A Walk in the Park--Larry Stylinson

First Time I Saw Your Face

Mr. Hammond's face lit up like a Christmas tree when Louis and Harry showed up at his door with dinner for the three of them. They'd called him first, of course, to see if it was alright if they came over.

"You boys are a rare breed these days," the older man drawled as he let them into his house, a cigar in his hand, and smoke surrounding them so thick you could hardly see to walk.

Harry handled it with absolute grace. "You're a rare breed yourself. You recovered fine from surgery, and you even walk your dogs again," he remarked cheerily.

Mr. Hammond chuckled. "Those two are lively, alright. But they keep me on my toes."

Mr. Hammond had to be eighty if he was a day. But he was spry and showed no sign of slowing down. The only proof of his age was how he walked hunched over a bit. But just a bit, and not enough to limit his activity, or keep people from admiring him. He was admired most of all for his positive attitude toward life.

On the other side of a sliding glass door, Harry and Louis could see his two dogs looking in at them, obviously feeling dejected at being banished to the outdoors and not included.

"Bring it in here," Mr. Hammond indicated the dinner Harry was carrying, and the dessert Louis hefted. It was a fruit salad that had to weigh at least ten pounds. Or, at least it felt like it.

"What happened to your faces?" was one of the first things to come from the old man as they sat down at the kitchen table. "You two kids beatin' the shit outta each other?"

"No, but it's kinda a long story," said Harry, but Mr. Hammond insisted on hearing it, so they told him. They recited the entire story about Clockwork, the fight, and Harry's new band.

"Well now," Mr. Hammond sat back, puffing away on his cigar, and increasing the amount of smoke in the room to a new level. Louis still smoked, although he was trying to quit, and Harry never had, so they had to pretend that they didn't feel like choking while totally immersed in the smoke.

"Where'd you learn to fight, young man?" Mr. Hammond asked of Louis.

"I was born in Doncaster, and parts of it are pretty rough."

"Oh, so it was a matter of survival," said Mr. Hammond, nodding sagely.

"More or less," acceded Louis. "Well, actually, massively," he amended, still feeling he was understating.

"And you did pretty well for yourself with Louis' tutoring? Mr. Hammond directed to Harry.

"Yeah, thank God for him."

They ate then, after Mr. Hammond had brought out plates, glasses and silverware.

Louis chewed avidly at the biscuit he'd plucked from the towel-lined bowl. Harry made the most delicious flaky, fluffy biscuits.

Dessert was strawberry shortcake, which they all gorged on, and soon everyone was so full that they were bordering on uncomfortable.

"I shouldn't have had that last piece," admitted Mr. Hammond as he rubbed at his tender stomach.

Louis, frankly, was eager to get back home, so after some more small talk, he gave Harry a look. All Harry had to do was glance at Louis, and he knew what was up. They eased themselves gracefully out of the chairs, washed the dishes, and putting them in the dish drainer, they took their own dishes home, bidding Mr. Hammond goodbye, and feeling guilty. They knew the old man would have gladly talked for another couple of hours.

"You're lookin' so snatched tonight," Harry said casually as they approached the apartment door.

There he went again. Paying Louis compliments.