Work Text:
When Louis arrives at work that morning, he's fucking had it. He hates his life. It's not even eight in the morning and his entire day has already been ruined.
It started when his alarm went off and, in his sleepy haze, he'd smashed the glass of water on his night stand, instead of the alarm. It woke him up alright, but when he'd tried to clean it up, he'd cut his big toe on a shard and spent another fifteen minutes scrubbing the blood out of the carpet.
He'd had to skip breakfast, promising himself he'd get a muffin at work, and hobbled to the underground. Of course, his toe-induced speed impairment had caused him to miss his usual train. Thankfully, Louis liked to plan ahead and always got one train earlier than strictly necessary, but it was the principle of the matter. No one liked to have the doors to the underground literally slam closed in front of you.
When he did get on the train, the biggest, sweatiest man ever had sat down next to him, carrying three fat bags of groceries, squishing him against the window and rubbing off his ungodly body odours on Louis. It was disgusting. Who even smelled like that this early in the morning? Didn't the man shower?
He not-quite-ran to the coffee shop that he worked at, only to be tackled by an over-enthusiastic dog. And if tackling him wasn't enough, the dog had actually licked his face. Its boss, a perky looking blonde, had only giggled annoyingly, saying “oh, she just gets a bit worked up sometimes!” before walking on without even apologizing.
Well. Maybe the dog-smell had gotten rid of the stinky man-smell.
By the time Louis enters the coffee shop, he's ready to slap someone. Anyone. He's the only one working the early shift, too, so no one would even be there to report him to his boss.
He makes sure that the morning delivery from the bakery finds its way to the displays (which, thank God, happens without incident) and steals a muffin once the delivery guys are gone. He then proceeds to grab a marker and contemplates what to put on the sign outside today.
A couple of months back, his boss had gotten the brilliant idea to put a sign outside with the name of the barista in charge at the time and a coffee recommendation on it. But what would he recommend today?
A smirk forms its way around Louis' lips. No one was scheduled to relieve him until noon, so he'd be damned if he wouldn't have a little fun to make up for his miserable morning.
He writes the message on the sign, and grins.
Today, your barista is:
-
Hella gay
-
Desperately single
For your drink, I recommend:
You give me your number
When Harry steps out of the train that morning, he feels wonderful and energized. He loves his life. It's barely even eight in the morning, and he already feels like today was a good and productive day.
Like always, Harry'd gotten up with the sunrise. Outside of his window, birds had been chirping happily, providing a gentle backdrop for his morning yoga. While he was facing the window doing downward facing dog, he noticed that it was a little smudgy and spent fifteen minutes or so scrubbing it clean, making it look so clean that it seemed like there was no window at all.
He'd made himself a nice wholesome breakfast, consisting out of a strawberry, banana and flaxseed smoothie and almond yoghurt with blueberries. He'd taken his time enjoying it, too, filling out some puzzles in today's news papers and still having time to spare to catch his morning commute.
On his way out of his apartment building, he'd spotted his downstairs neighbour trying to carry three fat bags of groceries up the stairs and helped the poor man out. The neighbour had had a bad enough time already, what with his wife suddenly passing away at age 47 a couple of months back. It was rare to see him outside of his house at all, and Harry felt like it should be encouraged.
At the station, he bumped into his mate's girlfriend Perrie. He shared some classes with her in college, and the two of them got along pretty well. She had Zayn's yappie dog in her arms and they'd had a lovely chat before he saw his train coming, kissed her on the cheek and leisurely jogged off to catch it.
By the time Harry is walking towards his lecture, he feels fantastic. He's almost at the classroom, half an hour early as usual, when he remembers that his friend Liam had had a late shift at the bar he worked at last night. Liam is a great guy, but he doesn't really function well on little amounts of sleep, so Harry turns straight back around to get the guy a coffee and some breakfast. Knowing Liam, he'd probably skipped it in favour of more sleep.
His lecture hall is right on the edge of campus, and there's a huge collection of coffee shops just a couple of minutes away. While he's trying to remember which ones sold organic pastries and coffee, he almost walks into the sign of Teasdale's.
Today, your barista is:
-
Hella gay
-
Desperately single
For your drink, I recommend:
You give me your number
Harry snorts. Someone was either having a really good day, or feeling really self-assured. Still, it's a humorous sign and he can't help but peek in to see who the cheeky barista in question is.
He nearly drops his jaw when he sees who it is. It's the incredibly cute guy from his music classes, who Harry's been inexcusably crushing on since the beginning of the year. Not that he'd ever talked to him, or that they'd even acknowledged each other's existence, but still.
Come to think of it, Harry doesn't even know his name. Not for a lack of trying, it's just that their music classes are generally so huge, they skip name-call and just sign themselves in at the beginning.
Oh God, he has to go in now, doesn't he? This is like, a golden opportunity. There seems to be no one inside and the guy is lounging idly behind the counter. He really has no excuse not to go, right?
Before he can even think of changing his mind, he pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket and pens his name and phone number down. He aims for a confident strut, a casual but breathtaking entrance into the shop, so of course he trips over the threshold and nearly faceplants into a potted plant. Nearly. Not entirely un-smooth, he thinks, reminding himself that he's done worse.
“Careful! Are you alright mate?” cute music-guy asks with a high, croaky voice that's not unpleasant at all. Harry thinks he could quite get used to listening to it. The guy stands up straighter, as if to rush towards him at any sign of distress.
“I'm fine,” he says, approaching the counter. He can't help but smile at the guy's apparent genuine concern. Louis, he reads off of his name tag, and high fives himself mentally for finally figuring out his name. “I'm... hi,” he finishes, quite lame.
“Hi,” Louis says and beams up at him, eyes crinkling in the corners. God, Harry had never realized how small Louis was. He just seemed... larger than life, whenever he'd seen him in music classes. Even now, it feels weird to have to look down. “What can I get you, Harry?”
“I'd like a non-fat latte with a pump of caramel – wait, how do you know my name?” Harry is stammering. He was aiming for a smooth entrance, a smooth order and then smoothly and casually handing Louis his phone number, maybe with a laid back 'call me' in there somewhere, but no. He's stammering. It's pathetic.
“Of course I know your name,” Louis says, already reaching for the non-fat milk to start on the order, “we have a couple of classes together, don't we?” Harry only manages to nod, reminding himself to keep his lips closed instead of allowing his jaw to drop like it really, really wants to. “Pretty sure you know mine, too.” Again, Harry only nods, really fucking grateful for Louis' name tag.
How on earth had Louis managed to wheedle out his name? Like, Harry had put actual, active effort in finding out Louis' name, but they just didn't know the same people and it had proved practically impossible. More importantly, why had Louis wheedled out his name?
Louis whips up the order like a pro, smacking the drink down in front of Harry with a flourish. Harry notices his own name on the cup, with a little smiley face next to it.
“Anything else I can get ya, love?” Louis asked, and if Harry didn't have a crush before, he would have now. He crumples the note with his phone number on it in his hand in his effort to keep the rest of his body as relaxed as possible.
“Yeah, I'm picking up breakfast for a mate, can you recommend anything?” he asks with his most charming smile. He's pleased to see that Louis smile actually widens – a small measure of success.
“Actually,” Louis starts and practically dances off to the pastry display, “the blueberry muffins are fantastic. Had one meself this mornin', and they came in fresh today.” His hand hovers over the muffin while he looks up at Harry with a questioning look.
“Yeah, sounds great, I'll have one,” Harry says, and Louis smiles and puts it in a small paper bag.
“That all for today?” Louis asks, and Harry thinks this is his moment. His opportunity. No, I have something for you as well. Or maybe, not if I can see you again.
“Yeah, that's all, thanks,” Harry says, and he wants to smack his head into the counter. Why, why is he always all charm and smiles and smoothness with everyone, except for when it matters?
He pays Louis, picks up his order and leaves with a weak smile and a muttered goodbye. Louis smiles back at him widely and even does a little wave before he walks through the door.
Louis is completely and utterly too cool for Harry, that's for sure.
It isn't until he's back at the lecture hall, muffin in one hand and coffee in the other, that he remembers he had his phone number in his hand when he entered the shop. Oh well. Hopefully it fell to the floor and it would get swept up when the store was swept that night.
The lecturer is droning on and on about scales in medieval times and Harry is trying to pay attention, he really is, but Liam is gently snoring next to him, which is oddly relaxing, and Harry is having a hard time staying awake. The monotonous voice of the lecturer doesn't help either. He nearly jumps out of his seat when he feels his phone buzz.
Found a little note with ur name and phone nr on it. Did you mean 2 give it 2 me? - Louis
Oh God. Louis had found the note. Why did he find the note? Harry can't lie about why the note was there. He just doesn't lie. So he texts back the next-best thing.
Maybe.
His phone remains silent for almost the rest of the lecture, and Harry is so on edge that he actually ends up paying attention to the lecture, ending up with more knowledge about dead music than he ever wanted. It's almost eleven and the end of the lecture when he feels his phone buzz again.
My mate Niall takes over my shift at 12. Pick me up for lunch?
Harry stares down at his phone in awe. He didn't know which Gods were on his side today, but he would never stop thanking them for this twist of fate. He texts Louis back with a smile on his face.
It's a date.