Part One:
Harry Styles was, undeniably, a difficult man.
He was twenty-one years old, and lived a life meticulously curated for aesthetic perfection. Daily Starbucks runs were non-negotiable, Gucci was the only acceptable retail outlet, and any deviation from his exacting standards was met with icy disdain. Few could endure the constant demands of someone so utterly, unapologetically high maintenance.
Then, one day, everything shifted.
--
Day One:
“I want a Venti non-fat vanilla latte,” Harry demanded, slamming his credit card onto the chipped Formica countertop. “And this time… get it right.”
The barista, already pale from a morning rush, offered a meek apology. “I’m so sorry, sir. We’ll make another one right away.”
“Good,” Harry snapped. “I don’t want a single molecule of fat in that latte. Do you understand? I’m actively sculpting a physique, and your incompetence threatens my progress.”
“Umm…” the barista stammered, flustered.
“Don’t patronize me,” Harry interrupted, swiping his card and shoving it into his wallet. “I come here for coffee, not to be subjected to sabotage by envious amateurs.”
Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him, a warm breath on his shoulder.
“Hey,” a voice murmured, low and laced with defiance. “Stop being a bitch.”
Harry whirled around, his jaw tight. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” the stranger said, meeting his gaze.
The boy standing before him was breathtakingly, frustratingly beautiful. He couldn’t have been twenty, and possessed a sharp, angular face, startlingly blue eyes, and dark hair that looked deliberately undone.
Harry had, admittedly, never encountered anyone quite so… distracting. Not even himself.
But the audacity of this stranger’s casual insult burned.
“You can’t speak to me like that,” Harry hissed, stamping his foot. “Who do you think you are?”
“I’m Louis Tomlinson,” he said, extending a hand.
Harry swatted it away. “Don’t touch me. I don’t care who you are. You have no right to ambush me with vulgarity.”
“Well, you were acting like one. Someone had to say it,” Louis shrugged, his lips tilting in a wry smile. “You’re cute though. Hardly intimidating.”
“Don’t call me cute. You don’t know me.”
“One Venti non-fat vanilla latte for…” The barista called from behind the counter.
Harry strode forward, snatched his drink, and turned to glare at Louis.
“Why are you following me?” he snapped, taking a long sip.
“You intrigue me.”
Louis shadowed Harry as he left Starbucks, his eyes fixed on the sleek silhouette.
“I don’t care. I don’t want your company,” Harry said, his voice laced with impatience. He began to stride down the sidewalk, deliberately increasing his pace.
“How do you know you don’t want my company? You haven’t even given me a chance,” Louis said, grabbing his arm.
“I said don’t touch me. I’m above you,” Harry snarled, yanking his arm free.
“Wow. You really are a little bitch, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Now fuck off!” Harry jogged away, leaving Louis standing alone on the street.
“Wow,” Louis murmured to himself, watching him disappear around the corner. “I need him.”
--
Day Two:
Harry swept into Starbucks, radiating an aura of entitlement as he approached the front counter.
“I want a Venti non-fat vanilla latte,” he demanded, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes. “Chop, chop.”
“That will be right out for you, sir,” the barista replied, already bracing for another round of complaints.
“Awesome,” Harry rolled his eyes, swiping his card.
“Hello again.”
Harry turned to see the same infuriating stranger from yesterday.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Louis said, folding his arms.
“Oh God,” Harry groaned. “Not you again. You’re blocking my view.”
“I didn’t realize you owned this Starbucks,” Louis said, his tone amused. “I don’t see your name on it.”
“You don’t even know my name, half-pint,” Harry retorted, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
“No, I don’t actually,” Louis whispered, stepping closer. “But I’d like to.”
Harry recoiled. “Whoa, personal space.”
“Sorry,” Louis apologized, but his gaze didn’t waver. “So, are you going to tell me your name or not?”
“No.”
“Venti non-fat vanilla latte,” the barista called.
Harry snatched his drink and walked away.
Louis followed. “Do you always get the same drink?”
“Yes. Now leave me alone.” Harry sipped his latte, walking towards the door.
Louis grabbed his arm.
“What do I have to do to get you to tell me your name? I told you mine.”
“Really? You did?” Harry mocked. “Well, it doesn’t matter because I already forgot it.”
Harry walked away, leaving Louis alone once again, a strange, determined glint in his eyes.