the hollands ; reader imagines

Late & stormy || H.H.

Pairing: Harry Holland x reader

Warnings: just a whole load of fluff

~

A storm is brewing in the sky above as you tug on your coat, wrapping the source of warmth tightly around your person. The fickle London weather has made it nearly impossible to guess what to expect each day, but you are glad you were smart enough to put on a jacket before leaving your house this evening.

You're on your way to the boys' house for a movie night with the goal of finishing up the second half of the Harry Potter series. It's not a far walk from your place to theirs, but as you examine the churning clouds above, you are already dreading the walk home later.

With a quick rap, you knock on their front door, rocking on your heels as you wait for someone to answer. The door cracks to reveal a crown of soft, brown curls, a smile plastered to his pretty face. Harry lets you in, stepping aside so you can walk through.

"You look cold," he states.

"I am cold," you say, a shiver shaking your body as you step through the front door.

"Come on, I've got a blanket on the couch. I'll warm you up."

Just his words already have you heating up, and you curse yourself for feeling this way about your best friend. Recently, you've caught yourself thinking about the curly headed boy a bit too often in a bit too much of a romantic way. Innocent gestures like cuddling have your mind suddenly spinning with thoughts you're certain Harry does not reciprocate.

When you walk into the living room, everyone is already set up to watch the movie. Tuwaine and Harrison share a couch, leaving you and Harry to sit on the other sofa. You plop down on one end after greeting the boys, pulling your legs up onto the couch. Harry sits on the other end, spreading out the blanket across his lap before holding one end up.

"You still cold?" he asks, inviting you over.

Sliding over the cushion, you join Harry under the blanket, eyes immediately trained on the screen to avoid being caught blushing like an idiot in front of everyone. Harrison presses play before setting the remote down on the coffee table.

One movie. Two movies. Three movies.

After the third film, everyone is exhausted, including yourself, but you're not willing to give up just yet. Empty mugs of tea are scattered across the coffee table, a feeble attempt to sustain everyone's energy. Harrison and Tuwaine tap out, wishing you goodnight as they tread up the stairs sluggishly. You turn to Harry who is yawning himself.

"Not you too!" you whine.

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. "Nope. I'm determined to finish the last one with you if you're still down."

Grinning, you nod your head and press play on the remote, settling back into the couch next to Harry. Throughout the final movie, your eyelids grow heavy and you end up leaning your head against his shoulder, blanket pulled up to your chin. You can feel each time Harry tenses up at a certain scene and laugh heartily at another. It makes your pulse race being this close to him -- feeling the warmth of his body heat, his every move.

It's not like you've never been close to him before. He is your best friend after all. But it feels different in a way you can't explain, almost like the air between you has shifted. You try not to dwell on the matter too long as the final film comes to a close, and Harry turns off the television.

"Well," you stretch, standing up from the couch. "I better get going."

"What?" Harry asks, quite bewildered. "You're not walking home by yourself."