Harry's foot taps anxiously against the granite floors of the restaurant. He has no clue why he's here. He should've said no. Sure he might've offended Louis, but it would've saved Harry the heartache.
Everything in Harry's body aches as he waits for Louis to show up. He could still leave. He could leave and pretend he never showed up to begin with. Louis is older and more mature, he'll understand if Harry leaves him here. He'll understand how hard this is on Harry, right? Louis said in his call that he didn't want to cause Harry to feel better at all. This whole situation is a mess.
The veins in Harry's body seem to throb and all of his senses heighten in an uncomfortable way. He feels too many things at once, each individual strand of fabric in the table cloth. He can hear the people around him blinking. He can see every pore on the woman's face halfway across the restaurant. A headache starts to form in the back of his head from all of the perfumes and colognes invading his nose at once.
"Harry?"
No that's not right. Harry looks up at the owner of the voice and sees that Louis isn't standing before him. A young woman is. Harry's eyes dart across her face and it takes everything that Harry has to keep his eyes from contorting into a sick yellow color.
"Yes, that's me," Harry replies. He sits a little straighter in his chair. Louis must be here, but then who's the woman? Why does she know Harry's name?
"I just wanted to see where you were located for Mr. Tomlinson. Would it be okay if we moved to a table instead of a booth?" The woman asks. She has a gentleness about her that puts Harry at ease. Her voice is like a lullaby, like a wonderful little song to Harry's ears.
Harry doesn't know why he has to move tables. He likes booths and so did Louis. Why would Louis require a table? Shrugging, Harry stands to follow the woman to a table near the front of the restaurant. Great. Harry hates being in the front, it's louder and more people walk by. Harry will surely be distracted.
"Thank you, I'll be back in just a moment with Mr. Tomlinson." The woman smiles at Harry and then walks through the doors into the parking lot. Harry's foot starts to bounce again anxiously.
Harry prays that the woman won't be sitting with them. If she does, Harry won't get to say half the things he wants to. Perhaps he can ask Louis that she steps outside or wait in the car. Surely Louis doesn't need her around him constantly. Surely she's just an assistant of some sort.
Then, Harry sees him and it's like, for a moment, everything is right in the world. Louis' older than he remembers last, but still the same in every way.
His eyes still shine blue, however, they're duller than before. Not as bright as before, but Harry's sure his eyes have changed a lot too. The man is just as small as Harry remembers. A smile forms across Harry's lip as he remembers their little arguments over who was taller before Harry shot up a couple of inches, promptly ending the debate.
The man is different, though, too. There's no trace of brown left in his hair at all. Most of it is replaced with snow-white locks with hints of grey around the edges of his scalp. His skin isn't as smooth and wrinkles line his face. The deepest are those around his smile. Of course, the obvious difference is that he doesn't walk anymore and a tube connects itself to his nose.
He's so... old. Harry knows that it's rude to think, but it's true. Louis is old. He's dying. Harry forgot that some people age because he stopped 70 years ago. For a moment, Harry's heart hammers, because this is what would've happened to Harry had he not changed.
"Harry," Louis chirps. His voice is different. It sounds like an old man now. It doesn't hold the youth that Louis' voice used to. Don't get Harry wrong, it still sounds like Louis.
