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1dautumnficexchange · 10 years ago

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Inked Skin

For: Jaci @jacidoesfanfiction @differentkindofcrazy

By: Steph @ticketchanges

If there was one thing Freya Cartwright was good at, it was planning. But when her boyfriend takes her to an impromptu visit to a tattoo parlour, Freya realises that plans are made for the sole purpose of being changed. She just wished she had figured it out long before she met Harry Styles, an unexpectedly wise bad boy.

Word count: 6,535

Warnings: Language and sexual references

Main pairings: Louis/Freya/Harry

The crisp, cold air nipped at Freya’s skin as she wrapped her arm around herself, her fingers loosely slotted between Louis’. The crunch of the leaves underneath their boots was the only sound that could be heard, neither of them uttering a word as they walked to their destination, which was significantly strange considering Louis almost always had something to say and could talk at the speed of a million miles a minute.

“Oi, lads! I’m here,” Louis rung out finally, dragging Freya along by her hand as he sauntered into the tattoo parlour as if it was his second home.

“Louis!” Zayn greeted, jogging up to him with a grin on his face. Louis’ hand immediately let go of Freya’s, and she frowned at the lack of contact and warmth as Zayn brought Louis into a hug, patting his back so harshly that Freya wanted to wince. “What are you doing here, bro?”

Louis pulled back and nodded towards Freya. “I was hoping to get a new tattoo and I brought my missus with me. She’s never seen me get one done, and I wanted to show her this place,” Louis explained, waving his hand in the air.

Zayn cleared his throat as he looked to find her standing timidly behind Louis. It was only then that Freya got a clear look at him, how his hair was shaved at the sides but long on the top and tied into a bun, almost as if he was a punk, and how he had a few piercings in his ears and one in his nose, and although they suited him, a shiver ran down her spine.

“Mm, what’s your name?” Zayn asked gruffly, scratching the stubble on his chin.

“Freya,” she chirped. Her eyes widened as Zayn’s t-shirt rode up, revealing more tattoos on his hips that paired with his chest tattoos and sleeves. She’d never seen so many in her life.

“You want one as well?” Zayn asked, smirking.

“Nah mate, she’s not like that. She’d never let a dirty needle go anywhere near her skin let alone get a tattoo,” Louis joked, turning around to flash a grin at Freya, although she kept frowning at him.

“Right,” Zayn mused, raising his eyebrows. “I’m actually booked out for the night but Harry has a spot open…” he paused to jog behind the front desk and fish through the list of books, “right now.”

“Perfect!” Louis grinned, grabbing Freya’s hand again and tugging her along behind him as he strolled into a room on the left.

Freya and Louis were well fitted, Freya thought. They were both the odd ones out at university when they first met last year, falling somewhere into the cracks as misfits in their nerdy law cohort, and since they didn’t find anyone else to befriend at freshers week, they clung together, and inevitably, they wound up as boyfriend and girlfriend somewhere along the way. Now however, it was a routine relationship, and Freya liked that. It wasn’t work and there were never any questions. They spent every Friday night together because it was the only night they both had free between work and school, every Saturday Louis would go out with his mates and Freya would decline because she hated the whole party scene, and then every Sunday Louis would spend the night at her cramped flat so they could go to university together on Monday morning. It was extremely well planned and Freya loved it – it fitted both of their worlds perfectly.

That’s how all things in Freya’s life went – if something wasn’t planned at least two weeks in advance she wouldn’t do it, it wouldn’t matter the situation. She’d always had a flair for meticulously scheduling everything so she was never bored and knew exactly how her life was going to work out, and so far, everything was going according to her plan.

“I don’t have an appointment now, I’m on a fucking break,” a disembodied voice said, their t-shirt clad back facing towards her and Louis, a mane of curly hair dangling over their neck and broad shoulders.

“Uh—Harry, right?” Louis began, squeezing Freya’s fingers a bit tighter as she chewed her bottom lip. “Zayn sent me in, he said you could squeeze us in quickly?”

Harry turned around, and just like Zayn, he had a million tattoos, if not more. But his tattoos bothered Freya immensely because they weren’t mapped out at all. At least Zayn’s were coherent – like jigsaw puzzle pieces coming together to create one magnificent sleeve. But Harry’s were absolutely disastrous. They were hazardously scattered all up his left arm with a few loitering his chest, and Freya had to purse her lips to keep herself from screaming at how unplanned they all looked, as if he had just decided then and there that he wanted a random mermaid on his forearm. Even his outfit looked unplanned, with a plain white t-shirt and black, leather pants and black boots topped off with a dark green beanie.

“Us?” Harry quirked, eyeing Freya so carefully that she wanted to squirm under his glare.

“Oh,” Louis chuckled. “No, you’re just doing a tattoo for one of us. But we are an us.” “Right,” Harry clicked, still raking his eyes up Freya’s body. There wasn’t much for Harry to stare at she thought; after all, she was only wearing black woolly tights with a short skirt and a knitted jumper. Tugging her skirt further down her thighs didn’t help either – it only drew Harry’s attention to her legs even more, giving Freya the opposite result of what she wanted. Her plan didn’t go accordingly and her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

“I’m Louis by the way, a mate of Zayn’s,” Louis introduced, his hand slipping from Freya’s once again as he stepped forward to shake Harry’s hand.

“Oh—you’re Louis Tomlinson?” Harry checked, shaking Louis’ hand. “You should’ve said so, good to meet you finally.”

“You too.”

“And who are you?” Harry asked rudely, although a dimple popped in his left cheek as his lips turned into a lopsided smile, his unwavering gaze solely focused on Freya’s eyes.

“Freya,” she squeaked, glancing at the floor as she shifted from side to side on her feet.

“I’m assuming it’s not you getting a tattoo tonight, yeah?” Harry teased, and Freya scowled at him because she was sick of all these jokes about her.

“Yeah, you’ll be doing one for me,” Louis interjected before Freya could reply, taking a seat in the chair in the middle of the room as Freya sat on one in the corner with wheels on the end of the legs.

“What do you want?” Harry quizzed.

“Just a stickman skating on my forearm.”

“I think I know exactly what you want,” Harry told him without a second thought, immediately getting a sketch book and drawing something quickly before flashing it to Louis, and he grinned at Harry because it was perfect.

As soon as Harry brought the needle out Freya’s face paled and she felt as if she would pass out, so she quickly told them she needed to use the restroom and excused herself. It was only when she was outside the room that she realised she had no idea where the bathroom was, and she really didn’t want to face Harry – or Zayn for that matter – so she stepped outside to get some fresh air instead, letting the cool breeze wake her up instead of the water that she would have splashed on her face. Two minutes passed until she decided she should head back, her hair falling clumsily over her face and shoulders. She waltzed back into the parlour and was about to open the door when she heard voices babbling over the low hum of the tattoo gun. Pressing her ear against the door with her palms flat against the wood, she decided to eavesdrop.

“You two don’t seem very well matched,” she overheard Harry say, and she instantly frowned.

“She’s a great girl,” Louis replied, and Freya’s heart sank because although he didn’t agree with Harry, he didn’t disagree with him either.

“She is very attractive,” Harry began, and Freya’s heart was catapulting from the bottom of her stomach to her mouth so she could hear it thumping in her ears. “But don’t you think it’s a bit of an odd match? I mean you’re all tattoos and beers—I mean, I’ve seen videos of you on Zayn’s phone. But she’s all unblemished, porcelain skin and tea, y’know?”

Louis chuckled. “It just works somehow, but I get what you—”

Freya wouldn’t let Louis finish his sentence because she didn’t want to hear it, so she opened the door with a slam and sat back in her office chair, and as far away from Louis as possible.

She was acutely aware that her and Louis had different tastes, her friends – who were actually more like Louis than herself – pointed it out months ago. He liked to go clubbing and get drunk on the weekend, but her version of a Saturday night was cuddling under a blanket on the couch with a glass of wine and a reality TV show re-run on in the background. He was the odd one of out of their university class because he was too cool, whereas Freya fell somewhere in between. He was chocolate with every sprinkle possible and she was vanilla, but vanilla is a good thing to be. It’s reliable, it’s a standard and a general favourite, and it was extremely likeable but understated. That’s what Freya was.

“Do you want to see it?” Louis asked, smiling.

“I’m good,” she replied shortly, her eyes drifting over Harry’s back hunched over Louis’ arm.

After ten minutes of excruciating silence sans the sound of rain drops pattering down the pipes outside, Harry put the tattoo gun down and covered Louis’ arm with a bandage before running through the instructions of aftercare with Louis; even though Freya could tell Louis wasn’t listening by the way his eyes were glazed over.

“Thanks so much for this,” Louis said, reaching into his wallet and giving him the fifty quid he owed him. “I’ll have to recommend you to some of my mates.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry replied, turning around to face Freya.

“What?” she asked after a couple silent beats passed, her eyes darting around the room in search for Louis until she realised he was outside talking to Zayn instead of waiting for her.

“Will you be back soon to get a tattoo?” he teased, and her cheeks flamed pink.

“Nope.”

“Okay, if you ever change your mind, just call up,” he continued, rubbing it in her face how she would never ever get a tattoo. She used to think it was a honourable thing, but the way Harry was talking to her was making her believe it wasn’t such a great thing after all – being vanilla that is.

“Will do,” she replied, smiling up at him sweetly before walking out of the room and sidling up beside Louis.

The rest of the night stuck to the plan as usual. They retreated back to Freya’s apartment and had Chinese take out like they had every Friday night before they popped on a movie and cuddled, her leg slung over his torso and her head cuddled into his chest as if there was nowhere else she’d rather be, and then Louis left, bidding her goodnight with a chaste kiss on the lips.

~~~~

The following morning, a frantically buzzing phone on her wooden bedside table woke Freya up. She wiped the drool that had managed to spill out of her lips and looked at her phone with bleary eyes, a frown appearing on her face instead of the usual smile when she read Louis’ name on the caller ID.

“Hi,” she answered sleepily.

“Sorry, did I wake you, babe?” he asked on the other end of the line.

“No, it’s okay,” she lied. “What’s up?”

“Just wondering if you’d like to come out with me and some of the lads tonight,” he asked her, and he was hopeful by the sound of his voice.

She paused and rubbed her hand over her face. “I’ve got so much stuff to do by Monday, I—I don’t think I can. I didn’t plan to—”

“Right,” Louis swallowed. “You didn’t plan it in advance, of course you can’t come. You never do.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, licking over her lips, “how ‘bout I come in a couple weeks time once some of our assignments are done with, yeah?”

Louis paused on the other end of the line, his shaky breaths crackling in her ear. “Yeah, let’s do that then,” he replied drearily.

“Okay,” she responded before she hurried to add, “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he laughed sadly.

“I love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

As they hung up, Freya couldn’t help but feel as though Louis had lodged a bullet straight into the middle of her heart. She just hoped he would decide to pull it out and let her bleed, or let it stay put.

~~~~

A few weeks later, Freya found herself squished between Louis and one of his mates in a booth at a club, and Louis’ hand was far too high on her thigh for her liking, especially when they were in public and around his mates. Even though the club music was pumping through the crowded room, she was still having a shit time – she’d been nursing one drink all night because she always set herself limits whilst Louis was so far gone that she didn’t even want to deal with him and his touchiness. Even when he dragged her on the dance floor and pressed his hips against hers to entertain her, all she wanted to do was run away and go back home and watch something on the TV because she’d fallen into the routine of it.

“When do you wanna go?” Freya asked Louis quietly, her hand landing on top of his hand that was placed on her thigh. She only did it so that it wouldn’t go any higher, even though Louis probably saw it as something romantic.

He rolled his eyes at her. “We only just got here, babe. Have some fun.”

“I’d just—I’d rather be home with just you, y’know?” she told him honestly, pressing a feather light kiss to his cheek and then one to his neck.

He shivered and turned to face her before leaning in and catching her lips with his, immediately prying her lips open so he could slide his tongue inside and lick the roof of her mouth, his hand squeezing her thigh as his other reached behind her neck to bring her closer if possible. But Freya wasn’t into it – not like Louis was, so she pulled away and flushed a deep crimson.

“Oh for fuck’s sake I knew this would bloody happen,” Louis snarled, retracting his hand from her lap.

“Huh?” she gawked.

“You’re a fucking buzz kill sometimes, y’know that?” he babbled, and even though Freya knew he was drunk out of his mind, it hurt all the same. “I invited you so we could both have some fun together, so we could do something different than fucking homework together or watching a movie and cuddling. I can’t even remember the last time we properly fucked.”

“I—I thought you liked doing those things with me. What’re you trying to say?” she asked slowly, her mouth slightly agape as her eyes began pricking with tears.

“’M saying that I don’t want to do this anymore, I can’t live in your perfect world when I want to live in my fucking own sometimes,” he rambled, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“You’re breaking up with me?” she asked quietly, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from crying.

“I don’t know,” he replied instantly, climbing out of the booth. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

He slid out of the booth and jogged as far away from her as possible, leaving Freya alone with only cold air surrounding her, an air that she used to wish was filled by Louis’ warmth. But now, she just wanted anyone to fill that warmth. It was one thing for things not to go Freya’s way, but for her to feel horribly alone in a club she despised? She hated it.

The cold air, however, was quickly replaced with overly warm air, a hint of tobacco even invading her senses. Turning her head as the person sat close to Freya, their thighs pressed together, her cold glare – a result from Louis – found Harry’s soft one, and she hated it. He looked at her sympathetically, as if he actually felt bad even though he was the one to plant the seed in Louis’ head.

“Hey, Freya right?” he checked, his hand grasping her forearm gently. “Are you okay?”

She laughed sadistically and Harry’s eyes widened. “No,” she near-yelled, shoving his hand away from her arm. “I’m not okay, and it’s all your fault.”

“Finally, some emotion from you that isn’t so robotic and controlled,” he replied, a cocky demeanour spreading through his entire body.

“None of this would have ever happened if it wasn’t for you, Louis and I would be fine and I—I wouldn’t be in this stupid club sitting next to you,” she barked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t cause any of this, babe,” he told her. “It was bound to happen eventually. It’s not possible for the two of you to stay together.”

“Oh, yeah? And how would you know? Are you an expert or something?”

With that she got up to leave, huffing as she stormed out of the club and spilled onto the street with the rest of the drunken idiots she decided to spend her Saturday night with.

“Hey!” shouted a voice from behind her. “Would you fucking stop!”

She didn’t turn around and kept briskly walking down the street, as far away from the club as possible and as far away from wherever Louis was.

“Jesus Christ, would you just stop!” the voice yelled again, making Freya spin around because of the urgency in the voice, her eyes finding Harry again, leaning over as he gasped for air with his hands on his knees. Her eyes softened and for reasons unbeknown to herself, she slowly walked towards him.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

“I would be fine if you had just stopped,” he snapped, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“I’m tired, I’m cold, and I just want to leave. I’m sorry for being rude before but I—”

“Would you stop apologising? It’s exhausting,” he wheezed, coughing and standing up straight.

She gnawed her bottom lip and hailed a taxi. “Sorry—I mean, I’m going home now, okay? Sorry.”

“Stop apologising!” he yelled back to her as she shut the door of the cab, driving away with empty promises.

Freya never got a phone call the next day from Louis.

~~~~

A week later and still with no call from Louis, Freya was itching to do something to get him back – to do something to make him realise that she isn’t only good for well thought out plans (even if she really was and she knew it). So she picked up her phone and called a number she never thought she ever would.

“Hello? This is Inked Skin tattoo parlour, Harry speaking. How may I help you?” Harry politely answered, and Freya cursed to herself under her breath at having him pick up the phone out of all the people who worked there. She was going to be the punch line of all his jokes for the next week now.

“Um hi, Harry. I don’t know if you remember me but I’m Freya, Louis’… yeah. Anyway, I was wondering if you could book an appointment,” she told him, glad that they were talking over the phone so he couldn’t see the splotchy patches on the skin of her neck.

“And who am I booking the appointment for, Freya?”

“Me,” she said without a second thought.

Harry laughed. “Yeah right, is this some prank Louis put you up to? I know he’s a prankster, Zayn’s told me.”

“Uh—no actually, it’s not. I want to get a tattoo,” she said, so unconvincingly that she cringed at herself.

“Okay, how about I book you in for tonight? With me?”

“Tonight?” she gasped. Now she had no time to not go through with it.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Come down in an hour and have a think about what you want, just knock on my door when you get here. You know which one it is.”

“Okay, thank you,” she said courteously.

“No problem,” he clicked off, chuckling as the line went dead. She knew he didn’t believe her one bit – everything he said was with a disbelieving and teasing tone. Freya being a law student meant one thing, though. She had a knack for proving people wrong.

~~~~

The door chimed to notify Zayn that someone had stepped into the parlour, and Freya thought the look on his face was priceless as he saw her stride up to the desk, confidence brooding from her.

“Louis isn’t here,” he told her sternly. Did he know something she didn’t?

“Okay?” she said, confused. “I’m not here for Louis, I have an appointment with Harry.”

Zayn flicked through the pieces of paper before his eyes widened as they landed on her name scribbled messily for the evening slot. “Okay, go through.”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile before she opened the door to Harry’s room and shut it with a click. Harry was already sitting in his chair with a smirk playing on his lips and his arms crossed over his chest, as if he still didn’t believe she would come even though she was standing in front of him.

“Surprised to see you here,” he piped.

“Why? I told you I wanted a tattoo,” she said bluntly.

“I don’t want to sound rude, but I didn’t think you would show up,” he said, no apologetic tone traced in his voice whatsoever.

“I’m someone who sticks to their word,” she jabbed at him, even though she really wanted to say that to Louis.

“Alright, chill out,” he chuckled, standing up to match her stance. “What do you want, then?”

She bit her bottom lip nervously before she spluttered out: “I want I can’t change written on my wrist.”

Harry stared at her in shock. “You’ve got to be fucking with me,” Harry said lowly, pulling up the sleeve of his leather jacket.

“I’m not…”

“I’ve got one exactly like that,” he said, annoyed. His sleeve was past his elbow as he stretched his arm out towards her so she could read the writing on his wrist, and I can’t change was inked on his skin just like she wanted it to be inked on her own.

“I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t it get it if you have it,” she murmured, chewing her bottom lip as she looked at up him all doe eyed.

“Why? Freya, I’m going to give you some advice cos I think you bloody need it. Stop letting people walk all over you, yeah? If you want to do something, do it, don’t let people stop you from doing what you want,” he told her honestly, although his words were quite snippy.

She nodded. “Yeah, okay. I want that tattoo, then.”

“Great, same font as mine or something different?”

Her eyes went wide as Harry stayed cool, not the least bit annoyed that they would have matching tattoos. “Um, maybe something a little less bold and cursive?”

“Okay, sit down, I’ll do it freehand.”

Freya gingerly sat on the chair with her arm on the table in front of her so Harry could have a clear view of her wrist. “So you’re not stencilling it?” she asked, concern washing over her face.

“No, do you have a problem with that?” She didn’t reply. “Do you trust me?” he asked, prodding her for answers.

“No,” she told him honestly, and just when he was about to reply with a scowl on his face she added, “but I guess I have no choice but to say yes.”

He didn’t react, and instead sat down on his normal chair and set up the tattoo gun and needle before he cleaned the area so it wouldn’t get infected. Five minutes into the whole experience the silence still encompassed them, the slow inking of her skin being the only sound that was heard. That’s when she really got to examine Harry.

His hair was out and messy, half curled behind one ear. She hated how it was unnecessarily long – how it looked as though he didn’t plan for it to get as long as it was, but it some how suited him, all curly and parted to the side. Her eyes then drifted to the tattoos on his chest and abdomen and hips, which she could see clearly through the white t-shirt he was wearing underneath his leather jacket. Multiple rings were on both of his hands, seven of the ten fingers each adorning one, even his hands inked with black markings of nonsense. But the thing that nearly made her scream was the piercing she spotted as he concentrated on doing her tattoo. She didn’t know that Harry had a tongue piercing until his tongue swiped over his lips in concentration, and she had to press her lips together in a thin line to hold back from gasping at the metal in his mouth.

“Why’d you change your mind about the tattoo?” Harry asked curiously, eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

She sighed. “You know why.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“Louis,” was all she had to mention as she stared at his forehead that glowed under the light.

“Wait,” he paused, stopping his tattoo gun from inking her skin further, “this is a ploy to get Louis back?”

She shrugged. “Essentially, it’s one part of the plan.”

“What’s this elaborate plan you’ve got sorted out? You look like someone who would have a little black book of plans you’ve written out,” he rambled, pausing to look up at her and smirking once he saw the red splash her cheeks, meaning he was right.

She winced at the pain and he apologised briefly before she ignored his teasing. “I have to show Louis I have a fun side, that I’m not a buzz kill all the time,” she said quietly so she didn’t have to hear herself say it too loudly, but it hurt all the same.

“Alright, you’re all done,” Harry concluded, ignoring her small explanation and rubbing lotion over her wrist before bandaging it up. He stood up to grab a leaflet and handed it to her. “This is all about the after care of it, if you have any questions just ring up, someone will help you.”

He sounded bored but Freya smiled up at him anyway in gratitude. “Thanks.”

She gathered her things and slung her bag over her shoulder and was about to leave when Harry cleared his throat. “You know, you shouldn’t be doing things for someone else. You should be doing it because you want to. I don’t want you ringing up complaining about how much you regret this tattoo,” he said, tucking his hair further behind his ears. “I should’ve asked you why you were getting it before I started.”

“I did want it, it looks good… I think.”

“You might wanna try a little harder to convince yourself of that,” he replied.

“It will look good,” she corrected herself, and Harry let out a half-hearted chuckle.

“Look, if you’re really that adamant to get Louis back, you should come out tonight with me. I think Louis will be there cos Zayn’s going as well and—I dunno, the opportunity is there if you want it,” he clarified.

She thought about it before she nodded slowly, not even sure why she was agreeing in the first place. “Why are you doing this for me?” she asked curiously.

“Cos I’m bored,” he shrugged. “Might as well use my bad boy punk image and live life to the fullest motto for good, right?”

“Right. What time and where?”

“Ten thirty at Ivy.”

She gulped but nodded nonetheless.

“Right, well go home and get changed into something else and meet me there.” She nodded in agreement and opened the door to leave when Harry yelled, “I have one rule, Freya.”

“Rule?” she asked quizzically, turning around. “I thought you lived life on the edge.”

“It’s not a rule for me, babe, it’s a rule for you.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“You have to do everything I tell you to do tonight. No questions asked,” he told her sternly, rubbing his hands together before scratching the back of his neck.

“But—”

“What did I just say? No questions!” he bellowed exasperatedly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Go home and meet me there later.”

Freya left without another word.

~~~~

By ten thirty, Freya was waiting out the front of Ivy in her normal black, short skirt and black shirt without tights this time. Her legs were shivering and her teeth were chattering as she waited for Harry, but she honestly began to think that her coldness was more nervousness than anything. Not even a minute later Harry rocked up in the same outfit he was sporting at the tattoo parlour, except this time his hair was pulled back into a messy bun. He didn’t even acknowledge her, and instead, walked through the doors of the club, but not before mumbling to the bouncers that Freya was with him. She dumbly trailed behind him, trying not to lose him as she pushed past the throngs of people that were packed inside.

Once they reached the bar, Harry near-shouted in her ear, “You’re doing shots. Right now. You need to loosen up.”

She was about to protest until she remembered his rule, so she nodded at him and pretended not to gawk at the four shots the bartender laid out for her.

“Drink up,” he grinned, sipping on his own glass of scotch.

She brought the shot glass up to her nose and smelt it, the scent burning her nostrils. She was about to wince and shake her head and run out of the club altogether until she told herself it was worth it. It was for Louis. So she downed the four shots as if they were water, and as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand with a screwed up face, Harry grinned at her before he ordered more.

After another two shots and two vodka cranberries later, Freya could feel the alcohol pulsating through her body. She had no idea how she was standing right now, but she liked the feeling. She felt like she was floating on air and that she was invincible, and it helped that Harry was at the same stage she was, all glassy eyed with flushed cheeks and a lazy smile and extremely messy hair.

“Why do you have so many tattoos?” she asked drunkenly, breaking the silence.

“Cos I like them,” he shrugged, as if the answer was the simplest and most obvious thing in the world.

“But they’re so disjointed and random and eccentric. Some are so serious but some are so fun, I don’t get it,” she blurted.

“That’s the point, Freya. You’re not meant to get it. You’re not meant to understand life, it’s not meant to be set in stone, not everything is going to go your way,” rambled a rather thoughtful looking Harry as he stared at the amber liquid in his glass.

She blinked at him. “What now?” she slurred, nudging her shoulder against his.

He downed the rest of his drink. “Now, we dance,” he told her, grabbing her hand and stumbling through the partygoers until they reached the dance floor.

His hands seized her wrists and clasped them around his neck before he reached down and squeezed her waist comfortingly, telling her to move and do what ever feels comfortable. It didn’t take long for the rhythm to take over – for her to move her hips from side to side as she followed Harry’s, her fingers fiddling with the hair on the back of his neck because she was fidgety, something that she did when she didn’t really know what she was doing.

“Louis is over there,” Harry whispered into her ear, and surely enough, as she glanced behind his shoulder, Louis was sat there with his friends, glaring at her and Harry. “Time to show him how much fun you’re having.”

“How do I do that?” she asked dumbly, looking up at him stupidly, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

“Kiss me.”

“What? I can’t! I’m not—”

“No questions,” he smirked, cutting her off.

Her eyes darted between Louis and Harry, but soon her gaze got lost on Harry’s mouth as she studied it, how the corners were tugged upwards and how his lips were nearly a cherry red shade. So she reached up and pressed her mouth to his, both of them momentarily adjusting as Harry’s mouth moved slowly against hers. It was a strange feeling – kissing Harry that is. His lips were chapped and rough, but at the same time, he was kissing her so slowly and gently that she realised maybe this was how you were meant to be kissed. Maybe this is how girls were properly kissed, because it was never like this with Louis.

Harry’s lips soon parted and Freya slipped her tongue inside so their tongues could weave together, his tongue piercing sliding coolly on her tongue, one of Harry’s hands cupping the side of her face and the other trailing down her back to rest over her bum. They only broke apart because Freya felt a tap on her shoulder, and her eyes instantly locked with Louis’, his face nearly red with anger.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked hurriedly.

“I’m busy,” she waved him off.

“You’re not too busy to talk to your boyfriend,” Louis hissed, latching his fingers around her wrist.

“Oh what? Now we’re together when you see me kissing someone else? Just piss off, Louis,” she snapped, attempting to shrug off his hold until she realised he was too strong for her.

“Mate, it’s best if you just go back to your friends,” Harry cut in, detaching Louis’ fingers from Freya’s wrist and stepping between the two of them.

“I don’t think you should be telling me what to do, she’s my girlfriend.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Harry chuckled menacingly, and Louis shoved him in response. Freya could tell Harry was getting worked up because his nostrils were flaring and she could’ve sworn she saw his leather jacket tighten around his tensing muscles. “I really don’t think you wanna start with me.”

“I’ll start with whoever I fucking want, especially when it involves what’s mine,” Louis snarled, and Freya wanted to cry at how he was making references to her as if she was an object he owned.

Louis’ words were all it took for Harry to throw his fist at Louis’ nose, blood immediately dripping down Louis’ face and onto his shirt.

“Harry!” Freya screeched, running between the two of them and putting her hands on Harry’s chest. “Stop it, don’t do this.”

“You can’t just let him talk like that,” Harry told her, his eyes glaring at her own, and she understood what he meant from just a look. It was an order. So she slowly turned around, her eyes softening as she saw Louis wipe some blood from under his nose.

“Louis, this whole thing, us, it’s done. You can’t treat me like this,” she said rather unconvincingly, although Louis still heard her loud and clear.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re choosing this fucking loser over me?” he yelled incredulously, his eyes roaming her body until they stayed on one spot – her other wrist that was still bandaged up from earlier. “You got a tattoo?

She nodded slowly.

“I can’t fucking believe you, can’t even look at you right now,” he said lowly.

“Then don’t! Just leave!” she shouted, eyes brimming with tears, Harry’s hand finding a way to rest on her lower back comfortingly, stroking softly back and forth.

“Fine. You can try and change all you want, Frey, but you never will.”

Louis stormed off to the bathroom then, and Freya released a long breath she’d been holding in the whole time. Harry spun her around by her waist, like a rag doll, and brushed a few stray hairs off her face that fell whilst she was in a flurry.

“He’s a dickhead,” Harry told her quietly, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “Let’s get out of here.”

Harry threaded his fingers through hers and led them out of the club, the cool air immediately hitting both of them smack in the face – much like Harry’s punch to Louis’ nose – as they stepped onto the street to get a cab home.

“I’m an even bigger dickhead,” Harry sighed as he slumped against the brick wall, Freya against his side because she had nowhere else to go.

“No you’re not, you surprised me. You had my back so uh—thanks for that and tonight in general.”

“No, it’s not that,” he said exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m a dickhead cos I shouldn’t have made you come out here, or made you even think you have to change. You don’t, your tattoo even says it.”

“Thanks,” she replied, smiling up at him sadly as she tried to conceal the tears brimming in her eyes.

“No seriously, you’re an interesting girl. You’re pretty and you’ve got five times as much going on up there,” he told her, flicking her head and gesturing to her brain, “than most girls do and that’s a good thing. You don’t need to party all the time to be fun, don’t let a wanker tell you otherwise.”

He fiddled with her fingers in his hand before he leaned down and brought his head level with hers, nudging his nose along her jawline before he pressed his mouth against hers messily, the two sharing a few pecks before Harry pulled away and smiled apologetically at her.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

And as she sat in the cab, she realised that plans were made just for the sole purpose of being changed for the better. Plans were the first draft, and every time you edited them, they became a lot more coherent and strong and beneficial. She just wished it didn’t take all of this for her to realise it. And with Harry’s hand drawing circles on her knee, she sat and stared at him as he gazed out of the window, and she realised that she was now looking at her new plan.

Maybe she wasn’t just vanilla after all.

#1dff #1dafe #jacidoesfanfiction #ticketchanges #harry #louis #differentkindofcrazy

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1dautumnficexchange · 10 years ago

Text

pinch your nose

for: steph // @ticketchanges

by: leonor // @whisperedexplosions

Carson Avery finds herself reflected in the city she lives in and it’s driving her mad. Harry Styles might just be the only one to see she is not all grey and cold.

A story of ‘employee of the month’ silver badges, halloween parties and naming people after cars.

word count: 4954

warnings: rated ’d’ for 'daaaaamn you might want some toast with that cheese’

main pairing: Harry/Carson

october

Carson Avery hates supermarkets, ever since she was a kid she has loathed them. Supermarkets are too big and clean and full of people. Plus the smell of the chemicals they use to clean the shiny tile floor always reminds her of hospitals, which are also too big and clean and full of people. Ever since she can remember she’d fake a headache and asked to wait in the car every time her mum forced her to come to the store and in.

It’s ironic because she works in one, she has for about two years. Now she knows that the detergent they use on the floor is actually the same they use to scrub clean the hospital, and that more people go there by day than she could ever imagine. Now, even if she does have a real headache she can’t afford to go sit in the car, especially because she can’t even afford a car.

Somehow that means she ends up with her best friend frowning at her while she scans veet shaving cream, oreos and other items necessary for the both of them to get through the week. The saddest part is that this is routine, just as much as laundry day or doing the dishes.

Jenna is a great girl, she really is, and she is an even better roommate but Carson can’t help to wish she would choose a time other than seven thirty in the morning to do the week’s groceries while casually complaining about her shit love life.

“I just really thought it would last more than a couple weeks you know?”

She doesn’t because in two years of living together Carson has never known any guy to last more than two weeks with Jenna. Unless you count he who shall not be named. Which they don’t. Still Carson hums in understanding and scans another lettuce, wondering if it will just rot away like its ancestors.

“I know working together isn’t ideal, but in all honesty he could have just tried to understand my point too.”

Just when Carson is about to say that he could he just didn’t because in all honesty Kyle is a jerk face, Harry Styles walks in to the till in front of hers. It takes Carson a couple of seconds to figure it out- what is it about him that’s gets her thunderstruck like that- but suddenly she realizes that as he walked in (at a speed more suited for the slow motion sequence of a terrible rom com) the light hit him in just the right angle for his smile to be illuminated by the silver pin he stuck on his shirt. The ‘employee of the month’ pin that was supposed to be hers.

Jenna turns around to follow her gaze straight to Harry, who is already sweet talking some old lady. When she turns back around her mouth holds a smirk all too familiar to Carson, who kind of feels like puking.

“You see where I’m coming from? If I were you, I would totally make it ideal for him!” She says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Carson, however, is too busy glaring at Harry to even roll her eyes at Jenna’s silliness. Which in retrospect may lead to Jenna believing she approves this kind of thinking Now that would not be ideal at all, but Carson just figures she’ll burn that bridge when she gets there.

The end of the tray cannot come soon enough. Every minute Jenna spends babbling to her about everything and anything Harry charms another costumer into thinking he is actually the best employee there. It makes Carson want to pull out all her hair. Even if she loves Jenna and secretly enjoys her high pitch wining, this is business, and the only way she’ll let Harry Styles take that reward is if he pulls it out her limp cold fingers.

She can feel the clock ticking at night lately, every single minute in synch with her heartbeat. Admittedly Carson knows her heart beats more than once a minute, that what she feels are nerves as the year comes to an end before her very eyes. Now she knows that even if she wears earmuffs to block out the noise of her stupid clock, Harry Style's smug gravelly laugh will haunt her dreams.

Ten months ago when their boss gathered every employee to make a big announcement Carson almost didn’t show up. In fact, Carson almost quit that same day.

She blames the peak of winter, the January cold so sharp it cuts right through her warmest coat. She blames her planner that shows her the same list when she turns on a new day. And she blames herself for letting it get that far. Because when she wakes up she feels just as mechanic as her stupid alarm that rings at the same time every morning.

Like gears, every minute of her day fits into the next perfectly barely giving her anytime to breathe, let alone think. With time Carson understood she has become as grey and cold and the very city she lives in. She finds no wonder in the streets that used to leave her wide eyed and breathless. All she sees now are the abandoned Christmas lights, and leftover empty bottles from new year celebrations.

Until one day she finds a miracle.

It all happens quite naturally. She drops her phone for the fifth time that day and when she bends to pick it up her head clashes against the window of a travel agency, all of a sudden she is staring at the solution for all her troubles.

It comes in the form of a poster. The perfect picture of a beautiful beach with emerald green sea and clear blue skies and only the sight of it warms her up inside. Something inside her tingles and she remembers heat and warmth. Brazil is apparently all she’s been looking for.

For weeks she can’t get the idea out of her mind, she dreams about it at night and thinks of all sorts of crazy plans to make it happen during the day. Even when her spine feels frozen and the tips of her fingers are blue. Even when she is so bored with her life that she can’t really see the point anymore. Brazil is her safe place.

She wants it- needs it- so bad, because everything is different there. She can’t even begin to imagine what can happen in a place where the people are made out of sunlight and the very language is warm. For once in a long time she aches to find out.

So she does what she knows how to do and she researches and budgets- trying to make a hotel by the sea as affordable as she can. She does it in the blank spaces of her planner- the ten minutes before a class, the half hour for lunch she used to spend with Liam and Sophia- Carson takes every second she can get. Soon she has a whole folder filled with suitable flights, hotels, and a bucket list of every thing she wants to do when she’s there. This is something she is doing for herself. Not for her future self, not for her family or friends- this is Carson’s chance to color in her gray-ish skin.

It is Harry, of course, who ruins it all.

Maybe he doesn’t mean to, maybe he was just trying to make conversation like he does with everyone else. It doesn’t matter, because the words slip out his mouth anyway.

“Have you run this by Gerard?”, he says casually as the both of them change out their uniforms after their shift.

Usually one of them has the decency to move to the bathroom, one of them being Carson, but this time she is so appalled that she didn’t think of that detail herself that she ends up starring at a half naked Harry, without even knowing how she got there.

Carson can’t afford to take the time off, she knows she needs the days she gets to spend with her family, and attend Liam and Sophia’s week long wedding. And just like that her world crashes down.

That it crashes down with Harry’s sculpted torso right in front of her seems of little importance. Even if he is covered in drawings that she finds oddly beautiful. She thinks they make him brave. What she, and every one else she figures, draw on the margins of their papers, Harry Styles puts permanently on himself. He is a walking collage of his story, and even if she doesn’t want to, Carson has to admit she is a little impressed.

“I’ll do it today… It’s whatever, Styles."

"Harry”, he corrects and she shoots a pointed look his way. It shouldn’t matter what she calls him, it’s not like they’re friends or anything.

“Girls don’t get to call me by my last name that’s all.” He shrugs, grabbing his leather bag. “I’ll see ya later, Cadillac.”

Before she can workout the nickname he is already gone, probably to buy some more of awful green goo that’s so fashionable these days. As soon as she thinks it, Carson can practically hear Jenna and Sophia yelling at her that 'it’s detox juice! good for ya body…’. But right now she has more pressing issues to solve.

Gerard, of course, shoots her down. There is no excuse for her to be taking the extra time off. No reasonable one anyway, because Gerard doesn’t get how important this trip is for her. And she can’t make him.

That’s why the morning of the announcement, after being so pissed off she damn well nearly broke her phone, Carson is in no mood for work (not that she is ever in the mood). The supermarket has grown to be as grey a place as any, and now that she doesn’t have Brazil to keep herself warm, Carson can just feel every cell that she is made off slowly freezing. She doesn’t care where it happens anymore.

This announcement however, the big news every one is so excited about, turns out to restore her a little spark of hope. A small spark, it’s true, but it is enough to keep her from freezing.

“Over the next year,” Gerard says in his professional, speech-giving voice that she can’t help but find annoying, “we will continue to award 'employee of the month’, just with a little extra incentive.”

She can feel every one else in the room hold their breath but she just keeps her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes emotionless. It’s not like she cares, Carson only came to tell Gerard she is quitting. Done. There are plenty of jobs, she thinks, and maybe one of them can get her to Brazil.

“If anyone- and by anyone I mean any employee of this particular supermarket- has the title under their belt for more than six months by the end of the year they will get a two week paid vacation as a reward.”

From across the room she can see Harry, as stunned as she is, with the same sparkle lighting up his eyes that can’t decide if they’re green or blue. Carson has never spared a thought on Harry’s eyes, every girl in the country probably has so she doesn’t find it necessary. Actually, she finds Harry should come with a ’ do not feed the beast’s ego’ sign. That doesn’t affect the fact that he has the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen.

Once every one starts walking out he makes his way towards her, his pace more suited for the slow motion part of a bond movie. Carson is waiting for him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised at his wide smile. He really needs to get a clue: they are not friends.

“Looks like you might go to Brazil after all,” he says and she purses her lips at him.

“After all? Please. I know that you don’t know me very well, Harry, but I’m gonna knock this thing out of the park.” He laughs at that but she can’t see what’s funny.

“You’ll see, this time next year I’ll be sun bathing in a golden beach and you’ll still be here, drinking green goo and being Harry.”

He whistles at that, not a cat call whistle but a short little happy tune that makes her laugh at how random he is, even if she doesn’t want to.

“Well then, this time next year you better send me a pic of you in a bikini, ” he winks, “Just don’t think I’ll let you get to there too easy, okay?”

To be honest Carson’s more than okay with it. She is more than okay with it for months, actually, as long as she is winning. As long as she’s getting there earlier and attending more costumers and bagging groceries faster- God knows, she could never be nicer.

She can’t even see it coming when Harry decides to bring his best game. So now here they are, month ten, four to five in Harry’s favour, and Jenna has finally left.

Their registers face each other- a nice little coincidence that makes the competition that much more fun- so she can see him start to break a sweat after a few hours. She’s sure he notices how she keeps getting slower because her feet hurt so damn bad.

Neither of them say anything, though. They just look each other in the eyes, fearless and shameless, and they dare each other to smile wider, be better, faster. If the goal of this was to improve productivity Carson is sure it is accomplished. Hell, she has worked more in these ten months than the other two years all together. She is not about to let Harry Styles take that away, no matter how nice his smile is.

+++

november

Halloween is now Carson’s least favorite holiday. What does it even celebrate, anyway?

One thing is sure: if there were someone to blame (there is) Liam, Sophia and Jenna would be prime candidates. It is their fault she was at the stupid party, anyway. The stupid party hosted by stupid Harry Styles, that is.

Just when she evened up the score- trust me, it wasn’t easy- all three of them show up in her leaving room in ridiculous costumes, demanding that she attends some party. Their arguments aren’t very strong at first- Carson doesn’t really care if Halloween is the perfect occasion to be slutty and get away with it, or eat all the candy she wants without anyone judging her. When they mention free booze… Well, then she starts considering putting on the ridiculous witch hat. It’s been way too long since she’s been properly wasted and she feels like she’s failing to live up her college years.

"Rules of the night, Carson!” Sophia yells, pulling her into a halt at the door. “One: You don’t say no to a drink unless your about to pass out.”

“What?! That is ridic-,” she doesn’t get to finish her sentence because Jenna’s hand covers her mouth almost immediately.

“Rule number two,” she says, and in Carson’s opinion she seems way happier than she should be about it . “You will not care, you will dance and have fun like a normal person”

Carson just nods this time because so far she has figure there is no holding back these girls. Plus they do seem to have the best time whenever they go out- they always come back with laughing lips and pink skin.

“Final rule,” Sophia says, beckoning Jenna to take her hand off Carson’s mouth before she suffocates. “You will take somebody home.”

“Or go over to his place,” Jenna adds enthusiastically. “It’s fine either way.”

“But if you get home alone Carson Every… Well, then we will resort to extraordinary measures.”

Sophia uses her mum voice to tell her this- the same one she uses when she’s bossing her little siblings around- and Carson doesn’t really want to find out what 'extraordinary measures’ means after tonight. It doesn’t mean she’s actually considering sleeping with someone just because. She’s never been that type of girl. She doesn’t judge, heck most of her friends don’t have a single problem with one night stands, Carson just finds that the sex is so much better with someone you have some sort of relationship with. In short, someone you know.

She doesn’t plan on taking anyone home, maybe she’ll hang out at some 24h diner until she can come back home wearing the same dress and convincing ruined make up. So she nods and smiles anyway and soon enough they are in some stranger’s house and she already has a drink in her hand.

It escalades quicker they she could predict, one moment she is stepping in, the next she has had at least six suspicious drinks and is full on dancing to some ironic arctic monkeys song. Her brother always liked the arctic monkeys, she remembers, Carson used to think their name was just dumb. Yet, there she is, dancing away to their music like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Until someone knocks over a drink on her, that is.

The poor guy is even more wasted than she is- babbling all kinds of excuses in an unintelligible Irish accent. Carson just waves him off with a smile- at least she thinks it is a smile- and starts her quest for the kitchen so she can at least try to clean herself up.

It’s a nice apartment for a college student, she remembers Liam mentioning it belonged to one of his friends from the football team. It has a nice hallway, longer than most, at least three bedrooms and a bathroom. That is all she finds until she manages to stumble to the kitchen, which was right next to the leaving room all that time.

Somehow Carson manages to find a cloth there and starts trying to clean up her shirt. It’s no use, the stain is already permanent, but for some reason she continues trying to scrub it away, as if her own life depended on it.

Someone clears their throat from across the room, so Carson looks up to find none other than her colleague Harry Styles, and his award winning grin. It seems to her that, oddly enough, his smile has never been more mesmerizing, almost as if he is happy to find her there. Which she figures his incredibly wrong because not only are they mortal enemies, they are not friends.

“Hey there, Cadillac,” he says, sitting up on the counter and pulling her along with him.

Carson is not sure what she feels when their hands touch. It’s something close to being hit by lightning, she thinks. Only that’s stupid, people die from being hit by lightning, she is pretty sure she could live well with the feeling she gets when her hand is enveloped in his. But that only lasts a second.

“Fancy finding you here,” she says, grabbing a near by red cup halfway full of someone else’s beer and taking a big swing.

“Not really,” he laughs. A breathy laugh she doesn’t recognize. “I live here.”

“No you don’t.” Harry seems amused at this but Carson is only getting more and more confused “This is Liam’s mate’s house, from the football team.”

Harry looks at her with raised eyebrows and a laugh dangling from his precious pink lips, just about to escape. “I was wondering who brought you,” he says. “I actually thought you were on a date but you came with Liam, I’m relieved.”

When she looks over at him Harry is staring down at the cup in his hand, his long hair falls around his face like a curtain. Carson has the sudden, very embarrassing, urge to stroke it and tuck it away behind his ear gently. Which is crazy because she doesn’t even like Harry Styles that much. Right?

“Why?” she asks. If anything to take her mind off caressing his cheek.

“Why what?”

“Why are you relieved that I’m not here on a date?”

People come and go, passing them and bumping against their dangling legs without even acknowledging their existence, anxious to get back out there. It feels like they are in their own private bubble, just her frown and his sea coloured eyes, both of their cheeks slightly pink from the cold and the alcohol and maybe, just maybe the words they are say and the looks they share.

Harry puts his hand on hers again and, even if she doesn’t want to, her whole body reacts to his touch, leaving him with a smug little smirk.

“Because then…” Harry tilts his head a little as he speaks, even slower than usual, and his face starts getting dangerously closer to hers. Not that Carson can do anything about it, he’s got her in some kind of transe, and it feels like the whole world is just the two of them. “Well… Then I wouldn’t get to do this.”

When they kiss the bubble bursts. Sparkly little drops of soap and water fall upon the whole world and it doesn’t feel like anything Carson has ever experienced before. Harry is a really great kisser, knowing just when to tilt his head a little more, when to wrap an arm around her waist to pull her closer, when to slide his tongue cautiously against the rim of her lips. Carson figures she could do this forever.

The sun rises the next day, though. And with a throbbing headache, dry mouth and tangled limbs comes an overwhelming feeling of regret.

Carson never did leave Harry’s place that night, they stood on the counter making out until he picked her up and carried her to his room, expecting his housemates to see everyone else out, and that was that.

Now she is painfully aware of everything, the boy sleeping soundly next to her, her improvised costume on the floor, how good she actually felt the night before. All those things scare her to death because he is still her competition and Carson refuses to let him be the one to keep her warm. She refuses to become a part of the Harry Styles fanclub and make it her sun. So she slips out of bed as quietly as she can, puts on her black jeans from the night before, one of Harry’s white v-necks that she plans on keeping and walks out.

She knows she’ll never be able to look at him the same, to joke around (even I they aren’t friends) or pretend she doesn’t kind of like it when he calls her Cadillac. She counting on Harry to do that part.

All she knows really is that she fricking hates Halloween.

+++

december

It’s the final run, she can see every drop of sweat on Harry’s forehead as he rushes to scan and bag some lady’s groceries, and it’s more attractive than she cares to admit.

Outside London is full of colour. Every street has all kinds of leaves on the ground and busy people with colourful scarves walk by all the time, creating a smudgy palette that Carson figures is her favourite. She feels it too, just as she did when London was nothing but gray and cold to her, Carson is starting to fill with colour.

Ironically enough the time she feels most colourful is when she comes to work. She figures she no longer hates supermarkets, because just like hospitals that’s where she goes to jet better. Maybe the sneacky smiles she trades with Harry have something to do it, maybe they don’t.

They haven’t properly talked since Halloween. He’s tried several times, in the locker room, inviting himself to her house using Liam as an excuse, but she always manages to get away. When they stand in front of each other, each on their own cash register, that’s the only time she lets a smile slide off her lips and allows a wink from him to make her blush.

This is it, in only a few days they will know who won, and it will all be over. If she’s being completely honest it scares her a little bit. But for the first time in a while she allows herself hope, there’s a picture of a city in rio taped on her locker and a paper with random phrases in Portuguese tucked away in one of her textbooks. It’s so close she can almost feel the sand between her fingers. And yet…

“Sweat pad!” she yells, and immediately someone shows up from behind her and wipes her forehead clean, as she continues to scan and smile.

Both her and Harry have recruited supporting teams. Since they seem to be the only contenders the rest of the staff seemed to have no problem with picking sides. It’s grown a little out o proportion, she hears there’s even a fifty pound bet on who will win, but she doesn’t let it affect her.

“Getting tired are we, Cars?” Harry jokes when he is finally done.

The supermarket is fading into its slow hours and both of them finally have a couple of minutes to just sit down and breathe. A couple of minutes Carson is very thankful for, she doesn’t know if she could stand on her feet much longer.

“I think I like Cadillac better.”

“I think I like you,” he says without even blinking.

The air is suddenly much heavier as Carson stands there, frozen in place. She can’t blame the cold this time, this is all on her and Harry and their stupid decisions.

“Well? Do you like me too?” Carson can tell he is getting anxious, probably questioning if telling her was such a good idea after all. That is, if Harry Styles ever questions his actions.

What he doesn’t know is that she can’t answer. Deep down she’s got a feeling that she does like him, that being with him has returned more colour into her than Brazil ever could but, like her cousin always says, she is the type of person that always pinches their nose before diving. She doesn’t like when the salty water finds its way down her nose to her throat, she doesn’t like coming to the surface and feeling like she can’t breathe.

Somehow Carson figures that’s what its like to be heartbroken and she just can’t risk it. So she pinches her nose and tells him she has to go. She cuts her shift short, probably ending all chances of winning employee of the month, nd runs out as fast as she can.

Goddamn Harry Styles for ruining everything.

+++

Carson is in shock. She can’t move or speak or do anything other than sitting on the bench of the locker room, looking at the paper taped to the wall.

She is the first one there that morning, which means Gerard probably posted it the night before, so nobody has seem it but her. Carson is in so much disbelief she figures she needs someone else to see it, to repeat it to her out loud, before she can get dressed and go back to work.

Just in time to save the day Harry appears on the door frame, hair dripping and clothes tight from the rain outside. As soon as he sees it he rushes to sit by her side, taking her hand in his anyway.

“I can’t believe it,” he says looking at the paper with Penelope’s name written in big, silver cursive font. “I mean, I knew she was shagging Gerard, I just never thought he would actually give it to her.”

Carson laughs at that, a not fully hollow laugh that lets her hope maybe she will be okay in a while. It is a smart move anyway, since the announcement was only in January so it didn’t count, and she and Harry were tied, the smartest thing to do was to give it to someone else and not give the paid days off to anyone. If Gerard got sex out of it, all the better for him.

Before she knows it the tears are sliding down her cheeks, leaving salty wet paths on her face, and Harry is trying to catch each one with his big clumsy thumb. The image makes her laugh while she cries and Carson doesn’t figure it could get any more embarrassing than that.

“You don’t need Brazil to be warm you know?” She realizes she completely forgot that she had told him why she wanted this so bad.

It was one night after they ended their shifts, when Harry was teasing her for being an over achiever and she just blew up in his face. She kind of figured he would have forgotten as well.

“You can be your own sun,” he says “and I can be your blanket in cloudy days.”

It’s all extremely cheesy: the crying, the wiping her tears, the being alone in the locker room at weird times in the morning; but Carson launches herself forward and kisses him anyway.

She does feel him in her nose, her lips, her throat, everywhere; and she does forget how to breathe for a little while, but Carson is tired of pinching her nose.

Maybe her and Harry will last, maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll go to Brazil together, maybe she’ll only ever see it in postcards and internet articles. There’s a whole pile of maybes that make her skin crawl. For once, though, Carson figures she can tackle them one by one.

#1dff #1dafe #ticketchanges #whisperedexplosions #harry

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