Songs For How You Taste | l.s.

Chapter 3

And it wasn't until a couple days later when Louis went to his next shift at Rough Patch and was adding some Frank Sinatra to the crate of 50s albums that he realized that he never asked Harry what radio station he worked at.

Louis' phone felt like a brick in his back pocket, a small metal piece of fire. Because he had Harry's number, he could text him. But what exactly would he say?

And technically, he was waiting for Harry's next time. It was Harry's turn, wasn't it? But were they doing the turn thing? And Louis was caught up in spiraling thoughts that he didn't notice someone enter the store. He didn't notice until that person was stood right in front of him and in one large ring-clad hand; two steaming cups from Hideout next door.

"Hi," Harry's deep voice soothed its way down to Louis' bones and his eyes jerked up to meet Harry's.

"How'd you know I was working right now?" Louis asked, hands reaching to take a cup out of Harry's. He held it close to his nose and inhaled. Coffee.

Harry spoke as Louis drew his nose back disappointed and took the other cup from Harry's hand. This time, peppermint enveloped him like a warm blanket. "I didn't. I was heading to the student parking lot; I just walked by and saw you in here."

"So, you brought me tea?"

"Uh, yeah I guess."

Louis wrapped his lips around the lip of the cup, peering up at Harry. He made his eyes big, innocent. He even fluttered his eyelashes once. "Why?"

And Harry flushed, a pink blush creeped up from the base of his neck to the apples of his cheeks.

"It's not your turn to ask questions." Harry said, voice soft and dripping in sweet honey, eyes trained on the ground.

"Oh, are you using your turn right now? While I'm on the clock?"

"Yes, is that okay?"

"Very interesting, mildly loaded first question, Harry." Louis teased. And as an answer, Louis went to grab an extra stool from the backroom and place it behind the counter, next to his. He gestured towards it, and Harry soon found himself sitting in that stool.

Accidentally, maybe purposefully, Louis sat the stools pretty close and their knees kept knocking together.

"How old are you?"

"I'm 21, turning 22 in December."

"What day?"

"Christmas Eve."

"Oh my gosh," Harry said, giddy and sitting up straighter. "That's so cool."

"It's not all its cracked up to be, honestly. Nothing feels like your day." And Harry nods apologetically. He asked where Louis was from, about his family, then he spends a decent amount of time asking Louis one question about each of his siblings.

"What's, uh..." Harry checked his phone. "... your guilty pleasure?"

"Are you reading these off a list on your phone?"

"For someone who started this game, you're not very good at it."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Ever heard of Lush? Like a bath company or something like that? Since I've got so many sisters, they became obsessed with that stuff - "

"Like bath bombs?" Harry asked, interrupting. And although that was one of Louis' pet-peeves, he didn't really mind being interrupted by a voice that sounded like pouring an exorbitant amount of syrup on French toast.

"Yeah, exactly. Anyway, when I had a bad day, sometimes I'd go to their bathroom and use one of their bath bombs. They smell insanely good." Louis noticed the way that Harry seemed like a really good listener. Not just someone who nodded because they thought it was the right time to. Harry never broke eye contact and looked like he was hanging onto every word.