Louis hates his job. He hates it with a passion. But it's the only place in walking distance of his house and ever since Niall and Liam totaled his car, it's the only option he's got.
The thrift shop is small and old. Louis thinks it used to be a liquor store or party store of some sort, judging by the bottles of alcohol left in the cabinets and the mysterious brown stains on the dusty tile floor and the flashing red OPEN sign hanging in the front window. Louis hates the stupid music he has to play that reminds him of an elevator in a fancy hotel.
He hates that he works two shifts a day during the work week. He hates that he has to open the store at 7 am every single day ("That's inhumane!" he had shouted at the manager Chris when he first started working there.") and work until noon, then has an acting class from 1 to 3, then goes to his vocal lessons at 4:30 until 6, then goes back to the shit hole he calls work at 7 and closes at 10:30.
He doesn't remember signing up for that.
The bell above the door rang and he looked up to see an old man wearing wirey silver glasses and jeans that were at least two sizes too big on him. Louis sighed and went back to his phone, aimlessly scrolling through his Instagram feed, liking pictures every few minutes. The man wobbled around the store looking through the racks and humming along to the music playing softly through the speakers of the shop.
After 45 minutes or so, the man finally came up to the register and handed Louis three flannels, some jeans (again, much too big to possibly fit him correctly), and a scarf before very slowly handed him the money in exact change. After ringing him up, the shop was quiet for an hour and he was getting ready to close early because they were having an especially slow day. It wasn't always slow, but being a thrift shop tucked away in the corner of downtown Chicago, Sundays aren't very busy.
He had just turned off the sign in the front window and was crouched behind the counter gathering his things when he heard a loud smack against the glass door.
He jumped, dropping his things onto the ground, papers scattering everywhere. He popped up from behind the counter to see a tall boy with curly hair rubbing his forehead, looking much too exasperated as he did so. Louis huffed and rushed over to the door and knocked on it, causing the boy to jump and look at him.
"Jesus kid, can't you see we're closed? Are you trying to give me a heart attack or are you trying to break in and just failing miserably?" He asked angrily. Maybe he was being harsh, but it's quarter after 9 and he just wants to get home and curl up in bed. Sunday is supposed to be his not so late night shift, so he's tired and grumpy. He's only human.
"I'm sorry, I just got off work from the bakery across the street and I'm only now getting time to get over here. I would've-"
"I don't care. Go home and come back tomorrow morning at 7:30 when we open again." The boy sighed and took his hand away from his forehead, revealing a dark red substance on his fingers. Shit, if Chris finds out I'm the reason this kid's skull is cracked, I'm dead.
"Shit, you're bleeding. Come in here." He quickly unlocked the door and grabbed the boy's arm, tugging him inside.
He had only just realized how tall this kid really was. He was at least 4 inches taller than Louis and had giant hair to add to it, though he had an adorable little baby face. He went behind the counter and grabbed a few tissues from the box. While he was rushing around to find a band-aid, the curly haired boy was standing calmly and quietly at the register, hands now in his pockets.
"Bend over, you're too tall for me to see way up there." Louis huffed to the boy, who laughed in response but did as he was told. Louis dabbed at the cut on his forehead, sticking his tongue out in concentration.
