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If Macy had known how much trouble a scrunchie would bring into her life, she never would have bought the damn thing.
And by "trouble", she means Harry Styles.
Harry is nice, and smart, and funny, and charming, and almost offensively handsome. There is nothing wrong with him. And that's the problem! It's so infuriating being around someone so perfect all the time!
Okay. To back up:
Six months ago, Macy met Harry on the set of a photoshoot. It was hot that day, so she had her hair pulled up with her favorite purple velvet scrunchie.
The first words Harry ever said to her were: "Hey, I like your scrunchie."
Three chance meetings later, Macy was at another shoot, this time for a music video, but still for Harry Styles. By that point, they'd become comfortable enough with each other to have short conversations during Harry's breaks, maybe a bit of banter back and forth when Macy walked by. It was nice, seeing that someone as astronomically famous as Harry was still a kind human underneath all the fame.
A few hours in, the people in charge of the video shoot were stuck, because Harry's hair kept getting in his face and messing up their shot. There was conversation about bobby pins and hair clips and hair ties and rubber bands, but everything they tried wasn't quite right, aesthetically.
"Excuse me," Macy had said, walking onto the set and not listening when multiple people tried to stop her. "I think I have something that will work." She'd stopped in front of Harry, standing in the way of the sun on purpose to give him a bit of shade, and took the velvet scrunchie from her hair, combed Harry's floppy front hairs up with her fingers, and fixated the scrunchie around the tuft of hair in her hand, messing it up a bit to get it to look a little less...put together.
"It's perfect," Harry had mumbled, a hand going up to feel what Macy had just done. He'd been so grateful that he'd reached out and hugged what he could reach of her, which at that point was her legs. "Thank you, Macy."
Harry was, indeed, very grateful when Macy swooped in to save the day, having been tired when it all started but by that point was downright exhausted, and just wanted to be finished with the day so he could go home and take a bath and a nap.
Less than 20 minutes later, he got his wish, but he had to make one pit stop first.
"Hey," he'd said after stepping up behind Macy, taking the scrunchie out of his hair as she'd turned around. "Thanks for the scrunchie. 'M glad to be done for today. My back was killing me, staying hunched over for so long while they figured out what to do with my hair." He'd rolled his eyes playfully, handing the scrunchie back to her. "Thanks again."
"No problem," Macy had said, still slightly starstruck even though not even 20 minutes ago she'd had him wrap himself around her legs like a child. "Anytime you need a scrunchie, just call me."
She'd been joking, but Harry's face lit up and he asked for her number. She gave it to him, obviously, but had she known where she'd be today, she might have reconsidered.
"Where she'd be today" being at Harry's house, asleep until the infuriatingly early-riser bounds into the room. He stops when he sees she's still asleep, opting for a softer approach now that he needs to wake her up.
"Macyyyy," he singsongs, running a hand through her hair.
"Mmmff," she grunts, trying to burrow deeper into the blankets.
"It's time to get up, my love," he continues softly. "Gotta help me get ready for my interviews today."
Macy's ears perk up at that. She halfway turns to face him, hair in her face, eyes squinted against the sunlight starting to peek through the blinds. "Huh?" She didn't know he had interviews planned. "We gotta go somewhere? You said," she pauses to turn to face him completely, wiping a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. "You said we didn't hafta go anywhere today."
"We don't!" Harry exclaims, and a closer inspection of his outfit proves his point: he's wearing some old basketball shorts and a fluffly purple robe. If he was going somewhere, he'd be dressed already. Definitely not leaving the house in that. "'M doin' 'em through FaceTime."
Macy sits up, rubbing at her eyes, then gets a better look at Harry. "That explains the outfit. What do you need my help with though? Looks like you're set."
This is where Harry dips his head, and Macy knows what's coming. Harry lifts his head to look at her and, yep, there it is. The pout. "Need ya t' do m' hair."
"What do you mean 'do m' hair'?" She asks, mocking his accent terribly at the end. "Just put your hood up. Should be fine."
Harry huffs sadly, if a huff can be sad. He plops down on the bed next to Macy, still pouting. "Yeah, but you know how my hair gets in my face. Will you pull it back for me?" He asks, pushing back one of the sleeves of his robe and removing the velvet scrunchie that started this whole thing from his wrist, holding it out to her with two fingers. "You do it better than me."
Macy rolls her eyes at him but smiles fondly, taking the scrunchie from Harry. "Turn to face me, then," she says, Harry's pout turning quickly into a huge, beaming smile. It takes maybe 20 seconds to get Harry's hair pulled back into the scrunchie, but every time he acts like Macy has just saved his life by doing it. She gives him a kiss on the forehead to let him know she's finished, and he's still beMing when he looks up at her again.
"Thanks, love," he says, puckering his lips up exaggeratedly, letting Macy know he wants a kiss there, too, and she gives it to him. Right after their lips touch, however, Harry's phone starts ringing from wherever he left it, and Harry pulls away with an apologetic look on his face.
"Duty calls," he says, giving Macy another kiss before leaving the room and heading toward the sound of his phone. "You're the best! I love you!"
"Love you too!" she calls back, snuggling back down into the blankets for a few minutes, knowing Harry will come drag her out of bed once he's done with his interview.
She thinks about how much her life has changed since she and Harry first met, and maybe she's glad she bought that scrunchie after all.