Harry Styles Imagines

I Can't Help Falling In Love With You

Your feet hit the pavement, seemingly harder with every step. Your breath came in heavy pants and the sweat beaded at your skin. You couldn't remember what mile You were on, what street, what hour. You didn't care.
Every muscle in your body ached, even your mind seemed to hurt, but you didn't stop, you couldn't stop. The ground seemed to thud as you ran.
A strike of lighting lit up the sky, and you lifted your face to see the darkened clouds littering the sky that you hadn't had the time-or the energy really-to notice until just now. A cold raindrop hit your cheek, and then another.
"Shit," you muttered. You slowed to a brisk walk, your eyes darting around to ref and figure out just exactly where you were. You didn't recognize a single landmark-what kind of flower was that? Who's mailbox?-, and swore under your breath.
The rain came out of nowhere, and suddenly it felt like you were being pelted from all angles. You couldn't tell what direction the wind was coming from, you couldn't tell If it was rain or hail at this point. It was the icing on the cake of a truly terrible month. Your eyes closed for a moment, his words ringing in your ears.
"it's not you, it's me."
You stared at the boy you'd been with nearly two years. The one who's features you'd memorized, who loved sleeping on the side of the bed you liked but you let him have it because that's just what you do. The boy who killed spiders in the shower for you. Who asked you out with candles and roses because he knew how much you liked cheesy things and who promised you he'd always be there.
"This is one of your pranks, right?" You felt a metallic taste in your mouth, a queasy feeling in your stomach. He looked back at you, there was no trace of laughter in those brown eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. He lifted his suitcase, and walked out the door.
You regretted your running outfit. You'd realized a few months ago that when you went on distance runs, you tended to sweat a lot and so you chose to only wear your Nike sports bra and running shorts.
Now you stood shivering in the downpour trying to figure out how the hell you were going to get home. Tears welled in your eyes and trickled down your soaked cheeks to mix with the rain at your luck, and you cursed yourself again for feeling so weak and helpless.
This wasn't you. You weren't the girl who let a boy break your heart. You were the girl who broke the boys hearts and stood strong. You weren't weak in the slightest. So why did you still feel so broken?
"Are you alright?"
You whirled around at the accented voice, startled to see a very tall, very handsome man standing behind you. He must've come out of the little yellow house behind him, it was cute. His long hair and nice clothes were now getting drenched as well but he didn't seem to mind.
"I-I'm fine," you stuttered.
He stared at you, obvious concern in his green eyes. There was a heavy pause as he considered you. "Do you need to use my telephone?"
And so you found yourself inside the warm house of this attractive stranger, both of you soaked, your eyes still wet, and he found you a towel.
"I'll grab you some dry clothes," he said softly. He didn't ask questions, never pressuring you to tell him why you stood out in the rain in a sports bra crying. It was overly polite and you were grateful for it.
He was back soon with a handful of warm clothes, and led you to the bathroom. "I'm Harry, by the way," he said, both of you hovering at the doorway. He was close to you, his cologne and minty breath tickling your nose. You blinked up at him, confused at how nice he was being when he didn't even know you.
"Y/N," you said softly. He smiled.
"Pretty. I'll be in the other room, I'll make some hot cocoa."
You changed quickly, he's brought you sweats and a big t-shirt that was twice your size but was warm and incredibly soft and smelled like him. The sweats were obviously a girls, a little bigger than your waist but they would do. Curiosity pricked at you, but you ignored it. You ran your fingers through your hair and stared af yourself in the mirror. You didn't recognize the girl who looked back at you.
You weren't some weak girl who got this hurt over a boy. Boys were nothing. They were ants in the scheme of life. You were determined to not let another boy make your heart feel this sore.
Wise men say only fools rush in.
You walked out of the bathroom, and had to wander around a bit to figure out where the kitchen was. You found yourself first in a quaint little living room, where there was a fireplace roasting warmth that filled the entire vicinity, and pictures that lined the mantel. You scanned them, smiling slightly at those clearly with family members such as parents, and your eye caught on one with a very pretty girl. You frowned, and looked away quickly.
"Ah, there you are." You started, turning to face Harry. He gave you a smile, showing a dimple on his cheek that would make any girls Knees go weak. You swallowed, displeased by the rock in your stomach. "Want some cocoa?"
An hour has passed, maybe two, and you were sitting cross legged on Harry's living room floor in front of the fire. You had both agreed it was best to wait out the storm, and so you found yourself actually enjoying his company. He was damn funny, actually. You were on your second mug of cocoa, laughing as Harry told you an extended story of his college studying abroad experience. It was strange, you hadn't expected to stay this long, to laugh this much, to feel a connection to a complete stranger. Your chest tightened.
"So you're telling me that america was abroad for you?" You enjoyed his accent, found yourself leaning into his every word. "And then stayed? Why on earth would you do that?"
He shrugged, giving you another easy smile. "I loved it here. The culture, the scenery, the g-" he paused, chuckled. You rolled your eyes, mind darting back to the pretty girl in the picture on the mantel.
"You know, maybe I should go."
You lifted yourself to your feet, eyes glancing at the picture. You hated the feeling that washed over your body; rejection. "Tell your girlfriend I said thanks for the sweatpants. I'll return them sometime soon."
He tilted his head, eyes traveling down your body to land on your clothes, and then to where your gaze on the mantel was. Laughter filled his expression. "Love, I don't have a girlfriend. The girl in the picture is my sister, Gemma. Those are her sweats, she has half her wardrobe here for when she spends one month a year visiting me."
Your chews burned in embarrassment. He took a step closer, towering over you. His smell washed over you, his breath mingled against yours. "Maybe you could stay a little longer. I was starting to really enjoy your company."
You hated the pick up of your heart beat. You hated the blush in your skin. You hated the smile that tinted your lips. You were supposed to be strong, and fold back feelings for anyone. Your mind races.
Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?
Your eyes searched his, and there was no denying the speed at which your heart was beating. You wanted to stay. You wanted to give him your hand. Your whole life too.
But you couldn't.
"I really should go," you whispered, and his face fell slightly. One of his thumbs brushed against your cheek, and tucked a now dry lock of hair behind your ear.
"I'll find you again," he said softly. "Like a river flows, shortly to the sea. Darlin' so it goes, some things are meant to be."
You closed your eyes, your cheek leaning into his hand. You felt his lips press into your forehead, and then you slipped out of his grasp, disappearing out the door.
What if you couldn't help falling in love?