Medicine | L.S.

Chapter Two: Sweet Repose

*Hey, I know I abandoned this story for a bit but I have returned! I decided that because Harry has so many amazing outfits, I'm gonna pick one to help give an idea of what he looks like in each chapter and vice versa for Louis when written in Harry's perspective. Hopefully this serves as a good visual aid. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

I couldn't believe it. Harry Styles is standing in front of me, in my tattoo shop of all places. I can feel the awkward silence hanging in the room as they wait for me to respond, but every time I try to say anything, I can't get any sound out other than pitiful gusts of air. The way he's looking at me with such... hope in his eyes makes me feel something I've never felt before; my stomach is fluttering and to say that it's butterflies would be a poor excuse to mask the fact that I feel like I'm going to puke.

"Listen, mate. It's alright if you can't get us in today it just means we'll have to go somewhere else," the boy standing next to Harry finally decides to be the one to break the silence. I'm snapped out of my spell as I think I've heard the voice before. I give the man a once-over before realizing that I had seen him briefly last night at the club.

"Did we meet last night?" I ask. He rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed by my lack of addressing what he had just said.

"Yeah maybe," he replies with a huff. "So what if we did? Does that get us in for today?"

"Zayn," Harry speaks up as if trying to alleviate the boy next to him who now had a name. Harry turns towards me with imploring eyes, anxiously fidgeting with the black sunglasses in his hands. "I'm sorry, it's just that I was in town and I'm trying to get a couple of tattoos before my big tour starts up and," he licks his lips before continuing but it feels like a slowmo part in a film to me,"I've heard that you're the best artist in the vicinity."

"I- of course! Come on back and I can get you squared away," I try to say as cheerfully as I possibly can. His face cracks a smile and he lifts up his hands clasped together in a "thank you" sort of manner. I can't help but smile back. I then tell Eleanor to write it into the books for the records. I make my way back to my work station and begin to pull out some draft paper and things to use to draw up some pieces. Zayn decides to wait in the front and I internally do a leap of joy. I feel more comfortable working when there's not someone judging me the entire time. I don't know what Zayn's problem is, but I have a feeling I don't even want to know.

Harry reclines back on the raised seat and closes his eyes, sighing contentedly. "I cannot express to you how good it feels to be away from that dickhead," his eyes crinkle up as he laughs lightly. "I'm sorry for how he talked to you, by the way."

"Oh, who Zayn?" I say shrugging my shoulders. "It's okay you don't have to apologize. I've had my fair share of assholes who have come in here. Zayn's not the first and he certainly won't be the last." Harry hums understandingly. "So what were you thinking about getting today, Mr. Styles?" His face screws up as if he's eaten something sour.

"Please call me Harry. I hate it when people call me 'Mr. Styles'. It makes me think about getting old and dying," he explains with a shudder. "Besides, I don't even think I'm older than you."

I scoff dramatically acting offended by the comment. "I beg your pardon I'm only twenty-five."

"Oh no I-I, I didn't mean it like that I was just-," Harry attempts to quickly explain, eyes wild and cheeks flushing red with obvious embarrassment. I must admit he looks good like that.

"Relax," I say through laughter. "I'm just fucking with you, mate. I know you didn't mean it like that." I watch as his face melts into yet another dimpled smile. My heart thuds against my chest; he's so fucking gorgeous. Now I can see why all the young girls like him so much. His hair just falls perfectly around his face, and his eyes twinkled. I'm so gay it's an actual problem, I think to myself. We sit for a few minutes in a playful banter before finally deciding on three tattoos: drama masks, a bird cage, and an all-black star. I decide not to ask what the meanings are; after a couple of years of being an artist you find that some people like to leave art for interpretation, so I try not to be intrusive.