Harry Styles Shorts and One Shots

One Shot: Bartender **

A biiiig thank you to @moonage_darling for requesting this story! It means so much ❤️❤️
TW: plus-sized Y/N, celebrry, self conscious talk, LOTSSSS of fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, break-up talk, mentions of depression, smut, protected sex (I'm being responsible in this one, okay?)
Love me some raw sex but we gotta be SAFE out here. Use protection, loves ❤️

18+only

Word Count: 8,040

Harry

As I sulk in the comfort of my suede couch, my memory is haunted by Camilla's twisted face of anger as she leaves me. There was nothing I could do to prevent her from slamming our apartment door for the last time. I tried pleading enough during our argument to not go, and that I'll be better for her. But it wasn't enough. I fear I was never enough for her.

My eyes glaze over to the last place where I saw her blonde hair wisp back, right at my doorframe. Being here is making me feel even more somber and forlorn. The agony is pulling at my chest, as well as the tears that threaten to break the dams of my lids.

All of her things are gone, but the lovely smell of her still lingers in the air. She's been gone maybe an hour and I'm already a mess that misses her terribly. Maybe I'll be happier without her in the end, but right now, it feels as if my world has ended.

Dragging myself up from the couch, I grab the keys to my car from the little blue dish Camilla bought at a garage sale forever ago. She was so excited to get us a key dish when we first moved in. It's like that person who once loved me more than anything died and was replaced by a bitter, beautiful clone.

I get into my sleek, low-riding yellow Ferrari, revving up the engine with a loud roar, pulling out of the lavish underground garage. I've decided to lean on my usual break-up vice; alcohol. It's the only one who's never broken my heart or left me for no clear reason. It's time to drown my sorrows and pray that nobody recognizes me or gives a shit that I'm drinking at a bar.

My fame isn't at an extremely high place yet, but I do get recognized quite often. I'm just hoping that tonight isn't one of those nights. I'm really not in the mood to put on a happy face and pretend that I'm excited to see a fan, because truthfully I'm barely excited to be alive in this moment.

When I pull up to the bar, it's fairly late and not super crowded. I know that it closes at two, so I still have some time to get good and drunk before I am forced to go back to the dreadfully empty apartment.

Sitting down towards the end of the bar, away from everybody, I flag down one of the bartenders with a gentle wave of my finger.

An older man walks up to me with a small smile. "What can I get ya?"

"Tequila neat, please."

"Do you want well or top shelf?"

"Do you have Don Julio?"

He nods. "It's our most expensive tequila. Is that the one you want?"

"Please."

With that he departs, my eyes rolling up to the tv above the bar. It's some sport's game I'm not even remotely interested in, but at least the music in here is lively. If a heartbreak ballad comes on, I'm afraid I'll lose it and start breaking down against the wooden surface in front of me.