Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Harry starts singing the first lines of How Deep Is Your Love a shiver runs down Louis' spine. A dreadful, sickening shiver that is.

It’s not that Louis hates Harry, obviously not. But, well... he'd very much like to chop his curly head off, given the opportunity. He doesn't hate Harry, but he loathes the sheer idea of the singer existing and everything that he represents.

It started out like this: Simon decided to hire a musician to play love songs during the first half of February. He said it would be great for the coffee shop; that it'd promote their Valentine's Day special night and attract more everyday clients because, “Who doesn't like music, huh?”

And Louis agrees, of course he does. At the time he even answered, “I know I do, Big Boss,” because he does love music. And also because he's a flatterer – that's how he landed a job as barista/manager, even though he didn't know how to make a simple Americano two years ago.

What he doesn't like about this poorly thought plan of Simon is that it's very inconsiderate to single people. And it so happens that Louis is one. For quite a long time now.

So yeah, sue him, but he's bitter about people coming and going The Coffee Factor with significant others, all loved up and snuggly, and giggly, and rosy-cheeked, and disgusting. Even Zayn and Niall, the other baristas, don't spare him a thought, bringing Liam and Amy along all the bloody time and acting ridiculously cute.

(Louis will never recover from the sight of Liam licking cream off of Zayn's nose. That day he snapped them with a tea towel and gave the couple a lengthy talk about PDA. They more or less stopped making out in front of Louis. Or at least when they think he's not paying attention, which restores a bit of Louis’ authority.)

Louis was even more bitter when this Monday said singer finally arrived.

He was a hipster. A bloody hipster with long hair, weird clothes, with a hat and everything, who apparently couldn't stop smiling. Which was irritating because it was early and Monday and who even has dimples after eighteen? Louis remembers thinking that the musician looked absolutely pretentious (and just a tad bit fit).

Now, three days later, Harry Styles (even his stupid name is pretentious) is sat on his designated corner of the shop doing his morning set called '70's Gems'. Today he's wearing a blue bandana loosely tied around his neck. Louis contemplates choking the other man with it because he sings ballads beautifully and wholeheartedly, closing his eyes and everything. It's maddening.

Silly Love Songs by Paul McCartney follows next which, yeah, very fitting. Nice pun, Styles. Niall starts dancing around in their area behind the counter and Louis grits his teeth, biting back a scorn because he hates being a mood killer. His good intentions only last until the Irishman bumps into him.

Of course that'd bloody happen, Niall is such an idiot. Half of the latte Louis has been artfully making a heart on now stares at Louis mockingly from the ground.

“Stop with your shenanigans,” Zayn scolds playfully when he passes by them, slapping Niall on the arse. “Louis is about to have a fit. He's grumpy cause he's Forever Alone.”

“Wow, Zayn,” Louis interrupts sarcastically, “nice job bringing up memes from 2010! Next time leave them there, it's fucking embarrassing.”

Zayn shrugs unfazed before pointing out, “Niall is laughing...”, and the other man is in fact hunching over the sink, convulsing over the dirty cups he was supposed to be piling up. Louis doesn't answer straight away.

First he finishes another latte, handing it for the girl who ordered, and only after that he says, “Niall doesn't count. He's always laughing like a hyena. And, besides, he's the reason why I spilled my latte first place.”

“Sorry, mate,” Niall says apologetic, poking Louis in the ribs even though, 1) he knows Louis is ticklish; 2) Louis is his manager. Where's Niall's respect for hierarchy?

Louis jumps away and rolls his eyes irritated, thinking that the two of them took the day to piss him off, it has to be that. The trio spends the rest of the morning rush bickering back and forth as usual, until the movement dies down and Harry is dumbly announcing, “Uhhh... this is... Hm, this is the last song and, hm, have a lovely morning.”

It's a rendition of Abba's Take a Chance On Me, some sort of Boyce Avenue esque. Frankly, it's quite unnerving because it's also... well, it's pretty cool. It's great; fresh and indie, but in a nice way. It gets on Louis nerves because it's catchy and he wants to tap his feet to the rhythm. Only he doesn't. He won't give Harry Styles the pleasure. Any kind of pleasure, honestly.

When the song and the round of applause that follows it are over Harry unplugs his guitar and puts it away in the case, going to the counter to get his free drink. This morning he goes for a Mocha that Niall gladly prepares while making small talk.

“Today's set was sick.”

“Thanks, Niall! I saw you dancing for a mo,” the singer says sounding genuinely happy.

Louis can't see him, turned to the sink where he's rinsing cups, and he thinks it's better this way. They shouldn't make a fuss about Harry. It’s not even like he’s famous or anything.  Just leave him be and before they know he will be gone and this Valentine's nightmare filled with love songs and red hearts will be over.

“Definitely was jamming to you, mate. Here, on the house,” the blond barista jokes, sliding the mug across the counter. “Seriously, you're killing. Lots of clients came to us to compliment you, right Zayn?”

“Yeah,” the other man agrees while refilling the stash of sugar and sweeteners. “It was a brilliant idea having some live music. Some people were even asking if you're here to stay.”

Louis can't help but snicker loudly at that, snorting appalled. What even? That was not what he agreed on! He'd accepted the hipster bloke singing stupid ballads twice a day only because it was a temporary thing.

And now they're talking about him becoming a regular employer? Not even over his dead body! He'll drag his corpse out of its grave and kick Harry out of The Coffee Factor with his decomposed right foot. He'll become a zombie and eat the singer's brain if that's what it takes to stop Harry from coming after the 14th.

There's an awkward pregnant pause when no one talks and Louis realises he might be doing the dishes with more violence than necessary, the tickling sound of porcelain against porcelain resonating loudly across the café.

“Well, that'd be great guys, but erm, I don't think I'd be be very welcomed,” Harry says bold and blunt.

Somehow that makes Louis blood boil. Maybe it's because of how audacious and unexpected it was of him saying that. Or maybe because Harry just broke the social contract; you know, you don't go around point out when people seem to dislike your guts. (And Louis thought he was being low-key. Apparently not.)

Zayn and Niall must sense the storm coming because they even back away to give Louis space to vent. Louis feels like Moses parting the Red Sea. God have mercy of Harry's poor little soul.

“What do you mean by you're not 'very welcomed'? Has anyone here ever been mean to you?”

“Hm, not exactly,” the musician mumbles, and at least he has the decency of blushing when Louis locks eyes with him.

“If you have any problem with the staff you tell me then and there and I'll solve it for you,” he states very important and solemn.

“Well... to be honest you haven't been very nice to me.”

“What?!” Louis exclaims shocked, mostly because he can't believe this Harry Styles person is... a thing. The sheer disrespect... “Exc- Excuse me! I'm- I'm not. I'm don't."

“You're Don't?” Harry asks stupidly, mouth twitching holding back a smile. Is he having a laugh?

Louis plants both of his hands on his hips and he knows he must look ridiculous, like a brat child throwing a tantrum, but he can't hold it back. “I'm not not nice with you,” he says not very eloquently.

“Lou, you've been sort of a dick,” Zayn says, and who even invited him to this conversation first place?

“To be fair, I don't know how Harry's putting up with your ratty arse,” Niall adds. Louis' surrounded by traitors.

“What on Earth have I done?” he asks dramatically.

Honestly, he's well aware of all the nasty things he has been doing to Harry for the past three days. (On Monday evening he put salt in a sugar bowl to mislead him, and just today he tangled the wires of the amp and Harry's gig had started late because of it. Yesterday Louis hid Harry's coat in the freezer when he wasn't looking and then sneaked some muffin crumbles into its pockets).

“Hm, where should we begin?” Zayn asks mockingly, looking ready to list all the pranks. Louis hates him.

“Ok, but consider this: you're all taken and I'm a single pea in my lonely pod surrounded by your sappy Valentine's Day shit.”

“Aw, bro, come on now...”

“Louis, you maniac!” Niall says less sympathetic. “Why you’ve gotta take it on Harry, though? Are you out of your mind?”

“I might be getting a bit insane, yeah. Especially with the lot of you fucktards bugging me for no reason. And that includes you, Harold,” he rants pointing at the man, who's watching their exchange amused.

Louis turns on his heels theatrically and heads to the storeroom even though he has nothing to do down there.

“It's only Har-” the musician tries to correct, but Niall shoves him by the shoulder and calls him out.

“Don't be an idiot, Louis just took you in.”

“He called me a fucktard,” Harry remarks sounding unsure. Louis is pleased; anything to confuse, trouble and torture Styles. He sits on the basement's stairs hearing them talking above his head.

“I know,” Niall answers muffled. “That was affectionate.”

Louis heart races at that and it's so silly. It's not even true. A blatant lie. Niall doesn't know what he's talking about. Louis feels nothing but contempt towards Harry, really. But why does the thought of Harry thinking otherwise makes him so uneasy?

-

Later on the same day, when Harry’s back for his evening gig, Louis intercepts him by the door before the singer even has time to take his coat off.

“Hey, Harry what do you say we play something?”

“Pardon?”

“Me and you. Play a game.”

“Now? What are you on about?” he asks looking completely lost, mouth ajar and so bright red. Louis has to hold back a roll of his eyes because Harry’s so bloody slow and pretty, ugh.

“It’s just something I came up this afternoon. You know, to break the ice. Didn’t you said you wanted us to be friends?” Louis asks forcing a small smile.

And okay, Harry didn’t say anything about becoming friends specifically, but he nods agreeing anyway so Louis plan isn’t too far off. During the lunch shift he was pondering that since it seemed impossible to get rid of Harry, he should at least try to have some fun - preferably at the musician’s expenses. All in all, the game he invented may at least take some boredom away from both of them.

“So I was thinking that I could challenge you to sing a song with a specific word every set you play. You know, a challenge. For fun and stuff.”

Harry looks at him, eyes studying Louis even when he’s hanging his clothes, taking off a blue beanie and fixing his hair. Louis doesn’t know how to read his expression.

“Okay,” the singer finally and simply says. Well, that was easy. Louis had some arguments up his sleeves but it seems he won’t have to use them after all. Good. “Like, now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis agrees, even though he’s been caught quite off guard.

What the fuck? He can’t think of a single word, his mind has gone completely blank. He scans the room but nothing seems good enough. Oh, Jesus, he’s starting to feel a bit silly, the singer is shifting his weight from one leg to the other, waiting. His eyes draw back to Harry, all tall and stupid faced, guitar case slung across his back, and when Louis looks far down the lanky body he finds it.

“Thighs! Why don’t you sing something with ‘thighs’ today?”

Harry is smirking when Louis looks up at his face again. He’s such a twat, why’s Louis even bothering trying to be nice?

“That I can do,” Harry says nodding before walking to the corner where his amp and stool are waiting for him.

Zayn is on a smoking break, but as soon as Harry leaves, Niall is by Louis side wanting to know what they were talking about because apparently Louis was being “too suspiciously chummy for something good to come out of it.”

“Well Niall, I’ll have you know I was being nothing but nice to young Harold over there,” and, conveniently, Harry looks up at the exact moment, and they smile at each other before he’s back tuning his guitar. “See?” the Louis asks smuggly.

“You two are so fucking weird, I swear,” Niall mumbles frowning.

“You do swear a lot, indeed. I must have warned you a billion times about inappropriate workplace language.”

“You two are fecking weird. And you’re fecking annoying when you suddenly become all bossy and shit.”

Louis sighs resigned; he came to accept a long time now that Niall won’t stop cursing, it’s on his blood or something. The coffee shop is starting to fill in with the night crowd so Louis shoos away Niall and Grace, the new trainee, to their places behind the counter.

There’s something buzzing under Louis skin, like that rush he gets every time he’s starting something new and expectation pumps through his veins. Which is nonsense. It’s… it’s rubbish, really. Yeah, Harry’s going to sing a song in public, for the whole café to hear, at Louis request. So what?

Does it baffles Louis how easily Harry accepted the challenge? Yes, a little bit. Louis even wonders how far he can push until the singer breaks down. His sadistic side is thinking that that’ll be funny to watch – Harry publicly embarrassed, forgetting the lyrics and mumbling and blushing.

The manager is brewing a shot of espresso when Harry starts his set.

“Good evening everyone,” he greets, “my name’s Harry Styles and I’ll be your singer tonight. I’d like to offer this first song to Louis over there.”

Louis can see all the staff snapping their heads to him, but he keeps working unfazed, locking the portafilter to the machine and watching the first drops of the black liquid dripping down as hot as his face. He doesn’t know the song (it’s probably something indie), but the first part ends like this, “In my imagination/You're waiting lying on your side/With your hands between your thighs.”

When Louis turns around to lock eyes with Harry, the musician is smirking again, looking at him with big hopeful eyes, almost as if he’s waiting for some praise. Louis obviously won’t give him the satisfaction. You don’t see Tupac complimenting Biggie around, do you? (Maybe because they’re both dead, but details).

But fine, he’s gotta admit, it’s fascinating the way Harry strums his fingers through the strings,  all graceful and naturally. Louis might not be able to look away. He doesn’t even wanna try. And that was exactly why he didn’t want to give the singer attention first place. He knew he’d end up hating Harry less, which is a complete disaster.

“You okay?” Zayn asks startling him.

“Fine,” Louis answer more high pitched than usual. Bloody hell. “I’m great. Brilliant.”

“Cool,” Zayn says with a small knowing smirk painted on his pretty mouth. “Mind getting the next order?”

“Reckon I’m the manager here,” Louis retorts pissed. Which, okay, that was uncalled for. “But yeah, I’ve got it.”

The rest of the evening is so busy, all of them rushing around with cup after cup of tea and coffee, that they don’t notice time passing until Harry’s mumbling in his typical and irritating drawl, “Thanks a lot for having me, have a marvellous night and I’ll see you round. Oh, and if you have a chance, try the blueberry muffin, it’s spectacular.”

When he nears the counter for his free cuppa Louis is already guarding a large mug of tea for him.

“Nice job,” he salutes handing it over.

“Thanks,” Harry says almost bashful and Louis wonders if he loses his confidence when he’s not behind his guitar. “Friends?”

Louis thinks before answering because yeah, that was nice of Harry, agreeing to the challenge. But sometimes Louis still has urges of plucking Harry’s fugly greasy hair one by one and that’s not what he usually feels for his friends, is it?

“We’ll see,” he settles for, vague and obnoxious.

“Jaysus, you’re so annoying, Louis,” Niall pips in, even though he’s not wanted there.

“Excuse you,” Louis says swatting him in the forearm. “The conversation here is between H and L, N is far down in the alphabet.”

“It’s okay Niall,” Harry appeases diplomatic. “I may lose some battles but I’ll win the war.”

Louis grunts. God, Harry is such a Gandhi wannabe. What does that even have to do with anything? Win the war... Louis can’t bear his fucking pretentious new age gibberish. He wonders where he can find tweezers this time of the day while watching Harry’s bouncy brown hair falling all over his stupid face.  

-

Apparently by ‘winning the war’ Harry meant ‘wearing Louis off’ or something. The singer managed to charm the pants off of everyone in the coffee shop, from the staff to regular patrons. Everyone but Louis. And it looks like making friends with the manager has become Harry’s personal goal because he tries so hard that it’s almost embarrassing.

Every challenge Louis lays on the table seems to fuel Harry’s fire even more. Honestly, Louis wonders if his plan might be backfiring a little bit while he watches amazed Harry doing a rendition of Kanye’s Bound 2 (that song with Kim Kardashian on the clip that Louis fricking loves).

“Bound! Bound to falling in love. Uh-huh, honey//I wanna effe you hard on the sink/After that, give you something to drink.”

Harry has that smug smirk that Louis learnt to read as ‘Did you see what I just did there? I sang the word you gave me!’ And, although Louis is impressed by Harry’s capacity of pulling out of the hat the most odd and cool covers, the manager never let it show.

Sometimes he doesn’t even acknowledges it, like when on his Saturday morning set Harry sang a Bon Iver tune with ‘maroon’ in it and Louis was too busy preparing five cappuccinos at the same time to pay attention.

Louis day off is on Sunday, because it’s one of the calmest days in The Coffee Factor, and he gets himself yearning for Monday while watching bored Man U vs. Chelsea. Which is new. And quite worrisome.

He has a six pack of Corona, some takeaway curry and his fuzzy socks that he only wears when he’s alone. It was supposed to be a proper Footie Splurging party. Yet before he realises he’s googling ‘James Bay’ and listening to folk indie stuff, wondering what the lads must be up to at the café.

When Monday finally arrives he doesn’t even dreads having to wake up before the sun, getting to the shop quite energized. Is it odd for his patterns? Absolutely. Does it give Zayn the right to point that out? Absolutely not.

“You look weird.”

“Thanks, Zayn. You look awful too,” he retorts while grinding enough coffee for the morning rush.

“Weird good, I mean. Are you shagging someone?” Zayn asks suspicious over the sound of the machine crushing the poor coffee beans.

“Off course not.”

“Right. Yeah, stupid question. We’d know for sure, you can’t shut your gob when you’re seeing someone.”

Louis clicks his tongue dismissively and irritated before replying, “And you can’t shut your gob. Full stop.”

Zayn bursts on a laugh and then says, “I take it back. You’re weird bad.”

He’s saved by someone entering the shop and apparently ignoring the ‘Closed’ sign. Louis is about to kick the early costumer out when he realizes it’s Harry. His hand vacillates on the button of the grinding machine and it stops working. The Coffee Factor is suddenly very quiet and Louis wonders if anyone else can hear the thump thump on his ears. Why on Earth is his heart speeding up this much? Must be the shock of seeing Harry’s frog face this early.

“Morning,” Harry greets raspy.

“Hey, bro,” Zayn greets back.

Louis merely glances him a disinterested look before turning the grinder back on. First he can smell Harry’s fresh cologne, even over the smell of roasted coffee, and then he feels the man taping him on the shoulder. “Morning, Louis,” he repeats almost as if he’s encouraging a shy kid. It’s too early in the morning for this shit.

“Why are you here?” Louis asks cranky, “Your gig doesn’t start for a couple of hours.”

“Early bird gets the worm,” he answer, waggling his eyebrows suggestively like an idiot, and Louis wants to grind Harry’s dumb face on the machine to stop him from being such a dork. “Actually I’m guessing you’ve spent your day off compiling all sorts of absurd words. I wonder if you could at least tell me beforehand so I get to practice whatever comes out of your pretty head.”

Busted! Louis will never admit that he’s got a list with more than 40 random words he spent his Sunday writing down. Never. Dear Lord, Harry is such a tit for reading his mind and knowing him way too well, if you consider they didn’t know each other existed a week ago.

“I have no idea what you’re on about. But since I’m feeling magnanimous today,” Louis can hear Zayn snigger from the pantry at that, but he keeps going unperturbed, “I’ll have you know this morning’s word is ‘Fergalicious’.”

The blank expression on Harry’s face is priceless. He’s looking at Louis in disbelief, as if Louis’ an alien or something else out of this world. Louis feels quite accomplished. So self-satisfied that he’d high five himself if it didn’t look so stupid.

“I… I suppose I better get to practice, then."

“Good luck, Harold,” he says waving him a goodbye. There’s a mean smirk creeping up its way to Louis’ mouth that he doesn’t hold back. Okay, this game is more entertaining than he’d first thought.

If he’s being honest, Louis can’t stop thinking about what’s to come, can’t wait for the performance. Harry’s on a far corner of the café and Louis barely can see him. For the glances he gets to steal, he notices Harry muttering the lyrics with his eyes closed while pressing the earphones into his ears. Good luck learning classics of pop music by osmosis, Louis thinks amused.

The first customers of the day come and go and Harry’s still there trying to learn the song. Grace arrives at 8 A.M. asking why the musician hasn’t taken up the stage yet. Louis shrugs innocently, sprinkling some cinnamon on a latte.

“You should give him a chance, he’s really trying,” Zayn whispers when Louis finishes up and they both serve their drinks at the same time.

“And you should stay in your lane, Malik.”

“But seriously,” the barista keeps going, unshaken by Louis harshness, “why are you being more shifty than usual? You’re snapping at us all the time.”

“Nonsense,” Louis says with a lack of something better to say. Harry Styles idiocy must be contagious, someone put him in quarantine. Next thing Louis will be stuttering too.

Thankfully Zayn lets it go for now, simply raising an eyebrow unconvinced and turning on his heels to continue what he’s doing.

“Testing, testing,” Harry says suddenly on the microphone and Louis jumps thirty metres out of his skin. “Testing, four, tres, two, uno. Ok, uh… I’m sorry if the first song of this rainy Monday isn’t Valentinesy per se, but… Hm, well, this is for Louis over there, who I can atest makes a fergalicious cuppa of Yorkshire tea.”

Before he knows Louis is abandoning halfway the espresso he was brewing to watch. He can’t believe what Harry’s doing. It’s… It’s fairly impressive, he must say. He’s recording his own backing vocals, live, right there for everyone to see. Like Ed Sheeran does, even as sick as the ginger does.

Louis wants to scoop out his eyeballs because he can’t turn away, can’t stop watching transfixed, and it feels wrong. It’s like he’s betraying himself.

The singer slowed the song down so he could still play the guitar and it sounds so chill. Harry is smiling up cheeky and right at Louis’ direction as he sings, “Fergalicious definition make them boys go loco”. The little shit. Louis is putting cyanide in his free drink today.

Later, when Harry wraps up and the morning rush dies down, he skips his way to the counter looking pleased with himself.

“Went for the obvious choice, I see?” Louis teases, only to see Harry’s bright smile flinch.

“I don’t think there’s any other song with this word?” the poor thing says unsure.

“Or maybe you just didn’t dig hard enough,” Louis suggests, leaving to fetch some milk. “Mocha? Cappuccino?”

“Uh, maybe a double Latte, please,” the singer says, and Louis can feel his eyes burning holes at the back of Louis’ head as he prepares the coffee. No poisoning this time, it seems.  “Louis, admit it, you just wanted to see me singing it.”

“Well, Fergalicious is a classic after all…” he says landing the large cup in front of Harry and pouring foam absently to form a wonky heart. “There you go.”

“Thanks. Where’s Niall?”

“It’s his day off. He’s gonna be mad when he discover what he missed…”

“Are you saying it was a good performance, then?” Harry asks smiling from behind the brim of his mug, hopeful big eyes bright with intention.

Louis studies him for some time, taking in how frizzy his hair looks today because of the wet weather, the stupid motorcycle pattern on his not buttoned enough shirt and how there’s foam on his upper lip, which makes him look like a toddler in his pj that just rolled out of bed.

He doesn’t pressure Louis to answer, what’s probably for good because for once the barista forgot he has a functioning mouth. Harry is such a mystery and at the same time so open, like... how? It’s so irritating.

“I hope you choke on this bloody coffee,” Louis finally replies, and it’s so unexpected that Harry laughs and snorts some piping hot liquid out of his nose. Jesus Christ! “Fuck, you’re helpless!” Louis scolds fetching a handful of napkins and shoving in Harry’s face.

After cleaning up the mess and with red burned nostrils Harry smiles at Louis devilishly and says, “Want me to choke so you can perform a mouth-to-mouth?”

Okay, Louis can't even be mad at him, this cheeky hipster weirdo. Maybe things are getting a bit out of hand. Louis is for sure starting to feel like a Disney villain; he’s the Cruella de Vil to Harry’s... coat made of puppies. And if that’s not a sign to stop bullying unaware hipster tossers, Louis doesn’t know what would be.

Is he really letting Harry win this battle?

-

If the first week flew by like a jet, the second one passes by at rocket speed. Is Louis blinking between a shot of espresso and another and Thursday is there biting on their tails. He doesn’t even realise Valentine’s is in two days until Simon shows up to deliver the ingredients for the special dinner.

In the mean time Harry managed to fill all of Louis requests, which is bloody frustrating. Especially when he gets to find a love song that is also fitting for his set – like that time he sang Paolo Nutini’s Candy beautifully (“Oh, darling I'll kiss your eyes/And lay you down on your rug/Just give me some candy/After my hug”).

It doesn’t matter what Louis throws in his direction, he always scores. Genghis Khan? No worries, Harry has a Bob Dylan song for that. Corn? Sure, here’s a cool cover of Colors of Wind to melt all the girls’ hearts. Friction? Fine, he’ll pull Sugar, We’re Going Down out of his arse and bring you back to 2006.

It’s so maddening that Louis wants to throw salt all over Harry’s frog face. Or maybe he could fill all the cream donuts with mayo and give one to him. Even better, he should sign Harry up for a free subscription to Cat Facts.

What about gifting the singer with a kitten that can only sleep on his keyboard? Yeah, that’d be… Well, that’d be quite cute actually. Louis might be losing his powers. Shit, his ability to pull mean pranks is getting compromised. Harry’s weakening him!

“Hey, Lou,” Harry calls smiley from the other side of the counter, waking him up from his reverie. “I was wondering… What’s the prize if I win the game?”

“What?” Louis asks still dazed from his daydream.

“What do I get if I… you know, sing all the words you propose.”

Louis blinks blank at Harry, who’s still sporting a small smile for no apparent reason. It’s so unnerving, what’s so funny? Does Louis has a smudge on his face or something? Harry sits down on a stool, playing with an empty mug that Louis hasn’t collected yet.

And now thinking about... why is he always there? Doesn't he have anything else to do? Like leap around. Eat some flies. Be kissed by princesses.

“I don’t know,” Louis finally replies, shrugging nonchalantly. “What do you want?”

“Can I think about it and tell you later?”

“Sure,” he says batting Harry’s massive paw away and wiping the counter profusely. “I can’t promise you’ll get it, though.”

Harry gapes at him theatrically. “Are you telling me that all my efforts were for nothing?”

“Reckon all you wanted was for us to be friends, no?”

“Which clearly hasn’t happened,” Harry points out joking, pouting his pretty pink lips. “You’re still treating me terribly.”

“I am not!” Louis exclaims indignant.

“You are! You’re horrid! You just slapped me!”

“Playfully.”

“You spiked my cappuccino with Baileys the other day,” Harry recalls, an amused smile insisting on pulling on his mouth.

“And you fucking loved it! Chugged it all in.”

“Clearly unaware! I played my whole set with an out of tune guitar because I was too tipsy to realise.”

“Joke is on you for being such a lightweight,” Louis teases winking and- fuck. That was uncalled for. But also unconscious. Totally by reflex. Harry doesn’t seem to realise the sudden flirty vibe because he keeps up the banter unfazed.

“Okay, I think I know what I want.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. What if you do one nice thing to me? For everyone to see and with your whole heart. Like you really mean it.”

“Then I’d be lying…” Louis responds because he can’t help, his tongue itches with nasty retorts even when he truly wants to be nice.

“Come on! I only have two more days here and then I’m gone. Can’t you be kind for once?”

“I can. Just… Just not with you.”

Harry arches his eyebrows at that and Louis realises he’s not being playful anymore. Shit. He’s actually quite hurt, if Louis would say so.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says honestly. “It’s not personal, really. I mean, I don’t even know you,” he rambles on, and bloody hell, he’s making everything even worse, isn’t he? “I… Shit. What I mean is, Simon just shoved you down my throat and before I knew a hipster weirdo was singing ballads at my workplace and the truth is… I haven’t snog anyone for quite some time and-”

“Okay, Louis. Breath,” Harry interrupts, mouth twitching again. “It’s not personal, I get it. That’s why you should try to be nice, now that you know I’m nice.”

“I never said you were nice,” Louis blurts before he thinks. “Sorry, sorry! Fine. I can do nice. Yeah, nice. Happy days! Hm… Any plans for Valentine’s?” he asks, and before Harry gets it twisted because Louis have just been ranting about his celibacy, he amends, “I mean, what songs are you going to play? You’ve got the setlist thought thorough?”

“Oh,” Harry says taken aback. “For a moment I thought you were… silly me. I… Yeah, mostly. Might be doing something special. Maybe an original song if Simon doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t think he’ll be here, so do whatever you want.”

“Thanks, Louis. That’s nice of you,” Harry says dumbly, smiling that five thousand watts smile of his. His front teeth are so squared that Louis wants to punch them out. No, scratch that. He’s supposed to be nice. Happy thoughts.

Louis looks up at the clock on the cash register and notices it’s a quarter past ten. God, he should have closed the shop fifteen minutes ago. His stomach does a weird salsa dance when he realises it’s only the two of them left. How come he missed the time like this?

“We should get going,” he says putting the money away in the safe and closing out the register.

“Do you want a lift?”

“No… it’s fine, I can walk,” Louis dismisses trying to be polite.

(The truth is, Louis doesn’t accept because he’s suddenly nervous about the perspective of being confined with Harry in such a small space. Which is silly, he knows it’s bloody stupid, but he can’t help. Who knows? Harry might be a serial killer… He does have a creepy stare sometimes.)

“Nonsense, it’s dangerous to walk this late at night. This is London, you’re not in Yorkshire anymore.”

Louis turns off the lights of the back before answering, “Oh, shut up. I've been living in here for ages. I’m tough. And I know how to get by in a large city.” He glances around the shop one last time before following Harry’s suit and putting his coat on too. “I’m not the one who trips on thin air and look like an animal from the woods.”

“I look like an animal from the woods?” Harry asks surprised, a smirk pulling on his face.

“Uh-huh. Like… Bambi or some shit,” Louis says waving him off. When Harry doesn’t move, still by the door looking at him amused, Louis just leads him out of the café by the small of his back. “You know those animals that help Snow White when she runs from the castle? Those ones.”

“You’re insane,” Harry says chuckling and shaking his head.

The night outside is cold and the air crispy. Harry’s breath mists as he laughs and the tinkling sound he makes echoes through the empty street. His eyes are so starry under the lamp post that when he asks, “Let’s go?”, Louis simply nods instead of saying no.

He was supposed to be nice, right? Let Harry enjoy his company a bit more longer, then; apparently the boy is a masochist and likes being around Louis even when he’s being mercilessly teased.

(Louis will never admit that during the ten minutes drive he realised Harry was not that awful himself.)

-

Friday is spent preparing the café for the next day. They have to cut even more paper hearts than the ones already dangling from the ceiling; put up heart shaped balloons and Louis has to keep an eye on the chef Simon hired, Grimmy – who, being quite honest, looks more interested in flirting with all the males around than on the three course dinner he's supposed to cook.

“I'm making coq au vin,” he says suggestively to Harry, who's set by the counter having herbal tea after his morning set. (He sang Joni Mitchell's River, “Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on/I made my baby cry.”)

“Coq as in...?” Niall asks because he has to interrupt every conversation all the bloody time.

“As in French for chicken, you dirty minded cheeky bastard!” Grimmy says outraged, as if he didn't want everybody to think of dicks. Louis has the urge to smack him square on the face with one of his pans.

“Why is everyone loitering here?!” Louis asks stressed when he gets back from the flower shop, realising that everyone is chatting while he worries about his tasks more than Noah when assembling all the animals. “Don't you have anything to do? New chef, kitchen is in the back, you know? Niall, go find something to do. Harry, what the fuck are you still doing here and why are you distracting everyone from their duties? Where's Zayn?”

“Ok, Tommo, take a deep breathe,” Niall says, rounding the counter to where Louis is standing with a bouquet of roses. Since he apparently has a death wish, he goes for a massage on his manager's shoulder. “We're gonna smash it,” he soothes while kneading Louis' tense muscles. “Zayn's dealing with the arts and crafts in a table over there because he's a talented motherfucker. Harry volunteered to help with the candles and flowers ornaments for the tables. Re-lax.”

Louis fixes the blond with a suspicious look but allows him to keep going because who'd know Niall has such magical fingers?

“We were trying to come up with cute messages to write on the takeaway coffee cups tomorrow, wanna help?” Harry asks casually, showing a notepad with some scribbles, as if he works in the café too. See what Louis means? He never leaves, it's overwhelming.

Louis wants to poke fun at him, tell him to leap back to his pound, but instead he gets himself merely questioning, “What you have so far?”

“You're my cup of tea. I like you a latte,” Harry reads out loud, a stupid smile pulling on his mouth. “You Mocha me happy. Words cannot espresso how much I love you...”

“Seriously? Puns, Styles?” Louis mocks disgusted, finally shrugging Niall off of him. He sits down beside Harry, lies the massive bunch of flowers on the counter and takes the notepad from the musician harshly.

Harry watches amused as he writes down some suggestions, and then when Louis finishes with a flourish the singer starts reading them out loud. “You’ll do? You're acceptable?” Harry asks incredulous. “You repulse me the least? Gotta kiss myself I'm so pretty? Nice Bruno Mars reference, but that's not even... Are you serious?” Harry asks in disbelief.

Louis laughs and punches him in the arm, making Harry spill his tea. Harry winces with a little “Ow!”, watching a damp spot forming on his jeans.

“I should make you lick this,” he says threateningly, coming off as an angry puppy.

“Pfff, please,” Louis sneers. “You and me both know that you don't have an ounce of violence in you to force anyone to do anything.”

“Excuse me, how do you know?”

“Because I've been teasing you for two weeks now and you didn't even react. Haven’t even told me to fuck myself. Nerves of steel, gotta admit,” Louis confesses shrugging.

“I could, you know? Tell you to fuck... whoever,” Harry replies watching Louis with a small smirk.

“Whoever? Like- Anyone specifically?” Louis prompts, and for the first time he realises.

He wants Harry to say 'me'.

Shit. He wants Harry to say 'I could tell you to fuck me' which is... rubbish. It's nonsense, absolute madness. Harry is good-looking, Louis will give him that. And okay, everyone knows Louis number one turn on is good ol' banter.

But that's Harry, ew. Pretentious hipster Harry. Frog faced Harry. Hat wearer Harry. Ballad singer Harry. Whipped, dimpled-smiled, voice of an angel Harry. Cheeky, lanky, clumsy Harry. Charming, solicitous, gorgeous, funny, nice Harry.

Okay, when you put all these things together it does make sense that Louis would be... infatuated. Just a tiny bit. Which is cringe worthy, because thinking back of the last two weeks Louis realises he has been doing nothing but pushing Harry away. The musician must have a vocation for punching bag, because nobody can endure this much teasing. That, or maybe...

“I can think of a couple of people...” Harry says interrupting Louis' clarity moment.

“Speaking of couple, I think I'll suggest the last word of your challenge tonight, yeah? Don't want you to spoil your Valentine's set.”

Harry looks at him with excited wide eyes. “Are you telling me you're going to be nice to me on Valentine's day?”

Louis studies Harry, as if he hadn't learnt by heart the way his hair curls and the shapes his mouth moves.  “One nice thing,” he concedes, because Harry is smiling like Louis promised to create a new religion to marry him, Henry VIII style, and isn't it the most maddening thing? “If you don't fuck up this evening.”

“Please, don't suggest anything too crazy.”

“Don't you know me, dear Harold?” he teases, but as soon as the words leave Louis' mouth he notices how endeared they sound. He's screwed. And it's all Harry Styles fault.

-

The Coffee Factor is packed the whole day on the 14th. People are so unimaginative. Coffee dates must be the most boring and predictable thing ever, but yet here they are, all of these couples daring to forget about the world as they get snugly in the cosy café. Louis wants to scoop his eyeballs out with a teaspoon.

He's very much aware that he's been acting like the Grinch of Valentine's since Harry arrived, and today he can't help but be sour at full force. A mix of vinegar, lemon juice and sour cream level of bitterness. But it's just so infuriating.

Harry's wearing a heart printed unbuttoned shirt today, one that Louis is sure he saw Victoria Beckham wearing on the cover of gossip magazines. He sang a beautiful and sort of sad original song called Just a Little Bit of My Heart, and that was pretty much the only time Louis paid attention to him today, because he had so many errands to run.

Lunchtime is madness, as if hell broke loose and all sorts of evil spirits got freed. Okay, maybe Louis is exaggerating. But at a point things seem so on the verge to blow up that the manager is considering going to the pantry to have a bit of a cry.

That's when he spots Harry in an apron behind the counter, smiling at clients and serving coffee, wishing them a Happy Valentine's day and everything. Louis nearly short circuits, but he doesn't ask Harry to stop because they really were in the need of a helping hand.

They close the shop at 5 PM to prepare the tables for dinner and have a collective break. As soon as they stop Zayn runs outside to smoke, moving faster than Louis have ever seen, lighting up the second cigarette on the first, and then even a third. Niall devours ten sausage rolls in seconds and Louis will kill him if he gets sick on the floor Grace is sweeping.

“Harry! What on Earth are you still doing here?” Louis asks when he notices the singer is still there. “You didn't have to...”

“It's okay, I don't mind,” he says shrugging while rinsing cups in the sink. “I like you- you guys,” he amends, clumsily dropping a mug with a loud noise.

“Remind me to sign you up with some extra hours, yeah? Okay, The Coffee Factor team assemble!” Louis shouts excitedly, clapping hands like those American coaches in movies about superation and sports and shit. “Ready to kick some butts?”

“What's got into you?” Zayn asks, his monotone tone nearly killing the high energy mood Louis' got.

“I'm the leader here, I'm suppose to-”

“Does anyone fancy getting some garlic in the deli on the corner?” Chef Grimshaw asks popping his head from the kitchen door.

“How are things going so far?” Louis asks looking over his shoulder.

“I need some garlic.”

“Besides that.”

“Well, I didn't ask for anything else, did I?” Grimmy replies sassily and Louis can't even believe his ears. Is this knob really talking to him like this? In front of his staff? Oh, hell no...

“I'll go,” Harry jumps in, and Louis murderous stare diverts from the cook to him, immediately softening.

“Harry, love, you've done enough, you don't have to fill this prat's request.”

“It's no big deal, I'll be right back,” the singer says, and before the fact that Louis just called him love sinks in, the musician is gone.

“Love?” Zayn and Niall ask at the same time, the pair of tools. Louis throws a dish towel at them before going to the kitchen to have a talk with Grimshaw. He won't stand this sort of behaviour when everyone is so stressed out and over worked. God bless helpful Harry Styles.

-

The night is a success. A big hit, really. Louis is genuinely proud of how things turned up. They managed to create an intimate vibe with candlelight and Harry sang the perfect set of love songs. There were champagne bottles popping and happy loved up faces everywhere you looked. Grimshaw's food got excellent praises. A couple of lesbians even got engaged, it was the cutest thing and the highlight of the night.

They are all wrecked by the end of the night. Niall kicks off his shoes complaining about blisters. Zayn looks about to gather a couple of chairs and snooze on them. Grimshaw is a mess of sauce spills and frizzy hair. Louis almost forgot about Harry's prize, but then he saw Harry eating a chocolate chip cookie, hunched over the counter looking spent, and remembered.

“Hey, Harry, can you come over to the pantry with me?” he asks, causing a round of teasing 'Uhhh's from his employees. Fuck them.

And okay, Louis is sorta nervous, but only because he doesn't know if Harry will like it. Maybe it's not nice enough. Well, what's done is done.

“I- Hm, Happy Valentine's,” Louis says fiddling with his backpack until he finds the package. “It's not much, but you can't say I didn't try.”

“I'm sure I'll love it,” Harry says, smiling a tired but nonetheless bright smile.

“Shut up, you didn't even see it yet,” Louis says fondly as he watches Harry ripping the wrapping paper.

Inside there's a giant biscuit in which is written with green glaze, “You grew on me... like mould”. Harry crackles loudly at that, a ridiculous screeching laugh that hits Louis hard. Shit. He's so worried trying to shut down the sudden wave of affection that washes over him that he almost misses Harry finding the golden medal underneath the cookie.

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry says, and his arm does this weird twitch as if he was going to reach for Louis but gave up. Instead, he puts on the medal, the golden plaque resting tempting on his naked chest. Louis fusses with the hem of his shirt, even though it's perfectly fine, but he's all of a sudden uneasy. Which is silly. He doesn't do nervous. He doesn't hesitate.

Yet here he is in front of Harry, who he's probably never seeing again, not knowing what to do. Even now that Louis has more or less come to terms with his feelings for Harry all he wants is to punch him, mainly because of what he does with Louis. He doesn't feel like himself around him, it's so odd and exasperating.

If it was any other man that he fancied, Louis would be quite forward. He'd let the other bloke know what his intentions were and they'd be snogging before you knew it. But with Harry...

They started out as frienemies and Louis particularly was so mean to him. And they belong to different worlds. Harry's so cool and out of reach. He's so good compared to Louis. Harry... Harry wins at life is the thing. He has everything: the heart, the talent, the looks...

“Okay, lovebirds, time's up!” Grimshaw says walking into the pantry, startling them. “Seven minutes in heaven is over. I think my knives set is here somewhere.”

“Sod off,” Louis grunts, bumping into him as he walks out.

He doesn't know if he's grateful or not that the cook interrupted their moment. At least Louis was spared of making a fool of himself, he felt like he was about do something really stupid. Harry's hot in his heels when they get to the front of the shop.

“Hey H, you must promise to come by one of these days,” Niall says walking in their direction.

“Yeah, mate,” Zayn mumbles sleepy, “please don't disappear and shit.”

Niall brings Harry into a crushing hug, and the singer says muffled against his blond hair, “I won't. I really like this place.”

“Good. You're part of the family now,” Niall says emotionally and Louis is about to mock him when Amy, Niall's girlfriend, walks in.

“Good night, everyone,” she greets.

“Louis, is it okay if I go?” the Irish asks after kissing her. “Gotta enjoy the last minutes of V day's with the missus.”

“Sure, sure. Where's Liam, Z?”

“He's waiting home. Can I-?”

“Of course, man. Thanks for helping today, yeah? You two were brilliant,” the manager says, sincerely appreciative.

“Hold the door, please!” Grimmy shouts, leaving with everyone else.

They let a cold wind in. It's still winter and the night is as London-ish as it could be; rainy and freezing. Louis feels very lonely out of the blue.

“Wanna lift home again?”

“Harry!” he exclaims jumping out of his skin, turning around to realise that the musician is standing like a ghost in the middle of the café. “Jesus Fucking Christ!” the manager curses holding his chest.

Harry chuckles, looking lovely with both hands behind his back like a toddler. “I'm sorry. I thought you would want a ride home.”

“Harry, seriously, you've done so much today. Go home, enjoy the rest of the-”

“Louis,” Harry says stern, and shit, he’s never looked more serious. “I'm where I want to be.”

“Don't you... don't you have things to do? A date?”

“Nope,” he says and there's something glistening in his eyes that makes Louis insides riverdance.

There's a tense moment when Louis tries to unsuccessfully decipher the meaning of the green shine. Harry just lets himself be studied, warm and inviting, a human blanket that Louis wants wrapped all around himself. “Okay. I'll just close out the register, yeah?”

“Take your time.”

Outside is snowing the last time this winter, just flimsy, wispy flakes floating in the air, swirling calmly in the dark night. If it wasn't for the snow it would almost feel like deja vu, like the other night Harry gave him a ride. His irises are once again glossy under the street light and he says “Let's go?” the same way as before.

The radio is humming in the background during the ten minutes ride and the car gets stuffy quickly when Harry turns on the heating. There's a familiar smell in the air, maybe Harry's cologne mixed with sugar. Harry's presence is comforting, and he smiles at Louis every ten seconds, checking on him. The atmosphere is so cosy that Louis doses off watching the snowflakes hitting the windshield.

He wakes up to Harry's face hovering over his, only inches away. Louis can feel the other's heavy hand on his shoulder, where Harry shook him awake.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” the idiot says, and for a moment Louis believes it's morning because the other man is smiling as bright as the sun.

“Sorry,” he grunts rubbing his eyes, and Harry's hand still hasn't left his shoulder. “Guess I fell asleep...”

“It's okay, you must be tired as fuck.”

“I am. Thanks God Simon gave us the day off tomorrow,” Louis says sitting up straight and unbuckling the seat belt. “Well, thanks for the lift. Stop by the shop so I can make you a free cuppa myself, yeah?”

Harry nods biting his lower lip in a way Louis never thought people did in real life. It's so cartoonish and so loving... He wants to prolong his stay in the car, wants to hold the conversation until they run out of things to discuss, but the truth is that he already took too much advantage of Harry's good will.

“See you around, Hazza.”

“See you,” he answers softly, and before Louis knows he's bending down and giving the singer a hug. Which is kind of stupid, but also kind of brilliant because Harry's a great huger, on a Lady Godiva truffles, last days of spring and crispy new Vans level of grandness.

If there's one thing that makes Louis regret it, is the feeling left on him after they part ways – it feels like blindly free falling on a precipice. Or maybe in love.

-

“What's got into you?” Niall asks, the annoying fucker.

And okay, Louis is grouchy because it's Monday, he’s not going to lie. But it’s already the middle of the afternoon, so the main reason he’s on a short fuse is because Niall has been getting on his nerves the whole day. And Zayn sometimes.

The fact that it was Louis’ turn to clean the rubbish was also rather annoying. And maybe getting frustrated because their stock of straws is dangerously low was a bit of an overreaction, but Grace really deserved a scold earlier for spilling ground coffee on the ground.

“Nothing, I’ve told you,” mumbles moody.

“You've been moping all day...”

“Are you watching me instead of doing your job?”

Niall laughs that booming irritating laugh of his and Louis has the urge to shove a handful of napkins down his bloody throat. “I can do both. Hey, Zayn,” the blond shouts across the coffee shop, “isn't Louis grumpy today?”

“Grumpier than the Grumpy Cat,” the other barista agrees and it's such a stupid answer that Louis is already filing their lay-offs in his mind.

“Ugh, enough with the memes, you nerd,” Louis complains while massaging his temples. It's been a long day and there's something itching underneath his skin that he can't pinpoint. Zayn and Niall should drop it.

“Maybe you're... missing something?” Niall suggests, not leaving him alone. What's he even on about? Louis sighs, but doesn't dignify the Irish bugger with an answer.

What if he's been moping all day? What do they have to do with it, huh? He's not even snapping at them. Not too much. Okay, he is, but it's their duty as his employees and best friends to tolerate his bad temper. Louis’ quite sure it's going to fade sooner or later.

Was Sunday kind of bad to cope, after all the Valentine's rush? Yeah, he'll admit; it felt depressing suddenly having nothing to do, alone in his flat, but at least he Skyped his family and had a long nap. Now all he's trying to do is keep going with his life, pretending froggy indie singers never happened, but his friends simply can't let go.

A good slice of the morning was spent mourning Harry's absence; Niall bad-mouthed their tired and outdated selection of background music whilst Zayn prepared his drinks while humming something Louis recognized as one of Harry’s originals.

“What if we go buy some straws in the shop two blocks down, since you were so worried?” Zayn asks casually, and if Louis didn’t know him better he wouldn’t notice it was too casually.

“You don’t have to come,” the manager snaps. “It’s not like I’ll need help to carry it or something.”

“I know,” Zayn replies patient, “but I want to have a smoking break before the evening rush. Come on,” he says pulling Louis by the elbow.

Louis suspicions start to grow when Zayn keeps texting all the way to the shop, merely paying attention to his rant about the advantages of bendy straws. Then, when they’re about to pay, Zayn decides he needs party poppers for an art project at Uni, and he spends good ten minutes to decide what to take, which… are there even that many types of party poppers?

Twenty minutes later, when they finally get back to the coffeeshop, Louis notices that there’s a commotion inside and his heart races because he left the café unattended and Niall must have fucking set it on fire. Oh, God, he’s so screwed. He’s going to kill Niall if he hasn’t turned into barbecue by now.

Louis breaks into The Coffee Factor shouting desperate, “What’s going-?” but he never gets to finish.

He’s waiting for flames and smoke but, instead, he gets bubbles. Loads and loads of bubbles shoot straight to his face, floating around in the air and popping wet whenever they touch him. He tries to make his way through the mess, fighting the bubbles sure looking like an idiot, and that’s when the distinctive sound of Harry’s laugh hits his ears. Louis freezes on place. What the hell is going on?

The singer is on his usual spot, the corner where he used to seat for two weeks, and he’s in full on hipster glory: brown hat, stripped unbuttoned shirt and acoustic guitar in hands. When he locks eyes with Louis he looks nervous, shifting on the stool and playing with a ring on his middle finger, and Louis would very much like to know what on Earth is happening.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. I’d like to thank you all before hand for helping me out with this, and uh… This is a special set and I hope you like it,” Harry says, the last part clearly addressed to Louis with a butter on toast sort of melting smile.

The bubbles machine is still working when Harry starts strumming in his guitar an upbeat catchy folk song. You don't understand, you don't understand/What you do to me when you hold his hand...

Louis watches him mesmerized because Harry’s long hair is falling on his face but you still can see dimples behind it. Everyone in the café is clapping along and then damn Niall shows up out of nowhere with his guitar, singing the next verses, 'Cause we're on fire, we are on on fire/We're on fire now.

Louis feels like those unaware people that get caught up in the middle of a flash mob and that’s exactly what’s going on, isn’t it? When the chorus begins it seems that even the customers have joined now, because they’re dancing and singing too. The energy keeps growing and it’s so enticing that Louis can’t stop beaming, he’s sure he looks like the Joker at this point.

There’s a string of ‘Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhh’ after the second chorus when the music seems to almost die down, and that’s when Harry gets up and walks towards Louis, looking absolutely stunning. If Louis was a damsel in a goth novel this would be the moment he’d faint.

Luckily he doesn’t pass out because a random bloke gets up from one of the tables at the front and hands him a bouquet of tulips. Louis’ attention is still on Harry, though, now smiling and looking at Louis in that hopeful way he does, mere feet away from him.

Harry counts, 1, 2, 3, 4 and then there’s party poppers exploding all round the shop (sneaky Zayn) and the clients are singing the chorus animatedly again. It seems like the whole café is pulsating; pedestrians passing by try to see what’s going on and some people even stopped to watch through the glass.

There are at least a dozen cellphones recording the scene and Louis catches by the corner of his eye Niall jumping excitedly while accompanying Harry with his guitar. He can also see Liam among the people clapping and dancing. This was all a conspiracy, huh?

Harry sings the last chorus by himself, his beautiful deep voice resonating across the coffee shop and transfixing Louis. Louis’ heart is galloping like a horse on a race and he has to dry swallow to keep it from jumping out of his mouth. He’s short of breath when Harry kneels in front of him and starts to sing, I just want it to be you and I forever/I know you wanna leave/So come on, Louis, go on a date… with me.

Everything is still, all Louis can hear is the faint sound of the cameras zooming on him, waiting. The musician is still on his knees, right hand extending to Louis inviting and the tense silence stretches until Louis mutters “Yeah,” too low for anyone but Harry to hear. The smile that immediately spreads on the singers’ face is everything. Louis takes the hand Harry’s offering to him, unable to hold back a twin psycho smile.

“Of course I’ll go on a date with you, you nutcase,” Louis answers again, fondness dripping from every word that leaves his mouth.

The clients and staff clap and cheer out loud. He pulls the other man up and there’s no hesitation when Harry’s ridiculously red and plump mouth is more or less on the same level as his. Louis kisses him right there, for everyone to watch, the thrill of being so public about it making everything even more intense. This time the café goes down, but Louis has more important things to worry at the moment.

He pulls Harry down by the nape to adjust their heads and they shouldn’t fit like puzzle pieces, but it feels so right. Harry tastes amazing, of milky tea and everything nice in this world, like the Power Puff Girls. His massive hand is clasped on Louis back, squeezing his waist with want, and they should tone it down a bit, but fuck it.

Harry’s throwing some crazy tongue shapes when someone (probably Niall) whistles and startles them. Louis grunts, but then he sees Harry still in his arms, looking at him adoringly, and he forgets everything.

It can’t be healthy, but Louis actually wants to slap Harry for being so gorgeous up-close. It’s infuriating. Fuck, he’s so attractive. Really, really good-looking.

“You have a mole next to your mouth,” Louis points out, poking it playfully, and Harry just nods delighted, the numpty. It’s good to know he can still tease him merciless. Probably even more now. “Only a hipster like you to make a flash mob with a Lumineers song,” Louis mocks while pulling Harry to the pantry, where they can talk without being interrupted.

“Actually it’s an original,” Harry says matter-of-factly and oh. Did he write a song for Louis or-? Louis decides he’s probably better off this information for now, he’s already too far gone for this hipster.

“Oh! It wasn’t… that bad, I suppose. Fairly decent, you know?” he says nonchalant. “Well, now thinking about it, the ‘heys’ weren’t that annoying. And there was a lack of banjos…”

“Wow, Lou, you really know how to give a compliment,” Harry teases, the sarcastic little shit.

“Oh, fuck off!” Louis replies bumping him on the shoulder. Harry takes the opportunity to lace his octopus-like arms around Louis’ waist and trap him.

“Do you really want to go out with me? Or were you just being nice because you didn’t want to dump me in front of your clientele.”

“You know better than anyone that I don’t do nice,” Louis says, and Harry is smiling in such a cute way that he can’t help but give him a quick kiss. “Sure you want to go out with someone who can’t make a compliment?”

“I’ll take the risk,” Harry jokes, squeezing Louis’ middle. “It’s not like that’s your biggest fault…” he adds cheekily, and Louis slaps his biceps offended.

“Excuse you! I’m practically perfect.”

“You’re fairly decent,” Harry says.

Louis has the right answer at the tip of his tongue, he swears he does, but then Harry steals it away with a mind blowing kiss and whatever silly thing they were snickering about is long forgotten because, hello! Priorities...

And okay, Harry might be too fond of puns and so hipster that hurts, but Louis can definitely cope with these flaws. Well, Harry kissing so eagerly that it seems like the world is about to end if Bruce Willis doesn’t blow up an asteroid might seal the deal.

Who’d guess hiring a singer for the Valentine’s season wouldn’t be a bad idea after all? Sure getting the most un-unlovable person must have helped. Anyhow, Louis isn’t complaining. It’s a well known fact that he’s not the type that likes to make a fuss about everything.