Dealing With Absence » h. styles au

16ᵀᴴ CHAPTER

(He still doesn’t regret being an idiot at Chrissie’s wedding. There are different sides to Harry’s stupidity, and some of them are still worth it.)

“I know,” he says finally, forcing back on his chair until there’s space for him to stand up. “Gotta go now, though. See you another time?”

Zayn nods, stands, too, and tilts his chin toward the table. “Are you seriously not eating anything?”

“Have already had lunch earlier. Just came for a talk, really. Thanks.”

Harry takes a step forward to give his friend a hug, doesn’t complain when the arms at his back hold him a bit longer, and tries not to laugh at Zayn’s fondness. He’s such a sap at times. God help his fiancé.

When Harry walks out the door, Zayn’s still watching him with careful and proud eyes.

--

The last car drives away with the night falling above it, following the sun’s way down the horizon.

Harry’s got his clothes soaked and his hand full of oil – how he got it there he can’t understand, but whatever –, his damp curls tucked under a snapback Luke borrowed him at some point.

Both of them changed tasks today, Harry dealing with the cars whilst Luke stood behind the cashier, chatting with much more ease than Harry himself to the drivers who went inside for a break. Maybe socialising isn’t Harry’s thing, particularly. He’ll have to deal with it.

When he comes out of the bathroom with already dry clothes, Luke is ready to lock the door, twirling the keys around his fingers as he waits for Harry.

“Hey,” Harry calls out, fixing his rucksack at his back. “Want to come and have dinner with everyone? Promise it won’t be awkward.”

Luke smiles weakly, gladly, but shakes his head nonetheless. “Thanks, but I have someone waiting for me home. Don’t exactly have the time to see them during the day.”

Harry nods as if he understands – he doesn’t, but he figures it isn’t so hard to try –, doesn’t ask whether Luke refers to a girlfriend, his mother, sisters, brothers, or whatever. It’s not of his business, either way. Luke’s got someone to come back to, it should do.

(Harry sometimes wants someone to come back to.) (He won’t admit it to anyone, himself included.)

With a last wave, he starts walking slowly towards the road, checks both sides distractedly before finally crossing it and reaching for the café’s door. Inside it’s silent as usual, the pictures of London on the wall lit by the dim light on the ceiling, barely providing any clarity at all. It’s cosy, though, this whole thing going on inside the café. It has an air of simplicity, something home-ish and cosy.

Harry’s not complaining.

He gets his attention snagged by a loud laugh, something pitchy and soft all the same, and so he turns from the pictures of London to face Elisha, knees on the swivel chair and elbows on the counter, supporting all of her weight. Patrick is in front of her, smiling smugly, propped up on a stool.

“You’re an idiot,” he hears her murmur, and then she spots him standing there, body still fully turned to the images though his head isn’t. “Harry! C’m’here, PJ’s finished the article.”

No need to be told twice, Harry walks towards them, slumps his rucksack over some chair and stands right next to Patrick, glancing curiously at the several imprinted sheets over the counter. He’s put them into a folder, the first picture serving as cover being the one Harry took during twilight: a Blue Jay midair with its feet verging in front of the setting warm colours, and the rest of its body covered by the darkening tones of blue and purple of the sky behind. Harry reckons it’s one of his favourite pictures, too.