The Drive-In | l.s.

chapter 1.

their skin became their diary; inked with the words they couldn't say.

۵

It was Friday night; one of the busiest nights for the workers at the drive-in. Their constant aching backs, trembling legs, and throbbing heads always made their time at work an even more living hell. No one ever had the time to just sit for a second and have a soda, let alone take a whole thirty-minute break. Only when they snuck off for quick pee were they able to escape the elderly who acted as though they knew how to do your job better than you did and the hormonal teens who never seemed to be able to stop sucking each other's faces.

Says Harry.

Weekends were always the hardest for the drive-in. Everyone absolutely dreaded the week coming to an end. Everyone, of course, except Harry.

While his fellow coworkers were practically dragging themselves along, praying for the weekend to be over with, Harry was perched up on a stool at the concession stand with the biggest smile on his face.

His usual messy uniform was ironed down perfectly - not a single wrinkle in sight. Striped dress shirt properly tucked into khaki trousers, shoes neatly tied. He even made sure not to 'forget' his bowtie this time. It was a very simple uniform however it fit Harry perfectly. He was quite the looker, rather charming.

Every now and then Harry would quickly sneak a glance at himself through the glass of the cooler just to make sure he looked okay.

Only after running a hand through his quiff and rearranging his chocolate curls multiple times, was he finally satisfied with his appearance.

Giving his usual dimpled grin, he reached over and pulled a piece of licorice out from a brand new package. He remained chewing on his favorite sweet as he waited to spot the reason behind his late night hard-ons.

And if Harry folded up his already short sleeves just so this particular person would think he was cool, he would never say.

You see, Harry only got this way on Friday and Saturday evenings - as was said earlier.

But if you asked him if it happened to be because of none other than Louis Tomlinson, the 'annoying little shit who only came to cause trouble and steal cigarette packs,' he would probably turn into a blushing mess and ask you why. And more quietly, if Louis sent you to ask.

Which, of course, he did not.

The older lad had no idea who this odd curly-haired boy was, nor did he pay any attention to how flustered he made him every time he walked by. But Harry never lost hope. In fact, he made sure to tell those around him that Louis was, indeed, his soulmate.

The younger lad was about to reach for some more sweets when a rather tall, blonde boy walked up to the stand, interrupting his search.

"Ehm, you guys don't happen to have some fresh popcorn do you? Mines a bit stale."

Harry remained silent for a second, completely stunned from the enduring accent and incredibly attractive metal attached to the boy's lip. It almost reminded him of Louis' piercings.

Almost.

He recognized the boy as being one of Louis' friends he always hung around with.