In From The Cold

Tuesday 1/2

by Acavall on ao3

~

Tuesday

The wind smells ever so faintly of snow.

It's probably Harry's favourite thing about November in Ennis - that light scent of something cold and bright that lingers in the night air. It rarely actually happens here, the snow. Mostly it’s just frost, and a lot of rain. But the scent is strong tonight, and Harry has high hopes.

From where he sits on the topmost balcony of the four storey inn, he can see the lights of the main part of town just over the river as they're beginning to come on.

He sighs into the darkened evening sky, eyes on the stars. If he leant to his left and hung slightly over the railings, he would see the gravel driveway up to the inn, and if he did the same to his right he could peer round to the sprawl of grounds they'd inherited with the property.

But for now, Harry's not looking for a view, or anything really. Just a tiny bit of peace, up there with the evening light dimming and the faintest hint of snow on the wind.

The silence is broken by the ringing of the belfry in the distance, the chimes striking five. Harry stretches his arms wide, the blanket he had been huddled beneath turning into something of a cape, and turns to go back inside. He's got dinner to put on.

A change will come through in a few days, Harry knows, pausing for a moment longer to take in the view of the town, his town. Maybe the snow is coming with it.

He shivers, and turns for inside. There are more pressing things to be focusing on. He's going to need another coffee.

*

Honestly, Harry is not a shouty kind of person. Not in anger, anyway.

He shouts at football matches, and he shouts in bed, and he shouts with comical frustration when he thinks it will cheer someone up. But he’s generally the quiet kind of angry. Quiet and scary, according to Niall.

It’s just that if he’s going to make it through the evening he needs another coffee, which is kind of the problem, and he figures that maybe this once he could be a shouty kind of person. He could try it out. He’s earned it.

“ZAYN!”

He bellows it, even though Zayn’s only in the next room, pottering around the reception area as though he’s busy when they both know he’s just killing time before he’s allowed to go off-duty.

Zayn’s footsteps answer him, hurrying down the narrow hall towards the kitchen, and then Zayn’s quiffed, prince-like visage appears before him. His face is a little bit strained today, has been from the anvil hanging over all their heads, but he looks otherwise close to perfection, which only makes Harry’s scowl grow.

“You rang?” Zayn mutters, blinking at Harry like he doesn’t know what this is about.

“You broke it,” Harry accuses, gesturing at the coffee maker.

“I did no such thing,” Zayn replies sourly. Harry shakes his head.

“Don’t lie. There’s a half drunk mug of coffee on the desk out there, I know it’s yours. If you did this on purpose I swear to god- ”

“I didn’t!” Zayn protests again, but his resolve is apparently not so strong in the face of newly-shouty-Harry, because he adds, “I mean, I didn’t deliberately. I was just maybe less careful than I should have been.”

“Zaaaaaaayn,” Harry whines, pouting at his friend and business partner. “I can’t function without more coffee, not today. Did you do this to see Liam again?”