ocd ● harry styles au

charlie

"See you later, babe, you'll do great." Charlie's boyfriend, Jase, reassured her as she stepped out of his car.

"Ahh, I hope so. I'll meet you here after my shift?" She asked. Her dark hair kept flying into her face from the curling wind and her eyeliner started to bleed as the bitterness of the cold made her eyes water.

"Yeah, promise. Catch you later." He said with a small smile, driving away. Charlie waved for a few moments before quickly turning and rushing into Hardy's, the book store she would now be working in.

"Charlie! Welcome!" The manager, David, beamed as the petite girl in colourful clothing walked in. In return, she smiled a huge smile and took the name tag that was being held out in his hand. Fiddling with the sharp metal, she clipped it onto her shirt and awaited instructions.

"What can I do first?" She asked. Her lips were chapped and pale and her cheeks were flushed pink from being outside.

"If you could start by sorting through the shelves, making sure it is all in the correct order? It's all alphabetical and the History shelves go by dates. Just also check to make sure all the customers are happy- " He smiled, interrupted as a boy walked in.

"Sorry m'late. Car broke." The boy mumbled, eyes on his shoes.

"It's alright. Harry, this is Charlie. Charlie, this is Harry." David spoke, clasping his hands together. "You'll be working together on weekends!"

The boy was mesmerising. His face was a chalky pale with sharp green eyes that seemed to cut into mine. He had contrasting brown waves on the top of his head that seem to had been styled a certain way, and he wore a wooly, oversized sweater that fell half way down his thighs, two distinct collarbones poking out at the top.

"Hi, it's lovely to meet you." Charlie began, holding out her hand for him to shake. But instead his eyes widened and he took a step back.

"I...I can't." Shaken words that only just escaped his lips.

Charlie looked at David quickly who gave her an apologetic look.

"Harry, go on and shake her hand. Be polite." He urged softly, making harry shake his head and a frown to set on his mouth. He looked embarrassed and out of control. 

"You know what, it's fine. So er, so anyway. Where should I start?" Charlie swallowed, turning to David. She couldn't help but feel almost offended he didn't want to shake her hand? 

"This way," he smiled, giving a signal for her to follow him to the shelves.

Charlie followed, glancing quickly behind her shoulder.

Brown, polished boots, chocolate curls, impossibly pale skin. He should not have been beautiful. He was too skinny, and bruised and imperfect. But sometimes art isn't meant to be beautiful, it's meant to make you feel something.

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