Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It feels like the sun hasn’t been out in weeks.

Rain sheets down, crashing against the windows with a sound that would be jarringly loud if it wasn’t for the steady thrum of voices and the undercurrent of BBC Radio 1 filtering around the coffee shop. The sun might have set hours ago, or it might still be shining, up far above the miserable mess that is the British sky, but the warm glow from the mismatched lights in the ceiling and in the lamps at the tables keeps a feeling of coziness and safety alive.

Harry tinkers with the displays of fresh biscuits and indie CDs arranged between the registers and display cases, one hand holding onto the triple espresso meant to keep him awake as he works; it's only sort of helpful.

The bells above the door chime as the rain for a second hits the indoor rug at full force; the rhythmic pounding reaching a moment of climax before the door closes again. Rapid footsteps make the short walk to the counter as Harry focuses his attention away from alphabetizing and sneaking chocolate crumbs.

"The usual."

The man has dark fringe and sharp cheekbones. And he is sopping wet. Water runs in rivulets down his face and sticks his jumper to his torso, surely pooling at his feet.

"Um, well," Ah yes. Public speaker, that's Harry. "Um, I don't actually know your usual?"

The man had been fishing coins out of his pockets, but he looks up at the response, apparently not having noticed who he was talking to. "Oh, um... You're not Liam." Harry can see he's shivering, as would anybody who has been out in this weather.

"Yeah, sorry mate. I've switched Zayn and Liam shifts on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I normally work early mornings."

"Oh..." He looks... sad? Uncomfortable? Maybe both. Well, why wouldn't he be? He clearly did not have any close relationship with an umbrella, or even a proper coat, by the looks of it.

"But if you tell me your usual, I'll be sure to memorise it!" Harry jumps in, hoping cheerfulness could be an answer to at least one of whatever this guy has as troubles. "I'm very good at memorising things. One lady comes in every morning and orders a small triple espresso hazelnut toffee iced coffee with half skim, half half-n-half with no whip but double caramel topping. See? You can count on me!" He's babbling. He's not sure if it's working. Oh, God, the only thing Harry's ever been good at is making people smile. If he can't even do that-

A corner of the man's mouth quirks up. Harry's panic subsides a little.

"Tea. Yorkshire tea."

He's looking Harry right in the eyes, and oh, they're a very nice blue. Probably the color is amplified by the reflection of the water still running down his face, but Harry isn't one to complain. "Oh, that's easy!" he grabs one of the ceramic mugs below the counter - blue, darker than the stranger's eyes - and scribbles the order of YORKSHIRE HOT WATER PLS down the side. "That's a pound fifteen. And what's the name for the order?"

At the mention of price, the man is searching his pockets again, pulling out the clinking metal pieces. "Ah, it's Louis, hold on..." several small change pieces are dropped on the table, the kind of money that one would pull out of the cracks in a plush chair. "Sorry, I, um... don't tend to have exact change..."

Which Harry thinks is a sort of strange comment because this man - Louis - apparently does carry exact change, as exemplified by the coins that Harry counts as he puts them in the register, but he rolls with it. "It's no problem at all! Happens to the best and worst of us. This'll be ready in a hot fresh minute, okay?"

As Harry writes the name down on the cup, Louis nods, his smile gone again, and ambles off between tables. Harry watches him go for a moment - why does he look so sad is it just the rain Harry loves rain it's like a slow song from the sky - then turns his attention back to the mug. Wait, this part isn't his job. "Niall!"

"Shush, mate, I'm right here." Harry looks down. Yes, there's his faithful coworker. Doing what is expected of all hardworking coworkers. Sitting under the counter between jars of flavoured syrup eating a bag of crisps.

Harry drops the mug in his lap.

"'M on it, mate!" Niall cackles, jumping up and into action as if he had not just spent the last ten minutes shirking all responsibilities.

As Harry takes the order of the new woman who has just walked in the door and is shaking out her umbrella, Niall fills up the cup with steamy water and unceremoniously drops a tea bag into it, before reading the name on the side. "Lewis!" he shouts, placing the cup on the counter.

Harry smacks him upside the back of his head as he leans down to retrieve his bag of chips at Harry's feet.

"Try again, I know you know how to read."

"Fine, fine," Niall walks back over to the mug and made a dramatic show of pointing at it and shouting, just as loud, "Louis!"

The man in question has already walked up to claim his drink, and jumps noticeably when Niall shouts his name at him at less than a yard away. He looks startled, his blue eyes a little too wide for a moment, but grabs his mug and moved away to administer milk and sugar to it at the smaller self serve counter without further comment.

"Aw," Niall frowns, "He was supposed to laugh at that."

"Not everyone is a fan of your spectacular Irish wit, Nialler," Harry drawls, "I actually don't remember anyone ever cracking up when you call their name wrong. Now, fill these next orders or I'm telling Bobby you spent your shift under the counter again."

Niall gasps, "Y' wouldn't dare!" but he grabs the next two marked mugs and begins mixing the drinks. Really, Bobby wouldn't do much of anything, since Niall is his own son and practically owns the place, but they can still pretend. Empty threats. Harry is good at those.

As Harry continues to take order from customers coming in to escape the cold and wet, he finds himself occasionally (more than occasionally?) glancing over at Louis. The man has taken a large plush chair in the corner pointed toward the window, and curled up, his knees to his chest, staring out the window at the rain and sipping his drink. He doesn't look at his phone, as so many others in the coffee shop are doing, and he doesn't have any homework or other work to distract himself with. Harry continues to take orders and Niall continues to fill them (or hide), and Louis just sits there.

People filter in and out as the night goes on. Harry hadn't exactly been looking forward to his first evening shift - he's so much more a morning person, it's so much easier to be chipper and nice to customers as the sun rises and the prospect of a new day dawns - but that wasn't so difficult after all. And it's only two days a week, if that's any consolation. He takes more orders. Niall makes more drinks. The night goes on.

The cafe closes at 8 o’clock, and at 7:55 Harry looks up to see Louis placing his mug on the counter in front of him. Louis meets his eye for only a moment before looking down and turning away, walking through the almost deserted coffee shop and back out the chiming door and into the cold night, the rain having let up less than an hour before.

Harry glances at the cup. It must have been empty for hours, or else Louis had a strong affinity for drinking cold tea, which would be absolutely repulsive and Harry might need him checked into a mental institution.

"Oi, Harry."

Niall grabs him from behind, jumping up and piggybacking him, almost pulling Harry backward.

"Yeah? You're heavy as fuck you know."

"Yeah I know," there's a smile in his voice, "I'm going out for a pint. Join me?"

Harry shakes his head and unceremoniously drops Niall onto the floor behind him. "Some of us actually take our classes seriously, and since we switched shifts specifically so I could make it to my Tuesday Thursday class, I think I actually need to do the homework associated with it."

Niall grimaced. "Suit yourself mate, I'm off."

Harry closes up shop behind him. New "usuals" to learn, new faces to see, more coffee to drink. Evening shift's not as bad as it could be.

Two days later, Thursday morning, Harry has every intent on going to class. Doing well in lecture. Paying attention. Being an early bird, he certainly has that ability but, well, Zayn and Liam are not early birds and just this once, he decides to take the morning off to sit at the coffee shop and watch them perform.

He's not really disappointed.

Zayn and Liam have worked out a system. A sickeningly sweet system. Harry's been witness to it more than a few times when he's been studying at the cafe in the evenings. Liam always takes the orders at the register (that's Harry's position during his shift, management thinks it's easier for one person to be the main person on drinks, so Harry's job has always seemed significantly easier. It's much simpler to write complicated drink orders onto the cups than to be the one trying to make them, and while technically Harry has been trained to be able to field either position, Niall learned early on that Harry behind the scenes trying to fill a cup with scalding hot coffee is never a good idea, and they both had the burns to prove it). So while Liam writes orders, Zayn's artistic side is perfect for making every drink look as hand-crafted and one-of-a-kind as any hipster coffee joint could dream of. And every time he puts a new mug down on the counter and calls a name, he turns to Liam and plants a quick peck on his cheek. Really, he must use a lot of chapstick, right? Harry's seen them fill orders for hours at a time, and the routine doesn't change, Liam rewards him with a small smile but otherwise never makes any other sign of noticing Zayn's actions. Sickeningly sweet.

It also means more than a few customers have left the cafe in absolute revulsion, but Liam and Zayn are good friends with Niall, and Niall says fuck them all so it's a good case of good riddance all around.

This is Zayn and Liam's second day attempting morning shift though, and Harry is rewarded with two sleepy grumpy looks as he pops behind the counter to pour himself a drink (perks of working at a coffee shop: free coffee whenever you want it, and free coffee even when you don't want it).

Zayn growls wordlessly at him, squinting his eyes as if the lights above him are ten times as bright as they actually are.

"Harry." Liam perches on the stool in front of the register, his elbows on the counter in front of him and his hands trying to protect his face from the horror that is six in the morning. "Harry what the fuck."

Harry smiles. He pours himself plain black coffee. "What?"

"Harry mate, what the fuck is wrong with you? How are you awake? Any why the fuck are you awake here?"

Harry slides down the back of the counter, near Liam's feet, and takes a sip of the coffee. It burns a little. That was probably a bad plan on his part, but he's not too miffed now. This is fun. "I just wanted to see how you two were getting along, Liam! Make sure you're adjusting to the time change and all that. Clearly, you’re not."

Zayn growls again.

Liam is interrupted with a new customer coming through the doors. Older woman. Orders a hazelnut iced coffee. Liam writes the order on a mug that Harry hands up to him and takes her money. "There's a reason I've kept to the evening shift. Nobody should be awake at this ungodly hour. Nobody."

Harry chuckles and watches Zayn fill the cup, place it on the counter, and, almost begrudgingly, land a kiss on Liam's cheek. Liam pats Zayn's hair lovingly (clearly he can tell Zayn needs the emotional support, this being an 'ungodly hour' and all that), and Zayn leans into him, his eyes closed and threatening to leave the land of the awake at any moment.

"Zayn, you know you're standing on my foot, right?" Harry drawls from the floor below them. Zayn doesn't move. "Zayn." he gets no response. "Zayn, make yourself something caffeinated or I will do it for you."

Zayn opens his eyes long enough to glare down below him. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me."

Zayn know this is not an empty threat. Harry knows he remembers the chai tea incident. Harry feels a swift kick to his legs as Zayn shuffles away to grace the world with another amazing creation.

Harry opens his bag and takes out the textbook for the class he is currently not attending. Sipping his coffee (cooler now, thank God), he spends the next hour highlighting passages (mostly at random) and listening to Liam take orders. Zayn's cappuccino (triple mocha and more whipped cream than should be legal) finally wakes him up to the point where he is only normal grumpy instead of excessively grumpy, and he force feeds Liam some of it too, so the mood does return almost to bright and cheerful. A couple people ask after Harry and Niall - none by name, clearly they're not that memorable, but Harry still finds it sweet that they're asking - and he resists the urge to pop up and announce his presence. He's not some sort of famous celebrity like he's in a boy band or something. He just wishes he is.

During the ten o’clock lull, an hour before Liam and Zayn call off work and are replaced by Sophia and Eleanor, Harry asks about regulars. "Like, do you have a lot of them? Because we get a lot of the same people on their way to work in the morning but I was thinking maybe it was different for the evening, since people come to study and stuff."

Liam nods, "Yeah, I don't think we get the same number of regulars that you guys do, but there are a couple. Mostly just simple orders like black coffee or a bagel, they don't seem to go as much for the fancy drinks after the sun is up." Zayn nods his assent, and Liam continues, "didn't expect anyone to actually ask after you though, you must be a pretty memorable barista for them to have remembered your name."

Okay, a couple old ladies had remembered Harry's name. He still feels flattered by it. Then he remembers, "Oh yeah, there was one guy on Tuesday though! Said his name was Louis, he asked about you. Told him we switched shifts and all that."

Zayn finishes a double espresso and pecks Liam on the cheek, "Oh yeah, Louis. He's here five days a week, dunno about weekends. Yorkshire tea, right? Miffy with two spoons of sugar."

That’s some information worth remembering. "He didn't tell me how he wanted his tea. Just asked for Yorkshire."

"Oh, poor guy," Liam shook his head, "He does love his tea a very specific way, but I remember it took a few weeks before he mentioned it to me. Didn't seem to want to trouble us or something, like it's not my job or something." Something seems to occur to him then, "Oh and, um, I kind of stopped charging him full price for his drink..."

Harry looks up at him, "Oh yeah? He have money money trouble or something?"

"I dunno, he just always seemed a little strapped. Always digging in his pockets like it was everything he owned, and I felt bad. Told him we dropped our prices and tea was fifty pence. Don't think he bought it but he never argued."

"Well Jesus, Payne!" Harry aimed a light punch as far up as he could reach - Liam's knee, "and here I was making him pay full price because I didn't know. Any other regulars you changed the rules for?"

Liam cocks his head and thinks seriously for a minute (it wasn't really a serious question, Harry thinks, but Liam's just that type), "No," he says finally, "I don't think so."

Zayn punches him in the shoulder, harder than Harry (Liam frowns and looks at Zayn with his big puppydog eyes), "Nah mate, what about those business guys who come in a few days a week? The ones who called you a fag? You definitely charge them double."

Liam's cheeks colour and he looks down, mumbling something about deserving what's coming to them and being able to afford it. Harry laughs.

Harry starts to wonder, a couple hours later, why he thought it was a good idea to get up that early to visit with Liam and Zayn (okay, he would have been up that early anyway, but that is clearly not the point), when he was already going to be in the coffee shop for the evening shift just a few hours later. It seems like an awfully long time to be confined to such a small space, even if that space is constantly filling and emptying with wonderfully fascinating strangers. He therefore takes the lunch shift to his utmost advantage (Eleanor has never seemed that big a fan of his anyway, although Perrie is quite nice), and gate-crashes Liam and Zayn's apartment for a few hours, taking up their entire couch with his exceedingly long legs and going through his e-mail on his phone (a quick email to the lecturer informing him that Harry was on-death's-doorstep-sick and asking what he missed), and playing game after game of Bejeweled and Flappy Bird until Zayn tells him to get his ass up and do something with his life, so he gives back to the community by making toasties for everyone, and blasting the only appropriate cooking music - Adele - from his phone.

At four thirty he starts the walk back to work, and meets with Niall in time to wave El and Perrie goodbye and take over for the afternoon. Niall has a backpack stuffed with subs from the fast food place down the road and grabs one out of his backpack, seemingly at random, and hands it to Harry.

"Didn't see you at class today?" he grabs another one for himself and unwraps it. "Thought this class was oh-so-important to ya. Bored of English Grammar already?"

Harry inspects the sandwich handed to him, before unwrapping it and tearing off part of the bread. Sandwiches are best eaten one piece at a time. "Well Ni, sometimes grammar is better left undiscovered. Brings more discoveries for later in life, you know?"

Niall nods sagely, as if this is a perfectly reasonable explanation. Harry reckons that, to Niall, it probably is.

They eat their sandwiches in peace (Niall finishing well before Harry, and devouring another two because he clearly is a bottomless pit), filling orders as people come in after classes for their afternoon pick-me-ups. Harry recognizes a couple of them from the Tuesday before, although he doesn't remember if they ordered the same thing last time that they order now. Something occurs to him as he's trying fruitlessly to remember the orders, though, and he pulls out his marker and a mug and scribbles down the side MIFFY YORKSHIRE TWO SUGARS and under that LOUIS. He places the cup back under the counter with the others to wait and see if he gets the chance to use it. Maybe Louis will be impressed. Maybe he'll smile this time. At least it's not raining, so there's no way he'll look as miserable this time, right?

Niall gives him a look when Harry scribbles on the cup and puts it back with the others, but doesn't comment on it. He just starts his last sandwich, washing it down with a caramel macchiato. There's no way Niall can be human. Maybe he's a black hole. Maybe he's a robot, and whatever he eats is transported to starving kids in Africa. Yeah, that must be it. Like a robot super hero.

Maybe Harry definitely didn't get enough sleep last night.

A little after 5:30, the bells above the door chime and the only face with an order that Harry remembers steps in. With the sun shining outside, Louis no longer looks like a mudslide personified, although Harry notes that he's still not really dressed for the weather (a jumper and skinny jeans but still no coat or hoodie of any kind). He walks up to the counter and opens his mouth to talk but Harry cuts him off.

"Yorkshire tea, right?" he asks flashing him a grin, "Your usual?"

Louis looks taken aback for a moment, "Uh, yeah exactly." He starts searching his pockets.

"That'll be fifty p." Harry says, inputting the information to the cash register, looking away from Louis as he says it.

Louis stares at him, his brow knitted together and lips pursed. "You said last time-"

"Last time was my first day doing evening shift! Everyone makes mistakes their first day, right?" Harry, of course, doesn't mention the fact that he has been working at this cafe in the mornings for over a year. That part's clearly not important.

Louis keeps his eyes locked on Harry a bit longer, but he's holding up a small queue of people and he knows it, so rather than argue he pulls out a few coins from his pockets and deposits them on the counter before him.

Harry snatches them up with a "Thank you! It'll be one moment!" and puts them in the cash register, before taking out the cup that he wrote on earlier and handing it to Niall. Niall, who had watched this whole exchange. Niall, who would certainly be questioning him about this later, but for the moment just reads the cup and does as directed. Good old Niall.

Louis wanders away to find a spot in the coffee shop to claim as his own, Harry helps the next man in line, and Niall follows the mug's instructions. A minute later an Irish voice calls "Louis!"

Harry pauses in his workings to glance over at Louis as he walks over and takes up the mug, steam curling from the top. He glances into the mug, a confused look in his eyes, and then brings it up to eye level so he can read the writings on the side. Harry suddenly starts to wonder if this was a bad idea. Does this make him seem like a stalker? Giving Louis the right order even though Louis had never actually told him how he likes his tea? Yeah, that sounds a little weird. Oh God, he's going to think Harry's insane. He's going to think Harry's stalking him. Or looking over the secret files of orders that coffee shops always keep in the back so that cops can track serial killers and terrorists by the drinks they drink.

No, the coffee shop doesn't have those. No coffee shop has those. Calm down, Harry.

Louis glances at Niall (working on another drink), and then at Harry (looking at the cash register, counting change, being professional, looking ANYWHERE BUT AT LOUIS), and Harry waits until he walks away before he chances looking up. Louis has once again seated himself in a plush chair in front of one of the windows. He's brought a textbook of some kind (Harry can’t quite see what it is, but it's clearly too large to be a regular novel), and is holding the cup up to his lips, not drinking it yet, but breathing it in. Harry grins to himself because he can see that Louis is smiling, which he definitely wasn't doing when he came in.

Another soul's day improved, another job well done.

Harry continues taking orders until about seven when there's a lull in customers. Niall sneaks donuts for them out of the display case - powdered for Niall and strawberry jam filled for Harry - and they lounge behind the counter together, Harry slouching on his stool and Niall at his preferred spot on the floor, half under the shelf of mugs. Niall is texting a girl that he's met in one of his classes about a party that's going on that night. He informs Harry that this means he'll probably get back to the flat in the wee hours in the morning, if he gets back at all, "unless you wanna come, mate?"

Harry informs him that no, Niall has every ability to pull on his own and doesn't need Harry there with him, plus he should really do that classwork for that class he didn't go to. Niall informs him that he is a thirty year old lady and doesn't deserve as cool of friends as Niall, and Harry agrees. He's just not the type to go partying every night. A good weekend trip to the club is one thing, but Harry cannot even fathom how Niall manages to pass his classes and work a morning job while going out and getting thoroughly pissed every night. The Irish blood is strong in this one.

They talk about homework and about the amazing parties Niall's been to in the last week, and all the girls Niall has declared undying devotion for in the last couple of weeks, and Niall spends a good amount of time chastising Harry for looking for a serious relationship at the beginning of their stay at university when it should be all about getting as many shags in a semester as humanly possible (Harry looks almost grossed out at that thought, he knows it's Niall's style but God he might as well be a prostitute and charge money for it if that's how he's gonna look at it), and how Zayn and Liam have begun to act like an old married couple after having been dating for only a year, and then go onto making a comprehensive list of the amount of alcohol Niall must have consumed since the class year started. It's a horrific amount, honestly, and Harry begins to worry that Niall will be on his third liver by the time he graduates. Or is it the kidney that's affected by alcohol? Well he's got two of those so might as well not worry about it.

An hour passes and, five minutes before the cafe officially closes, as people are slowly packing up their essays and spreadsheets and muffled conversations, a hand places a mug on the counter in front of Harry. He looks up from his iPod, where he's creating a new mix entitled "Why Mornings are Worth It" (it starts with an overwhelming amount of Adele and Hawk Nelson), and Louis doesn't acknowledge Harry as he turns and walks toward the door, but Harry notices a piece of paper stuck below the mug. He waits until the bell dings closed behind Louis and gingerly picks up the cup to unstick the scrap - a corner torn from a textbook, maybe? - from the bottom. He unfolds it and reads, "When you said you'd learn my usual, I thought you meant you'd memorize what I told you, not what I've actually been getting. I believe in the magic of baristas."

Harry doesn't know what to think of the note. So he tucks it in his back pocket to mull over later.