Maybe,,, I cried at this lol.

35/350 <3

Enjoy!

The hotel room was quiet, save for the rustling of clothes as they packed up to head back to Gotham. Louis was rifling through his bag, his back to Harry as he shoved items in hastily. He had never been good at this part—the packing, the quiet after a mission, the end of pretending. Everything felt more real when they were away from the chaos of Gotham. And right now, Louis was trying to ignore the odd sense of stillness that had settled between them.

Harry, on the other hand, was more relaxed. He moved about the room, collecting his things with the lazy confidence he always had. The blazer he had worn to the auction was now discarded on the bed, the sleeves rolled up. He had removed his mask, leaving his face exposed for the first time since the event.

Louis didn't notice at first. He was distracted by the usual post-mission thoughts—getting home and getting his belongings in order. But then, when the room was still and the sound of the suitcase being zipped shut filled the silence, Louis couldn't help but glance over.

Harry was folding his jacket now, head bowed slightly and hair falling over his face. For the first time since Louis met him, there were no painted lines, no smile plastered across his face, no mask. Just, simply, Harry. 

Louis' eyes stilled for a moment too long, his breath catching slightly when he noticed how different Harry looked—how human. He didn't know what it was but seeing him like this—without the usual bravado, the careful mask he wore to hide behind—felt almost... intimate.

Harry, sensing Louis' eyes on him, didn't react immediately. He continued what he was doing, casually folding his jacket as if Louis wasn't staring at him like he was something new, something entirely different. But after a beat, his lips quirked into a small smile.

"You okay there, sweetheart?" Harry's voice was low, casual—too casual. Like he knew he had Louis' attention; like he knew what was happening.

Harry straightened and rolled his shoulders, loosening the first few buttons of his shirt. He turned slightly to glance at Louis. 

Louis quickly averted his gaze, turning to his bag and fumbling with the zipper. "I'm fine," he muttered, not looking up.

"Are you?" Harry placed his bag on the bed. "Because it seems like you've forgotten how to pack."

Louis scowled, heat crawling up his neck. "Said I'm fine."

Harry chuckled softly, the sound low and infuriatingly knowing. "If you say so."

Louis could feel Harry's eyes on him, sharp and calculating, and it only made his movements clumsier. "Shouldn't you be focused on packing instead of staring at me?"

"I'm packed." Harry's voice was closer now and Louis' stomach flipped at the realisation. "Some of us don't need to wrestle with our garments."

Louis tensed but kept his gaze down, refusing to give Harry the satisfaction of another reaction. "Then maybe you should... go do something else," he muttered lamely.

Harry watched him with a lazy smile. "And leave you here to keep looking at me like that?" he teased, his voice dropping. "I'd never forgive myself."

Louis' breath caught. "I wasn't—"

"Staring?" Harry finished for him. "No, of course not. That would be inappropriate."

"You—" Louis started, then stopped.

Louis froze, his fingers curling around the edge of his bag. His eyes darted up before he could stop himself, and there it was—Harry's face, open and unguarded, stripped of the paint and chaos. The sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the piercing green of his eyes—it all hit Louis like a blow to the chest.

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Go on. I'm dying to hear what you're thinking."

Louis shook his head, looking away again. "Never mind."

"Oh, no no no," Harry said. "You've been staring at me like I've got two heads. Spit it out."

Louis' breath hitched when Harry stepped closer, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

"Come now," Harry said softly, his voice dropping as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against Louis' cheek. "Don't be shy, sweetheart. It's just me."

Louis' heart thundered in his chest. The warmth of Harry's touch radiated through him, startlingly tender, entirely unexpected. Louis' chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his thoughts a mess of frantic whispers. Kiss me. Don't kiss me. Stop. Please, don't stop.

"I—" Louis started but the words failed him.

"You're okay," Harry murmured, his thumb grazing the edge of Louis' jaw. "Here, listen. It's just me."

Harry's lips quirked into the faintest smile, his hand lingering, his touch impossibly gentle as if trying to remind Louis that he was the same person. The softness in his voice, the way he looked at Louis like he wasn't The Joker but just a man, made Louis feel like the ground was slipping out from under him.

Louis watched him, lips parted and eyes wide, words failing him.

"See," Harry said quietly, his voice calm, certain. "Not so scary, am I?" His thumb traced Louis' bottom lip.

There was an edge of vulnerability in his voice, of someone seeking approval. It was too much. Louis stepped back abruptly, breaking the contact. He blinked as he tried to steady himself, his gaze falling anywhere but Harry's.

Harry didn't miss a beat. He straightened, his smile slipping into something lighter. "Alright, sweetheart. I've got this."

Before Louis could protest, Harry nudged him aside and began packing his bag with fluid, efficient movements. The silence between them was heavy, charged. Louis' hands hovered at his sides, unsure what to do.

Harry finished in record time, zipping the bag shut with a flourish before tossing the car keys toward Louis. Louis caught them on reflex, startled.

"Go heat up the car, darling," Harry said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. "I'll handle the rest."

Louis stared at him for a moment, trying to find something to say but his throat was too tight. He nodded wordlessly, his fingers tightening around the keys as he turned toward the door.

As he reached for the handle, he glanced back, catching Harry watching him with an expression he couldn't place. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a smirk.

"Go on, sweetheart," Harry called after him, his voice teasing. He shifted a bag onto his shoulder. "Don't keep me waiting. You don't exactly pack light."

Louis didn't respond. He stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving him alone with the echo of Harry's touch and the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

***

The hum of the car's engine had faded into background noise, a low, soothing rhythm that threatened to lull Louis to sleep. The ball—the mission—had drained him. His limbs felt heavy, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned against the car door, staring blankly at the blur of trees rushing past.

"You're quiet," Harry's voice broke through the quiet.

Louis grunted in response, too tired to bother with a retort.

Harry smirked, glancing at him briefly. "Not even a snarky comeback? You must be exhausted, sweetheart."

"Shut up," Louis muttered, his voice barely audible.

"You're going to leave a drool stain on the glass," Harry teased from the driver's seat, his voice breaking the quiet.

Louis peeled one eye open, his frown faint but visible. "Shut up."

"Ah, there's my favourite little ray of sunshine," Harry said with a smirk, keeping his eyes on the road. "Don't get too cosy, sweetheart. We've got hours before Gotham."

Louis grunted, closing his eyes again. He didn't have the energy to argue.

They'd already been driving for hours but the cityscape of Gotham was still miles away. Harry, surprisingly, had taken a more direct route—no unnecessary stops, no detours to toy with him. Even Harry seemed subdued, his usual energy dimmed by the long night.

"We'll stop soon," Harry said after a beat. "Unless you prefer to keep suffering in silence?"

Louis turned his head, managing a faint glare. "Just find a place."

It wasn't long before Harry pulled the car into the gravel lot of a roadside motel. The neon sign buzzed faintly, casting an eerie glow over the cracked pavement. It wasn't glamorous—far from it—but it was shelter, and that was all Louis cared about.

The night clerk barely glanced at them inside as Harry slid a card across the counter.

Still half-asleep, Louis didn't register the interaction, shifting his bag on his shoulder and following Harry up the stairs to their room.

Louis frowned, the reality sinking in. "You only got one room?"

Harry flashed him a grin as he unlocked the door. "It's all they had. Unless you want to sleep in the car?"

Louis sighed, stepping inside and taking in the modest space. The motel was a far cry from luxury, but it was clean, quiet, and—mercifully—had hot water. Soft yellow light filtered through the drapes as they stepped into the room. The furnishings were simple: crisp white linens, a small desk, and an armchair tucked into the corner. It wasn't bad, all things considered. But as Louis' gaze landed on the bed, his stomach dropped.

"No way," Louis said immediately.

Harry walked in behind him, glancing around with mild approval. "Not bad. Thought it'd be worse, honestly."

"You didn't notice the bed situation?" Louis shot back, gesturing sharply to the offending piece of furniture.

Harry arched an eyebrow, dropping his bag on the bed and sitting down with a theatrical sigh. "What about it?"

Louis scoffed. "Bed," he repeated. "Singular."

Harry kicked off his shoes, letting them thud against the carpet. "Sharp as ever, sweetheart. Bravo."

Louis blinked at him, baffled. "Where are you going to sleep?" he asked.

Harry shot him a look of confusion. "Probably in the bed that I just paid for," he said simply.

Louis dropped his bag on the floor. "Then where am I going to sleep?"

Harry's smile turned to one of amusement. "Ah I see," he mused. "You're afraid you might find me too charming in the dark," he said. "Don't worry sweetheart, I'll keep my hands to myself."

"We can't-" Louis started. "I'm not-"

Harry strolled over to the bed and dumped his stuff beside it. "It's a big bed. There's room for both of us. Stop being difficult."

Louis shot him a flat look. "The answer is no."

Harry looked offended. "Why not?"

"Because you're you!"

Harry chuckled. "Compelling argument. Truly."

Louis sighed, frustrated. "You know what? I'm fine with the chair."

"You're ridiculous," Harry said, shaking his head. "There's no need to martyr yourself over a perfectly good bed."

Louis glared at him, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. "You don't get to decide what I do."

Harry's smile turned sharp, but his voice was infuriatingly calm. "You're still recovering. Unless you want to tear those stitches open again, you're not sleeping in that chair."

"You know what, you're right," Louis shot back. "You're perfectly healthy. You take the chair."

Harry tilted his head, studying Louis like he was something amusing. "Sweetheart, do I look like someone who sleeps in chairs?"

"You don't look like someone who sleeps at all," Louis muttered.

Harry clutched his chest mockingly. "Ouch. That hurts."

Louis groaned, running a hand through his hair. "We'll flip for it."

Harry considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, I think I'll just keep the bed," he said finally. "We both know I'm not built for the chair life. Too tall. Too broad. Bad for my back."

Louis huffed. "You've never cared about your back before."

"That was before I got stuck babysitting you," Harry said. "Now, I need to keep in top condition to protect my favourite little occupational hazard."

Harry started to unpack his things and Louis watched him with a pout.

"But I'm hurt." Louis lifted his shirt just enough to reveal the bandage still taped snugly across his side.

Harry glanced at him, lips twitching at the dramatic tone. "Oh, we're playing that card now?"

Louis rubbed a hand over it with a pitiful little grimace. "You're going to make me sleep in that chair?"

For a moment, Harry's expression softened, his green eyes darting briefly to Louis' side. Then his lips curled into an easy smirk. "This is coming from the man whose favourite phrase is, 'I'm fine'? That man?"

Louis gasped faintly, pressing his hand to his chest as if Harry had struck him. "Wow. You're really heartless."

"Dead inside, sweetheart," Harry quipped, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling them up.

Louis stuck out his bottom lip slightly, his eyes growing rounder. "But I'm still healing. You're just gonna throw me on the chair? Just like that?"

Harry didn't look up as he grabbed his toiletries bag from his suitcase but his grin widened. "Uh-huh."

Louis upped the stakes, sighing dramatically and rubbing at his bandage again, his lips twitching into an almost smile as he caught Harry glancing. "What if I can't sleep comfortably in the chair?"

"That sounds tragic," Harry drawled, brushing past him on the way to the bathroom. "But still no. Don't care how cute you are."

Louis blinked, wide-eyed. "Cute?"

Harry paused, leaning one hand on the doorframe to glance back at him. "You heard me. Enjoy your chair."

Louis ignored him, sighing before busying himself with pulling off his boots and inspecting his side where the stitches ran. It was healing but the ache was still a constant reminder of how close he'd come to disaster.

They took turns in the bathroom, with Louis lingering under the hot spray longer than intended. When he returned to the bedroom, Harry was already sprawled out on the bed. Louis took one glance at him before unfolding the scratchy throw blanket onto the armchair.

"Louis—" Harry began.

"Drop it," Louis cut him off, dropping into the chair gingerly. He winced but forced himself to settle against the uneven padding, his body protesting every movement.

Harry opened his arm, his eyes still on Louis. "Sweetheart," he murmured, soft but amused. "Come cuddle with me."

Louis glared at him for a moment before turning away.

Harry sighed dramatically, tucking himself under the covers. "You're so stubborn, you know that? Not everything has to be a fight."

"Good night, Harry," Louis said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The lights clicked off, leaving the room steeped in quiet, broken only by the occasional sound of shifting from Harry's side of the room. Louis couldn't relax. His side throbbed faintly, his chair creaking under every fidget, and the smell of detergent from the blanket was sharp and artificial. Still, he refused to move, stubborn to a fault.

It was well past midnight when Harry's voice floated through the darkness, softer than before. "You're not actually comfortable, are you?"

Louis didn't answer, keeping his eyes shut and feigning sleep.

A rustle of blankets. The faint creak of the mattress. Harry sighed again. "God, you're impossible."

The silence stretched on again. Louis felt like he was almost about to drift off when he heard footsteps padding across the carpet.

"Alright, sweetheart," Harry murmured, low and coaxing. "You win, I'm asking nicely. Come to bed. You look miserable."

"I'm fine," Louis muttered, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

"No, you're not," Harry said, crouching beside him. Louis could feel the heat of him even without looking. "You're making this harder than it has to be. No one's going to win a medal for suffering tonight."

Louis didn't respond, his stubbornness clashing with the growing lure of actual comfort. "No."

Harry stood abruptly, shaking the chair lightly. "You're really going to make me do this?"

Louis cracked one eye open. "Do what?"

"Drag you over here."

Louis' eyes shot open. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, I would."

Louis pulled the blanket tighter around him. "Go to sleep."

"Fine, stay here then. But stop whining." Harry returned to the bed and flopped onto it with more force than necessary, the mattress creaking under him. "I'm not going to listen to you groan all night."

There were a few minutes of silence before Louis sighed again, his body betraying him as the ache of the chair became impossible to ignore.

Harry let the silence hang this time, rolling onto his back with a faint sigh. Minutes passed before Louis shifted again, more restless than before.

"Alright," Harry said suddenly, sitting up and throwing the blanket off. "I surrender. In you go."

Louis blinked, looking up. "What?"

Harry stood, gesturing toward the bed. "The bed. Yours. Get to it before I change my mind."

Louis stared at him, uncertain. "You don't have to—"

"Yeah, I do," Harry said simply, his tone softer now but still playful. "Go."

Still confused, but too tired to argue, Louis slipped out of the chair and into the bed, pulling the blankets over himself. The mattress was softer than it looked, a reprieve he hadn't realized he needed until the ache in his body began to ease.

Harry settled in the chair, folding himself into it in a way that was almost laughable. His long legs stretched awkwardly, one arm braced against the narrow armrest.

From the bed, Louis watched him, quiet and thoughtful. It wasn't in his nature to give anything up without a fight. And yet, there he was, pretending not to notice how ridiculous he looked in the too-small chair.

The guilt came first, then the irritation. Louis sighed heavily, sitting up slightly to glare at Harry.

"Come here," Louis said, his voice tight.

Harry stilled, then slowly looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Just shut up and get over here." Louis pulled back the blanket slightly to make room for Harry.

Harry huffed out a laugh of disbelief and nodded. "Alright," he muttered, standing gracefully and nearing the bed.

He settled down next to Louis who was already shooting him a warning look as he slipped under the covers again.

"If you so much as touch me—"

"Relax, sweetheart," Harry murmured. He pulled the covers up lazily, leaning back against the pillow with a contented sigh. "Not gonna touch you. Not without you begging for it."

Louis' breath hitched slightly at the words, his eyes darting up to meet Harry's. They stared at each other just inches apart, the low light from the streetlamp spilling into the room, illuminating every flicker of tension between them. Harry's gaze softened into something unbearably fond.

Louis blinked at him, the shadow of his eyelashes fluttered across his cheeks in the golden light. Harry just watched him, eyes flickering down Louis' face and settling to steal a glance at his lips.

Louis turned abruptly, rolling onto his side and turning his back to Harry. "Goodnight."

There was a moment of silence before Harry responded. When he did, his voice was achingly tender. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

The room settled into quiet stillness, the air heavy but somehow comfortable, the tension hanging like a promise that neither dared to act on—for now.

Louis lay resolutely turned away, his back to Harry as he clung to his side of the bed. But the warmth at his back—the weight of knowing Harry was there, only inches away, was fixed in his mind.

Sleep came slowly to Louis and at some point in the still of the night, he turned over without realising it. Yet, deep into the night, something stirred him.

Half-asleep, his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze fell on Harry, whose expression was no longer framed in teasing smiles or guarded sharpness.

The faint glow of moonlight painted Harry in soft shades of silver and shadow, stripping away his usual sharpness. His jaw, so often set with amusement or cunning, was relaxed.; the smirk that so often tugged at his lips was nowhere to be found. He was gentle in a way Louis wasn't prepared for.

Louis' eyes lingered for a moment longer, tracing the curve of Harry's profile, the quiet rise and fall of his chest. 

 Louis cast his eyes away quickly, pulling the blanket higher around his shoulders. He told himself it was just the warmth, just the quiet, just the weariness making him notice. Just the night that was messing with his head. He closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the bed and the steady rhythm of Harry's breathing lull him back to sleep.

 It was minutes later when Harry woke briefly, the feeling of Louis' arm brushing against his own is what tugged him from his dreams. His eyes opened groggily, glancing over to where Louis lay pressed beside him.

Harry froze, the sight of Louis relaxed and unguarded, his head almost resting on Harry's shoulder, anchoring him in place.

Under the starlight, Louis looked impossibly peaceful, stripped of his usual retorts and fire. His features were softener. His dark lashes, the faint part of his lips, the golden skin under the pale light. Beautiful, Harry thought faintly. A secret only for him to see.

He didn't move, didn't speak. Just slowly, silently, subconsciously shifted closer, the warmth of him brushing against Louis' side. The movement made Louis sigh faintly, his body instinctively leaning toward Harry, relaxing into the subtle pull of shared space.

Harry let his eyes linger on Louis for a moment longer before allowing himself to fall back asleep. A faint, unreadable smile on his lips.

'Don't be shy, it's just me.' :')

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