Archive of Our Own

There’s a boy taking the stand at open mic night. He has sharp, crystal blue eyes, a crease between his brows, and music hidden behind lips pressed tightly together. It’s impossible to look away.

He’s been there before. Harry would know because he always works Friday nights, requests the shifts because he loves the energy, the worn couches and bar stools mixing with a diverse blend of people and instruments. Most of them carry acoustic guitars, but sometimes you’ll get cajón box drums, a string instrument here or there, and if you’re lucky, something snazzy like a banjo or flute. No harps just yet, but Harry’s holding out hope.

This particular boy, who always catches Harry’s eye, is one of the few who switch it up. Some weeks, there’s a thin electric keyboard that he weaves through the crowd. One time, it was an acoustic guitar, but where most people have fancy ones, dark wood or gorgeous colors, plugged into amps and cutting through with clear sound, this boy’s was a basic Yamaha. No bells and whistles, no amplifiers.

That was the guitar Harry started with. It’s cheap, and the sound isn’t great, but it’s still a functioning acoustic. The sight evoked some nostalgia the first time the boy brought it on stage. All he did was play chords, no attempts at fancy fingering, but that was about as far as Harry had gotten when he actively played, so he couldn’t exactly talk shit. After all, by that point, this guy had shown that he could play two instruments. Harry can barely claim one.

So it figures that he’s adjusting the mic with something new under his arm on this particular Friday. Not a keyboard, not a guitar, but a quaint ukulele. The wood is tawny, not dissimilar to the Yamaha. It’s got a keychain of some sort dangling from the top, and there are bright flowers shoddily painted on the body.

Harry has a lot of questions.

“Tara, got your caramel macchiato with soy milk,” Harry calls, interrupting his own train of thought to slide the mug, filled precariously to the brim, over the bar. It’s easy to get in the groove and zone out while making drinks, given he’s worked here for just over a year - basically since he turned 16. Ah, year 11. Simpler times.

A dark-haired woman pops up and cards a hand through her hair, sliding it over to reveal her half-shaved head. “Love the new cut,” he compliments easily, earning a grin.

“Thanks, Harry. Thought I’d switch it up.” She pops a hip out and poses, the warm lighting emphasizing mocha tones in her skin.

“Oh, we have a model in our midst,” he teases. “You did great tonight, by the way. Love a Florence cover. ‘Cosmic Love’ isn’t easy, but you made it sound like a breeze.”

“At least my childhood voice lessons are doing something.” Tara rolls her eyes and snags the coffee. “I think I’m making progress with Dave, by the way. He said he’ll do a duet with me next week; we’re planning something for tomorrow to go over song ideas.”

Harry’s eyes light up, and he nods enthusiastically. “Oh, that’s been a long time coming. Let me know how it goes, alright?”

Tara begins to nod, but then Harry’s attention is captured by a voice coming from the front.

“Hi, everyone; good to see you all again.” Like a Pavlovian response, Harry’s head jerks to the stage, the boy having finally adjusted the mic and set up on a stool in front of it. He’s tense, which is no different than usual, and the ukulele seems somewhat foreign to him, but there’s a smile on his face, even if it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Gonna try something different tonight, yeah? Rediscovered some of my old favorites and, uh.” A hand comes up to his forehead, and he carefully adjusts his fringe. “Well, this is ‘Your Biggest Fan’ by Never Shout Never.”

“We’ll talk later,” Tara whispers with a wink and carefully lifts her cup and saucer, stalking back to Dave. Harry’s in another world already, honed in on this mystery musician. On the boy.

‘The boy’ is only known as ‘the boy’ because no one knows who he is. In all of the times he’s been up on stage, he’s never once said his name. Perhaps he’s nervous, maybe he isn’t keen on giving up the anonymity, or Harry’s current theory: he’s a criminal on the run who wants a fun night every once in a while. Seems probable enough.

So, for now, he’s ‘the boy.’ Sometimes he’s ‘the brown-haired boy’ or ‘the short boy.’ One time, a couple of weeks ago, when he stared straight at Harry while singing a few phrases of a love song, he became ‘the boy that Harry’s obsessed with’ - that one wasn’t his idea, but it’s stuck for Tara and a couple of other regulars that are used to his behavior.

As Harry watches on, the boy begins to run his fingers along the strings and sing.

I’m a real big fan of yours

But I’m quite the joke to you

A chill goes up his spine. It’s a higher register than where he usually sings, but it sounds even better. Though no one here is professional-level talented, what the ragtag group may lack in skill, they make up for in unique tones, a variety of musical tastes, and - in this boy’s case - a voice that can go from rough and commanding to soft and heartbreaking at the drop of a hat.

When he rhythmically taps his hand on the ukulele, the crowd catches on and claps in time, and a tiny, pleased smirk peeks out, the boy peeking between the fringe beginning to fall down in front of his eyes. Harry loses his breath.

And I got to the point where all I wanted was for us to make up

But it's not that easy

'Cause, boy, you move on so quickly

Keeping a guy like me at the edge of his seat

It nearly passes over Harry's head that he’s talking about a guy in the song instead of a girl, and if he wasn't on his shift, there’s a high likelihood that Harry would have passed out. But no, he’s working (which, also no, has not at all slipped his mind), and when he glances back to the till he sees there’s no line. His coworkers wave him off with entirely unconcealed amusement.

The moment his eyes pass back over, the boy’s gaze meets his own. It only lasts a second before he’s refocusing on his music, playing through a peppy bridge and drawing the entire room, Harry included, into clapping through the ending. 

And I am running out of words to say to you

Wondering why I'm wasting my time

Thinking back and wondering why I'm such a fool

For loving you

He finishes with a speedy flourish of the strings before muting them with the palm of his hand. “Thanks,” he murmurs into the mic before hopping down, the room overflowing with encouraging cheers and whistles.

“So, when will you suck it up and ask him out?” Harry whirls around to see Zayn standing close to him, amusement lighting up his face.

Rolling his eyes to distract from his rabbiting heart, Harry snags an order from Niall at the till and gets to work. “We can’t do that with customers. It’s unprofessional.” He sounds like he’s reading directly from the manual, and that’s partially because he’s checked it a few times to make sure there aren’t any loopholes.

“Oh, shut it with that bull. We’re a fucking local shop, not a Starbucks. It’s not like ‘corporate’ is going to fire you.”

“I highly doubt Peter would appreciate it, anyways.”

“Peter gave you a fifty pence raise. Peter can suck it.”

Harry focuses on steaming milk. “Peter is a lovely man, and it’s a fair raise considering how slow things have been. Wouldn’t hurt you to be nice about it.”

“You’re trying to change the topic. Buy him a drink. What’s the harm in that?” Zayn pulls an espresso cup out and carefully places it under the machine.

“The harm is twofold. First, if the boy says no, my pride is broken. Second, what if I make the boy so uncomfortable that he doesn’t come back? There’s safety in an open mic night spot that must not be broken,” Harry hums as he makes the latte from this order, drawing a perfect heart with a line of milk up the center at the end.

Zayn sighs. It’s been a conversation for a few weeks now, and by this point, he should know that Harry won’t budge, but it’s still sweet of him to be so concerned about his love life. “At least get his bloody name,” Zayn begs. “If I hear you call him ‘the boy’ one more time, I might dump that steaming milk over my head.”

“Please do not do that,” Harry replies with a resigned huff, making his way over to the counter. “Latte?”

And there he is on the other side of the counter, his icy blue eyes cutting straight to Harry’s core. “Thanks,” the boy murmurs, just like he did into the microphone a minute ago, reaching for the mug.

Harry cannot let him get away that easily.

“You were great tonight,” Harry blurts as the boy leans down, making him halt and glance back up. His cheeks are already flushing, and Harry’s probably are too.

“Thanks,” he repeats, looking away. That cannot be the only word he knows. He just sang a whole song of them. And - oh, shit. Wait.

“Not that you aren’t always,” Harry tries to recover, cringing. “Like, I didn’t mean you were better than usual. Well, I did like the song a lot. And the ukulele was fun. I didn’t know you played. Uh, I just meant you did really well. And - always do. Uh.” Harry closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his forehead. “I’m gonna shut up now.”

When he squints, the boy is smiling softly down into his drink, observing the foam on top. “Great latte art tonight."

“I - uh - thank you,” Harry fumbles.

“Not that it isn’t always,” the boy adds, glancing up and meeting Harry’s eyes, his lips quirking up just barely in the left corner. Harry's pulse flickers irregularly. He feels it in his throat.

“Your name?” As quickly as his lips work to ask, Harry slams them shut. He knows how to talk to people, but something about this boy….

“Oh, uh.” The boy fiddles with the mug's handle, and Harry shakes his head.

“Nevermind, uh, don’t worry. I know things are different here. It’s nice to be anonymous for a change.”

The boy simply nods, his mouth contorting like he’s debating, but then he seems to give up and shrugs. “It is nice,” he agrees. “Thanks again.” And with that, he’s off, leaving to sit by himself on a bar stool by the window.

Harry decides he’s going to listen to Never Shout Never this week.

xxx

There’s a boy who works behind the counter at the open-mic coffee shop. Louis only goes there on Friday nights, and the boy is always there, a constant beacon of energy and warmth and smiles. If anyone was placing bets, Louis would wager all his money that the dimples carved perpetually into his cheeks are the sole reason the cozy, humble shop is afloat.

Except - there’s something different this week. Typically the boy's got his apron on, jovially conversing with patrons at the till or working his magic with latte foam art. Today, though, he’s merely greeting his co-workers. He isn’t wearing his apron, hasn’t got his hair pulled back in a bandana like usual.

Not that Louis pays that much attention, of course. It’s hard not to notice, is all. He’s captivating.

When he was here last week, he was so close to admitting his name. And it’s not a big deal by any means, but the boy hit the nail on the head. Being anonymous, being someone else - it’s the best part of an open mic night. He’s got his face out there, his voice, and his music, but as long as his name is only his, criticism can’t hurt him. They only see him objectively and can’t make personal judgments without his name.

That’s not really true, but it’s a small comfort, and he doesn’t want that boy - out of everyone - to judge him.

Harry. Louis knows his name is Harry. He knows because it's on his nametag. It just feels unfair that Louis has this advantage, especially after Harry asked for his name directly, so - the boy. Coffee-boy? Yeah, coffee-boy works.

He’s relatively early to the sign-up sheet and simply writes down the song he plans to perform tonight. It’s another keyboard-based song for him, his preferred instrument, the one he’s most comfortable with. Switching it up with the ukulele had been fun but overwhelmingly stressful, too. Tonight he’s opting for an original song, which is also overwhelmingly stressful, but Louis has been aiming to push himself every open mic night in some fresh way.

Louis scrawls down 'Just Hold On' before his eyes flick to coffee-boy, who’s plopping down on a couch in the very center of the room with one of the other baristas that Louis recognizes, seemingly off duty, and he darts away to take a seat of his own.

After settling his keyboard down along the window counter, Louis snakes his way between the chunky, eclectic furniture to place an order, a latte, per usual. This barista is new to Louis, a young girl who seems confident but he doesn’t think he’s seen before. When she happily prompts, “Name?” she doesn’t seem pleased by his response of, “None, thanks.” Louis darts off to wait for it at the end of the counter before she can ask questions, but he hears Zayn behind the counter chuckle before motioning for her to pass the drink off to him.

Zayn is definitely a regular barista here and is the whole reason Louis found the shop in the first place. Of course, Zayn has no idea. That’s a tiny secret of Louis’.

Louis lets his eyes flick over to the sign-up sheet. Coffee-boy is writing on it, his lips open and eyes bright. When he glances up, it's directly at Louis. Though he’s quick to turn away, Louis doesn’t miss how the boy’s face grows even brighter, genuinely luminescent. Louis bites his lip to stop broadcasting how that glow affects him viscerally.

Coffee-boy doesn’t seem to get the memo, moseying over to his side and saying, “Hey!” On instinct, Louis tenses up, but Harry barrels through anyway. “Took off today so I could perform something for once! Niall’s gonna help,” he adds, nodding over to the blonde boy who waves back from his seat, grin near maniacal. “I’m only, like, number six on the sign-up sheet, so I hope you’re sticking around long enough to hear? Or, like, I guess you don’t have to. But, just, I really want you to. If that’s okay?” He suddenly frowns. “Sorry, shit, I’m doing it again, ugh. I’m bad at this.”

It’s a lot all at once, and Louis scuffs his shoe, restraining himself from asking a leading question, like, ‘Bad at what, exactly?’ After all, he’s not an idiot. It’s clear Harry’s more than friendly with him. But he doesn’t want to take actions based on assumptions, and he’s not sure what he'd do if Harry’s response were more upfront, so - “I’ll be here.”

Coffee-boy’s face lights back up. “Okay, great. I’m really excited to hear you play again. Um, and I was wondering… any chance of getting your name today?”

“Maybe,” Louis replies with a shrug. He expects frustration, but Harry doesn’t falter, nodding instead.

“Hey, knock-knock.”

Louis raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Uh… who’s there?”

“Haz.”

“Haz who?”

“Haz anyone ever told you that you’re very handsome?” Harry clamps his lips together, but his fondness is blatant.

Caught off-guard, Louis goes red. “Wow.”

“Latte for Mystery Man,” Zayn calls, wiggling his eyebrows in the most obvious way possible at Harry, and Louis turns to him, grateful for the distraction.

“Oh, you can just call me Latte. Only my mum uses my full name like that,” Louis jokes, raising an eyebrow in Zayn’s direction.

Harry laughs louder than the banter warrants, oblivious to Louis’ attempted deflection. “I will call you Latte, don’t test your luck.”

Louis cradles the mug gently and looks at the curious coffee-boy. “You can call me whatever you’d like.” With that, he takes his leave, watching from the corner of his eye as Harry crumples against the bar.

He can just make out Zayn consoling him with, “Well, it certainly could have gone worse. He could have pulled out a restraining order.” Louis barely stifles a laugh.

It’s rather amusing, getting to be a mystery. None of these people know who he is, which is nice. Not that they’d know who he was if they had his name, but this way they can’t come in with preconceptions about his background, family, anything. A mystery he is, and a mystery he will remain, so long as he wants to.

It’s not long before he’s called up to the front, and he begins to set up, unsure how to define the sensation in his gut. He’s not really anxious since he’s performing in front of a bunch of strangers, but coffee-boy appears enraptured by the moves he makes to adjust the keyboard’s legs, and that alone has his stomach churning with something he isn’t used to. After clearing his throat, Louis draws up the stool and turns the microphone towards him.

“Hey everyone, hope you had a good week. Every open mic night, something new, yeah? This is an original, hope you enjoy it.”

The basics are instinctive when you’ve played the keyboard for as long as Louis has. With his eyes shut, experiencing the music more than just tapping keys, he begins to wind through a short intro before letting his baby loose into the world.

Wish that you could build a time machine

So you could see

The things no one can see

Feels like you're standing on the edge

Looking at the stars

And wishing you were them

Louis allows himself to open his eyes again once he feels settled in, taking a scan of the room. Things aren’t much different than normal; some people, mostly the other musicians, are paying attention, swaying softly to the song's slow beat. Some people towards the back are chatting or working on their laptops. Coffee machines whir and hiss in the background, almost like they want to be a part of the song. It’s lovely. It’s more of a home than where he lives.

It's not over 'til it's all been said

It's not over 'til your dying breath

So what do you want them to say when you're gone?

That you gave up or that you kept going on?

Things at his actual home have been tense lately, to say the least. He gets nagged about school, nagged about work. Has to listen to the fucking shouting.

The sun goes down and it comes back up

The world it turns no matter what 

But here, he can let it all go for a couple of hours. Treat himself to a nice drink, surround himself with a community he’s trying to let himself claim as his own, a few towns down from his. Pursue the things he only allows himself to dream about.

If it all goes wrong

Darling, just hold on

The crowd claps and whistles like every week. But this time, the coffee-boy is right in the middle, grinning like a madman. Louis feels that much more settled.

Part of him hopes that Harry will take the initiative and approach him again. In his mind, he invents a scenario where coffee-boy walks over, tells him how incredible he is, holds his face on either side, and presses urgent kisses to his mouth. It quickly devolves into amateur exhibitionist pornography, so he supposes some fantasies are better left unfulfilled, opting instead to nurse the lukewarm dregs in his cup and fiddle with his phone between performances.

As promised, coffee-boy approaches the raised platform a few songs later carrying an amplifier, Niall following close behind with a sick acoustic guitar. It has an output to plug into the amp, with a gorgeous dark wood body and bright crimson details. Louis swallows. He’d fucking kill to own something like that. Maybe one day. Probably not.

Harry taps on the mic several times as he and Niall get comfortable. There’s a moment of feedback when he tries to talk, but he merely giggles and doesn’t even falter. For as flustered as he gets talking to Louis, he seems confident on stage.

“Hey, guys!” The audience whoops and claps, calling out their encouragement. “Hi Tara, hi Dave! Gonna perform tonight? No? Next week then?” He laughs, and it’s goofy and musical, and Louis wraps his arms around himself tight to keep his organs from falling out through his gut. Because, wow, who gave coffee-boy the right to sound like that?

“The song, Hazza,” Niall cackles, smacking him on the back.

“Oh, right!” Coffee-boy laughs again.

Louis is going to write a song that sounds like his laughter in some attempt to convey how it feels. It’ll need a bit of bass guitar, some violins, and maybe a windchime.

“So, last week, someone blew me away with their performance. And, um. Well, this is - heh.” That sounds more like the boy Louis met. “This is a bit of an ode to him…? Uh, this is a slight remake of the song Jane Doe by Never Shout Never.”

By - did he fucking say by Never Shout Never?

There’s no time to process it as Niall starts up the plucky rhythm to help count Harry in, and then he’s singing. Trying to pay attention to the lyrics as well as the sound of Harry’s voice - dear christ his voice - nearly makes Louis glitch out.

John Doe

I don't even know you, but I know fo' sho'

That you are beautiful, so baby let me know

Your name

Damn what's his name?

Honestly, it isn’t the perfect song for his vocals. He sounds a little awkward, and Niall’s clearly pitched the song down to make it easier on him.

But, goddamn, does he still make it sound good.

And then this sweet, quirky boy’s eyes catch his in the crowd, and Louis quakes.

'Cause I'm overly attracted

And terribly convinced

That he could be my prince, yeah, and I could… uh, also be his prince

The crowd laughs at Harry’s bashful smile and shrug.

And I felt that way, since

Since I saw John Doe

Louis doesn’t laugh because he’s too busy trying not to piss himself with nerves.

Well, baby, I am overly attracted

And terribly convinced

That you could be my lover

But I think I lost my chance

You had me at first glance

Oh, my John Doe

Everyone hoots and hollers, and Louis is frozen in his seat. All of his instincts are screaming to run away because he’s been perceived more than he’d ever wanted to here. But the shock keeps him rooted in place, politely clapping and surely looking like a fish in more ways than one, bulging eyes and flailing jaw.

Coffee-boy approaches him in the middle of the next performance. Someone’s playing a song on an instrument. They sound… like a person singing. It’s all quite impressive, honestly. Great job, person. Louis’ gaze drips from Harry’s downy hair to his parted lips, and all he can think of is amateur exhibitionism and you could be my lover and curious sage eyes.

“Did you like it?” Harry asks.

“Of course,” is all Louis can manage.

The boy smiles at the ground. “I, um. I started listening to him because of you.”

Louis doesn’t know what to do, so he gulps and nods, because he'd gathered that much, at least; is still working on how to process something so disarming.

“I was wondering what the chance was….” Harry looks back up. “That, um. Maybe I might have earned learning your name after that...? It was, like. Uh. For you, I guess.” His expression sours. “Oh, God. No, I mean, it was definitely for you. I don’t ‘guess’ anything. Fucking - shit. Can you tell me your name?”

“I….” Louis takes a breath. He came here for anonymity.

“Mine’s Harry,” Harry blurts.

“I knew that,” Louis replies, his neck unclenching the slightest bit.

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

Bracing himself to bang his head on the steering wheel later, Louis finally sighs, “Would you take a phone number instead?”

Harry’s jaw drops, and he doesn’t move at first. Then he's chaotically in motion, unable to stand still as he fumbles for his phone and yelps, “Yes! Yes, of course! That’s - yes!”

Louis enters his number under a contact that’s simply a music note emoji and sends himself a text. He replies from his own phone while Harry takes his back, fiddling with it before grinning and holding it up. There’s no warning before the camera shutter noise clicks. “Oi!”

“Need a photo if I’m not getting a name,” Harry replies, blinking innocently. Apparently a phone number has made him much less timid. “Gotta have some way to identify you, now, don’t I?”

“‘Spose,” Louis grumbles. In the recesses of his mind, he’s quietly pleased.

“Guess I’ll be talking to you, then.” Harry grins and backs off. “Have a great week, music note emoji, also known as Latte Mystery Man.”

“You, too, Harry.”

Harry beams.

What the fuck has Louis gotten himself into.

xxx

“He wouldn’t let you take the day off.”

Harry sighs. “No, we didn’t have enough coverage, he said. And no one else was willing to swap, so.”

“That’s bullshit,” Zayn grumbles. “Does Peter really think we need three people at once? Two is fine. Sometimes I think he’s trying to run this place into the red.”

“It’s fine. I mean, it was fun having the shift off, but I do love getting to be behind the counter.”

The bell dings. The boy walks in. Harry’s heart begins to pound.

“I know you do; just wish there was a bit more flexibility around here now and again.” It’s clear that Zayn hasn’t noticed that Harry’s been transported to a different plane of existence.

The boy glances around at the baristas, and when he lands on Harry, he softens. Harry hadn’t realized how tense the boy always was until now, carrying a weight so perpetual that it’s become a part of him. Even so, the lines around his brows don’t entirely go away, and he looks weary. There’s a flimsy, black bag strapped to his back, probably a cheap guitar case, and he doesn’t bother coming to check in before selecting a seat towards the windows. Always in the back, always away from the core crowd. Why?

“Earth to fuckface.”

Harry jolts and focuses back in on the espresso he’d been packing. He’d tamped it down hard, but it’s probably fine. “What?”

Zayn scoffs. “You’re obsessed. Did he ever respond?”

“No.”

Niall hands Zayn another drink order. “Don’t bug him. I do it plenty enough.” As if to prove his point, he continues, “How many times did you text him, Hazza?”

With a groan, Harry admits, “Like, seven.”

“Oh, lad,” Zayn cringes.

“I know.”

Niall whistles. “And not a single response?”

“He only ever sent back a text while standing in front of me, so I can’t even pretend it’s a fake number.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” Zayn replies.

“I thought I was ‘fuckface’.”

“You can be my buddy and also be a fuckface. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Shut up. Gimme your phone, Harry,” Niall requests.

“Don’t make me regret this, Horan.” Harry wipes his hands off and grabs his phone, unlocking it and passing it over.

He focuses on the drink for a minute before Niall begins cackling. “Jesus, what is this?!”

Zayn peers over his shoulder. “What the fuck - ‘Thinking about you, how has your day been, semi-colon, end parenthesis, x x x’ - Harry, you’re a creep.” Zayn walks away from the phone to go take an order.

Harry panics. “What is he talking about? What’s wrong with that?”

“God, Haz, it would probably be fine if every damn message didn’t sound like this. ‘Your hair looked really good last night, by the way, love the way you style it, x x x’; ‘Are you going to be at open mic night again this week? I can’t wait to hear what you play, x x x’; ‘Been listening to Never Shout Never non-stop and it’s your fault, wish I knew the name of the person to blame, x x x.’”

“What?!”

“You sound like a bloody psychopath! Talk like a normal human! Send him a meme or summat. Maybe a joke.”

“Okay, okay. I can do jokes!”

“No, wait, I take it back. Your jokes suck.”

Harry glares at the steaming milk in his hand as he goes to pour. “Just because you have no taste doesn’t mean you need to project your feelings, Nialler.”

“For real, though. You sound obsessed. Take it back a notch.”

“It’s hard because I haven’t done this before,” Harry sighs.

“Flirt? I feel like you’ve been flirted with plenty of times, hot shot.”

“No, that’s the issue - I’ve been flirted with, but I’ve never had to initiate before!” He flails his arms in the air to demonstrate the enormity of this obstacle. “Pursuing is new to me. I’m so used to being pursued!”

“Holy shit,” Niall breathes, shaking his head. “You cocky son of a bitch. Zayn, did you hear what this arse just said?”

Zayn glances up, where he’s taking the boy’s order. Harry squeaks, “No, no, I didn’t say shit.”

“Fucker’s whining about how-”

“Niall, don’t you dare.”

“Says he doesn’t know how to flir-”

“I’m actually going to get you fired, you wanker.”

“Ladies, please stop with the bickering. I’m trying to help a loyal customer here. Now - latte?”

“Mmhmm, the regular. Thanks, Zayn.” The boy’s eyes twinkle with humor when he glances at Harry and Niall.

“I’m gonna write your name as ‘prince #1’ this week,” Zayn mentions casually.

The boy sends a flustered glance in Harry’s direction and bites his lip before nodding. “Sure, why not.”

“Perfect. Hey, prince #2, can you make another drink?”

Harry speed-runs the flat white he was crafting, shouting the name and pushing it over to the end. A tiny stream breaks over the edge, and he curses himself before snagging the boy’s order. Zayn looks positively deviant.

“Thanks, Harry.” This time it’s not Zayn talking to him. The boy smiles, and Harry’s glued to the dark circles under his eyes.

“No problem,” Harry replies, breathing heavily. “Uh - did you - did you get my texts?”

“Yeah.”

“You can, uh. Just delete them. They’re, like - I’ve been informed by occasionally reliable sources that I may have made a proper arse of myself. So, um, we can, like, start fresh.”

“Alright,” the boy says with a chuckle. “But for the record, they were fine.”

Harry’s going to have the nervous shits. “Eh?”

“I told you I’d give you my number. Never said I’d text you back.” The boy winks. Fucking winks and then stalks off like nothing happened. Harry is going to die, but he’ll be damned before he fails to make this guy the best latte of his life.

Less than a half hour later, the boy is taking the stage, and Niall and Zayn promise Harry they’ll cover the short line. “Take your break,” Niall insists, tutting and undoing Harry’s apron.

“Erm, don’t have much to say this week. Another Never Shout Never one resonated the last couple of days. Didn’t practice much; sorry in advance. This is ‘What is Love?’” He clears his throat, takes a deep breath, and begins strumming an angry chord on his acoustic guitar. Dread drags tiny claws against the base of Harry’s spine. If he had to guess, he’d say they’re about to get a peek into the boy’s world, into the creases on his forehead, the bags under his eyes. Into the weight he perpetually carries.

In a sitch like this, you gotta think

And I don’t think you think about the way he thinks

And I know you live life for yourself

But it all comes down to the way you help

The boy is just - he’s losing himself in it this week. There’s no timidity to be found, and his voice is loud, cast out across the room.

And I know your life is such a hell

You wake up early and you work until

You have your drinks at five 'o clock

The hours blend and your thoughts all haunt

Your hopes, your dreams, your everything

A hush descends in the shop, patrons becoming as immersed as Harry, leaving room for only shrieking machinery and music - music filled to the brim with pain.

Well, mama, I hope

I dream

That you won’t leave

The dread swirls into a feisty beast, tearing its way up Harry’s back.

And I have a question

What is love?

What is love?

Is it giving up?

’Cause that’s not how you raised me, yeah

The boy’s voice cracks on ‘yeah,’ and his whole body clenches up, that familiar wrinkle in his brows deepening to a crater.

In a sitch like this, you gotta think

And I don’t think you think about the way she thinks

And I know you work hard everyday

But it all comes down to the way you’re paid

And I know you’re oh-so sorry, dad

And I truly believe that you’re a better man

Then to share one kiss then give away

All the love you come home everyday to

Your hopes, your dreams, your everything

Well, daddy, I hope

I dream

That she won’t leave

He looks close to crying, hand stuttering over the strings and faltering in his cadence, but he continues on, fingers nearly white where they’re pressed into the frets. Harry was wrong. They aren’t getting a peek; the door’s been flung wide open.

And what is love?

What is love?

See, I don’t know anymore

I used to look up

To that

Lo-

A sob bursts from the boy’s chest, and his strum leaves a minor chord ringing in the air. Suddenly he’s launching from the stool and tearing out of the coffee shop, not bothering to drop his guitar. Claps begin but quickly die at the scene, people sharing confused, concerned glances.

Harry doesn’t hesitate before chasing after him.

The boy is huddled in the alley between their shop and the bike store next door, cowering and crying into his palms. Beside him is his guitar, gently set down and out of the way. If Harry had been in his shoes, he might have broken it out of pure emotion.

Approaching cautiously, Harry murmurs, “Are you okay?” Right after, he smacks himself in the face (literally) and hisses, “Ah, fuck, I’m a dick. Clearly you aren’t.” The boy looks up, tears smudged around his face. Street lights reflect off them like glitter. “Sorry. Can I - uh. Do you want to talk about it?”

The boy merely shakes his head, but he doesn’t look down, and his heavy breathing starts to regulate.

Uncomfortable and unsure how to help, Harry shuffles on his feet, anxious energy making him twitch. “Uh, sorry if this is, like, weird. Can I, um. Can I please give you a hug?”

The boy smiles, a delicate, tragic vision, and nods.

Harry’s around him fast, wrapping him tightly. “I’m sorry,” he says.

He doesn’t get a response but instead feels the sobs begin to shake through the boy again, a fresh wave.

“Parent stuff is shit,” Harry whispers. “I don’t know yours, but I know mine, and… yeah. Proper shit. I’m here if you change your mind and want to talk.”

They end up sitting on the dirty ground for so long Harry forgets he has a job to do, much preferring the warm, shuddering boy pressed against his chest. Forgets until he hears Zayn calling from around the corner, at least.

“Rush, Harry. We need you back. Niall has to piss.”

The door shuts again. Harry sighs and presses his cheek to the top of the boy’s head, who’s long since stopped crying, now merely taking harsh breaths.

“Go,” he murmurs.

Harry worries his lip between his teeth. “Sure?”

The boy simply nods, and Harry moves to stand up. He’s stopped when an arm circles his bicep and tugs him back again.

This gorgeous, mysterious, confusing, heartbreaking boy presses his lips to Harry’s cheek.

“Thank you.”

Harry’s heart is shattering and forging in the same breath.

“Of course.”

xxx

The boy doesn’t answer his texts again that week, aside from one, but it’s not in response to Harry’s attempted knock-knock joke.

Harry: Knock knock.

Harry: (Okay, it’s been a bit, so I’ll help you.) Who’s there?

Harry: Sid! (Your turn, I’m not helping this time)

The Boy: I won’t be in this Friday.

Harry didn’t even get to tell him the joke, but that was far from the first thing on his mind.

Harry: Why not? Everything okay? xxx

The boy doesn’t text back. And, indeed, doesn’t show up on Friday. Harry watches the door like a hawk, but there’s no brown fringe, no eyebrow crease, no basic Yamaha or thin keyboard or flowery ukelele.

Harry decides not to sign up for the open mic that night and clenches his jaw absentmindedly while wiping down the machinery.

xxx

Louis steps into the coffee shop with a brave face the following Friday and immediately catches Harry’s eyes from where he’s working behind the espresso machine. Harry’s widen comically, and he grins. Like a cloud of steam, Louis’ apprehension dissolves. How does he always do that?

Waving, Louis directly approaches the till, no one waiting in line. He got in later than usual - he decided this week not to perform anything, emotionally drained and a tad embarrassed from last time around. Taking the days off to process and rant and eat his feelings helped, but being back brings mixed feelings to the surface. Even to himself, it’s unclear whether he’s here more for the community or for a particular member of it. Probably a little of both.

Barking orders in a hushed voice, Harry glares at Niall until he backs off from his spot at the cash register. The blonde rolls his eyes and laughs but does as requested, chatting with Zayn in the corner and making faces at Harry, who’s now attempting to speed-run the current coffee order.

While he waits, Louis takes out his phone and pulls up his bank app to review how much money he has in his checking account. It’s… not much. Though it was months back, Christmas had depleted his funds, and he was already working on remedying that, but since he’d chosen to visit Liam at his uni this past weekend, Louis spent most of his free cash on the train and food. If his mum didn’t make him pay bloody rent, maybe he would have a nest egg to his name, but no, he needs to ‘learn the value of a pound’ since he’s not at uni this year. Fucking hell. Two jobs are enough to teach you the value of a goddamn pound.

The next paycheck should drop in his account next Friday morning. That’s £30 for the week. Lattes here are on the pricey side since it’s a local shop. Is it worth the cost right now? He’ll probably have to skip his Nando’s trip this week to be on the safe side. Maybe he could swing Maccies instead if he sticks to the saver menu….

“Hey,” Harry says, louder than necessary, making Louis jump. He’d been so absorbed in his mental calculations that he didn’t notice anyone approaching until then. There was no reason to believe that Harry had seen his phone, accidentally or otherwise, but Louis moves quickly to slide it into his back pocket again anyways, out of sight. It’s just one of the many things he’d prefer the people here not know about.

Sorta flubbed that one with the song choice last time, but he figures anonymity also means letting loose the hurricane once in a while.

“Was everything okay last week? I - we - missed you,” Harry stammers, his cheeks already flushed, maybe from the hot coffee, maybe something else.

“Oh.” Louis’ turn for heat to rise in his body. “Yeah, everything was fine. I visited my friend Liam.” He swears, swears he sees Zayn’s eyes flicker over in surprise before refocusing on Niall. Maybe Lima is on to something after all. “He’s in his first year at uni and I decided to take a year or so without school after barely passing my A-Levels. Thought it would be nice to pay him a visit.”

“Gotcha. Had me - us - a bit worried.” Harry's lips twist bashfully. “Glad to have you back. And to know your phone works sometimes.”

“My phone works all the time,” Louis teases.

“At least pretend for me.”

“Okay. Yeah, my phone only works during the night of a full moon when I transform into a wolf. Sorry ’bout it.”

Harry nods seriously. “Makes sense. Glad to see you’ve returned safely in your human form. Now I can finish my joke.”

“Huh?”

“Knock-knock!” The joy in his voice is so unexpected that Louis almost falls over.

“Who’s there?”

“Ah, this is so much better than the texts. Sid!”

“Ah, this is so-”

“No, no, just the Sid part!”

“Sure, coffee-boy.” Harry squawks, but Louis continues. “Sid, who?”

“Sid-down and have a cup of coffee!” Harry cackles, and Louis shakes his head in amusement, letting the sound wash over him, his favorite song. 

“Horrible. Absolutely horrible.”

“So, what can I getcha? Latte, like normal?” He’s already reaching for a bit of paper to write it down, face locked into a beam like it’s frozen for good.

“Er-” Louis thinks about his bank balance. One week isn’t all that long. They have food at the house, and it isn’t like he had plans to go out or anything. “Uh.”

“On me,” Harry interjects easily. “So, latte?”

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks. You - you sure?”

“‘Course!” He writes it up quickly and adds, with a raised brow, “Name?”

“Put Liam on there. I want to test a theory.”

“One day, I’ll get it out of you.”

“Probably.”

That alone makes Harry’s eyes shine. “Perfect. One latte coming up. I’ll make it; give me a minute.”

While Harry’s hard at work, Louis gets to panic over whether he’s receiving a free drink as a means of flirtation, in consolation for his outburst last time, or - most uncomfortable of all - if Harry saw that he can’t afford it right now. The thing that makes it worse is that Louis can afford these drinks normally. Probably shouldn’t, it would be best to work on saving up that nest egg, but it’s comfortable between his jobs. Sure, delivering pizza isn’t exactly ideal, especially with the additional car maintenance costs. And yeah, working the till at Tesco is far from glamorous. But he makes enough to get by, which means he can be more independent.

Of course, he doesn’t want to go down this tangent with Harry in the first place, especially if he didn’t see the number on his phone. So he’ll have to suck it up and take his pity coffee.

“Latte for Liam,” Harry shouts unnecessarily.

The plan works flawlessly, though, a silver lining. Zayn whips his head around from where he’s now set up at the register, blinking around with wide eyes. Once Louis takes the coffee, Zayn squints but returns to his task.

“What was that all about?” Harry leans against the bar, propping his chin up with both hands.

“My friend Liam, the one I mentioned, knows Zayn.” Louis watches the steam rolling up through the air while Harry stares on, waiting for more. “Seems Zayn knows him too.”

They both pause for a minute before recognition dawns on Harry’s expression. “Oh, shit! I think I saw him texting a Liam a while back.”

Before he can contain himself, Louis snarks, “Bit of a habit of sneaking glances at phones?”

Harry watches him carefully before slowly asking, “What do you mean?”

“I - nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Did you… did I do something…?”

Louis bites his lip. “I don’t know, did you?”

Harry sighs. “I don’t mind a mystery, but I get the sense I’ve done something wrong, and that is not the kind of puzzle I like.”

Guilt tingles on the back of his neck, swells his tongue. “Er. Probably not. Sorry.” When Harry doesn’t move, he adds, “Just, uh - did you see what was on my phone before? When you bought the drink for me?”

“No?”

“Why did you buy it, then?”

This seems to make Harry even more confused than before. “Wanted to? I like you, have wanted to do that for a while now.”

“That’s it?”

“I mean.” Harry taps his knuckles against the marble counter. “Thought it might be nice after how things went last time, too.”

“Ah, pity coffee indeed,” Louis mutters.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Alright?”

“Yup.”

Harry drops his face into his hands. “I’m mucking things up every time I see you, and I don’t even know what I’ve done half the time.”

Louis sighs. “You’ve honestly done nothing wrong. Don’t worry about it. I’m just being a twat.”

Even though it looks like Harry wants to say something more, he seems to brush it off. “Anyways, I’m gonna sign up since you’re here today. Wanted to play something last week but decided to wait since you weren’t around.”

The guilt crests and winds its way around Louis’ throat. “Just because I wasn’t there? A nameless guy with emotional baggage?”

Harry’s grin returns at full force. “Yup, exactly.”

“I’ll give you more of a warning next time. Sorry.”

“Oh, no need to apologize! Let me go sign up now.”

“Aren’t you supposed to work?”

“Boss is letting me play on my breaks. I told him it would be good for business to see the workers participate. Humanize us a bit.” Harry giggles. “It’s probably bullshit, but it convinced him, so I’m not going to question it.”

For whatever reason, Louis finds himself following Harry over to the sheet, his laughter on a loop in Louis' mind. “What are you gonna do?”

“Niall’s been helping me practice guitar again,” he says, proud, before hissing playfully and covering what he’s writing. “Secret! Don’t look.”

Louis smiles, and Harry glows. “Alright, alright.”

Harry tears the paper along the edge and folds it over the song. “Okay, your turn!”

With an awkward chuckle, Louis admits, “Think I’m just gonna watch tonight, if that’s alright.”

“Oh - yeah, that’s fine - I mean, of course! You don’t - you don’t need permission for that! Do what feels right! Um - wow, okay, more pressure than I thought; I got this!” Harry laughs nervously. “But you’ll, um. You’ll stay, yeah?”

“Course, coffee-boy.” Louis nudges Harry’s side with his own and watches as Harry’s hand instinctually moves towards Louis’ hip before retracting.

And no, that won’t do. With as much confidence as he can muster, Louis stretches his arm out and runs the pinky side of his hand along Harry’s arm before grazing down towards his hand. When Harry trembles, Louis can feel it course through his bones. Their fingers glance each others’ before Louis turns and makes his way back to retrieve his coffee. He casts one more look at Harry.

“Get back to work,” he teases, hoping his tingling skin is only apparent to himself, reveling in the way Harry’s chest heaves.

The world is out to destroy Louis bit by bit, starting with his crumbling family life. For that reason, it only serves that he is forced to watch Harry take the stage with a beautiful sapphire acoustic guitar and hear him say, “Inspiration struck, so this is an original.” Like - could the world be any crueler? “I’m calling it Satellite.”

The fucker smiles and looks at Louis with what have to be stars in his eyes before he starts plucking away - slowly and deliberately, his tongue poking between his lips and eyebrows furrowed deeply in concentration. It’s really, really rusty. Louis’ heart twitches.

The last time Harry took the mic, it was to a song that didn’t really suit his voice.

Sounds like coffee-boy learned a thing or two.

You got a new life

Am I bothering you?

Do you wanna talk?

Oh, goddamn it.

Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in

I can see you’re lonely down there

Don’t you know that I am right here?

This one is definitely about him, too, isn’t it?

I’m in an L.A. mood

I don’t wanna talk to you

He said, “Give me a day or two”

I go ’round and ’round

Satellite

Yup. Definitely about him.

I can see you’re lonely down there,

Harry sings, pinning Louis to the bar with his eyes, strumming the chords like they’ll help him communicate.

Don’t you know that I am right here?

Louis can’t say he’s forgotten.

There’s no hesitation this time around: Harry walks right over to him as soon as he’s made it off the stage, only pausing to grab his guitar case on the way. He packs the guitar at Louis’ feet as he tries to nonchalantly (it’s very not nonchalant) ask, “What did you think?”

“You’re something else, Harry.”

Standing up, Harry looks at him with hope. “You too, you know. You’re the reason I decided to try this out at all.”

“When you said inspiration struck… what did that mean?”

“I mean, you could probably guess. But, like - I don’t know, after the last time you were here, it just sort of… happened? I was on my phone, and I thought about you, and, like, I pulled up my notes app, and here we are!”

“You literally wrote that… the other week?” Louis might faint.

“Yeah.” Harry grins. “Is that surprising? Was it actually good? I kind of feel like you’re the type to lie to make someone happy, even if it isn’t true.”

Louis scoffs. “Absolutely bloody not. No one knows who I am. I can be as honest as I want to be. Your shirt, for example,” he notes, pointing to the pink and purple flannel. “Bit much, innit?”

Though he expects Harry to get offended, instead, he starts laughing. Oh, angels are calling from the heavens. They want their voices back. “I mean, I like it, but fair enough. Does make me think you were honest about the music, I suppose.”

“Was,” Louis replies with a shrug.

Harry’s face is bright and warm and open, and his eyes flick around nervously before he tangles himself around Louis like he did two weeks ago. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, moving to return the hug. His heart pounds in his chest as they embrace, unable to even process the sound of a new person up at the microphone. It’s static, and it’s distracting him from ascending to heaven.

“I meant it,” Harry whispers. “What I said in the song. It’s all for you. Take your time, but I’m here for you, okay?”

Louis swallows and lets out a harsher breath than he means to, suddenly overwhelmed in a different way. His nose stings as tears bead in his eyes, and he blinks quickly to try and spread them out, to keep them from falling. Since when did anyone want to be like this with him? Since when did he deserve anything remotely this lovely?

What would it feel like to let that loveliness in? “Okay.”

xxx

There’s a boy walking into the coffee shop at eight on a Friday, and Harry’s desperate to learn his fucking name. So desperate that he gets distracted staring and almost pours steaming milk across his own hand. What do you think of that, Zayn?

He looks stressed tonight, but then again, he always looks uncomfortable until he sees Harry. And no, Harry isn’t going to gloat about that, even if he totally could, because it only reinforces that the boy needs someone to make him feel more at home in a place where everyone is welcome. That isn’t something that puts him in a boasting mood.

Once again, they lock eyes, the boy seeming desperate to seek him out. Even as some of the lines in his face smooth, Harry can’t help but notice that his muscles are still tense. The boy’s got his keyboard again, just like the night he performed ‘Just Hold On,’ and it would be hot if not for the way Harry’s heart aches for him.

Unfortunately, everyone and their bloody mum decided they wanted to order drinks simultaneously, so rush is in full force. All three of them are working on getting orders through. Harry does his best to keep glancing at the boy, but after their eyes met that first time, it seems like he can’t get a hold of them again. Frustrated, he focuses his energy on his latte foam art and not burning himself, two things that he thinks the boy would appreciate.

“Latte, like always?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Zayn.”

Harry’s gravity shifts, and he’s suddenly right behind Zayn, breathing down his neck and staring at the boy. The boy who has found his debit card incredibly interesting as he slides it back into his wallet.

“Harry, get the fuck away from me,” Zayn grunts.

“I - uh - hi.” Harry waves at the boy, who glances up and smiles, just a bit. Well, that’s something.

“Thanks again,” the boy says before dropping loose coins in the tip jar and sliding down the bar.

“I’m making it,” Harry growls, and Zayn holds his hands up in surrender.

“You’ve become a fucking vampire, lad. I’m scared for that guy’s sanity if something does happen between you two.”

“I’d be a delightful partner for the boy,” Harry whisper-yells, “and you’re just jealous.”

Zayn sniffs. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jaw dropping, Harry narrowly avoids shouting, “Wait, are you actually? Is this about that Liam guy?”

Whirling around, Zayn’s eyes catch fire, and he grips Harry by the biceps, making him squeak in surprise. “Shut your damn mouth and stay out of my business.”

“Wow,” Harry gasps as Zayn releases him and starts to stalk off. “Hey, Niall, wanna see a funny trick?”

“Wha’?” Niall glances up from where he’s making something with matcha powder.

“Liam, Liam, Liam,” Harry babbles.

Zayn shouts, “I’m going on my break, you dipshit!”

“I found a secret easter egg,” Harry laughs, moving to start putting together the boy’s latte. This time Harry does manage to snag his glance, and he looks like he’s laughing at what went down with Zayn.

Fucking finally. Harry grins back, pleased that he’s earned his own permission to do so.

When he’s made a perfect heart, adding a couple tiny ones around the bottom of the mug for good measure, Harry presents his hard work to the object of his affection. “What do you think about this week’s design?”

“Dare I say your best work yet?” The boy nods approvingly. “Money well spent.”

“I’m really glad to see you,” Harry breathes, struggling to tear his eyes away from the boy’s lips as they purse and open. Watches his adam’s apple when he swallows a sip. Swallows his saliva in return. Blinks.

“Seems like it.”

That wakes him from his stupor. “Oh, cut me some slack.” Harry smiles wide. “I got to talk to you outside the coffee shop this week. It was weird not seeing you at the same time, just some words on my phone; I’m so used to this.” Harry motions between them. “Maybe we could Facetime this coming week, too…?”

The boy pauses and smirks down at his cup. “Yeah, could do, maybe.” The next moment, his eyes cut up to slice through Harry. “None of those knock-knocks over Facetime, though, yeah?”

“Maybe,” Harry replies, trying to look meek.

They stare each other down before bursting out into laughter. What if this is the future in front of him? Harry’s daring to dream even louder today.

“So, another original, right?” The boy had been telling him over text that he had a new one today, and it got Harry excited to hear. This is the first time since they’d started talking that the boy’s written something fresh. Is it selfish of Harry to hope it’s about him?

“Yeah. No spoilers, though. Are you gonna play?”

Harry nods. “Got a cover picked out, myself. Held Niall here late last night so he could help on guitar again since I’m still shit,” he admits.

“Maybe we could do something together sometime,” the boy says casually, as though he didn’t just short-circuit Harry with one sentence.

“Y-ye-yeah, yeah, yeah, yes, please, I’d love that!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course! Oh, I - yeah! Definitely!”

“I’m not positive that you’re interested….”

Freezing, Harry groans. “Oh my god, you’re insufferable.”

“Only for you,” the boy replies easily before stopping, eyes widening slightly. He tugs his phone out from a back pocket and glances at the display, creases reforming like fault lines across the soft planes of his face. Harry can feel the tectonic plates between them crack and shift apart.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” the boy says stiffly. “I’m gonna go sign up. See you later.” Without another word, he stuffs his phone away again, scowling, and takes his coffee before pausing, turning around, and offering an apologetic look. “You’ll do great.”

“Thanks,” Harry manages, dazed by the whiplash.

Before he knows it, he’s at the mic with Niall by his side, his hand trembling gently. Being up on stage doesn’t really make him nervous, but it’s more that this boy always carves into him with his stare, making every lyric he sings feel that much more meaningful. It’s like he knows before Harry even opens his mouth that every single phrase is meant for him and only him. Everyone else is only here to bear witness to the swirling, twisting silhouette of their wannabe relationship.

Niall’s counting him in. Just another confession, no pressure.

I’m

In

Trouble, I’m an addict

I’m addicted to this boy

He’s got my heart tied in a knot

And my stomach in a whirl

But even worse, I can’t stop texting him

He’s all I want and more

I mean, da-amn…

What’s not to adore?

It’s another Never Shout Never song because, according to Niall and Zayn, Harry is obsessed, and he’s over trying to deny it. An infatuation never hurt anybody.

The best thing is that it’s so clear that the boy recognizes the song, a blush crawling up his face while the smile shines on his face again. Harry could spend a lot of his time bringing that smile back. That’s all he really wants.

I texted so many times

I swear he’s going mad

The boy squeaks a laugh before pressing his lips together, rumbling with joy.

And that cellular-er 

Will be the death of us

I swear, I swear

Not that he’d ever let that happen because Harry’s cause of death will be how the boy is looking at him right now.

Harry scans the crowd, hoping he can at least pretend he isn’t being so obvious, but he only manages to catch Tara looking at him like he’s lost it, her lips contorting and eyes sharp with humor. She isn’t wrong, to be fair. Lost his heart, lost his mind, willing to lose his dignity, too, if that’s what it takes.

I’m running my mouth just like I got him

But I surely don’t

Because he’s so-o-o-o-o-o-o

Rock and roll

And out of my league

Is he out of my league?

Let’s hope not

Niall stops playing for the last set of Ohs, clapping instead and leading the room in a round while Harry sings. He closes his eyes to focus on his last run. A few notes are just this side of sharp, and he breathes a sigh of relief when he’s done, glancing up to watch the room burst into applause. He grins and announces, “That was ‘Trouble’ by Never Shout Never, and I really hope he isn’t out of my league,” before smacking Niall on the back and bounding off the stool.

“Great one, lover boy,” Niall says, loud enough that the mic picks it up. Harry’s turn to start blushing, eyes wide. Niall simply raises his brows. “I’m not a liar. What, you want me to lie?”

“Get off the stage, Horan,” Harry grumbles, pushing him down the three stairs and following him. “Thanks for covering, Zayn.”

Zayn’s sweating. Zayn doesn’t often sweat. “It’s been busy. Please get back here.”

“Have fun, Niall,” Harry teases, taking an abrupt turn and darting for the boy while Zayn shouts curses behind him.

“Hey, lover boy,” the boy says when Harry takes the seat next to him, nearly falling off.

“Oh, christ.”

“Don’t burst a brain cell, love,” the boy jokes, and wow, that sure is a delightful word out of his mouth.

“So… like my choice?”

“It was pretty perfect, wasn’t it?”

Harry grins. “That’s what I thought.”

The boy raises a knowing eyebrow. “Did you pick that only because you’ve been texting me so much this week? I caught your lyric changes.”

“I only changed like two words.”

“And the pronouns.”

“Well, couldn’t easily sing about you with female ones.”

The boy grins and nudges him with his elbow. “Fair enough. Fucked one of the rhymes, though.”

Harry lifts his hands in defeat. “Wow, you didn’t lie about the honesty thing. Everyone’s a critic!”

As the next performer steps on stage and introduces their song, Harry and the boy sit together silently, listening. Zayn’s still grumbling about the line from behind the espresso machine, but Niall’s cackling, brushing him off and happily taking another order. Harry looks to the left to find the boy watching him, his expression warier than the second before.

“Alright?”

“I got weird earlier because my mum texted me,” the boy starts, blurting the words like he won’t otherwise get them all out, like they burn his tongue more the longer they sit in his mouth. “The day I freaked out, when I played that other Never Shout Never song, the one about… about parent shit. It’s because earlier that week my parents got in like….” his voice lowers to a near-whisper, barely loud enough to be heard over the gentle guitar at the front. Harry’s eyes trace the path the boy’s hand takes, rubbing along his other arm and pinching at the skin of his elbow.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, they got in a nasty fight. My mum, she’s been threatening divorce for a long time, but that day she said it was the last straw, that she was actually going to call a lawyer. I don’t know if she did it, but I wouldn’t fault her if she did. She can be a lot to deal with sometimes, and her standards are high, but,” the boy chokes and clenches his eyes shut, clearing his throat before continuing. “But that doesn’t give my dad the right to go out and cheat on her.”

“Fuck.”

“She found texts on his phone of him talking to a woman, apparently. About meeting up during his next ‘business trip.’” He looks at Harry and tries to construct a smile, but with no light in his eyes, he comes up short. “I love my mum, even if she’s a pain in the arse sometimes. But I love my dad too. I was… am… rather lost, lately.”

“I’m so sorry.” There are no words that would make much of a difference. He can’t say much to help, so he instead tries to avoid making it worse and wraps a hand around the boy’s knee.

The boy nods and looks around. “So, when she texted me earlier, it set me off a little. Things are kinda shit back at the house. This is the closest thing I have to a home right now, and you’re a large part of that.”

Harry sucks in a breath. “That’s - that’s all I could ever hope for. I want to be that for you.”

With a small, nervous voice, the boy asks, “Could I have a hug, Hazza?” 

Unable to help himself, Harry stutters on a laugh, wound up tight, release tugging at his split ends, begging him to unfurl. “Of course.” He envelops him, one leg pressing into the floor to keep them both balanced. The boy takes a deep breath right against the side of Harry’s neck, and he hears the relief as it settles.

“I loved your song.”

“Thank you.”

They separate, watching each other with warm, melancholy eyes, and something flashes in the boy’s when he hears the MC take the stand to announce the next act.

The boy takes a deep breath. “You inspired me, too, this week. And, like - I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m freaking out with everything going on, and sometimes I think I’m numb, but… Well, think about it like this. Right now, I think I’m going a bit insane. But then, couldn’t bravery sometimes just masquerade as insanity? Cosplay, fancy dress, something like that.” He laughs, strained. “Sometimes a world crumbling in one place is simply a reason to find a new one we prefer, right?”

“What?” Harry breathes out a laugh.

At the front, “Ready to Run!” is called.

“Fuck.” The boy shivers. “Uh. God, I’m the one who’s struggling with words now.” They both laugh, and the boy takes Harry’s hand, squeezes.

And rocks him to the core.

“My name is Louis.”

He squeezes again, and Harry breathes out the name, “Louis,” as Louis furiously paces up to the front, his keyboard tucked in his underarm.

There’s hardly time to think. Just like that, the question that’s haunted Harry for weeks has been answered with little fanfare. Louis. The boy, the one whose creases paint a map for Harry to follow. The boy who pretends to hate his knock-knock jokes but always asks who’s there. The boy who is holding too much on his own and wants nothing more than a safe place to land.

Louis.

The room radiates with excitement when they notice who’s taking the stage, shouts of “Welcome back!” and “Yeah! You’re playing!” Louis looks surprised before melting into a bashful smile, waving to a few of the regulars. Harry hopes he can feel it. He’s become one of them.

“Inspiration strikes at the funniest times,” Louis says at the front. Louis, Louis, Louis. “This is ‘Ready to Run.’”

And he doesn’t say his name. But Harry knows.

There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny

Then there’s me inside a sinking boat, running out of time

Without you I’ll never make it out alive

But I know, yes I know we’ll be alright

Oh, oh, Louis. Tears well up with no warning, emotion crashing against his chest from the inside. Louis.

There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me

And every time I turn around it’s only gaining speed

There’s a moment when you finally realize

There’s no way you can change the rolling tide

But I know, yes I know that I’ll be fine

A watery chuckle erupts from within Harry, and then he can’t help it; fat tears roll down his cheeks. Because, really, he kind of thought something mutual with the boy - with Louis - was a pipe dream at best. Sure, there was some reciprocation, but he knew next to nothing about him.

This time I’m ready to run

Escape from the city and follow the sun

’Cause I wanna be yours

Don’t you wanna be mine?

I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night

And now, it feels like every layer is being peeled back at once, like Louis’ letting it all go. Trusting him, trusting this space with his fears. With his hopes, his dreams, his everything.

This time I’m ready to run (oh-oh)

Wherever you are is the place I belong

’Cause I wanna be free

And I wanna be young

I will never look back, now I’m ready to run

Harry will follow him anywhere.

They finally get to meet up again an hour later, when the drinks rush has died down, and Niall and Zayn are absolutely over his lovesick ranting that Louis can surely hear from the window, his cheeks tinged rose gold.

“Please, deal with your shit,” Zayn begs. “I’m actually going to stick my hand in that blender.”

“Zayn,” Harry warns.

“Oh, ignore the lad. I’ll protect him from the mean, scary knife machine. Now go get your boy.”

With a deep, shuddering breath, Harry nods. “My Louis.” And he can’t help it; his face is overcome with pure delight. “Louis.”

“Fucking hell,” Zayn barks, heading straight to the blenders. “I miss the days of ‘the boy.’ Never thought I’d say that.”

“None of that, now, Zaynie,” Niall screeches, batting him away.

Harry licks his lips and watches Louis until he looks up, his golden-brown fringe dusting over his forehead where, for once, there are no wrinkles or creases or crinkles to be found. It’s the most peaceful he’s ever looked, and Harry wants to drag his fingers along every inch of that gorgeous face. He angles his head towards the door, and Louis nods, smiling softly as he begins heading out with his keyboard.

Outside, Harry finds him sitting on a bench between the shops, in front of the alleyway where he helped him - before he knew what he knows now. Louis, he thinks. “Louis,” he says.

Louis looks up. “Harry.”

They both laugh, and Harry collapses on the bench beside him, their knees brushing.

“What a day,” Harry sighs.

“You’re welcome. My fault.”

“In the best way.”

Louis grins. Louis. Louis!

“God, I can finally update your contact in my phone,” Harry groans in relief.

“Is that what you’re happiest about here?”

“No, honestly? I’m happiest that you saved it just for me.”

Louis’ lips squeeze together, pleased, and he presses his hands into the bench on either side of him. “That I did.”

Harry puts his hand next to Louis’ and inches closer, not wanting to overwhelm him. “It made it really… special. That I get to know it, and it just - the song… it made everything more important.”

“I want it to be yours for a bit,” Louis admits, before Harry feels a light touch on his hand. He glances down to see Louis wrap his pinky around Harry’s, and tingles flow through him. Louis, Louis, Louis. “I’m not like - it’s gonna take me some time to open up, but you make me want to. So… think of this as a… generous… peace offering?” He groans. “God, I’ve no clue what I’m trying to say here.”

“I get it,” Harry laughs, and then he’s feeling bold and brushing his hand up and over Louis’, wrapping around it and tangling their fingers together.

Louis doesn’t comment, but he takes in a shaky breath and lets it out carefully. “Thank you for being so patient and helping me find a place where I can feel safer.”

Harry is pretty sure he’s the color of a tomato by now. “I - w-well, uh. Thank you f-for existing, Louis. Wow - can’t believe I can say that now. Oh, that’s weird, isn’t it? Ah, fuck it. Louis, Louis, Louis.”

Louis laughs and looks at him with more blinding joy than when he’s looking down at freshly crafted latte art, with more adoration than when Harry’s singing for him. “You’re something else, Harry.”

“Knock-knock.”

With a shake of his head and a surprised laugh, Louis replies, “Who’s there?”

“Latte.”

“Latte who?”

“I like you a latte,” Harry finishes, giggling at his own joke and prickling with excitement.

Louis grins and tugs him closer by their connected hand, wrapping the other around his neck, searing the skin as he goes. Louis looks him in the eyes, searching, before closing the gap between them.

Louis’ lips press into his, warm and new and the tiniest bit damp.

Louis kisses him.

Louis.

Louis, Louis, Louis.