Harry Styles One Shots

Part 2 of: When Y/N dates someone, they find their soulmate. . .it's never her

ii.

Y/N thinks that cats might just like stomping on her head.

Ferret does it because he's Ferret; he's all lean limbs and awkward tufts of hair that spike around his ears, with paws that are too big but he doesn't seem to grow into, and a torso that would be lissom if he wasn't so clumsy – he looks like that kind of cat that stomps on heads. It would be more shocking if he weren't just narrowly avoiding stabbing her forehead with his claws in the morning because he's hungry. She couldn't even blame him either, because it was a foolproof way to yank her from the depths of a dream. One minute she's swimming in water that's too crystalline to be real trying to speak to fish, and the next she's in her bed, Ferret's front paw pressed against her cheek while he purred (seemingly content despite his "starvation").

So she assumes she's at home when she feels it, only for whatever reason Ferret was being a little more graceful than he usually is. He felt a little heavier too, like his metabolism had finally slowed so he started plumping up, and Y/N could have the slightly fat cat of her dreams. His purr was...different, softer, a little more reserved than the engine-like revving that usually tore her into reality. And when he crawled over the top of her head, flopping his body in front of her face in what might be a suffocation attempt, she realized that there was much more fur, it's softer – Ferret's fur is kitten soft, but this is something different – something purebred. And it smells not like herself, or his stinky little self, it smells like Harry. Why would her cat smell like Harry?

Her eyes flutter open, fighting past the heavy feeling of her lids and the sun streaming in through the window. Y/N pulls her curtains at night and screws her blinds shut tight (not just from the desire to wake up in relative darkness, but fear that someone was looking at her through the window, despite being on the third flow of a relatively tall flat building), and it is something so deeply embedded in her nightly routine, she doesn't even forget to do it when she's drunk.

When her pupils finally adjusted to what felt like a blinding light, she took in her surroundings. However, her surroundings were mostly composed of the white fur that was currently stuffed right in front of her face. This is not her cat, and this is not her room, and the mattress she's lying on is too soft to be her own. It's only when the cat turns around and she recognizes Dolly's sweet, bright eyes slowly blinking at her that she comes to the understanding that she's at Harry's. In his clothes, soft and worn slouching over her body, with his blanket pulled up just beneath her armpit. The window was open just a sliver, enough that the wind billowed the curtains out, and the fan whipped around above her.

Harry was nowhere to be found, but that was probably for the best right now. She was barely awake and it always took her a couple of minutes to attune herself to reality after she roused from sleep. Especially when she wakes up somewhere that isn't her room. Her muscles were stiff like she'd not moved for a while, and when she pressed up from the bed, she stretched out her arms and stifled a groan. Did Harry have plans? It couldn't have been that late in the day could it have been? But Y/N was known to sleep in sometimes a little too late after being out the night prior, even if she turned in around midnight. Maybe he had an appointment or something – maybe he had plans for coffee. Though Harry doesn't strike her as the type to leave unannounced or without explanation, and there's no parting note on his nightstand. Just her phone, which had no new messages from him either – just a couple of pictures that Eloise sent from the night before, and Niall "helpfully" reminding her that he'd slid condoms into the side pocket of her purse.

They didn't sleep together, she knew that, but they did kiss. The memory of it slaps itself across her face as she raises her fingers, touching them to her lips, probably dried from sleeping with her mouth open. His lips had been so soft against hers, so pillowy – he kissed her like he really wanted to like it was the most natural thing in the world. When she remembered how he followed after her mouth as she pulled away, something twisted in her lower stomach that was a little too similar to arousal. Harry kisses like he needs to breathe, and that is without him even licking against her tongue – she couldn't imagine what it would be like if he'd had.