Larry Stylinson One Shots

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Summary: Harry's being hit on by some guys on his walk home and he's desperate to get them to leave him alone.

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Huffing, Harry pulls his jacket tighter around him, his bag hanging from his elbow as he exits the building.

His workday ended a few hours ago, but he had to stay late to help Zayn with a project their manager had sprung on him.

It's much darker than he's used to, unaccustomed to the streetlights illuminating his path instead of the setting sun. It stirs a feeling of unease in Harry's gut as he hurries away, pointedly not looking down the alleyways he passes.

Usually the walk from home to work and back again is nice, relaxing even. It gives him a chance to stretch his legs and enjoy the city he earned his way into, but when he can barely see ten feet in front of him through the dark, he finds himself wishing he had accepted Zayn's offer of a ride home.

He's made it about three blocks from his workplace before his gut really starts screaming at him, doing backflip after backflip. His pace quickens, his long coat flapping in the gust of wind that appears from nowhere. A car whizzes past him on the street, shooting through a puddle and splashing water which misses Harry thanks to his not-so-graceful leap out of the way.

A chorus of loud, drunken laughter startles Harry, who looks over his shoulder to see a group of middle aged men wandering along the sidewalk. One whistles lazily, and Harry sneers to himself.

He definitely should've let Zayn drive him home.

As fast as he can go without running, Harry flees down the street until he reaches the next crosswalk, having to wait for traffic to cease.

His foot taps the wet sidewalk anxiously as the wait seems to grow to an excruciating length of time. He can hear the gaggle of men gaining on him, their laughs and shouts invading Harry's ears.

Just as Harry decides to run into the nearest shop to avoid them, the crossing signal changes and he races across the street.

"Where you going, sweetcheeks?" One of the men calls out, lumbering after Harry, who rushes from streetlight to streetlight.

Away from you, for one.

The men seem to have attached to the challenge that is Harry, and they stumble after him at a slightly quicker pace.

Taking a deep breath, Harry tries to stay calm and collected. Panicking isn't going to do him any good. At the next intersection, he takes a right, heading down the street that doesn't lead to his house, but away from the men. When they follow him still, he rushes to make another right and another one still, almost completing a lap around the block, bringing him to where he started. The men are still hot on his heels, the fresh air apparently clearing their disorientation a bit as their pace quickens.

The only thing that makes Harry feel any better is that their numbers dwindled, the group looking only about half as big as before, only three or four men still trailing him.

Rounding the final corner he gasps in shock when he sees the rest of the men standing there, apparently waiting for him to come back. Turning, Harry tries to run back the way he came, but the other half of the group has almost caught up with him. He's cornered.

Stumbling away, he does the first thing he can think of. Quite possibly a stupid and dangerous decision, he darts across the street, praying that there wouldn't be any oncoming traffic.

Luck seems to be with him in this (and only this) instant, because he manages to cross the road without getting slammed into the blacktop by a car. His foot lands directly in a puddle, soaking his shoe, but that seems inconsequential under the circumstances.