One Direction Preferences

Sketch Book and a Cup of Coffee - Harry Styles One Shot

  A/N: Hi cuties! As you can see, this is not a preference; it's a shorter one shot. I've been working on this today and decided on publishing it in this book instead of making a new one. Anyways, hope you like it! I'd really appreciate your feedback. xx

    If I could spend my life writing about one person, that would be him. That one boy who keeps me company during my sleepless nights in the small coffee shop. Not that he’s even noticed me nor talked to me, but it is a treasured moment when he finally lifts his eyes from a sketch book he protectively carries around. I quite often pass him while entering, few books stuck underneath my arm, but unfortunately never catching his eye. During the night, he appears silent, accompanied with a single cup of coffee. At time I come here, he already occupies his by now usual spot. When he leaves, I’m not sure. But after me, definitely. I sit two tables away from him and think he’s beautiful.

   He likes to draw, I think. I can tell it by the he keeps an arm wrapped around that sketch book looking down at it in the way I’d like him to look at me. I study the way his eyes light up when he’s finally satisfied with the way in witch his work is going, but also care to notice the fulness of his lips raising in a faint smile as he looks down at the paper. But there are some not so happy times when composition of the ink doesn’t seem to please him and a provisional frown brings his brows together. Then he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, soft curls raising and I like it; I get to see his face.

   I sit two tables away from him all the while pretending to write an essay I’ve already written. My curious nature can’t let go off the question why is he here during the night time when everyone is supposed to be asleep. Perhaps he can’t stay at home, perhaps he wants his peace or, perhaps he does things better at night, just like me. 

***

   That one time I actually manage to get enough confidence to do a step more, gathering my belongings and shifting them to a table between us, his presence located to my right. Finally closer to him, I actually get to see the way his pencil glides over a paper, a hint of gray smudged on the tips of his fingers. I’m supposed to study, but ditch away all of my books as soon as I find him intrigued with the glide of his pencil. Both of my forearms press further to the table and I lean in, my head shifting to my hand as I stare at him. His clothing choice is quite nice, I have to admit while looking at him. His feet get in my vision, steady as he keeps them under the table, a pair of worn-out boots adorning them. My eyes trail up, black skinny jeans adorning his lower half. And that hint of creamy jumper 
I get to see is also beautiful.

   Looking at his shirt, I remember that one time he’s worn a baggy sweater, the length of its sleeves getting in his way as he draw. They were soon rolled up and I remember myself almost passing out at the vision of his tattoo-filled arms. I was sure he’s got some more, maybe on places I didn’t know about but surely wanted to find out. 

   And then, for the first time in that two months of knowing him, I actually get to see a hint of picture he’s drawing. Just a tiny part of something I recognize as hair. Probably of a person that doesn’t that’s taken part in his sketch book. His arm shifts, long fingers tugging at the paper as he turns it around revealing a blank page. He’s staring at me now and I can feel it. My lips are numb at the moment I want to use to apologize. Embarrassment in my gaze is obvious as I quickly lower it finding my hands oddly interesting, the length of my hair creating a curtain around my reddened face. I can’t even think of a word he thinks of me right now. A weirdo, probably. Someone crazy enough to be in a coffee shop at 3 am looking at unfamiliar person.

   But later that night, after I gather all of my things - a book from which I didn’t even study - I surprise even myself when my legs carry me towards his desk. I try to be spontaneous even though my brain fails at sending me proper words. “I-I’m sorry”, I apologize and feel my heart racing as he looks up with that gorgeous eyes of his. “I didn’t want to stare like that”, I add feeling heat splaying around my already red cheeks. “I-I just..” I try but have lack of words, my eyes falling to the floor. “Sorry”, I say and turn around in one swift movement. It is my first time talking to him, but I end up promising to myself that I’ll never talk to him again. 

***

   It’s next night when I attempt to sit on my original spot, this time a different book stuck underneath my arm. I actually planned on studying. He doesn’t notice me as I make my way towards the comfy chair, my things already finding their place on the table. I do my best not to stare.

   Moments later and a short waitress appears standing next to me and I think that she’s there to take my order, but I find myself surprised as she places a plate of cherry pie and a cup of fresh coffee on my table. “Excuse me, I didn’t order this”, I say, but she doesn’t pay much attention to my protest, leaving without giving me a bill or a second look. My mind flashes possible reasons why did the hot beverage suddenly appear. A mistake, probably. Or my regular order she already knows. My thinking appears unnecessary as a purchaser of my order stares at me from two tables to the right. 

   I swear to God that my heart could break my chest as I realized. Him. He ordered for me. My hair flutters as I turn my head to the right noticing his lips curled up in a smile. My cheeks flush a deep red color as I return the gesture, smiling back at him. 

   It takes me few minutes until I gather myself, my cold fingers using a cup as a source of heat before I finally look up. Shaking of my legs doesn’t surprise me and I leave my cup on the table in fear of spilling everything in my excitement. He doesn’t notice me as I approach him, his eyes still set on a paper.

   “Thank you”, I say satisfied with the simple start and the strength of my voice. Red colors hits my cheeks again as I don’t know what else to say or find an excuse for standing next to him.

   “No problem”, he says and that’s the first time his voice’s been directed towards me. I’ve heard him before, but from the distance as he ordered or asked for more coffee. It’s a deep, soft hum and I absolutely adore it. “You can sit down, you know”, he smiles and I feel stupid yet again.

   I do as he says, but going back to grab my pie and a cup of coffee before it gets cold. This time I find my heart pumping harder as I sit across of him, literally feeling his warmth and watching him draw and it’s not from the distance. His fingers grip at the paper, closing the book completely. This time I  actually study his features. His eyes are big - containing that color of green I still wasn’t familiar with - framed with long lashes and simply beautiful. I could only imagine things and words I’d use to describe them on paper. I notice his teeth being straight and white as he parts his lips to further a conversation. 

   “Wanna take a look?” he asks and I’m surprised, simply flattered with his freedom and wish to show me his drawings. The beat of my heart increases and I nod in response, my fingers slightly trembling as I catch hold on a book, pulling it towards me. I don’t know his name, I don’t know him, but opening it I feel like taking a look in his mind.

   I stare at the leather of the covers for a moment, taking in a full vision of his deepest secrets. I open it on the right begging to reveal something written in hand write I can’t read. The length of his fingers nudge my own to the side as he guides me to the middle of the notebook, few pictures adorning its pages. My lips part in an awe and I have to touch it to convince myself it’s real. I pull the book a bit closer, but gentle enough; it feels just like I’m holding the entire treasure of this world.

   I recognize that picture from few days ago right away. That hair I saw. It belongs to a girl. A girl with a side braid and shiny eyes. It all looks so realistic. The other one when she looks down, writing something in her little notebook. The one where she’s sat behind a table, that one down the shop, two seats away from this one. A girl with a cherry pie and a cup of coffee.

   We’ve spent two months together as the only night guests in the only coffee shop that worked for the entire night, me writing and him drawing. Little did I know that while writing about him, he’s been awake doing the exact same thing, maybe too shy or simply a way too occupied to approach me.

   My lips raise in a smile as I realize; that’s me.