excerpt from the college au, coming @ you sometime soon!
He’s putting the cookies in the oven when it happens.
“Hey, not to be rude or anything, but can you keep it the fuck down?”
He spins on his heel, and there’s a boy standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his green hoodie, and he’s wearing socks but no shoes. He looks adorably sleep-rumbled and a little bit angry.
“Like, your singing is nice, but it’s really fucking loud,” he continues.
“You’re English. Me too,” Harry says after a minute of staring, and then he wants to smack himself in the face with an oven mitt. Repeatedly.
“Well, that’s lovely, but are you going to keep singing all night?”
Harry flushes under his stare. He may have gotten a little too into his rendition of I Want It That Way. “I’m so sorry,” he says in a rush. “My first exam is in seven hours and I bake when I’m stressed. Do you want a cookie?”
“Looks like you don’t actually have any to offer me,” the boy says, and, right, the cookies are still in the oven.
“I have muffins?” Harry offers weakly, and it comes out like a question but the boy pulls himself off the doorframe and comes into the room anyway.
“Yeah, I could go for a muffin,” he says as he takes one from the wire cooling tray and hoists himself up onto the counter with one hand.
Harry just watches in amusement as the boy peels off the silver foil wrapping and takes a massive bite. The microeconomics textbook sits forgotten on the counter next to him. There’s no way Harry’s going to be studying right now, not when there’s a distraction, one that comes in the form of a boy with chiseled cheekbones who’s just demolished a banana muffin in five quick bites.
“I feel a bit bad complaining about the singing now. Because that was an excellent muffin, uh…”
“Harry. Harry Styles.”
“Think it’s supposed to go like ‘Styles. Harry Styles.’ if you’re going for the whole Bond thing there.”
It’s not really that funny, but Harry laughs anyway. The sound echoes in the small room, and the other boy smiles.
“I’m Louis Tomlinson. Thanks for the muffin.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry says, and then before he can say anything else, the oven timer beeps.