Songs:
Plastic Heart - Nostalghia, Tyler Bates, Joel J. Richard (p.s. i love john wick)
Lana Del Rey - God Knows I've Tried

PRE-NOTE: thank you, everyone, for your patience. i'm so glad you're all enjoying my works and through this long period of empty promises for updates. I've been writing when i can. p.s. if you haven't seen it, someone made a tiktok trailer for this fic :,^) it's the first trailer for any of my works and i love it. check my message board for the link !!

"Boss says we should take another trip to Paris, he thinks we missed things the first time." Liam is sitting on the corner of Harry's desk, the office buzzing around them. He skims through a thin folder, 'La Reine, Louis' printed at the corner. "Maybe we'll find a lead on his whereabouts."

He looks up when Harry doesn't reply. The man is slouched over, repeatedly dipping a tea bag in his water-filled mug.

"Harry,"

The man whips his head around, "Sorry, what did you say?"

"What's up with you lately?"

Harry's dark eyebrows knot, a frown etched on his lips.

"It doesn't take a genius to know that you're not your usual self. You're either on edge or completely out of it. And you've got another bruise on your cheek. Is something bothering you? Or someone?" Liam adds. He refrains from speaking of the specific criminal who brought Harry to Los Angeles in the first place. The faceless person who slipped from Harry's grasp, turning every corner and getting lost in the fog. After all, that person was last reported years ago in New York, not around here.

Harry's hand cups his face, looking away. "Yeah, I tripped—hit myself on a doorknob."

Liam winces. "You've got be more careful," He advises, knowing of their boss' concerns for the young man. "You can talk to me about anything. Of course, we're co-workers, partners, but before that we're friends."

It's quiet between them for a few minutes. The muted sound of telephones ringing, keyboard clicks and chatter flow easily and break whatever tension has risen. Liam focuses on the file. He's read it about a hundred times and could recite it word for word, but he still hopes that a new piece of information will pop up between the pages.

Harry's Outfit: Gucci suit, photo credits to the rightful owner.

Harry's chair squeaks as he moves and unbuttons the top of his pink shirt. He scratches his beard, "Paris, huh?"

"Yeah, we'll get in touch with the officials there and see if they've come up with anything."

"When would we go?"

"Are you still jetlagged?"

Harry shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck with a wince. "Not really, it's been a few days anyway." Nearly a week after the trip to New York and Harry has been balancing matters of Nine Lives, training and his professional career like a champ. "But I'll be heading back in a bit, my mom needs help moving some furniture and she wants to celebrate my birthday."

Liam whistles, "Using up those vacation days well. I'll ask boss when the best time would be." He goes to stand, but Harry stops him.

"Can I ask you a completely unrelated question?"

"Okay." Liam agrees, slightly unsure.

"Do you think that," Harry looks around the office, green eyes dark, "maybe we're in the wrong and the people we put away are in the right?"

Liam blinks in disbelief. Where on Earth was this coming from? "Are you asking me, an FBI Agent under the government, if it's okay to do crime?"

Harry sips his cold tea. His broad shoulders were rigid. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but think about it."

With a suspicious face, Liam settles back on the corner of the desk. His lips are sealed shut as thoughts run through his head. "Well, I guess if it's for the lesser evil. Like Robin Hood—then it's okay."

"What if it's not?" Harry inquires, green eyes telling more than his fidgeting. "And it's evil, more so than the counterpart. What if the lesser evil is only the lesser evil because of what we think of it—how society projects only selected points to control our views? Feeding us the information they want to make grow into who they want us to be."

Liam, partly stunned by his close friend's crisis. "Uh, I don't know. That's a loaded statement, or was it a question?"

"I don't know." Harry rolls up his sleeves as his phone dings. He directs his attention to the device, a small smile growing on his face. He stands, and slips on his coat, "It's lunch, right? I'll be going out then—I'll be back in time to go over those new records from tech!" Harry waves over his shoulder, rushing to the elevator.

Still dazed from his friend's lightning-fast exit, Liam springs into action. He swings by his desk to grab his jacket and a hat before rushing to the staircase. He jogs down the steps, then pushes the side entrance door open. He's welcomed by grey clouds and rain, with his hands in his pockets he follows after the tall man in a black blazer.

He does feel a bit dirty to follow his friend like this, but his worries are valid. Harry has been odd lately, showing up with bruises or a bandaged fist. He was either too lost in his own mind or hypersensitive to everything going on around him.

The streets are fairly busy, people hiding under umbrellas or by the entrance of shops as the rain falls down harder. Thunder booms among the zoom of cars through the puddles, Liam speeds up as the rain pelts down on his shoulders. He almost slips when trying to catch up to Harry across the street, the packed walkway and fellow running citizens are no help.

With boss' words echoing in the back of his mind, Liam feels a new surge of motivation. Harry gets into a bright taxi and Liam hops into the one behind, telling the driver to follow the car. With a sketchy face, the man agrees. Liam keeps his eyes locked on the yellow car that is a few feet ahead, but with the typical lunch rush and an impending storm, there's traffic. Harry jumps out of the taxi, most likely before his drop off and takes off walking down the street.

Liam throws some cash at the driver and exits the car. He keeps up steadily behind his friend, sinking behind dark umbrellas or corners when Harry looks over his shoulder. He wonders where Harry is going in such weather, there were plenty of fairly good restaurants closer to work but going all this way, for what? Or who?

Liam's question is partly answered when Harry jogs up familiar beige stone steps, he disappears behind the glass door with his hair nearly dripping with rain. It's a tall modern style square building with columns and a symmetrical arrangement of streetlights in front.

A museum stands in the rain, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, to be exact. Liam cuts his awe and confusion short and jogs inside.

After paying for a ticket, Harry heads towards the left. Weaving through the crowds until he finds the far wing closed off from the rest of the museum. There are fewer people lingering here and several signs read 'construction', so often that Harry considers if he truly has the correct address.

Although, a voice rings, and it's easy to know who it is. "Ya not have an umbrella?" A blond stands by the open door, a black coat over his shoulders and sunglasses nestled in his hair.

Harry steps through the door, suddenly aware of his dripping wet hair and clothes. "There's traffic and I wasn't planning on seeing anyone today."

Days have passed since their conversation, or disagreement, whatever it was. Niall had seemed to let it go. He still went hard at Harry during training and teased him. He was a complicated man, giving off a carefree attitude but there was clearly more to him than he put on. Confidentiality maybe.

"And Louis is?"

"Not just anyone."

"Of course," Niall rolls his eyes, shutting the door as two burly women guard it once again.

Construction was going on, so the dozens of signs wasn't a lie. There were tarps covering the floor, some corners packed with boxes or materials, half-built areas where new art would be displayed. That was when Harry sees him.

An instant wash of calm flows over him, a painfully joyous bubbling in his chest when Louis looks back at him. He takes off his coat, hanging it by the door and striding over to the man.

Louis' Outfit: Maison Margiela & Fendi.

When he's in arms reach, Harry yanks him close. He smiles nuzzling their noses before kissing him sweetly. Then pulls away and goes for another kiss, murmuring a greeting against his lips. "You eat lunch yet?" He asks, finally allowing Louis to breathe.

The Donna nods, brushing his fringe. "Yes, did you?"

"Not yet. I came here as soon as you texted." Harry goes in for another kiss. This time, it probably isn't for anywhere outside the bedroom. "You enchant me." Harry licks into his mouth. "Put me under your spell,"

"My spell?"

Harry pulls away, a string of saliva between their mouths. "Your lips—they're magic? That's why you've got me so hooked?"

Louis giggles, a blush coating his cheeks and spreading down his neck. "You're always so charming."

"Of course, Foxglove." Harry quips, giving him one more kiss. "Why would I be anything else?"

Louis strokes his jaw before exchanging final words with some of the members. Then, he leads him to a secluded part of the wing where the floors were polished and art was hung on the walls and standing on pedestals. His heels disrupt the silence and his hips swing as he walks. Harry, still a little kiss drunk, follows after him and bumps into him when he abruptly stops.

"What do you think of this?"

Harry cranes his neck at the large painting. It was a young woman in a yellow dress reading a book. Her hair in a luscious bun with a reddish ribbon. Her eyes almost look shut and her expression is calm.

"It's beautiful." Harry rests his chin on Louis' head, hugging him from behind but not releasing his hand.

"The dimensions, the shading, the anatomy. Like she is in front of you, yes?"

Harry can't really see it, it's realistic but not where you are convinced it's a photograph. Those were the illusions of art. "If we were all a painting in a painting world, I guess so."

Louis rolls his eyes and squeezes his hand. "You wonder if she was a real woman. How would she feel hanging in a museum where hundreds of people look at her in a day."

"That is what art is for, isn't it?" The Agent pulls him closer, dropping his arms to his waist. He can't help himself when Louis is around, Harry just needs to touch him all over. "To be looked at and admired?"

"Or it's for the artist. Like the silent talented poets who write for themselves, to themselves. There comes a point where it is bursting at the seams. If it's on a canvas, it's art. If it's through an instrument, it's music. If it's on paper, it's poetry."

"But the woman, people stare at her, critique her." Profile her. "She must hate it." Louis turns away, the low lighting used to keep the paintings in pristine condition highlight his face. "I can't help but feel like that too sometimes, the only difference is people don't see me, they only know of me. But I suppose that comes with this life, everything has its downfalls but the final decision is yours. Will you stand tall, or bow in submission?"

"Not everything is black and white, there are shades and tints." Harry points out.

The Donna hums, leaning up to press a kiss on Harry's chin. "Fair point." He moves to another painting on the wall in a matching gold frame. "This is my favourite."

Harry raises his eyebrows.

"Are you surprised?" Louis mirrors him, "Assumed I would favour something darker or possibly twisted, maybe Goya or Fuseli. With a style of intense taste and a haunting drawl. I will admit although art has an array of flavours, I prefer sweeter and softer ones."

'Blind Man's Bluff, (Fragonard, 1750)' the title reads along with a short description of the artist and the materials.

It was quite different from what anyone would have thought Louis' style to be. The light pale shades, the rosy cheeks of the three people and the feathery clouds in the background. He was right, it was soft. Every colour precisely mixed and every stroke was carefully made, with perfection, it looked effortless. The overall feeling was delicately caressing the viewer's face, drawing them into the details of the petals and the ruffles of the woman's dress.

"You should buy it." Harry jokes.

"Oh, I already have it."

Harry stops laughing, jaw dropped. "The original?"

"Of course. It's my favourite, why wouldn't I own it?" Louis asks. "I pride myself on owning originals, unlike the replicas like this. Those that are easy to market off to foreign countries."

The Agent looks up at the art. "It's different." Harry can't find another word.

Louis blinks at the painting. "It looks like a dream. I suspect that is why I adore it so much." It was what he lacked growing up. "Even I was a child who believed in fairytales and fantasies."

Harry tightens his arms, pressing Louis closer. He could only imagine Louis as a young child. Innocent and naive, staying up late to read stories about princesses and knights in shining armour. Unscathed by the world's cold intentions. Was he playful and curious? Or shy and hiding away under kitchen tables when guests were over?

"I missed you." Louis surprises him, turning around and nuzzling into Harry's unbuttoned shirt despite it smelling like rain. "I missed you so much."

Harry stands there awkwardly for a moment, not used to Louis being this kind of affectionate. He hugs him back, running a warm hand up and down his spine, breathing in his perfume. Vanilla, was it? With the hint of something creamy. He doesn't know how long he holds him but stiffens when he hears a quiet sniffle.

Harry pulls away. "Lou?"

Louis' teeth are digging into his bottom lip and almost drawing blood, there are wet streams down his red cheeks and tears pooling in his eyes. How long had he been crying for? "Darling, what's wrong?"

"It's eight years today." His blue eyes struggling to hold Harry's. "I figured it would get easier as the years went on, but," He hiccups and Harry wants nothing more than to cradle him in a bed of pillows and plush blankets, "It still hurts just as bad."

Harry hates to ask it, but he has to. "Is this about your father or your brother?"

"My brother, I—" He sniffles, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "My parents were loving. Just because of their profession, people expected them to be cold and dead inside but they were the light of my life. But I suppose plenty of children think of their parents as such—an instinct maybe. My brother on the other hand—became his work, it devoured him. I had to watch it eat at the man I grew up with."

Harry gulps, the chatter of the other members and guests were in the back of his mind. Front and centre was Louis, the one man who has his soul. Clever and cunning Louis as other people know him. But this Louis, the vulnerable one who has been through more heartache than anyone else, this was the Louis that Harry and about a few other people knew of.

Harry wanted to see him more. He wanted to know his every thought, how he's feeling inside and to completely divulge into his existence, bathe in it. He kisses Louis' tears, gently and slowly, keeping a grip on his waist.

"Do you regret it?" It wasn't good for Louis to keep things bottled up, it was evident that was his coping mechanism. Harry hated seeing him like this, helpless to his own overwhelming feelings. Harry craved to sweep up every negative thought from his mind and toss it into the open ocean.

Louis' crying has ruined his makeup, but that was the least of Harry's concerns. After all, Louis was still stunning with smudged mascara and blotchy eyeshadow.

"Professionally, no."

"What about honestly?"

That catches Louis off guard. He turns away, escaping from Harry's hold and moving to the next painting. The confidence in his walk replaced with timidness. "I do."

At that moment, Harry saw it all. He saw Louis crumbling from the inside. The stone walls of his castle crumbling to the ground. And when he looked at him, he had tears in his eyes again.

"My brother, my only sibling. Even if I had known that his death would bring me glory, riches and accountability—I would not have done it."

But why did you do it then? Harry wants to ask.

Louis rubs his eyes harshly. "I would have taken the fall of a stupid kingdom than to put him in a grave."

Taking the necessary steps, Harry holds Louis again. He lets him cry into his shirt and rubs soothing circles on his back. He shushes him softly when Louis gets a little loud. And Niall appears at the doorway with a solemn expression. Harry waves him away with a signal of, 'I've got it'. Niall leaves reluctantly, but not before placing a tissue box on a bench.

Harry falls for Louis even deeper as he cries. It was the rawness of it. The humanity he once thought that Louis lacked was showing. He was human, he made mistakes, had regrets just like anyone else. And he was only showing his true feelings to Harry. That alone was greater than even the brightest of stars. And Harry will cherish it.

"Am I selfish?" Louis' voice is rough. His French twang is barely audible.

Harry cups his cheeks, forcing Louis to look at him. He needs him to know he's serious. "No. The way I see it, you don't have any desire to be brutal, or cold. You do it because you have to. Sometimes there are choices we have to make where neither of them is better. You are not a monster, Louis. Living through the bad, living through the good, you accept everything you've done."

It takes a few minutes for Louis to calm down again. Harry's moved them to a bench by the window where the rain continues to fall. Louis is curled up on his lap, fiddling with the cross and charm that hangs from Harry's neck.

"I care about you, Harry." Louis' fingers trace Harry's tattoo, the mermaid. "And that's why I don't want you to see the things and experience nightmares that this life brings. You deserve so much more."

"And you deserve happiness. Do I make you happy?"

Louis nods slowly, "Oui." His voice is quiet and more of a whisper.

"Then you deserve me." Harry presses a chaste kiss to the Donna's temple. He doesn't say anything else. Hopefully, Louis understood that right now there was nothing that could stop Harry from being with him. The world could burn and freeze all over again, and Louis would remain number one in Harry's life and his heart.

"I loved my parents, I loved my brother. They say love could be a blessing and a curse, why can't it just be love?"

Louis could say he wanted the whole universe and Harry would stop at nothing to give him every planet, every star, every stone.

Before Harry has to return for work, he asks Louis to come with him to London for his birthday. His mother lived in a small town and Louis obviously would stay at a hotel in the city. Harry just wanted to show him around his childhood town, it felt fair after hearing Louis' stories. Louis bids him farewell with a text of his final decision. Harry hoped he said yes. He wasn't ready to leave Louis for a few days, especially after seeing how he could breakdown. He wanted to keep him safe. He'd pass out from exhaustion and bleed himself dry to keep Louis from harm.

Harry leaves the museum with a new shirt and an umbrella, unknowingly passing his friend and coworker on the way out.

NOTE: hellllooo !! i hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I promised one by midnight today and here it is. tell me your thoughts !!