Winter [Harry Styles AU]

two

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winter // two 

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Harry's a drug dealer. And so, really, it's only natural that when leaving the coffee shop, his first thought is: that girl really needs to hit a bowl. And maybe get laid. He can't help but picture the tiny brunette with her lips wrapped around a pipe, inhaling sharply, the smoke curling out in soft tendrils from her nose.  

He also can't help picturing what it'd be like to fuck her on a really big bed with the rain beating against the window and Arctic Monkeys humming in the background. Whatever. He's a twenty-year-old and she had on really tight jeans. Sue him. 

He tucks his hands further into his coat pockets and continues the walk down the familiar London streets to all of his customers. His phone has been ringing non-stop for the past week, prompting for orders to be filled, and since he hasn't landed a gig since god knows when, he goes to them. 

There's the street vendor who always wants a gram, and the three blonde girls that always buy coke and hit on him, and the stoners that offer up bowls to show their gratitude, and (his personal favorites) the stressed out law students he can charge almost double for any ADD pill and get away with it. 

Harry grins as he approaches the old man sells pastries on the corner, thumbing the plastic baggie in his pocket. "Think I can get a churro?"

The man laughs behind the counter. "With chocolate sauce or without?"

"Chocolate sauce every time," Harry says. "Gotta treat myself."

"Always," the vendor says fondly, wrapping up the churro. "You got anything I can treat myself with?"

Harry leaves with a warm snack and a little bit more cash in his pocket. It's a good life.

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By the time Harry makes it back to his shared apartment, the tea has cooled, his finger tips are no longer threatening to fall off due to hypothermia, and he's a few hundred dollars richer. He scuffles up the flight upstairs to the door the with broken lock and the message board that reads lady gaga gives liam boners and he really doesn't want to think about that too hard. 

The door creaks as it swings open. "Harry Haz Harry is back!" A voice rings out immediately. Four heads pop up over the edge of the worn down couch, eyes glazed and hair mussed up on each of the sleepy boys. "And he didn't bring us any presents."

"You didn't bring me any tea last time," Harry grumbles, toeing off his boots and putting them in the pile of assorted Vans and Nike trainers and chunky black Doc Martens. It's a weird sight, all their different styles mixed together, but it works somehow. It's always worked for them.

Their flat is tiny, right in the heart of the student district. They decorated it like their mothers never would let them; every inch is covered in band and pokemon posters. The couch is old and the chairs are threatening to fall apart. They have more drug related paraphernalia than dishes. It's home.

Liam scowls. "That's a fair point, mate, but that's only because you'd just beaten me in FIFA and I was a little bit pissed."

"I'm with Liam on this one," Niall says, throwing his legs over the other boys and effectively spanning over the entire tiny couch. None of the boys seem to care. "I'd be pissed if you beat me, too, given the fact that you're absolutely shit."

Grinning, Harry ducks down to kiss Niall's forehead. He should probably be offended, but first of all, it's Niall and Niall can do nothing wrong, and second of all, it's true He's fucking awful at FIFA. They gave him an unattached control for three months before he even noticed.