Milan.

sei

Apart from the UK and Milan, I haven't really been anywhere. There was a class trip to Paris, back in secondary school, but that was lacking in the adventure department, with specific iteniraries and chaperones around at all times. As we drove, windows rolled down, my hand lazily resting on Louis' thigh, I wondered if we'd seen each other in Paris that year. I was sixteen going on seventeen, and I'd just come out to my friends, so they pointed out every single even mildly attractive guy we'd run into-- I couldn't imagine forgetting having laid eyes on Louis.

I tried not to stress details with Louis; he didn't give up specifics all that willingly, and the more time we spent together, the less I cared about it. He told me he had an item to retrieve in Germany, meaning we'd be in the car for a long while. The way I saw it, it was better to focus on getting information out of him that he was willing to share, than it was to try and poke and prod for a nugget of a bigger truth that he's not ready for me to know.

"Alright, when was your first kiss?" I asked, breaking the thick silence that drowned out the heavy-guitar of whatever indie track we were listening to. I'd draped a blanket over my legs and leaned my seat back, but the questions left unanswered were screaming so loudly in my mind that it made it near-impossible to consider falling asleep.

Louis smiled lightly, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting over the hand I'd placed on his thigh. "I was fifteen, his name was Andrew. He was out and I wasn't yet, I really looked up to him, wished I was more like him. And then I thought, why not just do something more like what he would? and I did. And then I kept doing brave things like that. Guess I have to thank him someday."

"And your second?" I asked, too fond of Louis to rip my gaze from his profile, outlined by the shimmer of the setting sun. 

"I was still fifteen, I think. It was one of those teenager things where you reckon every person you have a crush on will be the love of your life. We dated for three months and we'd kissed on our first date and we had a clean break but we never spoke to each other again. He was a bad kisser anyway." Louis glanced over at me, just as fond a smile on his face as I had on my own. "Who was your third kiss?"

"My third?" I asked. "I-- uh, I think it was you." I blushed, feeling inexperienced, having only kissed two people before Louis, who had probably kissed many many people and had sex with a similarly large number. How I'd kept up with him thus far was a mystery to me.

"Tell me about it," Louis muttered, reaching over to turn the radio down.

I cleared my throat. "It was my favourite kiss," I began. "It was... it was everything I imagined it would be."

"I'm honoured," Louis replied, lifting my hand from his thigh to his mouth to press tiny kisses all over my palm. I thought of it as the early-in-the-relationship version of an I Love You. I moved our hands to my mouth and said it back.

I awoke with a start, pitch black of night at the front of a gated community, similar to the one I'd lived in for most of my life. This was in the German countryside, however, and I knew it because we'd stopped at more than one border to show our passports and spew off some fake details about our vacation. (Entering Germany, we'd been on our honeymoon, according to Louis.)

"This is the job?" I asked, rubbing my eyes and stretching as much as I could in the space given.

Louis nodded, digging through one of his bags to pull out what looked to be an extremely fancy pair of trousers. "It's a party. Just think of it as a party. Not a job. If everything goes to plan, that's all you'll have to do. We're invited, don't worry; we're on the list and everything."

"A party in one of these fancy German houses," I clarified, accepting the pair of nice shoes Louis handed me.

Another nod. "You've got nice clothes to wear, right? Can't have my date looking like he didn't know we'd be coming."

This time, it was my turn to nod. "Yeah, I've got a button-down and whatever. What kind of party is it?"

"Oh, just one of those My House is Better Than Yours, type parties. My boss will be there, which means the target will be expecting some funny business. So, that's why I'm risking bringing you along. We've got to make it seem like we're completely there for the wine and the conversation."

"Why are we really going?" I asked, following Louis' lead as he got out of the car and started stripping off his clothes. I walked around to his side of the car and watched nervously as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and replaced it with a crisp white button-down.

He gave me an expectant look, prompting me into action. I opened up the back seat and unzipped my suitcase, digging down to the way bottom where a (thankfully) unwrinkled pair of black trousers and nice shirt were sitting. As I began to change my clothes, Louis went on. "There's a piece of art in the upstairs master bathroom that really belongs in a museum. We're going to make it end up there, and collect a nice bit of money in the process."

"People put priceless art in their bathrooms?"

"Well, these aren't exactly the classiest of people, Liam. That's one of the things we learn first, very early on. How's this?" He straightened his blazer and then turned to look at me, immediately reaching over to straighten my clothes for me.

"Maybe do something to your hair, yeah?" I suggested, not waiting for a response before I pulled out my wax and set to work. As I slid my fingers through the soft locks of his hair, I could feel Louis looking at me, but I tried to keep my nervous laughter under control. I had to make sure he knew that I wasn't going to blow this for him; I could be helpful and just as sneaky as him. In fact, this was the first step in actually helping on a few of these. Carrying boxes of illegal stuff didn't quite feel like enough.

"You look very handsome," Louis complimented, sliding two fingers along my freshly shaven jaw. He pecked my lips softly the moment I moved my hand out of his hair, but before I could react and enjoy, the kiss was over, and he was zipping our luggage and getting back in the car. "Come on then," he smiled, motioning to the passenger's seat. "We've got a party to go to."