R O O M 1 9 7 // Harry Styles & Louis Tomlinson Edition

Three

~Monday 19th December 2016~

08:09 am

Harry's limbs are stiff when he wakes on this Monday morning. The rising winter sun drifting through the green curtains of his sister's old bedroom paints the cream walls a light shade of jade, as he stretches under the thin sheets. For once, he actually has a decent enough reason to get out of bed, so he rolls over on the hard mattress and glances at his alarm clock, wondering when it will sing it's obnoxious song.
His tired eyes take a moment to adjust, before he realises that it's an hour later than he hopes. The young man jumps out of bed and rushes to the bathroom. He must not have set the alarm properly last night. And, now he's late, really late. Especially, when the only mode of transport available to The Magnolia Hotel is his own sore feet. After he uses the bathroom, he decides that there is no time to shave, let alone have a full blown shower.

So, with a thin layer of stubble lining his sharp jaw, he hurries to pull his itchy uniform on. Instead of wasting time with a toothbrush, he squeezes a line of toothpaste onto his finger and pushes that around his mouth hurriedly, whilst also trying to put his left shoe on, hopping around the room in an effort to keep his balance. In his dazed state, Harry cannot find his deodorant, so he grabs the nearest bottle of air freshener and sprays it, in generous amounts all over his body, before he runs out of the front door, slamming it behind him, leaving the apartment in a post-hurricane kind of state.

As if the universe is playing a joke on him, the elevator of Harry's apartment building is out of order. Harry groans to himself, before flying down the four flights of stairs that separate him from the ground floor, purposefully stepping over the stained patch of blood on the third floor landing. Harry's working up a sweat, rolls of liquid falling down his face and through his hair. He's out of breath already, so he takes a moment to lean against a stone pillar just outside of the apartment building, trying his very best to regulate his uneven breaths, before he has to run all the way to his slightly-new job. All the way to Mr Louis Tomlinson, his very-new boss.

A car horn makes Harry jump, scaring him into an upright position, as he scans the busy roads for the source of the noise. Harry hoped that living in Chicago for as long as he has, would make him immune to these sort of disruptions, but he's wrong. It seems like with every passing day, he grows a little more bothered by the constant buzz of traffic jams, a little more frightened by the shouting and the yelling that bleeds through this large city. Holmes Chapel was so very different.

Harry's head thrums, as he finally sees the car that made the noise. His breath swirls like smoke out of his numb lips in the chilly air, as he approaches the shiny black Jaguar parked beside the sidewalk. It's driver - a middle-aged man, with honey blonde waves atop his head, and wearing a fitted black suit around his tall figure - smiles at Harry as he approaches the car.
"I'm Harrison." The driver says, taking ahold of Harry's hand and shaking it firmly. Before Harry can even open his mouth, Harrison speaks again. "I work for Mr Tomlinson." he explains, nodding his head slightly. His ears are red, growing cold in the thick fog of this winter morning.
"Right..." Harry says, confused. He runs a single hand through his unwashed curls, suddenly dripping with worry. Is Harrison here to scold him? Harry isn't due at The Magnolia for another five minutes, so technically he isn't late yet.
"Boss told me about your car troubles, so I'm here to bring you to the hotel." Harrison explains with a heavy Brooklyn accent. Harry ponders for a split second about what could have bought Harrison 794 miles from the beautiful, busy New York City to here in Chicago.

"Boss doesn't want you stressing about getting your car fixed, so for now, I'll be driving you to and from the hotel." Harry can already tell by his toothy grin that this man is full of humour, and he feels a strange bond towards the man twenty-four years his senior. Harry hopes they can become friends - if not, atleast friendly colleagues - in the months to come.
Harry climbs into the passenger seat and is taken aback by the pristine leather interior of this beautiful car, taking a moment to take in his new surroundings. The charcoal-coloured seats smell like freshly mown grass and he's definitely not used to a car that has working air conditioning (his car lost that ability a year ago). Harrison fiddles with the buttons, turning up the volume of an old 70s song on the radio, before he drives to the nearest coffee shop, where he instructs Harry to buy Mr Tomlinson a cup of tea.
Harry thanks Harrison when they pull up outside of the hotel entrance, sharing a smile with his new friend, before rushing into the building to get out of the chilly fog. The Magnolia may not be as fancy as The Ritz or The Plaza, but atleast it's warm.
Harry completely ignores the yelling of Mr Peckham, as he runs through the crowded lobby, rushing to the staircase, where he uses all of his energy to climb the multiple levels of shitty decor, careful not to spill Mr Tomlinson's cup.
Yesterday, he had told Harry to call him Louis, but it all seems a bit informal to Harry. So, for now, he'll continue calling him Mr Tomlinson - his full, proper name. Harry may not have had the best upbringing, but he knows how to be polite and respectful.