First of all: yes, you did in fact work at Starbucks, but that's only because your aunt was a branch manager and one could always use the extra money. With school, and all the clubs you were in, you rarely had time, and you would have figured you wouldn't dare work during the holidays.
Yet there you were the afternoon of Christmas Eve, absently wiping the same spot on the countertop with a rag.
The only other company you had aside from your aunt (who wasn't even there since she just stepped out for some cigarettes across the street) was the other barista (a college girl that hadn't stopped yapping into her phone since she picked it up half an hour ago) and an elderly couple that ordered tea and a hot chocolate and committed themselves to a table in the corner.
Why the hell had you even agreed to help your aunt, anyway?
Oh, yeah. You were alone.
You and your two best friends had spent every Christmas Eve together since you'd met each other during middle school at a summer camp.
When one of your friends began dating Niall Horan in eighth grade, it just left you and the other one, which wasn't bad at all. Then senior year came along, and she began dating, and the first one was still in a relationship with another guy, so they were spending this Christmas Eve with their significant other.
With you alone.
Not that you cared, of course, because you didn't.
And you weren't jealous of them, either. You were happy and all that crap that they were in love.
If it was one thing that you did not do, it was envy others. Others envied you. You didn't even blink an eye at the fact that you were alone.
Whatever.
The front door chimed and you looked up, your eyes falling upon the face you least expected (okay, well, maybe not least, but not the most either) to have seen. "Niall?"
You hadn't seen him around that much since junior year, at one of your best friend's friend-of-a-friend's party. That was also when you had sex with him. But it wasn't a big deal: he admitted in never having sex during a round of Truth or Dare, you were both drunk, and there was an empty room upstairs. You were only doing him a favor.
Now, the said boy stopped his stride a few steps from the counter and looked up from the floor, staring at you. He blinked once and kept staring blankly, as if he was just waking up from a daze and wasn't quite there yet. When your eyes narrowed and your hand twitched like you wanted to slap him, he finally said, "Uh hi," all surprised and whatnot, crossing the small distance to your register. "Hey."
You tried to ignore the way the barista whispered that "a cute-ass guy just walked through the door." She would pay for that later.
"I didn't know you worked here," he said, his eyes falling on your nametag and green apron.
"Not regularly, but my aunt apparently needed my help." Despite your slight intrigue at his being here, you kept your voice at a slight drawl. "Why? Is there a problem with that?"
"No, no, I was just saying," he stammered quickly. (You smirked at the fact that you could still make him squirm so easily.) "But, I mean, you know, it's a job. So you get, like, paid and stuff. That's cool." He gulped a little and cleared his throat nervously.
You chuckled. "What are you doing here?"
"I, um," he looked back down, "had some free time and thought I'd get some coffee."
"Alone on Christmas Eve? Oh, that's right," you tilted your head slightly, "you're no longer being anchored down."
"Hey." His tone was warning.
You rolled your eyes and uncrossed your arms. "Whatever." You exhaled. "So what can I get you?"
"Huh? Oh." He knitted his eyebrows together and looked over your head at the menu. "Aw, damn. I forgot that this was the place with the messed up sizes."
You arched an eyebrow and let out a laugh. What? You couldn't really blame yourself, with that seriously stumped look on his face.
"Oh, it's not really that hard," College Girl said sweetly.
You glared at her. "I got it."
She shot you a look before returning to whoever was on the other end of her line. You shook your head and looked back at Niall, smiling at his deepening frown.
He laughed nervously again, his mouth twitching into a grin, the same one he'd given you when he was trying (failing) to tie his tie during winter formal junior year. "My mom usually orders whenever we come here," he offered despite the fact you hadn't asked. Somehow, this made you smile a little wider. It all added to his helpless-puppy-ness.
"You can order regularly, you know," you informed. "I'll know what you're asking."
"No, no," he said. "I want to get the hang of it." The determination in his voice sounded so childish. It was quite amusing, if not adorable. (Not that you'd ever admit to it.)
"This ought to be good."
He grinned. "Okay, so, grande is pretty much a large, right?"
You shook your head, tapping the medium-sized stack of cups beside you. "Grande is a medium. Venti is a large."
"Oh." You swore you saw him blush. "Er, sorry. So, can I have a venti muffin?"
You laughed. Like, actually laughed, not in the evil, snarky way like he was used to, but a wholehearted laugh, with your head tipped back and your cheeks flushed and everything. He found it cute.
"The sizes are for the drinks, Horan." You pointed to the pastries behind the glass on the other side of your register. "The food is all the same size."
"Oh," he repeated. He looked contemplative for a moment. "Maybe I should let you choose?"
You smiled and grabbed a venti cup, scribbling on the side out of force of habit before you realized there was no one else. "Peppermint white mocha. Ever tried it?" He shook his head and you smirked. "Of course not. It's good, trust me." You entered the price into the register. "So, that's one venti peppermint white mocha latte, with whip cream, of course."
"And a muffin."
You laughed. Probably harder than necessary. "And a muffin."
He slipped you a $10 and told you to keep the change.
When you went to make the drink, you saw College Girl shooting you a look. Sure, you may have had nothing in common, and sure, you wanted to strangle her that minute, but girls knew each other's expressions, and the look College Girl was giving you was asking if you had something going on with Niall and, if so, she wanted the details.
You just rolled your eyes.
Once you were done, you grabbed a chocolate muffin with a napkin and walked over to the table he'd chosen.
He didn't even question why you were joining him. In fact, when he saw you walking his way, his face lit up like a freaking city at night and you tried to ignore how it made you feel good.
"Lose the grin, Horan. I'm just here so I can steal some of your drink and because I'm bored."
He smiled wider.
You sat at that table for two and a half hours, just talking nonstop.
The only time you are interrupted is when your aunt returned and forced you to introduce him ("It's not that big of a deal, it's just Niall, now can you go?"), but otherwise, they forget that they're part of an outside world. They talk about random stuff: songs, some fond memories, inside jokes, petty school rumors, practices, his love (obsession) of football.
You tore another piece of the muffin and popped it into your mouth, brushing the crumbs from your fingers. "It's not an obsession," he protested.
"Niall, you don't know how to stop."
"I do, too," he retorted childishly, "I just choose not to. It's fun. You should come over and play sometime."
You smirked.
"I-" He gulped. "Just to play," he rushed. You smirked a little wider. "Maybe not tonight, it being Christmas Eve and all."
You put your chin in your hand and crossed one leg over the other. "But you're alone aren't you? I mean, your parents are together, Greg is probably out, and you-" You didn't finish. He was glad you didn't.
He cleared his throat and shrugged one shoulder. "I guess. I mean, it isn't so bad. And I'm..." He trailed off.
"You're what?" You questioned. He hesitated. "Spit it out, Niall."
"I'm with you."
He smiled at you triumphantly, childishly, and you scoffed and shoved another piece of muffin in your mouth to hide your smile. He laughed a little. You wondered if maybe he was onto you, which would be impossible, but still. But he just brought the drink up to his lips and said nothing.
As he set the drink back down, you laughed. Some whip cream still lingered on the corner of his lips. But of course he didn't notice this. He just stared at you and your growing smile with his blank expression. You just shook your head and shifted in your seat, leaning over the table to wipe the offending cream away with your thumb. He blinked, his jaw parting absently, and stared at you.
You ran your fingers through his hair, pulling yourself closer and licking your lips lightly.
"Are you saying that you like spending Christmas Eve with me?"
He breathed. "Yeah."
He crashed his lips to yours in a heady kiss, one hand on your neck and the other through your hair, pulling you closer.
You pushed the table aside slightly and straddled his waist with your legs as best you could with the chair in the way, not really caring that your aunt, College Girl, and the elderly couple were also witnessing this.
Because it didn't mean anything.
You pulled apart, panting, and pressed your forehead to his. In your peripheral vision, you caught sight of the elderly couple smiling at you, laughing, their hands laced on the table between them. When they had first walked in, you questioned why anyone would want to be out in some coffeehouse on Christmas Eve, even an old pair like them.
But it wasn't so much where you were.
It was who you were with.
"Niall," you whispered, and he looked at you in surprise, because you never liked to talk during. "It meant something to me."
And you didn't even have to explain yourself because he already understood. "Yeah," he murmured in agreement, sweeping your hair over your shoulder. "It meant something to me, even more now."
You laughed and recaptured his lips.
(You kind of liked spending Christmas Eve with him, too.)
A/N:
I HOPE YOU ALL HAD A MERRY CHRISTMAS! (And if you don't celebrate it, then I hope you had a good and safe and warm -or cool, depending where you live- day:)