"Can you shut the fuck up !!, English , do you speak English?" Harry groaned sliding his large hand down his face in frustration because of the small blue eyed boy in front of him .
"je veux aller a la maison" Louis sobbed brokenly , shoulders shak...
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Avez-vous lu tout cela? , Louis whispers in excitement while watching the older man stand statue like in front of mass ranges of books - the years ranged and the faint title of the very first vampire book though spelt vampyre was screaming to be touched .
To have brittle soft finger tips flipping course and coffee stain pages , imagined brown faded writing that was once a finely printed black .
" I know very little French Louis ." Harry remarks , squinting his eyes teasingly at the young boy finally noticing the beautiful specks of glitter coating tan cheeks and soft hair swept to the side a definition of carelessness but also says that there was time taken for such luck .. feet always bare , it was as if the small boy was new to the idea of shoes or he simply hated having his feet confined for periods of time .
Louis giggled pushing pass Harry and making his way towards the books , most older than him from centuries ago but as blue eyes lighten Harry knew at that moment how fond reading and writing was .
He leaned on the aging shelf , ring fingers grasping onto thin wrist " you know -" tongue flicks on top of perfectly white teeth "that was your father's favorite book , he would spends hours in this very room with this song that I never actually liked-"
Releasing the boys wrist where faint red prints of recent fingers once laid Harry made his way to the gold record player , reaching for a disc and blowing it off before placing it on - rustic , dying and out of use would be the words used to explain how such record player must feel .
How did those who were close to death feel , how did his father feel and how did the man who once hung him close to the stars died .
Louis believed life still went on beyond the grave . Some nights more than he would like to admit , he'd stand outside on his balcony and cry as he spoke to his father in the wind , he was the cold touch of air , the howl of dogs and the laughter of families having an outing at night .
And now he was this song . The song Harry had introduced to him and as he slowly looked up from the book in hand he was met with the older man laying flatly on the wooden ground- large hand pointed to the roof as his pouty lips released parts of the song .
There was a bitter feeling knowing that the song meant more to Harry than it did to himself , he never knew this side of his father and he wondered if father ever sat in this room listening to this very song and picturing a life where they were together .
"ah mon Louis, mon papillon" father would smile at his presence, matching necklace hanging from collar bones and a glisten in his eyes that only existed when with his son .
Louis hated that vision , hated knowing this safe haven belonged to someone who was no longer here , hated how Harry knew such intimate moment and he did not exist within them - he was in France allowing rose to touch his body , allowing rose to strip his innocence something that would have not happened if his father had been there .
