𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐑! | harry styles

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈

IT was brutal. Worse than he'd imagined. The schedule that Desmond and Anne expected Harry to follow during his incarceration, as he liked to refer to it, was more than any seventeen-year-old should have to bear. Of course, everytime Harry stated as much to either one of his parents, they reminded him a little of why he was in the situation he was in. It depleted his argument, every time.

On Monday, Harry went to school, turned in his work permit, picked up a grade check report for each of his teachers (a demand from the 'rents), went to each of his classes, met his new Literacy Coach and attempted to do a bit of homework before giving up and collapsing in exhaustion.

He was so tired that his mind almost let him forget that Bree had worn her hair in a ponytail that day. And she'd had a brown t-shirt on. Who knew someone could make the color of mud look so good?

And he'd noticed her talking to Max Anderson. Twice.

Tuesday was a little better. After the teenaged rat race that is high school, Tom dropped Harry off at Pipeline, Brian's body and repair shop, and the two got down to business right away. At first, Brian had Harry sweeping up the garage, replenishing paper towels and cleaning the bathrooms. If it was a test, Harry almost failed.

"I came here to fix cars. Not clean bathrooms." Harry marched up to Brian less than an hour into his shift.

Brian looked over his shoulder at Harry from his position under the hood of a 1985 Corvette. It took a few seconds for his eyes to soften and a lazy smile to appear on his lips. There was snickering heard from the other mechanic working underneath the car.

Brian put his hand on Harry's shoulder and pointed across the shop to a young man that looked about five years older than Harry.

"Harry, that there is Ethan. He came here from California. He has an Associates Degree in Auto Mechanics and he ran his own garage for three years before moving here. Not to mention, he can make a toilet bowl shine like nobody's business." Brian looked at Harry pointedly. "We clear?"

"Crystal," Harry said with distaste.

Brian went to duck back under the hood, but decided to add to his comment. "Harry, I appreciate a person who questions authority. So, you've questioned and I've answered. I don't want to have this conversation again."

The snickers throughout the shop ensued. Harry looked around in angered irritation.

"And don't let these chuckleheads bother you," Brian motioned towards the other mechanics. "Every single one of 'em had the same reaction as you - only it took 'em a little longer to speak up. Way I see it, you're just ahead of the curve."

Harry didn't quite know what Brian was saying, but it sounded like a compliment, so he accepted it as such before going out to sweep up the parking lot.

Harry had been plenty tired after his first day at the body shop. He ate dinner in silence, did a quarter of his homework and went to the garage to visit his dented vehicle, really assessing the damage for the first time. It was going to take him forever to work up enough credit to fix it.

Bree wore black Tuesday.

Wednesday was a lot like Monday and Thursday was a lot like Tuesday. But on Friday, Harry experienced a tiny upset to his routine.

He took the bus to Pipeline and walked in on what seemed like a very casual customer consultation.

"Yeah, she just loves this thing. It'll probably cost more than it's worth to fix it, but I wouldn't be doing her due diligence if I didn't at least look into how much it would cost."

"Well you can't blame your daughter for wanting to keep it. It's a classic," Brian said as he leaned across the counter towards the dark-haired man.