Mirror Touch

Chapter 1

Harry's life changes with a fall. Quite a spectacular one, at that. It might have been a stray branch, it might have been a bunch of wet leaves – he doesn't have time to register anything but the cement floor coming up to meet him as he loses control of his bike and finds himself sprawled on the floor, momentarily dizzy.

His heart is racing fast in his chest as he lets out a pained groan and looks at his right knee. It's bleeding and small, prickly leaves and dirt are stuck to the awful looking scrape. His left leg is unscathed, but the same can't be said about his hands. Both palms are red and his left wrist is also bleeding, but nothing a band aid won't solve.

"Shit, mate. You alright?"

Harry looks up at the voice and sees the cause of his tumble, what distracted him so much that he literally fell. The guy Harry's been eyeing for weeks is coming towards him, forehead creased and pace fast. He quickly pulls the headphones from his head and lets them fall loosely around his neck.

Harry gets up, wiping dirt from his shorts and shirt as best as he can, and picks up his bike. It's in much better shape than he is, by the way.

"That was quite a fall," he continues, and Harry manages a smile.

"It was nothing, I'm fine," Harry reassures the beautiful stranger. Now that they're close, Harry catches a proper look at his eyes. Blue, rich and so vibrant, Harry can't quite understand how he hasn't noticed them before. God knows how much time he spends staring at him.

The man always sits on the same bench in the park with either a book in his hands or big, expensive looking headphones sitting atop his dark, tussled hair. Harry always makes sure he runs or rides past him at least a couple of times when he's out during his morning exercise routine.

"You didn't hit your head or anything?" mystery blue eyes asks him, and when Harry shakes his head, he starts laughing, covering his mouth with his hand. "I'm sorry, but that was so fucking funny," he continues, and this time he actually bends down and puts his hands on his knees, shoulders shaking as he laughs.

Harry laughs with him, couldn't avoid it even if he tried. The man's laugh is contagious, and Harry himself can rarely keep himself together when people fall near him anyway, so he can't blame him. He has no doubt he must have looked ridiculous.

"I'm sorry," the man apologizes again, still giggling, but he seems to have gained more control of himself. "Come, let's sit," he tells Harry, who follows him to the bench, walking alongside his bike and wincing at the pain in his knee. He sets his bike against the back of the bench and lets himself fall on the bench, breathing deeply. His heart is still racing, but he doesn't think it has anything to do with his falling, and everything to do with the beautiful boy next to him, who's rummaging through his backpack.

"I'll be right back," the man says, fetching a bottle of water and emptying it on the grass as he walks towards a drinking fountain and fills it up again with clean water. When he walks back, he's staring at Harry's knee and rubbing his own through his jeans. He's making a face Harry can't understand at first, but then he realizes he looks almost pained. "To clean up your knee," he says and hands Harry the bottle.

Harry first pours some of the cool liquid on his wrist, scrubbing away the little bit of blood there and then moves on to his leg. His face scrunches up when he gingerly runs his hands along the wound. The tiny pieces of leaves are easy enough to wash, but the grains of dirty rub against the sensitive, bruised skin and Harry winces. He's used almost the whole bottle when he finishes, and when he looks up the man is purposefully looking away from him.

"Can't stand blood?" Harry asks him, trying to get his attention. The man looks at his face and forces smiles.

"Cuts and scrapes in general," he answers, and quickly glances at Harry's knee. "It doesn't look too bad," he says and scratches at his own knee. "I have some hand sanitizer, if you want to disinfect it," he adds and Harry nods.

He watches as the man reaches for his backpack again. His hands are small and almost covered by the jumper he's wearing. It's a crisp autumn morning and now that Harry's body is losing its warmth from his exercising, he can feel the chill in the air, the sweat damp neck at the base of his hair starting to dry.

His body lights up on fire again when he pours the 99% alcohol solution on his scraped knee and lets out a whispered "fuck" as he feels the burn crawl over his skin and closes his eyes tight, waiting for the pain to lessen. It does, and when he opens his eyes again he sees the man breathing fast and looking the other way.

"Thanks for helping me, huh..." he says, and the man reaches out his hand towards him.

"Louis, Louis Tomlinson."

"Harry Styles," he says and they shake hands. Louis' is cold and dry, while Harry feels his own clammy and a tad too warm.

"You're welcome," he says in a cheerful tone and lets go of Harry's hand. "What happened there?"

"Don't know, really," Harry says and hides the fact that the cause of his tumble was the near unblinking staring towards Louis when riding past him. He considers himself lucky Louis didn't notice it. He stands up and grabs his bike. He doesn't want to leave, not when he finally got a chance to talk to Louis.

"Better start wearing knee pads from now on," Louis comments and Harry smiles, throwing one leg over the bike and adjusting himself on the seat. Just putting the feet on the pedal makes a new spark of pain surge through his bruised knee.

"I'll keep that in mind. See you around, Louis?" He says and Louis nods.

"See you around, Harry. Try not to fall to your death next time," he says and Harry chuckles before riding away. He only glances back when he's about to turn around the corner, and Louis has his headphones back on his head.

~X~

It's two days later that he sees Louis again. Harry is swamped with donations and, therefore, a pile of laundry taller than himself. He loves his second hand clothing store, he really does, but when he's elbow deep in buckets of soapy water with clothes stained with God knows what, he second guesses his life choices.

It doesn't help that his sudden extra load of work – combined with his injured knee – is what's keeping him from seeing Louis again. He glances at the clock and realizes his lunch break is almost over, and he needs to get back to the front of the store soon. In an attempt to lighten his mood, he dries his hands and turns on the radio. He immediately changes stations when he listens to Despacito. It was fun at first, but if he has to listen to that song one more time...

He presses the button to look for another station. He doesn't listen to the radio a lot, prefers to turn on Spotify's playlists to play at the store when it's open - and has his own personal playlists as well – but his phone is charging in his office and he doesn't feel like walking there. He changes stations for a few more seconds until a smile completely overcomes his face. Shania Twain is coming loudly through the speakers of the stereo. It's an old, bulky thing, but it belonged to his dad and he can't seem to part with it.

Harry hums along with it, getting back to washing the worst stains by hand, trying not to ruin the delicate lace of the dress in his hands. It'd be a pity to lose such a timeless piece. He freezes when the radio jack starts speaking as soon as the song ends. He recognizes the voice.

"That was Shania Twain's You're Still the One that you've just heard. Hope your wife got to listen to it, George. Next up on the line we've got Lindsay, how are you doing, love?"

It's Louis. Louis, from the park. Harry would recognize that voice and the Yorkshire accent anywhere. He barely listens to what the caller is saying, too surprised to pay attention, but his ears perk up when Louis starts speaking again.

"Excellent choice, darling. You're listening to The Flow, the place for good music and good conversation. Next up is Offspring, Why Don't You Get a Job."

The sound effect from the station plays briefly and loudly before the first chords of the song start.

Harry is certain that it's Louis. He's only spoken to him once, that's true, but Harry's focus had been sharp.

He spends the rest of the afternoon listening to the radio, smiling to himself when Louis makes a particularly funny comment while chatting with a caller. He's funny and engaging, and Harry wonders why he doesn't have a spot where he can speak more. His chats are brief in between songs, and Harry can tell the focus of the show really is the music, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want to hear Louis talk forever.

Harry says goodbye to his last costumer – an old man who comes by every Thursday to see if new hats have arrived. Harry's items are based purely on what people bring to his store so he has absolutely no way of knowing what's coming next, but he likes the company and the relationship he's built with some of the regulars.

He's closing up the shop when another song ends and Louis starts speaking again.

"That's all for today, beautiful people. Thanks to everyone who called in today with their requests. Now you'll get to spend some time with the amazing, remarkable, bloody fantastic Nick."

Harry can hear somebody speaking next to Louis, but the mic is clearly off.

"Of course I meant it, I'm offended you'd think otherwise! Anyway, we've had a great selection today, and now to my personal favorite of the day. This was Tommo at On Demand, and I'll hear you tomorrow, at noon."

David Bowie starts playing one more time, and Harry waits for the song to be over before turning off the radio and locking the front door, going up the stairs to the small flat on the second floor of the store.

Harry drops the keys on the vinyl bowl by the end table – one of the many DYI projects scattered around his house. Harry is an avid user of Pinterest and has twenty seven different boards, all filled with projects he has yet to try.

"Hey, Pete," Harry greets the cactus next to the bowl. It sits in a pretty red vase, and Harry has an alarm on his phone to remind him to water it once a week.

Harry removes his shoes and puts them neatly by the door. Whistling, he walks to the bathroom to wash his hands. The bathroom and the bedroom are the only other proper rooms in the flat. The rest of the place is one single, spacious room, which doubles as a kitchen and living room. The place is fully decorated to his taste, with light furniture and white fixtures. The living room overhead lamp is made of white yarn – another Pinterest project.

Harry had wrapped a balloon in yarn soaked in glue, making a crisscross pattern with only the space for the light bulb to go inside. After it was dry, he'd popped the balloon and installed the lamp, which made for a unique and pretty piece in his living room.

Harry puts his clothes in the washing bin and takes a quick shower. He pats himself dry and wraps his long hair in a towel for it to dry a little before letting it down. He changes into clean clothes and walks barefoot to his bedroom.

The long day is catching up with him, and he considers just ordering take out instead of cooking, but eventually decides against it. Then he won't have any leftovers for lunch the next day and will have to eat out again.

Usually Harry turns on the television as background noise for when he's cooking, but as he grabs the remote, he thinks twice of it and turns on his laptop. The website for The Flow is easy enough to find, and with a click he is listening to it live.

He listens to the hosts talking about relevant events of the day, both in the music industry and worldwide, all while playing songs in between blocks of chatting. Harry laughs at some of the comments as he cooks up some fried rice and grills some chicken.

He eats alone, as he often does. Most of his friends are back home, and despite having lived in London for almost two years, he still hasn't managed to find a solid group of friends. Working alone, he doesn't have the chance to mingle with co-workers, and his friendly conversations with customers are pleasant and all, but they end when his store closes.

He blames reaching out to Louis again on his unusually insistent feelings of loneliness. He's relieved when he rounds the corner of the park and sees Louis sitting on his usual spot. He's wearing a green jumper with his faithful skinny jeans and Vans, and Harry can't help but smile when he approaches him, hands deep in his jacket pockets.

"Hello, Louis," he greets and Louis looks up from his book. He smiles instantly.

"Hello, Harold," Louis greets back and Harry feels a rush as he listens to Louis' voice in person after only hearing it on the radio for the last couple of days. He decides it's a good enough topic to start the conversation.

"Do you work on the radio?" he asks with a tilt of his head.

"No, that's my twin brother Leonard, but our voices are remarkably similar, aren't they?" Louis asks, trying for serious but failing. His lips curl up in a smile that make Harry smile as well. Louis puts his backpack on the ground and pets the space next to him on the bench.

Harry sits, the coldness of the wood making him shiver involuntarily. Louis pulls the sleeves of his own jumper in an attempt to warm himself as well.

"Are you and Leonard very similar in other ways?" he asks, playing along.

"I'm much better looking than he is," Louis scoffs and Harry chuckles. "But yeah, that's me. Do you listen to my segment often? Do you want an autograph?"

"No," Harry continues, giggling. Louis' humor, startling blue eyes and gorgeous face making his stomach fill with butterflies. "I've only listened to it this week, actually."

"Are you stalking me, Harold? Did you follow me to work? " Louis puts his hand on his chest dramatically and Harry is quick to shake his head.

"No no no – I was just browsing through the stations and recognized your voice, that's all," Harry says, fidgeting uncomfortably on the bench.

"I don't know how you could, I have a very ordinary voice," Louis says, dramatically closing the book and putting it aside.

"Not to mention your very ordinary accent," Harry comments and Louis points a finger at him.

"There's also that," he replies. "How's the knee?" he asks, changing the subject and tilting his head to Harry's leg. He's wearing jeans, and there's a band-aid still covering the worst of it. "It still hasn't been amputated, so I take it it's healing well?"

"It is, thanks for asking. It only hurts a bit now," he says with a shrug of his shoulders, as if he hasn't cursed every single time he showered when soap got into the wound.

"Haven't seen you around on your bike since, so I guess it's more than a bit."

Harry looks at him, but Louis is looking ahead, at the woman walking her dog. Louis has noticed he hasn't been around, and Harry can only temper down his enthusiasm so much. "Yeah, well, I've been working quite a bit, too."

"Oh yeah?" Louis looks at him then, interested. A gush of wind makes Harry's hair fall on his face and Harry quickly puts the untamed curls behind his ear, thinking how beautiful Louis looks messing with his own hair. His fingers are delicate on his forehead as he brushes his already styled fringe out of his face. "What do you do?"

"I own a second hand clothing store," Harry says proudly, chest puffing, and Louis raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, really?" His tone is doubtful and Harry doesn't understand it.

"Yeah, why?"

"Didn't know you could make a living out of it, that's all," Louis adds and Harry smiles.

"I don't plan on getting rich doing it, and it's certainly not as cool as being on the radio, but I love it," he explains, breathing warm air on his cold hands. The mornings are getting cooler and cooler.

"You could be on the radio, you have a deep voice," Louis comments and Harry almost flushes. "And the way you speak is very... unique," he finishes off and Harry furrows his brows.

"Thanks?" He asks and Louis smiles. Harry smiles back because Louis' whole face lights up when he smiles.

"You're welcome. Of course we'd have to add ten more minutes to any program to accommodate your slow cadence."

"Heeeey," Harry says, pretending to be mad. Louis' smile makes the comment lose its sting.

"Speaking of work, time for me to go to mine," Louis says, and Harry stands up along with him. Harry is going to be more than a little late to open his store himself, but he couldn't force himself to end their conversation.

It's only then Harry realizes Louis is shorter than him. He's only seen him sitting down, and it takes him by surprise. Sure, Louis' frame is slim, but his presence makes him seem bigger than he really is.

"What?" Louis asks and Harry realizes he's staring.

"Nothing," he says and walks beside Louis. Luckily, their path seems to be the same for now. "You should come by the store, some time. I'm sure we could find you something special and exclusive to wear."

Louis smiles and shakes his head. "I'm afraid I'm not into fashion that much. Vans and t-shirts are enough for me," he explains.

Harry has a feeling it's not true, but he doesn't push it. They reach a stop light and he realizes this is where they split.

"Where is your shop, just in case?" Louis asks before they part ways.

"Faulkner Street, 114. Next to a crafts shop, you can't miss it," he explains, pointing to the general direction of where the shop is, and Louis nods. Harry buys most of the things for his projects there and has developed a friendly relationship with the owner. They occasionally have lunch together, and Harry is grateful to have somebody to share a meal with. He feels tired of eating alone most of the time.

"I'll stop by if I have time," Louis says with a tilt of his head, says goodbye and walks away.

Harry turns on the radio to Louis' station as soon as he opens the shop and enjoys listening to the host of the show that airs before Louis' time. Harry hears the name Payno, but is not sure if that's a real name or not, but he likes his voice, fast speaking, and the way he's endlessly polite with callers in the discussion of current events.

Harry identifies the songs as being very popular and current, a concept somewhat different from Louis' show, which has a good mix of both current and old ones, whichever listeners prefer. He's becoming an avid listener.

Louis airs at 12:30 and Harry smiles while he eats his lunch in the back. He finds Louis' voice and the way he speaks absolutely endearing, and waits eagerly for the songs to finish to hear it again.

It's three in the afternoon when the bell above his door rings and he doesn't even have to look up to know who it is. He's bopping along to Tubthumping by Chumbawamba, silently mouthing the words to himself.

"Hey, Jules," Harry greets the seventeen year old girl walking into his shop.

She immediately drops her schoolbag against the counter and puts her elbows on the wooden surface. Her wavy brown hair is held back by a headband – which she, of course, got from Harry's shop – and her lively eyes look a little frantic behind her glasses when she speaks. "You don't happen to know everything there is to know about Atonement, by...." She rummages through her bag, pulling out a book and reading from its cover "Ian McEwan, do you?"

Harry smirks. "I've only watched the movie, sorry. But James McAvoy is great in it, so."

She sighs in frustration, dropping her head on the counter with a muffled thump. "I have to hand in this report tomorrow."

"And you didn't even know who wrote it," Harry chimes in, and she shakes her head, face still hiding from him. "Just watch the movie and hope for the best."

"I can't write a report based on a movie, the teacher will know," she looks at him like he's from another planet.

"You'd be surprised."

"I'll just try to read it today and write anything," she says and sighs, falling to the floor and resting her back on the front of the counter. Harry listens to the ruffling of the pages as the girl gets down to business.

Julie comes to his shop every Tuesdays and Thursdays as she kills time until she needs to go to volleyball practice. Harry never thought he would be friends with a teenager, but he likes their conversations and how interested in fashion she is.
The song comes to an end and Harry's ears peak up.

"That was Chambawamba, what a classic. Fun fact, they were initially a punk band, and this song is a reflection of the working class man, who finds joy in the misery that is life. Every day is a school day, am I right? Next up we have Charlie, what's up?"

Louis' voice is cheerful and he starts an easy conversation with the next listener. Harry feels tempted to call, but quickly dismisses the idea. He's never called the radio before, why would he start now? Maybe he should get a second opinion.

"Julie?" he calls and leans over the counter. He can see the top of her head and the way she's flipping the pages is too fast for her to actually be absorbing anything. "Do you think it'd be cool if I called the radio and asked for a song?"

She puts a pencil to mark her page and looks up at him. "What?" she says after quite a few uncomfortable seconds of staring.

"Yeah, like call this radio station? It seems cool, right?"

She opens her mouth, closes it again and nods. "I guess. What song do you wanna ask for?"

Harry thinks for a bit. He has no idea.

"What do you think I should ask?"

"Why do you wanna call if you don't even know what song you want to listen?" she asks, waving the book around.

"Good point," he admits, unable to confess he only wants to talk to Louis on the radio. How silly is that? He's afraid he'll ask for a stupid song and sound like an idiot, and he's also afraid of sounding condescending and a giant snob, which he hates.

~X~

Harry gets the scare of his life when, about thirty minutes before he closes the next day, Louis walks into his shop. He's wearing black skinny jeans and a white t-shirt, and Harry is so taken aback that it takes him a while to continue breathing again.

He looks so beautiful, and his face looks so open and curious as he walks around the shop, quickly looking at the racks and piles and piles of clothes that Harry tries to keep organized, but never quite manages to do so.

He spots Harry and walks straight to him. "Tell me my eyes deceive me and that Harry's Styles is not the actual name of your shop."

Harry's face splits into a dimpled grin. "Don't you like it? I think it's quite creative, if I can say so myself."

Louis rolls his eyes and puts his hands flat on the counter, fingers slowly sliding against the grainy wood. "It's a pun. You named your business, your bread winner, with a pun."

"I did," Harry says, smile never leaving his face. It isn't long before Louis breaks into a grin.

"You're a ridiculous man, did you know that?" Louis asks Harry, but he sounds far from offensive.

"I've been told," he says and watches as Louis walks around, examining things more closely.

"Where do you get all this stuff?" he asks Harry, who is following him around with his hands clasped behind his back, as he always does when he has a customer who might need his assistance. He catches a glimpse of himself in one of the wall mirrors and makes a face. His hair is a total mess, his t-shirt is wrinkled at the waist and he needs a shave. Nothing he can do about any of those things, now.

"I buy most of it, but some people just donate them."

"From people who've died?" Louis asks, picking a jeans jacket from a rack and examining it.

"Those too, but mostly people just want to declutter," Harry explains. "The jacket you're holding was from a guy who was in a band. See the applique on the back?" Louis turns it around and sees flames going up two block letters, HP. "That's his band logo."

"Why did he give it away?" Louis asks, putting it back.

"He was kicked out of the band. Had a fight with the drummer and broke a drumstick on the guy's head."

That brings Louis' attention back to him. "No way, what were they fighting about?"

Harry smiles and raises on the tips of his toes. "They rehearsed at his house and one day the drummer stepped on his dog's paw and didn't apologize."

Louis giggled. "That seems like good enough reason," he says, and Harry smiles along with him. "You have some pretty cool stuff in here," Louis says, going back to browsing. "Do all of them have a story?"

"I'm sure they do, but not all people like to talk. Some just come in, dump everything on the floor and leave. I like to chat with the people that come in here, find out what they're looking for and why they are giving some of their stuff away."

"Do you keep everything?" Louis says as he goes to the part of the shop where the hats are located. Harry's hand itch to put a purple hat with a feather on Louis' head. Too early for that.

"What I think will sell, yes. Whatever else I don't feel like keeping I give away to charity. If it's in good condition, of course," he quickly adds.

Louis puts his hands on his waist and looks around the place. "It's a nice shop," he finally says and Harry grins.

"Thanks. Are you looking for something in particular?" Harry asks, not able to hide his curiosity.

Louis shakes his head. "Nah, I just wanted to see what it was like. Maybe another time," he says while toying with the hem of his t-shirt.

"Thank you for dropping by," Harry says, leaning on his left foot. Louis is still looking around, taking the place in, and Harry can't keep his eyes away from him. The sharp edge of his cheekbones shine in the yellowy light of the corner of the shop.

Louis smiles at him and walks past him, going towards the door. Harry takes a few steps in his direction and stops in the middle of the store, not wanting to be creepy. Well, creepier than he thinks he already has been.

Louis opens the door and the sounds from the city waft into the shop, along with the smell of exhaust and rain – two smells that Harry will always associate with London. He turns around and looks at Harry. He looks uncertain when he speaks. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Sure, I know where you like to sit," Harry jokes and Louis gives him a weak smile before closing the door after him.

Harry sighs, running his hands through his hair. His heart is beating a little faster than usual, and he looks up at the clock to see it's only ten minutes until he closes. He's starting to check the money in the register when the bell chimes and in walks Louis, who reaches him in a quick, decisive stride.

"My mates and I are meeting at the pub later, you wanna join us?" he asks, his words coming out in a single breath.

Harry's cheek dimples. "I'd love to."