Harry Styles Imagines

Somebody to Love.

Each morning I get up, I die a little. Can barely stand on my feet.

Waking up seems to be the hardest thing when you're an adult. Opening your eyes to the dreaded realization that it is morning. The sun has risen and within the next hour or so, you will be at your full time job, slaving away for the man.

I was having my morning stretch. Groaning with annoyance at the bright sun rays that escaped my blinds. Grabbing my blaring phone, shutting off the alarm, I see the clock reads 7:43 a.m.  I have a few minutes before I actually need to be ready. I check my social media's. I hate this part of my morning. I wish I was a book reader or a coffee drinker. Maybe then I wouldn't waste precious moments glued to that tiny screen.

I showered. Made some toast. Clothed myself. Slapped on some basic makeup. Drove to work. Did my duties. Grabbed lunch. Finished my duties. Went home. Made dinner. Fell asleep.

This was my routine. My daily life. What I did in order to ensure every single moment of every single day went off without a hitch.

I liked my life.

My basic life. I did the same thing every day, give or take a social event or two added in there. I wasn't a hermit after all. I enjoyed the reality of knowing what the world expected of me. And what I expected of the world. It was comforting to know that anything surprising wasn't my doing. I took pride in the fact that my life seemed to have a plan, something I know others strived for.

I'd be lying if I said my life didn't bore me at times. Waking up in the same way. Making the same breakfast. Going to the same job. It grew tiresome. I found myself zoning out frequently. Going through the motions so easily that by the time I was noticing anything I had done, I was nearly finished with my day.

I realized in the middle of my 23rd year that I needed to find solace in something other than a routine. I found my first grey hair and soon realized I needed something to take my mind off the bitter reality that I was 23 and I was alone.

I tried Tinder. Even Bumble. I tried the old spill your coffee on their shoes and offer them new ones trick. I got death glared and nostril flared on that one. I went to clubs. I tried having friends set me up on blind dates.

I needed someone to love.

Weirdly enough, that old saying, once you stop looking what you want will come to you, was very real in my instance. I looked and looked for someone who could love me. Someone to make me feel alive again. But I didn't find them. Maybe I didn't look hard enough. I gave up after the fourth 'no' and the sixth roll of the eyes. And there he came. It was like the universe threw him at me.

Literally.

•

I had stopped for coffee that morning. I'm not a coffee drinker, but I hadn't slept much the night prior and if I wanted to get through my day without drooling in sleep at my desk, I needed a pick me up.

I ordered my drink, waited patiently in line and within a few minutes something felt off. Something felt. Different.

The door was hurled open in a fit of panic. The typical coffee house energy now flooded with confusion. I heard the noises coming from outside. It sounded like yelling. As if people were hounding the person who just walked in. And then I was on the ground.

A heavy weight plowing into my back. I got up quickly, whipping around to make sure whatever had just hit me was okay.

"I'm so sorry." We said in unison. When I looked up, I swore that hit had killed me. Surely, this person in front of me was an angel.

"Why are you sorry? I'm the one who threw you to the ground." He laughed. Breathlessly getting the words out. He held his hand to me, asking for me to shake it. I did. "I'm Harry. I'm sorry for that. The paps don't really give me any other choice."

I laughed, "besides running over a young girl?"

He shook his head, "no, more like I couldn't see and it was either you or that row of breakable mugs."

"Who says I'm not breakable?" He laughed again. A beautiful sound.

"You're right. Can I make it up to you? Coffee?"

As if on queue, my name was called amongst the other patrons in the shop, my coffee sat on the podium where I was meant to go grab it. "Actually that's me."

"Lovely name." I smiled at this. I grabbed my coffee, saluting him goodbye. "I'm sorry again."

"No worries, Harry."

•

I never forgave myself for not getting his number. I fretted about it for weeks.

•

"Ugh, I'm so dense!" I whined into my pillow.

My best friend whined as well, she was getting ready on my bathroom for her ninth date this week. "You're still going on about that wretched guy?"

"He was kind."

"He ran you over!" Her head popped out, staring at me whilst I laid on my bed, my head hanging off the edge. "Why are you laying like that?"

"I'm hoping all the blood will rush to my head and I won't remember being such an idiot anymore."

•

I didn't quite understand why the universe had such an outing for me. It was like I had one good thing and then fifty other things would be thrown at me that completely canceled that good out.

I had woken up one morning, the clock read 9:00 a.m, I was so late for work. I hadn't cared. I had plenty of vacation time. I had plenty of knowledge to know they couldn't fire me. I was one of their best employees. So, I did something I hadn't done in years.

I milked it.

I went about my day in a haze. I grabbed coffee. I went to lunch. I went shopping. I even went to the cinema and cried over Nicholas Sparks alone.

It felt good. To do something for myself. To get out of that reckless habit where everything was set. Everything organized to what I saw fit.

And as if the universe finally aligned for me, he was there. In that small cafe where I had ordered dinner. He was sat a booth away with a novel gripped in his delicate hands. The rings I strived to know the meaning of contrasting against his paled hands. His curls tucked back in a headband. He had on the most casual of clothes. Not that mine were any better. Both of us adorned band tees that had been passed down from generation to generation, only to find themselves in the back of those old thrift stores. Black jeans, only his were bell bottoms to match his overly expensive slide on slippers.

I didn't know how long I had stared at him, but I assumed it was long enough for him to feel it. Because he finally looked at me. His green met my doe and he smiled. A genuine smile. Like two old friends who hadn't seen each other in years. "Y/N." He had mumbled. I shyly nodded. He placed his book down, admiring me for a moment, and then he was up, walking to me.

•

I don't know how everything started. How the world somehow managed to make our paths entwine. But I was so glad it did. He was my rock. My everything. He was my better. And in so many ways, he was the only thing keeping me afloat.

•

"I am exhausted." He had grumbled, flailing onto my bed in a haste. He cuddled into my warmth. My nose deep into a novel I had promised him I would read. "Cuddle me." He whined.

I did as he asked. He continued to complain for hours about all the and in his life. He had consumed himself with perfection in recent years. Wanting to best music, films, videos, stories for his fans. He just wanted to succeed. He completely forgot that he was human at times. Pushing himself to limits unknown.

I rolled his ringlets in my fingers, making their shape even more prominent. He moaned with my touch. He smiled with each stroke of my finger. "Tell me something good, Harry."

And he did. All that he wanted. All that he did. All that he loved. He wasn't a robot striving for excellence, but that damn boy that ran me over in that coffee shop.

His hands the same. His laugh the same. That stupid smirk the same.

He was my somebody to love.