Archive of Our Own

“For once you have tasted flight you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.”
-Leonardo da Vinci

[First Day]

Harry isn’t entirely sure what possessed him to book a spontaneous trip to Italy. He had been sitting at his desk after a particularly mind-numbing day at work, and next thing he knew he had pulled up flight prices on Google for trips to Europe. It was like his body had acted entirely on its own. Had revolted against his brain and just decided that it was time for Harry to finally venture outside of his comfort zone.

Though, for a first trip out of the country he probably shouldn’t have planned to go it alone. And this thought weighs on him heavily as he stands at the Fiumicino airport train station, staring wide-eyed at the different platforms in front of him.

He’s supposed to be catching the train to Roma Tiburtina that departs in ten minutes. The only problem is that none of the trains are marked. He swallows, hiking his satchel up higher on his shoulder as he glances around himself for someone who looks like they know what they are doing—and who looks like they speak English. Of all the Italian phrases he had practiced before his arrival, he, ironically, hadn’t looked at anything about asking for directions.

After a few panicked moments, he spots an official looking man, standing near the ticket validation machine. He’s talking to a young woman with a backpack, pointing her towards a train to their left. It all looks very promising. Harry trudges off towards him, glancing down at his ticket again to make sure he asks for the right train.

The man flicks his eyes to him as soon as he gets close enough, Harry clearing his throat before letting out a quiet, awkward, “Um, Roma T-tiburtino?”

Before he can even finish the man is spouting off something in fast Italian, gesturing towards a large train in front of them. Harry blinks at it, making out the word “Roma” from the man’s quick speech. He nods his head with a mumbled, “Um, thank—uh, grazie.”

A few more people start to congregate around the attendant and Harry shuffles out of their way to head towards his train. He boards quickly, trying to find a seat and a place to stuff his bag. Most of the seats are already taken, people squeezed into the crowded compartment like sardines. He spots an empty spot next to a nice looking older woman and heads for it. Squeezing past a few people and making it immediately obvious that he’s an American with his whispered, ‘excuse me’s and ‘sorry’s as he bumps into a some of them on his way.

He lets out a sigh of relief when he is finally seated, keeping his bag on his lap, his ticket still clutched in his left hand. He has a small minute of rest before he’s being tapped on the arm by the woman sitting next to him. She begins to immediately rattle off something in Italian, staring at him with raised eyebrows. He blinks back at her as she starts to point—clearly trying to make her words more obvious.

Eventually she repeats, slowly, “Termini. Roma Termini.” She points up to the electronic sign near the door of the train. Flashing her words back at him is a bright red Roma Termini. Harry looks up at it and then back down to his ticket, where the woman is poking at the name of his destination printed there. Which plainly reads, Roma Tiburtina.

He’s on the wrong train.

Harry immediately lets out a strangled noise, his entire body tensing. He’s on the wrong goddamned train. He stands, throwing his bag strap over his shoulder again, looking over at the woman beside him with a rushed, “Grazie!” as he squeezes his way back through the crowd of people to the door. He has no idea what time it is. And he prays to God that he hasn’t missed his actual train.

He finally manages to push his way back onto the platform, frantically looking around himself. Knowing that the word Tiburtina must be printed somewhere. At least that’s what he hopes.

He takes in a few deep breaths, eyes scanning over the area. He freezes when he sees the tan train in front of him, the light-up sign with Roma Tiburtina on it, calling out to him like a beacon. He runs to it not even bothering to look up at a clock. Not wanting to know how close he’s cutting it. He launches himself onto the train, breathing heavily as he attempts to find a seat.

He sits down with a groan. Hugging his bag to his chest as he feels the train start to pull away from the station. Harry closes his eyes and heaves out a heavy breath.

What in the world was he thinking? He’s not cut out for international travel.

He turns his head a little bit, looking out the window. He glances back down at his ticket. He’ll need to change trains at Roma Tiburtina, to get on his train to Florence. He lets his head fall back against the seat.

His next train is easier to find, once he arrives at the Roma Tiburtina station. Firenze written much more clearly on the platform signs.

It’s less crowded as well, allowing him to feel a bit more relaxed, sitting down next to the window and looking out of it as the train pulls away. He watches as the green fields roll past, the picturesque country villas quickly coming into view. He shifts slightly, digging around in his duffle bag for his camera, tugging it out and snapping a few, likely blurry, pictures. He promised his mom that he’d document everything and give her a full debriefing when he got back.

Though he can’t imagine he’ll have too much to report. He chose Florence for the sole reason that it was a quaint, historic town. He’ll be able to tell her about the beautiful squares he sees and the cafés he plans to visit. But most of his pictures will probably be of antique looking buildings that’ll start to blend together after a while.

Harry leans his head against the window, closing his eyes again. With the anxiety of almost missing his train and his exhaustion from the plane ride taking over, he quickly feels himself drifting to sleep.

**

Harry has never been more thankful that he’s a light packer than he is right now. He turns down another cobble stone street—that looks eerily similar to the dozens of others he’s already travelled down. And none of them, including this one, have been the one he’s looking for.

Every Italian he has asked for directions from has just waved him towards the river with an expression he could only assume means he has much, much farther to walk.

His shoulders are starting to ache and sweat is beginning to accumulate at his temples, making the edges of his curls damp and gross.

It is much hotter in Florence than he’d imagined it would be. He’d pictured cardigans and gentle breezes. Instead he has 80-degree weather with no clouds and a hot sun. Yet the natives still seem intent upon wearing scarves.

He heaves a heavy sigh as he enters an open square. A bit more crowded than the ones he’s already passed. But he doesn’t need to wonder why for very long, the large, near perfect replica of Michelangelo’s David looming over him as he glances to his right.

It’s flanked by tourists with cameras. And by vendors, selling aprons with tiny, marble penises on them.

Harry swings his bag around to his front, unzipping it. If he is going to be horribly lost, he might as well document it.

He digs out his camera again, snapping a picture of the statue and of the square. And of the aprons—for good measure.

He then stuffs his camera back into his bag, looking back at the statue for a moment. It is quite beautiful, but nowhere near as staggering as he thought it would be—though, it is just a copy. He’d have to pay for admission to the museum to see the real deal. Harry glances towards the entrance, making a mental note of the museum’s hours. He’ll have to come back to it before he leaves. Cross something off his non-existent bucket list.

He did have only five days in Italy, after all. He might as well hit the highlights.

He stuffs his hand into the side pocket of his bag, now that he has it in front of him, pulling out his phone. He quickly opens up his photos, finding the screenshot he had taken of the email his Airbnb hostess had sent him. Somehow hoping that looking over it again would help him find the building faster.

His eyes scan across the picture, reading over the words a few times.  

Harry,

I has apartment for you. Key in box by door with code 2897. My son, Louis will join you.

Ciao,

Johannah

Harry is somewhat thankful at the reminder that he won’t be alone in the apartment. That he’ll have someone there to give him some kind of guidance—Not that he’s planning on pestering them too much. He’ll probably use him for directions mostly, since he clearly needs it. Harry frowns after a moment as it dawns on him that this man may not speak English. Or be a man at all.

My son Louis could be any age really.

But as it turns out, My son Louis isn’t even in the apartment when Harry arrives. He had let out a small cheer when he’d finally found the right street, trudging himself up the stairs until he reached the correct apartment.

It’s a cute little space. Longer than it is wide, with a hallway that stretches from one end to the other. The bedroom assigned to him had a little note on the door, which had made him smile. It’s all very nice. Albeit a little quirky.

The whole apartment is on a somewhat of a slant, Harry’s water bottle rolling across the floor when he set it down on its side. And the balcony off of the kitchen more or less has what could be called a ‘parking lot view’. And haphazard taxis with frames too bulky for the twisting turns of the cobble stone streets come roaring by as Harry tries to take in the scenery.

But it’s all too beautiful for him to care. The buildings he can see to the left are charming, with old, dark shutters and rot-iron balconies—flowers spilling lazily over the tops. The words ‘Hotel Balestri’ is mounted to the side of one in big brass letters that seem to point your gaze to the river below.

Harry can’t remember its name. He’ll have to ask the host’s son once they arrive.

He can see a nice looking bridge off in the distance, and he has half a mind to walk to it. To look out over the water and at least get himself back out of the apartment. Though he knows he’ll probably never be able to find his way back again.

Harry sighs, pulling away from the railing to go back inside, deciding to finish unpacking completely before venturing into the unknown.

It’s when he’s checking his phone battery that it hits him.

He forgot to bring plug adaptors.

In the long lists of essential Europe packing needs, he’d left off one of the more important necessities. Which meant his phone battery would be dead in a day and that his fancy new camera would probably die the day after.

He closes his eyes, letting out a heavy breath, considering whether they’d sell adaptors at the nearest drug store. Or if his host will be gracious enough to let him borrow their phone charger—assuming they have an iPhone.

Harry groans. It seems his travelling mishaps aren’t quite done. God only knows how many more he’ll have before returning home.

He stuffs his remaining clothes into the closet before grabbing his camera and heading towards the door, planning to walk to that bridge he saw earlier. If his camera is going to be useless after a day, he might as well take as many pictures as he can get.

**

Harry’s phone dies shortly before he falls asleep, though he can’t be bothered to care too much. He feels exhausted, his head hitting the pillow with a heavy thud. It’s almost nine o’clock and Louis is still nowhere to be found. Harry momentarily wonders if he’s going to have the apartment to himself for the entirety of his trip—and whether or not he would like it better that way.

He doesn’t think he would, already feeling a bit lonely from his day of exploring. Getting lost and mumbling his way through some Italian.

He lets out a heavy breath, allowing his eyes to fall closed. Maybe tomorrow would be better.

Tomorrow comes earlier than expected as Harry tosses and turns and wakes up first at one in the morning. And then at two. And then at three.

He pulls his pillow over his head with a frustrated groan.

[Second Day]

It’s late afternoon when Harry opens his eyes and he could punch himself for it. He supposes it’s understandable considering the time change and the rocky sleep he had gotten that night. But he also just squandered away half of one of his days in Italy sleeping. He would have set an alarm had his phone not died on him sometime before he went to bed.

He groans, swinging his legs out of bed and deciding to go out to the kitchen and try to make himself some coffee. Maybe drink it on the balcony and pretend that he had purposefully made today his ‘relax in Italy’ day. He shuffles out into the hallway, grogginess evident in his limbs and in the pounding at his temples.

The quiet peace of the apartment helps to soothe him a little bit, bright, inviting light pouring into the kitchen from the balcony door. He tries to let it wash over him, remind him that he has no expectations he needs to meet, that his vacation is all about enjoying the experience.

He finds a coffee pot, pushed to the corner of the counter and starts to fiddle with it. Trying to figure out how the hell to make it work. And where the coffee grounds are.

He opens up the cabinets, almost climbing on top of the counter to see the higher shelves. He turns to his left to see if maybe it’s stored in the fridge and almost has a heart attack. Harry yelps, jumping backwards and almost falling before he’s able to grip onto the counter for stability.

There’s a man standing next to the refrigerator, staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

Harry stares back at him for a moment, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears as the shock of seeing him starts to wear off. He glances over him, trying to decipher who the hell this person is. Though his brain quickly supplies, Louis, your host Louis.

Harry lets out a small breath. “Hi,” he croaks out after a moment, slowly relaxing his posture as though he can pretend he hadn’t just shrieked at the man standing in front of him. “I mean, uh,” he shakes his head a little bit, clearing his throat, looking to the side as he tries his best to remember some of his practiced Italian. “Um, buongiorno. Uh, m-mi chiamo, uh, Harry.”

Harry hears the small breath of laughter and quickly flicks his eyes up to Louis, who is clearly pursing his lips together in an attempt to hide a smile. Harry blushes almost immediately, looking away again as he scratches at the back of his head. “Um… Mi… dis-dispiace, um… for-for, um.” Harry swallows, having pretty much exhausted his Italian knowledge. “for screaming at you…” he finishes in a mumble.

There’s a small moment of silence before he hears Louis take in a small breath.

“It’s nice to meet you Harry.” Harry glances up at him again, eyebrows raised a little bit. Louis is giving him a friendly smile, still looking rather amused. Harry watches Louis gesture towards him lightly. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You speak English,” Harry says, more to himself than anything, feeling like a proper idiot.

Louis smiles wider at this, the left corner of his mouth crinkling up as he reaches up to tug at his lower lip. And Harry makes a sudden horrifying realization, that had been hidden from him by his initial panic: Louis is very, very attractive.

And it makes everything so much worse. As he has embarrassed himself, to no end, in front of someone who he will not only be sharing a living space with for the next four days, but also the first handsome Italian boy that he’s met on his trip.

Any inkling of an Eat, Pray, Love style romantic fantasy flies out of his mind.

“I do speak English,” Louis replies after a moment, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the refrigerator. “I went to college in the United States. So,” he lets out another quiet, amused breath, “we should have no trouble with communication.” He watches Harry for another moment, his gaze softening a little bit. “Though you speak very beautiful Italian.”

“Hah,” Harry says, almost involuntarily, even though Louis had sounded rather sincere. He looks away from him again, his heart still hammering away in his chest.

Louis takes a step towards him, “Is there something that you’re looking for?” He moves closer to Harry, glancing up at the cabinet Harry had been trying to climb to. Harry feels his face start to get red again, wondering how long Louis had been watching him.

“Um, just coffee.” He gestures lamely towards the pot he’d found.

He watches Louis press his lips together, the motion making the line of his jaw a bit more evident. He glances out of the corner of his eye at Harry, shaking his head a little bit, voice almost fond, “Classic American.” He smiles, grabbing the pot. “We don’t really have ‘coffee’ in Italy. At least, not what you’re used to,” he says, putting air-quotes around the word ‘coffee’, casting some amused glances at Harry as he digs through one of the drawers. “But I can make you something similar.”

Harry nods, watching Louis quickly get to work, a little mesmerized by it. How effortlessly he conducts himself. He blinks a few times, looking away when Louis catches him staring.

“You can grab yourself some food, if you’d like,” Louis offers. “There’s meat and cheese in the-” he pauses for a moment, as though trying to think of the next word, “fridge.” He looks back at Harry, smiling. “We can eat out on the balcony.”

Harry nods again, opening some more cabinets to find plates before getting food out of the refrigerator. It feels strange, going through Louis’ things with him standing right there. But he reminds himself he has permission to do so. And that Louis seems rather nice, even after Harry made a bit of a fool of himself. He takes the plates out to the balcony, setting them down on the small table there.

Harry sighs, glancing out at the street. Even if Louis thinks he’s a bit of a crazy, coffee-loving, skittish American, it’ll be nice to have someone to spend time with.

And being able to eat breakfast out on the balcony with a handsome Italian man is already a step above the day before. Maybe his mishaps are over after all.

**

As it turns out, Louis is spectacularly funny.

He has Harry bending over and clutching as his stomach with laughter as their empty plates warm in the late afternoon sun, and the last sips of their coffee grow cold. Or their café americano, rather. Harry was informed that there is a very significant difference. Even if he can’t taste it.

Louis let out a few chuckles as well, nudging at Harry’s foot with his own. “What? I thought it was pretty good.”

Harry shakes his head, straightening himself back up to look at Louis. He bites down on his bottom lip before admitting, “That might have been one of the worst Texas accents I’ve ever heard.”

Louis scoffs, looking playfully offended as he waves Harry off. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, partner.”

“Please stop,” Harry says with another giggle.

“As the only one of us that actually lived in Texas, I think I am the expert,” Louis informs him as he leans back a little in his chair. He’s still smiling, blinking at Harry lazily as he reaches out for his coffee cup.

Harry merely snorts at his comment, watching Louis as he swirls the remnants of his drink. All of Louis’ movements are so smooth and unhurried. It’s like watching honey drip from a jar.

“So what do you have planned?” Louis asks him after a moment, setting his cup back down without taking a sip. “For today, I mean.”

“Oh…” Harry looks down at his socked feet. “I, uh, hadn’t really planned anything. I was mostly just gonna explore. Find my way around.” He lets out a small breath, “I got horribly lost yesterday, trying to make it over there.” He gestures out towards the river and to the bridge arching over it. Looking at it he suddenly remembers something he had planned to ask Louis when he arrived, “What’s the name of that river, by the way? I couldn’t remember.”

Louis looks over to where he is pointing. “Arno,” he says, Harry repeating the word after him, so that he’ll remember it. He looks back down at the table, taking in a deep breath and considering how he should spend the rest of his day. He figures he could just walk around, like he had the day before. Try to get his bearings. Maybe find a nice-looking restaurant.

“Do you want me to show you around?” The sound of Louis’ voice takes Harry by surprise causing him to look back up, blinking at him. Louis shrugs. “I mean, if you’d like me to.”

Harry’s mouth parts slightly before he nods. “Yeah. That would be great actually.” He lets out a breath, smiling at him.

Louis smiles back, “Alright. Well go get changed. And I can,” he shrugs a little, looking up at Harry, “take you to some of my favorite spots in the city, I suppose.” He breathes out a small laugh, and Harry can’t help the way it makes his chest feel warm.

He nods, standing up from his chair, deciding in his head what he’s going to wear and reminding himself to bring his camera.

He stops in his tracks.

“Oh, um.” Harry’s expression turns a bit sheepish as he looks back at Louis, suddenly remembering another one of his questions from the day before, “You don’t happen to have a plug adaptor I can borrow by any chance?”

Louis lets out a small laugh, raising his eyebrows a bit before he shakes his head, “I do not.”

Harry lets out a small breath, tapping the door frame lightly, “That’s alright, figured it was worth asking. I’ll just try to buy an adaptor while I’m here.” Louis nods his head and Harry continues his way into the apartment, heading towards his room.

**

Harry spends an almost embarrassing amount of time deciding what he should wear. Not wanting to look like a tourist, but also not wanting to look like he is trying too hard. Or that he thinks this is a date. Because it’s not.

He finally emerges from his bedroom, in an outfit he deems to be a safe neutral, to find Louis standing in the kitchen. He has also changed. And he looks like some sort of supermodel God, effortlessly put together, leaning back against the wall as he types something into his phone.

Louis glances up at Harry when he steps into the room and Harry watches his eyes sweep down his person and then back up to his face. The corner of Louis’ mouth tilts up into a small smile, voice quiet, “Ready to go?” Harry nods, and Louis pushes off the wall, holding his hand out towards the door, “After you, Bello.”

Even with Harry’s limited knowledge of Italian, he’s pretty sure he can guess what that word means. He reaches for the door, pulling it open with flushed cheeks. He doesn’t look back at Louis when he mumbles back a tiny, “Thank you.”

Louis follows after him, leaning towards him a little bit to whisper back his own, “You’re welcome.” Harry blushes more.

Louis warns him that their destination will be a bit of a hike, and he isn’t kidding. Harry is huffing his way up the next set of stone stairs, giving Louis some pouty looks when he lets out a few chuckles. He only laughs harder when Harry informs him that he works a desk job and being out of shape isn’t his fault.

“Don’t worry,” Louis says. “It’ll all be worth it.”

As they walk up the small pathway, Harry looks around himself at the beautiful flowers and the brilliance of them as the sun gets lower in the sky. He glances over at Louis.

“So what exactly is it that we’re heading towards?”

Louis smiles, before looking around himself suspiciously as though he’s about to impart some hidden knowledge. “It’s a secret,” he whispers.

Harry lets out an amused breath. Though it’s a bit heavier due to the incline. “And there’s no elevator to this secret?” He’s joking. Kind of.

Louis lets out a full laugh this time, his eyes crinkling with it. Harry’s lips turn up into a smile as he watches Louis’ expression. Listening to the melodic nature of his laugh.

He doesn’t expect it when Louis turns his head to look at him, catching his gaze. He holds it for a short moment. “Not much farther,” Louis winks at him, “Promise.”

Harry’s heart speeds up momentarily at Louis’ wink. Because it apparently didn’t get the memo earlier when he embarrassed himself thoroughly in front of Louis and ruined all possibility of him ever having any romantic interest in him. Or when he had firmly reminded himself this wasn’t a date—because it isn’t.

And no matter how charming Louis is or how many times he throws around affectionate terms—that he probably uses with everyone he meets—Harry’s heartbeat is going to need to keep itself under control.

They eventually reach another staircase, bigger than the others and a bit more structurally sound. Louis gives Harry a small encouraging pat on the shoulder before they ascend it. As they do, Harry can see the large lookout spot at the top. Almost like a large mountain plateau that’s been fenced off. It’s filled with people, all leaning against the railing and looking down at the city below. Harry glances back over his shoulder, trying to see if he can get a sneak-peak of what the view will be. Already knowing it’ll be breathtaking, especially with the sun starting to sink closer to the horizon.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Harry abruptly turns around, looking down at the cityscape below them, taking in a breath as he does. “It’s beautiful,” he says, quietly. Hoping that Louis is close enough to hear him.

Louis hums, turning as well, both of them staring out at the buildings below. It looks like a painting, almost. Like the town isn’t real, like Harry could just reach out his hand and touch the canvas, run his fingertips over the bumpy paint on the roofs of the little houses. “Thank you,” he breathes out after a moment, glancing over his right shoulder to look at Louis. “It’s definitely worth it.” He smiles at him, watching Louis’ expression soften a little bit at his statement.   

“You are very welcome,” Louis says, placing his hands behind his back, “But,” He takes a step towards Harry, making him turn around a bit more, “This is not my secret destination just yet. Just… a stop along the way.”

Harry blinks at him, letting out a small breath, turning back to look at the view. Mumbling to himself, “This is one hell of a stop.”

“Come on, Bello. Just a bit further.”

Harry follows after him with another flutter in his chest, that word making another appearance. Louis smiles after they’ve walked a bit farther, away from the crowd of people. He points somewhere above them, looking over at Harry with a smile. “Just up there.”

Harry’s eyes follow Louis’ arm and he sees it. The large, stone building at the top of the hill. It looks ancient. A white and grey façade flanked with buildings of darker stone, topped sternly, but beautifully with a crenellation. “Is that…” he says, staring up at it, “a castle?”

“A church,” Louis supplies, “with a monastery.” Harry is too taken in by the site of the structure that he startles a bit at Louis’ hand on his shoulder blades, guiding him to a small passage, that leads them down instead of up. “It’s called San Miniato al Monte or, uh, Saint Miniato on the mountain, in English.”

“It’s gorgeous.” Harry cranes his neck a bit, to keep his eye on it even as they descend down onto a paved street, his view starting to become obstructed by walls.

Louis smiles, humming at Harry in agreement. “It was built around the 11^th century. And holds the bones of, well, Saint Miniato.”

Harry looks back at Louis as the building goes out of his view entirely. “Did you just say the 11^th century?”

Louis nods his head, “Mhm. Miniato was sentenced to death by the Roman emperor in, like, the year 200 and was beheaded. But the story goes that, after he was beheaded, Saint Miniato stood up, picked up his head, crossed the Arno, and came here.”

“Damn,” Harry murmurs, looking ahead of himself to see the small grove of trees they are heading towards.

Louis lets out an amused breath, “He was killed in Piazza della Signoria. Where, um, David is.”

Harry stalls a little bit at that, looking over at Louis. “I was there yesterday.”

Louis raises his eyebrows at him, licking over his bottom lip. Eyes widening a bit, like he’s making a realization, “And this morning you picked your head up off the pillow, crossed the Arno and came here… Maybe they should build a church for you too.” Harry smiles a little, letting out an amused breath. He can feel his face grow a little bit warm at Louis’ teasing. “Make you a shrine,” Louis continues, smiling slowly, his voice becoming a bit quieter, “A monument to curly hair and dimples.”

Louis reaches out his hand carefully, tugging gently at one of the short curls near Harry’s temple. His eyes flicking down to the tiny indent that has formed in Harry’s left cheek.

Harry looks back at him, holding his breath a little bit as he watches Louis’ gaze. After a moment, he feels Louis pull his hand away again, looking forward towards the path in front of them, the line of trees continuing to get closer. Harry doesn’t look away, studying Louis’ profile for a moment before he turns his head down to glance at his feet, blinking his eyes a few times.

He can feel the question sitting on the tip of his tongue, chest expanding with deep breaths as he weighs the pros and cons of asking it. In his mind, he imagines doing it coyly, coolly. Like he doesn’t have a care in the word. Just looking up at Louis with a small smile. Louis Tomlinson, are you flirting with me?

He flicks his eyes back up to Louis’ profile, opening his mouth. Trying to train his expression into something light and teasing.

“Here we are,” Louis says, with a small sigh, bringing Harry back to reality. He looks around himself, and lets out a little gasp.

They’re at the base of a large stone staircase that leads directly to the entrance of the church. It’s flanked at either side by tall walls that look like they’ve been there for centuries. And with Louis’ dating of the castle, Harry imagines they might have been.

He feels his feet start to move him forward, stepping along the wall towards a small grove of trees. His pointer finger rests on the edge of his camera, but he doesn’t quite have the heart to pull it up, to take a picture. Knowing it won’t be able to quite capture what he sees.

The walls are lines with creeping vines, pouring out from the cracks between the stones and blanketing them in thick patches of green. Harry’s eyes follow the twists and turns of the plant as they twirl their way across the small foot path to the base of the trees. Wrapping around them as well, giving them an otherworldly quality. Like a forest in a fairytale. Dark and mysterious, even as it draws you further in.

Harry wants to get lost in it. He wants to follow the winding paths as far as they will take him.

“Harry,” Louis’ voice rings out from behind him, in time with the evening bells. He turns to see him smiling at him with squinted eyes, hand beckoning for him to follow.

He does, leaving his enchanted forest behind and following Louis up the steep staircase to the marble white front of the basilica.

It’s even more striking up close, as they make their way to the top of the stairs. And it makes Louis’ comment about its age even more unbelievable. Harry glances to his right when they reach the top, seeing a small, gated-off cemetery connected to the monastery. He walks towards it slowly, looking down into a small little opening, edged with another fence. Inside he sees what he imagines to be a tomb.

Harry leans back again, letting his eyes sweep around the area. He isn’t an adventurer by any means, but the air that hangs about the monastery has him wanting to search around for unlocked doors and secret passages in a way that he’s never quite wanted to before.

Harry turns around to see Louis standing a little ways away, watching him explore.

Harry smiles at him, walking back towards him. Glancing around himself as he does. Louis smiles back once Harry’s gotten close again.

“Best view in the city,” he says, gesturing to his side. Harry glances to where he’s indicating, letting out a small disbelieving breath. It’s the overhead view again, like the one they saw at the look-out, but it isn’t quite the same.

They’re higher up now, their place in front of the stairs giving them a perfect view of the setting sun. As it casts its last rays of color over the horizon. Making the clouds above it turn into molten lava. And the dull brown roofs below glimmer in radiant bronze.

“That’s unbelievable,” Harry murmurs, exhaling with his words. His finger still resting on his camera, and still unwilling to lift it.

“I’ve lived most of my life here,” Louis says after a moment, gazing out at the last spectacular rays of sunlight, “And yet still, when I see this,” he lets out a small breath, Harry turning to look at him as he shakes his head, “It all looks too perfect to be real.”

Harry looks at the line of Louis’ jaw, seeing the way it tightens as Louis stares out over the landscape. And Harry suddenly wonders what this place might mean to him. How different the city must feel to him than it does to Harry. How this city, that has been alive for more than a thousand years, full of its enchantments and majesty, to Louis, is just home.

“Thank you,” Harry says, repeating his sentiments from earlier, “for taking me up here. Honestly, it’s…” He looks back out at the city, growing darker now. He lets out a small laugh, sheepish almost, “I never would have found it on my own.”

Louis glances back at him, a peaceful expression washing over his features. Voice soft, “Figured I’d start grand,” he leans towards Harry slightly, “while you still think I’m mysterious and charming.”

Harry’s laugh escapes him rather abruptly, and much too loudly. He bites down on his bottom lip, looking to his side and hoping that nothing about that seemed too strange. Or telling.

“Alright.” Harry glances up at Louis when he hears him speak again, seeing the small knowing look in his eyes. “Time for our next stop on the tour.”

Harry blinks at him, mouth pursing together just a little bit, “There’s another stop?”

Louis lips turn up at the corners, left side first. Always his left side first. He leans closer to Harry again, voice quieting, “The night has just begun, Bello.”

**

It’s a little while later when Louis pulls Harry around the corner until a little square comes into view. There are a few people milling about, the soft orange glow of the street lights illuminating the pavement. Harry gazes at it for a moment, taking in a deep breath as he admires its beauty.

He’s interrupted by Louis tugging on his shirt sleeve, pulling him sideways under a little awning—a few tables set-up underneath it. Harry starts to smile as he studies them, wondering if Louis was taking him to a fancy café.

He glances up as Louis continues into the building, turning back to look at him his smile as bright as ever, eyebrows raised in excitement.

Harry reads over the words printed over the door.

The Lion’s Fountain. Irish pub.

Harry stops in his tracks almost immediately, brows furrowing. “Louis.”

“Come on, I wanna get a good seat!” Louis calls back at him, as he disappears through the door.

Harry purses his lips, frowning slightly. He didn’t come all the way to Italy to go to an Irish pub. There are plenty of those in the U.S.

He glances back over his shoulder at the square, looking at the stone buildings, still and beautiful, before letting out a deep breath. He turns, following after Louis.

It’s dark inside, a Drake song blasting over the speakers. The walls are paneled in dark wood, with people’s names scrawled all over it in sharpie. T-shirts for American colleges hang from the ceiling.

Harry lets out a small, grumbling sound.

This isn’t very Italian.

He looks towards the back of the room and spots Louis. He’s sprawled himself across a very large corner booth—stretching his legs out to take up as much space as he can—as he squints angrily at a group of teens who look like they’re considering kicking him out of his spot.

The sight lessens Harry’s frown a little bit, amusement bubbling up in his chest as he lets out a small sigh. He reminds himself that Louis is the local. And knows what he’s doing. And that Louis’ company will make up for the distinct lack of Italian cuisine.

Harry approaches the booth, Louis looking up at him once he gets closer. Louis’ scowl is quickly replaced with a wide smile. He moves his feet out of the way, waving Harry in.

“Best bar in town,“ Louis says once Harry sits down. He has to lean in close to him so that Harry can hear—the volume of Drake’s heartbreak a bit too loud for normal conversation.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks, glancing over at Louis out of the corner of his eye. Feeling a bit warm at their proximity.

Louis raises his eyebrows a few times, “I’ll show you.” He starts to scoot out of the booth, yelling back at Harry as he stands, “Want a beer?”

Harry nods, a bit confused by Louis’ previous statement, wondering what it is that he’s about to show him.

Louis returns a few minutes later, beers in hand and eyes glinting. He carefully sets them down on top of their table and Harry furrows his brows at the glasses. Louis has topped both of them with a thick stack of coasters.

Harry slides his gaze back up towards Louis, reaching out to pick up the stack, Louis smiling at the action.

“That is why it’s the best,” Louis says.

“Coasters.”

Louis chuckles, nodding his head as he picks up his own stack. “It’s a game, Bello.”

“A game?” Harry asks, a bit unnerved by how common this nickname is becoming. Especially since he can’t seem to help the small smile it causes.

Louis nods his head again, scooting around the booth a bit to sit closer to Harry. “The goal is to stack as many coasters onto your forehead as you can,” he explains before waggling his eyebrows, “without using your hands.” Louis tilts his head back, placing the coaster on his mouth, Harry watching as Louis’ tongue darts out and stars to push at the edge of the coaster, forcing it upwards.

Harry lets out an abrupt laugh, watching in slight awe as Louis is able to push it up over his nose and onto the space between his eyebrows.

Louis lets out a small cheer at his success, already placing the next coaster onto his mouth.

Harry inclines his head a bit to get a better look at Louis’ technique, another laugh starting to form in his chest. “You’re not gonna get this one,” he comments quietly, teasing Louis a little.

Louis shushes him, lips curling in a smile even as he attempts to push the coaster up over the first one, trying to lift it slightly with his tongue. And, of course, they both fall off the sides of Louis’ head a moment later. Louis letting out a rather dramatic, “Noo!” when they do.

Harry giggles as Louis recollects his fallen coasters, putting them back on the table.

“If you get five up there, you get a t-shirt,” Louis explains, reaching forward for his drink and pulling it up to his mouth.

Harry smiles, looking up towards the ceiling where the American university t-shirts are still hanging. He briefly wonders if those are what you win. “Oh yeah? Have you ever gotten one?”

“No,” Louis admits with a heavy sigh before raising his glass to Harry, “but I feel lucky this time. I feel like you and me have got this.”

Harry shakes his head, laughing into his beer.  “I feel like I’d need to be much more drunk before I give it a try.”

Louis smiles, chuckling a little, “Oh, that can be arranged.”

A small crowd starts to form once Harry gets to three. And he’s honestly not sure how he even got that far.

“You have the most ridiculous tongue I’ve ever seen,” Louis says as Harry pushes the fourth one up over his cheekbone—which grows a bit pink at Louis’ comment.

The people around them stay surprisingly silent as they stare, watching him carefully slide the coaster on top of his stack. It’s then, once it’s settled, that the murmurs start. People chatting amongst themselves about the likelihood of Harry successfully getting the next one up.

Harry lets out a small breath, brain a bit foggy from the alcohol, his neck sweaty and beginning to strain from tilting it back for so long. He grabs the next coaster, placing it on his mouth. He pushes against it lightly with his tongue, which is when he hears Louis let out a soft, but firm, “Five.” His fist bunches up, pumping slowly in the air with a few more, louder, “Five. Five. Five.”

A few drunken American tourists in the crowd start to join in, not being able to resist a good chant.

And the pressure is on now. Harry pauses his movements, letting out a tiny breath before he continues, carefully sliding the coaster up his face.

He’s sure he looks ridiculous, and he’s also pretty sure that some people in the crowd are filming. Which means that him tonguing at some possibly dirty coasters will probably end up somewhere on the internet.

Thank God for alcohol making a part of him think that prospect might be a bit cool.

He gets it over his left eye, too far over than he would like it be. It’s gonna be difficult to get it into place, and he’s feeling drunker by the minute—probably all the blood rushing to his brain.

The chant has gotten louder now and Harry can clearly hear Louis’ voice leading the charge, punctuating every few ‘Five’s with a laugh. Harry smiles, letting out a breath before nudging the coaster to the side, having to lift it slightly with his tongue as he angles it towards his pile.

There’s a small breathless moment before it lands with a small thud on top of the other four.

And that’s when the place erupts. People cheering and throwing their fists into the air like someone just won the Super Bowl.

Harry feels Louis’ arms wrap around his body, shaking him a little and causing the coasters to slide off of his forehead, clamoring onto the wooden booth below them. Harry smiles as he carefully tilts his head forward again, looking towards Louis.

“I knew you were my good luck charm, Bello,” Louis says, much closer to him than he had been before. Harry’s face feels flushed, from the attention and the excitement. And from how warm Louis’ arms feel against his skin.

He sees one of the Lion’s Fountain employees out of his peripheral vision, turning his head as the man approaches their booth. The employee holds out a rolled black t-shirt to Harry and he takes it from him with a smile, quickly unrolling it as Louis watches.

It’s a pretty simple shirt, ‘I love the Lion’s Fountain: Florence’ printed on the front of it in white type. And even as tacky as it is, Harry thinks it’s wonderful.

“Alright Harry, I’ve shown you my favorite spot in the city and won you a shirt, I think it’s my turn,” Louis says, pulling his arms away from Harry to grab his drink.

Harry lets out a small chuckle, since technically he was the one who won the shirt, but Louis is cute so he lets it slide. “My turn for…for what?” He asks, the words surprisingly hard to say. He might be a bit more drunk than he thought.

“Why Florence?” Louis asks, leaning back against the wall as he sips at the remainder of his most recent drink.

Harry smiles at him, studying his expression for a moment before answering, “I needed a break. Had to get away for a little bit. And, well, I’d nev-never been out of the country before.” He lets out a small breath, clearing his throat a bit so he won’t slur his words quite as much. “Figured it was time.”

Louis nods his head, raising his eyebrows a little bit at Harry’s answer. “That’s pretty brave of you,” he says, looking up at Harry, “deciding to travel on your own, your first time.”

Harry lets out a small laugh, looking down towards the table. Both of them are quiet for a moment, Harry thinking over Louis’ words. Voice just a murmur when he finally speaks, “I’d originally planned to go to Rome, ya know?” He glances up at Louis. “But I chickened out, thought it would be too much for me. On my own.” He picks up his glass for a moment, looking at the last bit of it, swirling it around. He shrugs as he takes his next sip.

“So you picked Firenze because…? It felt safer?” Louis asks, voice softer now. Almost sounding sweeter in the now quiet room—people filtering out as the night grows later.

“Yeah, I s’pose.” Harry shrugs again, not looking back up at Louis.

“Ever think you’ll come back? Get your chance to visit our fair capital?”

Harry lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Who knows…” he sighs lightly, giving Louis a small smile. “I tend to doubt it.”

Louis watches him for a long moment, staying quiet. Before he reaches into his pocket, stretching himself out a bit as he pulls his phone out and places it on the table. “What’s your phone number?” he asks, looking over at Harry as he brings up his contact list.

Harry blinks at him, brows furrowing a little bit. “My phone’s dead.”

“I know that,” Louis says with a small smile. “Tell me your number anyway.”

“Why?” Harry asks, a small grin starting to spread over his face.

“Because,” Louis replies, kicking lightly at Harry’s foot, “it’ll help me maintain my mysterious, Italian charm.” He raises his eyebrows at Harry, looking much too attractive in the dim pub lighting. “And that’s all you need to know.” Louis holds his phone out to him.

Harry watches him for another moment. Looking at the curve of his mouth, the small crinkles next to his eyes. The stubble dotting his chin. “Okay,” he says, reaching out to take the phone from him. “But only because I like you mysterious.”

Louis smiles wider.

[Third Day]

“Harry.”

Harry jolts awake when he hears his name murmured close to his ear. He stares up at the white ceiling, feeling a small pounding beginning near his temple. He looks to his side a little bit to see Louis leaning over him, smile wide. He somehow looks even better in the morning, the light from the window creating a halo around his head, turning the edges of his hair golden.

Louis pats at his shoulder before scurrying back out of the room, a little manically. Shouting back over his shoulder, “Come on Harry, our train leaves at 11:24!”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles, nodding his head a bit as he lets his eyes fall closed again. He turns over to his side. It’s a second later when he blinks his eyes back open. Thinking for a moment. “Train for what?”

Harry turns to look over his shoulder, but Louis has already disappeared through the doorway. He raises an eyebrow, racking through his brain to try and figure out what the hell Louis is talking about. He doesn’t remember getting that drunk last night. At least, not drunk enough to plan a train trip that he doesn’t remember.

He pushes himself up off of his bed, standing slowly and walking out into the hallway. Looking to see where Louis ran off to. He glances down the hall, hearing a fair amount of shuffling coming from the next bedroom over. He walks to it carefully, leaning his head a little bit to peek into the open door.

Louis is inside, throwing clothing haphazardly into a small bag.

“Um.” Harry stares at the scene, watching Louis grab a nice-looking pair of shoes. “What… what’s happening?”

“I’m packing,” Louis explains as he struggles to zip up his bag. He glances up at Harry with a small smile, “You should be too. It’s already after ten and it’ll take us thirty minutes to get to the station.”

Harry blinks at him, still a bit dumbfounded. “Where…” he begins as Louis hauls his bag over his shoulder, “where are we going?”

This question makes Louis still, as he looks up at Harry with a slow-growing smile. “Rome.”

Harry presses his lips together, his eyebrows furrowing as he and Louis stare at one another. “What?”

“I booked us tickets to Rome,” Louis says easily, not breaking his eye-contact with Harry. “Figured we could stay there for the remainder of your trip.”

The room sounds unnaturally quiet when Louis stops talking, Harry still staring at him with wide eyes.

Louis lets out a small sigh after a moment, voice quieter as he explains, “You’re leaving Italy in two days, and you told me yourself that you’ll probably never come back. And I can’t let you go without showing you the greatest city we have.” He shifts his bag a little bit on his shoulder, studying Harry’s expression. “You don’t need to worry about paying for the ticket, by the way. Consider it a gift. My duty as your Airbnb host.”

It’s quiet again, the intermittent sound of a car passing by the only thing breaking the silence in the room. “You bought us train tickets to Rome?” Harry asks, voice just a murmur, “without telling me?”

Louis shifts his weight on his feet a bit, looking a little sheepish suddenly. Letting out a small breath. “I did.”

Harry feels the corners of his mouth start to quirk up before the laughter bubbles out of his chest. His head tilts back with it, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Oh my God,” he says, his hand coming up to place over his eyes. Louis is mad. So unbelievably mad. Everything about this is spontaneous and crazy and against everything that Harry normally does. And yet, for some strange reason, Harry can’t find it in himself to be anything but delighted. “Louis,” he leans his head forward again, looking at him with a wide smile, “I think you might be wonderful.”

The worry in Louis’ expression melts away almost immediately, the left corner of his mouth turning up as well. “You should go pack your things, Bello. Or we’ll miss our chance.”

Harry lets out another laugh, turning slightly to return to his room. He shakes his head a bit as he asks, tone some mix of incredulous and amused, “Why’d you wake me up only an hour before our train?”

“It’s more dramatic that way,” Louis replies. At least, Harry thinks he heard ‘dramatic’. It could have also been ‘romantic’. But he pushes that thought away as he walks back out into the hallway, pace picking up as he bounds back into his little room.

Quick as he can, he yanks his clothing out of the closet and the drawers. Not bothering to fold them as he stuffs them back into his duffle bag. A few giggles escape him as he dashes around, feeling giddy almost, at how spontaneous and mad it all is.

He does one last cursory sweep of the room, making sure he has the essentials before tugging on his shoes. He’s not quite sure what he’s changed into, having grabbed the first pieces of clothing he could find.

Harry dashes out into the hall where Louis is already standing by the door.

“Andiamo, Bello,” Louis says with a few claps of his hands, encouraging Harry to move faster, laughter evident in his voice. Harry quickly follows him out of the door, the two of them fumbling their way down the stairs with their poorly packed bags, lumpy and awkward.

They dash down the street, Louis looking over his shoulder periodically to throw Harry wide smiles as they make their way through the twisting alleyways and long streets. The sun streaming down on them as they go, wildly hot, even as early as it is. But Harry almost doesn’t notice, half out of breath with laughter, the other half flying out of him in heavy pants as they continue to run across the sidewalks.

They make it to the station with only a few minutes to spare, stuffing their tickets into the validation machine before practically launching themselves onto the train. They both stare at each other from either side of the car, once inside, breathing heavily. Cheeks straining with their smiles.

They spend most of the train ride giggling at one another, kicking at each other’s feet like children. Harry glances out the window continuously, noting the small changes in the landscape as their journey goes on. Louis starts to list off a few Italian ‘fun facts’ about the places they pass by. Though they start to get more ridiculous as time goes on and Harry would accuse him of making them up if wasn’t so endeared by the small note of mischief in Louis’ voice.

“What’s our stop?” Harry asks after a moment, still chuckling a bit at Louis’ last comment.

Louis smiles at him, pressing his toe lightly against his shin as he answers, “Roma Termini.”

Harry lets out a small laugh, closing his eyes a little, mind flashing back to his blind panic the first day of his trip. He shakes his head at the ridiculous poetic justice of it all, murmuring to himself, “Yeah. That would be what it is.”

It’s not long after that, that they pull into the station, Harry leaning his body forward to look out the window. Scanning over the stations interior, his leg bouncing a bit in excitement.

Louis gives him another smile as they exit the train, the two of them walking out into the crowded station to find their appropriate exit.

The building is huge, teaming with people that are all milling about in crisscrossing swarms. Harry tries to stay as close to Louis as he possibly can, not wanting to get swept up in one of the streams of people.

Louis glances back at him as they go, blinking at him for just a moment. “Here,” Louis says easily, a second later, reaching down and intertwining his fingers with Harry’s. He smiles back at him, “Don’t want you to get lost.”

Harry looks down at their clasped hands, his chest tightening a bit at it. He bites down on his bottom lip, looking up at the back of Louis’ head as he lets him continue to guide them out of the crowd. He tries not to think too much about how nice Louis’ hand feels against his own.

Harry blinks a few times in rapid succession when they finally get outside, the sun bright and hot against the light pavement. He glances around himself, a bit slack-jawed at what he sees. The buildings are bigger than the ones in Florence had been, blockier. The streets wider.

If anything about Florence had looked surreal, it has nothing on Rome. Even the lamp posts look like someone had artfully placed them there. The whole street feeling like a toy city—constructed meticulously out of papier-mâché, to look perfect.

Louis squeezes lightly at his hand, pulling Harry out of his small stupor. He glances towards Louis, seeing him watching him with a small, smug smile. Harry shakes his head. “You keep showing me places that take my breath away.”

Louis shrugs, looking out at the view for himself. “Maybe I like you breathless.”

Harry blinks a few times. Staring at Louis for a moment as he absorbs those words.

“Come on,” Louis says, before Harry has much time to actually digest them. “We’ve got a long walk ahead of us.”

He pulls on his hand, guiding him down the street and along avenues as they make their way to whatever mystery location they are staying at—Louis won’t tell Harry anything besides the street name. Vial del Plebliscito.

Harry spends most of the walk with his mouth hanging open, glancing around at the buildings and churches and fountains that they pass. Rome is much more bustling than Florence was, but still just as traditional. Still covered in obvious historic relics and buildings that had most likely been there since the beginning of time.

Harry almost forgets that he and Louis are still holding hands before Louis pulls him to a stop outside of a tall, stone building. There’s a gate at the entrance as well as a few armed guards, decked out in camouflage with assault rifles attached to their hips. Harry raises his eyebrows at the scene, briefly and, he’ll admit, rather stupidly wondering if they were guarding the pope or something.

Louis looks back at him with a smile. “We’re here.”

Harry pulls his head back like Louis had slapped him, blinking up at the building again. “We’re staying here?” he asks as Louis pulls him towards the gate. He doesn’t give Harry’s question a response, but after watching Louis get handed some keys by a man standing outside the gate and seeing it swing open for them—the answer becomes very clear. 

Louis pulls him inside, Harry’s mouth dropping open again as they pass through a small courtyard, surrounded on all sides by massive stone walls. They step into one of the buildings, Louis taking them to the elevator and pressing the button for the top floor.

Harry stares at him with slightly furrowed brows. Not quite able to speak, still in a semi-state of shock. They exit onto their floor, Louis finally letting go of Harry’s hand as he pulls out a set of keys to unlock their door. He pushes it open, looking back at Harry with a smile. “After you.”

Harry steps inside slowly, eyes scanning over the main space. Taking in the old, wood floors and the slanted ceilings, dotted with overhead windows that leave small patches of light against the floor. A kitchen sits to their left, leading down to a long hallway lined with bedrooms and bathrooms with claw footed tubs.

Harry turns to a glass door beside the kitchen, reaching out slowly to open it before stepping outside onto a small metal staircase that winds up towards the roof. He follows it, feeling like he’s in a daze, stepping onto the small patio perched at the top.

He takes in a small gasp at the view. The tops of the houses and buildings scattered below him.

A stark white building, too ornate for words stands just in front of him. Tall, overpowering columns and statues made out of gold adorning the front. His eyes scan over the area, his fingertips tingling almost, with the awe that washes over him.

Rome looks exactly like he imagines it looked during the time of Caesar. Giant, grand buildings and seagulls chirping overhead. His eyes catch on a building in the distance, a small, “Holy shit,” falling from his lips.

He walks back down the staircase and into the kitchen, where Louis is still standing, having dropped his bag onto the floor.

“I can see the coliseum from the patio,” Harry informs him, voice almost stern.

Louis looks back at him with a small, nodding his head a little bit. Looking very pleased with himself.

Harry sighs, his stomach twisting a little. He glances down towards his hands, picking at one of his fingernails. There’s a moment before he finally confesses, “Louis, I can’t afford this place…”

Louis scoffs, which takes Harry by surprise. He looks back up at him, watching Louis lean back on his elbows against the kitchen counter. “Neither can I.” Harry frowns, not sure if Louis is making fun of him. Louis smiles, softening his tone a little bit as he waves a hand at Harry, “A friend of mine owns this place. We aren’t paying to stay in it.”

Harry blinks at him, his frown lessening slightly. “We aren’t?”

“Harry, I’m Italian, if I can get away with not paying it’s like a personal victory.”

Harry stares at him for a moment longer, glancing around himself at the main room again. “How do you know his person?”

“Ah, the Airbnb community…” Louis says wistfully, “We’re like a cult.”

And Harry can’t help but smile at that. His suspicion starting to fade away. He looks back at Louis, watching him and studying his expression for a moment.

Louis raises his eyebrows at him a few times and Harry smiles a little bit more. Finally relaxing his posture, rolling his eyes just a little, and letting out a tiny sigh. “If I find out that you’re secretly paying for this place all on your own. I’m going to kick you.”

“I accept those terms,” Louis says with a wink and Harry shakes his head again. Louis needs to stop being so charming. Harry’s starting to have trouble resisting the impulse to kiss him.

Louis lets out an amused breath, pushing off of the counter and taking a step towards Harry. “What do you say, Bello. Ready to explore?”

Harry nods, grabbing his sunglasses and his wallet as he follows Louis out the door and to the elevator. His camera left forgotten, still zipped up in his bag.

**

Harry feels like a kid in Disney World, buzzing around Louis as they walk through the city. He stops at almost every shop they pass, Louis indulging him each time with a small smile, still managing to look at him with a level of fondness even after Harry asks him for the hundredth time what the name of a building is. Harry blushes lightly when Louis finally confesses that he’s not really an expert on Rome.

He is, however, able to tell Harry about the large white building he had seen from their patio. Altare della Patria he calls it, apparently a monument to the first king of Italy. And not nearly as old as Harry had originally assumed it was. But it does nothing to dissuade his excitement. Louis laughing as Harry leans over the railing that encircles the Roman Forum, trying to read the engraving on a broken piece of roof. Louis reaches out to pinch his sides when he leans a bit farther, scaring him half to death and making him blush at the small squeal he had let out in the process.

Louis informs him that he thought it was cute. Which only serves to make Harry’s cheeks flush darker.

They don’t have much farther to walk before they are standing outside of the coliseum. And it’s the only time that Harry gives any thought to his camera as he slowly slides his gaze up the archways to the broken top.

He feels Louis’ hand settle on the back of his shoulder blades, breaking him away from the structure to look up at Louis instead. Seeing the small smile that he’s giving him. They both watch each other for a short moment before Louis starts to guide him forward, leading them to the long line formed outside of the entrance. They have a thirty-minute wait ahead of them, of standing in the hot sun next to parents with crying children, but Harry can’t seem to find it in himself to care. Not when Louis leans down to whisper in his ear, making a small comment about the guard in front of them that make him let out a bark of laughter. Harry really couldn’t care less.

**

It’s some hours later that they finally choose a cute, little outdoor café near the river to eat dinner at. It’s mostly shaded by tall, leafy trees, letting them have a quick break from the sun.

Harry’s feet are aching and his cheeks are starting to feel sore from too much smiling.

He’s exhausted, but in a pleasant way. Tired from a day well spent. Like being perfectly full after a good meal.

His stomach grumbles at that thought, reminding him why they stopped in the first place. Louis chuckles from behind his menu at the sounds emanating from Harry’s empty stomach. His hand sneaking out a moment later to give Harry’s abdomen a soft poke. Harry bats his hand away with a dimpled smile, and a small blush.

Harry watches Louis order, warmth stirring in his chest at hearing Louis speak Italian—it shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is.

Louis looks back at him once the waiter leaves, picking his chair up slightly to scoot closer to Harry. “You know, I should make you do the ordering one of these times. Let you practice.”

Harry gives Louis a small squinty eyed look, “And let you tease me afterwards? No thanks.”

Louis smiles wide at that, leaning in towards Harry as he reaches out pinch at his side, “No teasing? How will I survive?” Harry pulls his arms into his chest, trying to shield himself from Louis’ pinches with a small giggle.

“You—“

He and Louis are quickly interrupted by a man suddenly appearing beside them. Louis glances up at him slowly as the man sets down a small music stand, and starts to clear his throat, saying something quickly in Italian.

“What?” Harry asks Louis, voiced hushed as the man clears his throat a few more times.

Louis glances over to him with a small shrug, whispering back, “He said he’s performing for us.”

Harry doesn’t have much time to ask a question after that, as the man abruptly starts to belt out a loud slightly off-key note. It makes Harry startle, his eyes going wide as he looks towards Louis, who is already biting down on his pointer finger, trying to stifle a laugh. Harry’s own lips starting to wobble as the man continues, voice melodramatic and much, much too loud. The vibrato practically shaking their table.

Harry turns his head to the side, trying to shield his face from view as small chuckles start to gurgle up in his throat, making his shoulders shake. He hears Louis cough out a small laugh and he loses even more of his composure, the man making a drastic key change beside him.

He feels Louis’ hand reach out to squeeze his knee and he has to bite down hard on his lip to keep his laughter from spilling out. Not even daring a glance in Louis’ direction, knowing that one look at his expression will make him lose it.

The man finishes dramatically, holding out his last note for as long—and as loudly—as he can. Shouting a few ‘thank you’s once he’s finished, Louis clapping enthusiastically. Harry finally looks back over his shoulder, taking a deep, steadying breath as Louis gives the man some euros.

The man seems pleased with this, picking up his music stand and moving on to another table. Louis watches him go before looking back at Harry with wide-eyes. “Dear God…” he breathes out, making Harry finally realease a stream of laughter, pressing his hand against his eyes.

Louis joins in with him, squeezing at his knee again. “Do you-” Louis asks, laughing too hard to finish his question. “Do you think-think he realized how close he was to us?”

Harry shakes his head, clutching at his stomach as he tries to take in some air.

Louis lets out a breath, letting out a few residual chuckles as he calms down. “Well,” he says with a small smile, “That was… quite the mood killer.” He glances over his shoulder to see where their serenader has run off to. “I hope he doesn’t interrupt someone trying to propose.”

Louis’ comment sends Harry into another small bout of laughter, Louis turning back towards him with a smile. Eyes crinkling as he watches Harry, gaze flicking down towards his dimples.

**

Harry looks out from the balcony, arms crossed over his chest as he breathes in the warm night air. He closes his eyes to the beautiful soundtrack of cars and seagulls all around him. He blinks his eyes open again as he hears the soft tinkling of a piano, filtering out onto the patio from the open door to the apartment. He turns, looking over his shoulder, letting out an amused breath as he hears Louis’ voice join in with the music. Voice clean and crisp as he sings along with the melody. Harry listens for just a short moment more before he walks down the metal staircase, turning into the kitchen.

Louis is standing over the stove, his laptop sitting on the edge of the counter as David Bowie croons out of the speakers, Louis’ voice overlapping his.

“She’s hooked to the silver screen…” He glances over at Harry, noticing that he has come back inside before dramatically singing at him with the next lyric. The music steadily becomes more intense as Louis walks slowly in Harry’s direction. Like a predator stalking his prey. Harry can’t help the way his mouth turns up at Louis’ ridiculousness, letting out a small chuckle as Louis gets even closer.

The music suddenly changes, Harry letting out a small squeak as Louis wraps his arm around him, hand settling on his back. The other slipping into Harry’s hand, twirling him around as Bowie sings about sailors fighting in the dance hall.

Harry blinks at Louis, suddenly very close to him, Louis pulling him in by the small of his back. Still singing along with the song, but softer now, his voice eventually fading away as the chorus finishes, the two of them swaying together, their bare feet sliding across the hardwood floor. “I don’t think I have the same range as our entertainer earlier,” Louis says after a moment, voice quiet. Harry lets out an amused breath.

“I don’t know. I think you might be able to give him a run for his money.”

Louis squeezes lightly at Harry’s hand. The corners of Louis’ eyes begin to crinkle and Harry watches the ripple effect; Louis’ mouth turning up into a wide smile, the small points of his canines peeking out between his lips.

The air in the room suddenly feels so warm. Louis’ smile lighting up Harry’s skin like the sun. He lets the comforting heat wash over him as Louis uses the hand on the small of his back to guide him through the small space. The music seems to fade away—or envelope them completely, Harry can’t be sure.

The air has begun to thicken with the heady warmth between them and Harry blinks at Louis, watching as he quickly licks over his bottom lip, pressing his mouth together in a melodic hum.

Harry doesn’t often confuse his dreams with reality. The stark contrast of his tedious life making it impossible to confuse the two. But swaying with Louis is this dream-like haze makes him question, just for a moment, if any of it is real. If Louis, bursting into his life like a whirlwind, hasn’t been some cruel trick of his imagination.

But then Louis squeezes his hand again. And Harry is reminded that it’s all real, painfully so. And Louis is pleasant and solid against him, their dance slowly coming to a close, as the music ends.

They stop their twirling, but Harry still feels a bit dizzy with it. Looking up to see Louis staring at him, his eyes unyielding blue, watching him with unabashed interest.

“What?” Harry asks after a moment, voice weaker than it should be. Throat dry, even as his mouth feels thick with saliva. The heat around them begins to seep into his cheeks when Louis stays silent.

Harry watches his eyes glimmer briefly, as though trying to offer the answer that his mouth will not. To tell Harry exactly what he is seeing—why he won’t take his eyes off of him.

And Harry thinks he knows what they are trying to communicate. Even with doubts filtering into his chest and prickly nerves settling at the hinges of his jaw.

Louis’ hand slowly moves up the expanse of Harry’s back—almost in slow motion—as he trails it up the wrinkled fabric near Harry’s shoulders.

Harry feels his mouth part slightly when Louis’ hand moves over towards his collarbones. A small breath escaping him when Louis’ thumb presses against the hot skin of his neck.

Louis’ eyes drop from Harry’s down to his touch and it’s like someone lifts the thick curtain of fog surrounding Harry. And he is able to take in a small gasp of clear air.

“We should get some sleep,” Louis whispers, “have an early morning tomorrow.”

He pulls his hand away, stepping back from Harry without another look. He leaves a trail of coldness behind him. Like an ice cube brushing over bare skin. Stinging and prickling at the first contact, now leaving Harry shivering as he moves away.

And the weight of that feeling sits heavily in Harry’s stomach, watching Louis’ back as he walks away.

Harry’s body lurches after him before he has time to even think about doubt. His hand gripping at the fabric of Louis’ shirt, making him turn over his shoulder and look at him. Eyes glimmering again.

And it’s like he was expecting Harry to reach out for him, waiting for it. Because as Harry leans his body forward, he’s pulled in without hesitation, Louis’ arms tightening around his waist. Hands pulling him into his chest. Louis’ lips pressing against his.

Harry sighs into it. Feeling the magnetic pull of Louis’ mouth drawing him in. He grips onto the front of his shirt as Louis’ hands slide down his sides, fingertips dancing across the fabric like raindrops. Harry lets his hand slide up into the back of Louis’ hair, gripping lightly at the strands as he tilts his head. He kisses, almost delicately, over the left corner of Louis’ lips. That taunting left corner that all of Louis’ smiles seem to grow from. The one that, even now, he can feel turning up under his mouth.

It makes Harry smile as well, forced to pull back, looking at Louis with soft eyes.

“Harry,” Louis says, voice just above a whisper, his fingertips still ghosting over Harry’s waist.

“Yes,” Harry replies, smile deepening.

Louis glances down towards his mouth, leaning in just slightly, murmuring into the air between them, “I think you might be wonderful,” before pressing their lips together again.

[Fourth Day]

Louis tugs on Harry’s hands, pulling him down the long street to another open area. Harry smiling, breathlessly as he looks around himself, wondering where Louis has taken him now. What famous and amazing sight he is about to see.

He glances to his left and practically feels all the air leave his lungs at the view in front of him. “No way,” he says, shaking his head as he looks back to see Louis’ smug expression. “That’s not real.” Harry points towards the building, the towering monolith, in disbelief. “That’s got to be left over from a movie set or something.”

Louis lets out a laugh, bumping Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Are you honestly accusing the Pantheon of being a fake?”

“Just look at it,” Harry replies, furrowing his brows, “it’s too…”

“Perfect?” Louis supplies, ducking his head towards Harry and pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

Harry purses his lips to stop from smiling. “Yes. Much too perfect.” He crosses his arms, staring up at the building for a moment longer, his eyes sweeping up the towering columns. “How old is it?” he finally asks. His voice quieter, part of it lost somewhere in the massive, curving slope of the building’s roof.

Louis hums lightly, considering for a moment. “Maybe two-thousand years old? Give or take a century.”

Harry scoffs, shaking his head.

“Why do you get so offended by beautiful architecture?” Louis murmurs to him after a small moment of silence. He grabs onto his hand, pulling him towards the long line to the entrance.

“I’m not offended,” Harry says, still gazing up at the engraving in the roof, “I just know that I’m ruined for every other building I’m ever going to see.”

Louis chuckles at that, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tugs him closer, pressing his lips against his temple. “Wait until you see the inside.”

Harry blushes a little bit at how warm Louis feels pressed against his back, letting his eyes flutter closed for a short moment. It’s so nice, being so close to Louis, getting to hear the smooth tenor of his voice as he murmurs against his skin. A smile creeps over his face as Louis starts to press a small trail of kisses over his cheekbone. “Planning to kiss me all the way to the Pantheon?” Harry asks quietly, tilting his head to the side just a little so that Louis can kiss him easier.

Louis hums, “Perhaps. It would make the line seem faster…” He nips at Harry’s earlobe, making him let out a small laugh, reaching back to squeeze at Louis’ arm. Which only serves to egg Louis on, faithfully living up to his word, not letting his lips leave Harry’s skin for more than a second as the line slowly creeps closer to the entrance.

Harry’s cheeks are bright red by the time they reach the door and his heart beating wildly; with the number of stares they’ve received and from the lovely comments Louis has whispered in his ear. He finally manages to bat Louis playfully away once they step inside, even though he’d very much enjoyed their proximity. He reminds Louis rather firmly that this is a church.  Which make Louis chuckle softly. And Harry momentarily wonders if Louis is taking that as a challenge.

Harry looks away from Louis as they walk through the main doors, looking up towards the dome ceiling as they step inside. Harry lets out a breath, shaking his head again. Everything in Italy needs to stop being so amazing. Louis included. Who, right on cue, snakes his hand around Harry’s waist from behind. Making him smile just a little, looking over his shoulder at him. “I thought I told you to behave.”

“I am,” Louis says, smiling against Harry’s shoulder as his hand trails down his arm. “I’m being a tour guide.” He turns Harry slightly, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and slowly raising up his arm to direct Harry’s gaze to the center of the dome. A small circle is carved out of the center of it, a ray of sunshine pouring in through it and hitting the marble floor.

“I was here when it was raining once,” Louis says. “It was like there was waterfall in the middle of the room, streaming down onto the floor.” Harry glances back at him slightly, seeing the small smile on his face. Louis catches his gaze. “It was so beautiful it was hard to look away from.”

Harry takes in a small breath, watching Louis for another long moment before finally glancing back up at the opening. Suddenly wishing he could see it. Be here when it happened.

The words he had told Louis only a few days before repeat in his head, when Louis had asked him if he’d ever come back. I tend to doubt it.

Harry furrows his brows, reaching down to thumb over the hand Louis has on his stomach. Wondering, briefly, if it’s not just the architecture that he’s been ruined for.

**

Louis informs Harry, rather dramatically, that the restaurant they are going to serves lasagna that ‘changed who he was as a person’. And it already has a dimple forming in Harry’s cheeks.

“I would sell my soul,” Louis says, voice firm, as they continue to walk down the cobble-stone street, “to have the recipe to this lasagne.” Harry bites down on his lip, not wanting to let out a laugh—since this is clearly serious to Louis. “I almost sold all of my things to…like,” he clamors for the right word, “work under this chef.”

“Does this mean I have to order the lasagna?” Harry asks lightly, tone just a bit teasing.

“Of course you have to order the lasagna.” Louis lifts their clasped hands up to his mouth, pressing a small kiss to the back of Harry’s. “You have no choice.”

Harry allows himself to giggle at that, glancing over at Louis’ profile. He’s dressed rather sharply, too sharp in Harry’s opinion. Especially since Harry looks a bit shabby in comparison—not expecting to need fancy clothes.

But in the soft glow of the street lights, Harry can’t deny that Louis looks stunning.

“Here we are,” Louis says, as they go around the corner. Harry looks to see the quaint little outdoor restaurant, a small awning covering a cluster of tables and cables. Twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the small fence that encloses them.

Louis pulls him to the host stand, informing them of their reservation while Harry looks over the people sitting at the tables. A few are couples, sharing bites of pasta across a candle-lit table and a few are groups of friends, with nothing on their table but drinks and a few stubbed-out cigarettes.

He and Louis are led to a small table next to the street, Louis sitting with his back to the main building.

Harry opens his menu, glancing over the options before reminding himself that he’s already sworn his allegiance to the lasagna.

“You’re the one ordering when the waiter gets here,” Louis says after a moment.

“What?” Harry sets his menu down, looking over at Louis.

Louis smiles, “I told you, I’m going to let you practice your Italian.”

“Louis.”

“It’ll be easy,” Louis says with a wave of his hand. “Lasagnas in Italian is just Lasagne. So, you just need to know the word ‘two’ which is…?”

“Um,” Harry thinks for a moment, glancing down to the menu, “Due?”

“Perfetto,” Louis replies with a smile, “You’ll be great.”

Harry hums, a little bit wary, already knowing that he’s going to stumble through the order and come across as a very obvious English speaker. Which is, of course, the moment the waiter decides to arrive, greeting the both of them in Italian, which Louis responds to easily.

Harry watches the waiter take out small pad of paper, the intonation of his voice suggesting that he’s just asked them a question.

He looks up to see Louis staring at him.

“Uh,” Harry says, “Due lasagne… uh, e acqua naturale.” He glances up at the waiter, somewhat relieved that he appears to be nodding, adding a quick, “per favore.”

The man quickly repeats Harry’s order back to him, punctuating it with an official sounding, “molto bene.”

Harry lets out a heavy breath when he walks away, scooping their menus up as he goes. He leans back in his chair, face a little warm. “That was embarrassing.”

“No it wasn’t,” Louis says with a small noise, almost sounding like he’s offended on Harry’s behalf. “You were fantastic.”

“I sounded like an American.”

“So what?” Louis says with a smile, leaning forward a bit on the table. “I sound like an Italian. Doesn’t mean I can’t speak English.”

Harry flicks his eyes at him, pursing his lips just a little bit. “That’s different. You’re fluent.”

Louis smiles even wider, hooking their ankles together underneath the table. “As you Americans say, ‘baby steps’.”

Harry breaks his pout just a little bit, the corners of his mouth tugging up at Louis’ words as he swings their connected ankles under the table. Repeating softly, “baby steps.”

**

It turns out that the lasagna is hand-crafted by God himself. The pasta light and fluffy like a cloud. The cheese melted by the beautiful ovens of heaven.

“Oh fuck me…” Harry practically moans, as he takes another bite. “This should be illegal.”

Louis chuckles lightly around his own forkful, “You didn’t believe me.”

Harry glances up at him, the area around their table having gotten darker with the sunset. A small candle illuminating Louis’ features, casting small shadows over his cheeks and jaw. And Harry is suddenly struck by how much he is going to miss him. He tries to push the thought away. “I thought you were exaggerating,” Harry finally replies in defense, chewing slowly, “I was clearly wrong.”

Harry scrapes over his plate with his fork after his last bite, making sure he doesn’t leave a single piece behind. Before trying to sneakily stab at what is left of Louis’. Which Louis reprimands him for, even though he makes no effort to pull his plate away. Letting Harry snatch the last bite with a small, fond smile.

The waiter returns to ask them if they would like any dessert which both Harry and Louis wave off, much too full from their meals. Louis asks for the check, while Harry reaches around for his wallet. “I’ve got this one,” he says, looking up at Louis. Stopping any protests in their tracks with, “I owe you for giving me this spiritual lasagna experience.”

Louis smiles at that, reaching across the table to squeeze lightly at Harry’s hand before the waiter comes back with their check. Harry pays in cash, not wanting to have to wait around for the waiter to run a card.

He glances up when he and Louis walk back out onto the street, brows furrowing just a little bit. “I think…” he scans his eyes over the dark, dark sky, taking note of the thick, heavy quality of the air. “Louis I think it’s going to rain.”

**

Harry’s foot lands in another puddle with a small splash, the water soaking into the bottom of his pants. But he’s too busy chasing after Louis to notice.

Louis has taken off his suit jacket, holding it close to his chest as he hunches over it. Naively thinking that he’ll be able to protect it from the buckets of rain pouring out from the sky. Harry grabs on to his arm, pulling him out towards one of the squares, Louis smiling at him as Harry laughs loudly.

Harry throws his arms up once they reach the center, tilting his head back towards the sky, shaking his hair and letting the droplets add to the torrent streaming down onto the sidewalk. He flicks his head back up again, some of the water splashing lightly onto Louis’ face. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he squints at the impact.

Harry almost starts to say he’s sorry before Louis shakes his own hair out in his direction, making Harry cackle as he places his hands out to shield himself. Like the thick drops of rain water falling from the clouds haven’t already soaked him.

 He reaches forward, gripping at the sides of Louis’ shirt, in an effort to stop his attack. But Louis only uses it as an opportunity, thoughts of protecting his suit jacket quickly abandoned as he tosses it over his elbow so that he can wrap his arms around Harry instead. Harry lets out a tiny squeal as Louis starts to rub his wet hair against his cheek, punctuating it with another loud laugh, his eyes falling closed with it this time.

When he finally manages to pull away, it’s only just an arm’s length, both Harry and Louis staring at each other with wide smiles. Their noses cold from the rainwater, chests rising and falling heavily. Louis looks beautiful, with his hair plastered against his forehead, tufted up in random places and his cheeks splotched with color. And Harry can’t push the thoughts away any longer—he’s going to miss Louis so terribly much. He’s going to miss the cobble stone streets and the tiny cafes, the sound of seagulls and the rhythm of the city. But mostly, he’s going to miss the way that Louis’ eyes look in the starlight.

Harry tilts his body forward, his lips practically smashing into Louis’, with very little finesse. Too much adrenaline running through him to bother with making it perfect.

Louis turns his head into it, tugging at the wet strands of hair sticking to Harry’s temple. Their teeth clacking just a bit as Louis nips at Harry’s bottom lip, scraping at it lightly as he pulls away.

Harry lets out a small breath, keeping his eyes closed as he feels Louis press their foreheads together. The sound of their breathing and the patter of rain muffling anything else. Creating a small cocoon around the two them.

Louis lets out a small breath of his own, voice just above a whisper. “Race you back.”

With that he pulls away from Harry, sprinting like a mad-man down one of the streets. Harry blinks after him for just a moment before a large smile breaks across his face, tearing after Louis as fast as he can.

Harry splashes around the last corner, recognizing the small group of guards in the distance. He can hear Louis gaining on him, his laugh ringing out not very far behind. Harry had been able to make his way to first place just barely, after tugging on the back of Louis’ shirt. He tries to pick up his pace, a small stitch forming in his side.

He dashes towards the gate to their building, yelping just outside of it as Louis’ arms encircle his waist.

“You cheated,” Louis breathes heavily against his ear.

“You got a head start,” Harry counters, the two of them both panting as one of the guards unlocks the gate for them, letting them step inside.

The both walk much slower on their way to the elevator, the chill from the rain now starting to seep into their skin as they make their way to the door of their apartment.

Louis unlocks it carefully, pushing some of his hair out of his eyes as he does.

Harry watches him, gaze scanning over the places where his shirt has stuck to his skin. Almost translucent in the bright hallway lighting.

Louis pushes their door open, Harry following after him, both stalling when they hear the loud dripping noises down the hall.

“Shit.” Harry dashes through the kitchen towards his bedroom, having forgotten that he’d left his overhead windows open in the hopes of cooling the room off.  He quickly slams it shut, latching it and looking down to see the puddle of water that has pooled on the floor. And the large damp spot on his bed—which, of course, is where he’d left a small pile of his clothes.

He can hear some shuffling and banging from Louis’ bedroom, sounding like Louis might have made the same mistake. Harry grabs his pile of wet clothes, walking them out of the bedroom towards the back laundry room, knowing that there’s a clothes line he can dry them on. He takes off the shirt he’s wearing as well, Louis entering the room a moment later.

He’s changed out of his suit, a clean grey t-shirt hanging on his damp skin. He gives Harry a small smile, eyes flicking down to his chest for just a moment before throwing his suit jacket over the line. “My bed is wet,” Louis says with a sigh.

“Mine too.”

The two glance at each other before letting out a few light chuckles. “Guess we’ll have to sleep in the living room,” Louis says, making sure his shirt is spread out enough to dry, “there’s some big pillows in there that we could probably lie on the floor.”

Harry nods, smiling to himself a little bit. “Let me change, I’ll meet you in there.” He squeezes at Louis’ arm as he passes, grabbing a towel from the bathroom before he returns to his bedroom. Mopping up a bit of the puddle. He quickly finds a dry t-shirt and a pair of boxers, throwing them both on before exiting back out of his room.

Louis is already lying out the floor pillows, fluffing them up a bit. A stack of clean blankets sitting next to it and the DVD menu for the Godfather staring back at Harry from the TV.

Harry smiles, nodding towards the television. “That’s a bit on the nose don’t you think?”

Louis shrugs, not looking like he entirely knows what ‘on the nose’ means. “It’s a classic.”

Harry breathes out an amused breath, crouching down to help Louis build their little nest. Both of them climbing into it once they’re done, curling under the blankets, Harry tucking himself against Louis’ chest. Both still a bit chilly from the rain.

Louis starts the movie shortly after, the slow dramatic blaring of the trumpet, and the words, “I believe in America.”

**

Louis slowly brushes his thumb over the corner of Harry’s mouth, making him exhale softly at the touch.

The only light left in the room is the soft blue of the TV screen, illuminating Louis’ features with an ethereal glow. Harry reaches towards Louis, slowly, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the front of his t-shirt as Louis leans closer—replacing his thumb with his mouth.

Harry closes his eyes, feeling the way that Louis’ lips gently move over his skin. And it all feels so delicate, so careful. So crushingly fragile, that he’s afraid just breathing too hard might break it.

And so, he holds his breath, waiting for Louis to pull away again before daring to let air into his lungs. He opens his eyes again, looking back at Louis’ gaze. His own eyes bright in the dark room as he blinks slowly back at Harry, moving like honey. Like he had when they first met. Dripping over Harry’s skin and coating his lungs.

And Harry is doomed, he knows he is. He knew it that morning, when he had stared out over the Roman cityscape. Looking over the burnt orange roof tiles, like a sunset, smudged with warm colors and an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. He had asked himself all morning how in the world someone is meant to say goodbye to a place like this. And now, lying in Louis’ arms, protected by the relative dark of the room around them, he has his answer.

With great heartbreak.

[Fifth Day]

Harry blinks his eyes open, the sunlight streaming down onto his face from the window above him. He feels warm, comfortably so, a few blankets piled on top of him. He feels Louis’ hand twitch slightly against his side and it makes him turn his head. Looking over at Louis’ still sleeping expression. His lips are pressed firmly together, almost pushing his mouth down into a tiny frown. A contrast to how Louis looks when he’s awake, a smile always shining out from his lips.

Harry reaches forward, gently, to brush the pads of his fingertips over the line of Louis’ cheekbone, feeling gently over the small speckling of freckles there. He pulls his hand away when Louis stirs lightly, letting out a soft sigh.

His chest constricts as Louis opens his eyes, blinking at him through the crystallized blue. One thought weighing heavily on his lungs. I’m going home today.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he might as well have. The words pouring into the small, soft touches he and Louis exchange in the hazy, early morning. Before they’re forced to get up and face the day.

Harry retrieves his clothes that he had let out to dry, a few of them still a bit damp, that he folds and packs anyway—knowing he’ll regret it later. He can’t bring himself to care very much, though, a strange, uncomfortable lump sitting at the back of his throat as he organizes his things. It only grows bigger when Louis wraps his arms around him from behind, placing a small kiss to the back of his shoulder as he zips up his bag.

Harry takes in a deep breath, placing his hands on top of Louis’ arms and leaning back into his chest, wishing he could stop time for a little bit. Spend the rest of the afternoon with Louis holding him. But he knows they can’t. A small glance to the clock on the wall making both of them take in tight breaths.

It’s Louis who suggests taking a taxi, both of them well aware that they aren’t in the mood to walk the mile and a half to the train station, knowing that taking a taxi gives them more time in the apartment.

Harry steps out onto the patio one last time, letting his eyes sweep across the view before Louis quietly informs him that it’s time to leave.

The taxi ride is quieter, somehow, than the stillness that had surrounded them in the apartment. Harry keeps his hand clutched in Louis’, his gaze directed resolutely to the view outside of his window. Watching the tall buildings pass them by on either side. He can’t quite find it in himself to look at Louis again until they reach the station. Louis giving him a smile as he walks him inside, squeezing a little bit at his hand. And, like always, Harry can’t help but smile back.

Louis tugs Harry into his chest after they’ve validated his ticket. Harry ducking his head and pressing his nose into Louis’ shoulder, when he pulls him in. He wraps his arms firmly around Louis’ waist, holding him tightly to his chest. And he can’t imagine having to let go of him. Doesn’t want to. He knows that once he does, it means he’ll have to leave. He can feel that Louis’ touches are gentler than his own, his hand settling at the back of Harry’s hair, his mouth brushing against his temple. Harry is going to miss him so much.

They both stay like that for a moment, silent and still, before Louis lets out a small breath, Harry feeling it fan out against his cheekbone. Louis’ voice soft and quiet when he speaks.

“Safe travels, Bello.”

Harry swallows, throat a bit thick as he nods his head. He knows this is the part where he’s supposed to say goodbye. But he can’t quite get his mouth to form the words. Or to get himself to pull away from Louis’ hold.

But he does, after another moment, the ticket in his hand almost burning, reminding him that he has a train to catch. “Goodbye Louis,” he says quietly, blinking a few times before letting out a small breath, adding, a mumbled, “ciao,” in a lame attempt at humor, wanting to see Louis’ smile again before he goes. 

Louis indulges him, the left side of his mouth quirk up just slightly. As he reaches up to brush his thumb over Harry’s cheek. Repeating softly, “ciao.”

With that Harry takes a step away from him, turning to face the train platform, hiking his bag higher up on his shoulder as he walks away.

**

Harry sits down heavily on one of the padded chairs once he lands in JFK, plugging his phone in and waiting for it to turn back on, finally remembering that it’s been dead in his bag for days.

The bright glow of the screen attracts his attention once it’s ready, as he quickly goes to his settings, flipping off airplane mode and waiting for the stream of texts from his friends and his mother to come buzzing in.

There’s only a short moment before it starts, his phone almost on a constant stream of vibration for a minute or two. Harry frowns after a moment, looking down at it. He’s not quite that popular. He picks up his phone from the chair, blinking at the ridiculously large notification number on his messages.

He taps it, curiously, seeing that a few are from his mom and two from work friends.

And almost twenty from an unknown number.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow as his thumb hovers over the unknown number for a moment, finally tapping it. He blinks at the most recent message. A picture of him, packing his things earlier that morning, sun shining in from the overhead window. He scrolls up, finding more pictures there. Pictures of him on the patio of the Rome apartment, and one of him standing in the kitchen. A shot of him in the pantheon and eating an oversized gelato. Staring out at the specular view from the top of the coliseum, or bending over the railing at the Roman Forum. Harry feels his chest tighten slightly more with each one of them, scrolling back through the numerous candid, smiling pictures of him. Slowly watching his trip in reverse as he goes.

Until he reaches the very first. Taken of his profile, from a small distance away. Him, staring out from the steps of the San Miniato al Monte in awe, one finger pressed against his camera.

And above it, a small grey bubble of text, informing him who the unknown number belongs to, Louis Tomlinson.

Harry lets out a small breath of noise, not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob, reaching up to cover his mouth either way, staring down at the message for a long quiet moment. Until his phone scrolls back down for him, revealing a small set of dots, Louis typing on the other side of the world. The message popping up just a moment later.

So… I hear that New York is lovely in the fall.

Harry smiles, his cheeks aching with the intensity of it. He bites down on his lip, re-reading the message a few more times. Before quickly typing his response.