Shakespeare | Harry Styles

Part VI

Harry's hair is a weird length.

You play with your lower lip as you watch him run a hand through the mess of curls. Locks twist around his ears and hang over the frame of his glasses, despite his constant push to get them out of his face. You don't know why he won't just get a trim.

"'S my aesthetic," he told you when you asked. "Poets are supposed t'look messy, yeah?"

Green eyes find yours from across the room and you watch as Harry's blank expression is replaced by a smirk. You have to bite into your lower lip to keep from grinning at him. Your eyes only peel away from his face when Dr. Glasser dismisses the class and everyone starts to leave the room. You close your notebook and begin to pack away your things.

"Y/N."

You're startled when Dr. Glasser addresses you. He's usually the first out of the classroom, but today he's standing in front of your desk wearing a black t-shirt with brown dress pants. You find he's wearing his usual black shoes with the brown laces. At least his shoes match the outfit.

"Dr. Glasser," you greet, zipping up your bag and rising to your feet.

"Would you mind following me to my office? I'd like to speak with you."

There's nothing in his tone to gauge what this could be about. You find your gaze panning the room. It's empty except for Harry, who's straightening out a stack of papers on his desk, eyes trained on you with a look of slight alarm. His fingers wrap around the pages and he stands, still watching you with brows drawn low.

"Yeah, sure," you agree, shouldering your backpack. "Of course."

"Great," says Dr. Glasser with a grin. He turns to fetch his messenger bag. "Don't you have a class, Harry?"

"Wha'? Oh, yeah." Harry just gives you a quick glance before leaving the room. Dr. Glasser is at the door next, gesturing for you to follow him.

"He doesn't have the best memory, that boy," the professor observes. You're not sure if it's sarcasm you hear in his voice or something else.

The two of you travel silently down the hallway and up a single flight of stairs. Dr. Glasser's office is on the third floor, directly across from the stairwell. It's small, but cozy, despite the messy stacks of paper that litter the desk and all of the shelves. He gestures for you to sit and you do, after shedding your backpack. Your fingers grip the edge of his desk as you seat yourself and they come away with a thin layer of dust. He doesn't seem to clean very often.

Dr. Glasser shuts the door with a click and makes his way around the desk to sit in his own chair. He presses his glasses up his nose and reaches into a drawer to pull out a pouch of powdered doughnuts.

"Are you hungry?" he asks politely, tearing into the package.

"No, thank you." Your stomach begs to differ.

"You're probably wondering what this is about." Dr. Glasser bites into a doughnut and sugar falls like snow onto his black shirt. "It's about Harry."

Your lips part in surprise, fingers stilling where they were playing with the hem of your shirt.

"What about Harry?"

Your mind races. You know that Harry is close with Dr. Glasser, that he confides in him and receives advice. But what you don't know is how much he tells him. What does your professor know about you?

"You look startled," he observes with a deep frown and soft eyes. "Harry hasn't told me much about you, if that's what you're worried about. He hasn't gone into detail. We just chat."