Murder House

We were in love, now we're strangers

Harry felt as if he had gone back in time as he entered. Everything in this house was probably antique. Harry couldn't take his eyes off the drawings on the wall. Each drawing made him to feel the same thing: Passion. He was fascinated by every single detail. Who could have drawn these beautiful works so masterfully? And why all this looked so familiar to Harry. He didn't feel the slightest bit of a stranger when he stepped into the house. Now he felt at home as he looked at the pictures.

"My fiance drew the pictures on the wall," said Louis, handing Harry a cup.

"Are you married?"

"No... He... He's dead." The sadness in Louis' eyes was clearly visible. Harry could see how much it hurt him. He had accidentally touched the man's most sensitive spot. After looking around for a while with a sad gaze, the man turned to the bookshelf to place his book. The bookcase was one of the most striking things in the room. The bookcase in the room, which was quite large, took up two walls and reached all the way to the ceiling.

I guess you like to read."

"I'm a good reader," Louis agreed. "I've read them all."

Harry looked into the man's face, not afraid to hide his disbelief at what he was hearing.

"How many books are in here?"

"More than 28,000."

Harry eyed the man suspiciously. He looked quite young. He certainly wasn't even 30 years old. It was impossible for a person to read so many books.

"Choose a book if you don't believe me and I'll explain it to you," Louis said with a confident smile.

Harry ran his hand over the books and chose one. He started the sentence "This book-" but couldn't continue. The book was so old that Harry feared it would tear. And that language was definitely not English. "How many languages ​​do you know for God's sake?"

"I know English, French, Latin, Russian, German, but lately I've been trying to learn new languages ​​as well."

Harry couldn't tell if the other person was making fun of him or if he was truly a cultural monument. He had compared the man to a noble, but now he suspected that he was indeed a noble.

Impressive," Harry muttered. "I thought this house was going to be a depressing place, but it's just as glamorous as its owner."

"I bought this house because my fiance liked it and I had it decorated the way he wanted," said Louis in a rather cold, distant voice. Harry got the message. Stay away from me, my heart belongs to somebody else.

"He is very lucky," said Harry, trying not to show his hurt.

"You are the first and only person to claim that a dead person is lucky." Louis' words were poisonous. The tone he used as he spoke the words was grinding his teeth into Harry's heart, mixing his poison into Harry's blood.

"I'm so sorry. May he rest in peace."

A contemptuous expression appeared on Louis' face. "Sure, may he rest in peace in whoever's arms," ​​he muttered in an almost inaudible voice. Harry couldn't understand.

"Did he cheat on you?"

"No, of course. Who can he cheat on me with? Is there someone better?"

Yes, the man was a noble. He had the last thing to prove he was noble. Arrogance.

"But if he's dead, it's not his fault he couldn't come back to you. He'd like to come too, to be in your arms."

"Don't you believe in reincarnation, Harry?"

Harry blinked his eyes. "I can hardly say that I believe it."

"What a pity." He hold Harry by the waist and led him to another room. This room looked like some kind of art studio. There were various paintings and drawings on the walls. There were several sketchbooks on the table.

"You can study anything except the black-bound notebooks. Don't touch the black ones." Harry felt he could study the meticulously drawn artwork for hours. It was surprising that Louis' fiance was not a famous painter.

Louis made Harry stand in front of the portrait next to his self-portrait. The portraits looked quite old. The people in the portrait were dressed in the fashion of years ago.

Louis was staring at Harry and the portrait, his skeptical eyes roaming Harry's face. He looked like he was trying to be sure about something.

Although the portrait was worn out, it was perfect in reflecting the beauty of the person in front of Harry. This person was almost illuminating the inside of the person with his eyes with the most fascinating shade of green.

"Reincarnation can change everything, but I can recognize his gaze in any body. You can't say that reincarnation isn't real when I've met his beautiful green eyes in another body."

"Is this your fiance?" asked Harry. This man was so beautiful that Harry didn't think he had a chance with Louis.

"Edward. The love of my life."

Edward. William and Edward. Wasn't that too much of a coincidence?

As Harry thought about these coincidences, he felt his whole body tremble. There was another coincidence. It was a coincidence that made Harry's brain hurt like it was going to explode, and that all his neurons were activated. The man next to him was Louis William Tomlinson. His own name was Harry Edward Styles.

Louis had masterfully planted curiosity in Harry's heart. Now, curiosity began to take root in his heart, to envelop it. He looked at the painting in front of him, not knowing what to do or say. Something familiar came to life in him. It was as if he had seen this face when he stood in front of a mirror. It was as if someone had called him "Edward". It was as if he knew this room. It was as if he knew very well what was in those black-bound notebooks.
He was trying to calm himself, but the thoughts that were starting to fill his mind made him feel powerless.

The last thing he felt before his eyes closed were arms that kept him from falling.