hockerry x ballerina y/n

spit request*

There must be something clinically wrong with Y/N tonight.

Well, maybe not just tonight. Maybe... maybe, that "something wrong" has been creeping up her body and spreading from her stomach out to her chest and center over the duration of a past few weeks. Maybe she expected it go away after a day or two, because why wouldn't it?

Harry Styles is his worst nightmare. Her moral enemy. Her fiercest competitor.

So why the fuck does she think he looks good enough to swallow whole tonight?

He walked in with a crowd of his hockey buddies an hour or so after Y/N, Lea, Rena, and Mai had arrived. Per the pre-game hosted at Mai and Rena's place, she was already feeling a little buzzed when she got here. She was planning on taking it easy tonight — she was still diligently practicing for the spring showcase every day — but the second her eyes flitted over to the stupid backwards hat he wore and the flex of his jaw from the gum he chewed, she knew she needed more to get through the night.

And she's pleasantly tipsy when she makes a move to head to the bathroom. She hears her friends scold her for "breaking the seal," but she rolls her eyes and playfully flips them off in response. Her sneakers stick to the vodka-coated floors of the college bar as she pushes her way through the crowd, trying to make her way to the ladies' room without any tequila spillage on her top.

Harry Styles is an idiot, she thinks to herself as she walks, There's no way I could have a crush on him. What, just because he drove me home a few times and helped me when I hurt my ankle? That's stupid, he's stupid, and—

"Hey, you."

Her eyes dart up at the familiar deep voice and she wishes the ground would open up and take her right then and there. Did she somehow conjure Harry up with her thoughts? She's a little drunk, but there's no way she's that powerful.

Unless she is.

"I have to pee." she replies, pointing to the bathrooms behind his tall stature.

"Okay. Go pee, then."

She flashes a tight smile his way as she brushes past him. She thinks from the corner of her eye she sees him stand against the wall of the small hallway, crossing her arms over his chest. The last time they were in this area together, it was right after she slept with Malcolm (the stupid, prissy idiot from the opposing team who wouldn't even smack her ass). At this point, it's been months since Harry lowly waxed poetic in her ear about how he could make all her degrading dreams come true.

The memory makes her shudder as she washes her hands.

Y/N's suspicious are proved right when she exits the bathroom to see Harry still standing there. She's prepared to ignore him and walk straight past him until he reaches out to grasp her wrist, gently pulling her back. She yelps, a tipsy, unattractive sound, and it makes Harry's eyes crease with laughter.

"You good?" he asks. Y/N's vision darts down to the gum he's chewing between his teeth and she swallows.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

Harry shrugs. "Just making sure you're not too drunk."

"I have a dress rehearsal this weekend," she replies with a shake of her head. "I just came out to see the girls."

"And me." He points out cheekily, making her roll her eyes.

"I didn't even know you'd be here tonight, Harry."

"It's one of three bars in town and all the athletes come here."

He's right about that, and she knows he could double down by pointing out the obvious, too — that this is the only bar their friend groups ever frequent, and the hockey team rarely misses a Friday night out.