Hello our beautiful readers! Here is our one shot for the wonderful chanmapan for her book "Harry Styles One Shots." Her book features work from so many amazing authors on Wattpad, so please make sure to check it out!

We've had this story in our heads since we've joined wattpad, so we're so happy we've been given the opportunity to try and tackle an OU Harry Styles story. Should we eventually make this a complete story in the future? Please let us know!

— Trailer —

https://youtu.be/4J8vDciUdNw

— Cast —

Jenny Slate (Aaron Abrams)

Harry Styles (Himself)

"Aaron! It's me. Adam. What are you doing, bitch? I might have a job for you."

"Right now I'm outside the Starbucks on Fulton stalking someone I hope is a Kardashian. Then after this, I might put the camera down for the night and do something else besides work for a change."

"Like?"

"Maybe visit that new photo gallery we heard about in Brooklyn at the Mare's Nest. Finally catch up on 'Game of Thrones.' I don't know, Adam. The world is my oyster."

"I've been your business partner for 3 years now and your best friend pretty much our entire lives. Since when are you busy with anything other than taking pictures?"

"Since wallowing in self pity became more time consuming."

"Okay, well, you might want to take a break from that for one night because I have some big news. I'm talking Selena-and-Justin-breakup level."

"When you put it that way, how's a girl supposed to turn it down?"

"I got the inside scoop on Harry Styles. He's in the New York City area. I was at my cousin's bar mitzvah the other night and one of the kid's dad's that was there has a friend that knows Jeff Azoff."

"And why do I care about your cousin's friend's dad's friend knowing Jeffrey Azoff?"

"Jeffrey Azoff is Harry Styles' manager."

"No shit, Sherlock. But what does that matter?"

"The kid's dad I talked to at the party had a few too many cocktails and told me where Harry's going to be tonight. No one knows yet, except for you and me."

"That guy probably doesn't know what he's talking about. He was probably just trying to get in your pants."

"I wish. He was pretty spicy and clearly has some insider info he could give me."

"You've slept with more for a lot less."

"Now I know it's been awhile since you've gotten laid but let's not change the subject to my thriving sex life. Harry's here. There've been a few potential sightings but no one can really confirm. He was spotted at a yoga studio earlier but you know how elusive that guy is."

"I've always considered myself more of Niall girl."

"That's a bold face fucking lie. I know you've paddled the pink canoe to pics of Harry before. Harry's everyone's favorite. You know that. I know that. You should be thanking me right now. I'm going to text you the address of a club he might be at tonight."

"I told you about my DIY time in confidence, you dick! Anyways, that place will probably be overrun with other paparazzi. Besides, shouldn't we just... I don't know... leave him alone? He's probably trying to get some time away from the chaos. Doesn't this all feel sort of slimy sometimes?"

"Last time we talked, you were behind on rent and your electricity was shut off. I don't think you're in any place to pass up work, no matter how slimy you think it is. He's also your white whale remember? The one you can never manage to get a good picture of?"

"Text me the address."

"That's my girl. Be there by 9 PM and don't leave any earlier than 3 AM."

Aaron takes a deep breath. Time to face the music and make a living.

* * *

"Is it too much to ask to want a guy that I can stay up late with and talk about photography, poetry, art. I don't know, Donald. I think I've just hit a wall creatively, you know? What am I doing with my life? Why am I here? Feeling pretty low lately." Aaron leans back in the lawn chair and stares at the locked back door of the club.

"Sometimes our greatest moments of creativity come from our darkest moments."

"That was really insightful, Donald." She turns to her new found therapist, pouring herself a cup of coffee from her thermos. She offers some to Donald.

"I'm okay," he politely declines. "But this shit don't come for free, sugar." He shakes a cup of loose change and sits up on his stained sleeping bag.

"That's a fair price. It's just—" she throws another dollar in the homeless man's cup. "I'm lost is all. This job pays well. And I love photography. You'd think combining the two would fulfill me. You meet a lot of maniacs on the streets, though. Not you, though, sir. You're great."

"How's your relationship with your father?" Donald asks while opening a fresh can of baked beans.

Ruckus at the back door ensues.

"Donald get down," Aaron whispers, ducking behind a dumpster. "We got action."

"WELL FUCK YOU THEN!" A tall British man stumbles outside. He walks backwards, quickly falling into a metal trash can and scrapes the palms of his hands on the dirty, black asphalt. It's none other than Harry Styles. Dress shirt unbuttoned low, revealing trace amounts of his many tattoos on his torso. He runs his fingers through his greasy, unkempt hair. The outside bar light creating lens flare off his metallic rings. "I've had too much? YOU'VE HAD TOO MUCH!"

"There he is, deary." Donald pushes Aaron towards her target. "Get 'em before others come."

"Is he okay?" She observes from afar, heart pounding with worry as Harry groans on the ground. Bringing her viewfinder to her eye, she watches as he struggles to stand. Drunk. High. Combination of both. No matter what, his behavior is cause for concern and Aaron's usually-cold heart drips with condensation at the sight of the floundering rock star. If our greatest moments of creativity are supposed to come from our darkest moments, Harry must be brewing his next big album. "I can't do this. I have to go check on him." She lets the camera fall to her side and pushes it behind her. "Hey, man. Are you okay?"

"Hey there." Harry looks up, his blood shot eyes illuminated by the moon and fluorescents. He flashes a wide smile. An oblivious, adorable smile, with white teeth framed by perfect pink lips.

"You're fucking joking me, right? You still look like this when you're like this?" Aaron helps the 6-foot-tall man to his feet, the heels of his boots scuffed and white shirt stained black from the pavement. "Should I call someone? Do you need an ambulance? Are you hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?" She holds her middle finger in his face. Even in the midst of a serious issue, she can't help but try and lighten the mood.

Her inability to handle awkward silences works in her favor as Harry lets out a deep, throaty laugh. "I'll call my driver." He takes his phone out, the screen black under the shattered glass face. "Shit... I don't... I can't remember numbers right now."

"Can you remember addresses? Or do you mean like, you can't remember numbers period? What comes before 4?"

"ONE, TWO, THREE!" Harry sticks his index finger in his mouth and makes a pop, the noise causing him to laugh even more. "Think I messed that joke up."

"He's still got it, ladies and gents!" She's able to muster enough adrenaline-filled strength to get him to his feet. "You can take the man off the stage but not the stage outta the man. You should do stand up with me sometime."

"I can't be out here much longer. Paps are gonna find me. Can I just go back to your place?"

She thinks he hasn't connected the dots. Did he see her perched to the side of a massive green dumpster, camped out, paying a homeless man for life advice as she awaited his arrival to steal a pic?

"Um..." she accidentally loosens her grip around his arm in attempt to hide her camera and drops his heavy body to the ground. "Whoopsie daisy!"

"Easy peasy, lemon squeezy!" Harry somehow manages to stand on his own. He dusts stray dirt off his pants and leans on his savior. Bringing her close, he looks down at her face, a face she now feels insecure about not applying makeup to before she left. "Where's that car of yours?"

"Dear god," she whispers, plugging her nose. "Your breath smells terrible. What the fuck did you drink? Dog vomit?"

"Oh, I like you. You're a keeper." He lets out a breathy laugh in her face, all on purpose. He enjoys her witty comebacks and self-deprecating humor. She's a breath of fresh air. A welcomed change to the usual crowd of ass kissers and ego feeders.

"My car is this way. But please, breathe in the other direction so I don't pass out before the drive."

* * *

"Has anyone ever told you that you walk like the scarecrow from 'Wizard of Oz?'" Aaron notes, helping Harry to the couch of her apartment. "Did you have to fight me every step up the stairs? Jesus. My left side is borderline Hulk now. I'll go fix you some tea. Not trying to be presumptuous but you like tea, right? Like that accent of yours warrants a cup of tea."

"A cuppa would be wonderful," Harry grumbles, his bones and muscles aching from the long trip to her apartment in Queens. He checks the dirt on his shirt. Although still extremely drunk, his true gentlemanly side shines through and a true gentleman would never dirty a lady's couch.

"Hot tea! Comin' right up! What did you call it? A cuppa— FUCK ME!" Aaron returns to find Harry's bare torso, the sight of which causes her to throw her favorite Target tea cup, the one she's reserved for special guests, halfway across the room. Cheap ceramic scatters across the dented hardwood floor. Removing his shirt was the only solution but for the sake of her own sanity, for the first time in her entire life, she wishes Harry Styles was wearing a full length, tightly zipped onesie. "Is this some sort of sick prank? Am I on camera right now?"

Harry uses each foot to remove the boot on the other. "You'd swear you'd never seen a man's chest before, darling." He leans back, his interlocked fingers placed behind his head.

"In all seriousness," she pauses, closing her eyes and putting her hands in front of her to collect her thoughts. "Could you do me a favor and say 'darling' again?"

Like the devious Cheshire cat, the corners of Harry's mouth stretch from ear to ear. He wobbles, stands and walks toward Aaron. Placing his hands on both of her shoulders, he stares. "Of course, darling."

"Mother of God..." Aaron keeps her eyes closed, soaking in every last drop of his charming accent. "You know the tale of Medusa? How if you look directly in her eyes you turn to stone? I feel like this is happening to me right now. You're some sort of sick siren, luring me into a false sense security so you can claim my soul. Is that what's happening, you sick fuck?" Wrinkles form on the bridge of her nose as she scrunches her eyes tightly shut.

She feels his soft lips brush against her ear lobe. "Darling," he whispers.

"Fuck you!" She pushes him away and goes to clean up the broken cup. "My mom told me to invest in a good dustpan and broom brush. Did I listen? No. I'll never need it, I said. I never break anything, I said." She picks up white shards with her bare hands. "Ouch!" A small cut on her palm bleeds.

"Stop, stop. Let me do that. You're gonna hurt yourself." Harry crouches down beside her. "I was the one who caused this, anyways. Right... darling?"

"I'm clenching. You need to stop." Aaron walks a handful of broken cup to her trashcan and rips several pieces of paper towels off her final roll.

"We could clean this up better if we turned some lights on." Harry stalks to the nearest switch. He pushes it — up, down, up, down, up, down — but the lights stay off. "Or not..."

"I've always considered myself a minimalist of sorts." She pours herself of hefty glass of red wine, finally able to relax for the night. "Who really needs luxuries like an indoor swimming pool, tennis courts and electricity, ya know?"

Harry plops down on the couch next to her, his drunk body finally sobering up a bit. He scratches the tatted skin of his chest before reaching his hand out to take a sip of her Cabernet.

"I don't mean to sound like a narc, but are you sure you should be partaking?" She passes him her stemless Walmart cup. Oh, how fancy she felt when she drank alcohol out of anything other than a Carl's Jr. plastic cup.

"It's 1 AM. I'm in a stranger's apartment with my shirt off. What the fuck else do I have to lose at this point?"

"Touche." She passes Harry the glass and grabs the bottle for herself. The back of her throat stings as the $5.99 bottle of red makes its way down. "That's a good year," she jokes, feigning interest in the bottle's label. "Barefoot makes the best doesn't it?"

Harry practically throws up at the taste. "You drink this swill... darling?"

"Okay, now you're just getting cocky."

"Oh? Am I getting cocky?" he whispers again.

"God dammit, Harry!" She pushes him away from her eager body and pours a gratuitous amount of wine into a mason jar. "Bottom's up!"

"Might as well drink it out of the bottle, love."

"OF COURSE YOU CALL ME 'LOVE,' YOU DICK." She finishes a couple additional gulps.

Harry bursts out in laughter. What is it about her that draws him in for more? Is she the the real Medusa? The one luring him into a false sense of security? He's never met anyone like her before. Someone so insecure, yet confident. Humorous, yet serious. She made him feel normal and appreciated without over-inflating his sense of self. What he would give to live in this night for months and months. Regaining his life, love and spirit.

"I can't say anything without you taking it a certain way apparently." Harry chugs his glass of wine and hold his hand out for more.

"Am I supposed to feel bad for you because you have a fucking adorable accent?" She laughs, pouring him another glass. "How's your ankle? Are you hungry?"

"It still hurts quite a bit," he lies. He rubs his ankle to solidify his fake story. Now that he's started to sober up, he remembers the numbers he should call. His foot and joints feel as they did before he stumbled out of the club. He doesn't want to leave this night though. He isn't ready. "I'm pretty hungry myself. Have you eaten?"

Aaron already has her phone in her hand to order takeout. "Hi, Lisa. Yeah. Could I have two number threes, two number fives and an order of egg rolls?"

"Make sure they bring fortune cookies!" Harry tugs on her shirt. "Oh and some dumplings. The ones with pork inside. Can you get some fried shrimp too?"

"Okay," she says to Harry. "And some of the pork dumplings and fried shrimp." She feels Harry's fingers prod into her side. "And a lot of fortune cookies, please." She feels an immense amount of movement to her left. She turns to find Harry silently celebrating the order, arms in the air, happy like a little boy that's just won a game of dodgeball.

* * *

Music plays in the background. Lit candles line the walls of Aaron's apartment. The lack of electricity wouldn't stop them from enjoying the night. The ambience wasn't set for romance. It was purely so they could see the food they so eagerly waited to be delivered.

"You mean to tell me, that if you were a millionaire, you wouldn't move out of this apartment?" Harry asks, shoveling a whole dumpling into his mouth.

"Why would I? I have everything I need here, minus the working electricity, of course. Loud streets. Screaming, sassy drag queens. Working heat... when I pay my bill, that is. And I live near so many restaurants! I love being within delivery distance to shit like this." She digs her chopsticks into a carton of noodles and pulls several strands into the air before dropping them onto her tongue. Her drunk lips move like a giraffe's, clinging to the wild moving pieces of food to bring them onto her pallet. "And what about you?" she asks mid-chew. "What would you do if you weren't a millionaire?"

"This seems pretty perfect." His lips, shiny from greasy Chinese food, glisten in the candlelight. "As long as I have someone to keep me warm on a cold night."

On instinct, Aaron spits out her mouthful of noodles, her stomach filled with nerves and indigestion. The copious amounts of red wine doesn't help her acid reflux she's always fighting.

He wishes he could explain the sensation. How her home feels like an alternate universe to him. How he feels as he did before he was famous. How his usual reality doesn't exist outside the powerless, yet powerful walls.

"Wow. Did you like that answer?" he laughs, picking pieces of chow mein off his still bare chest. "How much food did you have in your mouth?"

"You'd be surprised by how much I can put in my mouth."

She's oblivious to the sexual nature of her comment. Harry, however, is very in tune. The things he pictures in this moment would be too dirty to publish. He re-adjusts his legs and body to accommodate the stretch at the crotch of his pants.

"You're going to need to show me, darling." His drunk mind hints at something other than food.

"That shit don't work on me right now. Watch." Her glazed over eyes look down at the plethora of goods scattered across the makeshift picnic they've created in her apartment living room. "Check this shit out." She grabs two giant dumplings and displays them in front of Harry's face before stuffing them in either side of her cheeks. "WARF ONE MINURF!" She struggles to say "wait one minute" with a mouthful of food. Grabbing an eggroll, she shoves it down the middle of her mouth. "TA DA!"

"What a talented little chipmunk." Harry pinches her cheeks. Bringing his hands out, he pushes them against her face, causing all the food to come spilling out.

"But did you get the joke? The dumplings were the balls. The eggroll was the —"

"No, no. I got it." Harry pours himself another glass out of their second bottle. "A magician never explains his tricks though, you know?"

"Solid point, Styles. So now that I've shown you my special talent, what's yours?"

"Ah! Prepare your panties, Aaron. Cause it's about to get mighty hot in here." Harry grabs three dumplings out of their respective container and begins to juggle all effortlessly.

"I do declare, Mister Styles. A man that can juggle dumplins'?" She gives her best southern belle impression, fanning her crotch with the takeout menu that came with their order. "My panties are sufficiently damp!"

Harry drops all the dumplings to the ground. "Boom. Mic. Drop. Panties. Wet."

Aaron chuckles so hard that she falls on her back, kicking the container of noodles, causing them to scatter across the floor.

"I've had standing ovations before but never spilled chow mein."

"Good effort..." She makes fun of his try-hard joke. She presses the cool backs of her fingers against her flush, warm face.

"Click!" Harry mimes taking a photograph.

"What was that?"

"Taking a mental photograph of this moment real quick. Don't want to forget it." He stands, picking up their paper plates. His breath is labored and heavy. Bent in half, he quickly tries to maneuver past her, but before he can, a moment in history is made.

A high-pitched squeak, followed by a foul odor, overtake her senses. Harry halts. She didn't hear that. She doesn't smell that. Please tell me this will go unnoticed.

"Jesus, boy!" Aaron fans the air in front of her. "Did you just fucking fart in my face?!"

"I've been holding it in all night!" Harry turns an adorable shade of crimson. Embarrassed but still comfortable.

"Talk about a chow mein fart! You smell like a damn sewer, Harold!" She fakes gagging.

"Can you please... just... stop talking?" He tries to overlook his shame whilst also laughing. "Unless Lady Aaron wants a round two?" He subtly lifts his leg and points his bottom half in the direction of her face.

"Bring that noise my way." She slaps his ass. It was her immediate reaction. One that felt easy. This was nothing but a moment between two close friends that had known each other forever in no time at all.

Harry presses the pedal of her garbage can with his foot, opening up the top, and dumps the plates of leftover food into the disposal.

ONE, TWO, THREE.

"Land of 1000 Dances" by Wilson Pickett begins to play. Harry looks into the living room to find a perfectly posed Aaron, ready for her dance partner to join her.

ONE, TWO, THREE.

He flashes a pose in response, right on queue to the beat.

https://youtu.be/3mz_EXHKGHs

Harry and Aaron dance toward each other like Uma Thurman and John Travolta in "Pulp Fiction." She snaps her fingers and throws her arms in the air, carefree and loving life. Harry does an old-fashioned twist. When it comes to doing the alligator, the two do the dance, perfectly in sync.

"It's fucking hot in here!" she comments, unbuttoning the one professional shirt she wore today.

"Take it off!" Harry yells over the loud music. "You're in good company!"

She quickly obliges, throwing her button-up onto the couch and continuing her promenade with her new friend.

"Let your backbone slip, Harry!" she screams along with the lyrics. They do the hand jive. The jitterbug. The mashed potato. The watusi, even though both of them have no idea what the watusi is.

Aaron goes off in her own world as the chorus of the song hits. The "na-na-na-na-na" takes over her bones and joints. This is one of her favorite songs of all time. She was always one to love a song with strict directions on what to do next.

She spins on her toes. She feels delicate, although her heavy feet slam down on the floorboard disturbing everyone in the surrounding apartments.

"HEY, COCKSUCKER. STOP MAKING ALL THAT NOISE BEFORE I COME OVER THEIR AND STICK MY BOOT SO FAR UP YOUR —" the neighbor screams from the other side of the wall.

"FUCK YOU, ASHLEIGH!" Already familiar with the quirks of the woman next door, Aaron pounds on the wall to subdue her neighbor's yell. When she turns around to continue her dance, Harry's already there, waiting to catch her in his arms.

"Feel pretty good, y'all," he mouths the words, grasping her hips and bringing her in for a deep kiss. He bring his hand up to the back of her head, digging his fingers into her scalp. This is what he's been waiting to do for hours. And she doesn't hesitate to respond. She wraps her arms around his neck, taking in the taste of him. Despite the immense of food they just ate, all they taste is sweetness and wine. Tart grapes fed to the gods on their thrones in gluttony and lust.

He cages her in with his legs while she pulls him in to kiss harder. Their drunk teeth hit, causing them to pause and laugh for a moment before continuing.

Harry grabs the bottom of her ass, keeping her in a standing pose while lifting her feet off the ground. It was easy for a tall man and a woman of her small height.

"Bedroom," she says, pulling away for a second. "That way."

"Mmhmm." Harry says, pushing his tongue into her mouth.

Before she has time to gather her thoughts, she feels her back fall against the bed. She doesn't want to think in this moment. Neither does he. All they want is to exist in the alternate universe of her apartment. Two lost ships finally at port.

"Is this okay?" Harry asks.

"You fucking kidding me?" she responds, pulling him back in for more. She maneuvers backward on the bed while he crawls with her, between her legs. He undoes his belt while still managing to keep his lips pressed against hers. She frantically unbuttons and pulls down her jeans and underwear.

"Still damp?" he asks.

"If I say 'no,' are you going to juggle again?"

"The night is still young." He giggles, hooking his hand under her bare ass, lifting and pushing her further back on the bed so her head rests more comfortably on the pillows.

She appreciates the small, sweet gesture. She briefly remembers the last time she had sex in her bed. The guy from the bar that told her she reminded him of Glenn Close mid-climax. What a way to kill the mood. Harry wouldn't do that though. He was a seasoned lover. Not in the promiscuous sense of the phrase. More so because of his generosity and tenderness.

A moan bleeds from her lips in ecstasy the moment he enters her. This is what she's been waiting for. The perfect puzzle piece to fill the nooks and crannies of her soul.

Their red faces press against one another, steam practically lifting off their bodies. They see stars. They hear music. He grinds into her to the beat he hears in his head. She's the inspiration he needed to take a leap of faith in the world. Evidence restoring his faith in humanity.

The feeling of him inside of her is bittersweet. She knows the night is coming to an end and she'll likely never see him again. It's a period when she wants an ellipsis. The thought brings a single tear to her eye, which she tries to quickly wipe away.

"Are you okay, darling?" he calls her in earnest.

"I'm okay," she breathes. "Don't stop."

"Never," he moves his arms under her back, grabbing the tops of her shoulders to go harder and deeper. He wants to fade into the darkness with her. To have the silver screen fade to black with the words THE END in cursive spelled out, letting the audience know there's a happy ending to follow. "I don't want this night to end. But I don't know how much longer I can last."

"It's okay. We'll be okay." She kisses his neck softly, down his jawline, across his adam's apple and up to his lips. She wraps her legs around his lower half, guiding him in and out of her, the muscles below her stomach tightening just before the release. She digs her heels into the back of his upper thighs, letting him know it's okay let go and release.

And he does. And she does.

A display of fireworks shoots off on the insides of their eyelids as their moment comes to a close. Two worlds collide, exploding into one mass of land and ocean and atmosphere. Creating a surface where life can remain and sustain life. They're Zeus and Hera, the gods of all gods, watching the atoms fall into place and build their own personal solar system.

Harry's weight collapses onto Aaron. The weight of her body travels upward, defying the gravitational pull of the Earth.

"I don't think I'm ready to let this go," Harry says, a hint of sadness in his voice. His bottom lip caresses her cheekbone. She takes in every feeling, as does he. The peach fuzz of their faces stands on end; the result of the static electricity of their chemistry. Enough to bring her apartment back to life if she so desired. "Come with me."

"What?" Aaron looks at Harry confused.

"Like I said, I'm not ready to let this go."

"There's something I need to tell you first."

"I already know, chipmunk." Harry falls beside her in the bed and grabs her hand, kissing each of her fingertips before continuing. "You're paparazzi."

"How'd you know?" She turns on her side to face him directly. He does the same.

"I saw your camera. And I've seen you before. How could I forget this face? I also know you've never sold a photo of me."

"Harry... I—"

He runs his thumb down the bridge of her nose before tapping the tip with his pointer. "Boop!" he jokes.

"What would I do?"

"I'm recording my solo album and going on tour. I want you to be there to document everything. And keep me company, of course."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"All I know, is when I'm around you, and I see your kind eyes and hear your adorable laugh," his words embarrass her and she tries to cover her face. "Stop, stop." He lowers her hands and cups her face. "I see your kind eyes and hear your adorable laugh and think anything could happen."

"Anything could..."

* * *

Author's Note: Thank you again for reading! What did you think? Should we make "Exposure" a full story someday? We've also been thinking about starting a one shot/short story book since we have so many ideas. Should we? Please let us know in the comments. Also, quick shoutout to oceanlyfe for making another cameo in one of our stories. Thank you for being our crazy next door neighbor in this — we love you so much! And thank you to the lovely chanmapan for asking us to submit this one shot. It's an absolute honor!

Love,
FatBottomedGirls