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summary: in which; you aren't supposed to feel romantically for your personal trainer, but with how Harry tends to you in every fashion, it becomes increasingly difficult to suppress the sentiments overwhelming your sessions together.
trigger warnings: sexual content, mature themes.
word count: 8.5k
includes: personal trainer Harry, a quickly paced 'relationship', oral (female receiving), insecurity, written in the second person.
✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
It was a cold winter's day the first time you met him.
The sun was obscured by clouds, revealing merely shadows on the walkways. A hazy film and some fleeting moments of parting clouds were all that lingered after the summer heat and warmth had vanished months earlier. Even with a jacket, a chill lingered in the air and settled in your bones whenever you left the house. Thickets of trees had lost their leaves over the cold season and were exposed to the wind; left defenceless. And yet, you had never felt happier.
Your decision to return to the gym was prompted by the aforementioned temperatures. You figured that if you couldn't experience warmth outside of establishments or the comfort of the fireplace in your living room, there was no harm in producing it yourself. Even if it would be in the form of physical activity and exertion. Therefore, when the website a friend had sent you displayed the signup sheet and monthly expenditure for a personal trainer, you parted with the funds and found yourself to be a client of Harry Styles.
It was mere days later when your first session took place. The gym was presented with high countertops and narrow hallways that veered into respective areas of the establishment. On the left-hand side were locker rooms and various individual areas available for those desiring privacy. The right-hand side presented you with an abundance of equipment, opening into a large room that beamed with fluorescent lights and the scent of cleaning products. Before you could walk any further than the entrance of the said room, you were met with a man, the breadth of his shoulders filling out the entryway. His head whipped up from the bent position it held before noticing your presence.
The new position offered you a clear sight of the man before you. The curls on the top of his head were pulled into a small sprout by the teeth of a clip, baby hairs swirling across his temples. A top covered his chest though his toned physique seemed to tighten the fabric, allowing you glimpses of the tan skin underneath. Black tattoos shadowed against the sun-warmed skin, and your gaze dropped to where a pair of shorts moulded the muscle of his thighs.
Before either of you spoke, he extended a hand for you to shake.
"Hi, there." The man spoke your name and inquired if you were here to see Harry. He continued speaking when you nodded your head, "That's me. 'M Harry, it's nice to meet you."
