a cubicle away [l.s] (ON HOLD)

prologue

Life for a man like Harry Styles was simple. At least, if you had asked Harry Styles.

He woke up and made scrambled eggs, and if he knew how to do anything other than answer phones and act like he was having a good time, it was use a spatula. Harry shimmering and dancing to The Outfield at 4:30 was much better than watching Wren use his favorite pen to clean out the stapler.

He showered and usually tried to read the newspaper even though he usually ended up reading the comics like a 12 year old boy. Did he mind? Not really.

Usually after that he ended up at work. He said hi to Wren and Liam and sat down at his desk until Artie would come over and tell jokes about anthills and talk about politics in the 1970's.

Then he'd answer phones.

A male receptionist? Yes, five days a week from 9 to 5.

It wasn't a set plan for Harry. Is it anyone's? He needed work after graduating college and Ambia Cardboard was hiring. That was 4 years ago. Every day went the same, listening to Artie talk about his own problems and Liam readjusting his glasses.

It was always simple, robotic and quiet and quaint in Harry Styles' mind.

That was, of course, and quite indefinitely,
until Louis Tomlinson.

Before Louis there was Garrett, the boy who asked him to marry him on a ferry boat and told him he wanted to be married to him as soon as possible. That was a year and a half ago.

"Well, uh, there isn't much showing around I can do. You know sales, I'm sure you can manage finding a desk for yourself." Liam rolled his eyes at the newcomer. "Best sales in Boston," "Really lucky to have him." Liam was highest sales in the department, and he was positive Louis wouldn't beat him out.

"Alright, settle down, Mr. Potter. You're glasses might end up somewhere other than your face." Louis chuckled, and it wasn't really that funny. Except for Harry, who could hear it from the doorway and decided maybe having a newcomer wasn't that bad.

He just ate his yogurt, and giggled and laughed into the strawberry banana on his plastic spoon.

"You must be the reception." Louis fixed his collar.

"That'd be me, yes. And you're Mr. Tomlinson, I presume." Harry coughed, flushing a bit.

"God, I can't believe you just called me Mr. Tomlinson." Louis smirked, placing his briefcase on the desk directly in front of Harry.

"Then what am I supposed to call you?" Harry's eyebrows furrowed.

"Whatever you'd like." Louis sat down, and it was evident the life for Harry Styles wouldn't ever be simple again.