No One Does It Better

Chapter 9

The next morning finds Harry asleep on top of his duvet in all his clothes from the night before until the shrill sounds of an alarm he didn't set on his phone goes off and forces him into consciousness. He wiggles uncomfortably as he opens his eyes, his body feeling heavy and slightly overheated. He holds his breath, finding the strenght to sit up, and immediately regrets it, leaning his spinning head between his legs, breathing deeply.

Louis hadn't been at work the night before. Upon catching Harry glancing around for him in what was supposed to be a discreet way, he'd explained that Mondays are too slow to warrant having two bartenders on the clock. Harry acted indifferent, wanted to be indifferent, and couldn't really decide whether or not he was. Seeing Louis looking back at him with absolutely no recognition was nearly unbearable. He'd spent many nights dreaming of those cerulean orbs, the light they used to hold for him, and the last time he'd seen it before that light went out. Call him a masochist, but now that Louis was so close, all tan skin and tangible, he knew he was fighting a losing battle by trying to stay away.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry lifts his head again. He lets his small dizzy spell pass before rising to his feet and going over to his closet. He grabs a dark blue knit jumper and pulls it over his head after abandoning his black t-shirt and trench coat on the floor. He decides to not change his dark skinny jeans or white Converse and walks to his en suite to brush his teeth and run a cold cloth over his face.

--

He's been at the shop for all of two hours, and they've had all of two customers, by the time Zayn wakes up from his late-afternoon nap behind the check-out counter to a frantic call from Liam whose car broke down on the outskirts of town. He throws the keys at Harry and promises to be back before five to take over as he rushes out of the door. Harry stuffs the keys in his pocket before going back to sorting Blink-182 CDs by year of release. It's twenty minutes later when the bell above the door rings, signaling the arrival of a new customer.

"Hello. Can I help you?" Harry greets without looking up.

"Harry?" Louis. Harry looks up quickly, seeing feathered fringe instead of a quiff and knitted eyebrows and - the killer- a denim jacket one size too big for him that Harry recognizes as his. It's something he had packed with the rest of Louis' wardrobe to give Jay to take back with her after Louis had woken up, just to know something of his was with the older boy.

Harry fumbles the CDs in his hand, dropping a few onto the display and trying to save the others from dropping to the floor, "Louis! Uh, hi." He's so flustered and embarrassed and he's going to absolutely murder Zayn Malik.

"Careful there," Louis jokes, a small smile tugging at his lips as he steps further into the building. "What're you doin' here?"

"I, uh, work. Here. I work here," Harry nods, not looking at the other as he places the CDs back where they belong. With his free hand, he gestures quickly to the 'Hello, my name is...' sticker Zayn had decided were good enough name tags. Today, his adorns a T-Rex holding in a sign in its tiny arms that says 'Harold.' Zayn's signature is scrawled small in the corner, claiming his 'masterpiece.'

"Oh! Wow. So, you know Zayn and Liam then?" His smile is growing, and Harry, despite having a plastic cup of molten gold behind the counter not far from him, is far too sober for this.

"Yeah, yeah," he finally has all the CDs in place and doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he crosses them over his chest in a protective manor.

The action doesn't go unnoticed by Louis who lets his smile falter only for a second - anybody else probably wouldn't have noticed, but Harry always notices - before he plasters on an even larger smile, the smile Harry hates, "That's awesome. I grew up with 'em, and Niall, actually."