Harry Styles One Shots

Part 4 of Y/N knows something she shouldn't and Harry does what on Fridays?

iv.

"Oi, are you even listening to me?"

Y/N was listening...or at least, she had been listening when Harry first meandered his way to her desk. Whenever he needed a second from the computer he typically came over to her now, slid his bum onto the clean side of her work area, and chats with her for a little while. If she's working on something – depending on what it might be – he'll either silently watch her scratch and scribble on her tablet until she creates what she would deem presentable, or demand her attention for at least five minutes (which turned to ten, which turned to twenty). Sometimes he'll knead at the knots in her shoulders, grumbling something about her working too hard for the shit that they pay, other times he'll inquire if she wants a drink or a snack.

So today had been no different when he ambled his way to her and popped his bum on the acrylic desk with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs locked at the ankles. He wore a mint colored cardigan today, that billowed around his arms and body, a shirt with Yogi the Bear on the front, and jeans rolled up to his ankle, "Hey, pay attention to me for a second..." is how he started, and Y/N had been listening. He'd told her about a project – a shelf, or something – and she was watching his face, and then watching his eyes, then watching his mouth. She watched as his lips formed and shaped around the words, and how his tongue licked them wet when they dried out from speaking. Actually, she'd been so caught up in it she almost spilled her favorite kiwi apple drink down the front of her shirt (which would have really made her miserable).

Y/N had been doing that a lot lately; getting distracted by his mouth had become a daily occurrence, if not hourly, ever since they had kissed.

And she really hadn't realized she wasn't listening, until Harry had brought it up himself. Now she feels red hot embarrassment zipping through her vessels as she tips her head down shamefully, "I – I'm sorry, I got distracted a little."

Harry regards her inquisitively, but shrugged his shoulders and decided to let it go instead (one of her favored attributes of Harry, just as Malene does – they know when to pry with her and they know when to leave it be), "I was telling you about the shelf I bought. I thought it came assembled but it's in about a billion different pieces with 90 different screw types, so I'm sending it back."

"Don't bother sending it back," Malene chimes in, sliding away from her desk, her tablet wobbling where she had it balanced on her thighs, "Just have Gustave-Eiffel here come around and build it. I reckon in a separate life she was an architect or summat, she's way too good at putting shite like that together." Her hand clapped down on the back of Y/N's chair and swiveled her back and forth.

Brows raised, Harry uncrossed his arms and laid his palm down flat against the desk, "Is that so? And why have you been hiding these secret architecture abilities, Brat?"

With a scrunched nose, Y/N shook her head, "She's exaggerating, I'm not very good at it. I only read the directions and assemble it how they say."

"And decrypting those directions is the hardest bit! That's what always fucks me over," Harry flicks her shoulder, "What's your hourly fee, hm? I'm inviting you over, your expertise is needed." He brushes a stray strand of hair from his forehead, trying to mold it back into the direction he had originally gelled his hair in this morning. This happens often, where a particular curl near the front of Harry's head completely disregards the style that he's attempting. Y/N thinks that it is very cute – she secretly referred to it as his rogue curl, but she hasn't bothered to tell him that.

She shook her head again, "There is no fee, I don't mind helping. I like putting furniture together."

"More and more each day, you remind me of an alien," Malene slings her arm around Y/N's neck, her tablet wobbles and drops out of her lap but Harry moves quickly in catching it, while Malene is busy pushing her cheek against Y/N's, "A cute wittle' alien who is horribly clumsy yet surprisingly efficient in architectural matters. Y'know, Harry, she helped me build this intricate coffee table – it had taken me a full day to put it together and I did it fucking wrong to start. She noticed it was wobbly, took it down, and redid it perfectly in all but two hours," her body warms from the praise, and she shies away from the way Harry is looking at her – she couldn't decipher what it meant, but she did know that ever since they kissed, he'd been doing a lot more of it lately, "I'd say her fee is a free meal. Am I right?"