chapter thirty

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chapter thirty

    Fresh snow crunches beneath Harry's boots as he walks along the concrete path that leads to the front porch. With each heavy exhale, a cloud of visible breath blows out through his red, chapped lips. He can feel the cold metal of the doorknob through his thick knitted mittens as he steps into the house. He's immediately surrounded by warm air and the comforting scent of vanilla candles.

    "I'm home!" Harry calls out, taking off his fleece scarf. He hangs it on the coat rack next to Louis's favorite Adidas hoodie.

    "In the kitchen, love!" Louis replies, voice soft and calm.

    Harry smiles and walks under the archway. Louis stands in front of the granite counter top with a Santa-themed apron tied around his waist. His hands are coated in white flour. He's using a cookie cutter to make perfectly-shaped gingerbread men.

    "You're baking," Harry notes, raising an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten that we're vampires?"

    Louis scoffs. "I know, I just— I love baking Christmas biscuits, even if I can't taste them. It's just a tradition, you know?"

    Harry leans against the counter and furrows his brows. "Tradition?"

    "Yes," Louis hums. "Rachel and I used to bake cookies with our son, Landon, back in the '60s."

"Rachel?"

"One of my ex-wives."

Harry's heart thuds against his chest. "You said you never had kids," he says, confusion filling his voice, sprinkled with a hint of fear. "I thought it was impossible for vampires and humans to... y'know. Make babies." Why would Louis lie to him about having a child? 

Louis chuckles and places his hand on Harry's arm, soothing him. "Calm down, love. Landon was my stepson from Rachel's previous marriage."

Harry frowns. "Were you two close?"

"Yeah. I mean— he was practically my son for eleven years before I had to relocate," Louis says passively, as if merely discussing the weather. "We lived in Michigan."

He bites his tongue with concentration as he cuts another gingerbread man. With pride, he places it on the baking sheet next to the growing army of little cookies. He gives a satisfactory smile and looks at his boyfriend lovingly.

But Harry's just staring back at him, face flat, impossible to read.

"What?" Louis asks, curious.

"You can't— you can't just casually mention that you had a stepson and then not talk about it."

Louis laughs awkwardly. "I didn't think you'd be interested. You never wanted to talk about my former marriages before."

"I care about you, Louis. Your past is important to me," Harry assures.

Louis nods slowly. A fraction of silence passes between them. "Okay, well... Landon was only two years old when his biological father passed away. It was a motorcycle accident in November of 1960. Rachel was... heartbroken. I was a grief counselor at the time, so that's how we met. She was really sweet, kind, and incredibly beautiful. We married after only three months of dating," he begins, voice soft, as if trying not to damage Harry's delicate feelings. It felt awkward to discuss his previous relationships with him, even if they were all fake. Even if he never really loved any of his wives in more than a platonic way.

"Anyway, Landon was a really sweet kid. Smart, too. He loved dinosaurs and soccer and our dog, Rex," Louis continues. He keeps waiting to see a sign of sorrow on Harry's face, maybe a subtle lip quiver or a bit of shimmer in his eyes, but there's nothing. Which is good.

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