Chapter Text
When Louis woke up on a blustery Sunday morning in early Spring, it was to find that someone had written inside of his journal overnight.
Such a revelation might have made sense to Louis’ tired mind if he’d had a partner, or a lover, or even a roommate staying somewhere else inside of his studio apartment. The unknown handwriting could have been a message telling Louis that its owner would be out for the morning, or was making a run for breakfast and coffee with the hopes of returning before Louis awoke. As it were, one glance around the space showed Louis that his door was still locked and deadbolted, his windows were closed and locked from the inside, and the balcony door had remained steadfastly shut while he slept.
For a moment, Louis considered panicking. From where he was sitting up in bed, the second entry in the recently acquired notebook was clear to see. The ink was black where Louis refused to write with anything but blue, the cursive scrawl so different from Louis’ own quickly-scribbled letters that the scripts couldn’t possibly be mistaken for one another. Even though Louis had yet to pull on his glasses he knew that something was wrong.
In what was a potentially underthought movement that felt more cautious than it actually was, Louis took a deep breath before ducking his head over the side of his bed in order to look at the space underneath–one of the only hiding spots inside of the apartment where someone who’d broken in would be able to keep themselves from being seen.
“That’s where that sweater went.” Louis’ voice rang out inside of the quiet apartment as he righted himself before standing. That answered that question. The only other closed-off space was the bathroom, the cheap apartment located in the middle of the city not even offering a closet. But one cursory glance around the small room off of the living area and a quick, partially terrified pulling back of the plastic shower curtain showed that Louis was right in his assumptions. He was alone.
So who had written in his journal while he slept?
There was only one way to find out.
It was slow going for Louis, making his way across his apartment and towards where he’d left the journal, still open, on his coffee table overnight. The notebook had been something of a mystery to Louis since he’d acquired it some days before, when Louis had found it perched precariously on the branch of a tree that laid along his usual walking path on the way to work.
After curiously knocking the book down from the tree and finding that its pages were entirely empty, it had only taken a few moments of contemplation for Louis to convince himself that he had found it for a reason and to justify taking what could have been someone else’s for his own instead.
Since then Louis had been avoiding writing inside on the notebook’s pages, torn between the thought that journaling had to be good for him and the idea that things that were good were, more often than not, also incredibly difficult. So the journal had remained on Louis’ coffee table completely untouched until the night before, at which point Louis had been presented with the perfect opportunity to write about his feelings.
As most irritating things in Louis’ life tended to be, it was Harry’s fault in the end. Being the only one with magical abilities in their friend group, Harry had the bad habit of showing off his powers under the guise of helping others. But Louis knew the truth. Harry was just a big-headed asshole who used his magical abilities to make himself feel powerful and grand, all things he had apparently needed the night before while helping a cat from a high branch of a tree while he, Louis, and the rest of the lads were on their way out of a local bar.
The situation had all felt a bit on the nose for Louis, who watched on as Harry used his magic to rescue the kitten from its place inside of the tree and returned it to its crying owner. Louis hadn’t been able to stop the petulant jutting out of his bottom lip while the other guys clapped Harry on the shoulders before continuing on, and when Harry looked into Louis’ eyes as though seeking out some form of the approval he had never gotten from the shorter of the two, Louis only scoffed and continued on.
Frustrated by the attention and adoration that Harry was always managing to demand for himself when they were all together as well as a little tipsy from the evening out, Louis had gotten home with full intentions to get into bed and sleep off his irritations. Instead Louis’ eyes had been caught by the dramatically decorated leather-bound journal that laid on his coffee table. The small emerald that was inlaid in the binding winked at Louis in an indication that he should pick up a pen and write. It worked.
Sighing into his dark apartment, Louis had picked up the cheap blue BIC pen he always used and settled down with the journal on his knees. What he wrote then wasn’t artistic by any means. A quick complaint about Harry and his self-aggrandizing use of magic, a wish that the night with friends could have ended in a different way, and an utterance of the desire to sleep well and without pause, Louis’ entry couldn’t have been longer than a single paragraph.
With all of this information in mind, the Louis of this morning hesitantly approached the journal that had far more than his own writing in it now that the sun had come to rise. Leaning slowly over the pages and peering down at them as though the book might come to life and try biting him, Louis took one look at the quality of the cursive writing offered by the pages and conceded. Sitting down, he pulled the journal towards himself and read the second entry.
Louis,
I was intrigued this morning upon opening this journal to find that someone had already written inside of it. Having recently purchased these pages with the understanding that they were all entirely blank, you can imagine my surprise to find that someone had filled part of a page. Someone other than myself. Someone not of this place, or time.
Assuming that my words will appear for you in the same way that yours have appeared to me, I apologize for any fright I might offer you in advance–that is, if you feel how I did when discovering that my journal is not mine alone. However, I could not stop myself from writing.
After much thought and a historical distrust for strangers, I’m afraid I must ask. How do you mean ‘2023,’ right there where you signed your name and the date? And, if you would, how did you come across the journal which, if I understand correctly, is a direct line to the one I hold in my very hands?
I have only just begun to understand my own abilities as they pertain to magic. If I had more knowledge, I would dissect the truth of these pages on my own. As it is, I must ask for your help.
Curiously and cautiously yours,
E. March 21st, 1623
Louis read the entry once. Then he read it again. His fingers traced over the words as though he might still find them to be wet, instead discovering that they were perfectly dry and imprinted into the page where a nice pen’s tip had scratched its mark into the paper. His index stopped over the signature, the elaborate ‘E.’ that had been inked onto the page. Finally, Louis let his eyes linger on the proffered date.
For a moment, Louis’ world threatened to stop spinning.
Then he scoffed, closed the journal, and set it aside. So much for pretty notebooks found on the way to work.
Deciding that the journal was nothing but a prank that had been set out by someone who had some semblance of magic, Louis tucked the book away underneath some outdated magazines he was slowly tearing to pieces making collages and filters for hand-rolled cigarettes. If he had the energy some day, Louis would pick up his pen again and tell off whoever was on the other side of the book for giving him a scare. Until then, Louis was planning on putting the pretty handwriting out of his head. It was of no use to him.
So the day continued on. Running a little behind his usual schedule because of some practical joker, Louis only had time to get dressed and grab a protein bar to take with him to work as a measly form of breakfast. If Louis stared and scowled particularly hard at the tree that had presented him with his journal while speed-walking to work, then no one needed to be the wiser.
Getting to the grocery store where he spent the majority of his waking hours, Louis was immediately hit by the smell of stale air and vegetables that had been sitting on the shelves overnight. Within moments the journal was out of Louis’ head, replaced instead by the misery that was a nine hour shift with nothing but a thirty minute break somewhere along the way to break up the monotony.
Clocking in and Louis had a split second of warning when the door to the break room opened before he was being jumped by a blur of red-uniform-top and bleach-dyed blond hair. Louis couldn’t stop the disgruntled noise that left his throat when he was pulled into a hug as though he and his assailant hadn’t seen each other the night before, his eyes widening cartoonishly until he was let go.
“Yeah yeah, good morning to you too, Niall,” Louis greeted, rolling his eyes at the laugh that was instantly let out by one of his closest friends. Niall knew that Louis didn’t particularly care for hugs when he wasn’t expecting them, but was also fully aware of the fact that he could get away with just about anything in Louis’ eyes. Hence the way that he was always greeting Louis when they got into work at the same time.
“Hey grumpy,” Niall replied, reaching around Louis for his own time card so that he could punch in. The words almost got another eye roll out of Louis astonishingly quickly, though he managed to refrain while he turned to face his friend instead.
“Why grumpy? I’ll let you know I’m in a very pleasant mood, thank you.” Louis’ insistence only got Niall to laugh again, the two heading out of the break room and towards the produce fridge where they were lucky–or incredibly unlucky, depending on Louis’ mood–to work together in the same department.
“Are you sure about that?” Niall asked, one of his eyebrows quirked knowingly in a way that only irritated Louis that much more. He had known all of his friends plus Harry (who Louis didn’t consider as falling into that category) for years by then, enough time that allowed all of them to read Louis better than he wanted to be read. He would have to practice putting up some walls, Niall looking at him as though he was seeing all of Louis’ deepest secrets through his eyes alone.
“You were a total sourpuss when we were leaving each other last night,” Niall commented after greeting some of their coworkers who Louis only vaguely smiled at. Maybe he was being grumpy. He wouldn’t admit as much to Niall, at least. “Let me guess. Harry using his magic to help that kid get her cat from the tree made you feel like the Grinch on Christmas, am I right?”
“Shut up before I make you, stupid fucker,” Louis returned. Niall cackled while he grabbed a box of strawberry packages to refill what had gone missing over the course of the morning so far.
“So I’m right, am I?” Niall insisted. Louis’ lack of response was a response in and of itself, Niall nodding to himself more than anything while he continued filling up his cart in order to get on with the job. “You know, your little one-sided hatred thing is getting old. Fuck, deja vu! How many times have we told you to just get over it? And how many more times before you start to listen?”
“At least a couple thousand more,” Louis returned in a grumble. There was no part of him that wanted anything to do with Harry, their semi-friendship that was a result of their forced proximity to each other already too much for Louis to stand. “Besides, what do you mean ‘one-sided’? I’m pretty sure he can’t stand me, either.” For a moment Niall looked at Louis as though he was a lost cause, his head shaking slowly in a way that Louis completely ignored before he was continuing on.
“Right, right, yeah, he hates you too. Whatever. So, can you get over it soon? We’re supposed to hang out at Liam’s this weekend, and you always manage to ruin the mood when we’re getting drunk.” Niall’s insistence made Louis’ temples ache, and he dropped one box of lemons on top of another in order to rub at his forehead in frustration. His morning had already been far too long, and he’d only been at work for ten minutes.
“You know I resent that,” Louis muttered, missing it when Niall shook his head disapprovingly. “You always act like I’m the one who’s culpable when he’s the one who acted like an asshole to begin with. Besides, it’s not like–” Louis was cut off by the sound of the fridge door being swung open by their boss, whose face all but turned red from the sight of Louis standing without any product in his hand. Not a particularly pleasant man at any time, he had always had it out for Louis more than anyone. Louis assumed it had something to do with homophobic stereotyping, which was rich considering that Niall wasn’t straight either, but regardless of reason Louis always seemed to get the short end of the stick.
“Tomlinson!” The man shouted, stomping ever closer. “I catch you not working on the clock one more time and I’m writing you up.” Everyone present knew it was an empty threat. Louis had been working at the store for years, and there were no real grounds to fire him. Either way Louis found himself nodding, eyeing Niall before grabbing the previously-dropped box of lemons.
“As I was saying,” Louis started when their boss had disappeared once more, grabbing the handles of his cart so he could push it out into the store. “It’s not like anything’s going to change. Face it, Harry and I just don’t get along. That’s all there is to it.”
A few days later, the get together at Liam’s apartment proved Louis’ words to be true.
Getting to Liam’s place meant toeing off his shoes at the door, accepting the cocktail that Louis pretended not to know that Harry had mixed, and interacting with everyone but the magical being himself. Between Niall, Zayn, and Liam there was quite a bit of distraction to be had, but there was no avoiding it in the end. Louis knew he would have to talk to Harry eventually, no matter how long he tried to push it off.
Still things managed to go smoothly for a time. Niall and Zayn cooked a dinner that everyone ate gathered around in Liam’s small living room, the apartment admittedly nicer than Louis’ own though it was still relatively inexpensive where city life was concerned. Then it was time for the real party to begin, Liam going into his stash of weed and preparing a few joints with Zayn’s help for the friends to blaze through as the night went on.
Everyone involved worked long hours, including Harry who had opened a store some years ago in the pursuit of his dreams. It was a building that Louis had only entered on a random occasion, and never for long. Being dedicated to all things magic, Louis didn’t have any need or desire to enter the space–having long since sworn off all things ‘Harry,’ which turned out to mean magic itself. Just because it existed in this world and could be harnessed by some of earth’s inhabitants didn’t mean that it was entirely necessary, if Louis were to be asked.
As a result of the long, neverending quality of life, the entire friend group was in need of a break every now and then. That’s where their frequent hang outs came into play. They usually managed to be a source of relaxation for all of the lads, though perhaps Louis less than any of them as he always managed to wind himself up with something Harry said or did. The current night turned out to be no exception.
Louis was in the kitchen trying to pour himself another drink when he realized that he wasn’t alone. Having accidentally ashed his cigarette inside of his cup, Louis was in need of a new one. And he wasn’t short, but those few inches of difference that existed between himself and Harry made a difference in some circumstances. Such as reaching the nice cups that Liam kept on the top shelf of his cabinets for some reason, as though he specifically didn’t want Louis to be able to reach them.
Louis was just starting to get frustrated when one of the glass cups quivered slightly, moving closer to the edge of the shelf slowly before, finally, falling directly into Louis’ outstretched hand. Louis didn’t need to turn around to know who had made such a phenomenon happen, though he whipped towards Harry regardless. Looking at him with a deep frown Louis crossed his arms over his chest, the glass still clutched in his hand though more angrily now than it had been before.
“What was that all about?” Louis asked, knowing that whatever Harry said in response would just continue to make him mad. It was something of a self-feeding cycle after all, one that neither party could escape from. Harry would do something nice, Louis would accuse him of having done it for negative purposes, Harry would deny Louis’ feelings, and on and on they went until they’d exhausted themselves for the moment.
Harry didn’t respond immediately, instead raising an eyebrow at Louis as though considering whether or not this conversation would be worth it. He was more often than not the one who decided that he preferred not to argue at all, or who backed down when Louis was being stubborn. For a moment it appeared as though Harry wasn’t going to bite. Then his eyes ran down Louis’ body in a move that might have been suggestive if Louis didn’t know that Harry hated his guts, and something appeared to change his mind about laying off on fighting for the evening.
“I was helping you,” Harry replied in the way that he always spoke. Slowly. Too slowly. Irritatingly slowly, Louis already resenting whatever form of communication was about to take place between the two of them. Vaguely he could hear Niall uttering something along the lines of ‘here we go again’ from the living room, words he was likely not meant to hear and which, as a result, did nothing but upset Louis further.
“And who exactly said that I needed your help with this?” Louis asked, watching while Harry bit back a smile. It was so antagonizing to Louis, the way that Harry would always smile or laugh partway through their fights as though he wasn’t taking Louis seriously at all. As if he already knew that he had won, when Louis liked to think that Harry had never won before at all.
“Sometimes you don’t need to say it, Louis.” Harry started to turn around while he spoke, Louis’ eyes going wide as he was so clearly dismissed. “I can just tell.”
Louis hated the implication there. The thought that Harry could read him, or knew absolutely anything about him. Maybe they had known each other for years, and maybe there were countless interactions between them that would have turned into friendship for anyone else. Like the time that Louis got too drunk at a club and Harry was the one to get him off the bathroom floor and drive him home. Or the time that Louis had sprained his wrist at work slinging boxes of bananas, and Harry had been the only one to ask if he was okay next time the group went out to dinner.
Through it all, Louis couldn’t help despising him.
There was a possibility that it was just stubbornness, something that Louis desperately needed to get over in order to make his own life, as well as the lives of his friends, that much easier to handle. But then Louis would remember why he disliked Harry so much to begin with, and all of the old frustrations would come flooding back in until he was picking another petty fight, never to end the cycle.
It had started at a house party some years before. Louis had just decided not to go through with university after a long few months of struggling with the idea of moving forward with his future, getting his job at the grocery store instead as a means of paying the bills. Needing an outlet for some of the exasperation he was feeling towards life as a whole Louis had instantly agreed to go to the party when Niall invited him–with a promise of free beer and an introduction to some of his other friends, it hadn’t been difficult for the bottle blond to convince Louis to come along.
Reaching the party had been something out of a dream for Louis, who had been seeking a release without success for weeks by then. It had caused an excess of emotion to build up in his chest, all feelings that were threatening to burst forth in unhelpful ways were he to continue on without gaining some sort of perspective. That was what he was searching for from the party: a promise that life could be worth living, even when it was hard.
Meeting up with Niall, it had only taken Louis a few minutes to disconnect from his friend in search of some alcohol and maybe a smoke if he could get his hands on it. That brought him to the kitchen, where a myriad of people had gathered with the same intentions as his own. Louis was in the middle of pouring himself a couple shots’ worth of vodka when he heard a familiar voice from his left, where he turned to find an old friend of his, Kate, talking to a stranger.
Planning on approaching the woman, Louis stopped himself short when he understood what exactly the conversation at hand consisted of. Through body language alone she was clearly flirting, Louis standing back and eavesdropping while he slowly added juice to his cup. He would take the entertainment where he could get it.
“I was just wondering if I could get your number?” Kate asked eventually after a few painful minutes of her flirting with the man across from her. Louis could already tell that he wasn’t particularly interested by the sort of responses that he’d been giving, which admittedly made it all the more intriguing to hear the situation play out. Still, Louis couldn’t prepare himself for the bluntness of the response that was given within moments.
“No,” came the simple word, Louis’ head turning towards the two just in time to watch his friend’s face fall. “I’m not interested. Sorry.” In an instant Louis’ eyes met the green ones offered there, the stranger’s own widening just slightly before he schooled his expression into something cool once more.
“Hey,” Louis stepped over when he saw the blush spread over Kate’s face. She looked mortified, like she wanted to disappear from the room and never return. Louis knew what that could feel like and it wasn’t good, which influenced his willingness to get involved. Besides, he had nothing to lose.
“You don’t have to be a dickwad about it,” Louis explained, offering a one-armed cuddle to his friend who hadn’t been expecting to see him in order to offer some sort of comfort. “If you’re not interested that’s fine. But you can still be nice.”
“Oh, um. I–” The stranger that Louis didn’t know was named Harry began, but Louis cut him off by shaking his head.
“I rather think you’ve said enough, haven’t you? Curly headed fuck.” With that Louis was leading himself and Kate from the room, taking her outside where they bummed a smoke off of someone and shared it with their heads leaned towards each other. Thankfully by the time they were parting ways Louis had gotten her back to laughing, some of the tension that had arisen between their bodies having disappeared.
It was upon getting inside that Niall approached Louis excitedly, grabbing his arm in that overly-affectionate way he could sometimes act. “Just the guy I was looking for!” Niall exclaimed, dragging Louis into the living room. “I told you I wanted to introduce you to my friends. I just got them all gathered. You’re the only one who’s missing.”
Through everything Louis could appreciate Niall’s enthusiasm. For that reason he allowed himself to be pulled into the fullest room of the building, where Niall’s friends were waiting on them in one corner. Looking forward at the men who were expecting them, Louis’ eyes went from Liam at first, then to Zayn. Finally they fell on–
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” It was Louis’ way of introducing himself, everyone looking back and forth between where Louis was frowning and Harry was offering a large, sheepish grin.
“Oh,” Niall began. “So I guess you two have already met.”
“Yeah,” Harry replied, his eyes tracing up and down Louis’ form for the first time. “We have.”
Years later, Louis had neither forgiven nor forgotten. Having pegged Harry as a mean guy who only ever pretended to be kind to trick others into liking him, Louis absolutely refused to move on from how he felt about Harry as a whole. It could be true that he was only being stubborn, but Louis wouldn’t let himself care. Not when Harry always insisted on using his magic to help others and make himself the center of attention regardless of time or circumstance.
It was what had Louis following Harry petulantly into the living room on the current night, the glass in his hand long since forgotten. Everyone’s eyes but Harry’s own traced his movements as Louis followed the taller of the two into the larger space, his eyebrows drawn together in that classic indication that he was mad.
“What the fuck do you mean, you can ‘just tell?’” Louis asked, ignoring the way that Zayn scoffed something irritated around the joint he was smoking at the fact that Louis was doing this again . “You can’t tell shit about me, jackass. Besides, yo–”
“Louis,” Zayn interrupted, earning Louis’ gaze landing in his direction. “Stop talking and sit down before I stick my cock down your throat to shut you up myself.” Louis’ mouth opened and then closed, Niall and Liam laughing while Harry passed an intense look in Zayn’s direction. He didn’t seem to think that the joke was particularly funny, though Louis wouldn’t give him any props for that truth regardless.
“I fucking hate all of you bitches,” Louis replied, his frown never disappearing. “And you most of all.” Louis gestured towards Harry while he laid out these final words before turning towards the kitchen once more. If he was going to get through another minute with his friends, he was going to need a drink to do it.
…
Getting home that night, Louis was equal parts tipsy and annoyed with the friends who had refused to let his little, one-sided argument with Harry die with dignity. Instead he had been the butt end of all of their jokes but Harry’s himself until Louis’d had enough. At which point he pulled on his shoes, grabbed his coat, and headed from the apartment with nothing but a middle finger passed off to the remaining four over his shoulder.
Louis had every intention of getting into the shower and then going to bed once he arrived, his blanket calling his name while he stripped and got under the poor water pressure offered by his apartment’s bathroom. Yet as he got out, dried off, and pulled on a sleep shirt and some boxers, Louis couldn’t quite help the magnetic draw he had to get the feelings he was experiencing off of his chest where they were festering against his better wishes.
It had been days since Louis put the first entry into his found journal, days since he’d woken up to find that someone had responded. Since then he’d ignored the notebook where it sat on his coffee table, pretending all the while that the magical object wasn’t inside of his home at all. Now, with some liquor on the mind and curiosity coloring his fingertips, Louis couldn’t quite help himself. Not when he plopped down on his couch and reached for the journal. Opening to the first pages revealed that far more than the first two entries were there.
Whoever was on the other side of the journal was waiting for him to come back.
Louis,
I am sorry if I’ve frightened you. I understand that magic is not welcomed by all. Perhaps I should have left you be.
E. March 22nd, 1623
Louis,
I reread your first entry. This ‘H’ character about whom you’ve written does not seem particularly pleasant, if your descriptions of him are true. I would love to hear more, were you to grace me with that gorgeous script of yours once again.
E. March 23rd, 1623
Louis,
I do not know why I feel compelled to continue writing. I fear, for your sake, I must stop. Our meeting, though brief, was magical.
E. March 25th, 1623
Unable to stop the little laugh that left his lips at the compliment in the second letter–Louis knew that his handwriting was atrocious, whoever had written being far more polite than they should have been by referencing it as ‘gorgeous’–Louis finished reading the few short entries that had been scrawled through the notebook.
He wouldn’t be able to explain away the sense of sadness that overtook him upon reading the final entry, but it was what forced Louis into action. Though it took a few minutes to find the pen that had been making its way through his apartment, within time Louis managed to sit down with the journal perched on his legs once more.
For a while Louis didn’t write, transfixed by the idea that there could truly be someone on the other side of this journal who was from a different time. Though there were still the suspicions that had led Louis to avoiding the journal thus far, there was also a deep part of him that wanted this to be true. Bored in his life how it currently was and missing out on daily pleasures outside of the time that he spent with family and friends, Louis was curious. About what the world could be like if he opened himself up to new experiences, new people, and new possibilities. That, after all, was what this journal could be offering him. If only he tried.
Torn between the desire for change and the fear of change itself, Louis stared down at the way the eloquent cursive had penned his name. The penmanship made him feel beautiful in a way that Louis might not have ever experienced before, and it was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Yet it was exactly that which had Louis shifting his blue pen in his fingers, reaching down for the page so that he could adorn it in his own hand.
E,
I’m sorry for not writing. I wasn’t afraid…Or, maybe I was. But I’m here now, so maybe it doesn’t matter either way.
To answer your questions, I really do live in the year 2023. I found this journal while walking to work and decided to try writing in it. And, yes. The H I mentioned is very annoying. As are all of my other friends because they always take his side.
I don’t know how any of this works more than you do. I’m not a magic user, and it’s not something I’ve ever tried to understand. But it’s possible we don’t have to understand. We just have to write.
Just as curiously yours,
Louis March 28th, 2023
P.S.
What’s it like in 1623, wherever you are? I’d like to know.
Satisfied with what he’d written, Louis reread the entry before settling the journal on his coffee table for the night. He had no idea what to expect from this E. Whether they’d write again or not, whether they would be pleased that Louis had written at all. There was no way to know until their reply either did or did not appear within these blank pages.
Deciding that this was all far more than enough excitement for one evening, Louis used the late hour in the night as an excuse to get into bed. He had work early the next morning and had to get there on time or else his boss would have his head. If Louis was being honest with himself as he so rarely was, then there was another reason for the swiftness with which he got into bed. He was hoping, more than anything, that he would wake up to a reply waiting on him inside of the journal. But Louis wasn’t quite used to hope. Not yet. So he shoved that particular thought from his head, letting his mind wander as his head hit the pillow before he was overtaken by sleep.
…
Louis,
I am so thrilled that you decided to write to me. I have been told that I can be ‘intense’ when excited, and I cannot refute the excitement that coursed through me upon reading your first entry, and your most recent one as well. I will try, for both of our sakes, to maintain this intensity at an all time low.
I must insist on the truth of my existence in the year of 1623, which I suppose for you feels distant enough to be nothing but a dream. I am located in Great Britain, where I was born and have been raised. The politics of the time are abysmal, and I should not bore you with them. Rather I would say that the art is masterful, poetry is thriving, and mind-altering chemicals are easily consumed.
It is a time to be alive. Good or bad, I should let you draw your own conclusions.
How would you describe the year in which you exist? And, dear Louis, in what year were you born? I was brought into this world in 1595. I understand that, to you, that must make me impossibly old.
I shall leave you here. I am with too much time and not enough company, but I should refrain from making as much your issue any more than it is mine. This being said, I am also an honest man. I await your reply with bated breath.
E. March 29th, 1623
Louis’ mouth was agape where he was sitting on his couch, staring down at the entry that had been left for nobody’s eyes but his own. Having woken up some minutes before, Louis was left to believe that the words drawn on paper were nothing but a figment of his own imagination for a time. Then he had finally gotten out of bed and gone to read what was left for him, which brought Louis to the current moment. Already running behind schedule, eyes glued to the page, his heart racing in his chest.
Because what ?
If the things Louis was reading were true, then he had come across a magical journal. Such an object might not have been so strange even to someone like Louis who could not practice magic himself, and yet it was the very connection that was offered by its pages that were stunning Louis into silence. Not only was the man writing to him through the enchanted pages from a different time, but he was kind as well. Thoughtful so far, perhaps more than Louis was used to.
It was the sort of cosmic change that Louis needed. Even if he refused to admit as much just yet.
Glancing at his clock that was glaring at him in a warning to get up and leave for work sooner rather than later, Louis ignored whatever was happening in the back of his head while he picked up his pen instead.
He didn’t even know what he wanted to say. Couldn’t imagine what was the best thing to express to someone who no longer existed, and who couldn’t conceptualize the world as it existed for Louis–Louis who couldn’t help the stunned laugh that left him when he read E’s birth year. 1595. It felt like a joke.
And yet, Louis couldn’t help feeling that this was the most honest experience of his life.
E,
I don’t have a lot of time this morning, but I’ll try my best.
I was born in 1996. The world as it exists right now is very colorful. Yet at the same time I wouldn’t say it’s so different from how you described your world, either. There is a lot of art, and music, and writing, and drugs. I don’t know how much more I should say. I don’t want to ruin history by telling you too much. Haha.
Louis scratched the back of his neck before continuing, unable to think of how this exchange worked much more beyond what he had seen in films regarding time travel, and the issues that could come about from changing the past too much with information about the present. These thoughts influenced how he went on, Louis picking each word specifically.
I live in a place far away from where you are, though I don’t have the language to describe it to you. I didn’t do very well in history class in school, so I can’t think of what you’d call this place in the 1600s. Just know that it’s very different from how I’d imagine it to be when you were alive. Or, shit. Are alive. Just know that we call it the US, which I won’t try explaining to you. Not just yet.
This is weird, isn’t it?
I’ll leave you here. Partially because I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this. But also because I have to go to work. What do you do for work? I sell fruits and vegetables. I’d love to get to know you. If you’d like to do the same.
Louis March 30th, 2023
…
“What the fuck am I doing this for again?” Louis could tell even as he asked the question that Liam was getting frustrated with him. Even so Louis couldn’t get himself to stop, not where he was bundled up in the passenger’s seat of Liam’s car. The man had been kind enough to pick him up from his apartment, the late March day being colder than Louis had been prepared for. As a result he’d bitched and moaned about having to take the bus to Harry’s shop in the group chat until Harry had offered to come pick him up, which Louis had decidedly ignored until Liam made the same offer and Louis accepted.
Now they were almost at the store, and Louis was really beginning to wonder how he had gotten roped into something like this. Apparently Harry was planning on rearranging his shop overnight, wanting to have it prepared for opening the next morning. Somehow, all of the friend group had gotten roped into helping him on this endeavor. Louis included, and though he was going to help, he wasn’t planning on doing it without complaint.
“I just mean,” Louis went on when Liam tried to ignore him. “Can’t Harry do all this shit with magic? What does he need us for? I’d think it would be easier to just, I don’t know. Snap his fingers and have the whole place rearranged for him.” Liam shook his head at those words, glancing at Louis out of the corner of his eye as he pulled into the parking lot of Harry’s small store. Niall’s car and Zayn’s bike were in the lot already, making them the last to arrive. Louis knew this was his fault for dallying, though he would never admit as much to be true.
“You know that magic takes a lot of energy out of someone, Louis,” Liam responded where he shouldn’t have had to explain if Louis wasn’t choosing to be so stubborn. “He can’t do it on his own, which is where we come in. Besides, I know the only reason you agreed is for the free beer and pizza. So you might as well take advantage and help us get some stuff done in the meantime.”
Resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, Louis waited until the car had come to a complete stop before jumping out onto the pavement. It really was nippy out, with the wind blowing cold air through Louis’ jacket and onto his skin. It wasn’t comfortable by any means, and Louis resented the fact that it made the inside of Harry’s store all that more appealing as it would give a break from the chill.
Louis had only been inside of the space a couple of times before, and never of his own volition. It was always because the lads were meeting there, or because Zayn who worked with Harry had forgotten his lunch and needed some food to be brought to him. Now Louis was here again, all because stupid Harry needed help rearranging his stupid store. It still seemed like a silly reason to get all of the lads together as far as Louis was aware, but he had already arrived. It would take over an hour to get back to his apartment through the bus system, and it was getting late. He might as well stay.
A bell went off overhead as soon as Louis and Liam entered the little space. It smelled good inside, like brewing tea and incense mixed together. Louis’ nose wrinkled in distaste, hating that something positive could be associated with Harry. A glance around showed that the shop hadn’t changed much since the last time that Louis entered, and he vaguely understood why Harry would want a change.
The first floor was overtaken by large jars and pots filled with dried plants and herbs, small crystals, and liquids that Louis would never be able to place on his own. Then towards the back were the more powerful magical objects, nearby and behind the desk where Harry spent most of his time. The desk was one of the more interesting parts of the store to Louis as it was covered in a myriad of cauldrons that were constantly bubbling, as well as all of the components necessary for whatever it was that Harry brewed up inside.
The potions that Harry made were also for sale inside of the store, available on the second floor that doubled as the bookstore. Hundreds of books written on all conceivable types of magic spanned the lengths of the second floor, flooding the bookshelves and even making their way into stacks on the floor and various tabletops.
Even Louis managed to feel enchanted the first time he’d stepped foot inside of the store, the thought that Harry had managed to collect so many items to sell almost astounding. Then Louis remembered whose store this was, any sensation of awe he’d experienced before quickly disappeared instead to be replaced by disenchantment entirely. That was what had overtaken Louis now as he and Liam entered the space that gave off an air of antiquity: a sensation that Louis was somewhere he was absolutely not meant to be, starting inside of his chest and spreading outward.
Then Niall appeared from behind a shelf, a box of pizza balanced precariously in one hand and a massive can of beer in the other. Louis couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his lips when Niall shoved the beer into his hands. There was already a slice of pizza held between his teeth, Niall having clearly gotten started on the party without them.
“I thought tonight was about free manual labor, not getting drunk,” Louis commented, Niall unable to respond where he had crust shoved inside of his mouth. His smile only slightly died on his lips when Harry and Zayn showed up out of nowhere, the only two workers at the store surely more intent on actually getting things done than someone like Niall would be.
“Can’t it be a bit of both?” Harry asked, Louis working not to frown when he was spoken to directly by the man he’d always had such a distaste for. Usually they avoided each other at least a little bit into the evening, though it was also true that Louis had always been better at avoiding Harry than the other way around.
Harry, for whatever reason, seemed to be under the impression that if they tried, he and Louis could be the best of friends. This, however, did absolutely nothing to compute with Louis’ understanding that he and Harry were complete rivals. So instead of accepting the fact that he was the douchey one in the situation, Louis did everything possible to convince himself that Harry was just as rude and standoffish in his direction. Little comments like this made Louis’ delusion a little bit harder, but he would do what he had to in order to stay within the comfort of his own perception of the world–his relationship with Harry included.
Before Louis could respond by saying something indecent in Harry’s direction Liam was shoving past him, reaching for the pizza box that Niall had in his hands. Grabbing a slice by way of greeting, Liam was already starting to eat when the five made their joint way towards the back of the store where Louis was aware that most of the work inside of the store got done.
Harry had once offered for Liam, Niall, and Louis himself to all come work for him, insisting that he had enough funds to pay for all of them to work part time with quite a nice amount of compensation. This had led Louis to accuse him of being a rich prat, refusing to so much as look in his direction for the rest of the night, let alone accept his job offer. Niall had thankfully decided to stay with Louis at the grocery store where they worked, likely on Louis’ behalf more than his own. Liam was happy in his pediatrician field, and no one could really blame him for that considering he was doing what he loved.
That had ended that particular conversation, though it came flooding back into Louis’ head now as they all made their way to the back desk where the cauldrons and ingredients had been removed, replaced instead by stacks of pizza boxes and too many cases of beer. For a split second Louis allowed himself to think about what it would have been like to work in a place like this.
Then he was cracking open his cold beer and taking a long swig, not very happy with himself for allowing that train of thought to continue at all. It didn’t matter what it would be like to work for Harry. Because, outside of helping him in this one capacity, Louis didn’t want to be involved with him any more than he absolutely had to.
“What do you all say we get this show on the road?” Harry asked some twenty minutes later, after their stomachs had been filled with food and alcohol and Zayn had already started to complain about staying up all night only to have to work the closing shift the following day (Harry had offered to take the morning shift after all of their work, something that Louis told himself wasn’t kind at all).
“Yeah, yeah, sounds good,” Niall agreed, standing up and cracking his back before reaching for one of the diagrams that Harry had made to show how they would be rearranging the store. The second floor would remain mostly the same which was a relief, with the first floor being the one that would be a pain in the ass to take care of.
They had agreed over dinner how to split up the labor, Louis particularly displeased to see that his section would be directly next to the one that Harry was working on. Still Louis knew that he didn’t have much of a choice. So after taking one last drink of his beer, he reached for the diagram of his store section and moved to get to work, ignoring all of his friends with the intentions of getting this over with as quickly as possible. Then he would just have to mope around until Liam finished his work and could take him back home.
Starting to rearrange the store meant pulling items that Louis had never seen before down from the walls, placing them cautiously on the floor, and then moving what was left around until it had fit the diagram that Harry’d made up. It was slow going, Louis being entirely careful with everything as he didn’t know what magical properties these items had. The last thing he needed to do was set fire to the store on accident, or blow off his foot because he’d dropped the wrong thing.
In fact, as Louis went on, he realized that Harry had given him a section of the more important, pricey items to take care of. Louis’ nose wrinkled as he thought about it. If he asked Harry, the man would have likely come up with some sort of lie. I trust you to take good care of everything, he might say, only to bring on waves of irritation that would swim through Louis’ body. He knew the truth, after all. It was much more likely that everything here was that much more dangerous than in the rest of the store, and Harry was testing him with all of the threatening objects.
Louis was so lost in his own thoughts that, against his own better wishes, he was part way through moving a small vial of something that looked like green smoke trapped within the glass down from a high point on the wall when he lost his balance, his hands shooting out against the wall to catch himself. This wouldn’t have been a problem if one of his hands hadn’t been full of the vial, which smashed into a thousand pieces as Louis landed.
“Ow, ow, ow, shit,” Louis chanted as he looked down at his wounded hand, his head going a little fuzzy. He had never been very good with gore, which was only exacerbated when the blood in question was his own. Whatever smoke had been inside of the vial dissipated upon the glass being broken, but Louis couldn’t bring himself to be concerned with something like that. Not when his hand was screaming at him in pain.
Louis was just opening his mouth to call out for help when Harry was by his side in seconds, his eyebrows drawn in so harshly that in any other circumstances Louis would have made a joke about them getting stuck that way. Instead he remained silent while Harry reached gently for him.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered when Louis hissed from the pain of his injured hand being jostled. His words sounded more sincere than anything, so much so that Louis was completely caught on them. Enough that he missed it when Harry ran his hand slowly over Louis’ from about an inch away. Stuck on the anguished expression that had overtaken Harry’s face from seeing him hurt alone, Louis hardly noticed the way that any aching left his palm in an instant until, suddenly, it was completely gone.
Looking down at his palm, Louis had been left with a healed hand and a whole, empty vial.
“Oh,” Louis heard himself murmuring, his eyes widening when he understood what Harry had just done for him. It took a few moments for Louis’ head to wrap around it completely. Then he was taking a harsh step back, a deep frown taking over his lips.
“Why did you give me the hardest part of the store to rearrange?” Louis asked harshly. He was vaguely aware of the fact that the other lads had joined them at some point to see what the commotion was about, as well as to ensure that Louis hadn’t been hurt too badly. The audience didn’t stop Louis from asking his accusatory question, one that had Harry fishmouthing for a few seconds before he shook his head.
“I knew you’d do a good job of it,” he replied. Louis scoffed, setting down the vial that had once been bits of broken glass stuck inside of his hand. Then he turned and headed towards the door. Whether his anger was justified or not, Louis didn’t care. He didn’t want to be there any longer. So he grabbed his jacket and shook his head when Liam offered to drive him home.
“Don’t worry,” Louis replied. “I’ll take the bus.”