Larry Stylinson One Shots

Exams

Summary: Harry's stressing about his final exams

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Tests. Why do they exist? What do they help? All they do is separate those that are good at choosing between four options from those who are less fortunate when it comes to the world's most stressful guessing game. Harry's personal method is, if you don't know the answer, circle C. It's a solid answer, statistically the most likely to be correct.

Grimacing, Harry's pencil begins tapping rhythmically against his desk, his head held only a few inches from the paper as he tries desperately to comprehend the words printed in black ink on the blindingly white page.

Occipital Lobe

Parietal Lobe

Temporal Lobe

Frontal Lobe

Cerebellum

God. These are the basics and he still can't wrap his head around it, which is ironic because it's the brain. His brain can't understand his brain. Not that that's anything new, he hasn't really understood what's going on up there once in the past twenty one years of life.

Just focus.

Thalamus

Amygdala

Hippocampus

Hippopotamus?

Groaning, Harry lets his head fall onto the library desk. Why did he choose to study this? He really could've chosen any career and he booked himself a quite expensive trip to hell.

"You okay mate?" Harry's friend, Niall, asks from his chair opposite him on the other side of the table.

When all he receives is a pitiful grunt, Niall nods and turns back to his phone. He doesn't usually get responses from Harry that he could spell. The closest one is probably humbrph, but it's quite possible there could be an x mixed in there somewhere.

Sighing, Harry wrenches his forehead from the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing the heels of his palms aggressively against his eyes in order to wake himself up.

"Careful. Don't wanna ruin those emeralds of yours."

"These emeralds are gonna start bleeding if I have to read one more word about the brain, or synapses, or wrinkles."

"Why don't you take a break?"

"Because the final is in two days and I need to study."

"You've practically lived in this room for the past week. You haven't seen the light of day in so long, your skin is paler than your paper."

"I get sunlight perfectly fine." Harry crosses his arms indignantly. "I walk here every day. And there's literally a window right next to my bed."

"Which you have blackout curtains pulled over." Niall raises an eyebrow at him, and Harry purses his lips. No point in arguing that, it's true. "Take a break. Go out. Get laid."

"Honestly, Niall."

"What? Sex is the best stress reliever. Look at Stan. His exam is tomorrow and he was carefree at lunch today."

"I don't think it counts as sex if he does it to himself."

Niall snorts, sitting up straight and staring Harry down.

"Harold."

"Uh-oh." Harry pretends to gasp, afraid of his full name.

"Harold Edward Styles, you need to-"