I Do?

The Art of War

In all of his travels, no place seems to beat the small French village that Harry calls home every other summer. It's easy to get lost in the flare of the busy LA lifestyle with the countless shops and people. The village has always had a way of grounding him and washing away the harshness of his normal life.

"The air is so fresh here," Taylor sighs as she takes in a breath. A pale blue jumper and white wool sweater keep her out of the cool November air. Luckily enough she was able to fit into some of Gemma's old clothes that were left at their family's chateau a couple of summers ago.

"I know, it's great isn't it," Harry breathes. The cobblestone shops that line the French square sit stoic, waiting for a customer to enter them. A laughing child and splashing water fill the air as they toss a couple of coins into the fountain in the middle of the square. Various people chat and sip from cups at tables scattered near the shops, the French language sounding like a song to Harry's ears.

"I have to pick some stuff up for supper if you want to come with," Taylor offers. Harry shakes his head, his green eyes landing on the small shop nestled towards the back of the shopping center. The sign is worn but even if Harry would be able to make out the letters of the sign he still wouldn't be able to pronounce the name of the small shop.

"I think I'm going to grab a croissant and a coffee. I'll be over there if you need me. Here," Harry says as he passes Taylor a wad of Euros to buy what she needs. A look of startlement crosses her face for a moment, but Harry doesn't wait around for her.

Every step towards the shop takes Harry one step closer to his childhood and away from the misery his life back home brings. As he stands outside the door he allows the feelings to wash over him, forcing himself to leave his baggage outside.

The door swings open before Harry touches the handle, forcing Harry back to reality. Another man stands in front of him, clutching a cup of coffee with his life. "Fuck," Harry shrieks as he steps out of the way just as some of the hot coffee spills from the cup.

"Sorry, I did not see you there," The man says light-heartedly. Harry looks over the man who stands in front of him. A thick French accent hugs the English that the man says. Yellow-green eyes look at Harry warmly as the man runs a hand over his blond buzzed hair.

The man lifts a tanned hand to steady the cup he's holding before reaching out towards Harry. "Most people call me Zair."

Harry shakes the man's hand, "I'm Harry."

Ready for the interaction to be over, Harry steps aside to enter the shop, but before he does Zair moves in front of him. "Why don't we have a coffee together? It's not every day I see an American around here," Zair jokes. Harry doesn't know the man, so he doesn't know why he starts walking to a table with him or why he sits down. There's an air around Zair that feels inviting, despite his name.

"You seem troubled," Zair says as they take their seats. "Here, have my croissant."

Harry doesn't know where the croissant comes from as Zair passes it in Harry's direction. Usually, he wouldn't dare take something from a stranger, but nothing about this interaction is usual and the growl of Harry's stomach outweighs his head as he takes the peace offering.

"Just a lot going on back home, I'm trying to escape it," Harry admits as he takes a bite of the croissant. The light, buttery pastry seems to ease the anxieties resting just out of reach.

"You know, Sun Tzu once said, 'In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity'," Zair says, with a far-away look in his eyes.

"I don't know what kind of opportunity I can find out of this mess I'm in," Harry sighs as he takes another bite of the pastry. He doesn't know why he feels the need to continue, maybe it's the croissant or the overall strangeness of the situation or Zair himself, but Harry finds himself unable to hold back.

"I got married on accident to this guy while I was drunk and it caused this whole mess with my family and then turns out that guy was lying the whole time about everything and then my roommate started yelling at me and my dad is just a fucking asshole," Harry vents.

Harry takes another bite of his croissant as he finds himself ranting about the last few months of his life to the stranger. He doesn't leave out any details, ranting about Louis and his betrayal, and his sister's addiction, and the Niall situation.

"So, I got up and left in the middle of Thanksgiving and called the pilot. And, well, now I'm here," Harry sighs. As he looks up at Zair he's realized he's overshared again, getting lost in his own life events. Usually, when Harry opens up too much to people he feels embarrassed, but the look in Zair's eyes holds no judgment.

"Sometimes we need to lose the small battles in order to win the war," Zair says after a moment.

Harry raises an eyebrow. "What war?"

"The war of life. But really, you seem like this Louis guy means a lot to you, so you should probably call him. Besides, Louis is a good French name," Zair suggests. Harry shakes his head, knowing he can't and that he's just not ready for that.

"Louis ruined everything, I'm not ready to forgive him yet," Harry says. Zair sets his cup down and sighs loudly.

"Well, then find something to dive into so you don't obsess over it. Is there anything you get lost in, besides that croissant," Zair laughs. Harry doesn't laugh with him as he considers what Zair says.

At first, he can't think of anything that he loses himself in. Jogging is always nice, but his thoughts seem to surround him while he jogs. Morning jogs are where he allows himself time to work through stuff, not escape.

He runs through a couple of thoughts, all of them turning into dead ends. "I don't know, I guess there's nothing."

"There's always something. Come on, you're telling me there's nothing that you do that you just get lost in? For me, it's painting a beautiful picture of the landscape," Zair explains.

"I don't know, I mean I play the piano sometimes," Harry says. As soon as he says it he realizes that the piano is what Zair meant. The feelings he has when he plays amplifies and he's able to escape from all the thoughts in his head while letting them out all at once.

"There you go. Practice all the time, leave it all on the keys. Play for family and friends and talk through the music. Learn two or three songs and play it for everyone with little snacks and suits and stuff, or don't, what do I know," Zair laughs.

The idea rolls around in Harry's head for a second but is interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice. "Harry, you'll never believe what I-, oh," Taylor says, her voice gradually getting louder as she gets closer to the pair.

"That's my cue. Good luck and remember that Sun Tzu once said, 'opportunities are multiplied as they are seized'," Zair says as he stands and walks away without another word. Harry watches the unusually tall man until he disappears into a small crowd.

"Who was that," Taylor questions.

"I don't know."