A condition brought them together, but it's far from what you'd expect.
Harry Styles is a simple, seventeen year-old student - a boy exploring his sexuality with different partners, but who never knew what to be in love is.
Louis Tomlinson is a weal...
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The roomy, stainless steel cabin feels too small as Harry is constricted by those four seastone walls, and he wasn't even claustrophobic.
The man presses the button number 9, which had 'Sexologist' written in the tiniest capital letters, and moves to stand right beside him. He didn't know what it was, but it felt like he couldn't breathe near him. And there they were, next to each other on such a limited space. Harry thinks he can hear his own breathing, so maybe Tomlinson could hear it too. But he just stands there, still and firm like he had no emotions, yet so alluring, watching the numbers pass on the little screen. Harry, otherwise, was stressing out while his mind kept filling with questions to which he wanted to know the answer.
What even is his first name?
He had no idea, but it was probably some rich-man name like William or Charles. Maybe Thomas... Thomas Tomlinson. Harry lets out a scoff at the thought of the man introducing himself as Dr. Thomas Tomlinson, readily bowing his head down and biting on his lip to prevent himself from further embarrassment. He had no idea how he was supposed to survive this, let alone possible weekly appointments with Dr. Tomlinson, when he couldn't even stand before him without stuttering or making a fool out of himself.
None of them dared to say a word throughout the quick flight to the ninth floor. The sudden ding of the elevator saves himself from the heat, as he comes across a chill, white marble hall with cabinets widely distributed along the way. Harry follows him once again, looking around and only finding people on a small living room, probably waiting to be seen. There was another secretary, calmly sitting by her desk with a phone held on her ear. She immediately smiles when she sees them, greeting Dr. Tomlinson with a muted "Good afternoon". He nods his head in acknowledgement, but never stops walking until he's turning the doorknob of the last door of the corridor open. Again, he signals for Harry to go first, as if he was calling him a lady in his mind, and Harry didn't know if he liked it or not. But it was probably just mere courtesy.
Harry pierces inside and it takes him a moment to take it all in. The clinical room was bigger than he ever expected; too big for a man only. There was a desk right in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, tidy and clean, with only a stack of books at the very corner. He thinks the black, leather office chair on the other side looked like it could have the best view of the city whenever its back was turned at the white door. With the sound of a door being shut closed behind him, his eyes drift to the small sitting room on the left. The comfortable-looking couch and the two L-shaped velvet lounge chairs were displayed around a round coffee table, which had some weird anatomical-shaped bronze figurine. His eyes wander across the walls and he spots two black and white portraits next to each other.
"Havelock Ellis and John Symonds" Tomlinson speaks, approaching him. "Great men."
Harry just stays there looking at the wall for longer than it'd be appropriate. But his sight was blurry, as he was thinking how the outrageously handsome man behind him should be the one hung up in the walls of every single gallery around the world, for how perfectly sculpted he was. Definitely a Greek God.
