This chapter? My babies :') <3

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The evening settled uneasily over the penthouse, the glow of the setting sun casting long shadows against the polished floors. Louis paced the living room, his movements sharp and restless. He combed through the couch cushions with growing frustration, his breath coming in terse little huffs.

Harry, sprawled lazily across the couch with his legs kicked up on the armrest, barely spared him a glance. He was flipping through a newspaper like he wasn't even reading it—just keeping his hands busy.

"Have you seen my phone?" Louis asked sharply.

Harry tilted his head, brow quirking in mild amusement. "Good evening to you too, sweetheart."

Louis shot him a glare, crouching to check beneath the coffee table. "I'm serious. I've looked everywhere—bedroom, kitchen, the damn bathroom." He straightened, running a hand through his hair. "It's gone."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "You checked the diner?"

Louis shook his head. "No, I had it with me after that."

"Checked the car?" Harry asked absently, licking his thumb to turn a page.

Louis gave him an exasperated look, hands resting on his hips. "Yes, I checked the car. I even called the number, no answer."

"Then I'm afraid I'm all out of ideas," Harry said lightly.

Louis moved towards him. "Can you move?"

Harry raised a brow at him. "That's a bit rude, no?"

"I need to check it's not here," Louis insisted, gesturing to the sofa that Harry was sprawled out on.

Harry let out an overdramatic sigh, tossing the paper to the side before standing up. "Have at it, sweetheart," he said, stepping away and waving vaguely to the sofa.

Louis shot him a glare over his shoulder before patting down the cushions and running his hand along the creases of the sofa. He came out empty, his phone nowhere in sight.

"Great," he groaned, throwing his hands up. "My whole life is on that phone."

It wasn't exactly true, he'd only had it a couple of months since he'd arrived at Harry's apartment. But it was his only source of communication with the world outside of these four walls.

Harry shrugged, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Guess it's not your lucky day, huh?"

Louis glared at him, jaw tight. "You're so helpful, really. God forbid you even attempt to—"

"Here," Harry interrupted, cutting through Louis' irritation as he reached behind the couch. He tossed an item toward Louis in one fluid motion.

Louis caught the bundle instinctively. He froze, his frustration momentarily melting away as he ran his fingers over the familiar material.

It was his suit. The black fabric was pristine, the tears and cuts meticulously mended as though it had never been damaged. The last time he'd seen it, it had been ruined—slashed open, torn apart, soaked in his own blood.

But now? The jagged edges had been painstakingly sewn back together. Carefully, with precision, with intention. Louis' fingers brushed over the fabric, and he couldn't help but notice the care in each stitch.

Louis looked up, gripping the suit. "You... fixed my suit?"

Harry met his gaze, offering Louis a soft smile. "I thought it deserved another chance."

Louis didn't say anything for a moment but his grip on the suit tightened slightly. There was no quick wit, no sarcastic retort—just quiet.

"So," Harry drawled. "You gonna thank me, or...?" he teased, the smirk returning.

Louis' lips twitched into a half-smile. His gaze softened and the sharp tension that had lingered since their fight began to thaw.

"Don't push your luck," he muttered, turning away to hang the suit carefully on the back of a chair.

***

The lead had come through an hour ago, delivered with Harley's usual mix of irritation and flair.

"Found your mystery car," he'd announced through the phone. "Or, more accurately, my guys found it. Y'know, 'cause I'm the one who does all the work around here."

"And yet, here I am, still waiting on a damn location," Harry had retorted, phone pressed to his ear as he beckoned Louis over.

Louis frowned tilting his head. "What is it?"

Harley's voice came through the phone again. "Dingy little alley, two blocks from the docks. Kinda weird placement, honestly—if someone was tryin' to dump it, they did a real half-assed job. Like they wanted it seen."

That had been enough to get them moving.

Now, standing in front of the abandoned car, Louis felt a nagging sense of unease.

The vehicle was battered—its once-black paint scratched and dulled, the license plate crudely defaced—but there was something deliberate about the way it had been left here. The placement wasn't careless. It was pointed. A statement.

Harry leaned against the hood, surveying the scene with his usual detached amusement. "So, what's the verdict, sweetheart? Our little stalker leave us a present?"

Louis crouched down, running his fingers along the undercarriage. The metal was warm, like it had only been here for a few hours. The faint smell of gasoline and stale sweat lingered inside, sharp even through the night air.

"This car was at the auction," he murmured, mostly to himself.

Harry raised a brow. "You sure?"

Louis stood, nodding. "Positive. I remember the dent on the rear panel." His voice was steady, but something about this wasn't sitting right. "Whoever was driving it was following us."

Harry's face was unreadable. "Then they're either idiots or arrogant as hell to leave it here."

Louis hesitated, his gaze lingering on the faint scuff marks near the passenger seat. The pattern was strange—like someone had climbed in and out multiple times, fast. He pulled back, turning to glance at Harry.

"Maybe they wanted us to find it," Louis whispered, trying to focus. But his thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in images of Wayne Manor's charred remains

Harry hummed, pushing off of the bonnet and moving towards his own car. "Then let's find out why."

Louis shifted on his feet, hesitating for half a second before turning to Harry. "Wait," he called.

Harry paused, glancing over his shoulder at Louis. "Yes?"

Louis swallowed. "I need to use my comms."

Harry's lips curled at the edges, interest sparking behind his eyes as he turned to face Louis. "You're asking?"

Louis ignored that. "Batman might know something about Wayne Manor."

Harry's smile didn't waver. "You're asking without a please?"

"Harry," Louis muttered. "If anyone's got leads, it's him."

Harry huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, leads about his little firework display," he stated. "Not on this," he gestured to the car. "If you hadn't gathered already, I'm not too concerned about the Bat playing homeless for a while."

Louis' nose twitched in anger. "Well I can't focus on this," he gestured to the abandoned car, "if my thoughts are preoccupied with my childhood home burning to the ground."

Harry let out another short laugh and titled his head, considering. "Let me get this straight—you want me to let you call your old boss? Y'know, the guy who'd love nothing more than to put a bullet between my eyes?" he checked. "And what's in it for me is... nothing."

Louis sighed. "He doesn't use guns."

Harry smirked. "Sweetheart, that's not a denial."

Louis blinked at him. "You said you'd help me find out what happened!"

"Yes," Harry said easily. "Me and you."

"Then help me," Louis pleaded, stepping closer. "Harry, please."

Harry shook his head. "We have bigger problems right now."

"And I can't focus on them until after I'm done making sure he's safe," Louis replied firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "And then you'll focus on this?" he asked. "No getting sidetracked, no getting quiet and sulky on me?"

Louis held his hands up in faux innocence. "Best behaviour," he promised.

Harry's nose twitched slightly. "You check on the Bat and then you're all mine," he stated. "Got it?"

Louis nodded immediately.

Harry lifted a brow. "And if you try anything cute—"

"I won't."

Harry watched him for a moment as if testing him in some way. Finally, he gave Louis a slight nod. "Come on," he said before heading towards the car.

***

Louis sat on the edge of his bed, the small device heavy in his hand. He swallowed before speaking. "Liam?"

The comm crackled for a moment before the line connected.

"Lou?"

Louis exhaled, the familiar voice settling something deep in his chest. "I'm here."

There was a beat of silence. Then— "Didn't expect to hear from you."

Louis hesitated. Their last conversation was still fresh in his mind. They had left things tense, Louis walking away when Liam had pushed too hard. Louis carried the guilt heavy on his shoulders.

"I just—" Louis stopped himself. He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. I just wanted to check if you were okay? I just needed to hear your voice? Instead, he settled for, "I heard about Wayne Manor."

Liam's sigh was quiet but heavy. "I'm fine." A pause. "I wasn't there when it happened."

Louis felt a wave of relief wash over him. His eyes felt glassy. "What happened?"

"Security footage picked up four figures. They were masked—faces fully covered. They knew what they were doing."

"The police?" Louis checked, gripping his comms tighter.

Liam's frustration was evident, even through the phone. "No leads. No fingerprints, no ID."

Louis sighed, shaking his head. There was another pause, longer this time. "It wasn't..." Louis trailed off for a moment. "It wasn't him," he managed. "I know the news is saying it was," he said. "But he didn't do it."

Liam was quiet for a moment. Then, simply, "I figured."

Something about that response made Louis' stomach twist.

"I'm still looking into it," Liam continued, his voice more measured now. "If I find anything—"

"I know," Louis interrupted.

Another pause.

Then—softer, almost careful— "You alright?" Liam asked.

Louis' chest ached. "I'm fine," he said finally. "You?"

"Yeah." Liam didn't push. Maybe he could hear the exhaustion in Louis' voice or maybe he just knew this wasn't the time. "I'll keep looking into it. If anything comes up, I'll find a way to let you know."

Louis swallowed. "Okay."

Neither of them hung up right away. It stretched a few seconds too long until finally Louis exhaled and disconnected the call.

When Louis stepped back inside, Harry was exactly where he left him, perched on the edge of a kitchen island, flipping through a switchblade with lazy expertise.

The moment Louis approached, Harry held out his hand. Louis hesitated but placed the comms back into Harry's palm.

Harry turned it over between his fingers before tucking it into his pocket. "Did the B-man have anything useful to say?"

Louis rolled his eyes. "There were four of them. No IDs. The police have nothing."

Harry nodded, like he already knew. "And?"

Louis hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. "He knows it wasn't you."

Harry tilted his head, amused. "Oh, well I'm flattered."

Louis didn't rise to the bait. He just turned away, running a hand through his hair, mind still trying to turn over everything Liam had said. And yet, it wasn't Liam's voice that looped in his head anymore.

It was Harry.

Annoying, infuriating Harry, whose sharp grin was becoming softer with every second that they spent together. Harry, who had insisted he didn't care about anyone on the first day of their trip out of town— leaving Louis feeling devasted on the street outside of the club. Harry, who fixed his suit—not to manipulate him, not because of a deal—but because he'd wanted to.

He cared enough to mend the fabric that bore the wounds of battle, to offer it back to Louis like it was his version of an olive branch. And that was the problem. No matter how loudly Harry proclaimed that he didn't care about anyone, he showed Louis the opposite. In his own frustrating, maddening way, he cared. And it terrified Louis.

Now that the mask was off, now that Harry was raw, exposed and open, every word, every action hit so much harder. Louis couldn't stop replaying the moment their lips met—the crackling, consuming energy of it. The ache in his chest when Harry stepped back.

He needed to kiss him again.

"Louis?" Harry's voice broke through, calm but with a slight edge of curiosity.

Louis almost jumped at the sound of his voice as it tugged him brutally from his thoughts. "I need to think." Was all he said before rushing to his room, leaving Harry behind in the kitchen watching after him.

***

Harry stood by the wide window of his office, Gotham's fractured skyline stretching far beyond the glass. He looked every bit as relaxed as usual but his sharp green eyes had a flicker of calculation in them, an intensity that never really left. The faint hum of the city below barely reached the office; it felt like its own separate world, caught between silence and whatever chaos lay on the horizon.

He flicked through files casually; his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the ink curling around his forearms. He picked up a folder, glancing through its contents halfheartedly, his mind elsewhere.

The soft creak of the door broke the quiet of the room. Harry didn't turn immediately, though the faintest quirk of his lips gave away his awareness.

Harry looked over his shoulder and his gaze finally flicked to Louis. Louis looked at him cautiously, the tension in his posture telling Harry enough before either of them spoke.

"You know," Harry murmured smoothly. "I have an entire staff of minions and maniacs who still have the common courtesy to knock."

The hesitation behind him was palpable.

Louis hovered in the doorway, his hand still resting on the handle as if considering whether to leave instead of stepping inside. He looked like someone trying very hard to be composed, though his fingers anxiously twisted the edge of his sleeve.

"I need to talk to you," Louis muttered, his voice quieter than Harry had ever heard it, each word coming out like it had been dragged from him.

Harry finally straightened, turning to face Louis. "Talk to me?" he echoed. "Haven't heard much of that today."

Louis tensed, the jab hitting closer than he wanted to admit. "I'm serious."

"Don't tell me you've got another missing item to report," Harry drawled, his lips quirking as he set the folder down. "Should I start a lost and found section in here?"

"Funny," Louis muttered, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it for a moment. The lock clicked into place, the faint sound amplifying the quiet tension of the space. His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw ticking with a tension he clearly didn't want to address. "It's not that."

Something flickered across Harry's features—curiosity, perhaps. "Alright, sweetheart," he said, tilting his head in invitation. His green eyes scanned Louis carefully. "Let's hear it."

Louis stepped into the room reluctantly and, for a moment, neither spoke.

Harry watched as Louis crossed the room, his movements uncertain and stilted. He stopped a few feet away, his hands dropped to his sides, clenching into fists as if willing himself to stay put.

"Well?" Harry drawled, crossing his arms. "Don't tell me you're at a loss for words. You're normally so delightfully combative."

Louis' jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the floor. "This isn't easy," he admitted quietly, his tone sharper than intended but lacking conviction.

Harry raised a brow. "And here I thought you loved a challenge."

Louis looked up, glaring. "Can you—can you just shut up for two seconds and listen?"

Harry's brow furrowed slightly, confused as to what could possibly have Louis so worked up. "Go on, sweetheart. I'm listening."

Louis hesitated again, his heart pounding. Why was this so hard? Why couldn't he just say it?

"I didn't give you up," Louis managed, the words so quiet that they nearly got swallowed by the heavy silence.

Harry stilled. "Come again?"

"When Batman asked for your address," Louis repeated, his voice still soft but steadier now. His eyes flicked up briefly to meet Harry's. "I didn't— I didn't give it to him."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and raw.

For once, Harry didn't have a quip at the ready. He straightened slightly, his arms falling loosely to his sides as he processed the words. "And?" he asked softly, almost cautiously.

"And... I don't know why," Louis admitted, his voice almost breaking. "I don't know why I didn't. It would've been easier." He paused, swallowing hard. "Cleaner. Right."

Harry tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening as he took a slow step closer. "But?" he pressed, his tone unreadable.

Louis exhaled shakily. "But... I couldn't."

Their gazes met and the air felt impossibly still.

Harry smirked faintly, breaking the tension. "Well," he drawled. "Then you must like me a little more than you let on, sweetheart."

Louis' hands flexed nervously at his sides. "You're confusing," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry frowned, huffing a slight laugh as he stepped closer again. He was within arm's reach now, his expression calm but intent. "How's that?"

"You..." Louis gestured helplessly as if that alone would explain the mess of emotions churning in his chest. "You push me away one second and then...then you—" He stopped short, biting his lip.

"Then I...?" Harry prodded softly, his voice coaxing.

Louis swallowed. "You kissed me," he said finally, the words quiet and fragile on his tongue.

The faintest smile flickered on Harry's lips. "Well," he murmured, "you kissed me first."

Louis flushed, his glare half-hearted. "That's not the point," he grumbled, looking away.

Harry chuckled, the sound warm and fond. "It kind of is, though."

Louis' shoulders tensed as he forced himself to meet Harry's gaze. The vulnerability in his eyes was painfully clear, even as he tried to steady himself. "I don't get it," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Harry's expression softened for the briefest moment before the smirk returned, though gentler this time. "Get what?" he asked.

Louis shrugged stiffly, his throat tightening. "You said it yourself. You don't care about anyone. Especially not me," he stated. "You made it pretty clear at the club the first night of our trip," he continued. "And yet..." he trailed off, shaking his head slightly before he finished. "I don't know."

Harry remembered it as clear as day. The look on Louis' face, the hurt in his voice.

Harry reached out slowly, his fingers brushing lightly against Louis' arm. Louis froze, his breath catching as Harry's touch lingered, almost too tender to be tangible.

Harry tilted his head, looking at Louis. His eyes held a rare kind of gentleness. "You wanna know what I think?"

Louis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm sure you'll tell me."

Harry bit back a laugh, fingers running up Louis' forearm before withdrawing. "You've got a real bad habit, sweetheart."

Louis blinked at him. "What's that?"

"Needing answers to everything," Harry replied. "Why can't you just...feel it?"

"Feel what?" Louis snapped, frustration making his voice wobble slightly. "You can't expect me to just—just guess what's real and what isn't."

Harry closed the space between them. "See, that's the problem with you." His voice dipped quieter. "You're all logic, all rules. You don't know how to trust what's right in front of you."

Louis stared at him, the flare of anger dimming under the weight of Harry's words. "How am I supposed to trust you," he said quietly, his throat tight, "when you give me nothing?"

For a moment, Harry didn't answer. The teasing edge of his usual smirk was gone, fading into something that felt almost vulnerable.

"I won't give you the whole manual, sweetheart," he said softly, his tone low and coaxing. "That's not how I work."

Louis' chest tightened. "Then what can you give me?"

Harry hesitated, his usual quick quips nowhere to be found. Slowly, he shifted his hand, fingers moving to Louis' wrist, resting lightly over his pulse. He took Louis' wrist, bringing the boy's hand up to rest on his chest. Louis could feel the steady beat of Harry's heart beneath his palm.

"This," Harry said finally, his voice softer than Louis had ever heard it. "Me."

Louis watched him carefully, his bottom lip trembling. "How am I supposed to trust you?"

Harry let out a breathy laugh and Louis could feel the rumble of it beneath his hand. Louis swallowed, dropping his hand to rest at his side.

Harry's hand went to Louis' chest, two fingers pressing gently against the fabric of his shirt. He curled his fingers, his knuckles resting over Louis' heart. Louis froze, the faint pressure of Harry's touch, the warmth, made him falter.

"You already do," Harry said softly, his eyes locked onto Louis'. "In here."

The simplicity of the statement floored Louis. He opened his mouth, the protest ready and waiting, but no words came.

"That's where it counts," Harry added before Louis could respond. His voice was so low, almost as if he were whispering a secret.

Louis blinked, his thoughts spiralling, his lips parting as if to argue—but Harry beat him to it.

"You're always looking for proof, sweetheart. Always second-guessing," Harry told him. "But sometimes, you just have to trust what's right in front of you."

Louis didn't look up, afraid of what Harry might see in his eyes if he did. His voice cracked as he finally whispered, "Harry..."

Harry's gaze softened at the sound, something unspoken passing between them in the charged silence. He finally dropped his hand, eyes still on Louis even as his touch strayed.

Louis hesitated, the words tangled in his throat. He felt like he was handing over his heart—fragile and bruised—to someone who could crush it with one word.

His forehead came to rest lightly against Harry's shoulder as if he could no longer look him in the eye. The subtle quake in Louis' frame betrayed his nerves.

Harry momentarily stiffened at the contact before his hand went to the back of Louis' neck, his fingers running across his spine as his thumb traced the line of Louis' jaw.

"I chose you," Louis murmured finally, the words slipping out like a secret he could no longer keep.

Harry's grip tightened, his hand curling around the back of Louis' neck, fingers rubbing at the skin in an attempt to ease the tension that festered beneath his skin.

"If I'm..." Louis' voice broke. "If this is just a game to you..." The next words were barely audible, spoken so softly they almost vanished into the space between them. "It's gonna break me."

Harry's chest tightened, a flicker of something foreign and overwhelming passing through him. He couldn't speak, couldn't offer anything that didn't feel like a lie. He wasn't used to this—this kind of rawness, this weight of trust placed entirely in his hands.

He shifted slightly, tilting his head to rest against Louis'. A silent acknowledgement of everything he couldn't say aloud.

Louis stayed still, his head pressed against Harry. All he wanted, needed, was for Harry to tell him he wasn't crazy, that this wasn't all one-sided, that Harry felt it too: this pull, this unbearable gravity tying them together despite everything.

But Harry stayed silent. His fingers tightened around the side of Louis' neck just slightly- like an unspoken promise.

Louis squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to believe it was enough.

Louis :'( My shaylaaaaa.

Thoughts?

Who is falling first and who will fall harder?

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