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?”
“Hey! Be respectful, it has feelings,” Louis laughed, plucking another mug from the cabinet to fill it. “This is a palladium vacuum coffee maker. Try it.”
Harry brought the mug to his mouth, struck with the aroma of freshly grounded coffee beans and an underlying roasted scent. It tasted heavenly, and Harry questioned why he had never been acquainted with this marvellous machine.
“This is really good. Thank you,” he praised, taking another sip.
“Mhm, I know.” Louis sat opposite to him, starting with his own mug. “Now, don’t expect me to make breakfast as well. I wasn’t expecting company, and all I have is cereal.”
Harry felt his cheeks warming, “I—didn’t mean to show up unannounced.”
Louis narrowed his eyes, “I find that hard to believe.”
Harry almost took offense at the accusation, relaxing only when he saw the smirk Louis couldn’t be bothered to suppress.
“Stop pulling my leg.”
“Should I? It’s so fun.” Louis peered at him over the rim of his mug, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Anyway, I am not going into work today until after noon.”
“Oh, I thought you still had my runway outfits to work on.”
“Yes, Mr. VIP, I was going to work on them from here, so people wouldn’t keep barging in through my door.”
Harry glanced at his empty mug and made to stand, “I should leave, then.”
Louis exhaled softly, murmuring to himself, “Questo oumo.” And shot Harry an exasperated look before averting his gaze. “I don’t—mind the current company. And um—I could go for breakfast.”
“Me too, I mean, I haven’t eaten.” God! Why was his heart threatening to beat out of his chest?
The bashful smile Louis gave him was incentive enough to make Harry impale himself on Cupid’s arrow.
“Wait here while I shower,” Louis said, laying a gentle hand on Harry’s elbow, and just as quickly withdrawing his touch, “And I’ll show you the wonders of our local cuisine.”
He was gone. There was no coming back from the depth of the pit he had fallen into, surrounded on all sides with thoughts of Louis, Louis, Louis...
Harry nodded a moment too late, receiving another amused smile.
He didn’t dare to name the feeling in his chest.
-
The bakery Louis took him to was nestled between colourful buildings. It was a busy market; not ruined by ill-mannered tourists, as Louis had put it. No wonder their waiter had looked between the two of them, frowned at him, and chosen to address Louis alone.
“I feel like I shouldn’t have stepped into this street,” he said after the waiter brought their orders.
“You’re fine,” Louis assured, not bothering to sound convincing. The mischievous grin doing little to help his words.
“What sort of things are you planning?” Harry wondered out loud.
“Not planning, simply questioning,” Louis shrugged, taking a bite of his cornetto.
Harry mimicked him, unable to help himself as his eyes fluttered close at the taste, and momentarily forgot what Louis had said.
“Good, isn’t it?”
“Yes, very,” he nodded, chasing the taste with a hearty sip of espresso. “Questioning what?”
“Your sudden acceptance.”
Harry frowned, picking up the subtle change in Louis’ tone, the way his shoulders had stiffened. “I don’t follow.”
Louis pursed his mouth before speaking, “I remember you saying you prefer to live in the reality. Accepting things as they are. That day, in the restaurant, you said that to me.”
“Yes, but – if you’re wondering of me accepting the notion of soulmates—”
“I’m wondering why you’re comfortable being around me.”
Harry felt lost, he believed they both were on entirely different tangents of a conversation. “I don’t understand. When have—”
“Of course, you don’t,” Louis cut him off again, “If we accept things as they are, I should dress, and behave, and adhere to the gender I was born. Then the reality is, I should only be one thing. I can’t choose to be both, or neither, or whichever I want to be.”
Louis didn’t raise his voice, neither he let his emotions colour his tone, but the hurt of what he had perceived from Harry’s words was palpable in his eyes. The polite profile he presented was somehow worse than his anger could ever be. It hurt Harry, to realise all this time Louis had been harbouring a deep resentment towards him, one that was entirely misdirected.
“And it’s been a long time since I cared what people thought of me,” the designer spoke in almost whisper, “But with you, I do care.”
“Louis, what I said, none of that had been against your gender,” he urged, praying his voice held enough conviction. “It was about my foolish belief that soulmates did not exist, that it was all a hoax. By reality, I meant how could two people be pre-destined to be together. And I was a total idiot to believe that, let alone letting you think any of that had been aimed at you.”
Louis had withdrawn his gaze, staring down at the plates left abandoned between them. When he spoke, his voice was strained, “And what do you believe now?”
Harry gulped against the sudden heaviness in his throat, “That none of it is a sham; that soulmates exist. And I might just have ruined a chance with mine.”
“What changed your mind?”
Louis still wouldn’t look at him. Harry reached for his hand, caressing it softly, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.
“You.” He simply said.
“Me?” Blue eyes flickered up to his.
Harry nodded. “Perfect wouldn’t be enough to describe you. You’re nothing like I imagined, and yet everything I needed. You’re this marvellous person, I could sit and admire you for days. You’re passionate about your work, and rightfully proud for everything you’ve achieved. You’re determined, and—”
“Stop.” The flush on Louis’ cheeks matched the crimson drapes inside the bakery, the bitten back smile hardly concealing his glee. “If you keep speaking everyone would get the wrong idea.”
He became embarrassingly aware of their surroundings and ducked his head, laughing under his breath. “Forgot about that.”
Louis shuffled closer to him, grasping his hand with more bravery than Harry could muster. “So, you don’t care that I’m genderfluid?”
“Not caring would be phrasing it incorrectly,” he said, “I care about everything you are, and everything you will ever be.”
“In the wrong context it sounds rather... creepy,” Louis huffed a laugh.
Harry smiled, high on Louis’ wilful proximity. “In a non-creepy way, I care about you, Louis. And I apologise for making you believe otherwise. Ever since that day in the restaurant, I have regretted letting you walk away. I still might not understand or completely believe in soulmates, but I entirely believe in you.”
“That... it means a lot,” Louis whispered, blinking against the wetness gathering in his eyes, “Thank you, Harry.”
And Harry... his heart swooned as Louis uttered his name after so long, skipping a beat as the syllables passed the designers tongue.
“There’s no need for gratitude,” he assured, “Not with me.”
Louis nodded jerkily, letting go of his hand with a reluctant purse of his mouth to pull the dish plated with twirled Carbonara closer. Harry watched him as he reached for a fork and then turned to address him.
“I think, there may still be room for friendship.”
It was somehow more than Harry could ask for, and yet, not enough. A meaningful friendship with Louis sounded nice, but it could hardly compare to a lifetime with him.
Still, wanting was one thing, and as he had said, reality was another. And the reality was, he had broken Louis’ heart before even having it. If friendship was all he could get, he would wholeheartedly cherish it.
“Then, we shall be friends.”