The Larry Book [ completed ]

I've Wandered Ten Thousand Years for You To See This Coming True

By : paynofile ( ao3 )

Summary:
That one where Louis works in a bookstore and Harry is just some hipster with a kindle.

I've wandered ten thousand years for you, 
To see this coming true. 
I've been to the outer edge of time, 
To try to make you mine. 
I've been so far gone,
That there's no need to try redeeming me. 
I believe that I'm the greatest of mistakes,
That ever has been made.

            -Stabilo, “Gateway”

When the curly haired boy walked into his shop for the first time, Louis’ nose was buried in a book. That was nothing new, of course. He could often be found with thick frames sliding down his nose, eyes darting frantically across the page as he lost himself in the story; Louis was a sucker for stories. That day, as the bells on the door signalled the entrance of a potential customer, Louis was glued to a battered copy of The Velveteen Rabbit. A children’s book, he knew that, but it had just come in that day and a sort of nostalgia combined with his love of the smell of old books had compelled Louis to crack it open. And so it was that Harry’s first glimpse of the blue-eyed boy he was nestled in an armchair behind an old oak desk with lamplight slanting in over his soft brown hair.

Harry himself was frostbitten and too lanky for his own good. His hair was blown every which way from the freezing wind outside, and his cheeks were bright red with the cold. His hands, insufficiently covered by fingerless gloves, were clasped around a starbucks cup as if it was the Holy Grail. He’d never been in the bookstore before, had passed it many times on his way to class though. Today it was not so much the desire for new reading material that pushed him inside (he had a kindle- paper books were so last year), but rather the lack of feeling in his toes and the fact that Chapter 17 Books was the only store open this late on a Tuesday. With the door jamming shut behind him, Harry turned and locked eyes with the boy behind the counter, who immediately folded down the corner of his page and hopped up from his chair.

“How can I help you?” he said, crossing the narrow store in a few quick strides and helping Harry out of his coat.

“Didn’t realize you had butler service in here,” Harry chuckled as Louis held out a hand for his scarf. He was answered with a self-satisfied grin.

“Just one of the many services I offer.”

“And the rest are…?”

“Helping you find books, of course!” Louis scolded, turning back from the coat rack.

Harry had definitely not been admiring the way those jeans hugged the curve of his arse, not in the slightest.

“Right,” Harry said after a pause to recollect his thoughts, “books.”

Louis’ voice was sarcastic. “Well, yes. It is a bookstore, you know. You can tell from the books.” He gestured in a sweeping motion to the precarious shelves and stacks that filled the tiny store.

“Oh, that’s what those are?” Harry said with mock incredulity.

“I’d slap you if you weren’t a customer.”

“Well that remains to be seen. So far the staff has been a bit standoffish,” Harry said with a smirk, already far too caught up in this short boy with the big glasses and the bigger bum.

“Oh come on, the coat thing wasn’t enough?” Louis shot back. “Anyway, what are you looking for today? The store is a bit, well, a lot unorganized so it’s probably best if I help you find it. Browsing will get you pretty much nowhere.” Harry turned to the nearest shelf and realized how true this was when he saw the titles next to one another: Home Décor for The Modern Woman rested against Romeo and Julietwhich was squished in next to a Justin Bieber biography. Scanning the room, Harry was very pleased with the loving sort of chaos that it seemed to be made up of. The shabby coziness of it appealed to the hipster in him, and even he had to admit that was quite a large part of him. Just looking at his appearance you could peg him as one: worn out boots, skinny jeans, ripped flannel, a smattering of nonsensical tattoos, and even a few necklaces dangling onto his collarbones. The store was the sort of place he’d like to sip black coffee and scratch song lyrics onto a notepad, or perhaps one where he’d lounge and pretend to study while wrapped in a handmade quilt, or maybe most of all it was a place he’d want to sit snuggled in someone’s arms and watch snow fall outside from the comfort of that armchair in the corner. In any case, it seemed like a place where ordinary things took on a poetic strain, and that was Harry’s favorite kind of place.