My Harley Quinn ;)

This chapter has my heart <3

(5k chapter slay) Double update incoming so please make sure you show this chapter some love. I worked really hard on it :)

Get both chapters to the target for an update!

45 votes/450 comments xx

Dim morning light bled in through the gaps in the curtains, casting long, muted shadows over the penthouse. The television was still on, a faint hum of static stretching into the space like white noise.

Harry woke up slowly.

The ache in his side was sharp but manageable, a dull throb beneath the layers of bandages. It was distant, unimportant compared to the warmth settling over him—the kind that wasn't just from the blanket draped across his body.

His face was clean—someone had wiped off his makeup and washed the dried blood from his skin. The blanket had been pulled over him with surprising care and there was a pillow beneath his head that wasn't there before.

His head was heavy against the cushion, his limbs sluggish with exhaustion. None of that, however, was what caught his attention first.

Because Louis was still here.

Asleep on the floor just beside him. His back was propped up against the sofa, head resting against the cushion next to Harry's shoulder. His arms were folded loosely over his chest, his breathing steady and even, still deep in sleep. Harry tilted his head to look at him properly. Louis looked exhausted, his hair slightly mussed, his T-shirt rumpled.

With slow, deliberate movement, Harry reached out, pressing a lazy hand to Louis' shoulder.

Louis stirred immediately, his breath hitching and brows furrowing before his eyes finally fluttered open, bleary and unfocused.

Harry's smirk deepened, his voice warm, still laced with sleep. "You're still here."

Louis exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat up slightly, his body stiff from the awkward angle he'd slept in.

His voice was rough with sleep but dry as ever. "Unfortunately."

Harry let out a low hum, stretching lazily against the couch, ignoring the sharp pull of pain at his ribs as he rolled his shoulders, settling in deeper like he had all the time in the world.

"You should be resting," Louis muttered after a moment, eyes flickering over him like he was already assessing the damage.

Harry stretched, wincing faintly but brushing it off. "Oh, sweetheart, don't tell me you were worried about me."

Louis rolled his eyes but didn't deny it.

Harry just watched him for a moment, something softer slipping beneath his usual amusement. Louis had stayed. Had taken care of him, cleaned him up, and even fallen asleep beside him instead of leaving.

"Thank you," Harry said finally, eyes sweeping over Louis with a rare kind of sincerity.

Before Louis could reply, Harry pushed himself upright with a faint groan, his muscles protesting as he swung his legs over the side of the couch.

Louis was on his feet in an instant, hands reaching out to steady him just in case. "Harry."

Harry grinned, waving a hand dismissively. "Relax, darling. I'm just freshening up. You can pick up the doting nurse act later."

Louis muttered something under his breath but didn't stop him. Harry smirked to himself as he left the room.

In his bedroom, Harry peeled back the bandages just enough to inspect the wound in the mirror, tilting his head as he traced the edges of the fresh gauze. A bit of swelling but nothing he couldn't handle.

Not bad, sweetheart, he thought idly, adjusting the wrappings before heading to the sink.

He washed up, letting the cool water run over his hands before splashing some onto his face, washing away the last remnants of sleep.

By the time he returned to the living room, Louis was in the kitchen, filling the coffee pot.

Harry smirked as he strolled back in, immediately heading for the couch. He stretched out with a pleased sigh, watching as Louis poured a cup. "So thoughtful," he mused, resting his hands over his stomach. "You really do care."

Louis' hands moved with careful precision, as if the act of doing something simple, something normal, might steady him. The familiar motions—pour, stir, sip—kept his mind from lingering on anything else.

Louis shot him a look. "This isn't for you." He took a sip from the mug.

Harry let his head tip back against the cushions. "Cold, sweetheart. After everything we've been through?"

Louis hummed nonchalantly, eyes scanning over the mug like it was far more interesting than the man stretched out on the couch. "You'll survive."

He could still feel Harry watching him.

His skin prickled as he gripped the mug a little tighter in his hands. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and walked back toward the couch, holding it out to Harry.

"There," Louis muttered. "Drink."

Harry watched him with an amused smile, eyebrow raised. He took the bottle and placed it down on the table. Louis went to turn away but Harry's hand shot out, fingers curling lazily around his wrist, stopping him in place.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Harry asked.

Louis stilled. "What?"

Harry's smirk deepened, his fingers ghosting over the inside of Louis' wrist. "I believe you owe me something, sweetheart."

Louis yanked himself free. "Do I?" he questioned. "What? Saving your life wasn't enough?"

Harry tilted his head. "You owe me something sweeter than that."

Louis huffed through his nose. "Yeah? What's that?"

Harry's smirk was more fond than menacing. "I think you owe me a kiss."

Louis recoiled, scoffing immediately. "I think not," he snapped.

"Oh, I remember," Harry replied. "Hard to forget an offer like that, sweetheart."

Louis rolled his eyes. "Well, you should remember the terms and conditions," he said. "You should've stayed awake."

Harry chuckled lowly. "I'm awake now."

Louis took a slow sip of coffee. "Well, you didn't stay awake."

Harry sighed dramatically, taking the coffee from Louis' hands and setting the mug down on the table.

"Hey-" Louis' protests were cut short.

"I tried my best," Harry told him. "How about a kiss for effort? For not dying?"

Louis flushed. "That what you're after?"

Harry's grin was slow, curling at the edges. "It's a fair trade."

Louis rolled his eyes. "No." He went to step away but Harry grabbed at his arm.

"Come on," he coaxed, voice dipping, teasing, warm.

Louis hesitated. He could feel the warmth of Harry's fingers curling around his wrist, could feel the lazy pressure there—just enough to hold him in place, just enough to stop him from walking away.

His fingers twitched at his side before he reached out with unhurried ease, lifting his hand to cradle Harry's jaw. His fingers were gentle, pressing lightly against the sharp edge of Harry's cheekbone, his thumb brushing just beneath his mouth.

Harry stilled. His smirk didn't drop, not entirely, but it faltered just slightly at the corners, his breath catching as Louis' fingers traced along the line of his jaw, feather-light.

Louis could feel the way Harry's lips parted slightly, the way his shoulders eased, the way he leaned—just a little. Just enough.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Then, with aching patience, Louis leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Harry's cheek. His lips lingered just long enough for Harry to feel the warmth of them, for the moment to settle heavily between them before he pulled back.

Louis pulled away with too much certainty, already regretting it, already telling himself he shouldn't have. Already stepping away like he hadn't meant to do it at all. Like he could still take it back if he moved away quickly enough.

But Harry? Harry was done playing nice.

Before Louis could run, before he could put that distance back between them, Harry grabbed him. Not hard, not forceful—but firm. Fingers curled into the fabric of Louis' shirt, pulling him down.

Louis toppled half onto the couch, half onto Harry's lap. He let out a sharp breath, catching himself against Harry's shoulders, his entire body tensing as his hands scrambled for balance.

"Harry," Louis gasped, his hands automatically going light, careful, mindful of the injury. He tried to shift back but Harry's grip was firm, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Louis' shirt, holding him there. "What are you-"

Before Louis could prepare, Harry took what he wanted.

Harry kissed him.

Firm this time. Slow and intentional; deep, and deliberate. It was the kind of kiss that dragged Louis under, that settled deep in his ribs and pulled. Harry's hands skimmed along Louis' waist, his grip firm but not forcing, letting Louis decide.

And Louis? Louis kissed him back.

Louis made a sound, something breathless, something unwilling to be swallowed, his hands gripping tight against Harry's shoulders, trying to steady himself, trying to find some kind of control. But there was nothing controlled about this.

"Harry," Louis muttered against his lips.

But Harry was already tilting his head up, already pressing closer, already taking.

It was dizzying. Too much. Too much. Louis broke away first, breathless, blinking down at him.

Harry let out a slow, lazy breath, his grip lingering, his body sinking deeper into the cushions. But his hands still curled loosely around Louis' waist, keeping him close enough to feel every shift of his breathing.

"Come on," Harry murmured, his voice low, warm, teasing but heavy with something real. "Kiss me, sweetheart." He pulled at Louis' shirt, bringing him closer.

Louis' eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his forehead against Harry's. "You don't deserve it," he muttered, his breath shaky, his words barely audible.

Harry hummed, his lips brushing against the corner of Louis' mouth as he tilted his head slightly. "I could earn it," he murmured, his voice smooth, warm, dipping lower as he spoke against the skin of Louis' jaw. "Let me make it up to you."

Louis inhaled sharply. "You couldn't even stay awake for me."

Harry let out a quiet chuckle, his lips grazing lower now, just barely tracing over the edge of Louis' throat. "Oh, I can do more than stay awake for you, sweetheart," he murmured. "Kiss me."

Louis swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. His pulse was thrumming too fast, too loud, too much.

He could feel every inch of Harry beneath him, the heat of him, the weight, the way he was barely even trying but still dragging him in without effort.

"You scared me," Louis whispered finally.

Harry paused. His fingers curled just slightly at Louis' waist, his breath evening out, his mouth still lingering against his skin but no longer teasing, no longer playful.

Then, softer, almost hesitant, he nosed against Louis' cheek. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Pressed together, their breathing uneven, hearts racing, tension buzzing between them like a wire pulled tight.

Louis kept his forehead pressed against Harry's for a moment, letting himself get caught up in the heat of Harry's body. His hand went to Harry's cheek, his thumb sweeping across the side of Harry's face. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, keening against Louis' touch.

Louis' stomach twisted, his skin hot. His hand dropped, flexing against Harry's chest like he wasn't sure if he wanted to shove him away or pull him closer. For a second, he hovered. For a second, he let himself feel it.

Then—slowly, carefully—Louis pulled away.

Harry let him go but not before dragging his fingers lightly down the back of Louis' wrist, something fleeting.

Louis' breath was uneven as he forced himself to step back, to put space between them.

Harry let him go, watching as he stood, as he adjusted his sleeves, as he tried to pretend his hands weren't shaking, that his lips weren't red and shiny, that his cheeks weren't tinted pink.

Louis looked like he was about to say something for a moment but he just blinked, shaking his head before leaving the room.

And Harry, smirking to himself, stretched back against the couch like he hadn't just ruined him entirely.

***

The phone call came just as Louis was convincing himself he could breathe normally again.

He'd been pacing the length of the bedroom, hands braced on the windowsill, fingers absently tapping against the cool surface. His skin still felt too hot, his breath still uneven. It was fine. It was nothing.

Then, his phone buzzed against the wood and he snatched it up like it was some kind of lifeline. Harley.

Louis exhaled sharply, steadying himself before answering. "Tell me you've got something."

Harley's voice was light but laced with something sharper. "Got more than something, birdy." A pause. Then, "One of your guys from the storage unit? He's still breathing."

Louis' grip tightened around the phone. "Just one?"

"The other two were dead when we got there." Harley didn't sound particularly bothered. "Not much left to work with."

Louis' jaw tensed, eyes flicking toward the other room. He knew Harry had taken out at least one—had seen the bodies sprawled on the pavement when he found him bleeding against the beam.

"And the one still breathing?" Louis pressed.

Harley let out a quiet chuckle, low and edged with amusement. "He's with us now. Thought you might want to ask him some questions before we make any... final decisions."

Louis didn't hesitate. "Where?"

"Same place as always."

"Give me twenty minutes." Louis ended the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He turned to leave, already running over the questions in his mind, already pulling himself back into something steady, something firm. But as he walked through the living room—

"You going somewhere, sweetheart?"

Louis froze for half a second before forcing himself to keep moving. Harry was still stretched out on the couch, his body loose and easy, his green eyes fixed on Louis in that too-knowing way.

"I'm handling something," Louis muttered, already heading for the door.

Harry hummed, slow, dragging, pushing himself up onto his elbows like he was considering getting up. "I'll grab my coat."

Louis turned sharply. "No, you will not."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "No?"

"You're still hurt," Louis said firmly, crossing his arms. "You're staying here."

Harry's smirk curled, he raised an eyebrow at Louis expectantly.

Louis' ears burned. "Harley's got one of the guys from the storage unit. The others are dead. I'm going to get answers."

"And I'm staying here?" Harry repeated, voice full of mock understanding as if the very idea of it was absurd.

Louis exhaled sharply, ignoring the twisting sensation in his stomach. He wasn't sure what was worse—the way Harry was looking at him now, or the way Harry had looked at him before, lips red and bruised from their kiss, hands gripping his waist like he was something to keep.

"You should be resting," Louis muttered.

Harry grinned. "We both know that's not gonna happen, sweetheart."

Louis didn't dignify that with a response. He just turned and walked out, ignoring the feeling of Harry's gaze following him to the door.

***

The warehouse was dimly lit, the stale scent of oil and metal hanging thick in the air.

Louis stepped inside, his boots echoing against the concrete. The place was almost empty save for a single chair in the centre of the room, where a man sat, slumped forward slightly, hands bound behind his back. His breathing was uneven, his lip split, one eye already swollen.

Harley stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. He looked entirely at ease, like they were gathered here for a casual conversation instead of an interrogation. His injuries had mostly healed by now, though he still moved carefully, still carried a lingering stiffness in his ribs.

"Little bird," Harley greeted, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. "Took your time."

Louis barely looked at him as he moved toward the chair. "He talk yet?"

Harley exhaled a slow drag of smoke, watching lazily. "Not much. But I have faith in you, birdy."

Louis turned his attention to the man in the chair. He was younger than expected—mid-thirties, maybe—his hair damp with sweat, his breath coming sharp through his nose.

Louis crouched down to his level, steady, composed. "Who do you work for?" The man didn't answer. His jaw was tight, shoulders tense. Louis tilted his head. "We can do this the easy way." A pause. "Or the Harley way."

Harley grinned behind him, tilting his head slightly like he was considering stepping in. "I like the sound of that."

The man swallowed thickly, his good eye darting between the two of them. Still, he said nothing.

Louis exhaled sharply, standing up straight. "Let's try again." His voice was calm and measured. "Who are you? Why were you following us? What do you want?"

A beat of silence. Then—

"I don't know," the man gritted out, finally.

Louis arched a brow. "Wrong answer."

The man let out a slow, shaking breath. "I mean it—I don't know anything. I was paid to watch. To follow."

"By who?" Louis pressed.

The man hesitated. Then, after another long pause—"It wasn't my job to ask questions."

Louis clenched his jaw. "Was it you at the auction?"

The man hesitated again, like he was weighing his options. "Yeah," he muttered. "Some of us were."

Louis felt something in his stomach twist. "And who's 'us'?"

The man swallowed. His throat bobbed. "They didn't tell us names."

Harley finally pushed off the wall, flicking his cigarette away with a lazy flick of his fingers. "See, the thing is," he murmured, stepping forward, "I hate liars."

The man stiffened immediately.

Harley crouched down beside him, grinning, something sharp and unpleasant in his expression. "And I really hate it when people waste my time."The man flinched as Harley reached for the knife in his boot, twirling it idly between his fingers.

Louis' fists clenched at his sides. He could stop him. He should. But his blood was still running too hot, his heart still hammering in his chest at the memory of Harry on the ground, bleeding.

Harley was speaking, his voice light, amused, but something dark curled beneath it. "See, you're making this difficult."

The man's breath stuttered.

Harley's smile didn't drop. He tilted his head, considering. "I'll be honest with you. You're not very important." His fingers trailed lazily along the arm of the chair, tapping against the metal. "You're not a big name, not some mastermind pulling the strings. You're a watcher. A follower." He clicked his tongue. "Disposable."

The man's breath hitched.

"But," Harley continued, voice dropping to something quieter, something almost fond, "I like breaking people like you. Because you think you can hold out. You tell yourself you won't talk, that you'll stay quiet, take whatever we give you. But you won't. You'll beg. You'll give me everything, even the things I don't ask for. And you'll do it just to make it stop."

He was so casual, so easy about it, that for a second Louis almost felt the fear himself.

Louis exhaled sharply through his nose. "Enough."

Harley didn't even blink. "Come on, birdy, he's right there." His fingers tapped the blade against the man's shoulder, light and almost playful. "Just one little cut, loosen him up, get him talking. He wants to talk, don't you?"

The man was shaking. He kept his mouth shut but the terror in his eyes was an answer enough.

Louis' patience snapped. "I said, enough." His voice came out sharper than he intended, his control slipping at the edges.

Harley sighed dramatically. "You're no fun."

Louis ignored him. He turned back to the man, his jaw tight. "What do you know?"

The man hesitated again. But this time, something in his expression cracked. His good eye flickered up to meet Louis'. "I know whoever's running this—whoever we're working for—they're not finished with you."

Louis' stomach clenched.

"And I know," the man continued, his voice hoarse, "that whatever you think this is about? It's bigger than that."

Louis' pulse thrummed, tension settling deep in his chest. Bigger than that.

Louis took a slow breath, then exhaled. "How many of you are there?"

The man swallowed. He hesitated, but one look at Harley's still-twirling knife seemed to change his mind.

"A lot. Not all in Gotham. Some come and go." His voice was shaking. "More than you'd expect."

"That's not a number," Harley muttered.

The man shook his head. "I don't know how many."

Louis' stomach turned. "Where's your base?"

The man gave a wet, humourless chuckle. "You think they'd tell me that?"

Louis' jaw twitched. He moved before he thought, grabbing the guy by the collar and yanking him forward, eyes dark. "Try again."

The guy swallowed.

Harley whistled, low and amused, as he twirled the knife faster. "I think you should at least try to be helpful."

The man flinched. "There's an outpost," he blurted. "Old industrial sector. Warehouse near the docks. That's where I get my orders."

Louis' jaw tightened. "And the fourth guy? The one who got away?"

A flicker of hesitation. Then—"Gone."

"Gone where?"

The man shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I don't know. He was higher up than me. When things went bad, he had an exit plan."

Louis studied him for a long moment. He wasn't sure if he believed him. But it was a lead.

Harley hummed, tapping a finger to his chin. "Ominous." He exhaled loudly. "God, you guys always make this so dramatic."

And then, before Louis could react, Harley crouched beside the chair again, pressing the flat of the blade against the man's throat, just enough pressure to make him tense. "If I cut something vital, think I can still keep you alive?"

The man flinched hard, his breath hitching. "I—I swear, I don't know anything else."

Harley just grinned. "Wrong answer."

The blade pressed just slightly deeper. Louis' jaw clenched, hands twitched at his sides.

Harley was waiting for Louis to stop him.

Louis exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He turned to Harley. "Don't kill him yet."

Harley pouted dramatically, shifting the knife just slightly away from the man's throat. "You're such a spoilsport."

"We still need him." Louis turned to the man. "For now," he added.

The man swallowed.

Harley hummed under his breath, tapping the blade against the man's cheek before finally pulling away, his shift from violent to unbothered was so quick that it made Louis' head spin.

"Smoke break?" Harley asked, completely unfazed. Like he hadn't just threatened to slit a man's throat seconds ago.

Louis huffed, the tension still thrumming beneath his skin. He nodded once. "Yeah." He turned, already heading for the exit.

Harley gave the man a lazy grin before standing, sliding the knife back into his boot. "Be good while we're gone." Then he followed Louis out.

The cold air hit sharply as they stepped outside, carrying the scent of rain and gasoline. The city was still in the distance, its lights flickering against the dark skyline.

Louis was already standing outside, leaning against the damp brick wall of the warehouse, his shoulders still tense.

Harley pulled out his cigarettes, tapping one out before glancing at Louis. He held the pack out to Louis wordlessly.

Louis took one.

Harley flicked his lighter open, the small flame briefly illuminating his face. He lit his own first, then leaned over to light Louis'. Louis inhaled slowly, letting the nicotine settle in his lungs, grounding him.

For a moment, they just stood there.

Harley let out a low chuckle, shoving one hand into his pocket. "So?"

Louis didn't respond immediately. He took a slow drag, letting the burn settle in his lungs before finally muttering, "You ever had someone bleed out on you before?"

Harley hummed. "Couple times."

Louis flicked the ash from his cigarette. "And?"

Harley studied him, tilting his head. "They either died, or they didn't."

Louis huffed a breath. "Helpful."

Harley grinned. "Not my job to comfort you, birdy." Harley exhaled some smoke, turning to Louis.  "How's Mister J?"

Louis paused, hesitating for just a second too long.

Harley grinned. "That good, huh?"

Louis sighed, taking another drag. "He's fine."

Harley smirked. "And you, birdy?"

Louis hesitated for a moment, glancing away from Harley. "I thought he was gonna die."

Harley's smirk faltered but he quickly recovered, huffing out a short laugh. "Joker doesn't just die, birdy," he teased. "Not until he's finished having his fun with this city."

Louis' smile didn't meet his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered half heartedly.

Harley studied him for a beat longer before clicking his tongue. "You care too much."

Louis scoffed. "And you don't care at all?"

Harley grinned, dragging another slow inhale from his cigarette. "Didn't say that." He blew the smoke out, watching it curl into the night. "Just means I don't let it ruin my day."

Louis hummed, unconvinced.

Harley watched him, then nudged his boot against Louis' lightly. "Seriously, though. You alright?"

Louis hesitated. No one had asked him that—not like this. Not without expectation, without weight.

Louis exhaled. "I'll live."

A pause. Then—

"It's Zayn by the way."

Louis glanced at him. "What?"

Harley took another slow drag, watching the ember burn at the tip of his cigarette. "My name."

Louis blinked at him. Something in his chest tightened, his lips parting as he just watched Harley take another pull, his gaze fixated on the sky like it wasn't a big deal, like he hadn't just given something to Louis.

For all their time spent in the same circles, in the same proximity, Harley had always just been Harley. A shadow at The Joker's side, a presence that loomed and laughed and never took things too seriously. But this—this was something else.

Louis rolled his cigarette between his fingers. Then, before he could think better of it, he muttered, "Louis."

Harley huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "I know your name, birdy."

Louis laughed softly, something close to a real smile tugging at his lips. Before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Harry.

He answered. "Yeah?"

Harry's voice was light, teasing. "Sweetheart, don't tell me you've gotten lost."

Louis exhaled sharply. "I'm busy."

"Actually," Harry started, "I think I'm bleeding out."

Louis' stomach dropped. "What?"

Harry made a soft, pained noise. "Dizzy. Weak. Seeing the light, sweetheart."

Louis pushed off the wall. "I'll be there in five." He ended the phone call, turning to Zayn. "Can you handle this?"

Zayn nodded, waving him away dismissively. Louis jogged to the car.

***

Louis stormed through the door, heart racing. He barely got two steps in before he froze.

Harry was stretched across the couch, one leg thrown lazily over the armrest, looking perfectly fine. No fresh blood. No new wounds.

Louis' brain stalled, his breath catching. He had been prepared for blood, for more stitches, for the sharp sting of loss scraping down his ribs like a serrated knife. But instead—

Harry was smirking.

The panic in Louis' chest curdled, twisting into something hotter. "You—" his breath caught. "You—"

Harry propped himself up on one elbow, looking pleased. "Oh, look at you. All flustered."

Louis clenched his jaw. "You're not bleeding out."

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "No." A grin. "But you came running."

Louis groaned, infuriated. "I should kill you myself!" he exclaimed.

Harry let out a soft laugh. "Probably," he agreed easily. "But you won't."

Louis scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't even know why I believed you," he muttered, walking into the living room and shrugging off his jacket.

Harry just watched him with an amused smile.

Louis tossed his jacket over the back of the chair. "I was busy, you know," he muttered, glancing over to Harry and frowning in confusion when he caught him staring. "What?"

"Come here." Harry's voice was soft and silky. He held an arm out to Louis.

And Louis wanted to be mad. He wanted to be furious at him. But he wasn't. Not really.

Louis huffed, shaking his head. "What do you want?"

Harry just patted the empty space beside him, his smirk deepening. "You, obviously."

Louis rolled his eyes but his feet betrayed him, carrying him forward before he could think better of it. He hovered near the edge of the couch, arms crossed, gaze narrowed. "So you pretended you were bleeding out?"

Harry tilted his head, blinking up at him through his lashes, all faux innocence. "What? You worried about me, sweetheart?"

"You just almost bled out in my arms, excuse me for assuming the worst," Louis muttered, voice quieter now.

Harry's smirk softened. His hand reached out, fingers pinching lightly around the hem of Louis' shirt, just barely tugging him forward. "Look," he murmured, lifting his own shirt. "Good as new."

Louis swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Harry's chest. "You're the worst." His cheeks flushed red.

Harry smirked, lowering his shirt but not commenting on Louis' blush.

"And you," Harry murmured, tilting his head slightly, "are very good at patching people up." He gently tugged Louis' shirt again. "Come here," he said softly.

Louis scoffed, not conceding. "Shut up."

"You did such a good job, sweetheart," Harry drawled, hands still twisted in the fabric of Louis' T-shirt. "Not even a twinge of pain."

Louis exhaled sharply, glaring at him. "I should've made it painful."

Harry just smirked, utterly unbothered. "Tell me what happened," he said, voice dropping into something lower, smoother. "With Harley and Mr stabby." His hand still lingered on the seam of Louis' shirt. "Sit."

Louis scoffed again, arms crossed tight over his chest. "I'm not sitting."

Harry hummed, shifting slightly to make space beside him. "Course not, sweetheart. Just standing there, hovering like you don't want to be anywhere else."

Louis glared, unmoving.

Harry patted the empty cushion again, slow and coaxing. "Come on," he murmured. "Be nice to me, Louis. I nearly died, remember?"

"I'm trying to forget," Louis whispered.

There was a soft moment of silence. Harry twisted his hand, fisting Louis' T-shirt.

Louis hesitated for a moment before but the gentle pull of Harry's fingers against his shirt was persistent, coaxing. Against his better judgment, he sat down at the edge of the couch, posture stiff, arms folded across his chest.

Harry smiled, his arm curling around the back of the couch, fingertips brushing lightly against Louis' shoulder.

Louis sighed, leaning back slightly. "Not much to tell," he said finally. "You called me here before it got to the good part.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You were gone a while, sweetheart."

Louis turned to him, brow raised. "Now who's worried?" he teased.

If the comment bothered Harry, he didn't let it show. "Did you get any word on his disappearing friend?" he asked.

"He didn't know much," Louis replied. "Just a hired set of eyes reporting back to someone. But he didn't know who."

Harry hummed, considering that. "And Harley?"

Louis' fingers curled against his knee. "Tried to cut his throat," he stated easily. "Didn't let him, though."

Harry's smirk deepened, green eyes flashing with amusement. "How very responsible of you."

"He backed off," Louis stated.

"He listens to you," Harry mused, voice laced with something unreadable.

Louis swallowed, looking away. "Yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. Louis hesitated, thinking back to the way Harley had exhaled smoke, watching the skyline and uttering his name like he wasn't giving anything away at all.

Harry tilted his head, watching Louis. "What?"

Louis shook his head slightly. "Not telling you."

Harry narrowed his eyes, assessing him. "Oh, come on, sweetheart."

"Nope."

With a slow grin, Harry reached out, his fingers curling around Louis' arm. "I could make you."

Louis' stomach flipped, heat building in his ribs. He swallowed, trying to keep his expression neutral. "You could try." Louis didn't move away.

For a moment, they just sat there, their breathing the only sound in the quiet room. Then, softer—

"You really thought I was dying, huh?" Harry murmured, his thumb tracing lightly over Louis' arm.

Louis swallowed, his skin prickling beneath Harry's fingertips. He hated that he could still feel it—the panic, the helplessness, the way his hands had pressed against Harry's side, slick with blood, desperate.

Louis exhaled, letting his eyes drift shut for just a second. "Shut up, Harry."

Harry just smiled, his thumb still tracing slow, lazy circles against Louis' arm, like he wasn't done playing just yet.

Oh :')

My Zouis heart !!!!!

Vote? Comment? Ilygsm. Mwah x