Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Louis isn’t normal. No matter how many times he tells himself he is. The whole “you can change to be normal, to be like the others,” mantra doesn’t do anything for him. He’s tried and tried to change, date women, be tone down so much he lost himself. Mold himself into a shell of a person others wanted him to be. And yet, it hasn’t changed anything in him. He still wants to date men, and he wants to be his actual self, loud, kind, funny, sassy. He just wants to be louis, no questions asked or needed.

So, he packed it up and left. It was a hard, the decision to leave his sisters, it hurt knowing how much he will miss them, but he needed out. That town was hell on earth, and louis thinks he looks better in heaven. Not like he’s biased or anything.

Unpacking has been an absolute nightmare, Louis been unpacking and organizing for what it feels like forever. He never realized how much shit he owned until he had to find a place to put it. But after an hour or so of putting up stuff he finally got the kitchen supplies put up and organized to his liking. That alone deserves reward. A drink, a good time- something to remind him that this fresh start isn’t just about leaving the past behind, but about actually living. When he finally found a bar close to his apartment, he wasn’t expecting to meet two incredible people that night, but he did. And for that, he’s beyond grateful.

Niall and Liam. two great lads, even better drinking partners. Also turns out, Niall plays for the same football team Louis just transferred to, which should make his first practice slightly less nerve-wracking. His last teammates had a few good ones, like his mate Zayn, who he still keeps in touch with—but most of them were absolute dickheads. Not exactly the welcoming type. So, Louis can only hope Niall wasn’t just feeding him a load of shit and that his new teammates will actually be decent human beings.

But for now, though meaning practice starts tomorrow and not today, football can wait. Because after an hour of watching bake-off without food can do things to a man. So, Louis finally, gets off the couch turning away from the bake off show he went to go scavenge through his cabinets. But in the chaos of making this place feel like home, he kind of forgot about the whole buying food part. Looks like Louis is going out to eat.

The cold London air hits him the second he steps outside, cutting through his hoodie-and-jacket combo like it’s nothing. Useless. Niall had mentioned a café nearby when Louis told him where he moved in. “It’s close to the fields, so I stop by every morning before practice. Plus, the old ladies there love me.”

Louis had rolled his eyes so hard he thought they might get stuck.

But despite Niall’s whole thing with the old ladies, Louis figures it’s worth checking out. And luckily, it’s only a ten-minute walk from his apartment.

It doesn’t take long to find it, squeezed in between two other shops, one looks like a fashion place louis is going have to visit one day.

A bell chimes, letting the small crowd in the cafe know of his presence. The shop was on the smaller side, tables clustered together to fit the space, the brilliant smell of coffee and flour is scented across the place blessing Louis nose. It’s nice, Niall wasn’t lie about the cozy atmosphere it has.

Louis makes this way to the counter; he figures it’s the place where he gets his order in. Instead of being greeted with a warm smile and a, “hi, what would you like today.” Louis was meet with nothing. Really, if he was a prick he could reach around and take from the tip jar, and no one would see. Louis waits around for about 3 minutes before he gets impatient. He spots a bell that’s resting on the counter, a sign is placed in fort of it. “Please don’t ring unless need of assistance :)” As louis reads it his urge to ring it now was higher. He does need assistance so it wouldn’t be too unnecessary…

“Ding…” Louis taps the top of the bell, a small ring coming from it. Louis even once he pressed the bell was still waiting. As he goes for another ring, Louis hears shuffling around from the back. Then a boy walks out, a red apron over his clothes. The boy was now standing in front of louis. curls that could seduce Louis just by existing, a dimple popping out from his cheek, even if the boys giving a fake smile, green eyes that are past beautiful.

The boy clears his throat, parting his, what it looks like, soft lips. “Sorry, about that wait sir. What can I get for you?” the boy asks, and it only slightly made louis heart flutter…

“Eh, I haven’t been here before, I just moved in I am actually 10 minutes from here, so my mate Niall, who I meet like, eh, last night; he was telling me how good this place is, and I don’t have food at the old apartment, So I ought to try it out. Niall says it’s close to the fields where we practice, well I guess I can’t say practice because I haven’t had an- Shit, I didn’t mean to ramble. Um, you have any suggestions for a newcomer?” Louis asks signing at the relief of not having to talk anymore. Who would have known Louis would talk his heart out to someone that’s just pretty.

A small giggle could be heard for the boy's mouth, louis isn’t sure if it’s a “please get him out of here” giggle or a “he’s adorable” giggle. Louis isn’t allowing himself to think about it.

“The Viennese fancies is pretty popular at the moment, they come in pairs of 6 so you can get a few in one? And I am sure if you want to get a coffee or tea, we have it. “The boy said, did louis say about how beautiful he is?

“That should work, and black coffee to wash it down would be great, darling.” Louis says letting the unintentional pet name slip. It’s fine, Louis tells himself, it’s a just a way to show your gratitude? no one actually takes it to heart..right?

The boy—whose name Louis really needs to learn because calling him “the boy” in his head isn’t doing him any favors—quirks an eyebrow at the pet name but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he nods, punching the order into the register.

“That’ll be £6.50,” he says, voice smooth, and Louis tries not to overanalyze the way his fingers move over the buttons. Focus, Louis.

Louis fishes a tenner out of his wallet and slides it over. “Keep the change,” he says with a smirk before he even fully registers what he’s doing. Flirting? Is he flirting? God, he’s a mess.

The boy—beautiful, dimpled, devastating—tilts his head just slightly, amused, as he tucks the extra money into the register. “Generous,” he hums. “Let you grab your order, one second.”

He watches as the boy moves behind the counter, preparing his coffee with practiced ease, and Louis thinks—hopes—he catches him glancing over, just once. Maybe twice.

Louis busies himself by pretending to look around the café, but really, he’s just watching him—the boy, the devastatingly pretty one, the one Louis really needs a name for before he starts referring to him as The One That Will Ruin Me in his head.

His hands move effortlessly as he prepares the coffee, steam curling into the air, the scent of freshly brewed espresso filling the small space. Louis lets himself enjoy the view, just for a moment. It’s not every day you meet someone who looks like they belong in a painting.

A few minutes later, the boy returns with Louis’ order in hand, setting the plate of delicate pastries and the steaming coffee in front of him.

“There you go,” he says, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.

Louis glances up and flashes a grin. “Cheers, love.”

The boy’s lips twitch, like he’s fighting off a smile. And then—finally—he says, “Harry.”

Louis blinks. “Huh?”

A proper smile now, dimple and all. “My name. Since you were clearly too busy staring to ask."

Louis fights off a grin, that could very well flash his teeth, “Harry? Bad idea, now I know who to complain about if the coffee is shit.”

Harry lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he leans casually against the counter. “Right, because clearly, you’re a coffee connoisseur.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his coffee. He makes a dramatic pause, as if he’s truly analyzing it, then smacks his lips together. “Mm. Could use a touch more depth, maybe a richer roast. But not bad, Haz.”

Harry scoffs, crossing his arms. “Haz?”

Louis shrugs, all faux innocence. “What? Too soon for nicknames?”

Harry rolls his eyes but doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Louis catches a hint of amusement in the way he tilts his head, studying him like he’s trying to figure him out. “You’re a bit of a menace, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you’ve got no idea,” Louis says, grinning as he picks up the bag of pastries in this other hand then the one with the coffee.

Harry watches him for a moment before sighing, shaking his head again. “Alright, menace. Enjoy your food.” He turns to walk away but pauses, just briefly. “And for the record, my coffee is perfect.”

Louis hums, smirking behind his cup. “We’ll see about that, Haz.”

Harry disappears into the back, and Louis finally allows himself to breathe.

Well. That was fun.

He settles into one of the small tables, idly scrolling through his phone as he eats. The café stays comfortably busy, a few regulars chatting with the baristas, the scent of fresh bread and espresso filling the air. It’s nice. Cozy, even. He can see why Niall likes it here.

A few minutes pass before he hears a familiar voice behind him.

“You’re still here?”

Louis looks up to find Harry standing beside him, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

Louis smirks. “What, miss me already?”

Harry snorts. “Not quite.” He nods toward the pastries. “Just checking if you actually liked them or if you’re just too stubborn to admit they’re good.”

Louis picks up another one, taking an exaggerated bite. “Dunno could be better. Maybe if they were made with a bit more… love?”

Harry narrows his eyes, but Louis can see the corner of his mouth twitching.

“You’re impossible,” Harry mutters before heading back to the counter. Louis watches Harry retreat behind the counter, a victorious grin stretching across his face. He likes this—this banter, this easy push and pull. It’s been a while since he’s met someone who can keep up with him like this.

He takes another sip of his coffee, letting the warmth settle into him. The pastries, annoyingly, are actually delicious, which means he’ll have to return. Definitely not because of curls behind the counter over there, definitely not.

The café hums with soft chatter, a gentle buzz of life in the evening. Louis leans back in his chair, watching the world move around him. It feels good to be somewhere new, somewhere untouched by the weight of expectation. Here, he’s not the guy who spent years pretending to be someone he’s not. Here, he’s just Louis. Even if no one knows his name, he is still Louis.

Louis finishes his pastries and coffee quicker than he'd like, even though part of him wants to linger longer, to sit there and just watch Harry move behind the counter with effortless ease. But he can’t afford to get distracted—his apartment is still a disaster. The bedroom, the bathroom, the living room... all still waiting to be unpacked.

With a sigh, Louis slips his phone into the pocket of his sweats and heads to the trash can, tossing his empty bag and coffee cup. He stretches the stiffness from his legs after sitting for too long. His eyes flicker back to Harry for just a moment, before he quickly turns away, reminding himself that he can’t get too caught up in this. After all, he doesn’t want to be the guy who falls head over heels for some charming barista. Even if Harry *is*... well, *Harry. *

The bell above the door jingles again as Louis steps out into the crisp evening air, the weight of the day settling in on his shoulders. His walk back to his apartment is short, but the cool air feels good against his skin, like it's grounding him. Louis isn't sure how this whole "New town, new me," thing is going to work but he has a weird feeling its worth however long he has to wait for it to start getting good.

As he climbs the stairs to his apartment, he can’t help but smile a little, replaying the banter with Harry in his mind. The flirtation. The way he couldn’t quite pin down whether Harry was playing along or just humoring him. Either way, Louis can tell that Harry’s got a bit of a sharp tongue, and he’s not afraid to give it right back.

He opens the door to his apartment and is immediately met with the same chaotic mess of boxes that’s been waiting for him. The living room still looks like a storage unit, but he’s done what he can for today. He’s got the kitchen sorted, at least, and it’ll all come together eventually. For now, though, he’s glad to have found a little piece of something that feels like home—something that makes the weirdness of the day fade just a little.

Louis kicks off his shoes and flops onto the couch, grabbing his phone to find a text from an unknown number, Louis clicks on it. Instead of a random junk message louis is greed to an, "Aye, its Liam! Just checking in on your moving. I hope me and Niall didn't scary you off to soon." Louis chuckles, shaking his head. Leave it to Liam to check in so soon, but it’s a nice feeling, knowing that someone cares enough to check up on him.

He types back quickly: "Nah, mate, didn’t scare me off yet. Unpacking’s a nightmare, but I’m getting there. By the way, tell Niall I’m still judging him for introducing me to that bloody café, though. The barista might need a little work on his charm." He pauses before adding with a smirk, "But I’ll forgive him for now..."

A few seconds later, Liam’s reply comes through: “Haha, you must be talk about Harry? Niall's invented him to a match of footy once or twice. Harrys sweet. Bit of a sarcastic bastard, but he’s harmless. And the old ladies love him." Louis chuckles to himself as he reads Liam’s text, shaking his head. Of course, the old ladies love Harry. With that dimple and that cheeky little smirk? They probably adore him. And Harry already knowing Niall makes Louis feel a little bit better about rambling off at the cafe. Either way, Louis knows he’ll be back, even if that just to see some curly haired kid.

Chapter Text

Harry isn’t usually the type to get caught off guard. He’s good at keeping things balanced—charming when he needs to be, sharp-tongued when the moment calls for it, but never flustered. Not really. Not until the guy with the blue eyes and the relentless smirk walked into the café today like he owned the place.

It had been a slow evening, the café comfortably buzzing with the usual crowd, the regular customers making appearance. Harry had been in the back sorting out stock when he heard the bell ring, signaling a new customer. He hadn’t been in a rush—people could wait a minute or two. But then the godforsaken bell at the counter rang. Once. Then again. And Harry had sighed, wiping his hands on a towel before making his way out front.

And that’s when he saw him.

Messy brown hair, a cocky stance, and a voice that spilled out words at a pace Harry could barely keep up with.

Harry had barely gotten a word in before the man started rambling—about moving in, about Niall, (which if he didn't know Niall beforehand, he probably wouldn't find the boys rambling so adorable), about needing food and maybe about football, too? Harry had been too caught up watching his mouth move, his lips curl over his words, to really register half of what he was saying.

But, God, he was charming. Infuriatingly so.

And then there was the nickname. Darling.

Harry wasn’t easily flustered, but it had caught him off guard just enough to make his fingers falter over the register buttons. He played it cool, of course, offering a quirked eyebrow and a humored tilt of the head. The boy, though, just kept on going, like he was made to flirt, like teasing was second nature to him.

It was fine. Harry could play that game, too.

And so, he had.

The whole interaction had been a blur of back-and-forths, stolen glances, and a smirk that seemed permanently plastered onto his face. Harry had prepared the man's coffee with ease, but he’d felt the weight of his gaze the entire time. When he’d set the drink and pastries down, there had been a beat—a lingering moment—before the boy had grinned and thrown out another casual nickname. Cheers, love.

It had taken every ounce of self-restraint Harry had not to roll his eyes too hard.

Instead, he’d decided to give the guy something to chew on. His name. Not that he had asked for it, of course, too busy staring and smirking and generally being a menace.

Harry had told him anyway, because, well—he figured he’d earned it.

And the menace's reaction had been worth it. The split-second of blinking confusion, followed by the immediate snap-back, the teasing remark about having someone to blame if the coffee was shit.

God, Harry was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before Harry found himself drifting back over, curiosity winning out over professionalism. He’d asked—casually, of course—whether the pastries were up to standard, only for him to take another exaggerated bite and complain about a lack of love.

Harry had scoffed, but secretly, he’d found himself fighting a grin.

Harry had barely walked away before he found himself sneaking another glance. He, the boy looked... at ease. Comfortable. Like he belonged here, even though Harry was certain he’d never seen him before.

And then he had left, disappearing into the night, leaving behind nothing but an empty cup in the and an amused twist in Harry’s stomach.

Now, standing behind the counter as the café settles into its usual nighttime quiet, Harry leans against the espresso machine, arms crossed, replaying the encounter in his mind.

New in town. Knows Niall. Footballer. Ridiculously flirty. Probably is never going to be back.

Harry sighs, running a hand through his curls.

The thought lingers in Harry’s mind longer than it should. The boy—who had waltzed in with a smirk like he owned the place, flirted like it was his second language, and then left just as quickly—had somehow managed to wedge himself into Harry’s thoughts without even trying.

And the worst part? Harry didn’t even get his bloody name.

He scoffs at himself, shaking his head as he busies his hands by wiping down the counter, trying to push the thought away. It’s not like it matters. People come and go all the time. This city is too big, too fast-moving for one fleeting moment to mean anything.

Still.

Harry had seen a lot of people walk into this café—businessmen in their pressed suits, students buried in their books, tourists fumbling through their pounds and pence—but none had left quite the same impression. None had left him standing behind the counter, absentmindedly tracing patterns onto the smooth surface, wondering if he’d ever see them again.

Maybe it was the way he spoke—fast, unfiltered, like he was afraid of the silence. Or maybe it was the confidence, the teasing nicknames, the way he hadn’t hesitated to push at Harry, to prod and see if he could get a reaction.

Maybe it was the blue eyes.

Harry exhales sharply, shaking himself out of it. Get a grip, mate.

Before Harry can talk himself out of it, the bell above the café door chimes again.

It’s late. Too late for the usual crowd, and too early for the stragglers looking for a last-minute caffeine fix before heading home after work.

Harry glances up, half-expecting a tired student or maybe one of the regulars who always forgets they’ve already had their daily dose of espresso. Instead, it's just Gemma. A stack of papers in her hands, her eyebrows are furrowed. She sometimes comes by a few minutes before Harry's shift ends so they can walk home together. But Harry didn't think she would be able to come by today, she had a meeting with her editor for her new book. And guessing how she came in, veins popping out, brows furrowed, and a sour expression on her face it didn't go the way as planned. Gemma slams the stack of papers onto the counter, her usually calm demeanor replaced by a palpable tension. Harry straightens up from where he’s been leaning against the machine, brow furrowed in concern. "Alright?" he asks, his voice softer than usual, already sensing that something’s off.

She doesn’t respond right away, running a hand through her hair in frustration before looking up at him, her eyes flashing with irritation. "The meeting went to shit," she mutters, the words heavy with annoyance. "The editor didn’t like what I’ve written so far, and now they want me to go in a totally different direction. Can you believe that?"

Harry sighs, his instinct to comfort kicking in. He moves to the back to grab her usual drink—a warm tea with a splash of honey—and comes back to place it in front of her. She doesn’t even acknowledge it at first, too lost in her thoughts.

"You’ve been working hard on this," Harry says gently, sliding the mug closer to her. "You’re not going to just let them tell you what to do, are you?"

Gemma huffs, her fingers tapping against the stack of papers in frustration. "I don’t know, Harry. I just... I’ve been pouring everything into this, and now they’re telling me it’s not what they wanted. It’s like none of it matters."

He watches her for a moment, a small knot forming in his stomach at the exhaustion in her voice. But then something else flickers in his mind, an image of a cocky smirk and bright blue eyes that have been lingering in the back of his thoughts all day.

He shifts uncomfortably, his thoughts briefly flitting back to the guy from earlier. The one who had managed to disrupt the calm flow of his day with just a few teasing words and an infuriatingly perfect grin. But he shakes the thought off, focusing back on Gemma as she takes a long sip of her tea, finally offering a soft "Thanks."

"Hey," Harry says gently, leaning against the counter, his gaze softening as he meets her eyes. "You're talented. Don't let anyone make you doubt that. Editors can be frustrating, but they don't know your story the way you do."

Gemma nods, but the edge of frustration doesn't fully leave her face. "I know. It’s just... so much work, Harry. It feels like I’m not getting anywhere. Like I’m stuck in a loop."

The words hit Harry in an unexpected way. He knows that feeling—of working so hard and still not feeling like it's enough. It's part of the job, part of any creative process, but hearing Gemma voice it out loud brings it into sharper focus. He offers a small, knowing smile and moves around the counter to stand beside her.

"Listen," he says, his tone taking on a slightly lighter, teasing edge, "It’s all part of the process, right? Every great book has a few bad chapters. You just gotta get through the rough ones to get to the good stuff. Besides, if anyone can turn this around, it's you."

She lets out a soft laugh, and Harry feels a bit of the tension in her shoulders relax. "I hope so," she mutters, though there's a hint of gratitude in her voice now.

Before he can say anything more to comfort her, the bell chimes again. It's not a sad sister this time, Harry has run out of those. It's one of the other works; one Harry forgot the name to. In his defense the lad has only been here for about a month. Harry taps the counter knowing his shift is about over, he gets gemma's attention. "Lets me get cleaned up and we'll head out, yeah?"

After Harry returns from wiping the flour and the smell of coffee off him, he comes out from the back to see that Gemma has moving to one of the tables. Harry walks her way, Once Gemma sees him, she stands up, stretching with a small sigh, and Harry turns to grab his jacket, ready to call it a day. Sammy emerges from the back just then, all bright energy and easy confidence. "I got to tell you about this guy that come by earlier. "Harry giggles the door opening with a chime.

Gemma raises an eyebrow, then stops walking, glancing back at Harry. leads out the door into the cold Londen air. “Cute?” she asks with a mischievous grin.

Harry rolls his eyes, nodding. “Yeah, cute.”

And just like that, the weight of the evening slips away. Harry smiles, ready to step out into the night, leaving the café behind and the strange thoughts of that blue-eyed guy with the cocky grin, or at least trying to, its hard-to-get eyes like his out of your head.

Chapter Text

Louis may have woken up only 30 minutes late, but he wasn’t about to let it slide. His mind was already racing, blaming past Louis for the mess. Why, oh why, did he think it was a great idea to keep all his football gear scattered across multiple places? It was now 5 AM, and he’d spent the last hour hunting down his kit, only to find half of it missing. He was already late and still couldn’t find the second shin guard. Fantastic way to start the morning, right?

With a deep sigh, Louis bounced off his couch, his new bed still waiting to be delivered. At least he'd finally have a proper place to sleep after today—if he could make it through this morning. No time for a shower; practice was the priority, and showing up late would not be a good look. So, he decided to save the shower for later—he’d take one in the locker room after practice.

He threw on his light blue hoodie, the one Zayn once said matched his eyes—though Louis wasn’t so sure about that. The hoodie was comfy, at least. He paired it with joggers that were easy to change out of. A few quick sprays of cologne to mask the lingering scent of a rushed morning, and he was good to go. His hair was a bit of a mess, but what did it matter? A few sprints later, it would be ruined anyway.

Grabbing his phone, football bag slung over his shoulder, and trainers on his feet, Louis dashed out the door, the bag bouncing at his side. The London air was crisp, biting at his face, but the adrenaline of being late pushed him forward. The streets were quiet at this hour, just a few early risers and a handful of cars rolling by. He picked up his pace, cutting through side streets, already mentally calculating how much time he had left.

Once about ten minutes from the fields, Louis slowed his pace to catch his breath. According to the email, practice started at 6, which meant he had about 20 minutes to get there. Maybe, just maybe, he could’ve taken a shower. But what’s done is done.

As he walked, the familiar buzz of his phone in his pocket pulled his attention. A text from Niall: "I'm at that café next to your place. Want to meet?"

Louis stared at the message, debating. Practice was calling, but caffeine… caffeine might just be the thing that saves his life this morning.

With a sigh, he replied: “Give me five, I’ll swing by.”

He turned on his heel and headed to the café. The streets were still quiet, with only a few people strolling by, holding coffee cups. When Louis reached the café, the door chimed as he entered, the sound becoming one he'd soon get used to. He spotted Niall immediately—sitting at a small table by the window, sipping on a cup of tea.

“Morning, sunshine,” Niall greeted with a smirk. “You look, well, not to be a dick, but you look drained.”

Louis dropped into the seat across from him, letting out an exhausted sigh as he set his bag down. “That’s because I am,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. “Woke up late, spent forever looking for my gear, and now I’m still missing a bloody shin guard.”

Niall chuckled, taking another sip of his tea. “Rough start, mate. But hey, you're not late yet, so that’s something, right?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Small victories.” He glanced toward the counter, half-expecting to see Harry behind it. But there was no sign of him, just an older woman working. A strange sense of disappointment settled in his stomach, but he shrugged it off.

As though he could read Louis’s mind, Niall grinned. “Looking for someone?”

Louis shot him a glare. “No.”

Niall’s smirk only deepened as he stirred his tea. “Shame. Harry’s usually in by now. Guess he’s running late too. It’s not like him.”

Louis didn’t respond right away, trying to push the thought of Harry out of his head. But then Niall slid a cup of coffee toward him. Louis had been so caught up in his rant that he’d forgotten the most important part of a café: the coffee. He nodded his thanks and took a sip of the milky latte, too tired to care what kind it was.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I don’t think that Harry lad likes me though.”

Niall waved him off. “I’m sure he does. You’re an easy lad to like. Anyway, we should head out if you want to change and maybe track down that extra shin guard.”

Louis followed Niall as they made their way to the practice fields, still sipping his coffee. The walk was casual, but Louis couldn’t help feeling a little lighter with Niall’s company.

By the time they reached the fields, the air was filled with the hum of early morning activity. Teammates were stretching and tossing the ball around, the dew on the grass sparkling in the weak sunrise. Louis set his bag down, Niall giving him a light slap on the shoulder. “Alright, mate. Time to see if you can actually play, or if you're just all talk.”

Louis chuckled, his nerves starting to settle as he followed Niall to the locker rooms. Inside, the energy was palpable. The scent of fresh turf and sweat mixed with the faint smell of body spray. Some of the guys were already chatting, laughing about last night's match highlights or discussing tactics for the upcoming season.

Niall nudged him. “Come on, mate. Find a spot and get ready. Coach won’t wait for stragglers.”

Louis nodded, glancing around before heading toward an empty locker. He dropped his bag with a sigh and began rummaging through it for his missing shin guard. No luck. Just as he was about to ask around, a voice interrupted him.

“Oi, new guy, need this?”

Louis turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered guy holding out a spare shin guard. He had a friendly grin on his face, already in his kit and looking ready to go.

Louis took the shin guard with a relieved sigh. “You’re a lifesaver, mate. Cheers.”

“No worries. Nialler said you lost yours,” the guy said.

Louis lets out a nervous laugh as he swoops of his hoodie to begin to start changing into his more football attire. "Eh, yeah. I just moved in and I didn't have time to fish for the other one." The man nods before returning back to getting ready

Louis quickly changed into his football gear, the familiar weight of his kit settling over him. He tightened his laces, shaking out his limbs to get rid of the sluggish feeling from his rushed morning. The locker room buzzed with activity, some players finishing up while others were already heading out to the pitch.

Louis took a deep breath and followed Niall outside, his borrowed shin guard securely in place. The moment they stepped onto the field, a sharp whistle rang out. Louis turned to see a tall, athletic man standing at the center of the pitch, clipboard in hand. His gaze swept over the players with practiced precision.

“Alright, listen up!” the coach called. “You all know the drill. Warm-ups, passing drills, then we split into teams. Let’s get to it!”

Louis barely had time to prepare before the warm-up started—sprints, high knees, dynamic stretches. It was relentless but familiar. His muscles burned, but he pushed through. First impressions were everything. He caught Niall’s eye across the field, who gave him a thumbs-up before joining another group.

Louis couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction. The change wasn’t so bad. His new teammates weren’t jerks, the coach was actually coaching, and there was a guy who smelled like espresso, and had the most beautiful smile, just ten minutes from his new home. Maybe this change was exactly what he needed after all.

Chapter Text

Harry has never been much of a dreamer, the sleep kind. He's a dreamer in the "one day I will be a singer," kind of way. But not in the sleep way. So, everything he has a dream he thinks is special and means something, kinda like it's a gift from the universe. Harry knows it is stupid, but he thinks it's a fun way to live. To think that there's something out there bigger than mankind, it's cool and scary to think about.

On that note, Harry had a dream last night, one he didn't want to wake up from, so he missed in alarm. Sadly, it was about a boy. Or maybe sadly isn't the right word. The dream felt real, it was like he was there, in some country that looked like Paris sitting with a boy. Blue eyes drown messy hair that's thrown into a fringe, cheekbones, and soft pink lips. They walked together talking, taking pictures, holding hands, laughing, it was nice, even if it was a dream. Harry isn't sure but he thinks they end up in Rome sitting in a park enjoying the soft fog that covers the area. And as soon as the boy was about to say his name, Harry lost sight of him. All that remained was himself, the thickening fog covering everything around him. Harry tried yelling, but every time he attempted to call the boy's name, his voice seemed to get cut off.

Then, Harry jolted awake, gasping for air, his heart thundering in his chest. His fingers clenched the sheets as if trying to grasp onto the remnants of the dream, but it was slipping away too fast—like sand running through his fingers. The boy, the laughter, the soft fog—it was all fading, leaving him with nothing but the hollow ache of something unfinished.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, trying to recall every detail. The boy's face was still vivid in his mind—the blue eyes that held a thousand secrets, the messy brown hair, the soft pink slips curling into a smile. But his name, the name Harry was so desperate to hear, remained just out of reach, lost in the fog. Harry let out a frustrated sigh and flopped back onto his bed. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream. And yet, it felt like more than that. The dream had been so real, so tangible, like he had been there wandering through foreign streets, his fingers laced with someone else’s, his heart full of something he couldn’t quite name. It was different from his usual dreams, the ones that were scattered and nonsensical. This one weighed it, a pull. Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to remember more, to hold onto the feeling for just a little longer.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, flopping back onto his bed. It was just a dream. Just a stupid dream.

And yet, it felt like more than that. It was different from his usual nonsense dreams. This one had weight. A pull. An urgency that wouldn’t leave him alone.

Then, like a jolt of electricity, realization struck him.

The boy from the café yesterday. The same name-less boy from his dream.

The same cafe Harry should be at clocking into his shift right now.

Harry shot up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. "Shit, shit, shit!" He scrambled for his phone, heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His alarm—ignored. His shift—already started. He finds a pair of black jeans ripped on the knees for that worn look, he pairs it with a green hoodie that is a little too snug on him, but it will do, lastly, he slips on shoes. And jogs out the door.

The walk from his house to the cafe isn't too long, only about 20 minutes. 20 he doesn't have.

Harry's heart hammered against his ribs as he pushed through the door of the café, the bell above it jingling to announce his late arrival. The smell of coffee beans and freshly baked pastries wrapped around him like a familiar embrace, but there was no comfort in it today. He was late—very late.

"You're late, Styles," a voice called from behind the counter. Clara, she probably had to feel in from him, didn't even look up from the espresso machine she was working at. Her tone was exasperated, but not entirely surprised. Harry had a bit of a reputation for cutting it close—or in this case, completely missing the mark.

"I know, I know," Harry huffed, tying his apron around his waist as he slid behind the counter. "I—uh—overslept."

Clara finally turned to him, one brow arched. "Overslept? You? That's a first."

Harry opened his mouth to explain but hesitated. Telling her he had been lost in a dream about a mysterious boy with blue eyes and soft pink lips seemed a little... ridiculous. Even to him. Instead, he just gave a sheepish smile and grabbed a cloth to wipe down the counter.

"Won't happen again," he promised, though he wasn’t entirely sure if that was true. The dream still lingered in the back of his mind, wrapping around him like a whisper, like a secret he was on the verge of discovering.

The café was already bustling with customers, the morning rush still in full swing. Harry fell into the rhythm of work easily, greeting regulars, making lattes, and dodging Clara’s occasional pointed glances. But every time the door chimed; his heart stuttered just a little. He knew the brown-haired boy wasn't going to show up today, and if he had, Harry had already missed him. Harry remembered something the boy had said about football. Well, if he did play, that meant he was at the fields by now, and Harry doubted he would come by after practice. Sweaty, hot, out of breath—yeah, no chance.

Harry didn't let himself think about the boy. If he did, he knew he would start falling into the comfort of something he didn't have. The boy wasn't his to think about.

Harry hardly notices when Liam walks in, the chime from the bell is so familiar now Harry doesn't even hear it anymore. Liam walks up to him a smile shined across his face. Harry doesn't think twice before smiling back.

"You look good this morning." Liam greets, already pulling out his wallet.

"Funny, I slept in a little too long this morning. Tea?" Harry asks knowing Liam's order like his own by now.

"Yeah, throw in a chocolate donut will yah?" Harry nods, pulling a donut from the bakery shelf and filling up a paper cup full of tea. He turns back to Liam making conversation with some of the other customers in line.

"I thought you and Niall were eating healthy. With football coming up?" Harry asked passing the food and tea to Liam as he slid back the bill amount.

"Niall has football not me mate, and a donut isn't that unhealthy," Liam says dragging out the healthy part like if he stays healthy long enough the donut will be healthy.

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Liam just grinned, taking a bite of his donut. "So, what's got you looking like you ran here with your shoelaces tied together?"

Harry hesitated for a second before shrugging. "Slept through my alarm."

Liam hummed, studying him. "Right. And that wouldn't have anything to do with a certain someone, would it?"

Harry blinked, his heart stumbling over itself. "What? No! What are you even talking about?" He busied himself wiping an already clean counter, avoiding Liam’s knowing stare.

"Come on, mate," Liam said, sipping his tea. "You've got that look."

"What look?" Harry asked, voice going an octave higher.

"The look of someone who’s been thinking about someone they shouldn’t be," Liam smirked. "And considering you don’t date, and you’ve got that dazed, moony-eyed expression—yeah, definitely a someone."

Harry rolled his eyes, but his face was burning. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," Liam said with a shrug. "But I’m also right."

Harry didn’t argue, mostly because Liam was right. But how was he supposed to explain that he was losing sleep over a boy who Liam may or may not know? A boy who haunted his dreams and left whispers of something unfinished in his waking hours?

Instead, he turned away, pretending to focus on making a latte for a waiting customer. "Shouldn’t you be getting to class or something?

"Liam laughed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. I'll leave you to your existential crisis. See you later, mate." Harry didn't turn around to see the man leave, but he heard the bell. Harry ready to hand back the latte someone has been waiting on, just then hears a pair of cleats on the concrete floors and blue eyes scanning the place.