zipping and pull out desks squeaking as everyone slowly trickles out of the room. A line forms in front of Dr. Richmond’s podium, with students eagerly introducing themselves and asking questions about the syllabus, only to be redirected to the back of the new line forming in front of Harry’s corner. Harry smiles kindly at every question and speaks with eloquence, strikingly different to Dr. Richmond’s grumbling and groaning.

It’s glaringly obvious that Harry is going to be a class favorite.

In the middle of answering a redheaded boy’s question, his gaze wanders over to y/n, watching her as she packs up her things, eyes following her to the door. She tucks her book under her arm and plugs her headphones into her ear, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

Her drink is finished, just a cup full of melting ice at this point, so she stops at the trash can right at the front of the door. As she throws it away, she manages one final glance back at Harry. He’s already looking at her. He grins when their eyes meet, and gives a small wave goodbye.

She bites back a smile, then hurries out of the classroom before he gets the chance to see her giddy eyes and heating cheeks.

+++

Y/n honestly doesn’t love going to office hours.

It’s hard, because on one hand, she knows that she should go to them and form a relationship with her professors so that they can write her letters of rec in the future… but on the other, they’re so crowded and awkward! Every other student is there for the same reason as her, going into office hours to ask their silly questions and try to butter up the professor. There are usually at least a dozen college students in there, waiting for their one second interaction with the professor before they all get kicked out at the end of the hour. It’s annoying and a waste of her time. Plus, she doubts Dr. Richmond is all that into getting buttered up

That’s why she chooses to go to TA office hours instead. Usually much more quiet and much more intimate. Not that many people like to go to TA office hours for some reason, which means she usually gets to have one-on-one help. And sometimes (if the TA is really cool) they’ll basically give her the answers to the homework – a good thing, right?

Well… not when the TA is this ridiculously attractive and charming boy with curly brown hair and pretty green eyes that she can’t help but have a teensy little crush on.

Like… can you blame her? He’s smart and handsome, and so incredibly kind and sweet. His eyes glimmer when he talks about his favorite books and his lips are always curled into a smile that makes her heart bubble. Always so polite and respectful, doing gentlemanly things while his boyish dimples pinch his cheeks. His voice is slow and sultry like smooth honey – and you can just tell that his mind is a beautiful place just from the way he talks.

He’s just… endearing. Straight out of some romance book– and y/n loves romance!!! She can’t help but have a little bit of a heart flutter when she sees him standing in the corner of the lecture hall, especially when their eyes meet and he smiles at her cutely.

He’s just being nice – she knows that, and she is well aware that she’s very delusional and that nothing is going to happen… but still, the prospect of going to his office hours and potentially having a one-on-one conversation with him makes her giddy and nervous at the same time.

She pulls herself together and shakes away all the silly thoughts clouding her brain. Hoisting her bag up her shoulder, she enters the small office, the gold plaque reading Styles, H. shining proudly as she walks through the door.

Harry doesn’t hear her walk in, his brows furrowed behind his tortoise shell glasses. A red pen is in his hand, brutally attacking a freshman essay. He looks up, a tad bit startled, when she knocks on the door timidly.

The furrow in his brow immediately softens and turns into that familiar, kind smile. “Miss y/n,” his eyes shine like the nighttime sky filled with stars, “My first student of the day.”

“Oh,” she checks the time. “I thought office hours started like, thirty minutes ago. Was I wrong? Am I early?” She intentionally wanted to show up a little late, not wanting to seem too eager.

“No, no – you were right,” he hums, putting his pen down. “Not many students tend to show up to our office hours, is all. Especially not during the first week.”

She bites on the inside of her lip and wonders if she should be embarrassed for being the only one to show up, but Harry is quick to continue,“I wish more people did come, though. Like– if nobody shows up, all I do is sit here and grade for an hour.” His lips purse out cutely, a thoughtful pout, “And I hate grading.”

“Oh– I’ll probably be here a lot,” y/n says mindlessly. “I always have questions. And Dr. Richmond kinda scares me.”

Harry sputters out a laugh, and y/n’s cheeks heat up. Maybe that was inappropriate to say. But then Harry leans in and whispers, “He scares me too, sometimes.”

It’s these charming little moments that make him so endearing. She tries not to get too distracted by his dimples and how his fingers tap delicately against his thigh, hugged deliciously by another pair of well fitting trousers.

“Um– if it’s not a bother, I was wondering if I could ask about the first assignment? I was kind of confused about what's expected from us for the free-write thing…”

“M’all yours,” Harry murmurs, gesturing to the seat across from his desk.

+++

Y/n’s fatal flaw is thinking that she can beat a rainstorm.

She actively knew there was an 80% chance of rain today. She saw the rainy streets. She heard the weather forecast. But did she bring an umbrella with herself to campus?

No.

Somehow she rationalized in her brain that she didn’t need it. It was barely sprinkling when she walked out of her apartment, and the walk to class was only like 15 minutes! She’d make it to campus and then she’d be indoors all day and by the time she needed to go home the rain would probably have died down, and everything would be fine.

Oh how wrong she was. Silly girl.

The rain is pounding down on her right now. Big fat raindrops soaking through her hoodie and turning her light wash denim jeans into a completely new color. She has many regrets. What had started off as a cute little walk in the rain has turned into her running through a fucking monsoon or something. The slight, gentle drizzle had escalated to pouring rain in a matter of seconds. She had left her apartment with her earbuds playing Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer, romanticizing her little stroll in the rain – but now her wire headphones are barely hanging on as half-speedwalks/ half-runs down the sidewalk with her head down.

When she gets stuck at a crosswalk on a busy street, she glances frantically to her left and right, trying to find a tree or a building to take shelter under. But the sky is wide and open, no roof or canopy for her to hide under. She stands helplessly, the rain pouring down on her. The only thing she can do is pull her hood up and grip it tightly so that the rain doesn’t get in her face.

The rain pierces through her clothes, and the wind feels extra cold against her wet jeans. Thank god she at least wore rainboots today, she thinks to herself as she stares down at the ground. This would suck even more if her socks were getting wet. She had thought far ahead enough to anticipate the possibility of puddles – and yet still didn’t imagine the need for an umbrella. The hems of her pants are soaked and feel horrible against her ankles, and she knows for a fact that she’s gonna have to let her hoodie air dry or something during Dr. Richmond’s lecture. Ugh. She hopes the lecture hall is warmer than it is out here.

She readjusts her headphones, pushing the earbuds further into her ear after they nearly fell out whilst she was running here. She likes this song, and it’s kind of romantic to be listening to it in the rain (it would be even more romantic if she wasn’t SOAKED TO THE CORE). If there’s anything y/n will do, it’s romanticize the shit out of any situation.

Cars are driving past quickly, but she can’t hear them, her music loud enough to drown out their annoying engines. She stares at a nearby puddle, looking at how it ripples as each drop of rain splatters into it. She wonders if mother nature has a personal vendetta against her – if Earth had personally planned to make it rain super hard the minute that she stepped out of her apartment. Why does she always do this? This isn’t the first time she’s caught herself soaked because she was too lazy to bring an umbrella with herself – and it probably isn’t the last time either. She crosses her arms across her chest and hides her hands in her sleeves, hugging herself tightly as a feeble defense against the biting rain. Why won’t the stupid crosswalk turn on? Her slightly damp hair falls into her eyes as she looks back down at her boots, letting out an annoyed huff.

The shadow of a new person tickles her peripheral vision. They brought an umbrella. She scolds herself once more.

It takes her a second to realize that, although she can still see the rain drizzling around her, splattering against the ground and splashing onto her boots… she actually doesn’t feel the gentle patter of raindrops against the top of her head anymore. She looks up.

Somehow, she is now under the umbrella. And the person holding said umbrella… is Harry.

He looks gorgeous as usual, dressed in a dark blue trench coat, black trousers, and some sleek black boots with gold buckles on them. Standing to her left, he holds his umbrella up between them in a way that shields both of them from the rain. He stares forward innocently, pretending like everything is normal – like he hadn't just snuck up next to her and shared his umbrella with her. She can see a slight smile tugging on his lips though, and when she stares at him long enough, he peeks over at her with a glint shimmering in his pupils. His pretty pink lips curl into that sideways smile, and he says nothing.

Y/n can’t help but give a dumbstruck little laugh. Of course it would be Harry.

He winks at her, ever so charming and mischievous, then turns back to face the road. The crosswalk switches from Stop to Go, and Harry takes a step forward. Y/n follows in his stride.

They say nothing, and walk to their lecture shoulder to shoulder.

+++

“So,” Harry says with a clap, his voice loud and strong, “I hope you all got the chance to do the first chapter of our reading.” Unlike Dr. Richmond, Harry doesn’t need a microphone to project his voice to the back of the class. All eyes are staring at him, ears listening intently. And all the girls are staring at his pretty pink lips, and how they curl over each word (y/n included).

“I know life gets in the way, so if y’ever don’t get the chance to finish the assigned reading… tha’s okay,” he says with a quirk of his lips. “M’not gonna be mad. I just ask that you don’t let it turn into a habit, and y’don’t pretend like you read it. M’gonna know if you’re bullshitting me… so just don’t even try.” The entire class laughs, and Harry’s dimple pokes his cheek.

“So– be honest– how many of you guys read the first chapter?”

All the students raise their hands, and Harry nods approvingly, “Nice… very nice.” He’s a natural at the front of the classroom, entertaining and intellectual at the same time – confident and eloquent. His words are thoughtful and slow, but not one student seems to be bored by his slow drawl. No – instead everyone hangs onto his every word, dripping soft and thick like golden honey. He answers questions easily and plays off of student responses like a pro, and everyone seems keen on impressing him with fancy literature talk.

“You might have seen on our course page that I posted a series of discussion questions… I’ll try to have these up at least a week in advance so that you can have them in the back of your mind whilst you’re reading. I always find it to be particularly stimulating to be reading a novel with a question in mind… dunno, makes me feel sharper while I read. Does anyone else feel that way?” He talks to the class as if they’re all friends, mildly flirtatious in the natural, charming way that he is.

The group of undergraduates nod back at him, enthralled by his smile and his wit and just everything about him. God, his smile is just so charming. “Okay... how about we get started with the first one? Wait– actually, before that… I’m just wondering, have any of you already read Frankenstein before?”

Two students out of the forty raise their hands – a boy wearing a Bob Dylan t-shirt, and y/n.

Harry’s eyes meet y/n’s for the first time since they entered the classroom together. They’d walked across campus together in comfortable silence, past the campus Starbucks and the Social Science buildings, and when they got to the Literature department building Harry had held the door open for her, while shaking off the rain droplets from his umbrella. They walked through the halls side by side as well, Harry’s shiny boots clicking in time with the squeak of y/n’s wet sneakers against the tile floors. All he had said to her during the entirety of their walk was “After you,” when he’d opened the door for her.

Now he looks at her for the first time in what feels like ages, and gives her an approving nod. He already knew that, from that very first day when she’d come to his office, asking for permission codes and what not. She feels her heart fluttering excitedly, just from that single nod.

“Interesting… so it’s a first read for most of you. Brilliant! We’ll have a good time reading it together, I promise,” he says, his green eyes gleaming. “I love this book – it’s sometimes called the first science fiction book, written at a time where technology was first being introduced, and it’s regarded as one of the most famous novels of the Romantic era. Mary Shelly, the author, was a prominent Romantic era writer who shared the common Romantic appreciation for the natural world and how art can evoke emotions, which we can clearly see in her novel. We’ll take a few different approaches while analyzing it. Most prominently through a Romantic lens – but we’ll also do a feminist reading and religious reading, as well as a biographical approach… which brings us to the first discussion question – ‘Frankenstein is ultimately a novel about creation– a new and terrifying exploration of bringing life into the world. Based on what you read in the introduction, how can we see Mary Shelly’s personal experiences with life, birth, and death in the themes explored in Frankenstein?’” He looks up from the sheet of paper that he just read the question aloud from with bright eyes, “Anyone want to start us off?”

The class is silent, the crowd of students suddenly much quieter compared to when they’d been going back and forth with playful banter to Harry’s jokes. Everyone’s a little too nervous to be the first one to say anything, and nobody wants to say the wrong thing. Harry holds his breath, and searches for a hand to save them from this awkward bit of silence. This kind of shyness is normal for the first day of classes – in fact, he’d expected it – but it still doesn’t mean it’s any less awkward. His eyes flicker from one side of the class to the other, from the front row to the back.

He almost misses y/n’s hand, timidly raising from her set spot in the third row. Harry’s eyes light up. “Miss y/n,” he murmurs, “go ahead.”

“Well, in the introduction we learn that Mary Shelly had a few failed pregnancies before writing her novel, and that her own mother had passed during childbirth complications. Shelly goes on to depict the cycle of life as destructive… Frankenstein’s monster is this disfigured creature that the creator is running from, which we see right at the beginning. The introduction implies that this “horrifying” birth and the death of the creator at the hands of what it created, might be symbolic of her own experiences.”

“Excellent. That’s exactly right,” his smiles meet his eyes, and they twinkle, impressed. “The reason we have this as the first discussion question,” Harry turns back to the rest of the class, “is because I want you guys to keep it in mind while reading. Look for the ways Shelly describes birth – take note of the strained relationship she creates between the creator and his creation. Also, recall how Shelly herself proclaimed this book to be her “hideous progeny” – to use such intense language whilst also calling it her “progeny” holds a lot of implications of what Shelly’s view on Creation is – whether is biologically or creatively. This is something that we’ll discuss further in depth when we get farther into the novel, so I want you all to start thinking about it now.”

All the students in the room nod intently, writing down what Harry said word for word.

“Furthermore, has anyone noticed that we’ve already seen a lot of references to fire? Pretty obvious symbolism, right?” The class nods. “Does anyone know why she chose fire, specifically?”

It’s silent again. Y/n looks around herself to see if anyone else might have the answer, but everyone stares up at Harry blankly.

“Don’t be shy on me now, guys. Promise m’not mean,” Harry smiles, “Just wanna get the discussion flowing.”

Y/n shyly raises her hand again. “It’s a reference to Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods – she even alternatively calls her story The Modern Prometheus.”

His eyes glimmer, a shine behind his irises that doesn’t show up when he looks at his other students – just y/n. As hard as he tries not to pick favorites… he can’t help but harbor a little bit of favoritism towards her. “Very good, Miss y/n,” he praises with a soft smile.

Y/n’s cheeks turn hot and she ducks her head down, unable to stop the reciprocating smile from spreading on her face.

+++

“Miss y/n,” Harry calls out to her as the students file out of the classroom. “A word, please.”

Y/n hoists her bag over her shoulder and makes her way to the podium where he stands. He’s packing up his own things, his own beat up copy of Frankenstein being placed delicately in his bag, along with a stack of other papers and things that he has to grade. A few other students have approached him, asking questions that they were too shy to ask during class, but with a sly smile he tells them to ask their questions at his office hours (Thursdays at 5 – but y/n already knew that!). Her fingers twist nervously behind her back as she stands awkwardly by his side as the rest of the students ask their questions and trickle out.

He waits until all the students have left, and it’s just him and y/n standing by the podium, before he says anything to her.

“You were making some excellent points today in class,” he looks up at her briefly with a smirk, “I appreciate your participation. Class is always more difficult to lead when students don’t participate.”

“Oh,” she blinks. She’s never been thanked for participating in class. “Erm– yeah. I-I’m happy to participate.” She readjusts her bag, tugging it higher up her shoulders, “S’just kinda like a big book club if y’really think about it.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he agrees with a quirk of his lips. He zips up his bag, and pulls it over his own shoulder, “How are you planning on getting home?”

A strange follow up question, she thinks to herself. But she responds, nonetheless, “Oh, I was just gonna walk.” Harry peers out of the window, then looks back at y/n, his eyebrows raised. She follows his gaze, and realizes that it is still raining like crazy outside.

A heavy sigh escapes her lips without her permission. Of course. “I guess I’ll just wait it out,” she shrugs, walking towards the door alongside Harry.

He locks the door behind them, with her lingering closely by, waiting for him. “Do you live far?”

“No, not really. Just a 15 minute walk.” They walk towards the building exit, and Harry pulls out his umbrella. “Not too bad, as long as there isn’t a monsoon going on outside,” she finishes with a petulant grumble.

Harry chuckles lowly, his dimples shining brightly. “I was just going to offer… y’know, since it’s still raining and you’re umbrella-less…” his eyes twinkle teasingly, “I could drive you home? Wouldn’t want you to get soaked again when you’ve only just dried off.”

“Oh!” she bubbles, looking at him with wide eyes. “Really? You would do that?” He nods, but she presses, “Are you sure that wouldn’t be a hassle? I mean– like, really I could just stay here and read until the rain dies down–”

“S’not a hassle,” he reassures. “Y’don’t even know when the rain will be gone– could be all night. It’ll be cold, n’dark… it’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe, yeah?”

“Gosh that’s… that’s really nice of you,” she says, almost pouting.

He just smiles, pushing the door open and opening his umbrella for the two of them to huddle under. His car is parked in the graduate student parking lot, so it’s not too far of a walk (although they’re doing more of a brisk speedwalk, trying to get out of the rain and wind as fast as possible). The rain patters harshly on top of his umbrella, but they manage to stay dry, shoulders brushing together and their warm bodies radiating heat onto each other.

He unlocks his car and opens the passenger's seat for her, making sure that she’s covered from the rain as she slides into her seat. He then runs over to his own side, quickly shutting his umbrella and throwing it into the backseat. His fingers are numb as he turns the car on, and he immediately blasts the heat for the two of them, putting his frozen fingers in front of the warm air. “God, not even three minutes out there n’ I’m already freezing m’bits off,” he mumbles to himself. He turns to her, and smiles when he sees her copying his actions, “Isn’t this so much better that walking home?”

All she can give is a nod, wriggling her fingers in front of his heaters. Her teeth are chattering as she barely manages to chatter out, “S’freezing.”

“Wind would’ve blown you away before you even made it home, I reckon.” He plays with the windshield wipers until they’re on the highest setting, but even then his windshield is blurry from the rain. He makes sure to drive extra slow and cautiously, reversing out at the speed of a snail and turning his high beams on.

It’s only when she’s sitting in the front seat of his car that a somewhat important thought floats to the forefront of her mind – “is this allowed?”

“Is what allowed?” He's half paying attention, half checking both sides of the road before turning left onto the street.

“Like– I mean you’re sort of my professor, I guess,” she stumbles over her words, “Is it… would you get in trouble? For like… giving me a ride?”

Harry’s eyebrows pinch thoughtfully, “Well, first of all– Dr. Richmond’s your professor, not me. Secondly– I don’t see why it would be against the rules. S’just a car ride,” he shrugs.

She relaxes in her seat, nodding. She supposes he’s right. It’s just a car ride.

“But– if anything,” he adds on with, turning to her momentarily with a mischievous glint in his eye, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Y/n’s lips curl. “Okay,” she giggles.

It’ll be their little secret.

+++

HOPE U GUYS LOVED IT!!!!!! part 2 is up on my patreon already, and will come to tumblr next saturday (oct 14) pleeeeaaaase lmk what u rhink and give her a rb and a comment i love u guys so so much!!! more tarry to come!

Prose (part 2) is already posted on patreon! : In which not many students attend Harry's office hours, and y/n's kind of burnt out

Prose Masterlist

#i am a psych major #i also tale reading seminars purely because i like them #not required at all #i have one lined up every semester #i also love frankenstein #and iced chai even tho its cold #and i always forget an umbrella bc who wants to carry one #ive been caught in the rain twice already #i feel targeted #harry fic #harry #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic

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