Hands of Fate (l.s. soulmate AU)

Chapter 2: The One That Got Away

The dim lights, the plush decor, the low music, it all seemed to fade away. One moment there, the next gone - ceasing to exist, as did the rest of the world. Nothing could drag his attention away; nothing had ever captured it similarly. His eyes roamed over this beguiling creature who appraised him in return with a tilt of their head. He watched as those thin, painted lips curved into a smile, the movement of their head making the tiny jewels glisten by their ears.

It was warmth, Harry realised, that he felt inside his chest. Warmth that had radiated from that smile and thwarted the walls of ice.

"Hello."

The curve of that mouth turned confused when Harry did not reply - words stuck in his throat, unable to decide what to say. Years and years of being a social butterfly, and it was now that his brain screeched to a halt.

"...You're not eighteen," he said at length, face heating in mortification of what had eventually slipped past his lips. But a tinkering laugh followed his embarrassment, calming his nerves as the person found amusement in his words rather than offense. And what a sound it was - that laughter - swarming his head with a feeling akin to sweet summer.

"Certainly not," a hand extended in his direction to shake, "I turned thirty recently. The name's Louis Tomlinson, in case you were wondering."

"Right, right," Harry fumbled - slightly flummoxed with his manners. He shook the offered hand, caught off as his thumb glided over the smooth skin, "Harry... Styles."

Again, the amusement flickered in those blue eyes, but before they could let out the quip resting on their tongue, the waiter interrupted with a polite clearing of throat. He should not have found it charming when Louis turned a smile to the waiter, ordering a glass of wine and protein salad. It was what any decent person would do - treat the wait staff with the same courtesy as they did - and yet, Harry was enamoured.

He tried to push away that foreign feeling, grasping onto his beliefs, on what he had seen growing up. It was a farce - the whole soulmate thing. This feeling, he convinced himself, was merely the society's expectations feeding into his beliefs and trying to eradicate them.

When the waiter turned to him, he declined for anything else.

"I did assume it would be someone with a big name to have changed the location to here," Louis said, humming after sipping the wine. "Though, it was certainly a surprise when I saw you. A pleasant one."

"Pleasant how?" Harry could not keep the frown off his face, or the accusation out of his voice. He received an exasperated sigh for his trouble, though still fond.

"Not for your fame. I was worried it would be someone much younger, or much older, both seem too troubling."

Harry agreed, "They do." He directed a moment to bring the glass up to his mouth, inhaling the crisp tone of the wine before letting it pass over his tongue. "May I ask," attention again shifting to his companion, "What pronouns do you prefer?"

Louis tapped a nail against the table; twice in quick succession, barely even audible, and shrugged. The movement drawing Harry's eyes to the lightest shade of lavender painted on those nails. "He, him is fine for now," eyes meeting Harry's without any hesitation, "Though, on some days I do not feel comfortable abiding to those."

"And what do you prefer on those days?"

A shrug again; the right shoulder twitching up and down. "There's not a simple enough answer to that."

Harry nodded, resigned. It was something one learned as they got to know their partner and their tells. It was something he would never learn about Louis, because to know was to spend more time together, and this would be the last they saw of each other. His resolve was as strong as before, and yet it brought on an unknown ache.

"Tell me something about yourself, Harry," Louis redirected the flow of conversation, pulling the attention away and onto Harry.

He did not point it out, but kept the knowledge close to his chest. Of course, discussing how Louis identified was something entirely too personal. Instead, Harry focused on how his name rolled off Louis' tongue, how he had never thought his name could sound so familiar coming from another.

"Everything there is to know about me has been broadcasted ten times over in the news and magazines."

Louis smiled, "But no one is stopping us from pretending that it isn't."

"I prefer to live in reality; accepting things as they are," he cut off any familiarity that had been threatening to sow, suppressing a wince at how harsh he sounded.

Unknown to him, in the absence of that seed, a wound started to fester.

Louis' smile dimmed, swapped for a stricken look. "Huh," another tap of a nail, "That's... good, I guess." Leaving the wine glass, Louis' hand went up to fiddle with the hair curling just under his ear - a nervous tick, not knowing what to do with his hands. "Though, isn't some minor indulgence satisfying every now and then?"

"I do not mean to disrespect, but I did not come here so we could get to know each other," Harry said, "This whole thing, soulmates and their idealisation, it's not for me."

"Could have fooled me," Louis whispered to himself, and Harry believed he was not meant to hear it. "What did you intend?"

"A polite refusal to this... match."

Louis nodded, and Harry watched as he packed all his emotions back in - that openness, that smile, that willingness, that glee - all swept up and tucked away. "At least you're being honest."

"Did you not expect honesty?" He frowned.

"I should leave," Louis made to pick up his clutch, a delicate thing with a linked strap - and pulled out his card.

Harry laid a hand over Louis', holding himself back from letting his instincts feel more of that skin, "Don't worry about paying. I chose this place, it's on me."

"Maybe if I had had a chance to return the courtesy another time," Louis shook his head, pulling away and catching the eye of the waiter to ask him for the cheque.

They waited in a tense silence until the waiter returned. There was something stirring inside him as Louis stood up, so closed off and far away than how he had first approached.

A thin smile stretched over painted lips, "Goodbye, Harry."

Maybe he had returned the parting greeting, maybe he had smiled, too. He could hardly remember. But he did remember the clicking of heels as they carried Louis away, the slight slump of those shoulders morphing into a confident stance just before Louis stepped outside the door. More than that, he remembered how that stirring had made him dizzy, made him feel like a mere shell.

It came to him in increments what this feeling was called.

Hollow. He felt hollow.