Scars And a Cup of Coffee | Zarry [complete]

Chapter 3: Zayn

Scars And a Cup of Coffee

Zayn stared at the letter Frenchie had sent him, wondering how he hadn't seen this place before. The little cafe was adorable adorned with its Christmas lights at the window and the warm glow it emanated from the inside. It looked as though it was meant to be a hangout. It seemed nice, and the fact that Zayn passed it without noticing was surprising for the damn place was on his block.

Shifting his stance he limped in, his leg protesting against his decision to observe the small coffee shop. A small bell rung, alerting the man near the door to attention, noticing the servers dark brown hair and the way it was flipped in a quaff that made Zayn perceive him as douche. It was similar to the hairstyles that the typical pig headed jocks in the movies always had.

He watched the employees green eyes travel downward to his cane, self consciousness nestling into his mind. Zayn only wished that he could make it to the counter without his groan of frustration traveling past his lips. It was as though forever flew into his life until he finally reached the faux marble ordering counter. Those jade eyes revealed to him that the employee was incredibly uncomfortable, for what he couldn't guess, but he settled into his position languidly.

"What would you like, sir?" The server asked, his voice much deeper than what he expected it to be. He shifted uncomfortably, and Zayn could still feel those piercing eyes watch him as he looked at the menu.

Deciding that he shouldn't do anything fancy since the server seemed exhausted with the bags under his eyes, but had a happy tortured artist look to him. Zayn hated making people do things that could strain themselves and the kid looked like he could use a break. "I'll have a coffee black, no sugar, no milk." He said, his voice sounding displeased and bored. Zayn mentally slapped himself.

Zayn watched the employees eyebrows raise curiously. "Black?"

"Black"

His eyebrows knitted together, doing a little shrug that Zayn wasn't sure he was aware he did. Zayn glanced at the name tag on his chest, remembering the name Harry, to make sure he'd remember it if he came back. He had worked in a cafe once, it always made him happy that customers rembered his name. As Zayn was going to turn around, the boy spoke up, and his heart hurt with each word.

"Would you like it taken to your table, so you won't have to strain yourself, sir?"

Pity.

Zayn loathed pity, and if anything, he was receiving just that. Staring Harry dead in the eye, he grunted a displeased, "No," and walked away to the empty table in the corner. Sitting down carefully, he waited for his order to come.

Taking out the letter in his pocket, he hoped that Louis' expectations of this place were right, because at the moment he wasn't all that fond of it.

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-Mitchi