Picture Perfect | Larry Stylinson ❀ [Mpreg]

Two

This story has become STRICTLY Harry's POV. So all the "updated/edited" chapters will be mainly from his perspective. 

After the first week of school passes, Harry heads to the bakery for his Saturday morning shift. The bakery is nestled in the heart of downtown London, a prime spot near a cluster of shops and eateries, bustling with foot traffic thanks to its proximity to the expansive park adjacent to Stamford Bridge.

Harry has been working here since last summer, taking the early morning shifts on the weekends. Saturdays are always a whirlwind of activity. With Stamford Bridge just a street away, match days mean the bakery becomes a hive of activity, supplying breakfast for the team and often for the visiting squad as well. They also get a frenetic rush of park-goers and football fans in the morning rush.

Today, however, the scene is different. Chelsea has a game scheduled, but it's an intra-team match, eliminating the usual influx of rival team members. Only a few staff members from Stamford Bridge swing by as the bakery opens, picking up biscuits, pastries, juices, and coffee. The game kicks off around noon, and Niall decides to drop by before heading off to join his friends. He's here to keep Harry company until it's time for him to dash off to the match.

As the morning rush dwindles, Harry seizes the opportunity to clean up the remnants of flour and dust that have settled on the counters. A few patrons linger, sipping on steaming cups of tea and coffee, while soft jazz meanders through the bakery's air. Niall is animatedly discussing football and Chelsea, but his words a blur to Harry, who is struggling to keep up.

"It's called an inner-squad, H," Niall explains, his enthusiasm unwavering.

Harry sighs heavily, running a cloth over the same spot on the counter. "Really? What is that?"

"They split into teams. So Chelsea is playing Chelsea. They do this every couple of years. It's usually for charity or something," Niall elaborates.

Harry scrunches his nose, finally tossing the dirty towel over his shoulder. "That sounds boring."

"You sound boring," Niall retorts with a playful smirk.

"What does that even mean, Ni?"

Niall rolls his eyes and reaches across the counter, ruffling Harry's curls with an insistent hand. The gesture never fails to irk him, who now attempts to smooth down the wayward curls that have sprung free from their usual arrangement. Niall chuckles and heads toward the bathroom, leaving Harry to fidget with his hair. The bell above the door jingles as a few customers leave, their departure accompanied by a trail of dirty cups and plates.

Harry squats down, opening the cabinet to retrieve the cleaning supplies. As he straightens up, the bell above the door chimes again, and his gaze shifts to the new arrival. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of the blue-eyed boy from Stamford Bridge, all cocky confidence and casual swagger. Harry's ankle rolls, causing him to stumble. He grabs the counter for support, his cheeks flushing with a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

The boy's gaze meets his, and Harry feels a jolt of recognition and unease. He saunters in, his loose shorts and graphic tee. His tan skin, adorned with tattoos, and his striking blue eyes are as vivid as they were in the tunnel. A faint, amused smile tugs at his lips as he notices Harry's reaction. "Curly, how nice to see you again," he greets.

Trying to play it cool, Harry straightens up, lifting his chin slightly. He hopes to project confidence, but as soon as the blue-eyed boy steps up to the counter, his posture deflates. The boy's intense gaze, striking and unwavering, makes him feel awkward and exposed. Another boy trails behind him, casually tapping away on his phone before claiming an empty seat at a nearby table.