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There was a time, a long time ago, when the fae as a general rule kept to themselves. They didn’t stray past their own borders, simply because they had no interest in doing so. There were others elsewhere in the world whom the fae had absolutely no interest in dealing with, as they would rather keep to their own courts and keep their own land healthy.
Harry remembers those times well, even with a certain amount of nostalgia. It was a simpler time. The roads were easier to traverse and the humans easier to scare.
Now, thousands of miles from the place he once called home, with only a satchel on his back as he treads through a forest more ancient than he is, Harry wonders at what fools they all were.
Sure, some of the Seelie Court are still like that today; not bothering to venture far from their own doorstep, drinking together every night as they always have, using the same old tricks on travelers in the woods. That world seems so small to Harry now. There was so much he was missing.
The ground beneath his feet trembles slightly as his heeled boots knock the soil loose. The trees loom above him, spindly things with canopies competing for sunlight at effortless heights. The animals that roam the forest at dusk are out and about, and Harry considers the likelihood of running into something unpleasant if he lays down and makes a fire right here.
He keeps moving.
His satchel shifts, the things inside murmuring and growing active. They’ll need fed, soon.
But Harry wants to get to the edge of the forest before nightfall truly hits. He’s not afraid of any animals he meets out here, but he’d rather not be caught without even the light of the stars among a court of beings who rival the fae. The world is open now, but that doesn’t mean he’s welcome everywhere.
—
“You haven’t picked up my calls in two days,” Louis’ voice comes through the phone, clearly cross.
“You know how the Court can be,” Harry tries to reason. “There’s only so much signal you can get through a different dimension, and time goes all sideways there.”
“Yes,” says Louis. “I’ve been.” He doesn’t sound pleased.
“I’ll be home soon,” Harry says, a smile on his face at the thought. “I just needed to make a quick detour.”
“You and your detours,” Louis sighs, but there’s no fire in his voice. He’s not really mad. “If you bring back another mug—”
“You made me promise to only buy mugs if you’re there to approve them.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Even though you love the mugs I bring back.”
“Most of the mugs you bring back.”
“I saw you drinking out of the one with eight handles.”
“I tried. It was difficult.”
Harry giggles. He readjusts his position, laying with his head on his satchel. The room he’s rented is small and smells of old and earth. There are five star hotels here in Paris if he wants to deal with humans, but finding a local witch with a cellar willing to let him sleep for the night was just easier. It smells more like Paris used to, back when he first came. And anyway, he needed easy access to the catacombs.
“One more week,” Harry promises.
Louis, on the other end, pauses. “I know what one more week means,” he says, sounding stern.
“Really less than that now,” Harry says lightly. “Just a few more days. It’ll have been just two weeks total.”
“Harry, are you honestly doing this again?”
“Call me needy. I hate when you go away.”
“You’re away right now!”
“Two weeks total,” Harry promises again.
“...Fine. But bring me back something sweet when you get to Paris. Macarons or custard or something.”
—
There’s the catacombs open to the human public, and there’s the catacombs that the witch Harry is staying with shows him the entrance to.
“You children these days,” he mutters as he pulls open the gate. “Always trying to fight the natural order of things.”
“Only occasionally,” Harry says cheerfully. He gives a little wave as he bustles past him, his satchel bumping against his hip. “You’re only young once, right?”
The witch raises an eyebrow at him. “Well I certainly was,” he says. He has an oddly Irish accent for someone living in France. “Close up on your way out, and don’t expect help if you summon something stronger than you were expecting.”
Harry waves. He’s not summoning anything today, anyway.
Inside it’s musty and dark and damp and smells faintly like home; like earth and rolling hills and layer upon layer of rich magic, compacted over the millennia as unsuspecting humans built their world above.
It’s not too difficult to follow the traces of magic to their strongest point, deeper into the catacombs and in complete darkness.
Harry squats down and opens his satchel on his knees; eyes stare up at him, glowing and bright. The creatures inside are small, only a few inches tall and wispy like smoke.
“Find your friends,” Harry tells them, putting his hand into the bag and drawing them out. They chitter and swarm onto the floor, growing a little in size as they come into contact with the strong lay lines of old magic.
Paris. Paris where they met for the first time, where they first locked eyes and Harry found himself falling for a human and having to question what that would mean. Paris where he followed Louis home on a rainy night and they first kissed as the church bells rang.
The creatures swarm around the catacombs, disappearing as they branch out, their eyes little pinpricks of light that eventually disappear into the darkness.
It’s best to collect Feelings where one remembers feeling the strongest. Feelings are everywhere, but to gather them again one must think on that memory.
Think about the boy with the blue eyes who eyed him with suspicion, but who showed him around the city with the airs of someone who owned the place. Think about the way his lips tasted salty when they first kissed, and the way he was unafraid of learning about what Harry really was, that his one thought was that this might mean they explore past the edge of the city together, and Harry told him he would take him anywhere in the world.
Harry sits and dwells on these feelings, in the darkness far below the Parisian streets, until he has lost all track of time. Eventually when he comes to himself again he opens his eyes and finds many more little Feelings have gathered around him than were in his bag to begin with. He ushers them into his satchel one by one and then closes the flap. They have offered themselves to his use.
He stands and feels his way along the dark maze of pathways out toward the world above.
—
Harry has to travel to the Seelie Court once a year, to maintain appearances. He has to give yet another vow to the Queen and party for a fortnight and then he can leave again.
Time being different in Court, this doesn’t take nearly as long as it feels like it does, but it’s still rather exhausting when he has to leave Louis behind time and again.
This time, with the added days before he can come home, it’s especially grueling to not simply hop on the next plane back, instead having to be content with nightly phone calls as he makes his way through the countryside.
“What did you pick me up in Paris?”
“A baguette,” Harry lies. He got Louis macarons.
“Gross, that’ll be hard as a rock by the time you get home.”
“You can microwave it, it’ll be fine.”
“That’s the most offensive thing you’ve ever said. You want me to microwave a baguette?”
“You have no problem microwaving cold pizza,” Harry argues. “Which is by far the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”
“You eat it cold, which is comparatively worse.”
They should get pizza, Harry thinks as he watches rolling hills zoom by outside the train window.
“Well maybe I’ll just eat the baguette now,” Harry says. “And you won’t get anything at all.”
“Fine,” says Louis. “The neighbours brought cake because it was their youngest’s birthday last week. I guess I won’t save you a slice, then.”
“Wait, no,” Harry whines. “What kind?”
“Angel food. Homemade and a little dense but not bad.”
“Can I eat angel food cake if I don’t even believe in angels?”
“Are you really not allowed to believe in angels? You told me last month about the werewolves that live in the Ukraine.”
“Werewolves are obviously real, and unlike Igor, whom we had tea with just a few years ago, I have never had a conversation with an angel.”
“Wait, Igor was a werewolf?”
Harry jawns. “Well he wasn’t human, and he was a little furry, so I do assume.”
“You’ve gotta tell me these things when they happen,” Louis grumbles. There’s a comfortable lull in conversation. “Where are you now?”
“Just passing through Florence,” Harry says. It’s early morning and the sun is bright, warming up the train car. “I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“You’d better be,” Louis grumbles. “I have a jar of pickles I haven’t been able to open. You and your freakishly large and strong hands need to get back here.”
Harry can’t help the smile that spread across his face. “Sure,” he says. “That’s why you love me.”
“You know it is.”
—
Harry told Louis he loved him for the first time at the ruins of the Forum as they watched the stars above. It’s easy to make his way back there now, after the tourists have left for the day and only the occasional stray cat remains.
He lets the Feelings out of his satchel again and watches as they make their way around the lone columns and leftover cornerstones. It had been the best night of his life up to that point, and Harry fills his mind with the way they held each other, so sure of their love for one another, of their future together.
They were so young then.
And they were so right.
The stars twinkle above his head now and Harry smiles as the memory, tears gathering in his eyes as he thinks about the fear pounding in his heart as he waited for Louis to reply.
He needn’t have worried, of course.
Harry sits and dwells on those memories for hours, until the Feelings return to him strong and clear eyed and chittering. He gathers them into his bag, now full and heavy, and stands to leave.
It’s time to go home.
—
The trips to Court always take too long. Even once a season for formality’s sake feels like an eternity, and inside the court itself maybe it even is an eternity. It’s been so long. It’s only been a few weeks but it’s been so long.
The wooden gate, creaking open, unlatched, in the late summer breeze, is the sign that Harry’s just about made it. He leaves his shoes at the gate, throws them off and revels in the feeling of the cool, soft grass. The bushes along the fence are overgrown, as they always are. The wildflowers are out of control, their garden hasn’t been tended to since he last did some semblance of weeding in early spring. The wild strawberries are, even in the hazy orange light of the setting sun, prominently on display to be picked by grubby little hands and then thrown on the ground and stomped on, as is the way when children discover that they’re allowed to do whatever they want in a garden.
Breathing in, deep and slow, Harry smells home. He smiles so wide his cheeks might get an extra dimple. It’s been too long, even if it was for a good cause.
“Darling,” he calls as he makes his way up to the door. “I’m home, love!”
There’s barking and the scrambling of paws and as soon as Harry throws the door open he’s nearly bowled over by a large black labradoodle, desperate to cover him with as much drool as possible. Harry laughs, but carefully swings his satchel behind him, shouting at Clifford such useless commands as down and stop and oh god you smell awful don’t lick me.
Inside, the house is dark. During the daytime it’s filled with natural light, no need to turn on anything artificial, but that means things can change fast with the setting of the sun. Harry switches on the hallway light, and then every light following as he makes his way through the rooms.
“Louis,” he calls, announcing himself as he makes a sweep of their home. Of course Louis isn’t easy to find, he never is at important times.
And of course, Harry finds him in the last place he looks — out in the back garden, among the rose bushes, in his favorite comfy chair.
“Darling!” Harry calls as he throws the door open, startling Louis who was clearly dozing. “I’m home!”
Louis smiles, and Harry’s world is right there in that face. In those deep blue eyes, that salt and pepper hair that will never go completely grey even with age, the deep laugh lines from decades of life. In the way his lips press together when he tries not to show all his emotions in his smile.
He stands slowly, hunched forward a little, using the arms of the chair to stabilize himself. “You fool,” is the first thing he says.
“I’m selfish, I know,” Harry agrees, bounding forward and wrapping him in a careful hug. Louis, for all he looks like he’s lost some muscle strength over the years, hugs him back fiercely. He’s a little more stooped at this age, brings his face more fully into Harry’s chest than his shoulder.
“It’s not how it’s supposed to go,” Louis says, giving Harry a wry half-smile. “I’ll always come back, it’s not like I’m gone.”
“It’s not at all the same,” Harry says. “I know some fae are perfectly happy for their humans to die but I’m just not one of them. It’s distressing!”
“It’s reincarnation, and it’s normal.” Louis tuts, lightly bopping Harry on the nose as he says it.
“I’m not spending another twenty years waiting for you to regain your memories and show up at my door again,” Harry argues. “Now sit down and eat your vegetables.”
“You’re a brute,” Louis says, and he’s laughing, his voice like bells tinkling. “Come on then, let’s get this over with. I’m just your frankenstein out here to play around with.”
“Frankenstein’s monster,” Harry corrects. He holds Louis’ hand as Louis sits back down. “And that’s not even a decent analogy! You’re a roomba that I’m recharging.”
Louis makes a face that Harry knows from centuries of experience is I cannot possibly encourage that by laughing at it.
Crouching at Louis’ feet, he takes his satchel from over his shoulder and sets it in the grass between them. “Remember the first time I did this?”
“And I thought you were killing me? Yes, absolutely,” grumbles Louis. “You’ve really got to get better at explaining things before you do them.”
“Well you know now,” Harry argues, opening the bag. “Besides, the surprise was part of the fun.”
“You’re a menace.”
Harry opens the satchel and everything inside looks at him.
“He’s the one I told you about,” Harry whispers to the Feelings. In response, they all murmur and jumble about, clearly having no idea what he’s saying but happy to be interacted with. Simple spirits like these are generally simply pleased to be included.
Harry reaches in and a few crawl into his hands, their many-tendriled wispy bodies practically transparent sometimes, their eyes glowing with their life force. He lifts them up to Louis and then tilts them, gently, straight into Louis’ chest.
They fall forward into him without any fuss, their lights winking out as they fall inside of him.
Louis shivers. “Cold,” he complains.
“I’ll get you a sweater in a few minutes,” Harry says. He’s already reaching back into his satchel and drawing out more. They come willingly, excited to be put to use. Harry tips them again into Louis’ chest, another three times until the last of his bag is empty.
Louis shivers when the last one disappears inside of him. “They’re all squirmy,” he complains.
“They’ll settle down,” Harry says. He stands, leaving his bag in the grass and holding out his hand to help Louis up.
Louis slaps his hand away. “Well I’m not going to need that now,” he grouches,, springing up from the chair. “Now that you’ve given me the curse of youth.”
Harry wraps him in the full, tight hug that he wanted to give him when he first walked through the door. “Yes, I know, having to live your life with your immortal spouse is just such a pain.”
“I’m going to get funny looks from the neighbors again,” Louis complains, swiping a hand through his thick, chestnut brown hair. “And I’m sure all the clothes from my twenties are out of style again.”
“You can wear mine,” Harry says, nosing at his neck.
“Clifford’s not going to recognize me,” Louis whines.
“He’s a dog, I think it’s a scent thing.”
“You’re a menace.”
“You said that.”
Louis pushes Harry back by his shoulders and then leans in, planting a kiss on his lips that Harry returns hungrily. “You’re going to get in trouble with the Court for doing this a fifth time,” he says.
“It was worth it,” Harry argues. “I’m too impatient for reincarnation when I can just find enough Feelings to reverse your aging half a century.”
“You owe me for this,” Louis says, grinning, pecking Harry on the lips again.
“Anything, darling.”
“I want to adopt again.”
“Dogs or babies?”
“Mmm, both.”
“Well. That can be arranged, I believe.”
Clifford barks at them from the back door, and the sun disappears behind the horizon behind them. Harry goes in for another kiss, just because he can, and thanks the universe he found his soulmate all those centuries ago.