Murder House

Nobody sees, nobody knows

Harry had a hard time figuring out what happened to him. There was no logical explanation for all this, not the slightest trace of scientific or logical proof that the man lying next to him was his soulmate. But Harry felt that his heart was beating for this man, his soul was burning with longing for him. It was as if he spent his life trying to find Louis, his soul now at peace with him.

All his life, he had no interest in reincarnation, and always thought it wasn't making sense. Now he could not explain what happened in any way other than reincarnation. He died. He had died ages ago for a reason he still didn't know about. And now he was here again. He was in the bed he had slept with the man he loved centuries ago, and it was unbelievable.

He got out of bed, he had a terrible headache 'cause of the shocking truths he learned. His fainting made him feel hungry. Reluctantly, he tried to find the kitchen, leaving the room where the sweet smell of the man he loved had permeated.

The mansion was huge. The ceiling was quite high, the windows were big. This made the house look very spacious. Harry felt like a sinner allowed to spend a day in heaven. He paced the corridors with timid steps. There were pictures on the walls of each room. Although Harry's previous life was short-lived, it was clear that Harry was always drawing with great passion.

While searching the kitchen, he found the painting studio that William had once given him. Hesitantly, he entered. All this was his, he painted the masterpieces on the canvases. Could he still draw like Edward? The last time Harry drew a picture was in elementary school. His drawing wasn't bad for an elementary school kid, but it would be a lie to say it was good.

He admired the portraits of William and Edward hung side by side. Louis hadn't changed at all. The only difference between him and the portrait was that he looked much more carefree and vigorous in the portrait. He was gorgeous.

Harry didn't think he was as charming as Edward. Also, he couldn't understand why the blue paint that seemed to be smeared on the wall in a pointless way had been applied there.

As he looked around, he caught a glimpse of black-bound sketchbooks. Don't touch them, Louis said, but those notebooks used to be Harry's and he drew the contents, right? You couldn't forbid a painter to look at his own work, he had the right to look.

He took the notebook in his trembling hands. What could William want to keep in the notebook? After all, everything in this room and the contents of this notebook were the things that came out of Edward's pen.

When he opened the notebook, he was staring at the last thing he expected to see. William must have been modeling for Edward while these drawings were being made. Harry knew he had to close the notebook, but Louis' breathtaking influence had captured him. He studied the drawings as if fascinated. He shouldn't have done it, but it didn't feel wrong, he couldn't convince himself that it was a mistake, as Louis's charm was revealed once again.

"For God's sake, again?" Even though Harry reflexively threw the notebook on the table when he heard Louis' voice, he realized how absurd it was when Louis looked over the opened pages of the notebook.

"I-I…" he didn't know what to say.

"Centuries have passed and you still have the same habit of getting up and running to your painting studio?" said Louis, with a smile on his face.

"I-I was looking for the kitchen, but then I saw this place and... Well I wanted to take a look around here, I'm so sorry Louis I didn't do it on purpose. Are you so angry?" He asked. His eyes filled with tears, looking like he might cry soon.

"Why should I be angry?"

"I looked through the notebook, even though you said that I shouldn't," Harry muttered.

Louis shrugged.

"Did you like what you saw?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, though he couldn't help blushing.

"No need to be embarrassed, Harry," said Louis, moving towards Harry. He narrowed the distance between them until he could whisper in Harry's ear, then ran a hand through Harry's hair. "You drew the pictures with your own hands. Would you like to know how this inspiration came?"

"I'd love to," murmured Harry, speaking in a low voice that was almost inaudible. It was frustrating that he knew so much about Harry while Harry barely knew him.

"We were in this beautiful studio one day and you felt everything you saw, deep inside you." He pointed to the blue paint on the wall. "This is another proof of what happened that day."

"Louis," said Harry, biting his lip. He felt that he was about to sink into the ground with embarrassment.

"Don't be shy, baby. Don't be ashamed of me," Louis said, pressing his lips to Harry's.

Harry could feel the strength and peace of mind moving his lips on Louis' lips.

"Louis," said Harry, pulling back as he thought. "I should introduce you to my mother."

There was an offended look in Louis' eyes, but he quickly managed to mask it.

"We've done this before, Harry, and it wasn't very good."

"My mom's nice," Harry defended himself. "And she knows my sexuality."

"I understand, baby, but I can't do that."

"Why?" asked Harry. "Is it too early?"

"No, but… Your mother can't see me, Harry."

Harry stared at Louis in surprise. Was he joking?

"What does that mean?"

"I... Harry, people don't see me. I've tried to communicate with people for ages but it didn't work. You're the only one who can see me."