anobrain // narry au

one

Louis taps my shoulder, grasping me from my pessimism, thankfully. He always seems to save me from my darkest thoughts at the right times. He eyes me up with concern. "Did you hear what I just said, or were you daydreaming about cocks or something?" Louis decides to piss around as I heave a faint chuckle at his accustomed, immature banter.

"No," I admit, but not fully. "Just thinking about the amount of coursework I'm expected to complete by tonight."

Louis nods understandingly, exhaling a tiresome sigh. "It's so much," he agrees. "Photography and Physics are slaughtering me, mate." And Louis does look rather slaughtered as he runs one hand through his upped but damp quiff. Coloured hazel, bright like his turquoise eyes when they scan around our surroundings: the Punk Rock front entrance from behind the counter.

"But I asked you about Liam and Harry. Have they broken up again?" Louis sincerely questions, curiosity in his tone. "Me and Zayn realise whenever they're separated, you and Harry knock about a lot more and our table at lunch contains the four of us."

Ignoring most of the uttered words, I nod. "It's just the silent treatment routine, again," I answer. There's this sting that comes from the words of Louis and his and Zayn's thorough observation of I and Harry's friendship. The feeling feels truthfully discomfortable. I choose to ignore it as I deliberately ignore just about everything.

Louis glances at me. The same look of curiosity and empathy, or maybe sympathy knowing most of Louis's past. With the friendships and relationships that ascended then descended through the years. He goes to say something, the faint utter of Liam's name until his eyes land on the opening of Punk Rock's entrance door.

No words are exchanged between us two as Harry treads towards us — practically foaming at the mouth with flared nostrils.

I give Harry a wary smile. It's small and reluctant while Louis's genuine bubbly persona peaks through when Harry leans over the countertop closer with pouted pink lips. "And there he is," Louis says dramatically, gesturing towards Harry's lanky but muscular figure.

Harry's pout deepens. "Liam and I ended things again," he deadpans, bright jade eyes focused on a slice of tiramisu lying next to more homemade baked desserts that Dylan must've made earlier, since he works full time to pay for some of his university tuition.

Older than I, but the most immature out of all the workers working and baking and cleaning within Punk Rock.

Harry continues without making eye contact at either one of us. "Can I have that tiramisu?" his focus transitions because Harry has always had the worst attention span with Louis being the closest runner up since Zayn can passionately speak about any topic for hours. And I'm usually critically overthinking a subject for seconds, minutes, days, months, and unsurprising years.

Louis complies, already beginning to place the cake onto a green plate. He places it in front of Harry with a clear coloured plastic fork beside the tiramisu. Harry hums satisfyingly. "May I also have vanilla milk, Louis? Desirably soy."

Louis rolls his eyes but walks towards the kitchen. "This meal is coming out of your paycheque," he calls over his shoulder, jokingly, from the tone of his voice. And Louis loves to tease and banter with genuine humour unless something is serious. Then his whole demeanour changes, all the same I'm sure we're all content with Louis's presence; especially Zayn.

"Sure thing, mate," Harry responds through forced laughter—I can easily tell. His nostrils are still flared but he stares at me with amiable green eyes that have that usual combination of tree bark brown, only in little specks.

"Are you alright?" I mumble, reciprocating the deep stare. Harry shrugs but replies, "He's upset because I haven't been spending much time with him lately."

"Maybe you should?" I suggest but Harry only shakes his head in disagreement. It falls silent between us for minutes and minutes until the door to the kitchen opens. Louis exits it, a large cup in his hand and a glare on his face directed on Harry.

"Here's your milk, Styles," he says, sneering jokingly at Harry who grasps the cup of milk from Louis.

"It is soy, right?" he clarifies. Louis nods reassuringly.

"A cup with no straw? Just ace, Tomlinson," Harry tuts judgementally as Louis gives him the bird before departing from the both of us once more. A customer within an ace of us was standing patiently waiting for her order to be taken.

I watch Harry devour piece after piece of his cocoa cake while sipping vanilla soy milk between his bites. And for some reason that was more entertaining than working this part time shift. Even amongst the company of the bubbly auras of Louis and Dylan. The two most thoughtless people I've ever encountered in my nearly two decades of living.

Harry catches my gaze and he sticks his tongue out at me teasingly until the both of us simultaneously chortle. It's times like this when Harry, even under the amount of stressful thoughts he's constantly having, can still be playful to an extent. "Do you wanna do something after work?" he boldly asks.

With a small shrug I nod. "Yeah, sure. I guess," it's a dubious answer with some hesitance thinking of the large amount of schoolwork I have to complete right after my shift. But Harry perceives it as the utter opposite—smile growing on his face when he nods understandingly.

"Great," he mumbles smile still prominent. "I'll leave you to work then." And Harry keeps his word when he sits at a table nearby the window to finish off his order.

Sometimes glancing out the window thoughtfully as I maintain my shift. Impatiently anxious for it to end already just like Harry is.

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I don't even understand why I have the determination and ability to update for a third time this week. My attention towards Anobrain will be even more focused.

And I'm trying my best to make this book enjoyable for both the readers and myself, but, in my perspective, that doesn't seem to be working out positively.