Work Text:
“A jeśli już
To nie martw się, pamiętam każdy dzień
A miejsce będzie zawsze obok mnie
Czekać aż i Ty dołączysz tu”
/
“And if anything
Don’t you worry, I remember every day
And there’ll always be a spot next to me
Waiting for you to join me here”
– Dawid Podsiadło, mori
2016, July 24th
Sheets.
Linen sheets, to be exact. The perfect choice for a summer house in Italy. Cool on Harry’s skin despite the blazing sun warming his flat out body.
He tries to stretch all of his muscles. Like a cat after an afternoon nap. It’s hard to do while laying on your belly but he manages.
Just then, as the last vertebra pops, he hears the squeak of the wooden bedroom door which indicates that they’re being pushed open.
He lifts his head and is met with an even more bright sight than the morning sun – Louis’ grin after he just spotted Harry’s already awake.
“Hello, H,” the Devil says just as Harry’s head hits the pillow again, “how are you on this fine morning?”
He gets a defeated groan in lieu of an answer.
“Oh, come on, don’t be grumpy.”
“’M not,” comes the muffled response.
“Sure, love, tell yourself that,” Louis chuckles, “but, please, sit up. I brought a brekkie.”
And that does the trick.
Harry’s limbs flail all over the bed as he’s trying to situate himself to let Louis put the breakfast tray on his lap.
“Here you go, sun,” Louis says while heading towards the door.
“Wait,” Harry starts tentatively, “where are you going?”
“Oh, I– I, uh, I don’t know,” he finally stutters out.
“You don’t know?”
Louis nods dumbly.
“So why won’t you join me?” Harry asks while patting the free side of the bed.
“I just–” the Devil tries pointing towards the door.
“You just what?” Harry replies with a pointed stare.
“Nothing,” he admits, immediately moving towards the empty side of the bed.
“Yeah, so I thought,” Harry ends with a small smirk while grabbing a few raspberries and tossing them into his open mouth.
“Oi, aren’t you cheeky, little love?” Louis grits out while looking everywhere but not Harry’s lips.
The boy only giggles and swipes the additional juice off his upper lip using his pink tongue.
“So, how are you today?” asks Louis after a minute of staring at the surrounding them room.
He’s still distracted. It’s like he’s faced with all of the flashbacks and doesn’t know what to do with them. There’s a little furrow between his brows when he’s looking at the empty vanity table in the corner of the room.
“I’m fine, more than fine,” Harry admits, sending crumpets all over the duvet while talking with a mouth full of a fresh bruschetta.
“Mmm.”
Harry chances a curious glance at Louis who is still lost in thought if the pensive look on his face is anything to go by.
How can you not admire him? The golden glow of his skin. The mouse-like hair adorning his temples. The regal cheekbones that could send Michelangelo’s David into oblivion.
And then, the caring heart beating beneath all of these layers.
Call Harry naive, gullible but the heart of the man sitting next to him is filled with solicitude.
He can’t explain why, but he was always able to see the colour of someone’s heart – someone’s soul.
He could tell based on a single glance if someone has a kindness within them or if maybe their heart is of a rotten kind.
Some would think most people ought to be pure-hearted. Harry knows that this statement couldn’t be further from the truth.
Some just prefer to live in denial. Harry prefers verity – authenticity.
That’s why he’s here.
With the Devil – the evil personalised. The man that most fear, Harry is sure of. He, on the other hand, sees only light. Where most see a creature with broken wings, Harry sees one with a broken heart.
He doesn’t know how long he’s spent trying to sort his inner turmoil because when he tries to come back to reality, Louis’ already appraising him with a little smirk adorning his lips.
“Finally decided to stop daydreaming, little dove?”
An eye roll in a response.
“Okay,” Louis assesses, “what would you say for a little trip?”
“Aren’t we already on a trip?” Harry asks while sipping on his freshly-squeezed orange juice. Mmm, pulp.
“Oi, I hope you don’t think the outskirts of a city like Venezia is all I have to offer.”
“Well,” starts Harry, suddenly full of shyness, “to be fair, all of the things you’ve offered me already are a lot more than I deserve, so…”
“Hey,” Louis murmurs while bringing his palm to caress Harry’s cheek, “a person like you, so ethereal, so kind, deserves the world, and I’ll try to give you that, okay?”
“’Kay,” comes Harry’s response, who is trying with all he’s got to not let the tears gathered in his eyes drop.
“Good,” smiles Louis while leaning in and pecking the boy’s forehead, “what would you say about a little trip to Venice? Up for it Harold?”
And that makes Harry let out a squeaking laugh that he’s trying to cover, to no avail, obviously.
“No, no, no, little love, you don’t get to cover that,” Louis cackles.
“Yeah? And who says so?” Harry asks, eyes crinkling, while putting the tray on the nightstand.
When he comes back to the sitting position he just was in, the Devil grabs his wrists and forces him to lay down – wrists above his head.
Forces is a strong word, considering Harry couldn’t’ve done it more willingly .
Now, with Louis hovering above him, he’s a little out of breath.
“I say so, any more questions?” he asks, the smirk still present.
“N– no,” Harry finally stammers out after a few seconds of tracing with his eyes Louis’ ruby tongue that is very distractingly wetting his sinful lips. So sinful. I’d eat an apple for them, too.
“Uh-oh, is my darling a little bothered?” he continues teasing while freeing Harry’s wrists and getting out of the bed, “so, Venice, get ready. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
And with that he’s gone.
Harry breathes out and gets up. When he’s finally untangled from the ivory sheets, he notices his problem tenting the négligée he’d decided on last night.
“Great,” he mutters to no-one else than himself and heads toward the en-suite for a cold bath, from the lack of a shower.
&
It’s already 10 am when Harry steps out of the mansion door, wearing satin off-white high-waisted trousers. Noticing this nearly-deadly temperature, he chose a frilly top adorned with a little ruby tulips sawn all over it. He also decided on leaving his curls to dry naturally, so the bigger ringlets are still a little wet, leaving droplets of water all over his shoulders. His beautiful emeralds are protected from the sun by a pair of sunglasses, so he deems himself well-prepared for whatever Louis has planned for them.
Needless to say, Louis stops mid-sentence when his eyes fall on the angel standing in front of him.
The driver grunts pointedly to bring Louis’s attention back which seems to snap him out of his little stupor.
“Right,” the Devil says, never tearing his eyes away from Harry, “darling, Alessio here will take us to the city.”
“Oh, I thought we would spend the day alone.”
“We will, angel.”
Harry gives a small nod at that, but his instantly closed-off demeanour won’t do.
“Could you give us a moment?” Louis asks the driver.
When the man is gone, he turns towards Harry.
“What is it? Hm?” he asks with a concern marring his icy blues.
“Nothing. Just, I thought I’ll get to admire you driving,” Harry mutters while looking past Louis.
“So this is what this little frown is about?”
“Well, yes,” Harry admits, just to add after a minute, “and I was hoping you’d let me drive.”
“Oh, love,” Louis laughs a little because isn’t that precious? How come Harry can be so devastatingly stunning, yet so shy? “If you want to drive, it’s all yours,” Louis says while tossing the car keys into Harry’s palms.
He turns and starts towards the nearby parked Bentley.
Harry doesn’t know what is most bewildering – the amber car glinting in the Italian sun, the fact that Louis trusts Harry enough to let him take the reins of said car, or the way the suit trousers accentuate Louis’s supple arse. And the satin stripes along the outer seams, along with the black scoop-neck that is letting the It Is What It Is see a bit of the wonderful sun. Topped off with a off-white Adidas sneakers. Are those loose threads? Must be a limited edition, then. Harry can’t even say he’s surprised.
“Angel? Done drooling over my rump?” pipes Louis from his passenger seat, smirk evident in his teasing tone.
It pulls Harry out of his little daydream, so he hurries towards the car, taking the driver seat.
“Just so you know, not that you deserve any explanation, my eyes were set on the car,” he states while pushing the button to lower the top of the convertible.
“Oh, is that so? This gets you all excited? Should’ve told me, I wouldn’t put such care into dressing myself, love.”
“Will you lead the way or should I exchange you for Alessio?”
And that seems to shut the Devil up.
&
“Oh, wow,” Harry states with his mouth slightly agape while appraising his surroundings.
After they found a place to park the car, they took the water taxi to Murano Island – an island about half an hour from Venice.
“Did you know that this is the place where the famous Venetian glass is made?” Louis asks, his hand placed securely on Harry’s lower back.
“As I’ve never been anywhere outside the UK, I did not know that,” Harry responds with an awe evident in his voice.
“The peak of it was around the 16th century, I think. People were going absolutely mad about it. A lot of them travelled here just to admire the craftsmanship of blowing the glass.”
The excitement that literally pulses through Louis makes Harry stop and want to focus his sole attention on the man holding him.
“Were you one of them?” he asks.
“Oh, I, yeah,” Louis responds, coughing into his fist a little, “Lugrezia was an artist, a writer, but she was always interested in everything beautiful, and when the Murano glass, as this is the correct form, became popular, she had to experience it on her own.”
The hand on Harry’s lower back is clutching it a little harsher now, but the man himself seems to be so lost in his inner turmoil that he isn’t even looking at Harry. And that won’t do.
“Lou,” Harry whispers tentatively.
“Yeah, angel?”
And when Louis looks him in the eyes, there appears to be a little mist over his devastating blues – as if the waters of his irises were a little more troubled than normally.
“It sounds like she was lovely,” Harry assesses with a little smile, just enough to make his dimple pop, “I would’ve loved to meet her, but as I can’t do that, I would love to hear more about her, okay?”
There’s a lot of different emotions passing through Louis’s face at once. Not all of them Harry has the chance to notice, nor decipher. But the Devil finally nods and grants him with a small tug of his lip corners.
“Great, now, lead the way, Mr Tomlinson,” Harry exclaims with a peck to Louis’s cheek.
And if the place where Harry’s lips just were, became a little pinkier, nobody has to know.
&
“Remember this chandelier from the atrium?” Louis asks around a mouthful of frittelle.
After an hour of strolling around, they decided to take a break, as the sun was getting even more outrageous than it was before.
“The one that’s made out of tubes? The pink-ish one?” Harry clarifies because he isn’t sure which atrium Louis meant – the one at his London house or his Italian one.
“Yep, exactly, it’s done there,” he points towards a little shop with an array of glass jewellery on display.
“Do you reckon we could see what they have to offer?”
“Harry, you don’t have to ask me for permission, I’m not going anywhere without you,” Louis assures.
“Oh, yeah, okay, thank you,” Harry murmurs with a bashful smile.
“No problem, love.”
&
“Could you tell me a little more about her?” Harry asks while taking a sip of his espresso.
“About Lugrezia? Why?” Louis says with an unreadable expression.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, but the way your entire demeanour changes whenever you’re mentioning her just shows that she was important to you.”
“No, I want to, and she was – is important to me,” Louis takes a little breather, “she was one of very few people that didn’t freak out when they found out who I am – what I am,” he recalls with a tint of wonder gleaming in his eyes, “she was a beautiful woman, a noble one at that, but as the non-conformist she was, Lugrezia was a black sheep of her family – she didn’t engage in all these conventions, she wasn’t after money, she was after feelings. Especially the feeling of being free.”
“Sounds like a powerful woman,” Harry adds, wondering about the woman he wishes he could meet.
“That she was,” he agrees, “we met at her 25th birthday party. It was an obnoxious one, thrown by her family. As you can imagine, all the colourful ball gowns, the black tuxedos, and there she was, wearing a silky black dress some women wouldn’t even dream of wearing to bed, especially then. She had to be her petty self, couldn’t make it easier for her family. Just like they couldn’t go along with her wishes. Always tried to mould her into something she wasn’t.”
“And how did it unravel?” he asks, entirely captivated.
“I approached her, introducing myself and congratulating her for staying true to herself. The morning after that, I found her at my door, with luggage and a plea for me to take her away from here because her father found her a husband. The rest is history.”
Harry hasn’t even noticed when his hand took a hold of Louis’. Louis seems just as oblivious.
“Which year was that?” he asks quietly, as not to disturb the moment.
“Her 25th birthday? Hmm, it was 1594th, I believe,” Louis answers with a little tilt, lost in thoughts, “yeah, we’ve spent 35 years together, and she died a week before her 60th birthday, March 19th of 1629th.”
“I can’t even believe how awful that must’ve been,” Harry admits, his heart breaking for Louis and for the wonderful woman that had to decrease into nothingness.
“It was,” Louis recalls, “she left a lot of her work, the poems, and novels, some published, others meant for only one gaze.”
“Could you show me some of them when we come back home?” Harry asks with a slight tremble coating his words.
Louis meets his gaze at that, both of them trying to stop the tears from breaking the dam and overflowing. They share a little smile then – it’s okay, they’re safe, together.
“Yeah, if you want to, I’m sure she wouldn’t have anything against it, considering you’re reminding me of her a lot,” Louis whispers.
And Harry’s at a loss of words.
&
“Okay, where are we heading now, Mr Devil?” Harry chirps with a grin taking over his face.
The atmosphere feels different now, after their intimate chat at the café. More tranquil. Even more safe. Like they’ve proven they’ve got each other.
Harry did drag Louis to admire the array of beautiful jewellery gleaming in the sun. Louis, on the other hand, convinced Harry to let him buy him something.
Harry was very adamant about Louis already doing too much for him, but the Devil wouldn’t hear any more of this nonsense.
It ended with a gold necklace joined by a little pendant made of the colourful glass adorning Harry’s slender neck.
And with another kiss to Louis’s cheek.
So many kisses. So much blushing.
“I was thinking that we could add Burano Island to our today’s itinerary. What do you think?”
“Well, it’s fairly early, seeing as it’s only 2 pm, so yeah, lead the way,” Harry chirrups, the excitement in his tone almost palpable.
Who wouldn’t want to bask in Louis’ attention, after all? Harry will try to prolong this daydream as much as Louis will let him.
He fears that even an eternity by the side of this man wouldn’t be enough, though.
&
If the amazement painted all over Harry’s face is anything to go by, he is in love with the island.
It’s no wonder actually – all the colourful buildings with painted-by-hand shutters, the smell of original biscuits of Burano — buranelli — making the air full of vanilla, the atmosphere all these locals having a riposo create.
Just as they’re walking past a quaint restaurant filled with laughter echoing all along the street, an older lady with an apron along her neck yells after them something in Italian.
Just as Harry is ready to respond that they only speak English, Louis replies, “Ne è sicuro? Non vogliamo imporvi.”
For which she replies with a fervour only an Italian woman can possess, “Non fare lo stupido, giovanotto, andiamo.”
“What did she say?” asks quite lost Harry.
“That we should join them and that we won’t impose.”
“I didn’t know you speak Italian,” Harry murmurs as he’s being led towards the loud family.
“Of course, I can speak in every language known to a humankind,” Louis whispers back.
“Seriously?” the astonishment makes Harry falter in his steps.
“Yes, love, now, come on,” Louis ushers them towards the rowdy strangers occupying the long table filled with goods.
“Andiamo, piccioncini,” says the woman pointing towards a couple of wooden chairs brought by a man, her son, probably.
“Io sono Louis, lui è Harry. Harry non parla italiano, purtroppo,” Louis introduces them both.
“English then,” voices the woman.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to trouble yourself any more,” reassures Harry.
“Beauty, you’re our guests, and we believe that guests should be treated like a family, now, eat,” she says while gesturing towards all the wonderful-smelling food laid out in front of them.
Harry sends her a grateful smile.
And then the chaos ascends.
A lot of talking in English, and heated conversations in Italian with hints of English.
And a lot of agitated glances, mainly between two young men at the end of the table – Enrico and Hugo – counting Harry remembers correctly.
A lot of elated glances towards Louis, which make Harry quite jealous and completely possessive if his palm on Louis’s thigh is anything to go by.
And a lot of laughter.
A laughter as loud and obnoxious as one can imagine.
A lot of moments that will be stored in Harry’s mind forever.
A lot of precious memories to hold onto when Louis will finally realise that he isn’t worth of the Devil’s time and will leave Harry alone to fend for himself.
A booming voice of Enrico seems to snap him back, “did you two hear the story of this island?”
Louis and Harry exchange a look, both shaking their heads no.
“Nonna, could you tell them?”
“Oh, it’s a little legend that runs along the streets then and now,” she starts, focusing her gaze on Harry, “I don’t know if you’re aware, but as Murano is popular because of the original glass, Burano is a mecca of lace,” she continues, capturing the attention of an entire table, even the littles, “there’s this story about a beautiful mermaid – similar to the one painted on your forearm, prezioso,” she says pointing towards Harry’s arm, “being so infatuated with a local fisherman, who, is worth of adding, wouldn’t spare her a glance, seeing as he was loyal to his fiancé,” she pauses to prolong the anticipation, “one night, as a form of goodbye, she hit his boat with her colourful tail, creating foam all over the water surrounding said boat. The foam would make the most beautiful lace. There was one condition, to secure a happy life, the fisherman’s fiancé had to use this lace for her wedding gown. There was a rumour that no-one will ever knit a lace more beautiful than that one. All the people then decided to try to recreate said lace, which didn’t happen to this day.”
“Oh, that’s a beautiful story,” Harry tells her just as he feels Louis’s breathy, “a land of lace, huh?”
It’s now his turn to become the epitome of flustered. He blames it on the sun, though.
&
It’s a little after 5 pm when they’re able to leave the restaurant, but not without a thousand little pecks with Nonna Eden, hugs with everyone else, promises to visit when they’ll be here again, and a ton of buranelli with different feelings, like zabaglione – Louis’ favourite – and pistachio – Harry’s.
Louis has managed to ask Enrico about the best lace atelier in the area, seeing as Harry’s eyes were sparkling during the fable.
“I thought we were headed towards home,” complains tired Harry.
Being outside on a sunny day tends to make people tired. And Harry’s not an exception.
Louis, on the other hand, can’t seem to shake off the giddiness that comes with Harry referring to his house as a home.
“We are, but I wanted to take you to one place before that,” the Devil responds.
They wander for a few minutes, admiring all of the buildings painted in different bright colours. There’s laughter along with a lot of yelling coming from most of them. There’s life happening all around their little bubble of happiness, which means that this is real – this isn’t a dream. And Harry most certainly won’t wake up any minute.
“Okay, so, you can tell me to fuck off,” Louis starts as they’ve stopped at the entrance of a common-looking building with wooden door, “but I think you’d like it, so, give it a chance?”
“Okay, but will you tell me what you’ve planned, at least?”
“I think it’d be for the best if you’d see for yourself, little dove. Trust me?”
He has the audacity to ask this question with a pleading puppy eyes. And, look , Harry’s not a monster. He won’t say no to that.
“Yeah, always, Lou.”
So just then the Devil takes the boy’s hand and opens the door.
Harry’s jaw is on the cobblestones paving the street.
The inside’s kept pretty simple if you exclude the vast array of lace garments, of course. The chalky walls and mahogany floor are the ideal backdrop for the display of lace in all colours – from beautiful white one, through a meadow-like green, ruby red, perfect for some heated moments, to onyx black. All laid out and ready to take home.
“I– I don’t understand,” Harry stammers out as he’s being pushed through the doors.
Just now he gets to notice the French door leading to the changing room on the right side, and the counter on his left.
“Well, don’t think I haven’t noticed how you were glowing wearing Lugrezia’s gown last night,” Louis mentions, “so I thought that it’d be a shame for you to not have any garments of your own,” he adds while maintaining the eye contact with Harry, “considering we are in the mecca of lace, and the fact that you’d carry them all so well.”
“ Oh , Lou,” Harry says with a slight tremor in his voice, “I don’t know what to say, so thank you will have to suffice, for now.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Harry, it’s my pleasure,” Louis vows just as a greying man makes his way towards them.
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” he asks with a gentle voice, as if he already knows what they’re up to.
It’s like that was all Harry needed to gain the confidence.
After a little while, Louis gets situated on the lavender sofa by the window, looking out on the street, while Harry decides between reds, pinks, whites, and all the other colours the atelier has to offer.
They end up leaving with a few bags full of silky robes, tulle matching sets and négligées, lace bralettes and knickers, garter belts and a lot of different tights to match all of it.
But, what’s more important, they leave with a happy, confident Harry.
And Louis vows himself to keep that look on his face for as long as possible.
&
“Little dove? What’s all of this?” Louis asks while looking at the delicious food spread all over the patio table.
There’s a white tablecloth covering the wooden platen, porcelain plates set for two. Between all the dishes – Italian sautéd clams, a caesar salad, a sourdough with a salted butter and rosemary – are set several pillar candles lighting the table. There’s also a wine – Franciacorta Demi Sec – ideal to underline all these gourmet treats.
There’s a little tap on his shoulder and when he pivots towards it, he’s faced with a smug-looking Harry.
“I thought I ought to make something as a thank you for all the things you did for me,” he chirps, “and as cooking is one of my passions, please, be my guest today.”
Louis is at a loss of words because this wonderful human standing in front of him is so pure, he feels like crying.
But he also can’t form even one coherent thought because Harry’s wearing a silky dress, prussian blue which perfectly corresponds with his slightly-tanned skin. And it’d be fine – it’s his second day of being exposed to the charm of this angel, after all – if not for the straps of a sky blue bralette visible on his shoulders. And the pendant adorning his collarbones.
Louis is a sucker for seeing Harry in things he bought him, or just seeing Harry be himself, or both. Most probably both.
&
“I promised you that I would show you Lugrezia’s work,” starts Louis tentatively after they ate the delicious spread and are lounging on the loveseat, looking for the stars.
He’s still unsure of bringing up this topic, but here goes nothing.
He isn’t left to dwell on this too much, though, seeing as Harry turns towards him instantly, all giddy with excitement. And that tells him all he needs to know.
“I mean, if you’re okay with it, Lou,” Harry assures softly, sensing Louis’ nervousness.
“I am, honestly, but it’s something I have kept for myself, you, though, make me want to be open,” he declares in a small voice, “and I’ve chosen this one specifically because that was the last piece before the illness took her away from me.”
Louis takes a fascicle bound by a satin strap, opens it, and begins:
I have to go
They’re calling me already
It’s cold today
And I wanted for a little longer
Hold the hand
Feel the flow of a pleasant stream, the stream
And what if I don’t want to?
If I rebel
Come on, don’t rush
I’m asking you for some time
My heart is breaking
My ground is burning
Please, I don’t want to do it yet
Just a few more words
And if anything
I’ll take with me a bouquet of roses
I’ll be waiting at the gate, looking down
You spare me a glance whenever you’re free
And if anything
Don’t you worry, I remember every day
And there’ll always be a spot next to me
Waiting for you to join me here
I am not allowed
Take a moment longer
It’s a lot of others here
You were supposed to come later
I’m flowing and
They take me somewhere far away from here
And what if I don’t want to?
If I rebel
Take others
I will stay here
I can feel your heart
It doesn’t want to stop
I’m begging, just a moment
A few more words
And if anything
I’ll take with me a bouquet of roses
I’ll be waiting at the gate, looking down
You spare me a glance whenever you’re free
And if anything
Don’t you worry, I remember every day
And there’ll always be a spot next to me
Waiting for you to join me here
Going back home, going back
Going back home, going back
Going back home, going back
Going back home, going back
Going back home, going back
Going back home, going back
Going back home, going back
Going back home, going back
And now, when he’s done reciting, the dam seems to be broken and there’s nothing more than sobs and hushed reassurances to be heard.
There’s also a tranquillity to be found. A sense of belonging hidden in the embraces. It feels like a promise. And the warm wind feels like a protection sent from someone above. A blessing.