You’re My Favorite
In honor of H’s 23 birthday, enjoy this little one shot! :)
Plot: What to get to the man who has everything?
Three weeks to H’s Birthday:
“Baby,” Harry groaned exasperation. His eyes rolled back and he let his head drop for a moment, appearing to be completely and utterly done with the subject I had been bugging him with for a few hours now as well as over the past days.
Harry’s birthday present.
And still, he was being close to no help. His eyes met mine and I whined, wanting him to take me seriously, because even though we (admittedly) had been discussing this topic a bit too long now, he somehow still didn’t understand my point.
Birthdays were something I took very seriously, especially Harry’s. It was the first time for me to celebrate his birthday with him given that our relationship was only a few months old and all I wanted was him to be showered with love and spoiled silly. I wanted to make him happy.
Planning his day wasn’t the problem, it was easy. I would spend the night before with him, mainly so I could make sure him being spoiled would start early in the morning already (breakfast in bed, maybe some sex) but most of all I wanted to stay with him because I knew how Harry didn’t like having to sleep and wake up alone. It made my heart ache a little bit and fall even more in love with his sensitive and gentle soul and so I liked the idea of him not having to do that on his birthday, too.
Later, we would have lunch with his mother, sister and step-father so we would be able to exchange gifts quietly and just in the presence of his immediate family. Harry absolutely adored them and I knew he’d love being able to be with just his family for a while, before his friends would join us for a dinner at his favorite restaurant. It was a simple plan and wouldn’t entail too many surprises for him, but I knew that would be what Harry enjoyed most. All of his life was always extravagant and a big deal, so I imagined him having simple family time would be just what he’d need.
What had been giving me a headache for a while now was the most difficult question I’d ever had to ask myself. What makes a good present to a person who could buy the world?
“You are so difficult sometimes,” I argued quietly, nudging Harry’s hip with my own.
We were standing in my tiny kitchen and cooking dinner together, well, less cooking and more arguing about his upcoming birthday. The pans were still empty and the table wasn’t set either. Three weeks. I had three weeks left to get him the perfect present and I was absolutely clueless.
Harry laughed. “Says the one who’s been worrying herself silly over a present for a birthday who’s almost a month away.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe I just shouldn’t get you anything then. If I’m just being silly.”
My body turned and I went to reach for two wine glasses, almost dropping them when Harry startled me by wrapping both of his arms around my waist. His chest hit my back and I squealed when his head buried itself into my neck, releasing puffs of hot breath, making me squeal.
“You wouldn’t do that,” he murmured quietly, sounding like a little boy who’d been denied… well, his birthday present.
“Oh wouldn’t I, Styles?” I giggled, squeezing his wrists through the thick material of his grey jumper.
He shook his head, lips ghosting over my skin and I relaxed into him. “Don’t think you would.”
And of course I wouldn’t. But I really was lost. In my imagination, I could see his face lighting up with that beautiful smile of his and his pretty eyes would sparkle in surprise and happiness. I wanted that image to be reality, had seen him wear the expression on other occasions before and I wanted to be the reason why he wore it on his birthday. And the one bloody thing needed for that to happen was missing. An idea.
Two weeks to H’s Birthday:
In my desperate situation I’d called up the only person I could think of, who knew Harry better than anybody else did. His mother. Anne and I were sat in a small cafe just around the corner of where Harry lived. I held my mug of hot chocolate tightly and listened eagerly to the stories Anne had to tell, all of them involving a much younger version of Harry. Anne waved her hands in the air, mimicking Harry’s desperate attempt of rollerblading and I laughed out loud.
“He sounds like he was an incredibly clumsy child,” I giggled.
“Oh he was,” Anne smiled with a nod, “Still is, really. You’ve seen how he used to stumble around on stage. Even broke his foot once, the silly boy.”
“Oh right, I forgot about that!”
Anne chuckled and kindly offered me some of her cookie, which I happily accepted.
“So,” she began, handing me a piece of her desert, “I’m sure there’s a other reason behind you summoning me, other then hearing stories you can mock my son with later.”
I laughed gently and nodded. “Though, I could listed to those stories all day, I did call because I have a problem I was hoping you could help me with.”
A small frown took over Anne’s kind features and she set down her cup. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing too serious,” I quickly assured, not wanting her to worry, “It’s going to sound silly to you, I’m sure. But I just can’t come up with a good idea for a gift for Harry.”
My eyes met hers and I sensed that she was about to ask if I was kidding, because of course it sounded stupid to anyone else, and so I carried on quickly.
“His birthday, is coming closer and closer and I can’t figure out what to get him! That man has everything and if he doesn’t, then he buys it the next day. And even when I finally find something he hasn’t seen before but would love, it costs so much more than what I have! It’s so frustrating ‘cause all I want is to make him happy and surprise him with something nice but I can’t even get him something as simple as clothing! He came around with a cardigan just yesterday that cost £5000! I don’t even own anything that expensive! That piece of clothing he loves, is worth two months of my rent.”
Anne bit her lower lip, her expression serious again and I sighed. I felt so whiny and like an uncreative child, but I really was at my wit’s end.
“It’s the first birthday I get to spend with him and I’m going to fail him completely.”
My eyes lowered to my mug and I tapped the porcelain lightly, feeling defeated.
“Sweetheart,” Anne said kindly, “Harry will love whatever it is you get him. He adores you.”
A small smiled tugged at my lips and I blushed at her words. “I don’t want him to like it simply 'cause it’s from me, though.”
I raised the cup of chocolate to my lips and took a sip, then decided to just come clean with my greatest worry.
“The women he’s been with before me,” I began quietly, avoiding Anne’s patient gaze, “were rich enough to get him the world. What if he realizes that I’m just not… I don’t know. Suitable for his standards?”
The worry sounded stupid when it’d come to my mind the first time, but it’d stayed. Kendall Jenner, the last girl Harry had been involved with before me, was probably just as, if not even richer than he was himself. Same counted for Taylor Swift. They could go wherever he wanted to go, dress just as expensively and rent entire venues for him to host his party. Me? I had to scrap anything I had together every single month so I could afford my tiny apartment in London. Harry of course was aware that I couldn’t afford the same lifestyle as he had, but sometimes, especially when he came around with a £5000 cardigan, I wondered if he was aware how much money he actually had compared to what ordinary people earned.
When I dared looking at Anne again, she surprised me by wearing a bright smile. Both of her hands reached over the table and she took hold of my own, squeezing my fingers in a comforting gesture.
“Him thinking you aren’t suitable for him is absolutely and a hundred percent impossible, Y/N. Believe me.”
“You think so?” I asked timidly.
She nodded, still smiling confidently.
“The women Harry was with in the past,” she shook her head, pausing for a moment, then she continued, “were lovely, sure. But they never stayed around long. They never mattered to him as much as you do. He never brought one home, only introduced them casually over a dinner or sometimes not at all. Trust me, sweetheart, you are the first one he’s let get close to his heart and I can see it every day. You might not notice it because you’ve never seen him without it, but since you’re in his life, there’s an extra sparkle in his eyes and his smile is just a tiny little bit wider. He told me he’s been getting more sleep and that he even learned how to cook. That’s your influence on him, I know that. You’re taking care of him and that means the world. So trust me on this, you give him enough of what he couldn’t get himself every day. No birthday present could ever make you a failure to him.”
“Oh, Anne,” I almost squealed, blinking away the tears forming in my eyes. I squeezed her fingers in return and sniffled, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.
She squeezed my hands once more and just like her son, her comforting aura was enough to ease me.
“And besides,” she continued in a giggle, “if he thinks I’m getting him anything even remotely close to £5000, he’s gone mad.”
My lips lingered on the warm skin of Harry’s cheek and I giggled when I felt his smile beneath my lips. Harry’s hand found mine on his knee and he interlocked our fingers, humming quietly in appreciation. I could hear Gemma snicker at our interaction and I pressed another kiss to his jaw, then I withdrew. Harry’s eyes found mine and I could read his surprise in them. Normally I wasn’t as touchy feely with him when his family was around, but today I couldn’t help myself. My Harry was officially 23 years old. I couldn’t believe it.
We were sat on the couch in Harry’s living room, Gemma, Anne, Robing, Harry and me. There was cake and coffee on the small table along with the presents we’d bought for him. So far, the day had gone neatly and after the chat I had had with Anne, I felt confident about my choice of present, too.
Harry seemed so happy, relaxed and like he was enjoying himself. Just like I had intended to do, I’d been showering him with love all day long, waking him up with kisses and embracing him every few minutes. For breakfast I’d made him pancakes, bacon and eggs, making sure that the only healthy thing he got was a smoothie. And the sex well, had been mind-blowing.
I squeezed Harry’s fingers tightly and blushed when he pressed his lips to my own cheek for a moment, as he wasn’t too much into PDA himself either, then he turned to engage in the conversation his family was leading.
“Harry,” Robing began, “I know you’re not a kid anymore, but do you want me to initiate that it’s time for you to get your presents?”
“That would be great,” Harry laughed, letting his arm rest around my waist in a loose hold.
I smiled at him lovingly and felt my stomach flutter when Harry pulled me even closer into his side, sharing his warmth with me. How did he always smell so good?
The first present he opened was Gemma’s. He let go of me and got up to hug her in thanks and joked about how it was the exact same thing he’d been thinking of getting her only weeks ago and she giggled, muttering a “liar” under her breath. Next came Anne and Robin’s present, then came mine. My fingers itched and I swallowed. Though I wasn’t worried about Harry not liking my present, I was very eager to see the excited expression on his face.
“S'big,” Harry said, giving me an impressed glance when he picked up the box I’d wrapped neatly with blue wrapping paper.
He carefully began to pull at it with care as if the paper wasn’t actually meant to be ripped apart and I giggled, resting one of my hands on his shoulder to squeeze it. He was so adorable.
Once finished, he began to tap the cartoon box as if expecting a noise and I giggled at his comedic and silly behavior. Anne shook her head at him but the smile plastered on her face was a big enough sign that she was just as delighted to be here with her son as I was. With careful fingers Harry continued to open the box and my heart squeezed when he smiled instantly.
Since I hadn’t been able to decide on one present for him, I’d gotten him several.
The first item Harry revealed was a bottle of massage oil, his favorite with the soft smell of almond mixed with vanilla. I’d remembered the many evenings where I’d found him on his couch, face a grimace of pain and exhaustion where he claimed nothing could ease and soothe him better than my fingers massaging his tense muscles. Though I was tired on most night when I came home after a long day, I’d always given in. Seeing Harry unhappy was enough of a persuasion to make me help him.
“For when your back is acting up again,” I murmured quietly, allowing my hand to run down Harry’s back in a soothing gesture, “Won’t even complain about it, I promise.”
He chuckled and nodded, setting the bottle to the side before sticking his hand back into the box in search for the next item I’d gotten him.
“Oh I wanted to get that one myself!” Gemma exclaimed when Harry held up the navy blue nail polish.
“Do you think I can pull this color off?” Harry asked me, a smile on his face. “S'a bit flashy, don’t you think?”
“It’s blue, Harry,” I laughed, “Pink would be flashy. And of course you and pull this off. There’s nothing you couldn’t, really.”
The next and last item Harry pulled out of the box was a small journal, similar to the one he already owned.
“I saw yours is almost full,” I explained when Harry smiled at the new journal.
It had the same leather cover as his other one did and since he’d decorated it with small stickers and words, I’d allowed myself to leave my own small message to him. A tiny inscription saying you’re my favorite right at the bottom of the right corner. I’d scraped it into the leather, making it a permanent decoration so he’d have something to remind him of me when we were forced to be apart.
Harry actually blushed when his thumb stroke over the words and he momentarily leaned into my side. My heart hammered in my chest.
“Open it,” I whispered quietly.
He glanced at me briefly, then he opened it slowly. At first he didn’t see it, but once he turned some of the pages he noticed that some of them were already used. And once he began to read what I’d written, he teared up. The grin on his face grew, revealing his loveably dimples and his widened.
“Y/N,” Harry sighed and shook his head.
His fingers kept on running over the paper and he swallowed visibly. He looked as if he found it difficult to believe what his eyes were reading and one of his hands found mine.
“What?” Anne asked, leaning up so she could catch a peek as well.
“They’re just some notes about us,” I explained.
But they weren’t really, not just some notes. I’d filled the pages with small texts and short sentences, all of them about Harry and me. They were tiny stories about us, remembering our first kiss, the one we’d shared standing on Jack’s balcony while all of our friends were celebrating and partying indoors. The second paragraph I wrote about how I’d felt when I’d first met Harry, how excited I’d been and how I hadn’t stopped thinking of him since then. I even admitted that I’d fallen a tiny bit in love with him already.
Harry’s eyes were still teary when he read a few more pages, then he closed the book.
“I love it.”
The words were whispered to the journal, his head held low. His hands clenched around the item and he sniffled noisily. My fingers squeezed his hand and I pressed another kiss to his arm. This was better than having wearing a wide grin. The present, one that I’d gotten him for a reasonable price, had actually made him speechless.
“I’m glad, Harry,” I giggled.
Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you to every single one of you who takes the time to read my one shots! I’m so excited and happy about every note I get.
Rest of what I wrote: