I want you more
Than I ever wanted
Than I ever needed
Anyone I ever knew — James Blunt, Blue On Blue

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warning: major asshole harry in this chapter.
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It's a Monday afternoon when Harry is patiently sitting in the waiting room of the local therapist office. He's bundled tightly in his parka and scarf, flipping through a novel he brought from home. He had the day off and brought Louis to his appointment and it's been almost an hour since the boy disappeared behind the shut door. He sighs softly and flips the page, just as the bell by the door dings.

He glances up from the pages and stiffens in his seat. Standing in a long dark brown trench coat with a silk scarf tied around her neck was Mrs. Millard. She was hunched over the receptionist's desk and talking in a hushed voice. Harry leans closer and only gets the last bit of her words.

"—here for him."

"Mr. Constantine is with a client right now, he's booked for the day."

Mrs. Millard huffs through her nose and stands straight again. She nods once and hands the receptionist a small envelope. As she steps away from the desk, she catches Harry's curious eyes. All colour drains from her face before she bolts out of the office. Harry is up in a second, slamming his book shut and following after her.

Luckily it's an early Monday morning and the streets are clear. When Harry swings the glass door open, he sees her about to cross the street but lunges forward and grasps her wrist.

Mrs. Millard turns with a scowl. "Officer Styles." She tries to walk away again but Harry pulls her away from the curb. "May I help you?" She asks with spite.

"What are you doing here?" Harry quirks his brow, he scans her attire. As always, dressed in the most luxurious clothing. "Shouldn't you be looking for your son?" He gets right to the point.

For a moment, Mrs. Millard's face falls before she tilts her head. "Did he tell you?" She asks, eyes hidden behind a pair of expensive sunglasses which were unfit for the winter weather.

Harry frowns. "Who?"

"Quinn."

Harry raises both his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"

"Did Quinn Constantine tell you?" Mrs. Millard inquires with a calm heat in her voice.

Harry loosens his grip on her wrist, and steps back, the snow crushing under his boots. Dr. Constantine's words repeat in his head and he feels awfully vulnerable under her hawk-like gaze. The cold wind prickles at his cheeks and he licks his lips in thought.

"I assume he did then." She straightens her posture and clasps her hands. She breathes out through her nose, her breath coming out in a white puff. "Are you going to arrest me?"

"Louis," the boy looks up, "Are you here alone?"

The London boy bites his lip, glancing around. He's been standing in the middle of the waiting room for about ten minutes, he only assumes Harry went to get coffee or something but the man was nowhere to be seen. "I guess I am." He feels defenseless without Harry, but at the same time, he feels like he could finally breathe.

"Oh," Micheal nods once. "I came here for my appointment but I think I'll skip this one."

Louis looks up with wide blue eyes. "That's probably not a good idea." He suggests lightly.

Micheal laughs, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'll be fine. I'd rather spend my day with you instead."

Louis clears his throat and rolls on the balls of his feet. "I don't know." He twiddles his thumbs. It was strange seeing Micheal again, but Louis needed to know why Micheal was at the therapist, to begin with.

"C'mon, we never got to do that cafe date."

Louis sighs and looks away from Micheal's warm brown eyes in thought. He glances around the nearly empty room and slowly smiles up at the tall man. He brushes off Harry's words and goes with his instincts. After all, if Harry wanted to keep him safe, he wouldn't have ditched him at the therapists.

Louis and Micheal talk for what feels like hours. They sit in a small booth by the window in the warm Metroally Cafe. Louis talks about himself mostly, his life back in London and his family—he skips over Jackson. Micheal talks about his life, his studies and how he currently works as a mechanic at the local car garage. Louis munches on his lemon muffin and sips his hot chocolate as he listens to Micheal's soothing low voice.

Halfway through Micheal's story about his summer vacation back in 2011, Louis' mind trails onto Harry, he felt abandoned by the man. Then, he thinks about the emotional explosion from two days prior. His heart drops when he remembers how destroyed Harry looked, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. His words repeat in his head, Louis didn't mean to break Harry as he did. But he did. He hears Micheal say something about having to leave. As Micheal flips open his wallet, Louis' eyes fall onto a small photograph of a man. His eyes were blue, his hair was a sandy brown and he had soft pink lips. Tiny freckles scattered across his rosy cheeks.

"Who is that?" Louis asks, gesturing to the small picture.

Micheal looks down, his face lights up. "That's my husband." His entire face is overcome with fond.

That catches Louis off guard. "I had no idea you're married." Louis' eyes are wide and mouth slightly parted. He glances down at the photograph again and hums. "He looks familiar."

Micheal smiles softly, his pearly white teeth making an appearance. "I was married." He clarifies. "You sort of look like him." His smile falls before a content expression takes over. "Same hair, same eyes."

It takes Louis a few moments to process the new information. He would have never guessed a man as young as Micheal to already be married, but now, Louis sees a thin silver ring on his finger. He cautiously speaks, "didn't work out?"

"The opposite actually." Micheal's voice cracks, but he recovers with a light chuckle. "Everything was as perfect as it could be. I'll tell you about it someday."

Louis knows his boundaries and respects Micheal's. He nods once and smiles at the familiar woman as she makes her way to their table. At that moment, Louis swears that he spots the same man from his nightmares across the street. His eyes go unfocused as he wavers between conscious and unconscious, he remembers that built frame and shoulder-length blond hair. Louis' entire body seizes up, his hands tremble, and his lips quiver. His brain goes cloudy as Harry's mother finally reaches their table.

Her face becomes concerned as he rushes to pull Micheal away when the man goes to touch Louis. She shakes her head, motherly instincts shining as he slowly grasps Louis' hands. She shushes the boy softly, trying to comfort his shivering form.

"Honey," she faces Micheal who wore a deep concerning frown. "I think you should go."

"Listen, ma'm. I care about him, I won't touch him but I can't leave without knowing he's okay." Micheal follows Louis' gaze but it's locked on an empty sidewalk. He looks back at the woman and sees how Louis' erratic murmurs lower to hushed whispers. He remains seated in the booth, watching the woman take out her phone and make a hushed phone call.

The first thing Harry does is make a beeline for Louis after he walks into his mother's cafe. The boy is wrapped in a thick coat, which he recognizes as his mother's, and is rocking back and forth in the very back of the room in a booth. He sits slowly and reaches out for Louis, but the man jerks away. "Louis,"

"You left." The London boy mutters, eyes locked on his hands.

"I'm sorry." He takes Louis' hand, holding it tightly, refusing to let the man pull away. He tucks the small fragile hand under his chin. "I'm so sorry."

"You left," Louis squeaks, breaking into silent tears. It rips at Harry's heart. "And he found me."

Harry swallows the lump in his throat. "Louis,"

"Just—" Louis hiccups and yanks his hand away with such a force, it leaves Harry momentarily stunned. "Don't touch me."

Harry watches as the tears stream faster down Louis' flushed cheeks, he can't let him suffer alone and reaches for Louis again, grasping his finger. "Blue, please."

"Stop it, Harry." Louis cries harder, his lip raw from biting it so roughly. He pulls his hand further away and curls into the window. "Don't touch me."

Harry's heart falls to the pit of his stomach. Weakly, he reaches for Louis again. Giving into the magnetic force that pulls them together. Louis was his sense of gravity. "Blue."

"He said not to touch him." An unfamiliar voice steps in and a hand places itself on Harry's shoulder.

The officer immediately stands, shoving the hand away and facing the stranger. His gaze lowers to slits. "And you are?" Harry widens his stance. The man is tall, has brown eyes and a strong jaw.

"Micheal, I'm Louis' friend." The man answers. "And who are you?"

Harry almost flatters for a moment, he barely recognized the man in the dimly lit cafe. A surge of anger flows through Harry's veins. Of course, he didn't know Micheal or anything about him but his mind immediately falls into a possessive mode. As if he lost control, his mind zeros in on protecting Louis, and right now, Micheal was a threat. "Harry." The green-eyed man answers. "And, Micheal," He spits, stepping forward. He and Micheal were almost the same height, but Harry's shoulders were slightly broader, "I don't think you're in any position to tell me what and what not to do with my boyfriend." He doesn't even process his own words.

Micheal's brows furrow and his lip quirks. "Considering your boyfriend is my friend, then yes, I am in a position to keep him safe and away from you." He steps forward as well, their noses almost brushing.

Harry almost laughs. He wasn't going to stand here and let Micheal talk to him as if he's a danger to Louis' well-being. If anything, Harry was the only one who could protect Louis. "Are you really his friend? You've known him for a couple of days. That's not a friend, that's a glorified stranger." Harry clenches his fists at his side, he sees Micheal do the same. "And before you start giving me shit, why don't you try to comfort your so-called-friend? Because when I walked in here, you were nowhere to be seen." Harry feels his nails dig into the palms of his hands.

At that moment, Harry's mother walks in from the back. She sees the two men, chest to chest and races to push them apart. Her hair is in a messy bun and she frowns at the both of them. "Boys, what are you doing?"

Something flashes in Micheal's eyes and he takes a large step back. "You know, I'm not going to do this." He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair. "At least you aren't the asshole that ditched him at the therapists."

Harry's anger turns into regret. All the heated rage is replaced with a heavy sinking weight and he wants to fall to the floor. His hands unclench and he hears Louis' crying heighten to sobs. He didn't mean to leave Louis at the therapists like that, but with one look at Louis' cherry cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, Harry excuses himself. He moves his mother's hand off his shoulder and rushes out the cafe door.

Harry doesn't know how long he's been outside, but he's on his third cigarette. The winter sky is dark blue with even darker grey clouds. Snow has piled on the toes of his boots and on his shoulders, probably also in his hair. The unforgiving chilling wind has made its way to his bones. He stands there, smoking as the same thoughts of Louis echo through his mind.

It was truly no use to fight his feeling for any longer. Harry wanted everything but to want Louis and it was all so impossible. He didn't want to revolve around Louis' presence but it was a dead-end and he had no road left. He thought the best he could do was pretend he didn't care about Louis—but Harry deeply regrets thinking that was the only option.

After arresting Mrs. Millard and taking her to the station, Harry promised to come back for Louis. But he didn't, he was too caught up in Mrs. Millard's interview and Louis slipped his mind. Then, he gets a call from his mother about Louis going into shock, and that's enough to bring him back to his sole reason for being so devoted to the Millards case. Angry was an understatement when he realized he had left Louis at the therapists, Harry wanted to scream at himself for being so stupid. And it was worse when Louis pushed him away. The London boy had every right to push Harry away and cower when the man came forward.

Harry left him. And Jackson found him.

Harry didn't love Louis, not as he did before but he wanted him. He wanted to keep him safe, secure and warm. He just wanted Louis, he needed him. He felt so drawn to him. Like Harry had an unfulfilled prophecy of keeping Louis safe forever. Harry wanted to cry and scream in all the same breath, from both his own self-pity and from his indescribable emotions towards the man with blue eyes.

Harry truly feels like there was no way to go, there was no way to tell Louis of his strong feelings that developed in only a few short days. It was unrealistic for Harry to think that anything with Louis would go far. Louis was too emotionally drained, under too much pressure, he was too sad. But he was Harry's blue. He was always Harry's blue. It was blue on blue.

Harry makes the mistake of looking over his shoulder and into the cafe, just in time to see Micheal hug Louis—the latter did no moves to push Micheal away, not as he did to Harry.

He just wanted Louis to want him. He wanted Louis to want his comfort, he wanted Louis to want to curl into his arms and whisper his deepest thoughts. When Louis brushes his cheek on Micheal's, Harry wishes to be Micheal at that moment.

As the door of the cafe swings open, Harry loses all restraints and drops his cigarette before grabbing Micheal by the collar of his coat, he shoves the man against the brick wall of the cafe. Blinded by jealousy, rage, regret, and guilt. His teeth are clenched and jaw locked. "I want you to stay the fuck away from him." Harry hisses, he was so angry, he had no other way to channel his emotions. "Don't talk to him, don't touch him, don't think about him."

Micheal's nostrils flare. "You don't control me. You don't control Louis." He roughly pushes Harry. "You need to mind your own business, freak."

Harry lets loose. Before he knows it, his fist makes contact with Micheal's face, sending the man stumbling back. Harry watches the man hold the left side of his face and glare daggers into Harry's soul.

Micheal massages his throbbing cheek. "You know," He spits on the ground, tasting blood, "I feel bad for Louis. Having an asshole as a boyfriend, he deserves better than you."

As Micheal walks away into the night, Harry left alone again. With an aching fist and even deeper in his own hole of self-hatred. He couldn't agree more with Micheal. Louis deserved better than him, he deserved everything but Harry.

NOTE: it's been a while since i've updated anything. i don't know how i feel about it but i hope you all enjoyed this chapter.