Know: A Harry Styles Fan Fiction

"This one is bold," says Montrose, comparing two mock magazine covers that I designed. "But I like this one better. It's more original and reflects who you are as a designer."

We set the rejected one aside and continue with the selection process. He strokes the end of his dark, bushy mustache while studying a print out of a web page that I created a while ago.

"I'm still on the fence about this one," he says after a long silence. "Let's get back to it later."

Without taking his eyes off my projects, he stabs into his garden salad and stuffs it in his mouth. I didn't have to come to him during his lunch break but I was too anxious to wait until class. Plus he didn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he happily invited me in, eager to help me choose pieces for my portfolio.

"I really appreciate your help," I sincerly say.

He turns to me with a puzzled expression. "Of course, Jules. I'm always happy to help." There's a pause as he concentrates on stacking croutons on his fork. "And I think of it as doing humanity a favor."

"What do you mean?"

"The world needs designers like you."

I think about how much I'll miss Montrose next semester when I register for new classes. Even if my schedule is busier than this semester, I'm going to make it a priority to visit him at least once. And if I'm accepted into the internship, I owe him a lot more than that.

Business is slow at the theater today which is likely due to our first snowfall of the season. I've only had to clean up two soda spills while the rest of the place remained immaculate and deserted of guests.

When there's not many customers, my manager usually clocks out early, like he does today. The minute he walks out the door, I can practically feel the theater lift a thousand feet in the air with my co-workers' sighs of relief.

"We should all just go home early," Haydis remarks not more than a second after the door swings shut. He scoops popcorn with a soda cup and slides it over to me.

"But what will the citizens of London do without their trusty movie theater tonight?" I joke as I throw a handful of the buttery snack into my mouth.

"They can burn in hell," Haydis bluntly says. "Or freeze to death outside."

The sound of howling wind bursts from behind us and we see three girls enter from the door, dragging swirls of snow in with them.

"You've got to be kidding," Haydis hisses. "Who goes out in this blizzard to see a film when they can watch them in their own, warm homes?"

I'm wondering the same thing but don't speak a word as the girls approach us. I slide the cup of popcorn behind the counter and return to my work. When they approach the concession stand, I can hear the girls' loud and indecisive babbling as they talk over each other.

Haydis silently looks at me in desperation. I mouth, "Hang in there," and flash him a supportive smile.

When they finish stocking up on candy, soda and other causes of diabetes, the girls rush over to the One Direction cardboard display.

"Eeeeek!" they squeal in chorus.

"Oh, my god," one of the girls gasps. "I've got to get a picture with my husband, Harry!" She stands on the tips of her toes and poses with her lips puckered beside him as her friends snap a picture.

The girls squeal and hop around like caffeinated bunnies while taking turns with the life size cut-outs. They stay for so long, taking so many pictures, I start to wonder if they even remember that they came here to watch a movie.

It's silly, but I can't help feeling a tiny bit uncomfortable witnessing that girl gush over Harry like that. I know he's popular and gets lots of female attention. He's in "The World's Biggest Boy Band" after all.

But it mostly bothers me because if someone like me, a helplessly ordinary girl, can catch Harry's attention, how easy would it be for someone just as ordinary but more beautiful, fun and outgoing to catch his attention?

Haydis' voice stabs into my musings. "What are you doing after work?"

The squealing trio have finally left for their movie and the lobby is clear aside from Haydis, another coworker leaning and texting against a podium, and myself.

"Um, nothing, I don't think," I respond. "Why?"

"Me and a couple mates are meeting for drinks at the bar later. Wanna come with?"

"I'm not a big bar person." I'm also not keen on revisting places that house sleazy drunk guys harassing me with dancing requests, but I don't mention that part.

"You don't have to be. They have pop."

I rotate my broom against the ground, quietly and thoughtfully mulling my options. On one hand, I've never been invited to anything by a coworker or people from the university or anyone aside from Effy and Harry. It'll probably do me some good to expand my social horizons. On the other hand, like I've mentioned already, my first bad experience at a bar is enough for me to avoid them altogether. But there's a hint of safety in Haydis' hardening, yet concerned stare.

"Okay," I answer. "Sure, sounds fun."

As it turns out, it is---mostly. The bar that me, Haydis and his two friends Foster and Jebb are sitting in isn't much of a bar but more of a lounge, with the most stereotypical ambient music and slowly color changing walls. I mainly sit in the background while the guys passionately and loudly (after a fourth rounds of drinks) discuss last night's sporting events, but I don't mind it much. Instead of being shoved against sweaty dancers like I was at Drinks & Chicks, I'm relaxed in a cushioned swiveling seat, gathered around a blob-shaped table with three guys. I watch them quietly as I gulp my cherry coke.

"I'm telling you, Haydis, Richards was clearly out of bounds in the last quarter. The ref is either blind or being bribed," Foster says in an urgent voice.

Haydis rolls his eyes, crossing his arms in displeasure. "Christ, when will you give it up? Just accept that your homeland Germany sucks at football, alright?" He sighs, pushing up from the spinny chair. "All this arguing has got me parched again. Anyone else want another pint?"

The other two raise their hands, but Foster stands up too. "I'll come with you. The girl at the far right table has been eyeing me for the past half hour. Looks, like I'm getting lucky tonight, lads!"

Foster glances down at me with a sheepish smile. "And lady, of course. Sorry, I'm not used to girls hanging out and drinking with us on our Guy's Night."

"You're not used to girls, end of," Jebb bluntly states.

After Haydis suppresses a laugh, he places a hand on my shoulder. "Are you doing alright, Jules?"

"Of course," I answer. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You just don't seem like you're having... fun."

"I am." I wish the conversation topic was something I can actually contribute to, but it was still a nice change of environment and... somewhat fun. "Thanks for inviting me."

He smiles and walks off with Foster, already paces in front of him.

Jebb swallows the remainder of his beer and nods at me. "So, how do you know Haydis?"

"We work at the same theater."

"Ah. That ratty old Cineplex 14 down on Churchill?"

I nod.

"Do you go to uni?"

I tell him about UADL and my goal of internship at London Studios. He tells me he studies electrical engineering at a university closeby. While he goes into detail about about how a circuit board works and the mechanisms of something or other, my eyes lazily scan him over. His espresso brown hair is combed over one side with a matching color of fuzz shaped neatly around his mouth and chin. He's in black jeans and a baby blue button up that peeks out of the collar of a thick knit sweater as gray as his eyes.

I tune back in just in time to hear the second half of a sentence. "...which is incompatible with a red cord."

"Oh, I see," I say, nodding with weakly feigned interest.

"Your accent is quite charming. Are you an American?" he asks.

"Yeah, I come from a little state called Connecticut."

"Never heard of it. I thought there was only New York and California in America."

"Well, Connecticut is right next to New York," I reply, but he seems to have lost interest in the topic.

"Jules," he says, smacking his lips as if tasting my name. "That name is so peculiar. Do all Americans have peculiar names like that?"

I want to say, Your name isn't exactly common either, Jebb, but instead, I politely reply, "No. Just mine, I guess."

"Is it short for anything? Julia? Juliet?"

"Just Jules."

"I was named after my great-grandfather, Jebediah-Lee Jacob," he announces with pride.

"Fascinating."

His eyes study my face and a smirk pulls at the corner of his lips. "Do you do this to every bloke you meet?"

"Do what?"

"You've been an absolute tease this entire evening, love."

I look at him tentatively. "I still don't think I follow..."

"Don't act stupid. I saw how you kept staring at me and licking your lips. It's been tempting me like mad."

I'm not so sure about the lip-licking portion, but I'll admit, I have been paying more attention to him compared to Foster or Haydis, but I hadn't thought he'd notice. I chuckle quietly, looking down at my lap and feeling the tips of my cheeks scorch with blush. Jebb may come on a bit strong, and he's a complete moron in world geography, but I can't deny that he's incredibly handsome. When I look up again, his reflective steel eyes hold my gaze, the look of hunger growing inside them.

"I know you think I'm fit. I am, aren't I?" he says.

Am I really that easy to read?

"Don't worry, I think you're adorable, too," he says in a lowered voice, placing a hand on my knee with his fingers pointing in toward my thighs. "Please tell me you're single."

I put my hand on top of his. They're rough and sturdy, but warm. "And what if I don't?" I say, mimicking his soft, swooned tone.

The gentleness in his eyes suddenly vanishes, replaced by a dark gray storm. "Then I'll find out who he is and it'll be the worst day of his fuckin' life," he practically growls.

I start to laugh, but his disturbingly firm expression cuts me short.

"I'll pass that message onto him, then," I respond, casually removing his hand from my leg.

Jebb's face drops. "Wait, you do have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, I do." My stomach does flips when Harry's face appears in my mind. Is he my boyfriend? What am I even doing with Harry? I'm not sure, but I don't have time to think about it. I need to pry this creep off me, and quick. Where the hell is Haydis?!

Jebb appears dismayed, but only for a millisecond, until a devious flame glints in his eyes. "Is he faithful to you?"

"What?"

"Does he run around shagging other women?"

"No, he doesn't, and I don't think that's any of your busi---"

"How big's his cock?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm just wondering," he says, unable to wipe the egotistical smirk off his face. "If he's not making you happy, I can come round and help you when---"

"Are you done?" I blurt, while my eyes fiercely narrow at him.

He scoffs, leans back and crosses his arms indignantly. "Just a question, christ. Maybe if he was better at giving cock, you wouldn't be so uptight."

I've never watched someone transform from hot to completely vile within the same minute, but the last thing I want is to give him the satisfaction of making me lose my temper. So I stay silent and swallow the urge to fight back, washing it down with my soda, listening to the ice cubes clink aggressively against my teeth. Thankfully, Haydis returns at that moment, ending this infuriating exchange. He replenishes the table with three new pints, overflowing with white foam, and looks over at me still sucking down my cherry coke like a vampire.

"Sorry, Jules, I didn't know you were that thirsty," Haydis says. "I should've asked for a refill."

I place the empty glass down and gather my coat and bag. "It's okay. I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"Already? We're only getting started," he says with genuine dismay in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Hays, I just feel kinda sick," I answer, keeping my eyes from straying toward Jebb.

"Should I ring a cab?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thanks again for inviting me, I'll see you later." I hastily squeeze him with a hug and shuffle out of the lounge before he can say another word.

Even after a long, boiling hot shower later at home, I still can't scrub the gross, skin-crawling feeling of his hand on my leg.

Notes