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Louis wanted to throw up. This boy was far too pretty.
“What can I get you?” Oh god, and his voice was perfect too; so deep and husky.
“Um, you alright, mate?”
Those green eyes, oh and the curls…
“Oh-oops, um yes –” He kept staring, “oh, right – a chocolate frappe and a vanilla mocha.”
The boy smiled at him – oh, fuck, dimples – and wrote it down, “Name?”
“What?”
“I need a name, you know.”
“Are you sure?”
He raised a perfect eye brow, “Probably.”
“Liam.”
“Okay, Liam –”
Louis snorted, “My names not Liam.”
The boy just blinked, “Then why’d you say it?”
“I’m meeting a Liam. Now.”
“Um,” he wrote it down, “okay. They’ll be brought over soon.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want to tell me your name though?” Curly boy smirked.
Louis heart lurched – do hearts do that? “I um, no.”
He turned away, and went and sat somewhere not facing the green-eyed boy. He sighed out loud and very dramatically when Liam sat down in the chair opposite him.
“Thank god you’re here.” He clutched at Liam’s hand.
Liam looked at it in disgust, and pulled away, “I don’t get it.”
“Pretty boy,” he jerked his head in a certain direction, “over there.”
Liam glanced over, “Curly-haired one with tattoos, working the front line?”
Louis nodded frantically.
He hadn’t really noticed the tattoos. Too busy staring at the tall boy’s fucking face.
They talked for a while, and Liam’s gaze flickered up for a second before an Irish voice was cutting through their conversation.
“A chocolate frappe and a vanilla mocha,” A blonde boy grinned and walked away.
That definitely wasn’t his pretty boy. He frowned, not even sure why.
Liam took a drink, and then glanced at his cup, “Why does this say my name?”
“Cause’ it’s yours, probably.” He shrugged.
Liam was now looking at Louis’ cup, “Well, how come yours says ‘not Liam’?”
He inspected the cup, and saw the words on it. He vaguely wondered how the hell the kid had known this was his?
“Funny guy,”
“What?”
“Nothing, did you have a nice day?”
----
"Hello again, Not Liam.”
Louis glared.
“What can I get for you?” Curly smiled. Ugh, dimples-of-doom again.
He wanted to punch this boy in his stupid beautiful face… and maybe lick it.
“Are you just going to stare all day?”
“You’re rather rude for someone working in a Starbucks,” he didn’t really mean to spit out the last word. Really.
Curly furrowed his brow, tilting his chin up defensively, “What’ve you got against Starbucks?”
“Everything,”
He ordered the same thing as last time, and Dimples wrote it all down.
“Are you going to tell me your name yet?”
“Danny Zuko,”
He walked away before the boy could reply.
Liam frowned, “Why does your cup say Danny Zuko?”
Louis just face palmed.
----
Louis made Liam order the drinks next time, and Louis found a 'hi', a smiley face and some x's on his cup.
He tried to scratch it off.
----
“Hi, Louis,”
He physically jolted away from the counter.
“How do you know my name?”
“Liam told me.” Curly smiled, clearly pleased with himself.
He narrowed his eyes, making a mental note to punch Liam.
“That’s creepy.”
“Louis Tomlinson.”
Louis cleared his throat, “Let me re-phrase that; very creepy.”
“You like football, you’re doing an English Lit degree, you have thirteen tattoos and Liam is your best friend.”
“Fucking bastard…” He muttered before walking away, making a quick edit to his mental note.
Punch Liam in the balls.
----
“Did you really need to tell Starbucks-boy everything?”
“Harry.”
“What?”
Liam still didn’t look up from his book, “His name is Harry. And I only gave him a brief introduction.”
“You told him how many tattoos I have.” Louis stated.
“Well, you do have that many.”
Louis sighed and went to bed, not before punching Liam though.
----
“You should give me your number.”
“No.” He said, far too quickly. Damn.
“Why not?” Harry pouted, and it made Louis feel a tinge of guilt. Fucker.
“Why should I?”
Harry grinned, “I’m fit, and charming.”
And there goes the guilt, “Also arrogant,”
He scoffed, “And you aren’t?”
“Rude.”
----
“Did you realize, you have like, the perfect bum?”
Louis just turned around and left.
----
“He says he wants to do you.” Liam told him casually, sitting opposite him.
“Great.” Louis muttered, wondering if any sarcasm actually dripped onto the table from that.
“You should, he’s fit.”
“Go away.”
----
Louis was only slightly surprised when Harry was in his flat. Well, slightly may be an understatement – since he dropped the glass he was holding and it smashed all over the floor.
“And that’s Louis.” Liam sighed.
There was another boy, a dark haired one, with hazel eyes. He’d met this one before though; Liam had hooked up with him a few weeks and really liked him. Of course Harry and he would be friends. Because the world hated Louis.
“Alright, mate?” Zayn – that’s his name! asked, eye brow raised.
Harry smirked, “Hello, Lou.”
Why did he make it sound like he was saying, ‘Let’s fuck' and what was with this ‘Lou’ business? Jesus.
“Liam, do we have any lye?” Louis asked calmly, looking down at the glass on the floor.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He said, turning away, “I’ll be in my room, probably dying or something.”
“Okay, bye.”
----
He was waiting for Liam, as usual. But it wasn’t Liam who came and sat in the seat opposite him today, no, it definitely was not.
“Hey, Lou,”
“Don’t call me that.” he snapped.
Harry didn’t seem fazed though, “You seem uptight, something wrong?”
No, nothing at all, but I've got the biggest crush on you – “I’m fine,” he lied.
“You’re obviously not.”
He was always a bloody terrible liar.
He didn’t get a chance to say a snide rebuttal, because the familiar blonde boy was coming over, two drinks in hand, “Two chocolate frappes’ for Hazza and his boyfriend.”
Wait. What?
“Thanks, Nialler,” Harry smiled sweetly.
Niall wandered off humming some incessant Justin Bieber tune and Louis just glared down at the drinks, like they were the devil. But they weren’t. Because the devil was sitting across from Louis, grinning like a fucking idiot.
“I didn’t order anything.” He blurted. You just got called his boyfriend, and that’s all you could come up with? Jesus Christ –
Harry shrugged, “I know, I ordered, since this was my idea,”
“This –?” Louis glanced over Harry, and realized he wasn’t wearing his fucking stupid uniform.
Oh fuck.
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, watching his drink intently as he sucked at the straw and stirred at it a bit, “a date,”
“A date,” Louis blinked, dumbfounded.
Harry met his eyes, grinning again, “Yeah, course, what else would it be?”
Louis found he just couldn’t say no.
Or maybe he just didn't want to.
Fucking Starbucks.