Narry: One Shots

I Know My Heart (And It Will Never Change)

by: diaryofanarcissisticgayman

Summary:

Harry loves his job, he really does. It's a great job, no matter what these pricks are saying. Fuck the Santas (been there, done that, once. Never again. It would probably indicate some deeply rooted childhood issues if he'd ever had a childhood, or indeed if he wasn't actually far older than the legend of Saint Nicholas.), the Easter bunnies (Who are in reality a very nice group of girls Harry enjoys spending time with more now after he convinced them fifty years ago to wear faux-fur instead because he's a bit of a hippie, and fur is murder.), the tooth fairies (Creepy gomthopothic little weirdos.), the sandmen (does he really even need to say how boring that job would be?) and the rest of the bastards currently taking the piss out of his job.

He’s the literal embodiment of love, a Cupid, and a pretty high ranking one at that. He runs all of the greater London area, and has for nearly two centuries. It’s a prestigious position, and one Harry is proud of (Even if it does tend to focus around an insane amount of paperwork). “Mate, you have to admit, your job is fairly ridiculous.” someone seated over to his left laughs.

Or Harry is a literal Cupid, and Niall doesn't believe in love.

°•°•°

Harry loves his job, he really does. It's a great job, no matter what these pricks are saying. Fuck the Santas (been there, done that, once. Never again. It would probably indicate some deeply rooted childhood issues if he'd ever had a childhood, or indeed if he wasn't actually far older than the legend of Saint Nicholas.), the Easter bunnies (Who are in reality a very nice group of girls Harry enjoys spending time with more now after he convinced them fifty years ago to wear faux-fur instead because he's a bit of a hippie, and fur is murder.), the tooth fairies (Creepy gomthopothic little weirdos.), the sandmen (does he really even need to say how boring that job would be?) and the rest of the bastards currently taking the piss out of his job.

He’s the literal embodiment of love, a Cupid, and a pretty high ranking one at that. He runs all of the greater London area, and has for nearly two centuries. It’s a prestigious position, and one Harry is proud of (Even if it does tend to focus around an insane amount of paperwork). “Mate, you have to admit, your job is fairly ridiculous.” someone seated over to his left laughs.

“Tom, you’re a Spirit of Christmas Present. You live out your entire life in a few hours, one day a year, to show people what’s going on outside their front door, and then reincarnate to do it all over again three hundred and sixty five days later.” Harry grumbles. “If anyone here has the ridiculous job, it’s you.”

“At least I don’t have to wear a toga and shoot people.” Tom fires off, a cheeky grin spreading over his face.

“Neither do I.” Harry glares back, furious that anyone even remembers that as the standard uniform of the Cupids. He’d caused quite a coup over it until the higher ups relented and allowed them to dress in garb more appropriate for meeting mortals. There’s no photographic evidence of it of course, this all having taken place somewhere around a thousand years ago, but there is a fairly damning tile mosaic that Harry had lost track of somewhere over the centuries. He did not pull off the blond thing any better than he had the toga either. He’s going to destroy it if he ever finds it again, sentimentality be buggered. “Every cupid has their own way of enacting their powers. I prefer a light tap on the shoulder. Some people still use the bow and arrow, but I don’t allow it in my jurisdiction. Some of my people don’t have such great aim. That’s how they get moved to other departments.”

He says the last part with a pointed glance at Louis (Who now works as the only male Easter bunny in the entirety of the UK because his arse fills out the skimpy shorts just right.). “I was an excellent shot.” the pixie haired boy scoffs. “I just didn’t have a knack for calculating the aftereffects too well. Mortals have a strange tendency to act like dominoes.”