Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

— Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë

The manor Louis pulls up to is grand with cream marble pillars, clean white stone walls, and large, gleaming windows. It takes up enough land to fit his childhood home at least four times. The first thing he thinks of is that it must belong to some old money family who have been leeching off of years of generational wealth. It’s one of those old English houses you only see on TV, surrounded by large stretches of land. The nearest house is miles away; it’d be better to drive since walking would be an inconvenience. That means the house is secluded. The perfect family home for the rich to do whatever they wished to and not get caught. 

He turns his nose at the sight of it, not denying his jealousy. This kind of house is a luxury. He’s got six siblings who could bring this house to life, and a mother who deserves all the best things in the world. Instead, the seven of them, eight if he counts himself, have spent years squashed up in a tiny four-bedroom flat, living in each other's space for far too long. They argued over petty things, slammed doors one too many times, and exiled one another out of their own (shared) bedrooms. But he looks back on all that fondly; he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Hours away from home, he stands in front of his new workplace. In hopes of changing things for his family. 

Louis rolls his shoulders back and takes a deep breath. He watches the taxi roll away onto the deserted road, smaller and smaller, until it turns a corner and is gone. Facing the estate again, he squints as he takes it in. Sunshine reflects off the shiny windows. Everything is trim, proper and neat. In the front yard, not one leaf is out of place, no brick is unturned. Everything is perfect. 

With his bags in hand, he passes the gates and walks up the pathway. No sound comes from inside, and there’s nothing outside that tells of the owners. Taking a final breath, Louis presses the doorbell. 

Now’s the time to have questions or fears overwhelming his usually composed demeanour, but instead, his mind is alarmingly empty. Patiently, he waits, eyes shifting over the grand double-spread door until it cracks open. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not this. 

In front of him is a man. Louis blinks at the sight of him. 

Slowly, he shifts out from where he’s stood behind the door. Under the sunlight, Louis gets a good look at him. His eyes are achingly sad, hollow green pits on the slate of his face. It’s as if he embodies the emotion. The shiny, chocolate curls of his hair are pushed back with a thick white headband, accentuating the sharp edges of his jaw and the blotchy red splatters that mar his cheeks. Louis is lost for words, unable to look away from the stranger’s visage.

They’re bathed in a thick silence, neither offering to speak first. So, Louis’ eyes trail down, exploring the rest of him. His clothes echo his sombreness. The pale skin of his face stretches down to his neck, where the colour is cut off by his blouse. It hangs off of him in an artsy way. There’s no doubt that it’s been tailored, sitting on him perfectly, that it almost doesn’t look right on someone so morbid. Loose and dark, the shirt is half-buttoned, giving way to flashes of creamy skin and tattoos. He paints his body with art but shields it with ashen clothes.  

Louis can’t tell if that’s how he wants to wear his shirt or if it’s because he’d given up with the buttons halfway. Then he sees it, glinting every so often. The thin gold chain that rests on the hollow of his neck, the pearls so small he wants to ask why someone would spend so much money on something you can’t even see. He doesn’t.

Clearing his throat, the man decides it’s time one of them breaks the silence. “Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson. Here for the maintenance role. You called me last week. Said I got the job…?”

Uneasy, he shifts on the balls of his feet, waiting for the man to look away from the sights behind him to look at him. Louis watches him carefully, eyeing the way it takes effort for him to face Louis, to make their eyes meet. For a brief moment, they do. They share a look, and Louis finds nothing in them. But for the man, it must be enough because he drops his gaze just as quickly, and nods delicately, “Come inside.” 

Stepping aside, he gives Louis space to lug his bags. The door closes, and immediately he mourns the soft breeze outside that kept him cool. Louis turns back to thank him, but he’s stumped by the new sight instead. The man is staring at the door, hand pressed up against the wood, unmoving. Louis wants to say something—ask if he’s alright or if he needs someone to assist him, but he can’t bring himself to do it. What if things are different? This man is rich. He wears expensive jewellery at home and smart casual to lounge in. There’s a boundary between them that he doesn’t want to cross. Thus, he stands in the foyer, eyes running up and down the expanse of his back, and the off-white, tailored, wide-legged trousers.

The pair of them stay rooted to their spots for a tense few seconds; numerous questions and unease festering uninhibited and thick in Louis’ chest as his grip on the handles of his bags tightens. The man still hasn’t moved. He’s stuck to the spot like he’s been damned, head now tilted down to rest against the door. Finally, when Louis’ had enough, he clears his throat.

“Excuse me? Are you alright?”

The strange man turns around to face him, lips quivering at the corners. His eyes are damp, glistening bright like the pearls dangling from his ears. He sniffs, reaching up to dry his tears, and Louis eyes the excessive display of rings glinting on almost every finger, and the chipped white nails. Everything about this man is odd, far too odd for Louis to comprehend. But, and this is the worst part, he’s breathtakingly attractive.

“I’m so sorry,” he rasps, voice softer than it had been earlier.

Before Louis can tell him that it’s fine, he rushes down the hallway, his sobs getting louder yet still so muted, like he’s taming them down, until that’s it. He’s gone. Left his black sheer blouse and gold glinting rings lingering in the front of Louis’ mind. Left him stranded in the middle of the porch, burning under the sun that leaks in through windows on the slanted ceilings. 

Slowly, Louis loosens the grasp on his bags, stretching out his cramped fingers. The clicking of footsteps on shiny oak panes breaks through his confusion. 

A new face greets him. A kind-looking, older woman, perhaps in her late fifties, smiles welcomingly. Her eyes are dark and warm, bulbous and vivid against her dark skin and the red colour that blooms on her cheeks as her gaze falls on him. 

“You must be the new boy. Mr Styles told us to expect you today.”

He nods, a little at ease now that he’s found someone seemingly normal in this estate. “Louis Tomlinson,” he greets, extending a fair hand.

She looks down at it before clasping it between her plump hands professionally. 

“Nora Williams, though I prefer just Nora.”

Louis nods, “I prefer Louis.”

“Lovely.” She grins, “Come along. We can leave your bags in the kitchen, and then I’ll introduce you to the family.”

⋆☾⋆

Louis expects the family to be the Styles family. It’s not. It’s the staff. 

They’re a small group. The Styles have two gardeners: Charlie and Lilith, a cleaner named Aysha who also makes sure things are in stock at the mansion, the chef, Nora, who’s in charge of the entire kitchen and now Louis, who will manage the rest of the house. Which he assumes will be its maintenance, any guests or events, and anything else the Styles family requires him to do. 

It’s an easy job for excellent money. He gets paid every fortnight, one wage nearly double what he’d make a month at his old job. 

That’s not even the best part. The staff get their own quarters in a sectioned part of the manor where they will stay full-time with no rent to pay. 

Politely, he smiles at all of them as they introduce themselves before it’s his turn. He laughs good-naturedly when Charlie comments on how happy he is to finally have another man in the house. 

Louis assumes he means another male worker because Mr Styles lives here too.

Was he one of those poncey people that never interacted with their staff? Had all that money and inherited ego rotted his morals? 

“Is that everyone?” He asks, a little doubtful. 

Nora nods, beaming. “We’re a small bunch, but we all have our roles and fit into them well.”

“No, I mean… what about the Styles? I met Mr Styles earlier, but… isn’t there anyone else?”

At his question, the room grows tense. The staff glance at each other, keeping secrets. Except for Nora, whom Louis is slowly coming to learn seems to have the final say. She is the oldest, after all, more of a mother figure than a colleague. He keeps that in mind so he doesn’t disrespect her, though he knows he won’t struggle; her kindness and the warmth in her eyes reminded him of his mother instantly. 

“Is there something I should know?” He prods, surveying the four of them.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Nora says gently. “You’ve already met Mr Styles, haven’t you?”

Louis nods, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He notices how the others are watching him, all their kind words and easy smiles have turned into looks of apprehension. 

“There’s only one more person you’ve got to meet.”

“Just one?” He asks, brows raised. “A house so big for only two people?”

Aysha nods, opting to stay silent. 

“Now that we’re finished here, you’re all free to go,” Nora excuses them. “Louis, come and follow me.”

He leaves his bags by the counter, glancing once more at the others before he follows Nora through the hallways, in awe of the high ceilings. Every part of the manor is unreal. The floors are made of shiny tan oak, with not a single scuff mark on the floor. He scoffs as he realises that they’d most likely replace the wood if there had been. 

Louis can’t believe people live like this. 

The front room is enormous. Two leather couches sit across from each other, coloured warm coffee brown. The Persian rug beneath is cream and patterned with hints of maroon, so intricate it must’ve been handmade. There’s a fireplace that Louis doubts has ever been used. Potted plants sit at the corners of the room, real plants that are most likely tended to every day. The coffee table is rustic, and there are more little tables by the wall, holding big lamps. The sun contributes to the warmth of the room. It hues the white walls gold and accentuates the colour of the rug and couches. Sprawled on the far wall, a wide-inch TV. 

They leave to enter the front room. On each side, a staircase crawls up against the wall, curling in on itself. 

“The West Wing is where Mr Styles resides. If you’re looking for him, it’s easier to take these stairs. The East Wing has guest rooms, the library, and the nursery.”

Makes sense. This would be a family home.

“What else is on the West Wing?”

“The study, but we’re not allowed in there without permission.”

Louis nods. 

“The house is connected.” Nora goes on, climbing the stairs. Louis is by her side, listening. “Even if you take the stairs to the West Wing, you just need to walk along here to the East side.”

“Crazy, isn’t it?” He mutters. 

Nora looks over at him, laughing. “The beautiful things money can buy, eh?”

He nods. “Imagine having all this money to yourself? I’d never complain again.”

Nora presses her lip together, the glint in her eyes fading. “We all say that, don’t we?”

Louis keeps quiet and doesn’t say much more, hoping he hasn’t offended her. She leads them through dwindling hallways; the view through the windows is magnificent. He hadn't noticed it when he rode past in the taxi, but not far from the house, where the tall cluster of trees is, there’s a big lake. The view goes on for miles, fresh green crops of grass all nurtured as spring slowly creeps in. 

“We’ve got to be a bit quiet,” Nora hushes.

He doesn’t question it as he presses his lips together. They come to a stop in front of a door. Nora looks at him, fingers hovering over her lips before she reaches for the handle. Louis’ not thinking, more focused on proving that he can listen. That he’s right for this job. He can still hear the sharp sniffles and shaky voice of Mr Styles in his head and worries that he’d upset him; worries that he might lose this job for upsetting the boss. So, he’s got to prove himself.

It’s all forgotten when the door they’re standing in front of opens and he’s taking himself inside, staring at the patterned wallpaper. Once again, it’s cream, but the patterns on it are different. Muted, dusty pink roses are brandished on the wall. The carpet matches the one downstairs, Persian style, but this one is in different shades of white and cream, no maroon at all. The curtains are light and bunched to the sides, and the thin net has been pulled instead to soften the sunlight. There’s a small armchair in the corner and a dresser beside it. And there, against the wall, the star of the room: a strong, luxurious, white oak crib. 

Louis’ mouth dries. 

“A baby?” He hisses, dragging his eyes up to look at Nora. 

Her sights are fixed on the baby as she approaches it. “This is Anais.” She smiles, pulling him closer by his wrists. 

Louis inches closer, blue eyes finally settling on the sleeping girl. His eyes widen, “How old is she?”

“Three months.”

“What’s she doing in that?” He frowns. “She should be in those little hamper cots. The ones you can set by your bed. She shouldn't be here alone. She needs her parents.”

“Shh,” Nora lulls. “We know, but there’s not much we can do when we’re working, so we check on her every half hour. Between the four of us, we have a schedule.”

“What?”

“We do four hours each, two checks an hour, scheduled out between us.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s alright, you don’t need to. The schedule took a while for us to get used to.”

“N-no, not that.” His brows knit together. “Where are her parents?”

“You met her Mother.”

“Mother… are you talking about Mr Styles?”

“Yes, that’s her mother.”

“And her father?” He asks, in trepidation.

“We can talk about this downstairs,” Nora assures. “Let me wake her up.”

“Now?”

“Yes, it’s time to feed her.”

Louis gulps hard, staring at the tiny bundle in the cot. What kind of parents did she have? He didn’t know a thing about the father, but the mother was… crazy? 

Perplexed, he watches Nora carry the small bundle in her arms, talking quietly. She walks in circles on the carpet, gentle as she addresses the girl, slowly easing her back into consciousness. 

Finally, when she wakes up, Nora beams at the little thing, ushering him closer to get a look. 

“Babies are so precious, aren’t they?”

Louis agrees, staring at her intensely. Even though she’s so young, she’s powerful. Just like her mother, she’s got green eyes. They’re framed by thick lashes, and she coos every so often, staring at him. Her lower lip protrudes, bright pink like a rose, and it trembles just like her mother’s.

“Oh, no, Anais. This isn’t a stranger, this is Louis. Say hello, Louis.”

She looks at him, frightened, and Louis can’t blame her. She’s only a few weeks old, left in the care of strangers who could never nurture her as well as her mother.

Nora holds the baby to her bosom and starts taking the stairs. Louis rushes to her side, ensuring they make it down safely. She thanks him, careful with the tiny body in her arms as they reach the final step of the stairs. 

“What’re you going to do with her?”

“She needs to be changed before we feed her.”

Louis doesn’t ask about the girl's mother anymore. He accompanies Nora. Whilst she makes the bottle, he’s perched on a chair with Anais in his hands. The little girl doesn’t approve; she squirms in his hands, crying every so often until Louis rocks her. Eventually, they settle into a routine. Louis circles the kitchen island, rocking her back and forth until she hums happily, big emerald eyes fixed on him. 

“Here, hand her over.”

Louis nods, but Anais isn’t happy about the abrupt change. 

“Oh.” Nora rubs her hands together. “Maybe that’s a good thing. You’ll need to get used to each other.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “What for?”

At this, she looks a little startled. “You are aware of your job role, right?”

“Yes,” he nods tersely. “I’m in charge of the manor.”

“Well, yes,” she nods awkwardly. “But… Mr Styles didn’t say anything else?”

“Like what?”

He hands the little girl over, aware that she’s murmuring unhappily at the change, but it’s that or the chance that Louis might drop her. And he’s not risking his job. 

“You’re all speaking in riddles,” he starts, getting worked up. Scratching his neck, he tries to compose himself. “My apologies, it’s just… I’m confused.”

Nora looks at him pityingly. “Sit down, Louis.”

He looks at her warily. “Are we going to talk?”

She nods, reaching for the bottle, testing the milk on her hand before she feeds little Anais. 

Louis looks between the two as he waits for answers. 

“Things here aren’t as you’d expect them to be.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let’s start with your job.”

He nods, clearing his throat, “Alright.”

“You're employed to maintain the house.”

“Sounds about right.”

“I’m the chef.”

Louis nods again, frowning, “Well, I did manage to figure that out.”

“Hear me out, Tomlinson.” She replies a little more firmly. 

“Sorry."

She brushes it off, tilting the bottle a little higher now. Expertly done. Louis keeps an eye on Anais.

“Even though my job role is being the Chef. I do my share with Anais. I go to the markets and buy things the household might need, even though we have Aysha. On days when Mr Styles needs extra help, I offer my services straightaway.”

“Okay…?”

“This isn't just a job, this is a dedication. To the Styles family.”

“Why, though? Who are they?”

“It’s not about who they are, not for us. For us, it’s about loyalty and love for Mr Styles and his daughter.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. In the job description, there was nothing about committing myself fully to the family. Who are they? The Royals?”

Nora sighs. “You’re new, it’ll take you a while to get used to things. But you should know that Mr Styles has had a rough few months. Months that no one should ever have to experience. Especially like this.”

Louis can understand that. He licks his lips, voice sombre as he asks, “Mr Styles is no longer married?” He assumes that’s the case if he hasn’t been introduced to his partner.

“Not anymore,” Nora says solemnly.

“He’s quite young,” Louis deduces, “And he’s been left all alone with his daughter. Is that why he’s so closed off? He was crying earlier—” 

“It’s not my story to tell,” Nora interrupts. 

Louis blinks, “You’re right.” Drawing circles on the marble counter, he looks back up at her. “So, my job? What does it actually consist of?”

A small smile rises on her lips, glad that Louis’ understood the gist of things. 

“House maintenance remains the same. You’ll be on call whenever someone needs help or can’t work for the day. You’ll manage the home affairs. Any internal or external issues fall on you.”

“Like plumbing issues. Roof fixes, etc?”

“Yes, I’d suppose so.”

“What did the old maintainer do?”

“We’ve never had one.”

“What?” Louis echoes. “So… what did you do?”

“We never needed one,” Nora informs. “We moved to the country house six months ago and decided we’d appoint one if things started getting out of hand.”

His eyes grow wider, “You’ve only been here a few months?”

“The house was always Harry’s.”

“Where were you located earlier?”

“New York.”

“New York?” He utters. Skyscrapers, big domes, green statues, and flashy billboards come to life at the front of his thoughts. “So, what are you doing here?”

“The Styles Family, well, Harry, that’s your boss by the way, wanted a fresh start. They moved back here for the birth. He wanted to raise Anais where he’d spent his childhood. This was the only place he felt safe enough to come back to.”

“And in the States… you didn’t need a maintainer there?”

“The family lived in the city. Different penthouses based on where they worked.”

He whistles lowly, “Rich people, eh?”

“So, now that we’re at this manor, we’re all just trying to find our way around things.”

“What else would I be doing?”

“Well, I imagine if Harry were to throw events or parties, that would fall upon you.” 

Louis can’t disguise his horror at that, and surprisingly, Nora chuckles. She holds Anais close, nearly done with the bottle.

“There’s nothing to worry about there. Harry won’t be throwing any for a while. And if he were, he’d most likely take full rein. You’d just have to assist.”

He takes her word for it, exhaling loudly. “Then, I guess everything sounds right.”

“Actually,” Nora’s lost her smile. The wrinkles on her face are ever so present now that a frown mars them. Louis holds his breath. “One of the main reasons we needed another person was for her.”

“Who?” He asks dumbly.

“Anais.”

He blinks, eyes flitting down to stare at the baby.

“Anais?” He repeats. 

“Yes,” she confirms. 

“What about her?”

“We all work together. We can cover a few of your roles here and there… but what we really need is someone who can be hands on deck.”

“What about Harry?”

“It’s Mr Styles, to you,” she reminds.

Louis flushes, “Apologies. Why can’t he look after his daughter? You’re… you’re joking, right?”

“Louis, do I look like I’m joking?”

He winces, taking in her stern features. “You want me to look after someone else’s baby?”

“You won’t be alone.”

“But that wasn’t in the job description.”

“Then, you can leave.”

He blanches, “B-but this is my job.”

Nora nods. “I’m sorry that it’s not what you were expecting. But I assure you, all four of us will be helping you along the way. You’d never be alone or without help. Mr Styles… he needs us to do this for him.”

“What happened to him?”

She shakes her head sadly, “I can’t tell someone else’s secrets.”

Louis grinds his teeth together, lips pressed tightly as he nods. “Right.”

“Do you want to watch me burp her? Or will you settle in?”

“Settle in, thanks,” he snides rather snarkily. He knows Nora can hear the edge in his voice.

“Okay. You remember where your room is?”

Louis nods, rising up from the stool. He takes a heavy breath, gathering his bags again. Taking a final glance at Nora and the baby, he wants to say something, but is there any point? He needs this job. Starting with strained ties will only make things harder, won't it? And when he looks down at the baby, he feels guilty. It’s not like any of this was her fault. If anything, her parents were to blame—and this weird little system these people had set up to try to extract any of the blame off of Mr Styles. Louis grumbles moodily, rounding the house to take the back stairs.

No wonder they’d given him a room upstairs. He was the new childminder.

⋆☾⋆

The manor at night is terrifically stunning. The outside lawns are brightly lit with lights and lamps that stream light as far as Louis can see. Every flower pot, every inch of grass, every bush and tree is coated in the luminous gold light that blazes from the house. And inside, it’s even more magnificent. The long hallways are coated with shadows.

He dines alone in the big kitchen, perched on the edge of the large counter. Nora comes in and out, engaging in small talk whenever she can, but she’s busy working. Louis asks about the others: Nora says Aysha is with Anais. She’s not sure where Charlie is, just tells him that in the evenings, every so often, he leaves the Manor for a few hours. Lilith is in her room.

When she returns, she asks, genuinely interested, “Are you used to dining with others?”

“Yeah, Mum’s always had us sit at the table together.”

“That’s really nice,” Nora smiles. “How many siblings?”

With a mouth full of chicken, “Six of them.”

“Six?” 

Louis laughs, reaching for his glass of water. “Big family. You learn to love it.”

“You’re the oldest?”

“Yeah.”

“So, you’ve got experience, then.”

“With?”

“Children.”

He eyes her, “Well, most people do, yeah.”

There’s pity in her eyes as she stares back at him, “I know it seems like a lot has been thrown on you.”

“It’s not that,” he starts, putting his fork down. “Why wasn’t I at least told? What am I meant to do with her… I’m not her father.”

“She hasn’t got a father,” Nora frowns. “The sweet girl doesn’t know what it feels like to have a mother’s love, either. She’ll need it more now that her father’s not here.”

“Mr Styles doesn’t love his daughter?”

Nora shakes her head, “I’m sure he does. You didn’t see him when he found out he was pregnant. He just wouldn’t stop buying things or talking about her. He was the happiest I’d ever seen him.”

“So, he wanted her, then?” 

Nora dismisses his rude tone, perhaps sympathising with him and the unfortunate situation he’s found himself in. 

“He loves her.” She confirms, leaving no room for argument. “He’s just struggling.”

“With what? Is it… is he depressed? What is it? Postpartum depression?”

“It’s really not my business to say,” she lets him down softly. Then, she places her dishcloth on the counter. “All I know is that the world hasn’t been kind to him. He had all these dreams and so much love, and now he’s changed, he’s different, and Anais is suffering because of it, too. I know you’ve got no obligations to Mr Styles, except for working for him, but that little girl has no part in this. She’d be alone in this world without us.”

Louis pushes his plate away, having lost his appetite. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” he mutters.

Nora nods at him, lips pressed together.

“Are you okay for Aysha to retire for the night?” She must see the questions in his eyes. “Usually, she does the night watch on Mondays.”

“Oh,” he scratches his stubble, overwhelmed. “When does ‘night watch’ begin?”

“When the rest of your jobs are done.”

“Oh.”

She reaches into her pockets and pulls out a shiny set of keys with a blue tag hanging from the circular keychain. “These are your set of house keys. Be careful, don’t lose them.”

He reaches for them, nodding professionally. 

“Everyone’s got a set. Blue is yours, red is Charlie’s, pink is Aysha's, green is Lilith's, and mine is yellow.”

He mumbles it back to himself, filing the information away. 

“At the end of each day, you’ve got to check around the Manor to lock all the windows and doors. I showed you everything earlier. Will you be okay with it?”

“Yep.” He clasps the keys tightly, the metal ridges dig into his palm. 

“Goodnight, then.” She smiles, gathering his plate and cutlery.

“You don’t have to do that.” He says, bringing his glass to the sink. “I don’t mind washing up after myself. The food was lovely, thank you.”

She grins now, refusing his help. “We all have our roles, don’t we? This is what I do, and I have no problems with it either. Go on, get to work. You’ve got to wake up early tomorrow. Anais always goes for a walk as soon as she wakes up.”

“When does she usually wake up?”

“Early,” Nora chuckles. “It varies with her, but she’s naturally an early riser.”

“Would I…” he hesitates. “Would I have to dress her and feed her?”

“Usually, yes. But tomorrow I’ll be there to show you the ropes.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, grateful.

“Louis, you’ll be okay. You’ve got experience, and she’s a good baby. Hardly ever cries or complains, she’s the sweetest thing. Takes after her mother.”

He nods slowly, wondering what could have happened to change the man so drastically.

“Goodnight.”

“Night, Louis.”

⋆☾⋆

The Styles have a dozen doors to check, and even more windows. It takes him a good half an hour to finish checking everything. It’s his first day, and most importantly, it’s not his home. So, he double-checks everything again because he’s been trusted with this. He might not necessarily care for Mr Styles, but he has been employed by him, and good money is going into his pockets. Also, there’s a little girl in the house Louis’ got to mind. And he wouldn’t say he’s exactly paternal, but he is an older brother, and the eldest son to a single mum. Protectiveness, especially around children, comes to him naturally. 

Louis decides he wants to shower before he retires for the night. As he walks past the little girl’s room, he thinks he’ll stop to let Aysha know that he’ll be another ten minutes. It’d be the polite thing to do.

Knocking gently on the white painted, wooden door, Louis peers in. The front of the room is empty, but he hears Aysha call to let whoever’s inside. They’re by the window. Louis hadn’t checked this room, leaving it for last with his own room.

“Hey,” he greets, approaching the pair. 

Aysha is pretty. She’s younger than Nora, but much older than him, perhaps the same age as his mum. She’s got jet black hair tied back in a bun, and eyes like honey, vivid and bright against her warm, olive skin. 

She smiles at Louis sweetly, ushering him inside. “Did you need me?”

“Um, actually, I wanted to talk.”

She nods, waiting patiently. 

“Nora said you usually watch Anais on Mondays?”

“I do.”

“It’s my job now, so you can rest, I guess. I just wanted to ask if you mind keeping her for another ten minutes while I shower?”

“That’s fine. I don’t mind at all. Shall I dress and change her for you?”

“That’d be a big help.”

“Perfect. Then you’ve just got to set her down after feeding.”

He nods. “Do I stay here with her?”

“No,” Aysha laughs lightly. “There’s a room right through there.” She points at a door Louis hadn’t noticed before. “It’s the room we stay in whenever we stay up with her because ours are too far. But your room is up here, next door, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you don’t need to stay in that one.” She walks over to the small chest of drawers and picks up a small white device. “This is her baby monitor. You can take this with you and you’ll be able to keep an eye on her from there.”

He takes it from her, inspecting it. “This’ll be helpful.”

“She’s a good girl. Once she’s settled, she usually sleeps through the night.”

He sighs, apprehensive. “Let’s hope she’s good for me, then.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” Aysha assures.

He leaves her, feeling a little more comforted by their talk. 

Dress her. Change her. Feed her a bottle and burp. Then, put her down.

Not tonight, but for the rest of them. Easy enough.

⋆☾⋆

When Louis returns, he can’t push the trepidation of failing the little girl aside. Anxiety plagues him, leaving him on edge with shaky fingers and overactive thoughts.

It’s just him and Anais.

Aysha is long gone. Her bottle is done, fresh and warm, handed to him the moment he arrives. Louis dims the light and switches on the lamp. It’s an old, fancy piece he reluctantly admits he’d spent too long figuring out. After drawing the curtains, Louis picks the baby up from her cot and cradles her close in his arms, seating himself in the armchair. 

Quietly, he feeds her, studying her features. She looks like her mother, Mr Styles. His tear-stained face is all Louis remembers of him, the shiny garnets he had for eyes shimmered just as brightly to match the jewellery draped over his neck, the bands embracing his fingers, and dotted on his ears. 

Louis runs a delicate finger over her hair, staring awkwardly at the girl who’s got her big eyes fixed on him.

“Anais,” he whispers, learning the shape of her name. “Posh, isn’t it?” Louis feels daft, but she’s listening, and it feels nice to be heard, so he goes on, wondering if what people say is true—that babies really do understand things. 

He wonders how she feels about her mother's absence.

Eventually, she seems to settle. Louis attempts to burp her while she’s half asleep. Then, he sets her down into her cot, thumbing her tiny feet, contemplating his new job requirements. 

Before slipping out of her room, he switches the lamp to the lowest setting and makes sure the baby monitor is set up and working, making himself familiar with the controls. He leaves the door ajar. Staring down at the monitor, he wonders if Anais ever gets any surprise visits from her mother, unknowingly. He guesses he’ll find out tonight. 

⋆☾⋆

Louis only gets three hours of sleep before he wakes to Anais’ loud shrieks. They echo from the monitor, but she’s so loud her cries seep in through the walls, rattling through his ears. He groans, pressing his face harder into the pillow, but it does little to help; she’s only getting louder. It’s his job to make sure she’s alright, so he starts to get up. It doesn’t sit well with him either, leaving her alone to cry. 

He slips the door shut behind him, so her sobs don’t wake up anyone else, though he wonders if Mr Styles would come to help if he could hear.

Louis’ looked after children before, sure he has, but it’s unsettling and a little nerve-wracking to deal with one he’s only just met. He doesn’t know her, what she likes or hates, what makes her giggle and smile or what scares her at night. Gently, he picks her up from her cot, still in awe at how little she is. So young. This period was vital—the most important time—for mothers and babies.

Where was her mum?

“I’m here now, Anais.” Louis circles the room, rocking her gently, but she’s upset and uncomfortable.

For someone so young, she’s got a strong set of lungs, and it’s starting to give him a headache. He stands by the lamp, trying to distract her with the shapes that light up the wall; then he picks up one of the plushies, a cream coloured rabbit with a pink nose and ears. She looks at it, lower lip quivering, before she cries again, and Louis sighs, holding her closer, so she’s nestled in his neck. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” 

He wonders if it’s colic, but she’d been burped earlier. Nora hadn’t made him aware of any underlying health issues. Rubbing reassuring circles onto her little back seems to help.

“Shall we go on an adventure?”

She’s still crying, leaving the neck of Louis’ old t-shirt damp, but she’s quietened down a little, so he shuffles along, taking her outside into the hallway. Compared to her room, it’s much darker out here, though every few meters a lamp has been switched on to keep the place bright enough. Humming quietly, he starts to cross the large hallways. 

Louis starts talking to her, describing the walls and paintings that hang on them. 

“This is your home, Anais. It’s so big and so lovely, and it’s all yours. Look here,” Louis begins to describe his view from the window. “What I wouldn’t give to have a garden this big when I was little. You’re a lucky girl, Miss.”

She blubbers now, crooning into his skin; Louis exhales loudly, relief evident on his face. He creeps further along the hallways, humming reassuringly and mumbling every so often. He remarks some more on the garden, and then about his dreams, talking to her as if she’s not as young as she is. He feels stupid at first, but it works. “Getting sleepy?”

Licking his lips, dry from all the rambling, Louis decides to prolong their walk a little longer so that he can make sure she’s absolutely settled. He rounds the floor, entering the silent West Wing. He supposes there’s no harm in it; he’s only keeping to the corridors. The change here is unsettling. Firstly, things are personalised. 

Louis’ eyes fall upon a dresser scattered with photo frames. He inches closer, tightening his grip on Anais as he reaches for one, inspecting it. It’s Mr Styles and his husband. Harry is smiling in it, huddled into a taller, equally handsome man. They’re beaming at the camera, and he looks like an entirely new person. No longer the mysterious, brooding Mr Styles, but Harry. Just Harry. There’s hope and light in his eyes, colour in every inch of his clothes, and Louis notices the blouse is more on the feminine side. He looks nice, though, confident and proud. Louis places the frame down and looks at another. 

It must’ve been a big event because Harry and his husband are dressed well in this photo, and Louis hates that he thinks Harry looks good. He’s in a dress for starters, a black number that does wonders for his body, and he’s smiling with the sun in his eyes, shimmering light all over the panes of his face. Next, he focuses on the man next to his boss. Shiny teeth on display as he grins, clear olive-toned skin, and a strong arm wrapped around his husband, Harry’s, waist. He looks nice, a little odd, something distant in his eyes. But his inkling of interest turns bitter because this was a person. A real person with a family he’s left behind. He should be here, holding his daughter—not Louis. 

Placing the frame down, Louis ventures onwards. He adjusts Anais in his arms, set on returning to her room when he hears it, soft and hollow and gut-wrenchingly sad. 

Looking around, he notices he’s not far from Harry’s room. Then, he understands. 

Now that he knows what and where the sound is coming from, he can’t pass it off as anything else.

Harry is crying. 

Muffled by the large door that separates them and acres of space, no one would hear a thing. The Manor is enormous, after all. Anais starts stirring, too. Can she hear it? Can she sense it? Does she want her mother?

Louis turns away, hushing quietly, so the girl doesn’t start crying again. He needs her to sleep, and he doesn’t want to get caught snooping in the long hallways. Turning his back on the quiet sobs and darkness, Louis returns the pair to the other side of the house.

⋆☾⋆

The next morning, Louis wakes up to the sound of his alarm. Stretching out under the covers, he savours the few minutes. Sunlight spills in through gaps in the curtains, painting his room with warmth. It’s nearly eight, and the day is bright, and he wonders how today will play out. However, his little bout of peace is short-lived because Anais stirs. He can hear her gurgle from the baby monitor on his nightstand. Groaning, he rolls over to take a look. It takes minutes for her to start crying, and Louis sighs, dragging himself out of bed.

Their morning is eventful. 

Louis is caught up in his head, trying to soothe her, but it’s not as easy as it was last night. Amidst it all, Nora joins him. She calms the little girl down in minutes, rocking her on her hips as she shows Louis where all her clothes are kept. Then, Nora leaves to do her bottle and finish breakfast. He dresses Anais, leaving her to lie down in her crib, staring up at her mobile as he quickly readies himself for the day.

Breakfast is a little easier. Anais is strapped down, safe in her pram, quiet and sweet. Louis keeps her close to him as he finishes his breakfast, sipping on tea as he discards the crust of his toast onto the ceramic plate. She waits patiently for him to finish so they can go on their walk. When he’s done, he runs through the things in her carry-on bag with Nora again. Dressed in thick blue denim jeans and a black knitted polo, Louis doesn't think he’ll need a jacket. 

He lugs the bag over his shoulder, then pushes her pram out towards the door. 

“Just follow the path,” Nora instructs. “If you stay on it, you’ll notice you’re only walking in a circle. Come back when you both feel comfortable, we usually keep it between thirty to forty minutes. She likes her walks.”

Louis nods, hands wrapped tightly around the handle. The pram is fancy. There’s a little compartment for him to put Anais’ bag in, which he hadn’t noticed before. He slots it in easily, sliding into his shoes before he bids goodbye. 

Now, he’s walking past groves of trees, tan skin toned and warm under the spring sun. He watches Anais quietly. He doesn’t have much to share with her today, so he watches her quietly. Her green eyes never stop roaming the world above her. Louis pulls up the roof of her pram at an angle so the sun doesn’t blind her or breach her delicate skin. She can still take it in; her awe and curiosity almost humbles Louis. He follows her gaze, looking at thin branches with bright green leaves and tufts of candyfloss clouds; it makes him pity her. So young and so lonely. Brought to a big, wide world only to be left alone.

For a reaction, he calls her name gently, the little girl recognises the call. She stares at Louis, and he’s never noticed just how smooth her tan skin is, or how big her eyes are, but he does now, and he watches her quietly. He wonders what she thinks when she sees him.

The more they walk, the more Louis learns about the land that the Styles’ live on. It’s brilliant, and he’d be jealous, but today he feels differently. He thinks about Harry. What fool pays so much money to hire a man to walk in circles with his daughter, and fix a perfectly new house? On his tour yesterday, he’d noticed that the house was in perfect condition. What could he possibly be needed for other than to be a glorified babysitter?

He dwells on that fact as he rounds the path, staring back at the house that seems so far away. Something else distracts him, so Louis ventures closer. 

Hidden behind a cluster of trees and bushes is the lake Louis had spotted earlier. He thinks he sees something else, tall and dark, but with a blink of his eye, it’s gone. Maybe a bird. He ventures closer: sunlight shines off its surface, a thousand glistening crystals shimmering in place of the water. A few ducks bob on the water, and two swans. Other than that, it’s relatively empty, and it's beautiful. Louis parks the pram by a tree and leans down to carry her. With a strong arm supporting her head, he rests her against his chest and approaches the lake.

She’s comfortable in his arms, head tilted to see what she can. Louis stands to the side so she can take in the lake. Humming quietly, he starts up a gentle rock, rubbing her back softly and basking in her scent.

The sun is gentle, and the world is warm, and for the first time since his arrival, Louis thinks he can work with the cards he’s been dealt. 

“Anais, are you looking?” Louis turns his neck, wants to see what she can, and he sighs. “When you’re older, you can spend all your days playing here, sweetheart. And your Mum… I think he’d like that. He’d be very lucky to have such a sweet girl like you to be there.”

He talks to her some more, quiet whispers that are only for her ears, until something much louder distracts them from behind. Louis’ grip on her tightens in response, and he turns over, rather surprised to see the girl's mother, Harry, standing there like a ghost under the shade. Today, he’s dressed just as sharply as he had been on their first encounter. In a navy, almost black, pinstripe trouser and a black blouse with swoopy, wide arms. He stands quietly, chewing on his lips. And when he speaks, his voice is more delicate than Louis would presume for someone who’s so entitled. 

“Good morning.”

Good morning? Louis frowns. It’s never that simple. Still, he nods, remembering all he’s been told and the events of last night. Harry stands eclipsed by the thick branches above him, never venturing forward. Louis nods his response.

“I thought I’d find you outside.”

“I’m taking Anais on her walk.”

“Right,” Harry keeps working on the muscles of his lips. Blooming red carnations on his pale face. Is he even aware of his daughter's routine?

To be polite, Louis steps a little closer to the man, away from the lake where his green eyes are fixated. Anais stays quiet in his arms, blissfully unaware of her mother’s presence. Or maybe she is—he’d never know.

“Did you… What are you doing here?” He asks.

Harry turns to him, head tilted to the side as he thinks. It’s awfully awkward, Louis fidgets on his feet. 

“I never got to introduce myself.” The man speaks up, still as gentle as ever. “Properly,” he squeaks, cheeks colouring crimson. 

“Are you going somewhere?” Louis asks.

“What? No. I’m not. Why?”

“Well, you’re dressed… never mind. Introductions, right. I’m Louis, as you already know.”

“I’m Harry.”

“Hi, Harry.”

There’s not much to say, and both of them know it. Louis turns to face the lake. It’s strange how their second meeting feels as if Harry’s the one intruding, a stranger to both Louis and Anais. This isn’t Louis’ home, or his family. Yet, Harry’s the one estranged.

Amidst his thinking, he glances up at his boss and frowns. Mr Styles, or Harry as he can now say, is looking out at the lake, wearing a pensive expression. Louis pities him.

He extends an olive branch, placing his prejudices aside. “Are you feeling better?” 

The fancy-looking man peers up, scratching his brow bashfully. His rings glint under the sun in a show of wealth. “Uh, yeah. I am, thank you. How is… how are you getting on, Louis?”

His accent is posh, now that Louis can really hear him speak. Not American like he’d expected, and it’s almost comforting. He drolls slowly, pronouncing every last letter of Louis’ name. His question is harmless, but internally, he can’t help but scoff.

“Fine, thanks.”

“Did you get on with Nora okay?” When Louis nods in response, Harry continues. “She’s really helpful.”

“She is.”

At Louis’ resistance, Harry licks his lips, anxious, “And how… how is…” his words falter.

When he glances over, he notices the green eyes fixed on Anais.

“How is what?” Louis probes.

Harry doesn’t utter a word. Instead, he motions towards the girl in his arms with a jerky nod of his chin. 

“Your daughter?” He asks rather briskly.

At that, Harry takes a step back, nodding. Discomfort is written all over his face.

“She’s fine. Doesn’t seem to mind me much, which is good, seeming as I’m her new minder,” Louis looks at him pointedly. 

“Well, that’s good,” Harry mumbles, stepping further away. 

“Were you going to tell me?”

“I was, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong, Harry. I came here to mind your house, not your daughter!”

“I’m sorry.” He starts, green eyes wide in alarm. His gaze flits between Louis and his daughter. “I just... I needed someone here for her, and I liked your application. You said you were a family man, had six siblings. None of the others even filled out the ‘More About Me’ section or the 'Favourite Food' one. I thought I could trust you with her.”

“Well, you can’t. I don’t know her. She’s not my kid. I don’t… what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Louis. If you don’t want this job, you can leave, and that can be the end of it. I’ll pay you for this month, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“No.”

“Oh… is that not enough?” Harry frowns, nibbling on his lips. “I could do you two months?”

“No, Harry.” He snaps impatiently, “I need this job. You’ve lied and brought me out here to work; I can’t go home empty-handed. They’re all counting on me.”

Despite his frustration, he’s got a firm hand supporting Anais’ head as he rocks her. Harry seems to show some inkling of interest; his eyes never stray far from his daughter, wincing every time Louis talks. 

“If you’re so worried, come over here. Hold her. She woke up crying today. Did you know that? Where were you? Hold her, Harry.”

“No, I can’t!” He cries in a sudden outburst. Louis blinks in surprise, venturing closer and—there are tears in Harry’s eyes. Spilling down his cheeks in sharp, crystal shards, glinting under scattered rays of sunlight. Sniffing quietly, Harry pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket, the sight of it makes Louis roll his eyes as he dabs at his tears. “I can’t. I can’t look after her.”

“You can. You’re just scared.”

“Stop it, Louis. Stop it. You don’t know.”

Anais bursts into tears, shrieking louder than Louis’ ever heard her. His grip on her tightens instinctively. Harry looks like he’s seen a ghost, swallowing hard as he stumbles back. 

“Where are you going? She’s upset, come here.”

“So fix her!” Harry blubbers, drying his tears. 

“She’s not a doll, Harry. She’s a baby.”

“I employed you to look after her. I… I can’t do it.”

“Why can’t you? You’re her Dad!”

“Mum.” Harry presses, carding his curls back nervously. “I… I like Mum.”

Louis eyes him again, eyes scanning him from head to toe, a little in disbelief. Harry won’t even hold her, but he’s got preferences about his name? How ludicrous.

He’s not got time to scorn at him because Anais keeps crying. Rocking her against his chest, Louis desperately hopes it’ll calm her down. They walk in circles; he alternates his gaze from her to her Mother, who’s stood not far with pinched brows, chewing at his nails like Louis isn’t handling a baby but a demon.

It’s comical, almost, how stressed Harry looks. 

“I think she wants her Mum.” Louis tries again, lightly, approaching him but Harry shakes his head in denial, hands up in surrender.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll teach you, it’ll—”

“No, I can’t look at her.”

“Harry, she’s yours.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say!” Harry exclaims, words hanging in the space between them. “She’s…” he stutters over the words, as if they’re covered in tar, sticking thick on his gums, intrusive. “She’s mine, I know. But I can’t have her. I can’t—I can’t be her Mum. I’d hurt her so much more, I’d ruin her life.”

Louis blinks, shocked at the confession. Holding Anais close, Louis softens his tone, “Harry, you wouldn’t do that.”

“You don’t know,” Harry spits damply, shivering under the shade by the tree. Louis can see his fingertips dig into the bark, his rings glinting under the few specks of light that reach him between branches. “I already ruined her life.”

“How have you done that?”

“You don’t know,” Harry cries, breaking down. Louis feels inexplicably bad for him; he can’t figure out why.

Harry’s rich. Harry’s selfish. Harry’s so fucking pretty. Louis wants to—he doesn’t know what exactly he wants to do to Harry, but he knows he wants to hate him. He’s jealous and bitter... but right now, he wants to comfort the pitiful man. 

“Harry,” Louis looks for the pram, torn between putting Anais down to reach Harry. But he can’t because she needs attending to, and if he were to approach the man with his daughter in hand, he’d scare him away.

Choices, choices.

And Louis doesn’t have to make a single one because Harry leaves. Brashly drying his tears, handkerchief forgotten on the floor as he drags his palms over his eyes before he’s gone. Louis loses him under the shade, wistfully watching as his figure gets smaller and smaller. He approaches the spot Harry once stood, and bends down to retrieve the small linen square, tucking it away in his pockets. 

“You and your Mum are both the same, aren’t you?” He sighs, looking down at Anais’ damp face. “Crying your eyes out to me. What do you want me to do, eh?”

She gurgles sadly, and Louis can’t help but press his lips to her head in comfort. Their first walk together had started lovely but ended in disaster. There’s always tomorrow, he tells himself, walking back to the house with the sad girl curled up in her pram.  

⋆☾⋆

The rest of the day is better, Louis would like to say. 

He settles Anais down for a nap in her room after feeding her. Then, he starts work on the garage outside. He’s got her baby monitor propped on the big box that holds the gardening tools as he sweats under the sun, cleaning out what Charlie and Lilith don’t need. 

By midday, he’s shrugged out of his polo, just in his denim, squinting under the sun at Nora, who approaches him from the big house with a glass tray.

“How’s work?”

“Fine,” he shrugs. “That for me?”

“It hasn’t been so warm like this in a while, I thought it was the perfect day to make lemonade.”

“You made this?” He asks, brow raised. 

The glass is pristine and shiny, the lemonade clear and bubbly. A clean-cut slice of lemon is perched on the rim, and the straw that bobs in the liquid is a light blue. His mouth waters.

“Yes, tell me how it is.”

The drink is sweet and tangy, quenching his thirst. He swallows nearly half before he parts from it to praise her.

“You must’ve been thirsty, you know you can eat and drink on the job.”

“Yeah, “ he nods, embarrassed. “Time just flies by, doesn’t it?”

“I’ll go and get the jug, finish this.”

When she returns, she’s also holding a water bottle, which she sets down beside the baby monitor. “Just in case.”

“Thank you.” He looks down at his glass. “Are you always this nice to your staff?”

“Yes, I’d say so,” she laughs. 

“A whole jug is a lot.” He comments, smiling.

“Well, you deserve it, don’t you? Besides, you’re so young, I’ve got to coddle you a bit. You could be the same age as my son.”

“Have you got kids?”

“No,” her smile fades as she settles herself on the brick. Louis puts down his glass. “I can’t have children.”

“Oh,” he settles down beside her, looking down at the bright green glass. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I’ve had a long few years to get over it. Harry’s filled that spot for me. And now we've got Anais.”

Louis nods, smiling with her. He wonders how she must feel seeing Harry so down all the time, afraid to mother his daughter when that’s something she can’t have. 

“You remind me of my Mum, she always brought out drinks for us in the garden when we were young. I used to have my friends over every week, she’d do us a picnic.”

“That sounds lovely,” Nora smiles, voice tender.

“Hm, it was. I miss those days. I’ve seen the way you are with Anais, you’d have been a good mother.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, reaching over to squeeze his hand. 

The moment passes, Louis lets her sit in it for as long as she likes until she breaks it. “How was Anais today?”

“Moody, grouchy,” he thinks back to the morning, “she was alright at first, but then she just kept crying.”

Nora nods, a small frown on her face. “I checked on her before I came out. She’s still sleeping but should be up soon. Hopefully, after you’ve had your lunch.”

“Harry came out to see her, too. I think that unsettled her more. Do babies really know who their Mums are, as in, how do they—”

“Harry went out?”

Louis stops rambling to look at her. Nora’s dark eyes have gone wider. 

“Y-yeah. By the lake, he was standing there watching us.”

“He was?” She looks at him, disbelief scrawled all over her face. “You went to the lake? What did he say?”

Louis winces, thinking back to the harsh words tossed and the tears that had been shed. “I, um, not much. We argued a little—I tried to get him to hold her, but he wouldn’t. He was crying. I-I didn’t make him cry, well, not that I know of,” he defends himself, not sure how Nora will react.

“And then what?”

“Oh, um,” Louis digs his fingers into his jeans. “Then, he left.”

Nora sits still for a moment, looking out at the large stretch of land that is the garden. Hedges of trees close it off towards the back, and if you round the garden, the grass merges into marble tiling, leading to an open conservatory and a pool. Louis will have to check on that soon. 

“How was he with you?” She inquires.

“I don’t know… sad? We didn’t talk much, Nora.”

“He’s never gone out on one of her walks.”

“He hasn’t?”

“Harry likes to go on walks. He’s always out by the lake, even when the weather takes a turn for the worse, he’s out there. Can’t tell what he’s thinking… what goes up in his head. And he knows we take Anais out in the mornings, so he always waits. Never gives himself the chance to see her.”

“Doesn’t he? Maybe he thought my schedule would be different?”

“Maybe…” but she doesn’t seem to believe it.

Louis doesn’t either.

When he thinks back, he remembers Harry standing there watching them. Hunched over in his own body, small and uncomfortable, like he hadn’t wanted to be there, but something had made him. He’d kept the distance between them: staggering back clumsily like a doe, eyes wide in earnest, shimmering with unshed tears. No one had brought him out, but something had kept him there. 

“I think…” he bites his lip, thinking hard. “I think he’s got it in him. He clearly cares about his daughter… we’ve got to do something about that.”

Nora’s eyes light up, her dark skin stretches to accommodate all the hope simmering in her smile. Louis looks at her, he doesn’t understand the love she has for him. But it’s family. What kept the world running. Family was strange, it was weird and messy and crept up on you sometimes when you least expected it. Somehow, Nora had found a small family in Harry, who had taken her in, and his daughter, who is the furthest away from knowing what that feels like.

Small, mismatched, and strained. But still, family. He wonders if that’s how the others feel. 

He might never know what it feels like here, but he’s had years of love with his own. He thinks about Anais and won’t let it be taken for granted.

“Will you talk to him?” Nora asks. “Maybe, that’s what he needs. A friend. Someone his age who’ll understand, he’s been so lonely.”

Louis nods, but inside he’s sceptical. They’ve got nothing in common.

Friends? They haven’t even had one proper conversation without it ending in tears.

Friends…? What a feat.

“I’ll try to.”

“Thank you, Louis. I knew it’d be a good idea to bring someone new here. Harry needs a friend. Since he married Arthur, he’d closed himself off, given up all his friends to fly across the world, and my old boy still hasn’t returned.”

Louis blinks, taking in all the new information with an overactive mind. “How long have you been with Harry?”

“Since he was 18. He’d moved out of his family’s house and needed someone to maintain his apartment. Since then, I’ve been following him all around the world on his trips and jobs, then when he wanted to marry and now… well, here we are.”

“What about his family? Why’s he here all alone if he’s got family?”

“Harry’s always had a complex relationship with them, but after he got married, it got worse. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Louis, I want you to understand. Harry can be a good parent. He’s the sweetest boy who’s had it hard. He just needs to remember again.”

Nora leaves him with his thoughts and the nice jug of lemonade. While Louis works, he’s got all sorts going on in his brain. 

Somehow, he’s got the responsibility of looking after Anais, looking after this mansion, and trying to figure out who exactly Harry Styles is. 

⋆☾⋆

After dinner, he tries again. Wandering the hallways like a lost ship at sea. Thankfully, Nora has taken on his duty of feeding Anais and settling her for the night. As a precaution, if his pursuits take longer than they should, he’s got the baby monitor clutched within his fists. He bumps into Charlie, who’s busy filing things away into the cupboard under the stairs. 

“Good day?” The older man asks, a friendly smile on his face.

“Yeah, it was alright. How was yours?”

“Same old. She keeping you busy?” He eyes the monitor in Louis’ hands fondly. “She’s a little ma’am.”

Genuinely, Louis chuckles, “She is. I’ve never heard of a baby who’s got an entire household of staff rotating around her like a clock, forcing them to take her on walks at the crack of dawn.”

A gruff laugh falls from Charlie’s lips as he readjusts the cap on his head. “Deserves it though, doesn’t she?”

“Mm,” Louis thinks hard. “Does she take after her mother, then?”

“Definitely,” Charlie says, quick to agree. Interesting. “Anyone who meets Mr Styles is soon wrapped around his finger, too. The only one immune to him was Arthur. He’s the only one who could get Mr Styles to do anything.”

“Arthur?” Louis knows who he is, but he puts on a show. He’s far too nosy for his own good.

“Mr Styles’ husband.”

“Oh? You’d think he would be the first to give in to H–Mr Styles’ whims?”

“Yeah, but they were always odd.”

“How come you call him by his surname and not, mind my bluntness, Harry?”

“Respect for Arthur. I worked for his family before he married Harry, and then, well, here I am.”

Strange, Louis thinks. Why stay with Harry if you were Arthur’s first?

“What happened to—”

“I best be going,” Charlie heaves, adjusting the tools on his belt. “It’s getting late and my daughter’s expecting a call.”

“Oh,” Louis deflates, studying Charlie’s demeanour. “Goodnight,” he bids. The man nods, mumbling one back before he excuses himself.

What was it with this anonymity?

Whilst Louis goes about the house, locking the doors and windows, searching for Harry, he doesn’t expect to see someone outside. From where he stands, overlooking the front of the house from a window on the second floor, he has a broad view of the lake. There stands a tall figure draped in black, standing by the lake where he’d been just this morning, but further from the house. Parts Louis had been too cautious to take Anais. The sight is eerily enchanting. Trees blazing to life from the breeze, branches collectively pointing North, and so do the robes on the figure: long, dark fabric swaying in the breeze.

Above, the sky burns orange, fire fizzling out. There’s no one Louis knows that would go out by that lake in clothes like that. He doubts Lilith and Aysha would waste their evening standing in the cold night after a long day of working, and Nora should be with Anais. None of the neighbours would come onto the Styles’ private property.

He doesn’t think anyone here owns such fancy clothes either.

It’s Harry, dark and beautiful, mourning like every widow the poets write about.

But he’s not a widow, he’s just been left lonely in a wide, wide world that was once his. Now, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Louis finishes checking the rest of the house in record time, quicker than yesterday, because not much is used in a home that belongs to a sorrower. Then, he slips outside, instantly regretting the fact that he’s just in a thin t-shirt against such billowing wind.

With narrowed eyes, he crosses the black fences that surround the house, then he abandons the clear pathway, feet trailing through grass that rapidly thickens. In the dark, the cluster of trees appears more alarming. There are more things to look out for: fears over Harry, how he’s going to confront the man, and how he’s going to find a way to help.

It all leads down to Louis and the stresses surrounding this job—he can’t risk this. 

What greets him first is the sight of the river, a bleak sheet under the night’s spell. Then, it’s accompanied by the sounds it makes and the air it dampens, raising goosebumps on Louis’ heated skin, extracting a grimace. 

Minutes later, Louis’ here. Standing metres from the ghoul that is Harry.

Taking him in properly now, sharp eyes raking Harry’s long figure. The black gown that encases his body hides his silhouette. The sharp cut of skin between the collar of his neck and where his curls begin is stark, the skin ghastly white. His hair, which is usually honey-coloured, is jet black. The material of it looks to cost more than anything he's’ ever worn in his life, softer too. Silky, shiny… gliding down his body in ripples. 

He’s got to snap out of it, but it’s hard. Harry’s standing in a woman’s nightgown, looking more exquisite than anything Louis’ ever seen. Making him feel more than he’s ever felt in his life. 

He doesn’t know how to approach him; how to break this bubble of darkness that traps him in its haze.

Mr Styles? Harry? Excuse me? Hello?

What shall he say?

Trapped in a cold sweat, Louis scratches at his skin, “Harry…”

Harry doesn’t move, not even an inch. It transports Louis to that moment they shared on the porch: Harry pressed against the door, hiding sobs. 

“Harry, it’s cold out.”

“Louis, go inside.”

Hollow, that’s what Louis thinks. Cold, and sad, and empty. Lifeless. 

“Harry,” he tries again, coming closer. “What are you doing? Does anyone know you’re here?”

“Louis, just go.”

“I can’t. I’m meant to—I’m here to help, Harry. I’m here for you, so just… just come away from the lake.”

“I don’t need your help. You can’t do anything that’ll stop this.”

“Harry,” Louis gets closer, rubbing at his bare arms in his thin black polo as the breeze picks up. “Tell me what it is; it can’t be that bad.”

Silence from Harry makes him reach out with a tentative hand, resting on his shoulders to turn him over. Louis’ stumped by the sight of him. 

So ghostly, so delicate, so beautiful.

So, so achingly desolate. 

Under his gown, Harry’s in a little satin nightdress. The colour reflects the darkness that haunts his mind, resting halfway down his thighs, so short, showing off the long sweeps of pale skin on his legs. There’s more. His palms, his knees, his neck, all bared to this cruel world, withering away without any warmth. Louis can’t help but reach forward, fingers grazing the thin jut of Harry’s waist as he pulls the gown tighter around his body, tying it with the ribbon. 

“It’s so cold out,” Louis mumbles, feigning normality. “So cold, you need to stay warm.” Over the silk, his hands run up and down Harry’s forearms.

“We need to go inside.”

“I don’t want to,” Harry tremors, eyes shiny. “I want to stay here."

“Harry, you’re not in the right clothes. It’s too cold, what if it rains?”

Harry turns away from him, fixing his sullen gaze back on the lake. Louis wonders what he sees. 

“What’s there, hm?”

His lips tremble, is he about to speak or cry?

“I want to be alone.”

“Ha—”

The baby monitor in his hands lights up. Beeping red as Anais’ cries reach them out here. 

Sharp as lightning, Harry’s head whips over, eyes locked onto the monitor. Louis looks down at it too, eyes wide as her shrill cries cut through the fog. He’s been so stupid.

“Take it away, make it stop,” Harry begins. “Stop her crying, Louis. Turn that off.”

“Sorry,” he fumbles with its setting, frazzled mind struggling to find its switch. Soon, the crying stops. Silence again. So silent, Louis’ haunted by Harry’s sniffles. He looks up into cracked emerald stones, heart sinking. 

“She’s crying,” Harry mutters again. “You need to check on her.”

Louis swallows thickly, “Will you come with me? N-not to check on her. You need to come back, stay warm.”

“No.” Harry turns away completely, his back to Louis. 

It's a sinking ship, Harry won’t listen. And he can’t stay out here any longer. Anais needs him. 

He wants to speak up, say something, but what?

There’s nothing else he can do but turn away. The wind crackles as he jogs back to the house, his throat itches, and the tips of his ears tingle. When he steps inside, the difference is drastic. Heat has the blood under his skin instantly thrash against his veins, burning him inside out. 

He takes Anais into his arms, rocking her back and forth as he crosses the landing to the window. The lack of light in her room makes the scene outside that much clearer, and he can still see it. Standing outside like a candle in the wind…

Harry, in his gown, crying out to a world which won’t listen.