One Direction One Shots 2

Late (Harry)

 Your phone was wrong when it said the bus would be there in seven minutes. You left the house bundling your scarf around your face against the early January frost. You turned the corner and saw the bus pull away into the fog. You’d skipped your morning classes, but it looks like you’d miss fifth period too. You kept walking, hands quivering in your pockets as you followed the bus route down blocks covered in patches of ice and rock salt and you felt your lips go cold and exhaled small clouds of breath. You remembered the bus turned left in front of the juvenile detention center. Or was it right? You stood to face the building, nothing to admire, just big slabs of concrete painted salmon with small square windows and big brown doors. You turned to the opposite, holding your hands up in an effort to remember where you were meant to be going. You heard the swish and thud of a door being flung open but thought nothing of it until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

            “’Scuse me, got a light?”

            You turned to make eye contact with a pair of shoulders, covered in a red flannel and black winter coat. The flannel was unbuttoned and you noted two dark splotches on the stranger’s collarbones. You raised your eyes to a pair of green ones, furrowed under their brow. Purpled lips were parted. Little brown spirals slipped out from the edges of a black beanie. The stranger held a cigarette in one hand, the other just inches from where it had brushed before.

            “Sorry?”

            “Light. Got one?”

            “Uh yeah, just a sec.”

            You swung your bag off your shoulder and began digging through the smaller pockets. You threw a few gum wrappers onto the sidewalk and you clawed around for it, finally finding it and holding it out the boy watching you intently.

            “Thanks.”

            “Sure”

            He sat down on the curb and lit his cigarette as you checked the time. You might as well skip sixth period too, no?

            You rubbed your hands together and breathed on them, visibly shivering.

            “You ok?”

            The stranger held your lighter up to you, exhaling smoke from his nose as he bit the inside of his cheek.

            “Oh, yeah, I’m fine.”

            “You smoke?”

            He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, holding one out to you between two of his fingers. You took it from him, fingertips brushing ever so slightly as you brought it to your lips.

            “Sometimes.”

            He laughed at this.

            “‘Sometimes,’ right.”

            You lit the cigarette and blew smoke at him.

            “Is that funny?”

            “Not really, just…”

            He smiled to himself and took another drag, looking away and scratching the back of his head, beanie rustling. You raised an eyebrow and motioned to him with your chin.                    

            “Go on.”

            “Just, isn’t that what every girl says? ‘Sometimes,’ like anyone offering you a cigarette gives a shit.”