Chapter Text
The truth is, Harry is not to blame for what happened. He really isn’t. When he woke up that morning, that was not his goal for the day. In fact, in all of Harry’s 24 years of life, Harry never imagined he would do something like this. And yet.
It was a lovely Thursday, early September. Harry had woken up in a great mood, just 15 past 6, to birds chirping happily outside his window. He had a lazy wank, followed by a long, hot shower. He washed his curls in his favorite almond scented shampoo and conditioner- in the shape of bar soap of course because Harry firmly believed every small difference would add up to helping the environment. Then he used a sweet rose-scented sugar scrub, before shaving, and washing himself in his new almond, oat & honey body wash. He left the shower feeling happy and pretty, with silky smooth skin and sweet smelling hair. Leaving it to dry, Harry traipsed around his flat naked, cooking himself avocado toast with break he baked last night. Munching happily, he opened his phone, scrolling through work emails and twitter, before finally getting dressed for the day. He chose a pair of beautiful bright green trousers and a large brownish-orange sweater along with his comfortable black work vans. After a final look in the mirror, he grabbed his phone and keys, and made his way downstairs.
He unlocked the door, and flipped up the “Come In, We’re Open” sign he hand-made when he opened the shop, before turning around and straightening things up around the place. It was early morning still, just around 8, so Harry wasn’t expecting customers just yet, which meant he had ample time to go in the back and play around with the fragrances. Obviously, Harry was aware that a 24 year old boy owning his own artisan perfumery was a bit- odd. But that really didn’t stop him from pursuing his dreams a few years back. He always loved perfume, watching his mother apply her signature perfume each morning, even when she wasn’t going out, or watching Gemma experiment with different brands and scents for years before discovering her favorite. Harry admired them, he could never let himself stick to one particular perfume. When he was younger, grade 7 actually, Harry had bought an array of perfumes he liked, and wore them in accordance to his mood. And then later after Harry started to excel at chemistry, his mom jokingly suggested he start making his own. Three years into owning his shop, it obviously wasn’t a joke. Harry has of course, perfected his craft, and even managed to expand into body and hair care products.
The shop supplied perfumes, each one designed after a specific mood, and rightfully named Pleasing.
Pleasing No. 1- A warm, woodsy scent with notes of pepper, oak and cashmere. It was for fall, cuddling around a fire, drinking too much red wine, reading a book in a softly lit library.
Pleasing No. 2- Was soft, fresh, and delicate. It smelled like rain and wildflowers. It was for spring, and first dates, and picnics, and baking bread.
Pleasing No. 3- Was spicy and warm and (in Harry’s personal opinion) erotic. Tobacco mixing with notes of chocolate and a hint of cloves. It was for soft lips, and rough hands, and choked moans.
Pleasing No. 4- Cotton and fresh lilac, with a twidge of honey. Made for rainy days, and lazy cuddles, and Sunday mornings and sometimes- crying.
Pleasing No. 5- Almond and honey, with the tiniest note of vanilla. Made for soft giggles and warmth and reading poetry in a coffee shop.
And yes, okay, Harry supposed “moods” isn’t entirely the right way to describe them. Aesthetics, possibly. But Harry is a firm believer that a perfume can influence how you feel, whether its confidence or sexiness, or comfort. So sue him.
He walks around the shop one last time, rearranging his shampoo and conditioner bars (all offered in the five scents of course) into cute little pyramids. Straightening out the glass bottles with the body washes as well. Harry prides on how eco-friendly his shop is. All the bottles are glass, reusable and recyclable, and if they’re brought in for refills he offers a %15 discount. The soaps are biodegradable and vegan, the bags paper, and even the pump-nozzles are made of metal instead of plastic. It was definitely more expensive, but Harry thought saving the planet was worth the price. Not to mention his customers mentioned how long-lasting everything was, which made them come back for refills more often than not.
All in all, Harry was quite proud of his little shop.
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His first customer didn’t come in until 11. One of his regulars, a lovely woman named Elizabeth. She first came in to “treat herself” for her 63rd birthday, and after reading the descriptions she had bought Pleasing No. 3. No judgement of course. Since then, she’s been coming in roughly every two months to get refills of the things she needed.
“Harry, my darling, how are you today.” She smiles at him, walking up to the register.
“Hello Elizabeth, doing well, how about you? Just the usual today or are we trying something new?” He asks cheerfully, dimples on display.
“I’m great, love. The usual for me, though I want to take a look around, my granddaughter’s birthday is coming up and I wanted to grab some stuff.”
“Feel free to help yourself, I’ll get you set up with the refills.”
She looks around, and ends up picking out two of the travel sized perfumes in No.2 and No.5 saying if her granddaughter likes them she’ll be back for the full sizes. Harry smiles warmly and makes small talk while packaging her purchases, ringing her up for €180 before waving her off. A few more customers trickle in by noon, but Harry doesn’t really get busy until after 2, which is pretty typical. He sees a few more regulars, a few uni-aged girls, and a load of men and women buying gifts for their partners. They typically need the most help, asking Harry’s opinion on the scents (as if Harry didn’t make them) and describing their partner to see what suits them.
It’s a fairly typical day, and Harry starts preparing for closing as it nears 6. At 5:53 Harry is just about done sorting the register, humming softly to himself while lost in thought. He’s been thinking about getting a kitten lately, someone to cuddle and play with when he’s at home. His friend Niall tells him he just needs to get laid to fill the void and while Harry agrees (something he would never tell Niall) he also just really wants a kitten. A fluffy little grey thing with pretty blue eyes, or maybe a black one, Harry thinks a black kitten would be fitting as he’s always brewing perfumes like a witch in a cauldron.
“Ehm, ‘scuse me-” a high pitched rasp breaks Harry out of his thoughts. “Hey, mate, sorry I know you’re about to close, and you can totally kick me out- I mean, I just wanted to pop in and grab a perfume, but I- I need a bit of help?”
Harry lift his eyes and- fuck.
Standing in front of him is the most beautiful boy Harry has ever seen. First off, he is tiny. Just miniature. Standing at about a meter and a half, with the daintiest little waist and soft, small hands, he looks like a little fairy. He’s wearing a sweater, a large black hoodie with a colorful swirl in the upper left. It pools at his collarbones, tattoo ink peaking through, and sleeves that cover her delicate hands like little paws. Soft, honey-almond hair styles messily atop his head, framing his face along with a bit of stubble, and- and cheekbones, cheekbones almost as sharp as his eyes. Eyes, blue, so so blue, light and deep like icelandic water and ice but they’re soft and hypnotizing. Lips pulled together in a soft smile, the color of roses and love and Harry- Harry can’t breathe.
“Look s’alright, I can take a hint. I’ll just come back tomorrow when you’re open, yeah?” The lips move, once again breaking Harry out of his trance.
Harry realizes he’d been staring, probably coming off creepy and weird or rude or stupid, Harry opens his mouth to remedy the situation.
“No” He says, his voice comes out gruff and creaky and breathless, his mouth dry and he’s unable to get enough air into his lungs, “No please, you can stay. Sorry I- well- uh- ‘ve had a long day, was a bit lost in thought” He smiles.
The boy seems to relax, shoulders sagging with relief “It’s honestly alright- I can just come back.”
Harry waves him off and comes out from behind the register, ready to assist this painfully beautiful boy in choosing a fragrance, probably for a significant other.
“How can I help?” Harry asks, pasting on a nice smile while his brain is still reeling from the angel standing in front of him. His hands feel clammy, he has butterflies, and honestly, what is this? Maybe he’s having a stroke. The fumes from his concoctions have finally gotten to him and he’s passed out behind the till. Perhaps they killed him, even, and this is heaven.
“Oh I was just wondering if you could- uh- smell this? Tell me if it smells alright? My sister told me perfumes and pheromones mix and need to complement each other and ‘ve got no idea what that means.” He holds out his arm to Harry.
“Sure” Harry chuckles weakly.
He leans over and the scent of Pleasing No.3 hits him, along with the distinct smell of, well, whoever this handsome stranger is. Its- intoxicating.
Harry feels drunk.
Before he can register what he’s doing, his brain- overwhelmed by the divine creature in front of him, he’s subconsciously moving closer. His brain catches up to his actions just as Harry places his lips softly on the boy's arm.
Harry freezes.
Time freezes.
He feels like his body was drenched in cold water. He feels sick, mortification sinking into every cell in his body. WHAT THE FUCK.
Harry is not to blame for what happened. He really isn’t. When he woke up that morning, that was not his goal for the day. In fact, in all of Harry’s 24 years of life, Harry never imagined he would do something like this. And yet how could he not? In that moment that was the most logical, instinctual thing Harry could possibly do. Standing in front of this boy who is so soft, and delicate, and who smells like seduction layered over something sweet. Harry is horrified. He just, he just violated someone. He just violated a customer. Harry is going to cry.
“Oops.”
“Hi. Sorry, are you, supposed to do that when smelling perfume?” The boy asks, slightly confused.
Harry lifts his lips, straightens out, and resolutely looks at the floor, face absolutely cherry red and hot. “No, I- I just- I’m so sorry, honestly I don’t know what came over me, I’m absolutely horrified I can’t believe I just did that. I- Genuinely I don’t know what I was thinking- well, no, clearly I wasn’t. Thinking. Obviously. God these fucking fumes are getting to my head, oh my god. What the actually fuck is wrong with me.” He rambles
The stranger laughs, airy and high and lovely.
“S’alright love, no harm done. Though imagine if that was the proper technique eh?”
Harry finally looks up, fingers playing with his rings and he stays quiet, being frankly speechless with himself.
“So?” The boy asks.
Harry blinks at him dumbly.
“Mate, are you okay? S really no big deal, I’m not one to complain when a pretty boy with chocolate curls and sinful dimples kisses my arm, promise.” He jokes.
Nothing.
“Can you at least tell me what you think of the perfume? I’d say based on your reaction it smells alright, but you are the expert.”
Harry nods, and mumbles, “Smells- yea smells good. Really good.”
The boy’s face breaks into a grin.
“Well that’s great! Pack it up then, I’ll take it.”
Harry, still in a stupor, nods, manages a weak smile, and takes the perfume to wrap it up. The stranger follows him to the register, pulling out his wallet.
“Oh, no” Harry finally gets enough oxygen to his brain “It’s on the house, don’t worry about it. Honestly. As an apology.”
The man looks at him, studies him for a moment. Harry’s face, still cherry red, and getting hotter under his gaze.
“What’s your name?” He finally asks.
“Harry”
“Well, Harold, my name is Louis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hello, Louis”
“Tell you what, Harold. I’ll let you give me this perfume, on the house, but only if you’ll let me take you to dinner. On me?”