Strings and Schemes

Chapter 1

I instead send him the QR code to the playlist entitled "Louis is obsessed with Raina volume 23" and on comes the 1975, which normally would be incredibly irritating to the others, but somehow Louis has become the ring leader of this awful dance circle and they follow him like they're hypnotized.

Part of me wants to sink into my seat and nurse my cider until the night's over. But another part—one I didn't recognize until now—urges me to break out of my shell for once. I stand up, ignoring the warning bells in my head, and make my way to Louis and his new dance circle. I hand him his drink when I reach him.

Louis practically pulls my arm off grabbing the pint from my hand, sloshing some on my already-practically-ruined shoes.

"OY!" I say in the thickest cockney accent I can emulated. He sheepishly shrugs, then introduces me. 

"Mates this is my best mate, Raina!" He calls out, they basically cheer for me and we get on with our nonsense dancing that makes me feel alive in a way that only Louis can bring out.

Harry shoots me a look to warn Louis that he's about to ring the bell and kick the other patrons out, but before he can reach for the bar bell, the bell at the door rings and in walks a stranger I've never seen before; which is odd because, nobody new ever comes here, that's why we always come here. It's predictable, reliable, and the kind of fun that can't really ever get me into any trouble because nobody who's anybody ever bothers with the Raven's Den. Or any pub on the other side of the millennium bridge, because nobody cool would be caught dead outside of Shoreditch on the weekends.

Louis calls out in excitement breaking up the waltzing, head bobbing circle of dancing patrons. Harry takes the opportunity to ring the bar bell, warning the other patrons of shutting time and I perch myself back at my seat that's basically imprinted with my body.

"How's the shoes holding up, Raina?" He asks, kindly.

I look down at my well loved shoes, and sigh, regretfully. "I don't know that CPR will even fix these babies."

Harry pulls out a pair of beige high top converse, and a pair of my favourite brand socks.

"Wait, what?!" I laugh excitedly. "How did you know to stock these for me?!"

Harry waves me off, "It was all Louis, he brought them over on poker night earlier this week as you always make him switch shoes with you and he was sick of walking into his parents place in your stilettos."

I feign shock, "they're not even stilettos!"

Harry rolls his eyes, "his parents will never stop questioning him about you if you keep making him switch shoes with you."

I shrug.

"Unless that's the way you like it? Keeping the rents off of your dating profile, no people to introduce them to, and then you can fly entirely under the radar... folks, she's got brains, too." Harry compliments, figuring out my strategy.

"Well, if you figured it out that quickly, I'm not sure it was much of a strategy." I laugh at Harry, quickly unzipping my wet shoes and exchanging them for a bar cloth to dry my feet and throw on my ankle socks and converse. As I'm lacing them up, Louis can be heard giving Skipper advice on the lady he's on the way out the door with.

"Louis, stop, oh my god." I groan, poor Skipper. He's already successfully shot his shot, he doesn't need Louis 23-year-old advice. Louis laughs, claps Skipper on the back, and heads back over while making small talk with someone.

I finish lacing up my shoes and sit up, only to freeze. There's a stranger standing in front of me—someone I don't recognize, but his gaze feels oddly familiar. As Harry locks the door, I feel my heart skip a beat, my palms suddenly clammy.

"Um, Hi!" I say in an octave range that I'm not sure is entirely my own, dizzying and finding my chair suddenly unbalanced. The mystery man reaches out a heavily tattooed hand to stabilize the barstool, and laughs politely.

"I've been tellin' Harry he needs to get these fixed, especially this one, it's well worn and can hardly keep its guests upright."

I laugh a more comfortable, and natural laugh, "It's mostly my fault anyways," I say.

"Oh yeah?" He prompts, I nod.

"It's basically my seat," I say, swearing off all gazelle like qualities and delicately getting down, "Harry let me carve my name on the back of it last year", I say, showing him my initials, R.A.

Mystery man shakes his head, "This feels like that scene in that fantasy where they're hunting for an entire movie to find out what three little initials mean, do me a favour and tell me so we can avoid six months of me trying to figure it out?"

I almost blush, that line was the best porn for a nerd like me.

"I'm Raina," I outstretch my hand to shake, he grabs my hand, but instead of shaking it, he twirls me and pulls me into a hug, feeling the warms of his skin and smelling what is the most intoxicating scent of leather, tonka bean, and sandalwood.

"Zayn," he says, his warm brown eyes meeting mine.