Larry Stylinson ao3 one shots.

i said don't go (stay, tonight)

Written by:stylinhrry

Summary:after Louis does the unthinkable to the world's number 1 golfer, Harry Styles, he's not sure how he'll ever live it down. its a good thing that he ends up fawning over Louis after the space of about 5 minutes.

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Work Text:
"Hole in bloody one!"
Liam's face is plastered to the kitchen window as he yells enthusiastically into the glass, ignored by everyone around him.
"Get back to work Liam," Louis says, balancing a tray of various starters in one hand and clutching a bottle of Prosecco in the other. The restaurant is especially busy tonight, with more and more enthusiastic golfers piling in and downing bottles of expensive wine. There seems to be an influx in new members and Louis can't say he's enjoying the extra work. He doesn't get paid much.
"You can't tell me what to do," Liam replies. "I am a cook and you are but a humble waiter."
"You aren't even cooking you twat," Louis snaps. The window around Liam's face has steamed up with his breath and the heat from boiling vegetables. Liam never seems to cook anything, rather stare at the awfully uninteresting golf games that occur on the vast green space surrounding the restaurant.
"Well you're not waitering!"
"Waitering's not a word you can't just make up words Li-"
"Get back to work Louis!" Simon, the head chef, yells from the other end of the kitchen. Louis is honestly lost for words.
When Louis enters the dining hall once again, it is packed to the brim with golfers, all chuckling about their swing and how badly their least favourite player had done in the championships. Table 23, which he delivers the platter of bread and calamari to, features a balding regular named Sydney, a newcomer with sideburns and an impressive moustache, and a lady wearing an offensively pink coloured jumper.
"Would you like me to refill that, sir?" Louis asks Sydney politely, as he downs his brandy.
"That would be wonderful, thank you."
Louis takes the glass and saunters off, leaving the bubbly chatter continue behind. He walks past Zayn at table 44 and slaps him discretely on the bum, giggling at the squeaky noise he makes whilst talking to the lady in front of him. The sun has started to come down, and the stragglers still on the green are slowly starting to either leave or enter the restaurant.
Louis leans against the wall and sighs. The clock on the wall tells him his shift is not even nearly over. He's sweating horribly and he knows that theres leftover takeaway curry in the fridge at home that Zayn hopefully hasn't eaten yet. He wonders if Zayn's been thinking about it as much as Louis has the whole day.
Louis loves golf. He can't play for shit though, so he decided, at the tender age of 21, to try and get a job somewhere he could watch professionals play rather than just on his crackly TV that still feels tingly when you put your hand near it. The Redwood Country Club accepted Louis' application after a few white lies during the interview and and extremely enthusiastic approach to golf.
"We expect only the best service. Any slacking or disappointment of our customers, you're out," the lady had said sternly to Louis. He didn't like her head teacher-like approach to being a manager, but it seemed to have worked since Louis hasn't been fired yet. Yet.
The club was renown for its vast amount of land, facilities, but most of all for its famous members. Nick Faldo, Laura Davies and Lee Westwood had all been members at some points in time. Even Tiger Woods had paid a visit when spending time in UK. Oh how Louis had swooned that day; he still remembers how elegant his swing was, sending the ball far off into the setting sun and landing just centimetres from the hole. Louis didn't work at all; instead he bunked off and discreetly stalked the golfer around the whole course watching his every move from the rough, binoculars stuck to his face.
It was also situated on a cliff by the sea, and the romantic views and pink sunsets attracted golfers from all around. The club's restaurant looked out over the horizon and sometimes you could see France if you squinted your eyes enough. If you wanted, you could sneak behind the club and crawl down a crumbling passage way to the beach, but it was both slippery and steep as well as overgrown with marram grass. Louis had scrambled down there once but his favourite trousers had got covered in chalk and decided the shitty stony beach wasn't worth it in the end.
The cliff was also being eroded vigorously by the sea and the club would topple majestically into it in about 5-10 years according to locals, but everyone chose to ignore that.
"Stop daydreaming, babe," Zayn says, suddenly clicking his fingers in front of Louis' blank face. "Liam is making his stupid puppy face at the door when he wants your attention but can't go into the dining room or he'll get sacked."
"Why on Earth would he get sacked for that?"
"He's a cook, not a waiter. Gotta stay in his place."
Louis huffs exasperatedly. "Look you're the second person today to make out that there's some bloody hierarchy in this place where cooks are higher than waiters. I get to go in the kitchen, why can't he come out here?" He looks over at Liam where he is plastered to the window, his tanned face surrounded by steam on the window, with only his brown eyes visible.
"I dunno mate. But I think you need to take some food out or something Liam's really looking a bit stressed-"
Louis strides over to the door and shoves it open where Liam is standing, platter of shrimps in his hand.
"Which order is this?" Louis snaps. He's got a headache and the kitchen is too hot and steamy and smells of marmite for some reason.
"Twenty five."
Louis grabs the platter and shoves the door back open violently with his bum, advancing towards table 25. A young woman is sitting there alone, fiddling with her nails. Her pale hair is falling in strands around her face.
"This is your order, I believe?" Louis says, trying to make conversation even though its entirely unnecessary. The poor love looks a bit lonely. Not that there's anything wrong with dining alone; it's no different to Louis eating his way through a KFC family feast on his own watching the Youtube documentaries about human Barbies and child prodigies all night. Probably not even as bad.
The girl looks up and smiles. "Yes, thank you." She moves her phone and cutlery out of the way so Louis can place the steaming plate down in front of her. It smells delicious but all Louis can think about is that curry in the fridge. God if Zayn has eaten it –
"Eating alone tonight?" Louis asks, he hopes not too insensitively.
"Oh no," the girl replies, a little taken aback. Oh dear, Louis was insensitive. "I'm waiting for my brother, he's just a bit late."
"Oh right, sorry. Do you need anything? Water, bread...?"
"No I'm fine thanks." Louis can't stop looking at her face; she looks just like someone but he can't place his finger on it. "Did I get houmous on my face? Shit –"
"No no sorry. Sorry. Enjoy your meal."
Louis scampers off, embarrassed. He's made a tit of himself again. Zayn is leaning on the wall, daydreaming, and Louis scoots up next to him, before clicking in his face.
"Is it me or do you really recognise that girl at table 23?" Louis murmurs, although she wouldn't be able to hear him over the rumbling chatter of the hall. To be honest, the blatant staring would be a bigger giveaway.
"Can't see from here, mate. She looks hot though."
"Walk past her table casually, I beg. She looks so familiar its killing me."
Zayn frowns at him, but does walk over. Louis smiles to himself as he sees the quiffed man stroll obviously around her table and back to Louis.
"So?"
"Fuck, I know what you mean. That's gonna bug me."
Louis looks over and sees Liam doing the eyes thing again, and huffs loudly before returning to pick up another plate of food.
It's after another hour of his shift that Louis starts to get a bit worried about the pretty pastel girl sat at the table. Louis wonders if someone stood her up and she's making excuses about a brother to lessen the embarrassment. He wanders over to her nonchalantly, just to check she's alright.
"Want pudding, love?" Louis asks, as casually as possible.
"No I'm alright thank you." She smiles warmly. " I haven't been stood up if that's what you're thinking, cos he's here any second and the car just arrived and I'm not making excuses."
Louis puts his hands up defensively and stutters out an unconvincing reply, but then her eyes light up as she looks towards the door. The brother must have arrived then.
"Ok I'll leave you to it," Louis smiles, walking away towards Zayn again. But Zayn is staring, aghast, at the door. "What are you looking at –" Louis swivels around and stops in his tracks.
A strangled noise falls out from his mouth.
-
Harry walks into the room tentatively, ducking his head round the doorway but immediately smiling when he sees his sister sat alone in the middle of the hall. She spots him and erupts into a grin. The light of the room is low and falls only from a few majestic chandeliers scattering the room, bathing the golfers and diners in gold, but he can see her bright hair from a mile away. As he walks, Harry smiles at the looks of recognition he gratefully receives from diners.
He strides towards Gemma, slipping his cold phone into his pocket. He's still got a few clubs slung over his back which he feels may be a little unnecessary, but likes to have them with him in case of emergency.
"Harry! I thought you'd never bloody arrive!" Harry leans down to hug Gemma when he arrives at the table, almost knocking her glass, balanced precariously on the table edge. "I look like I've been stood up. The waiter keeps coming over and trying to cheer me up."
"Sorry Gem, there was awful traffic and this place is really far. Why did you choose here anyway?"
"Has nice sunsets apparently, and you missed it. I got you a lasagne, I hope that's alright." Harry nods, cutting a mouthful out from the dish, even though it's stone cold.
Suddenly, Harry hears, "Sir, would you like another of those?" and feels a warm presence stood over him.
He looks up and is immediately hit with piercing blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a pile of clichés. This man has a light dusting of stubble across this structured face, as well as slightly pouted lips, and his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks which Harry wasn't previously aware was possible. One eyebrow is raised in a questioning way but Harry can see can see that his lips and hands are quivering slightly. Harry doesn't know how to reply, because he honestly thinks this might be the most attractive human being he's ever laid eyes on.
"Erm... yes... please?" Harry's voice crackles due to the revolting amount of spit and phlegm in his mouth. His brain has responded to this shockingly stunning sight by producing bodily fluids. Hmm.
"Anything else?" His voice is wonderfully raspy. Harry's not sure if he's ever seen such wonderfully blue eyes in his whole lifetime, and he's met a lot of people. Paul Hollywood has very blue eyes but they're not a nice blue, not like this fairytale azurey aquamarine blue that's boring into Harry's head. He wonders if the man has a boyfriend who likes staring into the pretty lagoons. Harry is entranced.
"Sir?"
Gemma kicks him under the table.
"Oh god sorry um no thanks," Harry splutters out, coming back to his senses. He's never before stared at someone so intently that he's forgotten to reply. The waiter purses his lips and smiles gently. He's so pretty, Harry can't stop looking at him. As he walks away, Harry sees that his backside isn't too bad either. The waiter reaches a tall, slender man with black hair and sharp cheekbones, before jumping up and down excitedly and shaking his head violently in his hands. Harry wonders what he's happy about.
"What's up with you then?" Gemma laughs. "Why didn't you answer?"
"Oh I don't know, I was daydreaming. I don't know. How's mum?"
Gemma smirks, but talks about Christmas plans and a possible canine addition to the family anyway. Harry just stares at the wonderful waiter's shining expression and the way he shakes his hair out of his face.
–
"He's so fucking hot in real life Zayn! Oh my GOD his voice... did you hear him? Fuck oh my god that was Harry, Zayn, he was so nice and friendly and he stared at me which was a bit weird but... oh my gosh Zayn did you see that–"
"Louis shut up," Zayn places his warm hands on Louis' shaking shoulders. He feels so jumpy and he's shivering all over but it feels amazing because Harry Styles just talked to him and his voice was huskier than the arctic dog. "You're behaving like a twelve year old."
"I don't fucking care that's Harry Styles, Zayn, the number 1 golfer in the whole world... Jesus Christ did you see how he walked in with the driver slung over his shoulder?"
"Louis calm down, he can see you jumping around like an idiot. Did he order anything?"
Um. "I can't remember Zayn I was too caught up –"
Zayn sighs exaggeratedly. "Louis."
"Oh yeah I was gonna get him another lasagne cos his one had gone cold... FUCK Zayn!"
Zayn presses a finger violently to Louis' lips, before shoving him off in the direction of the swinging doors where Liam is probably stood with his pleading eyes. His heart is thudding so painfully hard he can feel the blood rush in his ears. The adrenaline currently soaring through his veins is dizzying him, paired with the initial suffocating shock of seeing Harry's blisteringly beautiful face peak round the door. Just the knowledge of his presence, the fact that he's sat in such close proximity is making Louis skitter around.
Louis reaches the door and backs himself violently into it, before bursting into the kitchen and running towards Liam.
"Liam I need a lasagne quickly," Louis splutters out. "Really quickly. But it has to be really nice as well."
"What, why?"
"Hurry up please Liam–"
"Louis, what's going on?" Liam's soft face is contorted in a quizzical expression.
"Harry Styles is at the table and his lasagne's gone cold so hurry the fuck up!"
"Harry Styles?" Liam's face drops, alongside his wooden spoon.
Louis can't bear being snappy with Liam anymore. Instead, he breaks into a grin and nods repeatedly, making silent noises of excitement.
"Is it really him?! Oh my gosh you're kidding me aren't you?"
"Why would I lie about that?" Louis scoffs.
"No I don't believe you. Let me see."
Louis rolls his eyes and leads Liam to the door, where he presses his sweaty face to the steamed up window.
"I can't see him. You're bloody pulling my leg aren't you?" Liam moves away from the window, a moany, disappointed look on his face.
"No he's really there Liam, I'm actually not kidding," Louis half-laughs. Harry Styles. He's talking about real life Harry Styles sitting within a few metres of him. Liam frowns, with his great caterpillar brows of expression, and returns to the window.
Promptly, a flustered Zayn thwacks the door into Liam's face and barges into the kitchen. His usual calm demeanour has packed its bags.
"Louis, does everyone know that the lasagne is the priority?" Zayn says, an obvious bout of stress lacing his every word, as he sees Louis standing by the door.
"Is Harry Styles actually out there?" Liam asks.
"Yes he is and he needs a lasagne. Is anyone making lasagne?" Zayn yells at the bustling kitchen.
"Harry Styles?!"
Then Simon strides over to the babbling group, the usual aura of unnecessary distaste following as he leads.
"Is there a problem, Zayn?" He raises a threatening eyebrow, crossing his arms. Louis has always had an intense dislike for Simon, ever since he'd tried to get him fired after an innocent fuck up on Louis' part, almost serving chicken stock risotto to an aggressively vegan customer. It wasn't Louis' fault that the two dishes looked exactly the same, except one had boiled animal bone juice in it.
"It's all under control, Simon," Zayn says in his "Simon voice" as Louis likes to call it, when he sounds all faux professional.
"What's this lasagne business? Louis hasn't served someone "vegetarian" lasagne again, has he?" Simon gestures with inverted commas. Louis scowls. He'd only done that twice.
"No, it's just that, well, Harry Styles arrived a little bit late and his food went cold..."
"Harry Styles?!" Simon's face drops, his stern glare suddenly disappearing. Zayn nods, obviously trying to keep his cool, but Louis can see straight through him. Simon straightens back up suddenly, embarrassed at his slip. "Stop faffing, get back to work." He strides away again. Zayn gives the finger to his back.
"Fucking hell," Zayn mutters. Louis is distracted once again, however, his face returning to the small porthole window, where he can only just make out Harry sat cross legged at his table.
The fact still hasn't sunken in; Louis feels giddy. He doesn't care about how ridiculously obsessed he is, because Harry's perfect silken curls are bouncing enthusiastically within a few feet of Louis' trembling body. He's not sure how he's going to survive the night without doing something incredibly embarrassing.
It's one hour later, and Louis has never seen Zayn so stressed. It's Louis' fault, once again.
After a long while, a lasagne had finally been made, and Zayn had eagerly thrust the steaming dish into Louis' open hands, shoving him out of the swinging doors and into the dining hall. Louis had advanced towards Harry's table with direction, strength and stability. He was determined to prove to Zayn that he was not swayed professionally by Harry's charm, beauty and existence. He maintained this for about 30 seconds.
"Sir, your lasagne," Louis had mumbled, suddenly plunged into Harry's eyes. The waver in his voice was threatening to make a dramatic entrance if he spoke any louder.
"Thank you. Also, I'm really sorry but is there any chance I could get a glass of water?" Harry had asked, his voice so wonderfully kind but ragged on Louis' ears.
"Er... yes of course," Louis smiled. He had not yet placed the dish on the table, since there was a phone, cutlery and Harry's wallet on the dish's designated space, which the golfer had not noticed. Louis was too awkward to ask him to move it, so decided to flit his eyes from Harry's face to the table in an obvious fashion.
It had obviously not been obvious enough, because as lasagne burned Louis' arm, so did Harry's soft gaze into Louis' eyes. He was so beautiful; Louis had never even fathomed him being this stunning, even more so than in photos. Harry kept gently biting his pink lips, staring silently at Louis, pupils blown wide in the dim, gold light of the room. Louis felt himself slowly turning pink.
Then his roasted arm protested, and he dropped the lasagne straight on to Harry's lap.
The look on Zayn's face, when he charges into the kitchen demanding kitchen roll and a mop, is almost funny to Louis, had he not been so horrifically mortified. Of course Louis, of all people, would be the one to drop a plate of boiling lasagne on to Harry Styles' legs, probably clothed in Yves Saint Laurent £3000 trousers. He's close to tears, which is a big statement seeing how many times Louis had fucked up in his job, and every time managing to laugh it off and get back to work. Louis now doesn't know how he's going to function, but he has to get back out there and bloody scrape the dish off of Harry's poor legs.
"What the fuck did you do?" Zayn snaps, suddenly towering over Louis. It's quite scary actually.
"Just please, please, get me some kitchen roll before I break down in front of everyone," Louis whispers.
"Why? What happened?"
"Please."
When Louis finally returns, equipped with cleaning utensils and a brave face, Harry and his sister have managed to scrape most of the mess out of his lap and back into the dish, with tissues and some spoons.
"I am so, so sorry," Louis blurts. "Oh my fucking God, shit – sorry, here have some kitchen roll and stuff oh my God..."
"Don't worry," Harry laughs. "These trousers were on the way out anyway, it's fine."
"If there's any way I can make it up to you," Louis doesn't want to mop at Harry's crotch as he feels like that might be crossing the line a little bit.
Harry places a comforting hand on Louis' arm. "Please don't worry," he utters in a hushed, strangely erotic tone, especially since there is a huge red bolognese stain in his lap. Louis lets out an embarrassingly loud sigh.
"Sorry, could we get the bill please?" Harry's sister chips in.
"Oh no, you don't have to pay," Louis says, finally breaking away from Harry's ever entrancing stare. "Honestly its the least we can do." He's not sure if he's technically allowed to make that decision, but he doesn't think that anyone will be opposed to the idea, after all that's happened. Louis is just terrified for when Simon finds out what he did.
"Hey, at least let me tip you," Harry says, delving around in his wallet.
"Tip me? After that catastrophe? You sure?" Louis feels himself slipping out of his professional mode.
"Hey, it wasn't that bad..."
"I can't even accept your money, I'm so sorry Harry." The name slips out and it feels a bit weird; almost as if Louis isn't even meant to know it.
"I'll tip you even more next time, Louis," Harry replies, smiling. Louis is confused for a second, but then remembers his name tag. He's convinced his whole face has gone bright red just from hearing Harry say his name so beautifully. He opens his mouth to reply, but he's not sure what to say.
"Once again I am so sorry," Louis stutters, gathering up the plates. "If you do ever come here again for some strange reason then the meal will be on the house. And probably a week's country club membership. Possibly a month. I'm not sure, I'll have to talk with the manager–"
"Hey, I said don't worry." Harry is so calm, and Louis doesn't understand how. The pair stand up to leave, and Louis feels like he should do something but he's just so embarrassed and overwhelmed and looks like an idiot covered in kitchen roll. "Bye bye," Harry says. Louis smiles lopsidedly.
Simon makes Louis stay an extra shift because of the incident, and when he returns home, Zayn has eaten all the curry.
–
Two weeks later, in the blaring sun of the morning, Louis is bringing out shandy to golfers by the pool. Personally, he thinks its a bit early for alcohol, even for himself. After the manager of the club found out about Louis spilling lasagne on the number 1 golfer worldwide, she almost broke down in tears and told Louis he had to do 3 extra shifts per week to keep his job or he was out. He's spending most of his time wondering why she didn't fire him entirely. Even he can admit that was a major fuck up.
The weather is beautiful, particularly for England, with the sun shining so brightly he could almost maybe get a tan from it. The heated outside pool didn't even need to be heated that much. Louis hadn't seen the temperature being turned down in years.
The pool is silent apart from some dim chatter, before a huge splash erupts. Louis snaps his head from the man he was giving the glass to. Disapproving glances and murmuring echo round the poolside, before the splasher bobs up from the rippling pool.
"Harry?" Louis splutters.
The curly golfer smiles broadly at Louis' exclamation. He waves excitedly. Louis beams at him, heart flailing madly.
"Excuse me, my drink?" the man behind him mutters. Louis apologises and hands it to him, before walking back past the pool.
"Hi lasagne Louis," Harry calls out, grinning. The pool is sparkling in his presence; the sunlight bouncing from his tattooed skin. His hair is in a bun and there is a butterfly tattoo on his stomach.
"Please don't remind me," Louis says, blushing.
"I actually quite like the red stain look. White trousers get a bit boring after a while."
"Even expensive white trousers?"
"There's always more where they came from."
"I'd be happy to pour lasagne on those too. How about a curry or a bolognese as well?"
Harry guffaws loudly, the happy vibrations reverberating around the pool. It feels so rewarding, somehow, for him to laugh so loudly at one of Louis' jokes.
"Why aren't you swimming on such a fine day?"
"I'm a waiter, love. Can't be jumping in the pool whenever I like. Got people waiting on me."
"I suppose. Could you possibly get me a lemonade please?"
"Of course. At least if I spill that on you it wont stain anything."
Harry snorts, as Louis goes back into the bar, trying to accentuate his bum waggle as he walks. Zayn's at the bar today, since Nick called in sick.
"You'll never guess who's here," Louis says, smugly.
"Niall Horan?"
Louis shakes his head.
"Barack Obama?"
"Nope!"
"The queen?"
"No! Harry Styles!"
Zayn bursts out laughing, and Louis is a little taken aback by the response. He shakes his head and continues pouring out a drink, the remnants of his outburst still trickling out in a faint chuckle.
"What?"
"Who's really here then?"
"I just said. Harry's here."
"After that bloody catastrophe a couple of weeks ago? I don't think so Louis."
Zayn's offensive reaction almost provokes Louis to not persuade him, but leave him to discover the fact himself later on. Nevertheless, he sighs and drags Zayn to the window, pointing at the golfer, lazing prettily in the shallow end.
"Fucking hell," Zayn mutters. "What did you do? Brainwash him?"
Louis slaps at his arm and tuts. He orders Zayn to get him a lemonade and sits by the window, staring discreetly at the wonderfully tanned human being. From here, he can now see Harry is unabashedly sporting his infamous pair of bright yellow swimming shorts.
He brings the lemonade out with an embarrassingly shaky hand; not only because of Harry's presence but also the underlying threat he's going to spill something on him again. He looks angelic, lain gently in the rippling water with the rays beating down on to his face. He's wearing a pair of Ray Bans, perched effortlessly but slightly precariously on the edge of his nose.
Louis crouches down to Harry's height, and hands the glass to him, taking extra care to keep his hand steady. Their faces are slightly too near each other, and it sends a rush through Louis' body as he is reminded of the multiple fantasies he has had being in such close proximity to Harry Styles.
When Louis returns 10 minutes later, Harry has got out of the pool and left his glass on the side with a small note reading "thank you". Louis has never met anyone so endearing.
–
Louis comes into work with a headache and 10% charged phone, wondering how high the possibility is that the day could go well. His appointed extra shifts have been driving him mad, as well as the fact that Zayn's normal time table leaves him lying in bed every morning for an extra few hours. The amount of times he's wanted to draw on his face or cover it in honey have been uncountable.
Louis knows he's a jealous fuck. Or envious fuck? He's never really known the difference.
"What's the difference between jealousy and envy?" Louis asks Ed, who's sat at the front desk, picking at his fingernails.
"Oh god wait I knew this one..." Ed says, scrunching his eyebrows together. "Jealousy is like when you think someone's cheating on you right? You get jealous of the person they're tight with? Am I making that up?"
"What's envy then?"
"Like if someone has something you don't, I think. Louis I am so bored, no one's come in this whole morning."
"Championships are on the telly at the moment, innit?"
"Just pre-recorded shit. They don't start for another 2 weeks."
Louis should know that, usually he's the first to know when he's going to be able to see Harry playing on TV, with his beautiful swing and posture. (And his curls. Louis will never get over the curls.) He thinks its probably because lately he's been more excited about going in to work each day on the off-chance that Harry will pop up somewhere. A couple of days ago, Louis was convinced he'd seen Harry browsing in the golf club area of the shop, since he could spot a bandana and tufts of hair above the top of the shelf from his position in the foyer. However, on closer inspection he found out it was actually just a twenty-something Harry Styles wannabe golf enthusiast, which sickened Louis to the core. He had felt a little like Natalia Kills.
The phone rings, and Ed answers it in his sing-song voice as Louis walks off to his responsibility of manning the bar, where the broken coffee machine awaits him. He can't wait until these agonising weeks are over and he'll be able to sleep in every morning, only coming in for his evening waiter duties. He's earning very little extra from this; he would complain if it wasn't for the ever-residing look of pure contempt on his manager's face he'd seen that fateful evening.
There are two people in the whole room when he enters: Sydney, a regular, reading his daily newspaper, and a blonde man with his back turned to Louis. He wonders why they're in there, since the bar technically opens in 15 minutes. He makes a confused face at no one, and continues his journey to the counter, where he sets up the machine.
Louis sighs heavily, and gets out his phone, slumping at the bar. He feels horribly unprofessional but its not like there's anyone there to notice. The silence in the room is calming, with only the gentle sound of the newspaper pages and light rustling of clothes present. The swinging door creaks as the sun shines pleasantly on his tired face. Louis could almost fall to sleep at this rate.
"Could I have a flat white please? And a biscuit."
Louis is hurled out of his dream world, right into Harry's eyes. It takes him a while to answer as he adjusts to the shock.
"Hi Harry," he says, instinctively. Louis is embarrassed by himself.
"Hello Lou," Harry smiles broadly, and leans on the bar in front of Louis, muscles flexing in his arm. Louis gets butterflies at the nickname. He's only met Harry twice before and he's given him a nick name.
"Why are you here so early, then?" Louis should be making his flat white right now but he can't stop himself from making stupid conversation. The fact that Harry actually came again is flooding Louis with happiness.
"Well, it's a lovely day, and I woke up thinking... today I must play golf somewhere special. So I dragged my friend Niall along with me and came straight here. I haven't played on the course yet so I'm pretty excited."
By "Niall", Louis assumes that Harry means Niall Horan, who is the Irish golf champion since 2013, and also Zayn's absolute favourite player of all time. Louis smiles smugly to himself.
"The course here is great as long as you go nowhere near the cliff. That's fucking terrifying."
Louis needs to stop swearing at work so much.
"The cliff? Has anyone ever fallen off?"
"Not yet. Well, actually, this one guy brought his husky dog along once, which is not really allowed here, but he always tipped everyone and was really nice, so we let him off. The dog caught sight of this rabbit one day near the cliff and chased it, despite the owner yelling at it. The rabbit was clever; it swerved right before the edge of the cliff."
"And the dog?"
"...Was not so clever. It didn't see the cliff edge in its frenzied hunger and ran straight off it. Absolutely horrible, the man was in pieces. Never returned after that."
"What happened to the dog's... you know... remains? Did he want to bury it or anything?"
"Nah, it must have got washed away by the sea. I felt so sorry for the guy; he could hardly walk to his car, he was so shaken."
Harry sighs, and shakes his head, as though taking part in a very intellectual conversation. Louis is incredibly endeared by this. He then realises he's meant to be making Harry a flat white and stops staring at him like a weirdo, before turning around to the coffee machine, trying desperately to stop it from fucking up again. He knows it will spurt somewhere, but it's worth a try. He asks which biscuit Harry wants, and Harry replies with chocolate chip cookie, which makes Louis stifle a smile even though Harry asking for a chocolate chip cookie should not be that cute.
After wrestling with the coffee machine (causing a soft chuckle from Harry behind him), Louis finally manages to make the beverage, before swirling the top to make it look pretty.
"How do you do that?" Harry asks suddenly, with genuine wonder.
"What?"
"The swirly thing! It looks like a leaf."
Louis finds himself stifling another embarrassingly wide smile, and continues the swirling.
"I don't know Harry, I'm just a master of the art I suppose."
He slides the freshly swirled coffee across the table, along with the requested cookie on an accompanying plate, towards Harry.
"Thanks, Lou." Harry beams, then carries his tray off to the table where the blonde man is sitting, who Louis supposes must be Niall. He smirks as he thinks of Zayn, asleep peacefully in his bed, as Niall Horan sits just metres away from him.
–
The fourth time that Harry comes to the club, he's with Niall again. He doesn't stop at the bar this time, but gets right to the course, and Louis sees him enter in the foyer before trundling away on the golf buggy.
After telling Zayn of Niall's attendance, he'd been asking for extra work the whole week. Their manager had been more than happy to oblige, though she did state that he wouldn't be getting that much extra pay. Zayn didn't care to be honest, seeing Niall would be being rewarded enough.
This also meant that Louis was not so lonely the whole day, waiting pathetically by himself at the bar to see Harry again. He really did love Zayn, and their capability to entertain each other so easily kept him feeling more positive through the long, dragging work day.
"That's so rude. Harry didn't even come in and say hi," Louis grumbles, perched on the bar, with Zayn making an espresso next to him. Louis taught Zayn how to work the machine in a matter of minutes, the able minded man able to pick up the ins and outs very easily.
"He doesn't owe you anything."
"Niall was with him you know."
"What?!"
Louis snorts.
"What do you say we pull a sickie, and chase the two of them round the course the whole day?"
Zayn considers the idea. Only when Niall Horan is factored into the equation is Zayn able to be bothered with such a ridiculous plan.
"Its dangerous. You're already this close to losing your job, mate." Zayn signals "this" by indicating it with his fingers.
"Only Ed knows we're in today at the moment. No ones in this goddamn bar at this hour of the morning. We can both call in sick... wait yes. We both ate the same dodgy kebab and have violent food poisoning."
"I don't want you to get fired Lou."
"We'll be fine. Come on..." Louis drags out the last word. Zayn sighs.
"Fine."
They tell a very bored and idle Ed of their plan, who agreed to help readily, with little else to do. Sneaking off behind the back of the building, they traipse through the overgrown hedges and woods on Louis' best shortcut. The golf buggies are entirely unnecessary; the whole course is navigable on foot with a brisk pace and a knowledge of the route. Louis reckons they only have the buggies to rob innocent golfers of their money.
Finally, Zayn spots the group, and points the two of them out to Louis. Their hiding place allows a wonderful view and Louis marvels at the delicate and beautiful way Harry plans his swing, takes a few practice shots and then swipes the ball into the air, soaring through its surroundings to a patch far away. He's never seen someone play so effortlessly, but still look as thought their putting so much thought into each hit, mapping out every step the ball will take.
"Wow," Louis gasps. Zayn sniggers at him. "Shut up, just wait 'till Niall takes his shot and you'll be equally as -"
"Sh! I think they can hear us!" Zayn snaps.
"And I think you're mad," Louis retaliates.
After 5 holes, the two become tired of battling nettles, and decide to call it a day. Zayn advises the two of them to split up and go back separate ways, so if they do happen to be seen it is much less conspicuous. Louis knows he's sneaky enough to get to the secret parking place (which he found last year and has been using ever since – it means he always has an allocated area for his car only, the only downfall being the bird's nest above it meaning lots of bird poo) without getting caught, but indulges Zayn and understands his delicate and naturally cautious personality calls for this.
Louis' journey back through the hedges proves both prickly and slightly disorientating. He's starting to wonder if his grand plan maybe hasn't worked so well. Hacking through the undergrowth is tiring, more so than Louis remembers. There are also some worrying rustling noises coming from somewhere near to him, though he knows its just a badger or something.
Just as Louis is close to giving up and trying to find a buggy or group of golfers somewhere who can take his sorry self back to the club, he walks backwards into something hard. It doesn't feel like a tree; its squishy and warm. It also makes a yelping noise. Louis yells loudly, and swivels round.
A dishevelled Harry Styles is stood in front of him, sticks in his hair and a crazed expression on his face.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" Louis chokes out.
"I lost my ball... what are you doing here?"
"Why does the ball matter? You can just buy more."
"No, its my lucky one. I used it when I first won my first major. It has a pink star on it. What are you doing here?"
"Um... gardening." Oh dear.
"Gardening...?"
"Yeah. I got a bit lost. It's all cool though."
"Do you want a lift back? Niall's hurt his knee so we're going back early anyway... Are you okay?"
Harry is staring pointedly at Louis' forehead.
"What?" Louis raises his hand to the area and it stings wildly. He withdraws his hand quickly and sees a trickle of blood staining his skin. He swears, and wipes it on a tree bark. "Don't worry about the lift, I'm fine, seriously – ow!" The previously unknown gash on Louis' forehead is now sending shooting pains through his skin. Louis doesn't even want to think about how much of a mess he looks like right now.
"Please come back. You can't ... garden like this. Come on."
Louis sighs. Harry is just too lovely for his own good and its making his heart hurt. Not quite as much as the dribbling slice on his head, however, so he tramples out of the rough, grasping needily at Harry's arm when he almost trips. He thinks perhaps the physical contact was a bridge too far, but Harry doesn't seem to object.
"I'm sorry about your ball," Louis says, as they make their way towards the buggy. "Was it really that special?"
"Nah, it's fine. There are many more golf balls with pink stars on them in the world. I'll survive."
Niall looks understandably confused when they reach him, and says "who's this then?" with a perplexed smile.
"I'm Louis. A um... waiter. Part time gardener. Sort of."
"He's the one who spilt lasagne on me." Harry says this as though he's proud of it.
"Ooooh..." Niall says, as though he's realised something very important. He looks Louis up and down with a knowing look, leaving Louis confused and intrigued to as what provoked this reaction.
They begin the drive in silence, with Harry controlling the vehicle and Niall nursing his knee in the back.
"What did you think of the course, then?" Louis asks, breaking the comfortable quiet.
"I'll be honest with you," Harry said. "I was terrified the whole time that I was going to fall off the infamous cliff."
Louis laughs, feeling himself smiling stupidly again, and turning his head away to hide his face.
"It was only the dog that fell off. I'm sure you're not stupid enough to fall off yourself."
"I wouldn't be surprised," Niall chips in. "Harry's a clumsy lad. He's spilt more glasses than I've had hot dinners."
"Hey, that's not true," Harry says, with mock offence. The way he drags out his words is both soothing and alluring to Louis. He's falling in love with his ragged voice.
"Have you ever spilt lasagne on a customer before, though?" Louis points out. "That was my life's greatest achievement."
"I'd like to think you'd see me as more than a customer." Harry says this simple statement with warmth, half joking but with a lovely air of sincerity to it. It sends an internal shiver right through Louis' body, as he reacts to the dizzying thought of Harry Wonderful Styles caring about Louis' opinion of him. He also doesn't know what to reply, but luckily Niall makes a witty joke about something and the conversation continues.
Before they reach the building, Louis asks Harry drops him off near a specific tree so he can continue with his "gardening duties".
–
For the next month, Harry visits the club multiple times a week, and Louis requests to continue his extra shifts just to have his regular morning visit from the golfer, who always asks for a flat white and a biscuit, but talks to Louis for an increasingly long time. (Zayn discontinues his extra shifts after he found himself physically unable to haul himself from the bed each morning.) Louis adores his mornings, and the way Harry's face lights up when he talks about golf passionately, or about his new cat, or about how wonderfully Louis makes the coffee. He could sit there for hours chatting to Harry about anything. He also often finds himself wanting to take one of Harry's wildly gesticulating hands into his own, and wrap his fingers around his slender ones whilst he talks.
(Niall doesn't even turn up at the same time as Harry anymore, because he knows that he'll just be blathering to Louis for ages before they actually do any golf.)
Then Harry starts to come in the evenings, with Niall or some other friends, always leaving the table to come and talk to Louis about the order, but then something of course completely irrelevant also. The hours in Louis' day taken up by "Harry time", as Zayn likes to call it, have gone up considerably, and Louis can't say he's complaining.
Louis finds the original starstruck wonder he originally had for Harry wearing off, leaving behind a sincere attachment to him. He believes there is an unspoken relationship of "friends", though Louis still wonders why Harry even talked to him after the awful events of the lasagne night. He also doesn't just want to be "friends" with Harry. He feels that dreaming about Harry almost every night and wanting to kiss all over his expressive little face may suggest a not entirely platonic attraction.
Louis had fancied Harry for a long time, before he'd even met him. He just wondered if it was possible to love someone after only a month.
He had moaned to Zayn about this many times, in fact almost every night, often over a glass of wine and a takeaway, which resulted every time in Zayn telling him to shut up and just ask Harry out on a date. Louis always responded with the fact that Harry is famous, and they're just friends, that's all. He didn't want to ruin anything.
When Louis is working the final half hour of his usual evening shift, he sees Harry walk through the door in a skintight purple polo shirt and his usual somewhat bemused expression on his face. Louis' heart jumps, and he races embarrassingly quickly towards him.
"Hi Harry," he calls out, stumbling past tables.
"Lou! Can I just get a table for one?"
"Aw babe, you alone tonight?"
"Yeah... I just wanted to eat somewhere nice, you know. Gets a bit lonely at home. Niall's in Ireland for the championships."
Louis smiles, and touches his arm reassuringly. "Will you be drinking tonight?"
"Yes please, bloody hell."
"Right, well my shift's only half an hour more, and I am your waiter for tonight, so chop chop."
Louis leads Harry to a table near the window, where he can see the sun still moderately high in the sky. He places a menu on his table, and straightens out the cutlery. He wants Harry to have a nice night, and if that means sacrificing the enjoyment of the other customers then so be it. He also sees Zayn eyeing him from the other side of the room, so strides up to him and demands to know what the dodgy look is for.
"I'm waiting for one of you to make a move," he says, simply. "It's been so long."
"Shut up."
Louis collects the order for table 13 from Liam, and ambles round to deliver the dishes to a group of 3, slightly tipsy, young golfers. He moves on swiftly from the verging-on-rowdy table, and returns to Harry, sat peacefully with his curls draping round his face, looking at his phone.
"Decided yet?" Louis leans down, he can't resist taking advantage of the fact that the room is loud, and Harry can be close.
"Yes, I think I'll have the lasagne, please," Harry says, a huge smirk on his face.
"You bastard," Louis whispers.
–
Louis brings the lasagne with an air of comical confidence, as he saunters across the room, entertaining Harry but looking like a twat to anyone around him. Harry's not sure what he's doing here, alone, on a Friday night, seeking out the company of Louis so desperately. He's not even ashamed, he just wants to be surrounded with the loving warmth that Louis provides him with. He can't help but do an eye crinkle grin when Louis advances towards his table, balancing the lasagne dish precariously on his hand, with such a smug look slapped across his features.
As he reaches Harry's table, he lowers the plate slowly, slowly, down, keeping eye contact the whole time, just to make a point. Harry can see the creases in his face suggesting a laugh being mercilessly held in. What a ridiculous boy.
"Louis, my trousers are clean. I think you fucked up."
"Hey, the evening hasn't ended yet."
"I wore white trousers especially. These are not from Yves Saint Laurent, however."
"Where are they from, then?"
"Oh you know. Chanel."
"I'll make sure they get an extra coating then."
Harry can't help but admire the utter lack of expression on Louis' face.
Ever since the night that Louis had poured food all over Harry, he'd felt like a school boy with a raging crush. His regular visits to the club, just to see Louis, are embarrassing to say the least. But he feels that it was fate, that night, that Louis was serving him. For some reason, being covered in lasagne carried by this gorgeous God-like man had felt like a blessing. Having to wash the trousers with bleach and aggressive chemicals had perhaps felt less like a blessing.
He wants to see more of Louis, not just in the country club, not just when they're surrounded by others. He wants to take him home and know everything about him and fall in love with him. He doesn't care he's known him for a month. Being a hopeless romantic has nothing to do with the fact that Louis lights up Harry's day every single time he sees him, without fail.
He'll make sure to leave a tip once his meal is finished.
–
"Did you enjoy it?" Louis asks, crouching by the table, squinting his eyes at Harry.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry laughs nervously.
"I wanna know if you actually enjoyed it. Cos if you didn't then you'd get your money back."
"Why on earth Louis? And I did enjoy it. Tell the chef it was delicious."
"Good. Right, now you've finished, I've got a good idea. Lets go and find your golfball."
Harry frowns at him, running the tip of his finger round the rim of his wine glass. He licks the small droplets that gather from it.
"I'm not joking. My shifts over and home's boring. Also apparently the sunset's gonna be nice tonight."
After Louis has cleaned away the plates, and ignored a knowing look from Zayn, they end up staggering down the green of the course, towards the cliff, as the sun still lingers in the sky, waiting for them to settle. Louis feels a pang of worry as he sees a genuinely fear-stricken look flash across Harry's face when they begin to near the cliff edge.
"Don't worry love, we wont fall off. Besides we can go on to the beach if you want."
Louis puts his arm around Harry's waist instinctively, and before he has time to regret it, Harry relaxes in to the touch, and reciprocates the action. They walk silently down the hill, entwined, coated in unusually purple light. The sea's gentle hush is now audible from where they are, and the air is so fresh is stings Louis' lungs. Harry's warmth beside him is so comforting, so close.
"Are we even allowed to do this?" Harry asks.
"Not in the slightest. I've already nearly lost my job because of you before, why not again?"
"You nearly lost your job?" Harry's voice squeaks.
"My manager was absolutely fuming, I swear to God she was close to killing me."
"Why was she so angry?"
"Don't be all modest on me."
Harry frowns.
"You're one of the most famous golfers in the world, babe. I mean, I was fucking obsessed with you, and when I first saw you waltzing in through the door on that first day I almost had a heart attack. To have you eat there was such a big deal, you know? So my manager was completely devastated when she found out I spilt your meal on you."
Harry is silent for a few seconds, crunching on the grass below and still holding on to Louis' frame.
"You didn't just want to hang out because I'm... well you know... famous, did you?"
"No, no, no! Well maybe a bit at first, but that was just because I really liked you, you know, from interviews and telly and stuff. And then I got to know you and you're such a lovely person, and I love hanging out with you and being... friends with you."
This seems to settle Harry, who smiles into his coat and holds Louis closer.
"How come you did come back here after the incident?"
Harry laughs, embarrassed, and bites his lip. "Honestly? Because of you."
"You're so cheesy. That's such a lie."
"Fuck you," Harry shoves Louis with his hip, jolting their previous walking rhythm. "When you were serving me I just thought you were... um... nice? Loud? Er..."
"Wow, I'm flattered with compliments there."
"Sh, this is embarrassing."
"I apologised the whole time we interacted. I'm not sure where you got loud from."
"Maybe from you shouting at Zayn all the way across the other side of the room?"
Louis cackles and speeds up his pace, seeing the sun drawing towards its close. He's never taken the time properly before to look at the wonderful sky in the evening, even though he has the best view from the restaurant. He's often to caught up in a burnt dish, or a demand for water. Too caught up in the petty annoyances and business of life, never able to calm down and just appreciate the simple beauties he's blessed with. Now, with a more than simple beauty hooked to his side and a wonderfully clear view of the setting sun, he feels he's able to do this. He even takes the time to love how the clouds diffuse the light and the colour, how they lie mysteriously in the sky and are so many weird shades of pink and orange. Louis usual cynicism can leave him when Harry's there.
"Where shall we sit? Beach or cliff edge?"
"Louis I don't want to die. Even in your arms."
"We wont die, I've done this like, 3 times before. Maybe 2. You get such a good view, come on."
Harry shoots him a dubious look. He follows Louis anyway, who treads lightly on the tender overhang of the cliff. The sea is incredibly loud now from where they are, attacking away at the weak chalky base. Louis' geography teacher had always said he'd amount to nothing, so perhaps his selective ignorance for the fact that cliffs erode may be their fault. He helps Harry to sit down, who looks pityingly terrified of the gigantic drop that looms before them, by grasping his warm palms and guiding him to the grassy floor. Slowly, he edges further, before draping his legs over the edge like a hazardous glass on a table. Keeping hold of Harry's faintly trembling hand, he feels strangely protective of him, as they perch from the end of a cliff. He's so stupid.
They cling on the rocks and grass whilst the sun finally falls. Louis finds it difficult to avert his mind from the continuous feeling of Harry's hand with his own. He looks up at the beautiful boy, staring in wonder at the sky, and tucks a flyaway curl behind his ear. Harry's breath hitches ever so slightly. Louis has never wanted to kiss someone so much.
"Harry," he whispers. "Look at me." He wants to see him before the sun leaves completely.
Slowly he leans towards Louis, as Louis reaches up, gently cupping his cheek.
Then there's soft lips on Louis', and his heart throbs in his throat and ears. He can feel Harry's light breathing on his cheek, the only sensation he's able to feel apart from the wonderful, passionate embrace that he's tangled in. Harry kisses deeper, holding Louis close to him, grasping his t-shirt in his hands. Louis' head is spinning in shock, even though as they'd looked at each other, they both had known. Louis bites Harry's lip softly, and feels the other shiver in sensual response. He is about to trail a finger down his spine, when Harry suddenly squeaks, and tugs the both of them backwards on to the grass.
"What are you –"
"Shit I'm sorry Lou we were gonna fall that time... shit fuck..."
Harry is so flustered, Louis can't help but laugh at his crazed expression. He inches his bum back and lugs Harry far from the cliff edge, before Harry tenderly kisses him again, unable to stop for too long.
After some time, the sun is gone, and Louis takes Harry to the Marram grass path, where he originally ruined his wonderful new trousers, covering them in dust and dirt.
"I warn you, this is slippery and nasty. Careful of your Chanel trousers."
"They're gonna get ruined tonight anyway. If not by you, by the marram grass."
Louis slaps at Harry's arm, but loses his balance and skids down a large portion of the slope. He reaches up and grabs Harry's outstretched hand for balance, but manages to pull him down as well, ending up with a toppling pile falling down the path. With one last bump, they reach the bottom with a thud, bursting into giggly laughter.
"You absolute knob!" Harry says. "Why did you grab me?!"
"What else was I meant to do? Fall to my death?"
The beach is quite dark in the current fading light, but it appears tranquil, scattered with the odd stone or threatening boulder. Louis loves that hardly anyone comes here, and for now, it's his and Harry's beach alone.
"I came back to the club because I had a massive crush on you Louis," Harry bursts out. "I am so embarrassing and I am so sorry." His body heaves with laughter, and shakes his head in his hands.
"That is completely lovely and adorable, shut up."
"Come home with me tonight," Harry states, simply. Louis just smiles.
Later on, Louis finds out he'd been sitting on the golf ball the whole time, and brings it to Harry's in secret when they drive back later.
Harry wins the championships again, with Louis at the sidelines every step of the way. He kisses him on live television, and he'd be completely lying if he didn't say it was the most exhilarating experience of his life. Apart from nearly falling off a cliff.