Last chapter of the saga! Enjoy!

I am once again asking y'all to tell me if you spot any mistakes lmao.

30/300

The door swung open and Harry strolled in, shaking the rain off of his hair like a soaked dog. His usual grin was firmly in place, though his hair was damp and clinging to his forehead.

His vivid face paint was smeared from the drizzle, giving him an even more menacing edge. With a loud clink, he tossed the keys onto the table.

"Remind me to avoid all meetings with Gotham's so-called 'elite'," he quipped, throwing his damp gloves on the desk. "Turns out, they were less 'criminal masterminds' and more 'glorified thugs'. Embarrassing stuff."

Louis sat slumped on the couch, his shoulders hunched. His gaze was fixed somewhere on the floor, distant and heavy. The flush of exertion from his injuries had faded, leaving behind only exhaustion.

Harry leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. "They did have one highlight, though. Some genius decided to suggest splitting Gotham into zones. Like a bloody chessboard. Cute idea, except for the part where I don't share."

Louis barely glanced up. His legs were tucked under him, the oversized hoodie swallowing his frame. He traced invisible patterns on the armrest, silent.

"Our dear friend Marcus is about as competent as a penguin on roller skates." Harry raised an eyebrow. "You'd think a man running an underground arms ring would know better than to try to take parts of my city from me. But no," he drawled, pulling out a chair and spinning it lazily. "Guess some people just don't value their kneecaps."

Still nothing.

Harry drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. "Come on, not even a snide remark? 'Harry, you're so violent.' 'Harry, did you have to break his kneecaps?'" He mimicked Louis' voice with a playful edge.

Louis shifted slightly, his gaze still lost somewhere between the rain-streaked window and the floor.

"Oh come on, sweetheart," Harry muttered, picking up a deck of cards from the desk and shuffling them. "You're killing me."

Harry tilted his head, watching Louis carefully. There was something... off about him tonight. The usual fire, the resistance that danced in Louis' eyes even at his lowest, was gone.

"Okay, what's the matter?" Harry said finally. His voice was calm, teasing, but there was an edge to it—a flicker of something unsettled.

Louis didn't respond. The faint smirk on Harry's lips faded entirely. He placed the cards down with deliberate care, crossing the space between them in a few strides.

He crouched beside the couch, his sharp green eyes fixed on Louis. "I said, what's the matter?"

Louis' shoulders barely shifted as he shrugged.

"What? No fight left in you tonight, sweetheart?" Harry asked.

Louis let out a humourless huff of laughter. "What's the point?" he muttered.

"What's the point?" Harry repeated. "This better not be one of those 'existential crisis' things Gothamites get after too much rain. Should I be worried?"

Louis didn't respond as he looked down at his hands.

Harry frowned. "I asked you a question, sweetheart."

"I heard you," Louis murmured, his voice soft, almost apologetic.

The reply caught Harry off guard. "Then answer me," he replied, sharper now.

"Sorry," Louis' voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry stopped in his tracks. Sorry? The word hit him like a bucket of cold water. "Sorry?" he echoed, his tone incredulous. "That's all you've got for me?"

Louis finally lifted his head, his blue eyes dull, empty. "What do you want me to say?" he asked quietly.

Harry's frustration grew. "I want you to act like yourself," he snapped. "Where's the fire? The fight? The constant backtalk?"

Louis blinked slowly, his gaze dropping again. "It's gone."

Harry's heart skipped, a cold sensation creeping up his spine. "What are you talking about?" he hissed. "Why are you acting like this?"

Louis shrugged, his response sluggish. "Don't know," he muttered. "Sorry."

Harry clenched his jaw, his patience slipping. He leaned forward, gripping Louis' chin and forcing the boy to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he commanded.

Louis obeyed but his eyes were empty, his face devoid of the fire that Harry was so used to seeing.

"You wanted this," Louis said, his voice cracking slightly as he looked up at Harry. "I'm broken. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Harry froze as if Louis' words burned him. "What?"

"You wanted a puppet, didn't you?" Louis replied, voice shaky.

"No," Harry argued, his green eyes narrowing. "I wanted a partner."

Louis looked down again but didn't pull from Harry's grip like he once would.

Harry straightened, his fingers loosening their hold on Louis' chin but not letting go entirely. "You think this is what I wanted?"

Louis swallowed. "Isn't it?"

Harry's reply was immediate. "No," he growled. "Look at me."

Louis' eyes flicked up again to meet Harry's. "What did you expect?" he asked bitterly. "You took away my family, my city, my purpose. What's left?"

Harry's grip faltered, his hand dropping to his side. "You." His tone was almost pleading. "That's what I wanted. You."

Louis shook his head, his expression distant. "Well, I'm not me anymore," he whispered. "I'm broken."

"Don't say that," Harry hissed, his frustration mounting again. His hand went to the side of Louis' neck, his thumb brushing over his chin. "You're not broken, sweetheart. Don't be dramatic."

Louis' voice was barely a whisper. "What do you want from me?"

"I want back that fire," Harry told him. "That fight."

Louis reached out to touch Harry's arm, his fingers curling around his wrist. "You won," he muttered, his voice thick. "Aren't you happy?

"No," Harry told him, his other hand reaching out to cradle Louis' face.

Louis looked at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and exhaustion. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated, unable to find the words. A stern look made its way onto Harry's face.

"Don't you dare give up on me," Harry growled. "You've got to fix this. You need to get your spark back."

Louis' bottom lip trembled. "I don't know how," he whispered.

Harry pulled him closer, his hand tightening around Louis' neck, but not in a threatening way—instead, it was possessive, almost desperate. "Then you figure it out," he said fiercely. "But you don't get to stay broken. Not with me."

Louis blinked slowly, his expression unreadable, then whispered, "What if I can't?"

"You can," Harry said, his voice low and firm. "And you will. Tomorrow, you fix this." The words hung in the air, heavy and dark. Harry pulled Louis closer, their foreheads pressed together. "Do you hear me?"

Louis swallowed, nodding weakly. "I hear you."

Harry nodded, eyes gleaming with something unspoken. He wasn't letting Louis fall apart, not now. He wasn't about to lose him. Not without a fight.

"Then fix it," Harry growled. "Alright?"

Louis pulled back, blinking at Harry as he nodded again. "Alright."

***

The night air was cool and the rooftop offered a sweeping view of Gotham's sprawling chaos. Louis leaned against the ledge, his arms folded on the cool stone as he stared out at the city below. The wind tousled his hair, carrying with it the faint hum of distant sirens.

Harry's voice cut through the stillness like a blade. "Ah, rooftop brooding. A new level of despair."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't answer.

Harry leaned casually against the ledge beside him, his gaze flicking out over the city. "You're not planning anything dramatic, are you? Should I install some railings?"

Louis' lips twitched faintly. "Shut up," he muttered, though his tone lacked venom.

"Careful," Harry said, feigning hurt. "I was going to give you a present."

Louis finally turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "A present?"

Harry raised a brow. "Oh, now you're interested," he mused. "Didn't take you for the materialistic type."

Louis scoffed, turning away again. "I don't want your presents."

Harry cocked his head, looking Louis over. "You're sure?" he asked, pulling something small and metallic from his pocket. "It's no diamond ring, but..."

Louis glanced at him and paused. "What?" He didn't take the gift, just stared at Harry with wide eyes.

"Sweetheart, don't make me get down on one knee," Harry teased, holding the item out to Louis. "Go on, take it."

Louis shook his head. "I don't understand," he muttered.

Harry shrugged lightly. "Consider it an olive branch," he said, tossing the object at Louis.

Louis caught it instinctively. "Why?" he asked.

"Take a wild guess," Harry replied.

Louis turned the comms over in his hand, his thumb running over the familiar grooves of the device. He turned it over before he glanced up at Harry.

Suspicion flickered in Louis' eyes. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Harry answered, raising his hands. "It's a gift."

Louis narrowed his eyes, his grip on the comms tightening. "For what?"

Harry leaned more casually against the ledge, crossing his arms. "For not bleeding out on my floor, for starters," he said dryly. "But mostly because you're boring as hell when you're sulking."

Louis' expression softened, his thumb brushing over the edge of the comms. For a moment, he almost looked hopeful. Then doubt crept in, clouding his features.

Louis didn't answer immediately. His grip loosened around the device. "What if... what if he doesn't want to talk to me?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh come on," he started. "You're not that bad, sweetheart," he promised. "If anything, you're infuriatingly likeable."

Louis shrugged. "I've..." he trailed off. "I don't know."

"Louis," Harry said softly. "He'll talk to you."

Louis didn't look at him, still turning the device in his hands. "You don't know that."

"Oh, I do," Harry replied confidently. "You've got this... charm about you. Rough around the edges, sure, but it grows on people."

The humour didn't catch. "What if he hates me?"

Harry waved his hand easily. "Oh, I doubt that," he said smoothly. "Talk to him," his command was laced with an edge of encouragement.

Louis still looked hesitant; he stared at the comms in his hand, his chest tightening with nerves.

"I'm giving you five minutes," Harry said, straightening and stepping away from the ledge. "Don't waste it."

"Thanks," Louis said, his voice soft.

Harry flashed him a grin. "Don't mention it, sweetheart." He started to walk away but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Oh, and try not to do anything stupid while you're up here. I'm too tired for a dramatic rescue."

The door to the rooftop clicked behind him and Harry leaned against it, listening. The silence stretched and, for a moment, Harry thought he wouldn't do it.

Then, faintly, Harry heard Louis speak into the device, followed by a soft beep. After a few seconds, a voice on the other end came in, muffled but unmistakable.

Finally, Louis let out a breathy laugh—soft, hesitant, but genuine. Harry's lips twitched into a rare, fleeting smile as he leaned back against the door.

Five minutes turned into ten, then twenty. Harry didn't interrupt. The sound of Louis' voice, lighter than it had been in days, was enough to keep him waiting.

He returned to his room without taking the device back.

***

The morning sunlight slanted weakly through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room. Harry was seated at his desk, skimming through a pile of papers, his focus divided between the documents and the sound of his office door slowly opening.

Louis approached hesitantly, the comms device clutched tightly in his hand. "Here," he said quietly, holding it out. "Thanks."

Harry glanced up, his green eyes flicking to the comms before taking it. "You sound better," he observed. "Good chat?"

Louis nodded, a faint smile on his lips.

Harry's smirk widened. "So," he said, leaning back in his chair, "does he hate you after all?"

Louis rolled his eyes, though his smile lingered. "Obviously," he said dryly. "My arch-enemy. You're stuck with me now."

Harry chuckled, his gaze sharp but amused. "Lucky me."

Louis shifted, his gaze flicking toward the drawer where Harry placed the comms. He noticed that this time, Harry didn't lock it.

"How're the stitches?" Harry asked, his tone casual.

"Better," Louis replied, his hand drifting unconsciously to his side. He hesitated, then lifted the hem of his shirt slightly to reveal the bandages.

Harry's expression sharpened with focus. He pushed his chair back slightly, gesturing for Louis to come closer. "Come here," he said, his voice low and commanding, leaving no room for argument.

Louis froze for a moment, his pulse kicking up, then slowly stepped closer. He rounded the desk until he was stood in front of Harry, within touching distance.

Harry closed the gap without hesitation, his hands reaching out to Louis' side. His fingers hooked under the hem of Louis' T-shirt, lifting it just enough to reveal the bandages beneath. His fingertips brushed lightly over the edges, tracing with practised care.

"You sure?" Harry asked, his voice quieter now, his green eyes flicking up to meet Louis'.

"I'm fine," Louis murmured, though his voice wavered slightly.

Harry's gaze lingered for a beat before dropping back to the bandages. His fingers moved carefully, trailing over the gauze to check for any signs of blood seeping through. The pressure was light but firm, his forefinger ghosting along the edge as though testing the seal. His other hand stayed planted on Louis' hip, a subtle, grounding touch that felt more personal than clinical.

Louis' breath hitched faintly and he shifted slightly under Harry's hands, his muscles tight. The warmth of Harry's palm against his skin seeped through the thin layer of fabric, an unrelenting presence he couldn't ignore. His eyes darted downward, catching the way Harry's fingers moved with quiet precision as if the care he took was second nature.

"Harley did a decent job," Harry said softly, his tone more thoughtful than teasing. "Clean stitches. No fresh bleeding."

Louis nodded absently but his focus was elsewhere, drawn inexorably to the slow, deliberate motions of Harry's fingers. His hand, almost without thinking, came to rest lightly on Harry's shoulder. It wasn't intentional—just something to ground himself—but the heat of Harry's body beneath his hand sent a jolt of something through him that he couldn't quite name; his grip unconsciously firmed.

Harry's fingers moved again, brushing over the dressing one last time before sliding lower, his touch skimming the bare skin just below the bandage. The motion was deliberate but not inappropriate, a careful check for any swelling or tenderness. Still, it was enough to make Louis' pulse spike, his throat tightening as he fought to keep his expression neutral.

"You're sure this doesn't hurt?" Harry asked, a faint edge of concern threading through the question.

"No," Louis rasped, his voice barely audible. He cleared his throat quickly. "I mean, yes. It's fine."

Harry's lips twitched faintly but he didn't comment. His thumb continued to press softly against the area around the bandage, feeling for any inflammation. His other hand was still steady on Louis' hip, the faint pressure holding him in place as he started to squirm slightly.

Harry's eyes flicked up to meet Louis' for a moment before Louis looked away, swallowing hard. The tension in the air was palpable, an unspoken charge that neither of them acknowledged.

Louis' cheeks blushed faintly as he turned to glance away from Harry. "Why'd you- why'd you give it to me?" he asked suddenly, distracting himself from Harry's touch. "My comms."

Harry glanced up again but didn't pull back. His hands were still resting lightly on Louis' side, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles along Louis' hip.

"Already told you," he said, his smirk faint but teasing. "You're boring when you're miserable."

Louis frowned, shaking his head slightly. "No, that's not it," he muttered. He finally looked down at Harry, his gaze catching the subtle amusement in his expression. "Why really?"

Harry stilled, his focus shifting entirely to Louis, studying him with a quiet intensity.

"Believe it or not, sweetheart," Harry said after a moment, "I quite like that fiery little personality of yours. I'd hate to see you give it up."

Louis blinked, caught completely off guard. His lips parted slightly but no words came out, his chest tight with the weight of Harry's gaze and the quiet sincerity in his tone.

Harry finally withdrew his hands, the tension breaking like a snapped thread. Louis exhaled a shaky breath, his hand slipping from Harry's shoulder as he stepped back, the phantom warmth of Harry's touch lingering stubbornly against his skin.

"Thank you," Louis muttered after a moment, the word stiff but genuine.

Harry smiled. "Don't mention it," he said lightly, though his voice held an edge of honesty. He straightened in his chair. "Now," he announced, his smirk returning, "if you're feeling better, how about we finally get some work done around here?"

Louis hesitated, then nodded, his lips curving into a small smile as he stepped back. He retreated to the other side of the desk and sat across from Harry, the flush still lingering on his cheeks.

:')

Andddd the next saga begins next chapter!

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