clean » larry stylinson

[01]

c l e a n

streaked with sunlight, like scattered paint dripping across a grey canvas, he drags his fingers over the coarse bench top; the rough crevasses of the wood stinging his into skin. he moves his body so that no other customer can easily watch on as he moves his hand in a never-ending cycle, the rag in his hand circling the table's surface, soaking in spills that were cleaned long ago.

the boy's eyebrows crinkle in concentration; repeating to himself a mantra that a single more swipe is all that is needed. then, it will all be done. the dying minutes of his shift stretch out, like an infinite tunnel whose exit is only drifting further and further away, and, god, does the boy wish that he could formulate some sort of an excuse as to why he shouldn't be given the task to clean the abandoned café tables.

louis can deal with hiding behind the coffee machines, avoiding eye contact with all customers as he fills an endless supply of paper cups. watching over the floods of customers weaving in and out of the ageing shop's doorway while he lets drips of steam and milk fill mugs is the job that he signed up for. now, as he brushes his hands over the fabric of his apron, he regrets his decision to work at all.

his hands crave for some form of release as they continue to scrub hard at non-existent coffee stains, his fingertips lingering for moments longer than they should.

though the afternoon sky is settling into the soft haze of dusk, there are people still about and the prospect that they might just well be watching him clean to no avail is terrifying. still, louis rubs harder.

this is why louis doesn't like crowds, or people in numbers really for that matter. it's not such an easy situation explaining why everything, everything, must be in a proper order, and why there are tears running down his face and sobs chocking his lungs when something isn't quite right. too many questions, and simply not enough pre-written lies to explain himself.

with a sharp breathe drawn in, holding his chest tight and body rigid, the boy allows a quick glance to either side of himself, his eyes dancing feverishly in hope that nobody was there to witness his moment of weakness. louis doesn't have to look for very long, he's always blended in effortlessly with his bleak surroundings.

after a shaky breathe and a stride towards the printed glass of the doorway, he draws to the unpretentious conclusion; that nobody around him particularly cares enough to notice his somewhat strange acts.

and really, it is such a beautifully tragic shame that he is wrong.

behind rusted metal racks, holding chipped china and ceramic cups, just within the steps of the staff kitchen, hides a young boy, verging on the age eighteen, watching on towards the quiet man who has been circling his towel in a series of patterns for an awfully long time now.

just outside louis' line of vision, the stranger crouches, his long limbs holding onto a wire frame to prevent himself from falling and bringing the washed plates down with him in what would be a rather spectacular event.

at first it is merely a glance, his curiosity betraying him as he brings himself to observe the older boy tapping his fingertips against the worn-down wood in a most peculiar way. a moments stare longer and the one who hides behind a wall of empty coffee cups will begin to notice the small wrinkles staining his face. he'll notice the pain that surfaces just briefly within louis' eyes as they turn to scan the busy room.

harry wonders if it is a melody he is reciting? perhaps a tune so beautiful it brings him pain?

softly, he hums the beat louis rubs though he can't seem to pick the tune.

soon after the quiet sounds leave his chapped lips, the curlier of the two's hiding location is compromised, a tired-looking barista, ready to begin the tedious process of closing the shop for the night, physically stumbling upon the boy. eyes wide in alarm, stutters fall from the barista's mouth, harry forces his lips into a tight yet apologetic smile, the young boy moving away and back to the table he was assigned.

a final glance, which harry honestly prays was somewhat subtle, is thrown in the direction of the counting man. his apron is now clad in hand, rag disposed of, and his body shuffling through the occasional customer in his bid to reach the crisp streets outside, lined with frost and an ever-present smog.

with a heavy swing of the door, in the few seconds it takes for louis to escape, a cool winter's breeze is released into the café, the sudden change of temperature allowing for momentary havoc inside.

harry slips away.

upon the opposite side of the chair he loosely slides into, a man of raven hair silently places down his near-empty mug, with eyebrows raised, he silently asks harry as to where he has been.

harry contemplates telling zayn, one of his closest friends, about the pretty boy who stood in front of him, writing a wordless song with his fingertips, but he decides against it; instead stating that he had needed a glass of water- only the waitress had unfortunately run out of cups.

the lie rolls smoothly off his tongue. unfortunately for harry it's not a very good one considering they sit in a café. zayn simply shakes his head, a smirk grazing his stubbled jaw while his friend blushes.

another comfortable silence falls upon both the brown and green-eyed boys. though not much is thought of it, harry's thoughts drift back to louis.

at this point forth, only one of the parties is aware of the other, neither of them knowing just yet the impact they will simultaneously have on each other's lives.

harry is yet to realise that the boy he watched that day in the café was opening up unhealed scars.

he is yet to even realise that the boy's eyes are blue. the colour of the winter sky he will later decide when he stares into them.

harry does not yet realise that they boy he watched is broken.

as for louis; well he has not yet met harry so there is little to say. regardless, it can be assured that soon the two will cross paths again.

there our story will start...

the story of the boy who counts to escape his demons;

and finds an angel along the way.