Hands of Fate (l.s. soulmate AU)

Chapter 8: I Watched It Begin Again

Harry was forced to reconsider his decision as he stood waiting at Louis’ front porch. Maybe it was not the brilliant idea he had thought it to be when he had taken to drive to the designer’s house in the morning. The unanswered door was certainly mocking him in its own Kafkaesque predilection – for all it did was endure the weather and the knocks, the slamming and the never-ceasing ringing, the equally unending opening and closing – and thus stuck in a world parallel to that described by Frank Kafka.

Look at me, Harry mused rather sullenly, comparing an ordinary door to Kafka’s bizarre and impersonal world.

It was at no fault of the innocent door’s that Harry stood waiting on the wrong side of it. He should have thought better than to drive all the way over at arse-O’clock without a confirmation.

Even though he vividly recalled offering to drive Louis to work, he couldn’t for the life of him remember Louis agreeing to it. For all he knew, he was going to make a complete fool of himself, imposing upon an unassuming Louis who was most certainly awaiting Sean.

Lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts, it was natural that he was caught unaware when the door finally opened, doing little to quell his worries even if its mocking nature turned to one of indifference. Here he was again, talking of the door as if it was a sentient being. Maybe he did need to heed Niall’s advice and get out of the Villa more, if only to preserve his own sanity.

“Aiutami, Dio.”

He snapped out of his rather strange door musings as he heard Louis chuckle – and was at once dropped into something else to muse over. It should not have elicited such a response in him, seeing Louis dressed in his night robe; hair mussed and eyes crinkled as he grinned tiredly.

“Stop staring,” Louis huffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Huh?” Get a grip! He chided himself, it was as if his brain had decided to effectively malfunction at a very unfortunate moment. What must Louis think of him? Showing up unannounced and staring at him?

“Why don’t you come inside and try to find your way back to vocabulary?” Louis teased, leaving the door open for him to follow.

It was truly embarrassing how Harry had slowly started to lose his wits wherever it concerned the designer. He had gone from a prideful man to a love-struck himbo in a matter of weeks. He followed Louis to the kitchen, a tremor settling over his skin as he familiarised himself with the place. It should have felt estranged – these walls and everything they held – but all he could feel was a sudden sense of belonging.

Was this how a home supposed to feel? Warm and welcoming. The care was palpable within every random object, in every nook and cranny; from mismatched mugs to worn rugs.

He watched Louis from a distance, tinkering with a contraption Harry guessed was a glorified coffee machine. He smiled upon gaining the smallest of knowledge from the machine – Louis valued his morning coffee.

“I don’t bite,” Louis called over his shoulder.

He crossed the space between them, sitting by the kitchen island. Maybe his mind had tilted on its axis and had taken to romanticise the world, or maybe the sunlight did warm as it hit the side of Louis’ face.

“You have a lovely home,” he said softly, feeling his heart flutter when Louis smiled at him.

“Grazie.”

The contraption spewed coffee from its faucet, and Harry watched in fascination as it swirled into the mug.

“And what is this monstrosity called?”