HOW TO KILL A NIGHTINGALE

.one.

"That's always seemed so ridiculous to me, that people want to be around someone because they're pretty. It's like picking your breakfast cereal based on color instead of taste."

- John Green

November 18th.

For once, Niall decided not to argue further with Harry about the frothiness of the chocolate.

It had been pointed out by Harry more than once that Niall was starting to sound like Willy Wonka, but of course, Niall was having none of it. He just raised his hands up and exited the coffee shop.

For the last couple of weeks Niall started to feel a bit of frustration. The stress was getting to him of both owning a business and finishing college. There were even times when he couldn't sleep and he had to keep a straight face during classes. Usually he was his upbeat and carefree self but since he flunked hard on midterms and found out that his boyfriend had ran off with a girl, he wasn't the same Irish anymore.

As he turned right across Chagrin Bridge, he started to feel bad for shouting at Harry. The lad had been full support ever since the breakup and he had been tutoring him (thank God they both took the same course). Crisp and golden leaves crushing beneath his boots, Niall swore inwardly and turned around, making his way back to the coffee shop and hoping that Harry was still willing to forgive him.

If not, then just damn.

***

The cold autumn breeze welcomed Louis Tomlinson as he got off of the bus. He let his eyes drown on the rustic style of shops and houses that were properly matched by nature's perfect array of gold, reds, oranges and browns. Taking in a deep breath and exhaling it, he wrapped his fingers around the strap of his bag pack and headed north.

After almost a year of travelling around Europe, Brookshire made him feel at home. It was just a simple town secluded in the middle of small forests and grasslands, all of that amount of nature giving that earthy vibe which Louis loved so much. And to think the town was just three hours from London.

As he walked further north, the town seem to slowly catch up with the world. Neon signs flashed on shops, Louis spotted some hardbound tomes on display behind the glass of a bookstore: books which he already read, and the smell of street food was in the air. There were a few men hanging beautiful linen lanterns on the streetlamps and Louis wondered if there was some sort of celebration.

He finally saw a coffee shop in the distance and as he drew nearer, Louis' stomach seemed to agree with him that perhaps some lunch would be nice. Louis was about to open the door when a young lad burst out, his blonde hair in tangles. He seemed distressed, the lad, and bit frustrated.

When he entered, Louis was greeted by the warm aroma of brewed coffee and the smile of a hazel-eyed lad behind the counter. The thought of the blonde lad was quickly dispelled and Louis smiled back. It took all his strength not to flirt because, fuck, the hazel-eyed guy was cute as hell.

"Hi," the hazel-eyed lad looked like a baby deer in the headlights, the copper highlights of his hair catching the light from the low-hanging incandescent fixtures, "welcome to Mason's. What can I get you?" He stared at Louis, waiting for him to make an order: something that Louis seemed to have forgotten in the process.

Composing himself, Louis glanced at the chalk-written beverages, all of which sounded good. "Surprise me," he finally said and it was the hazel-eyed lad's turn to be surprised. The lad considered and pointed at the chalkboard behind him. "How about a macchiato?" he suggested.

Louis grinned. "As long as you make it delicious."

"Can do that, actually," said the lad. He reached out his hand. "Name's Zayn, sir."