Cupid's Defence

Chapter 6

vi.

Harry did not believe in faith, but he did believe in love. First and foremost, he regarded it as his most interesting feature.

"Hello," he said, sunnily, as the first pair of clients wandered into Louis' office.

They were two guys, hand in hand, and they paused as they saw Harry, momentarily blinded by his godliness. But then, after a moment, their blankness faded...To be replaced with a solid, immovable sense of confusion.

"Ah-- are we in the right place?" One of them asked.

Harry looked up from his reading corner and smiled, "Louis has just gone to put a tea of cup on."

"Oh," the man said. "Okay."

"You can sit, if you want," Harry suggested, "I'm just reading up on strict liability."

They sat, awkwardly so, and for a moment Harry did not notice. But then, he saw their interlocked hands, dropped the book, and squealed in happiness.

"You're in love!" He announced, loudly.

The man on the left frowned, heavily, "What the fuck?"

"Your hands!" Harry pointed, giddy with glee, "They're holding!"

"We're married?" The man on the right said, with grand confusion, "Why is this a big thing?"

"You're married!" Harry cooed, standing, hand to his heart, "Tell me about it! What did the bridesmaids wear? Did you ask for a blessing from Aphrodite? Were there doves there, or roses, or--"

Louis walked in.

"Harry," he said, "What the fuck."

He was wearing a white t-shirt that sloped from his shoulder blades and neatly shaped his figure, which Harry thought was rather nice. His hair was messy as always, though. That day, it actually stood on end in some places on his head, flicking into random, haphazard curls as a result of his lack in sleep.

Harry did not know why Louis did not sleep; any queries into the matter had been met with a swift change in topic. Whatever the reason, he hoped Louis would resolve it soon: his health, and most certainly his hair, were undoubtedly suffering for it.

"Mr Tomlinson," one of the men spoke, evidently relieved, "We honestly don't know what's happening--"

"They're married!" Harry squealed, and walked to Louis, "Louis, they're--"

"Okay," Louis held up a hand, tea in the other, "Harry. Okay. Calm down."

"But, but--Louis-"

"Who is this?" One of the men said.

"That's Louis," Harry pointed, "I'm Harlithet--"

"Harry," Louis spoke, pointedly, "This is Harry. He's my, uh,"

"Uh," Harry looked at him. He did not know what an 'uh' was, or if he qualified for such a title.

"New assistant!" Louis beamed, and clamped a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Yes. He's my new assistant."

Harry frowned at that. The concept of human humour surpassed him, sometimes.

"Why's he frowning?" The man on the right looked at him warily. "He got a problem with gays or something?"

"No!" Louis' eyes went wide, "No! God no. He just gets-- a little excitable, sometimes."

"I love love," Harry spoke, dreamily, and Louis gently pushed him back to his corner, "And that includes love in all forms, no matter what t-"