In the warm purple twilights, the two men boarded the bus to Naples.
The countryside rolled past them, and when they got off, night had fallen. The sky had shifted to black and the streets were roamed by drunk young Neapolitans.
They walked to the jazz club Louis had spoken so majestically of.
He was right—it was more of a cellar than a club at all. It was rather small, bringing everyone closer together.
Inside, a band was playing on the small stage, and the audience were shouting along loudly. The sweet smell of vodka perfumed the air which was already sweaty and foggy from theatrical smoke, and dyed blue from the wild lights washing over the surfaces.
Harry looked to Louis who was wearing his ridiculous, all-black boater hat. Harry hadn't stopped twitting him about it on the bus ride.
Louis had merely brushed it off, though, claiming the hat was in in 'jazz fashion'.
Harry strongly doubted that.
Louis, with a hand secured on his waist, brought him through the crowd towards the same group of friends they'd encountered yesterday.
He greeted everyone with little pecks on each cheek.
Louis willed Harry to sit down by the table where Fausto was sitting at before taking a seat himself.
Louis and Fausto fell into conversation like old friends. It was hard to hear what anyone said over the noise of the jazz, though. Either way, they were speaking Italian, so there wasn't much to understand anyway.
It was clear as day that Louis had a burning passion for jazz. He became completely absorbed into the music. Whenever the chorus came on, he would pretend to play along on a saxophone.
Harry, surprisingly, found himself having an enjoyable time tonight. The music was better than expected, and the people were nice to him. He did have a lot to drink, too, though.
A few songs in, a pretty Italian brunette approached their table. Harry was in the middle of getting to know Fausto when the woman's brown eyes locked on Louis as she snaked herself around him, latching her mouth directly on his without warning. Louis, not totally sober anymore, kissed her back with just as much passion.
She smiled against his lips, looking to get comfortable on Louis' lap. She gently took his cigarette out of between his fingers and placed it between her own red lips. She ostentatiously took a drag of it, to which Louis raised an eyebrow at Harry.
After a while, the band stroked up the intro of an upbeat track, and the audience cheered loudly. Fausto pulled a protesting Louis up along with him on the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Louis Tomlinson, all the way from America!" Fausto chanted, earning a round of applause.
The two men started to sing the cheerful jazz song. Harry was not being able to stop smiling. Louis looked really happy up there, singing and playing his heart out on a saxophone.
The song stopped for a minute and Louis grabbed the microphone. "And a big round of applause for a new friend from New York—Harry Styles!"
Everybody in the crowd cheered and turned their heads to him. Harry's eyes grew three sizes, shy and in shock.
"Come on! Get on up here!" Louis waved him up, smiling encouragingly.
Harry nervously got up and made his way up on the stage, legs slightly wobbly. He hoped no one noticed. Fausto started singing again and Louis wrapped an arm tight around Harry.
Harry wouldn't change places with an angel.
"I'll tell you when to join in on the chorus," he said in his ear. He released him and blew into his saxophone as Fausto kept singing.
"Together!" Fausto shouted to Harry, leaning in to share the microphone with him. Harry was a good singer, but he did not know the lyrics. And he knew Louis was going to expect him to know these lyrics.
He started sweating, but sang into the microphone with Fausto, guessing the lyrics. Luckily, Louis was too busy blowing into his sax to notice.
In the last seconds of the song, Louis joined in on the singing, draping an arm around Harry's shoulders as he sang rapidly into the microphone, too. The song finished and the audience went wild. Louis gave Harry a big kiss on the cheek in elation.
~*~
Harry woke up in Louis' house the following day. The sounds of someone typing on the typewriter was what woke him.
He looked around, blind and confused without his glasses. He probably resembled scum, hands reaching up to feel his curls all messed up from sleep. He quickly tried to tame them as much as he could get them to cooperate with him.
"Afternoon." Louis handed him his glasses.
Harry put them on. "You always type your letters?"
He leaned forward to peek at what Louis was writing. "That should be two T's."
"I can't write, and I can't spell. It's the privilege of a first-class education. Your room's upstairs, I think Emerlinda, my maid, made the bed for you."
Harry turned his head and saw an elderly woman walk by them. He assumed she was Emerlinda. A smile took over his face and his head shifted back to Louis. "This is so good of you."
"Don't say it again." He leaned forward, eyes twinkling with delight, "Now that you're a double agent and we're going to string my dad along, what if we were to buy a car with your expense money?" Louis suggested keenly.
"Okay," Harry shrugged, just happy to have a friend like Louis.
Louis smiled at him, "Great."
"Hello, Harry," Marge greeted, walking into the living room.
"Hello."
"Marge, Marge. What do you think? Little Chinquecento with my dad's money?" Louis said excitedly, making wheel turning motions with his hands.
"Oh, please, Louis. You cant' even drive a car."
Harry giggled, "You can't even drive?"
"Now, what we need urgently, Harry, is an icebox. What do you think? Agree with me, and I'll be your friend for life."
Harry contemplated it and turned to face Louis again, their eyes meeting. He broke into a lazy smile, "I absolutely agree with Marge."
Marge solemnly raised two perfectly blonde eyebrows at Louis in victory as she walked off into the kitchen.
Louis just laughed in defeat, shaking his head and started typing on the typewriter again. "I suppose, I suppose."
Later that day, Harry went back to his hotel to pick up his luggage and check out. He took a cab back to Louis' place, ascending the stairs and finding his room.
He put down his single suitcase in Louis' guest room. It was simple and comfortable—thousands of times better than his own dingy basement room back home. He liked it.
The terrace door was opened, letting misty air inside. He walked out on the large balcony, seeing Louis and Marge hanging out on the terrace below.
"So, what, is he gonna move in with you?" Harry faintly heard Marge say.
"It'll just be for a little while." Louis took her hand and kissed it. "He can be... he makes me laugh."
"Okay, darling."
"Promise me you'd say if you mind?" He kissed it again. And then again.
"No, I like him."
"Marge, you like everybody."
"I don't like you," she chuckled.
Their conversation went on, and Harry walked out of the room. Louis' own bedroom was just across from his, and the door was open wide.
Of course he knew he shouldn't go in there, but the temptation to go inside and take a small look was stronger than his virtues.
Maybe if the door wasn't wide open he wouldn't feel this inclined.
He explored the casual elegance of Louis' room. Harry picked up a tie and walked towards a mirror, trying it on.
"I like him," he said in a high-pitched voice, imitating Marge.
He then deepened his voice to a confident drawl. "Marge, you like everybody."
Harry opened the valet box standing there on the board. He picked up a golden watch, running his fingers over the cold texture.
"No, I like him."
"Marge," he pointed to himself in the mirror, "you like everybody."
That night he slept soundly in a big bed, limbs tangled between clean linen duvets.