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put you on repeat, play you everywhere i go

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Wanna put this song on replay,

I can listen to it all day,

I can listen to you all day,

Hear you all day


Harry’s mainly at the Ivy house because Perrie begged Zayn to beg him to dj for her Sunday-night party, but he thinks that since he’s here already, he may as well have some fun.

“Thanks so much, doll,” Perrie tells him quickly, when the party is full-blown. Her hair is falling out of the bun she piled atop her head and her lipstick is smeared. Harry gives her a salute and a smile before she disappears into the crowd of twisting, writhing, jumping bodies.

The list of requested songs goes on and on, and it’s about time for Harry to tell new requesters that he’s not taking song choices anymore, but he can’t. As Jade kisses his cheek and leaves a perfect mark of her lips from her neon pink lipstick, Harry thinks it’s because he’s too nice, maybe. Or he really digs the benefits, like getting kisses from hot girls.

“Perrie’s busy now,” Zayn sighs a moment later, coming into Harry’s atmosphere, looking down from where the turntables are and into the bustling crowd. On his cheek is a lip print similar to Harry’s, except it’s a dark maroon colour, which was painted over Perrie’s mouth as far as Harry can recall. “How’s it goin’?”

“Bored,” Harry sighs, tugging the Beats down from his ears and around his neck. “The requests keep gettin’ longer, and the fact that there isn't a chair here is murdering my calves.” Zayn gives Harry a look, and Harry smiles sheepishly, pushing himself away from the table. “Was wondering, could you take over for a bit?”

“Sure,” Zayn sighs, taking the headphones after Harry lifts them off himself. He then spreads the wrinkling request sheet out and gives Harry one more look. “S’crazy out there, man. Be careful.”

Harry just winks at him which earns him a groan before heading down the stairs, pushing quite a few handsy couples out of his way (impolitely, because they’re too drunk to remember that sweet ol’ Harry shoved them against the railing in his hurry to get drunk and maybe laid) and meshing into the throng of people.

He gets claps on the back a few times and people who give him double takes before lighting up and saying yo, Harry, can’t wait for the show tomorrow or dude, you gotta lay off the hipster shit or How are you, Harry? Can I suck you off in the loo?, and to all he just gives lopsided grins before edging out into the end of the floor and to the kitchen, where he bumps into Liam and Niall.

“Yo,” Niall says, extending one arm out in a way of saying bring it in, bro and Harry does, patting Niall’s back and getting hit in the forehead with the beak of his snapback. He then gives Liam a nod, smiling when Liam nods back before saying “where the fuck can a lad get a beer ‘round here?”

“It’s the Ivy Union,” Niall snorts, Liam grinning around the lip of his bottle. “S’tough for a man in here.” But he still walks over to the counter and digs into a seemingly empty bucket of ice, pulling out a slick, clear bottle of Heineken and tossing it underhand to Harry, who catches it easily.

“Ah, my favourite. Niall, you’re simply the best.” He lets Liam use the bottle-opener to tweak off the tiny, sharp cap before bringing the cool mouth of the bottle to his lips and letting the icy liquid burn his throat. As he tilts his head back before swallowing it down and bringing the bottle to the table so he can grab a napkin, he spots something through the wide entry of the kitchen.

There’s a large crowd dancing around the bar now, heads all thrown back as they watch an unfamiliar boy dance on top of the counter, arms hovering above his head as he twists his hips and quickly steps over the sink of the bar, eyes closed and fingers twitching. Harry watches him move, furrowing his brows as Zayn changes the song to a top forty hit that’s been remixed into house music, and his eyes snap open before he waves at the crowd a bit and then jumps down gracefully as soon as they part slightly.

He immediately goes from slow, dizzy dancing to sharp, planned-out moves, a few girls and guys surrounding him to replicate what he’s doing and cutting Harry’s view of the boy, which. That won't do.

He lifts the bottle up to his lips again and takes another swallow before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Liam and Niall seem to be deep in conversation with Sophia and Leigh-Anne at the moment, so he only hesitates once before trekking out of the kitchen and pushing through a few people, apologizing quickly because they don't seem to be completely drunk.

When he makes it to the center of the living room, the song’s changed into something by Calvin Harris that sounds pretty good to grind to. Most everyone else seem to think so, too, as then everyone gets into clumps of two and three and, Harry realizes with wide eyes, four.

His lips curl up against his will when he sees the most-probably attention-craving boy mill on the edge of the living room, close to the doors that lead to the frat house’s patio and pool. There’s hardly any lighting in the house, and it makes it worse that it’s nearly ten o’clock, but outside there are millions of lanterns and tiny white fairy lights making the dark glow. It also illuminates the soft edges of the boy, and from this close Harry can tell he’s awfully good-looking.

“If you’re gonna say somethin’, say it.”

Harry curses underneath his breath when he notices he’s visible through the glass of the patio doors, and the boy grins before turning around and giving him an arched eyebrow.

“Sorry,” he mutters, shoving one hand in his pocket. “Was just wondering- well, I was gonna ask if you want to dance.” He reminds himself that it’s normal to ask someone to dance. Not normal to check out their rad as hell body so noticeably while he eyes Harry, but.

“Sure,” the boy says a moment later, turning away from the doors and stepping over to Harry. He walks more graceful than anyone Harry’s ever been around. “I love dancing with boys I don't know the name of.”

“Oh,” Harry says quickly, wrapping his arm around the boy’s waist, “I’m-”

He places a finger over Harry’s mouth, giving him a leer. “I meant it.”

That should've been the first red flag for Harry, but at the time, he just gave him a crooked grin.



Harry gets exactly what he wanted from the boy that night: some drunk dancing that soon turned into teasing grinding and then desperation. After Harry had gotten them both more beer the boy had blown him quick and filthy in the upstairs bathroom, moaning as soon as Harry pressed onto his warm tongue, sucking him with eyes filled with intent and a hint of crossfade, and even swallowed him down when Harry finally jerked forward, crying out into his fist.

He’d given a much more drunk Harry a quick peck on the cheek before swinging out the bathroom, and Harry doesn't really remember much after that.


Harry wakes up curled on the bathroom floor, three bottles of Coors Light around his body and a pair of converse nudging into his ribs. When he finally finds the strength to pull himself up without wanting to vomit everywhere, he sees it’s Liam’s converse and that Niall is lying naked in the bathtub, chips and beer sprinkled over his flushed, pale skin.

There’s a perfect lipstick-print kiss on his cheek, and Harry grunts, rubbing at his own throbbing cheek and seeing the bright pink wipe off.

The Ivy girls are probably evil in its purest form.


“Good morning. This is Harry Styles, and you’re listening to Another World. Now, we’re all wondering who here didn't fall into Perrie’s trap. I, myself, wasn't smart enough, and here I am, sitting with a hangover, which really is a bitch- sorry, Liam, but you know I’m right on this one- and I’m still trying to wipe this goddamn lipstick off my cheek. What brand do you girls use? One more endurable than Niall’s alcohol intake? Sorry. Since we’re all probably not in the best mindset right now and can’t take anything from Billboard’s 100, I’ll start us off with Last Call by The Saturday’s. Enjoy.”

“Last Call?” Niall hisses as soon as Harry’s turned the mic off. “Tha’s the most depressin’ song ever. S’not gonna help anyone.”

“Don't you dare say anything remotely bad about The Saturday’s in front of me,” Harry warns, leaning back in the chair he’s sitting in. His back feels incredibly stiff from being wrapped around the base of a toilet for most of the night.

The door to the radio studio pushes open then, and Liam holds it wide as the person steps in. Harry eyes Zayn’s tired, fucked-out look, before crowing “and how’re you, my friend?”

“Styles,” Zayn nods. The bags under his eyes are dark, and his soft, olive-y skin looks unhealthy. Harry’s never seen Zayn without him looking like a runway model (a bored, unwilling one at that); didn't even know it was possible for Zayn’s look to be turned down a few levels. “M’gonna fuckin’ kill you for never comin’ back to dj.”

Harry grins as Niall and Liam both look over at him, Liam disappointed-looking and Niall smiling bright. “You got laid, fucker.”

“Alas, I did not,” Harry sighs, sitting up in the chair when the song’s nearly finished. “But, I did get the best blowjob I have ever received. S’like they were made to suck a cock.”

He then turns the chair around to face the mic, feeling smug at their gaping expressions, pushing the headphones back on. “Niall doesn't like The Saturday’s, but that’s because he’s an imbecile. I bet you all have got better taste then him, yeah? Was a good song. Anyway, here’s wonderwall.”  He can see Niall give him a look in the reflection of the glass. “Right, I was told no hipster things. Here’s Applause by Gaga.”

When the song’s on, he closes the mic once more before looking back at their appraising looks with a faux-confused, innocent expression. “What?”

“Jesus Christ,” Niall mutters.


Harry’s classes have ended, and now he walks down the hall of the recreational building, humming to himself as he re-reads the room number and the list of items Jade wanted him to grab from the room where most try-outs happen.

He passes art rooms and rooms full of instruments, occasionally smiling at students that pass by him and greet him, and he’s about to round the stairs and climb to the upper level when he sees Danielle down the hall.

He’s about to call her name and wave at her, because it’s been a while since he’s seen her around, but it looks like she’s hiding; bent over and peeking behind a door as she grips the edge of it.

He hesitates, before stepping off the stairs and quietly making his way down the hall until he’s near her. He whispers her name out, and she jolts before looking up with wide eyes.

She places one finger over her mouth, and he nods before she waves him over. He comes, and when she points into the room, he glances in.

Harry can’t remember the exact face of the boy from Perrie’s party, but he damn sure can remember the body, and this is it. It strikes him then, the realization; the boy was swell at dancing, Danielle’s a dancer and this is the dance studio.

There’s music playing- it sounds like Sia and The Weeknd's Elastic Heart, but Harry isn't quite sure- and the boy is moving slowly but swiftly around the empty room, movements not tight and sharp but soft and languid. He’s wearing a loose shirt that hangs off his frame and sweats, which both look good on him but make Harry miss the tight white scoopneck and skinny jeans he’d been sporting the previous night. These clothes make him look sweeter and- and less-slutty, because he had looked like a proper whore, and Harry thinks that might be the point, what with the lower song and flowing moves.

“He’s good,” Danielle whispers a moment later, pulling Harry out of any stupor he might have been in.

He is good. More than good. Amazing.


“He’s literally amazing, like.” Harry’s pacing back and forth in his and Liam’s dorm, brushing his fingers through his hair. He notes that it might be time for a shower, and then notes that it is not the right time to think about that. “But. He said he didn't want to know my name. Then he blew me and simply left, without letting me return the favour.” He flops down onto the bed, thinking that if Liam’s earbuds were in this whole time, he might cry.

“Sounds like you’re out of luck.” So, Liam’s earbuds were not in, but Harry still wants to cry. “Next time, listen to Zayn when he lets you go out into a pile of drunks with personal problems with a be careful, yeah, mate?”

Fuck crying. Harry’s going to blow up Liam’s body to bits. “Hmm. Good point. Also, reminds me. Don't tell Zayn.”

Liam gives Harry a blank look. Harry notices Liam’s phone in his hand. Liam then smiles apologetically.

Harry really will blow him up. One day. Probably.


“Good morning, this is Harry Styles and you’re listening to Another World. Now, before we get into the music, I’d like to know. What do you do when you’ve fallen in love with someone you don't even know the name of?”

Even from under the sound-cancelling headphones he can hear the chorus of groans from behind him. He sticks his middle finger up over his shoulder, beaming when he sees the caller light blink.

“Hello,” he says, pressing down on it, “can I ask who’s calling?”

“It’s Jade, you dolt. And you know my name, so I don't see why you’re asking this question.”

“Next!” Harry yells.

“Hi, I’m Amy?”

“Hello, Amy. I’m Harry. What’s your advice?”

“Um. Simple, really. Find out their name.”

Harry pauses. He hadn't been expecting that. He thought he’d get quite a few rants about how it’s ‘dangerous’ to fall in love with someone you don't know. Maybe Gemma was right when she had told him to not take films seriously.

“Oh. Alright. Thanks, Amy.” He then sits up in the chair, giving Niall the finger again when he sees him roll his eyes through the reflection of the glass. “So, we’re going to start today off with some David Archuleta and Crush!”


“Danielle,” Harry says thoughtfully. He’s in the dance studio, leaning against the railing that’s built onto every wall. He can tell she’s staring up at him warily. “When will that boy be coming back?”

“Which boy, Harry darling?” she asks, raising a leg up to press against the rail. Flexible. Harry wonders if the boy can do that.

“The one from yesterday.” He clasps his hands together and glances at her expectantly.

“Oh.” She pauses, before a truly terrifying look falls onto her face. “Oh. He’s the nameless boy you’re in-”

Shh,” he hisses, reaching out quickly and light placing his palm over her lips. “What if he’s here?”

She glances around. The studio is empty. Harry’s friends like to make him feel dumb quite often.

“Can’t help you with that,” she says, bending over her leg and placing her hands on the rail beside her foot. “He’s new, so i don't know his schedule yet.”

“Hmm.” Harry thumbs over the corner of his lips, a habit he’s found that he does when he is trying to get deep in thought. “Alright.”

He wishes her a good class before heading out and down the hall, thoughts running around his mind now.


The next party that falls around a month after Harry’s found his unknowing soulmate is thrown by the Kappa frat house this time, and they’ve hired a professional dj, which means Harry can get proper drunk.

And he will.

He’s got his half-empty bottle of KingFisher in one hand, the other firmly gripping George’s hip as he sucks lightly at the skin under his ear. He smiles because it feels like he can nearly make out where Jade is standing and glaring angrily.

He glances up as he parts from the bruised skin of George’s neck, and all he can see is yards and yards of grass and patio and paper lanterns. He thinks he really, really likes college. Minus the actual lecture time, everything else seems pretty great. Naturally.

It gets just that bit more better when he sees the boy by the outdoor bar, seemingly not with anyone as he reaches into the cooler.

Harry slowly excuses himself from George, who’s too knackered to care apparently, as he just goes and finds Josh as soon as Harry’s hand drops from his body. Harry smiles to himself, shaking out his hair once before slowly making his way through the crowd.

When he reaches the bar, he doesn't touch the boy, just leans against it until he notices and glances over at him, face lighting up when he appears to recognize Harry.

“You’re the dude with the nice cock, yeah?”

It’s not exactly how Harry wanted to be remembered, but it’s better than nothing. “I take it I am.”

The boy leans back, looking around Harry for a bit before meeting his eyes again. “Are you here with anyone?”

“I am not,” Harry replies, taking a swig from his bottle. He likes where this is heading.

“That’s good.” The boy, who looks a bit like a fairy in the lantern light cutting through the pitch darkness of the sky, says, reaching out to grab Harry’s wrist lightly. “Let’s dance.”

Harry goes willingly, letting the pretty boy lead him out to nearly the center of the lawn before he turns around, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck, the other resting on Harry’s shoulder, carrying his cup of beer.

Harry lets his hands rest on the boys waist, and it’s in the moment he realizes he still doesn't know his name. He opens his mouth, about to ask, when the boy drops his hands from Harry’s shoulders, takes a sip from his cup and turns around in his arms, raising the cup in the air as he slowly moves to the beat of Rihanna’s last verse in Monster. And, well. Harry’s not going to interrupt that.

He keeps his hands light on the guy’s waist as he rolls his waist back in time to the underlying beat, arse pressing against Harry’s crotch each time he does. Harry catches on quickly, meeting his grinds with languid thrusts of his hips, ducking his head down to rest on the boy’s shoulder, breathing hot puffs by his earlobe and feeling him shudder in Harry’s hold before reaching back and lightly placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders, fingers dancing over his shoulder.

The song switches then into Timber and the boy immediately draws back from Harry, movements going from sharp and slow to fast like the song, and Harry lets him throw an arm around Harry’s neck and draw him close, leaning up to breathe once over Harry’s collar bones that show from over his scoopneck before kissing over it as he continues to roll his hips.

Harry lets him, not bothering to follow a dancer’s movements, especially when he himself already has two left feet but thoroughly enjoying this boy’s smooth, dirty moves, especially when his mouth is warm and sucking bruises into the thrumming space between the column of Harry’s neck and his pulsing vein.

When it’s Pitbulls verse in the current song, the boy slows his moves, the hand holding the round of Harry’s shoulder drifting over his skin, leaving a searing fire wherever it goes to tug the back of Harry’s damp waves and jerk him forward, whispering in his ear “I want you to fuck me raw.”

He says it so quietly, yet so fierce and terrifyingly, it sends multiple shivers up Harry’s back as his slick lips drop open. The boy continues in this new-found voice “bent over, or in the shower, with my knees up beside my ears-” and that. Harry’s nineteen; his body can’t take those words without actions.

Fuck,” he can only whine, hands digging into this person’s- his name is probably the Devil’s- waist as they wedge out onto the edge of the backyard, shoes seeping through dewy, mushy grass before the step onto the patio and slip inside the fraternity house through the patio doors.

Harry shoves the boy up against the counter in the kitchen as soon as they get inside, even though there are two girls that gawk at them before shuffling over to the fridge and trying to look away. He moans as the boy pushes his hips up, hands fisting into the sleeves of his shirt before he pulls back, Harry furrowing his brows frustratedly.

“Where’re you gonna take me?” he asks, smirking up at Harry as he keeps rocking his hips up in a rhythm Harry’s not used to but would like to be.

A smile splits over Harry’s face as he runs his hands over the grooves of his hips.


The thing is, Harry couldn't really tell how this person’s body looked the first time they had a fling, but now, he can see it’s tight and fit and little and heavenly around his cock.

The boy hadn't wasted anytime before pushing Harry onto the bed in his dorm and crawling over him, grinding their hips together as they kissed messily, different tinges of beer from different brands of beer being tasted on the other’s lips.

Harry had been in a sort of haze full of skin and vanilla and Coors and soft hair and lingering kisses up until the point where the boy gripped his flush cock and nudged the bubbling head against his flushed hole, pushing it up that first tight cling before sinking down on it with a moan, adjusting himself for a moment before grinding down onto it to loosen himself up.

Harry watches him rock his hips for a moment, face spectacularly blissed as he moves languidly before reaching up to smooth a hand over his quivering thigh, squeezing it where it folds into his knee before husking out “c’mon, show me how you like m’prick.”

His eyes open, blown-out but half-lidded and he gives Harry an unamused smirk before lifting his hips up, squeezing sporadically around Harry’s sensitive cockhead and whimpering lightly like he can’t help it before slowly sitting back down, the squelch of the lube resounding in the small space between them.

“God, you feel so good,” he sighs, placing his hands on Harry’s abs, fingers curling in over them as he begins to fuck himself on Harry’s prick in a steady pace, thighs pressing in around Harry’s hips the tiniest bit to keep himself steady. “So I guess- that confirms I like it.”


After they both release their pent-up sexual frustration and come down from their peaks, the boy nuzzles into Harry’s side as they light a blunt after Harry had pulled out the stash Zayn keeps in his and Liam’s room (he says it’s just in case he and Harry ever hang and Liam agrees with him always, nodding roughly along to Zayn’s words but Harry knows they use it behind his back).

As Harry takes a long hit and passes the joint to the boy, he releases the pent-up breath he’d been holding as the boy inhales himself, sinking back into Harry’s body languidly as each moment passes, the joint becoming smaller and smaller as they pass through the night, comfortably, making some interesting small-talk at the beginning before dissolving into slurred words and giggles before hitting sleep like rock to cinder.

It’s one of the best nights Harry’s ever had, but one of the less happy mornings when he wakes up, sticky and naked, dizzy and cold, a box of lighters laying on his pillow, Liam staring at him tiredly from his study desk.

There’s no warm, soft nameless boy pressed into Harry’s side.


“Good Morning, I’m Harry Styles and you’re listening to Another World. How was everybody’s weekend? I’ll be the first to admit it, the Kappa’s have thrown parties plenty better than this one. I hope I’m not bruising any ego’s, though. Obviously. I’m not like that.”

“Wha’s wrong wid ‘im?” Niall asks loud enough Harry can hear it through the headphones. Zayn shrugs.

“Heartbreak,” Liam sighs.

“We’re going to start this fine day off with Fuck You- I mean Forget You- by Cee Lo Green.”


“What even are classes anymore?” Harry asks Liam that afternoon, sitting by the window in their room. He’s only in his boxers, necklaces and tattoos, hair pushed back with shaky, angry hands and bottom lip pulled sharply between his teeth. His laptop teeters on his lap as he forcefully swipes two fingers over the mousepad, creating a new mix for Michael and Luke. He’s going to charge them, even though they’ve been his friends for a year now, maybe more. Yes. He’ll charge them more. He’s angry.

“Are you angry?” Liam answers unhelpfully, and Harry just grunts as he cuts a clip before dragging it to the end of the thick bar on the screen. He then drags the timer back to the beginning and jams the jack of his earbuds into the side of the laptop, sticking one in his ear and pressing play.

It sounds terrible; something someone who doesn't understand Garage Band would make for their grade eight photoshop project. He groans.


He ignores it.


“What?” he snaps, tugging the earbud out of his ear. It drags on the inside, and he winces, reaching his free hand up and lightly pressing over the bruised spot.

“Let off some steam, yeah?” Liam asks, and he’s going over to the drawer with the pot. Harry mutters something about blowing off steam the previous night with the reason for his agony, but Liam ignores it.


“And- and, like, he doesn't even offer his name t’me!” Harry yells. He’s sitting cross-legged on Liam’s bed, back to Liam, facing the wall. He’s yelling his problems at the wall. He reaches over his shoulder and makes grabby hands for the blunt, taking it in a snatching-sort of move before shakily pressing it between his lips.

“And, like. It’s infuriating,” he explains to the wall. Underneath the white paint seems to be crawling with worms, and he shudders before expanding on his problems. “He sucked my dick and then sat on my dick, so, like, he should tell me his name. Like. It’s common courtesy. I don't just let anyone use my dick.”

“Yes you do,” Liam says softly, taking a drag from the joint when Harry passes it back.

“Shut it, Payne,” he snaps. “I’m not talking to you. S’me and the wall, now. Madlin.”

“Madlin? As in, the wall? You named the wall?” Liam might not be as far gone as Harry.

“Yes, her name is Madlin. Be kind to her, you fucking jerk.”

Harry then lets his body fall back to the sheets as he stares up at the ceiling jolting every second because he’s fucking sure it’ll come smashing over him. He’s so fucked, is the thing, and he doesn't understand how he could go from having the time of his life to a pining loser. Over someone he doesn't even know the name of.

He screams.


“Good morning, I’m Harry Styles and you’re listening to Another World. Today, we start our set off with You Don't Know My Name by Alicia Keys.”

“I want to kill you,” Zayn says flatly after Harry closes the mic.

Harry ignores him. “Ni, I have to leave now, so could you take over reign’s? Sor-”

“Yeh, go on,” Niall says quickly. “Scared that the student body will hunt us down if we play one more unrequited love song.”


Harry heads back down to the recreational building following his footsteps from the last time he was there to find the dance studio.

Danielle isn't standing outside the doors this time, and honestly, it seems a pretty ghostly. He can faintly hear the sound of footsteps if he strains his hearing, though, and that’s what makes him continue his trek down the hall, converse quiet against the tiles.

When he’s reaches the doors, he pauses before stepping close enough to peer inside, and he can feel the air inside himself escape in one whoosh as he sees the boy fiddling with his iPhone before placing it in the dock and swiping over the screen. He taps it a bit, posture lazy, and he’s far from the door, back towards Harry, but he knows it’s him.

Harry jerks back the slightest bit when a low hum comes from the dock speakers and the boy steps back before turning around and heading to the middle of the room. He faces the the mirrored wall facing north, giving Harry the perfect view of his side- and he notices he has a pert side profile, a back that arches into his rounded behind, a flat chest with the tiniest bit of tummy, small hands and thin arms. He’s scruffy; face looking like he hasn't shaved or been happy for a while, hair sticking up in soft tufts that Harry wants to run his fingers through and maybe tug roughly as he fucks him on his hands and knees, lashes curled against his upper eyelid as he takes in a breath.

Harry never had the time to properly study him before, and he takes his time now, appreciating every soft curve and sharp contrast to him before the intro ends and the song starts up.

He steps back quickly, once, twice before pausing, one hand hovering in front of himself, the other pressing into the small of his back.

He then rolls his hips, eyes narrowing in the reflection of the glass as he juts his shoulders out three times, hands pumping down over between his thighs. Harry raises an eyebrow, edging back over to the door slowly, needing to watch better.

He’s dancing to a song Harry can idly recall hearing one time when Niall played the Top 40 in his room from his laptop while they studied. Harry wishes he listened better, or wishes that it was playing louder now, because the way he steps back and pushes his shoulders forward, leans down at different times that are close to each other- it fascinates Harry. He looks like he stepped out of a brand-new VEVO music video.

“Care to join?”

Harry thinks his heart leapt out of his throat and ran down the hall at those words. His gaze goes from the mirror to the boy himself, standing still now, breathing lightly, chest pushing in and out in a steady rhythm.

“Er, no,” Harry says through a half-laugh, because shit. “Much prefer watching.”

“Oh, come on. Don't be a hussy, love. It’s fun.”

Harry wrinkles his nose, fidgeting where he’s half-standing behind the door. “Only if you’re good at it. When one isn't, it’s just frustrating, honestly.”

The boy gives Harry that same unamused look. “You have a big dick but little mental capacity.”

That breaks Harry.

He mostly wants to scream at the boy that he’s not allowed to say that, that he’s completely destroyed Harry’s life these past few days, but his stupid mouth clamps up and his stupid feet carry him over to the middle of the studio, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his loose skinny jeans. “M’not a hussy if I don't want to make a fool out of m'self.”

“You’ll be fine,” the boy tells him, reaching out to grab Harry’s wrist and tug him closer to his side. Harry’s breath catches at how small it looks against him. He doesn't want to dance, just wants to pick this boy up and fuck him against the mirrors.

But then the music starts up again, a different song this time, and Harry has trouble thinking about anything, really, as he watches him adjust his moves to the quick, sunny beat of the current song in which Cody Simpson tells a girl that he could be so much better than her current boyfriend.

He knows how and when to backstep during the lead-in, how to slow down for the pause, how to clap and jokingly grind back against a dumbstruck Harry for the chorus but still catch the fucking beat. He even surprises Harry with a couple of fast, dizzying twirls that don't look dumb, which.

“Who created you?” Harry asks exasperatedly after an hour of nonstop watching him throw out move after move to a selection of different songs (Harry even found the Bob The Builder theme song on YouTube out of sheer curiosity and the boy still managed to churn something out that involved a hand on his hip and a hand in the air, a wide smile on his face).

“My mum, probably. Hopefully. But it’s nothing special, bro. S’just what contemporary means.”

Harry huffs as he lets himself be pushed onto the floor, the boy coming down after him and tucking himself underneath Harry’s arm again. His little hand rests smack-dab on the center of Harry’s torso, thumbing over it once in a while.

After a moment, the boy shifts a bit, like he’s restless, and Harry’s about to ask what’s wrong but then there’s a face hovering over his, soft eyes and sharp cheeks and pink lips. Harry raises an eyebrow, and smiles as if he’s amused, but he’s mostly curious. That fades out when the boy leans down and presses their lips together, hands sliding over Harry’s chest before cradling his cheeks, holding his face for leverage to tentatively lick into his mouth.

Harry’s heart races like a horse on a track as he lets himself fall pliant as the boy kisses him a bit more, sucking lightly on his bottom lip, teeth swiping gently over the tingling flesh before drawing back, flushed and panting lightly. He’s an awfully good kisser; when he’s shoving Harry down on the bed and attacking his mouth with teeth and tongue or when he’s doing it gently. Harry feels dazed.

They’re quiet for a bit after he settles his head back onto Harry’s chest, Harry enjoying the silence in his normally loud life and a soft person cuddling into him when usually it’s a sweaty, naked girl or boy thanking him before climbing off his bed and away from him. It’s nice, and he closes his eyes, lips turning up a bit.


He hadn't realized he was so sleep-deprived, as he wakes up with a jolt of ballet flats shoving  into his ribcage. His eyes snap open to see Danielle standing over him, a bewildered look on her face.

When Harry sits up dazedly, he sees that the boy is gone.

Danielle doesn't question it when he pulls her down and lays his head in her lap, twining their fingers together as he dry-heaves, stomach tingling with something he doesn't want to decipher.


When Gemma had told him to take films so seriously, she was obviously talking from her University point of view. Harry’s in college, and it really does have as many parties as they show in those annoying teen movies.

‘Why you hide your love from me, I’m losin’ control,’ Harry sings to Niall, tossing an arm around the older boy’s neck. Niall just gives him that fucking look again.

‘Your love, so good how can I forget, girl yo touch is still the best, you can see it all over my chest, killin’ every single piece of meh,’ he continues, louder, and even though there are more people and the music is louder than the last party the Kappa’s had thrown (they’d apparently taken Harry’s comment to heart, and while normally, Harry would apologize furiously, but he doesn't seem to give a damn anymore about feelings) people around him and Niall give them slightly disturbed looks.

“And I was s’pposed t’be the light-weight,” Niall grumbles, before giving a little under Harry’s weight. “Lad, you gotta collect yourself. The party’s jus’ begun.”

“Oh, Niall, my dear Niall,” Harry sighs, pinching his cheek. “Why should you care about what these people think? Just sing!”

Niall groans as Harry launches into the song again. ‘Don't keep me waitin’, this night is fadin’.’

“Oh, I’ll keep ya waitin’, H.”

Harry huffs, palm near a freezing point from the beer bottle clasped in his hand; his life line at the moment. “You are awful mean, Niallerrrrr.”

“Stop,” Niall groans as he drags Harry through the patio doors, back into the house. They’re immediately met with loud shrieks and laughter coming from the bar, and Harry perks up, jerking out of Niall’s hold.

“I hear fun happening,” he says, breathlessly, grabbing Niall’s wrist and dragging him to the base of the sound. Niall groans again but follows, bumping into the slightly-drunk people crowding around the bar as Harry steps up to the front.

Leigh-Anne is lying lengthwise on the cool stone bartop, giggling as Matt splashes vodka over her bare torso and up to her bra-clad breasts, quickly dribbling some into her open mouth before placing the bottle onto the counter. Harry watches as he grabs a clear bowl of salt and pepper, tucking two dam fingers into it before sprinkling it over her like he’s marinating a fucking lamb (Harry would cheekily say that Leigh-Anne probably tastes better than the best lamb) before wringing out a slice of lime and pressing it between her teeth.

Harry knew it was coming, but as soon as Matt dips down and licks at her stomach, everyone starts chanting shots shots shots and Harry turns around to roll his with Niall but gets surprised when he finds Niall chanting as well.

“You should go up there, Haz, after Matt,” Niall says, pressing in close to Harry so he can hear his voice over the yells of everyone around them. “Lick a hot person’s chest, maybe take ‘em home, find yourself a person you know the name of.”

Harry feels like if he were to go up there and be half a body shot he would be cheating on the boy, and he hesitates a moment before Niall’s back at his ear, pointing a hand out. “Look, H. He’s pretty hot.”

Harry would never say no to a hot boy, especially one hot by Niall’s pretty darn straight standards. So he glances up, worry fading a bit until it all shatters when he sees him climbing onto the bartop, shirtless and laughing.

“Fuck-” Harry breathes, stepping out of Niall’s grip. He pushes through the people standing in his way before coming up next to the counter, only realizing at the moment he looks down and meets the boy’s eyes that this could be very weird and stalker-ish, but the boy only looks surprised for a couple of seconds before a smirk curls over his wet lips.

“Wanna?” Matt asks, handing the bowl out to Harry. Harry licks his lips involuntarily as he mulls it over, eyes widening when the boy’s gaze flickers down to where his tongue is out.

“Yeah,” he decides, taking the bowl. He has no clue how to dress a person up for this type of thing, and he debates giving the bowl back to Matt until the boy wriggles against the counter and huffs “don't be a hussy.”

Matt and Leigh-Anne snort, and Harry grins plastically before grabbing the vodka, taking a large swig from it, feeling some seep out the corner of his mouth before he twists his wrist and splashes it over the Devil’s chest, from his v-line to his mid-torso to his collarbone tattoos to his neck and for good measure, his chin and lips. The boy grins, dragging a finger through it lightly before licking his own lips this time. Harry sees red.

He grabs the bowl and collects salt and pepper between his thumb and forefinger before letting them splash over the vodka, sprinkling it around as measured as he can. He then takes the lime wedge Matt cuts and squeezes it before tucking the rind in between the boy’s teeth.

Everyone around them begins murmuring, and Harry wipes his sweaty palm on the hem of his shirt before ducking down.

The soft expanse of tan skin is smooth, smoother under his lips as he nips up to the boy’s belly button, suckling every so often as he licks his flat tongue up, up, up and to his chin. When he opens his eyes, he sees the lime, and he doesn't think it over before licking up his neck and placing his slippery lips on the boy’s sour ones, sucking the lime wedge out from between his lips and shoving it to the corner of his own mouth with his tongue to continue kissing him wetly, a mix of vodka and spices and lemon between them, moaning louder than he probably should when hands tug into his hair, not jerking him back but keeping him there.

Harry’s brought out of his reverie when everyone errupts into cheers, saliva and alcohol dangling down his chin in shiny lines when he pulls back, wild-eyed and exhilarated.

He gives Niall a little wave, who in turn gives him a proud thumbs-up, unknowing that the person currently lying on the counter covered in Harry’s saliva is the boy that’s been ruining all their lives for a while. Harry winces.

When he turns back to the boy, he sees he’s giggling, eyes scrunched up at the corner, mouth in a wide smile. One hand is laying above the waistband of his sweats (Harry didn't know dancers lived in those), the other idly tracing over the mess on his stomach.

“I guess you’re not a hussy,” he says, slowly pushing himself up and giving Harry a pat on the bicep, hand sticky and small and warm and Harry wants to cry.

“Thanks,” he mutters instead. His earlier crossfade seems to have dissipated.

He lets the boy drag him to the patio again, and they dance pretty dirtitly for a bit (most of the time either spent grinding or having one tongue shoved down the others throat), before Harry takes him back to his dorm again and fucks him up against the door, their clothes bunched up around their bodies in their hurry to be naked.


Harry feels nothing when he wakes up alone the next day.


“Good morning, I’m Harry Styles and you’re listening to Another World. I haven't talked in a while, just sent you straight to a new set of songs, but. Today I’m feeling chatty. Sometimes, life is great.”

Zayn, Liam and Niall are banging on the doors to the studio. Harry had gotten there earlier, locking himself in and mourning his hangover with a bottle of Dasani, mulling over his shady speech.

“But sometimes, just when you think that it couldn't get any better, it literally all goes to shit. Shit. Fucking shit.” Harry’s not supposed to swear on air, but. Like. Fuck it. He swallows down another chug of Dasani. “A couple of weeks ago, I was happy. Isn't it amazing how taking a liking to someone can totally ruin you?”

He pauses for a moment, fiddling with the cap of his water bottle. “And- I don't really have a right to speak, since, well. I’m mostly the type of guy to fuck and go, but I don't leave back a hopeful person! It’s a friend, or someone that has an understanding with me that this is supposed to be a fuck and go.” He purses his lips. The pit of his stomach hurts. When he looks in the reflection of the booth, he can see Liam, Zayn and Niall staring at him with unreadable expressions, eyes wide and hits on the door quiet.

He sighs, before looking back down. “I didn't really have a point with this, just. Don't give people false hope, alright?” He leans back in the chair, already trying to remember where the bottle of Advil in their dorm is. He’s hurting everywhere. “Now, I leave you with This Is What It Feels Like by Armin Van Buuren.”

He pulls the headphones off and sighs. Whenever he gets sad, he usually goes through all his blessings and how someone else in the world is going through shit much harder, but since that just makes him more miserable, he doesn't this time, just scrubs at his forehead.


He leaves the campus and takes a drive around the city, playing Somebody To Love by Justin Bieber. He was always a fan of the younger Justin, and he feels like the song is good for his current situation.

Except that it’s not a slow song, and it doesn't sound as depressed as Harry feels, and it’s got such a beat Harry can fucking imagine how his boy would move to it. It’s that thought that makes him pull over and sigh almost angrily as he scrubs the heels of his palms over his eyes.


When he gets back, he notices Liam’s car isn't there when he parks.

He makes his way up to their dorm slowly, eyes tracked on the floor, the tips of his converse coming into view. He remembers when the boy had told him on a whim, while they smoked, that he hates converse, that they squeeze his toes and make his legs look stumpy and that they are probably the worst shoes ever for dancing on shiny dance studio floors, not when a dancer is all dressed up in jeans and suspenders and large glasses for their set. They’re needed then.

Harry bites into his bottom lip so hard when he realizes every word he had said on the matter he’s sure he draws blood.

As soon as he pushes the door to the room open, he’s met with an even voice saying “m’names Louis.”

Harry pauses, before opening the door the whole way and stepping in. There’s a person sitting on his bed, swinging one leg back and forth, mouth in a line as he looks up at Harry.




“Louis.” Harry says it in his head a million times, heart in an even thumping rhythm, hand gripping the handle of the door uncomfortably tight. “Louis.”

“Yup. Louis William Tomlinson. Louis Troy Austin, if you need to know about the rocky past.” He grins up at Harry. “I’m not sure how you knew, but the song you played this morning- This Is What It Feels Like?- that is one of my absolute favourite songs to dance to.”

Harry lets out a breath that was inside himself for a while too long, before swallowing and shifting on his feet a bit. “It- s’got a good beat, innit.”

The boy- Louis, Louis, Louis, Louis- nods. “And, just so you know, Harry, I was never giving you false hope.”

Harry’s body feels like it’s on fucking fire. A good fire. A passionate fire. “No?”

“Nope.” Louis makes the end of the word pop. He’s so cute. Harry wants to proper ravish him. “Just. You know you’ve got yourself a well heartbreaker rep. I was just trying to save meself. Never knew I was the one making the beloved radio host a wreck.” He pauses, then before looking up at Harry with mischievous eyes the colour of fiery cobalt. “Now. Are you just going to stand there, or?”

Harry collects himself, rubbing his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans. “First, I’d like to ask you to a date. That isn't at a fraternity or sorority.”

“I accept,” Louis says gleefully, sitting up straight. “And?”

Harry thumbs at the corner of his mouth. He knows that there are people in the hallway, paused to watch their interaction. “I’d like to-” fuck. “Fuck.”

Louis just smiles before Harry shuts the door of the room.


“Hello, this is Harry Styles and you’re listening to Another World. I won't bore you today, just give you all a small piece of advice. Sometimes, it feels like it’s going down, down, down. But just wait! Even for the littlest things. If you’ve got patience, something good outghta happen. I leave you with You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift.”


As their first proper date, Harry takes Louis to an outdoors music festival. They eat, take a lot of sickeningly cute photos, and find new types of music. Halfway through, Louis snatches Harry’s Ray Bans and Harry takes Louis’ aviators in retaliation. They keep it that way.

There’s a lot of music and sex in tents and kissing and beer and even more dancing. Louis teaches Harry a few moves that involve only the upper part of his body

(When Louis’ sitting on Harry’s shoulders as a dj spins his new tracks, arms raised above his head, Harry’s fingers digging into his thighs and sighing at their lovely fullness, Louis reaches one hand down to tangle in his hair and whispers “love you.”

It’s the best Harry’s felt since he first met Louis at Perrie’s party.)