Collision

Collision
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/3705365.
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: One Direction (Band), Greek and Roman Mythology, Norse Religion &
Lore
Relationship: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, teeny tiny winy
eleanor/stan, even teeny tiny winier liam/sophia
Character: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik,
Eleanor Calder, Stan Lucas, there are plently of small characters that
are there for like a minute, fair amounts of gods/goddesses, and
fairytale characters
Additional Tags: Mythology - Freeform, Grimm Fairytales - Freeform, Alternate Universe
- College/University, Wonderland, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale,
Love/Hate, Pining, Fairy!Louis, Dark!Harry, (i guess), Sexual Content,
eventually, Top Harry, Bottom Louis, World Travel, Slow Burn, Alternate
Universe - Fantasy, regarding the warning: there is one scene with
fairly descriptive violence, Enemies to Lovers, i’ve put a warning in the
notes on that chapter so u can be prepared/avoid it if u want, another
clarification: harry is not DARK dark. he's baby. just give him time
Series: Part 1 of collision; mythology/fairytale!verse
Stats: Published: 2015-04-08 Completed: 2020-07-11 Chapters: 31/31 Words:
226294
Collision
by itjustkindahappened
Summary
Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be

intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.
(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human
with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)
Notes
so this is a thing that i've been working on.
this is the prologue, and it's here because this story is quite a complicated concept and there
are some things that you need to already know when the actual plot starts.
please bear with me. i will try to post a new chapter wednesday/thursday every week. and i
hope you enjoy xx.
EDIT JULY 2020 - the epilogues (yes i wrote 2. one for each godforsaken year i took to
upload them) are now POSTED!!!!!!!!! so if a fic rec told u somewhere that this story is
209k, that's without the epilogues. x
prologue
Chapter Summary
Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to

be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.
(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a
human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to
be easier.)
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
When Louis is 13 years old, humanly speaking, his mother sits him down and tells him about the
world.
She takes him aside after he’s done bathing in the rippling spring stream with a couple of other
elves and fairies. It’s a wonderful day, really, wind clear and soft with sunshine and warmth, gently
stroking Louis’ honey tinted skin and nipping at his sensitive wings.
Louis likes spring a lot. He likes the way everything seems to be bursting with color, eager after
being held down by the cold winter for so long. He likes the way the other elves and fairies’ eyes
turn brighter with enthusiasm and their cheeks turn the color of cherry blossoms when the snow
melts away. He likes the way the waterfalls and chirping birds sound in the evening tranquillity.
He also especially likes to come with to the human forest on the other side of the hole in the big
oak tree and play pranks on gullible humans. But that one he doesn’t really speak loudly of in front
of the grown creatures.
It is this oak tree, that his mother and he sit under when she explains how their world—our world—
works. Or rather, worlds. How our worlds work.
“There are not only us and the humans,” she tells him. “The nymphs and the elves, the fairies and
the pixies, the trolls and the goblins, all the good and all the bad creatures in this forest—we are
not the only kind apart from human beings. Our worlds are not the only ones to exist.”
And Louis is unsurprisingly quite confused, seeing as he’s never met or even heard of anything
else, so his mother smiles gently at his furrowed brows, and continues speaking in a melodic voice.
Louis learns that there are several different universes coexisting, containing different creatures who
are assigned different jobs.
Firstly, there are the Gods; the Gods of Olympus, the Gods of Asgard, and the Gods of Pantheon—
but that’s quite a mouthful, so commonly, they’re just named the Three. Millions of years ago, they
all thought they were alone on their grounds—that their empires were the only ones in the universe
and that they held all the power possibly attainable. When these three suddenly grew tired of being
alone and wanted to extend their powers and create a new world, and realized there were other
forces right around the corner with the same abilities and wants, things got very heated very fast.
Louis’ mother gestures vividly as she tells the story of the big war in the beginning of Time; the era
where they had yet not served the title as Gods. She spoke about how there were three different
willpowers from three different worlds with the same excessively short tempers and intense want
of ruling, and how as the leaders for their own people, Jupiter, Zeus and Odin saw no other way
than to fight in cold blood for their entitlement to create life.
So they did. They fought, and they slaughtered, and they wounded. It was an age where even Day
and Night stopped occurring to hide away from the viciousness below, making the warriors lose
the concept of time. They never even stopped to sleep, or to eat, and they did not even realize that
as time went on, they were slowly killing themselves, rather than each other.
Two out of the three who later proved to put an end to the war, were Eirene from Olympus and Pax
from Rome. The two of them shared the opinion that war and violence were nothing but awful
things and refused to participate, and in that, combined with their intelligence and diplomatic
reasoning, they found a mutual understanding in one another. They came to the conclusion that
they had to stop this, because if somebody didn’t, it would never end.
Eirene and Pax then went to find Idun, a beautiful and kind-hearted goddess from Asgard who was
the custodian of Asgard’s Tree of Golden Apples, in search for a way to stop the war. Idun, who
was more than happy to help, told them about a place called Mímir’s Well in her part of the world.
She insisted they hurry to get there, because unlike the Olympians and the Romans, the gods of
Asgard cannot only die from murder, but also from age, and time was quickly running out.
Mímir’s Well is a place that, for unknowing souls, in the easiest way is explained as the Well of
Wisdom. It was said if you drank the water from that well, you would be the holder of all the
wisdom in the world. Idun meant that if they could get the leaders of the Three to drink this, they
would surely come to their senses and declare peace.
There was only one catch; you see, Mímir’s Well wasn’t a free trade, it wanted something in return.
To be exact, it wanted the eye of Asgard’s leader.
So what Eirene, Idun and Pax decided to do, was to call Night back to guard the warriors for them
during their journey. When Night arrived again, everyone on the battlefield immediately fell into
the deepest slumber, just now realizing their absolute exhaustion. The three goddesses tip toed
their way over to the sleeping Odin, assuring that there was in fact nothing that could wake him up.
When they considered the coast clear, they opened Odin’s eyelid, and they carefully pulled the eye
out from its spot. They succeeded with bringing it with them all the way to Mímir’s Well, offering
it for a filled horn of the powerful water, they brought the water back, and proceeded to pour some
in the mouths of Zeus, Odin and Jupiter.
And as expected, when Day poked her head out again and they all woke up, the leaders of the
Three did not want to fight anymore, for they realized how pointless it was, their refreshed and
open minds filled with ways of how they could make things work by cooperating.
After this, Idun became a symbol for both youth and knowledge, Eirene and Pax were appointed as
the goddesses of peace in Olympian and Roman worlds, and the three of them had the worlds’
greatest gratitude.
And so, Earth was made. The Three decided to split Earth by the two countries that would later be
called Greece and Italy between the Olympians and the Romans respectively. These places were
also named the origins of the two Godly worlds. Zeus and Jupiter were assigned heaven and earth,
Poseidon and Neptune were assigned the waters, and Hades and Pluto were assigned the
underworld.
They didn’t want the humans to possess the powers of magic, as they were afraid it would make
them too powerful. Instead, they created another world which they called the Village of Grimm
where fairy-tales would originate from and where magic was allowed. The idea was that said
fairytales would be known on Earth, raise the humans and exist with them in the form of stories
and folklore—that way, even if the Earthlings couldn’t do magic, they would still believe in it from
an early age, hope for it, yearn for it. Because magic works that way; it must be believed in to exist.
Grimm became the property of the Gods of Asgard, and as did Wonderland, where the human’s
imaginations and dreams would be produced. They also split the Greek, the Roman and the Norse
godly empires into separate worlds, so they wouldn’t have to share the space anymore and avoid
conflicts.
Louis listens with wide eyes and chin resting in his palms. It’s like a bunch of fictional stories, he
thinks. A bunch of adventure tales about heroes and wars and missions, and he’s so fascinated by
it.
“But what are we?” he can’t help but wonder when his mother is done talking about the Gods.
“We are helpers of all of the Three, but we belong to the Gods of Asgard. We keep nature clean
and blooming, we help the seasons change in Grimm’s Village and, if necessary, northern parts of
the human world. We are myths on Earth and welcomed workers and visitors in Grimm. This oak,”
she nods to the tree by them, “is the portal to Grimm. This is where you'll go when you start
working in only a little while. There is a similar one far on the other side of this forest that leads to
Earth.”
“But... can’t we go to the other worlds? Aside from Grimm and Earth?”
“Well. I mean, I suppose we can,” Mother looks hesitant. “But portals to other places than the ones
we are meant to travel to cause mostly nothing but trouble. They only go one way, you see; when
you’ve gone from one portal to the other world, you can’t go back through the same one. You’d
have to go and search for the next and risk getting stuck.”
She pauses for the words to sink in, and Louis understands this is a caution; he is not supposed to
look up any other portals. He won’t, he swears. He might like pranks and games, but if his mother
tells him something is dangerous, he listens.
“Besides,” Mother continues. “There are few worlds that are supposed to have access to more
places than their own; humans mustn’t go anywhere. Not the ones in Grimm, not the ones on Earth.
The ones in Wonderland are supposed to stay where they are as well, and the Gods of the Three
don't leave their empires very often. It’s their helpers who do all of that. The souls of emotions and
nature and such. Like us.”
“But mother, why have we never been to Earth? If we have a portal and we’re supposed to go
there, why don’t we?”
“We also have certain restrains, Louis; us living in this part of the forest, we are assigned Village of
Grimm, not Earth. Every helper’s body has a way of adjusting to our environment to prevent us
from causing problems in places we don't belong in. And do you remember what Earth does not
have?”
Louis nods. His mother confirms his thoughts.
“Earth doesn’t have magic. The only magical thing they have, are the portals, and those are
impossible for a human to ever find. The creatures born in the Earth part of this forest, the
creatures that are meant to help Earth, they are the ones who can still go there and remain magical.
You and I, cannot. As soon as we’d go through that portal, we would take a human form, and we
would stay so until we go back here. We only function, Louis, in places that hold magic. Without it
we are useless.”
Louis has to admit; this is a lot to take in. And he’s quite disappointed, honestly, to know that there
seems to be no way to meet any other creatures than the ones in the forest, and the humans of
Grimm.
Louis would much rather spend time with someone from Wonderland, or Olympus. He wants to
learn more, he wants to know and talk and listen, he doesn’t want his mother’s stories to end and
he finds himself, to his surprise, desperate to achieve this knowledge in some way.
“Is there really no way to meet creatures, you know, from the other places?” he asks tentatively,
biting his lower lip hopefully. “This is all too exciting, mother, I need to know more. I need to see
it for myself—are you saying that’s impossible?”
His mother is quiet for a moment, before she replies.
“There is one way.”
And Louis’ face instantly shines up like a thousand suns, wings fluttering excitedly.
“Oh, please tell me! How? Where? Could I…?”
“There’s a school for helpers and the like, University of the Three, and it’s built like an Earthly
college. It’s a meeting place for all of the Three’s creatures that have connections to Earth or
Grimm and are lusting for more global knowledge about each other and the humans they are to
help and serve. Although it is voluntary. Many prefer to just stay where they are.”
Many, in Louis opinion, are fools.
“Oh mother! You have to let me go! When can I go? Can I go soon?”
His mother laughs and ruffles his hair.
“You are still too young, Louis. But if you so desire, you may go there when the time comes.”
Louis lifts a couple of feet above the ground, that’s how happily his wings are fluttering.
“Thank you so much, Mother! Thank you a thousand times, I love you!”
When Louis returns to the stream and his friends, he’s got a smirk on his face that says I know
something you don’t, and he’s never wanted anything more during his sunny, idyllic existence,
than go to University of the Three.
Chapter End Notes

comments and kudos make me smile :D
also if you want to be a beautiful, lovely soul you could always find me at my tumblr
@a-bit-extraordilarry. i am extremely lonely on there and i will literally love you
forever if you talk to me.
chapter 1; university of the three
Chapter Summary

be easier.)
Chapter Notes
University of the Three is big, old and luxurious looking. Vast lawns stretch around the large
buildings and along the concrete paths, and the head building has a marble staircase and a majestic
entrance that reaches at least ten feet from the ground. Students are out and about like whirlwinds
of energy and excitement and, already, a certain detectable stress—making connections, older
reuniting with friends and wide-eyed younger creatures running around in an attempt to locate
themselves, getting used to the whole thought of going to a human-inspired college. Everything is
so much and new and buzzing and unfamiliar, and it’s overwhelming.
And Louis is completely in love.
It still feels unreal for him, if he’s honest—he’s been waiting and longing for what feels like all his
life—done a quite lot of bragging, too—for this very moment, right now and right here. On the
clean pavement running between the road and the university, wind tugging at his hair and rushing
along his skin as if to signalize a new beginning, about to take his first step onto school grounds as
a legitimate student.
He’s done waiting now.
So he does it; carefully, he lifts his small, bare foot, takes a deep breath, and brushes his toes
against the tickling grass a little before putting it down. He does the same thing with the other, and
he giggles a little from the feeling. He’s doing this. He’s attending University of the Three. He’s a
UoT student.
Gripping rather convulsively around the strap of the new bag his mother made for him out of linen
and lavender, he approaches the space where the crowd is the thickest. He quickly attaches himself
to a couple of nymphs that also seem new and starry eyed, speaking to each other in high pitched
and smooth voices. Louis knows they’re nymphs, because his mother has told him numerous times
about them, the tall, charming and gracious creatures from the Greek who are assigned helping
forests and nature, just like himself. Or, well. Just the helping nature part, obviously. Not the other
parts. Although Louis does consider himself quite charming, if he’s allowed to say so himself. Cute
as hell, to be honest. It's the tall graciousness he's having a tiny bit of a problem with.
He’s getting off topic.
Quietly, he walks behind them along with a growing mass of other creatures as a senior student
gathers them and initiates a tour of the place, chattering on about the place’s history and logistics,
all its little perks and quirks, and all its different buildings, areas and faculties. Louis is soon in
front of a tall nymph and behind a highly intimidating creature he's never heard of with fangs and
pale skin, and he, like many times before, wishes he were a little bit taller than his couple of inches
over five feet. He’s not the most frightening person, he knows—his tousled, caramel-tinted hair,
his bop-able nose and blue eyes combined with a rather delicate frame leaves a lot to be desired in
the respect-earning area.
It is what it is, he supposes, treading along and trying his best to concentrate on the lively, a tad
over-excited blabbering of their guide as they seem to finally come to an end of their tour—the
dorms.
The dorms are something Louis hasn’t really thought about, he realizes, very timely, fifteen
minutes or so later, right as he picks up his key.
He suddenly doesn’t know if he should happily skip on to his own room or drag his feet and bite
his nails on the way. He’s going to have a roommate. A creature he’s going to share his living
space with for a substantial amount of future time. And his roommate could be anyone. They could
be a deadly creature from one of the Underworlds. They could be a cunning soul from the Sea or a
patronizing spirit from the Above. Louis doesn’t know. He’s not met anyone from those places
before—he doesn’t know what to expect.
For the first time since he arrived, Louis feels a little insecure and, frankly, a little bit scared. He
takes his time walking up the stairs, even though he knows he’d be up in no time if he just used his
wings. He needs the time to collect himself, to prepare. His pointy ears are on guard and his petite
hands are rubbing together as he goes through a hundred different scenarios that might meet him
behind the door he’s approaching steadily.
When he reaches room number 204, he takes a deep breath. He fumbles with the key a little,
fishing it out of the pocket of his rolled up, worn out pants and presses it into the keyhole.
There’s a light clicking sound as he turns the key. When he swings the door open he at first doesn’t
see anyone and he thinks maybe he's the first one to arrive—but then a shadow appears from the
bed in the left corner, and Louis’ supposed roommate slowly approaches him.
It’s a short little creature, with small and slightly asymmetric horns grown out of his head, and
when Louis looks further down, he discovers the legs are covered in dark, tousled hair, and they
end in hooves rather than feet.
Louis’ roommate is a faun. Louis is almost blacking out with relief.
“Hi,” he offers as he steps into the room, curiously looking around and getting accustomed to his
home for the coming time—two beds, two desks, two bureaus for clothes, a window with a view of
the school grounds, light blue walls, creaky wooden floors. Simple. Nice enough. He then fully
turns to the faun, shooting him a bright smile. “I’m Louis.”
“Stan,” the faun introduces himself, answering Louis' beam with a slight upturn of the corners of
his mouth. “You’re a… Fairy? Right?”
Louis nods. “I am. Congrats on getting it right, the lady in the reception called me an elf, which, I
don’t know if I should be offended or flattered. If you work at a place like this you’d think you’d
know the difference, but then again have you seen an elf? They’re so tall and graceful. If I’m going
to get mistaken for anything, that might as well be it.” He stops himself, realizing his speaking
picked up pace probably a little too obnoxiously, and his cheeks turn a bashful pink. “Sorry. I
ramble when I’m excited. You’re a faun.” It’s not a question. “And may I just say I’m so happy to
have a friend my height in this place. I have yet to find someone who’s not like seven feet or
incredibly intimidating.”
This earns a little laugh to tumble from Stan’s mouth.
“God, I know, right? I was so scared you’d be a vampire or something. We got to stick together, us
little folks.”
Louis decides he likes him. Which is good, because liking your roommate is probably a huge
advantage when attending university, he likes to think. He’s at least got one friend in this place.
Louis learns that Stan is from the Romans, and his job is to lead lost humans back on the right path.
At first Louis thinks it’s a metaphor for something deep, but he then learns that Stan’s job is quite
literally leading humans gone lost in the woods back out. Which is also nice, very pure in a way, if
a little anticlimactic. Stan is nice enough, though, alike Louis in many ways except maybe a little
bit more cautious and quieter about things. But hey, Louis can work with that.
Everything does, over all, look like it’s going to turn out just fine, and Louis can feel the collected
nervosity previously tightening in his ribcage loosen up into a content ascension. He survived his
new roommate. Check.
The first day of college, Louis is up before dawn, sitting on the window sill and watching the sky
turn from the color of overripe blueberries to the color of freshly picked apricots as the rim of the
sun grows more glowingly apparent in the horizon by the minute. It’s a habit of his, rising with the
sun. It makes him feel like he’s a part of something big, something better and significant. He likes
to sit in a treetop or on the rocks by the river and wonder if the sun is rising at this minute
somewhere else, too. If someone is sitting in another world right at this moment, unknowingly
watching it with him. If someone is currently helping the sun rise and shine, if that is someone’s
job.
The rays of light are tinting everything in gold, making the trees and buildings cast dark shadows
over the school ground in their slow, steady routine of waking everything up. The wind starts
pulling at blooming branches and dewy grass, tugging as if scared to be violent. Louis has great
respect for the wind. Out of all the creatures and spirits and natural forces he’s been working with,
wind must be working the hardest. Because fairies, pixies and elves are many enough for one to
rest now and then, just like the other creatures in the forest, Day rests at night and Night rests
during day, and water is actually quite lazy— its god complex has other forces do the moving it
around for it because it’s superior and “necessary for the surviving of life” or something. (Louis
occasionally forgives water for this as it is very nice to bathe once in a while.)
But see, wind never really stops, does it? It’s always whooshing somewhere. Despite feelings or
circumstances, it’s always going.
Louis thinks that’s admirable.
When the sun is halfway up, Stan stirs awake to the sight of Louis appreciating nature by the open
window and offers him a low “g’morning” as to which Louis answers;
“There’s nothing more beautiful than nature during sunrise. I’m positive.”
“Nice. Could you get down from there, though? We’re six floors up.”
“I have wings, silly. Nothing will happen.”
Louis does climb down at the request, though, because he’s a good person, and he sits down on his
bed.
“So what time is it?”
Stan throws a quick glance at the clock perched above the door. “It’s 6.30.”
“Perfect.” Louis smiles and entwines his fingers behind his head, lying down. “I just love
mornings, don’t you?”
Stan agrees absent-mindedly, pulling out a dark t-shirt from one of the drawers in the corner by the
end of the bed over his head. Louis frowns bemusedly when he sees it.
“I didn’t think fauns wore human clothes.”
Stan snorts. “They do now, and so do fairies. We’re in a human developed environment, clothes
are required.”
“But I can’t wear shirts.” Louis protests. “My wings will be in the way. That’s ridiculous.”
Stan just shakes his head amusedly and pulls on a pair of jeans.
“Do you honestly think they haven't taken that into consideration?” he questions with a raised
eyebrow.
(Louis tries a simple white t-shirt on with a scoff. The t-shirt flows through his wings and fits
around his small waist as if they aren’t even there. It almost scares him a little and he has to reach a
hand back to pet his left wing to make sure it’s alright. Stan laughs. Louis pouts.)
In Greek History class, Louis makes his second friend. Her name is Eleanor, and she’s beautiful
like moonlight during December.
It’s kind of funny, actually, because Louis nearly trips them both on her dress. That’s that. That’s
how they meet.
It’s not like Louis can help it though, right, because he’s preoccupied with analyzing the majestic
paintings on the walls and Eleanor is walking in front of him with her dress genuinely dragging
behind her on the marble floor, and Louis is not watching his feet, and so he steps on the silky
fabric just as she’s moving, and he lets out a tiny yelp before almost falling on his ass in front of
the whole room. Eleanor’s eyes widen and she stumbles a few steps before regaining her balance,
looking back to glare at Louis.
Louis’ hand flies up to his mouth immediately.

“Oh, god,” he says. “I’m so terribly distracted today. I didn’t ruin your dress, right? Or did I?
Please tell me I didn’t. It’s lovely, the dress. It’s very lovely.”
The elegant girl’s eyes soften a little at the sight of the winged boy’s distress.
“I’m sorry,” Louis tries again when she doesn’t answer.
“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s all good. I don’t even think you got it dirty.”
Louis sighs so deeply he almost runs out of air with relief, and pushes his fringe out of his face. He
really wouldn’t like to make someone who looks as important as Eleanor does hold a grudge
against him on his first day. That just wouldn’t do.
“Great. I. Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Hey, should we go get seats?”
Eleanor smiles and introduces herself when Louis looks up in surprise at her. Louis tells her his
name as well, and they sit down in the middle of the room.
Louis learns very quickly that Eleanor must indeed be a big deal, because people widen their eyes
when they look her way, whispering to their friends and slowing the flow of people down to get a
proper look of her.
“So… What, um. What are you?” Louis asks lightly, trying to hide his curiosity behind a puffed
chest. He’s slightly intimidated by the looks, even if he knows they aren’t for him. He feels small
again.
“Oh. I’m Ourania’s daughter. You know, the muse?”
“The muse of astronomy?” Louis clarifies, jaw going slack.
Eleanor laughs a little. “Yeah, that would be her.”
“Wow. I mean. Wow. That’s big.”
“It does earn you a bit of extra respect,” Eleanor shrugs and grins.
Yes. She gets it. Louis' keeping her.
“I can only imagine,” he sighs wistfully. “You try being a five-foot-tall fairy and see how many
people take you seriously.”
Eleanor giggles. “Well, at least you’re likeable. Pity the ones who don’t even have that.”
They banter a little back and forth until the teacher enters the classroom and starts the lesson, to
which Louis instantly centers all his attention on the words coming from her. He’s determined to
make a good impression on his first day, and he’s not waited for years and years to attend this
school to not be a good student.
It helps a lot that Greek history is, in fact, very interesting as well; full of intrigues and drama, and
Louis is deeply engrossed in the many tales. The main focus this early on is Zeus and Hera,
though, and Louis has to say he does think they seem like a pretty terrible pairing.
“I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but what kind of love is that?” Louis whispers to Eleanor
while reading on in his book afterwards. “They’re supposed to be the ruling power couple, but
Zeus is unfaithful numerous times, Hera is incredibly jealous and vengeful, they argue all the time
over everything and they’re extremely violent. What’s this supposed to represent?”
“The strength and importance of marriage,” Eleanor answers simply.
Louis frowns. “What kind of strength does marriage have if it’s not a happy one? Doesn’t that just
make both counterparts miserable?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. It makes very little sense to me as well, but that’s what they’ve told me
since I was a child.” Eleanor shrugs. “Gods are prejudiced creatures. Very dramatic, the lot of
them. Controlled by only emotions. Except Eirene and her friends and helpers, maybe. And the
muses. They’re nice.”
It’s so weird talking about these things with Eleanor, Louis thinks – he means, sure, his mother
knows about the Gods and Goddesses of Olympus, but Eleanor, she–-she knows them. Zeus is her
grandfather. That’s practically incomprehensible.
“What about love? Love is sensible, right? Nice and comforting. Isn’t the Goddess of love
sensible?” That would make sense to Louis. If there is anything he thinks purer than crystal and
summer breezes, it's love.
Eleanor snorts and shakes her head, though, so he might be wrong.
“Aphrodite? Sensible? I wouldn’t think so. She’s terribly self-conceited. Beautiful and
mesmerizing, sure, but she’s very vain and not romantically attached to anyone, ironically enough.
Zeus, when Aphrodite first came to be, got her married to Hephaestus—the god of blacksmiths and
craftsmen. He’s insufferably boring and before all not considered very attractive. Zeus paired them
up because he was intimidated by Aphrodite’s beauty and wanted to tie her down. She was so
displeased she had affairs with tons of other Gods, and humans for that matter, to get revenge.
Which I'm not exactly holding against her because what they did was awful, but you get the
picture. She really doesn’t represent the romance, her son Eros does that part. She’s all passion and
sex for the most part.”
Louis frowns. “They’re pretty cruel, aren’t they, the gods? And one-dimensional?”
Eleanor smiles and shakes her head. “They are, don’t get me wrong. But they are defined by the
things they represent. They don’t have anything else to make them stand out. They become their
most prominent trait. It’s not their fault. And besides,” she looks down at her book again. “It’s not
like humankind are less cruel or violent.”
“…No?” Louis bites his lip. “I don’t—aren’t they?”
Eleanor looks straight back up again, her eyes both concerned and amused at the same time.
“Oh, love. You haven’t seen anything beyond those forests, have you?”
Louis opens his mouth to answer, preferably something snarky, but then class is dismissed and the
muffled sound of closing books and turning pages are mixed with the twittering voices of students.
Which is probably good, because Louis isn’t sure what he’d say. Because, he hasn’t, is the thing.
He hasn’t seen the humans in any other environment than his own. And as he looks at Eleanor who
talks like she’s seen it all, he feels quite embarrassed of the fact.
Eleanor just smiles again as she collects her things and pushes a strand of wavy hair behind her ear.
“You’re alright, Louis. I’ll see you around, right?”

“Yeah, course.” Louis nods. “Who knows, maybe I could use a majestic figure to earn some
authority around here.”
The smile of her lips turns into a playful grin. “Maybe I could use someone short and oblivious to
underline my already existing authority.”
Louis laughs a little, soft and high pitched like ringing bells. “Sounds like we’re even.”
They part ways when getting out in the hallway, and Louis dives into the masses of people,
purposely smashing his wings into the ones refusing to move out of his way. It’s terribly amusing
watching them stumble and angrily look around for the cause, faltering when they see Louis’
innocent smile.
No one is willing to hurt a little fairy. You get away with absolutely everything. Louis may not
love his lack of intimidating energy, but that’s not to say he hasn’t been able to track down every
possible perk it might provide.
Stan is starstruck by Eleanor’s presence from the moment they meet, and Louis finds it hilarious.
(The two of them would make quite the interesting love story, to think of it. Judging by the way
Stan is looking at their new friend, he’s already making a rough draft in his head.)
The three of them quickly become friends, though, and it’s great because they’re all from different
worlds and know different things and have different ways to view situations and circumstances, so
discussions are never boring. They make a good team.
Eleanor knows a lot more than both Louis and Stan, though, having been around the most
important Olympic Gods and all that fancy people, and she’s eager to tell them all about the
escapades of Olympus. She tells them about working with her mother, mapping out stars and
helping astronomers with their work. She tells them all about the different Gods and Goddesses,
about the muses and growing up around that kind of creative outburst. She’s noticeably more
interested in and familiar with the female creatures, which Louis thinks is fine because they overall
sound like the wiser ones, anyway.
“Then we have Eris,” Eleanor continues. “And she’s Harmonia’s opposite. While Harmonia is the
goddess of, you know, harmony and concord, Eris is the goddess of chaos. There’s nothing she
enjoys more than creating disputes between both Gods and humans—but as long as you’re not rude
or really rile her up, she probably won’t cause you any harm because she'll most likely just consider
it a waste of her time. Unless she’s in a mood or something, of course. But it’s really her children
you should watch out for.”
“Children?” Louis asks. Stan just nods, expression dreamy and Louis suspects he’s barely properly
listening. Probably busy counting Eleanor’s eyelashes.
“Yeah. They’re many, but very… Secluded, I guess. All are spirits representing grief, oblivion,
starvation, lies, that kind of stuff. Basically every negative feeling ever felt. They all live with her
in Tartaros, and no sane person ever goes there except the unlucky souls who have no choice. I’ve
only met two of them, I’ve met Ponos, who personifies extreme labour, and then I also met—” she
suddenly purses her lips and she looks almost hostile. It’s an emotion that doesn’t suit her pure
features, and Louis is immediately more interested than he’s been the entire time. “Well.”
“What?” he pushes, trying to hold back a bit of his eagerness.
“I met Harry once. Harry Styles, he wants to be called. He’s this one spirit, the only male spirit of
Algos, and he’s Eris’ favorite offspring. Probably because his job, and main pleasure, in life is to
cause people pain.”
“Doesn’t sound like the kind of person you’d hang out with?” Louis breathes.
“He’s not,” Eleanor wrinkles her nose in disgust. “He just goes to this school, and with both of us
being from the Greek, he’s in a few of my classes. He’s getting such a special treatment it’s insane.
I mean, his sisters barely even have names, but he just decided he wanted one and Eris established
one for him. Just like he told her he wanted to go here. She let him without a doubt, and no one can
tell him no because this place is supposed to be open to anyone that wants to come and learn. Only
he doesn’t want to learn. You notice it in class so clearly—even the teachers are scared of him.
He’s only here because he wants to rub the balance and cause everyone general distress.”
“Wow.” Louis rubs his right eye and raises both eyebrows. “Is he really that bad?”
“Oh yeah, Harry’s scary.” Stan opens his mouth for the first time since Eleanor started talking. “I
have Human Anatomy with him. Our teacher almost cried at the end of the last class.”
Eleanor looks pointedly at Louis and nods in Stan’s direction as if to say “see?”
He’s slightly ashamed to admit it, but her hostile reaction by the mere mention of this spirit kind of
just adds to Louis’ curiosity. It’s a thing with Louis; he just needs to know everything. He sucks up
knowledge and experience like a sponge. And he’s never met a creature who’s even remotely this
bad before, who’s so much unlike himself or anyone he knows. The closest he’s gotten to a wicked
creature is Nøkken, and he’s only lethally dangerous to humans. He’s just kind of quiet and
unhappy when he’s around his sort. Louis and the other fairies like to try and cheer him up with
dances and music and by keeping his stream clean. It works sometimes.
So it’s not that weird, his attraction to the subject. Louis wants to meet this boy. Louis wants to
know who he is and what his motives are. Louis wants to know what drives a bad spirit to be bad.
He figures Eleanor may know a few of these things and may be able to give him a bit more, if
slightly biased but still, information.
“Why is he bad, though?” Louis asks.
Eleanor blinks. “Louis. Algo means pain in Greek. He’s literally created just to cause pain. He
doesn’t have a reason for being malicious; it’s his nature.”
“But he must have,” Louis pushes. “Bad souls always have an experience or motive that makes
them bad, right? You’re not born bad.”
“You’re adorable, Louis, really. You’re so pure.” Eleanor's tone could be taken as mocking, but she
looks serious. “But I know this guy. He’d make your life a joyless abyss, just because he’d find it
amusing to.”
“I don’t believe that.” Louis frowns stubbornly. “Look, you’re not born an evil soul. You
wouldn’t choose to cause people pain, would you?”
Eleanor groans. “I don’t know how to put this to make it clearer. Harry was birthed by Eris. Eris is
the Goddess of chaos. Eris’ children exist solely to help Eris in her assigned mission to create
arguments, misfortune and pain to her surroundings. Harry is a spirit of pain. He was born to cause
pain, he was born to enjoy causing pain, he was born to enjoy something that makes him a wicked
soul, and he does enjoy it.” She has Louis practically nailed to the wall at this point, and
something's itching just barely under Louis’ skin from the lecture. “He’s a devious creature!”
“God, fine! I get it.” Louis looks down on his hands, playing a little with his small fingers. “I just
think that’s a very unfair way to think, don’t you? What if he’s actually decent, you know?”
Eleanor sighs resignedly and runs a delicate hand through her hair, and Stan answers in her place.
“Honestly, Louis, he calls himself Harry Styles. I’d assume he was a prick no matter what creature
he was. Besides, you haven’t even met him,” he says. “It’s a nice thought but it doesn’t apply to
him. Sorry.”
Louis snaps his head up and narrows his eyes at the tone of his friend’s voice. Stan doesn’t sound
tired or defensive—he sounds condescending. He sounds like he thinks Louis is childish, and when
Louis moves his eyes over to Eleanor, he can see in her eyes and purse of her mouth and her whole
body language that she agrees with the faun.
And suddenly, Louis is angry. It just bubbles up, sudden and hot and unexpected, and he doesn’t
even bother holding it back—he doesn’t think he has a reason to hold it back.
He might be small and kind, but he’s not a child. He’s not doing anything wrong by believing the
best about people, and he doesn’t deserve to me ridiculed for being a good person. Especially not
by his own friends.
“Actually,” he says icily. He can feel his wings’ fluttering pick up speed. “You’re just making me
more and more curious.”
Stan looks at him alarmingly, obviously now very aware he’s set something off. “Louis—”
“I should find out more about him. I should go look after him.”
“Louis.”
“I should ask him myself.”
“I swear to—”
“I am. I’m going to look for him right now. This instant. I’m doing this.”
Eleanor and Stan exchange animated looks. Louis knows what they must think, silly baby throwing
a temper tantrum, and he puffs his chest out to demonstrate his superiority. He’s so above them.
He’s so above their condescension. They’re not even that important, and here they are thinking
they can act all high and mighty with him.
He raises from where he was previously sitting on Eleanor’s bed, giving both of his friends a
pointed look each.
“I’m leaving now.”
Eleanor’s almost… She may have been too serious to be mocking before, but she's almost looking
amused at this point, which makes Louis clench his fists so hard his knuckles turn white.
“Okay,” she nods. “You do that.”
“I will.”
“Fine.”
“Great. I’ll say hi from you.”
“Please do.”
Louis just huffs before strutting out the door, coldly leaving his two alleged friends behind to
consider their wrongful actions.
This is a good idea. This is him making a statement. This is Louis standing up for himself.
This is a good idea. It absolutely is.
Chapter End Notes
okay so this is the first real chapter!! yayy!!
next one will be up either wednesday or thursday next week depending on when i'll
have the time.
(also friendly reminder that my tumblr is a-bit-extraordilarry and interaction with

others make my entire week okay thank u)
Chapter Summary

be easier.)
Chapter Notes
Okay, so maybe Louis hasn’t thought this through properly.
It’s not that he doesn’t believe in his cause anymore; he’s still determined to find out what’s so
insufferably terrible about this guy.
It’s just that, well, Louis has absolutely no idea where to look. He doesn’t know where this soul,
where Harry, would choose to spend his free time. He doesn’t know if Harry has friends. He
doesn’t know if he’s secretive or open, if he sits in his dorm and ignores the environment or if he’s
out socializing with like-minded people.
After a while of aimlessly walking around campus, Louis knows he has to ask someone. Which
would be mildly humiliating.
How would he even do that? Hey, so there’s this creature called Harry that I’ve never met, never
seen and not heard of before this afternoon. Do you know where he might be?
Louis cringes at the thought.
Maybe he could treat it as a joke. Haha, would you believe it, right, I just lost a bet to my friends
and now I have to go find a dude called Harry Styles. Do you know who that is?
Is that a thing you can do? Would that be acceptable?
Louis doesn’t know.
There aren’t a lot of people out right now and more are disappearing inside by the minute as the
sun progressively sets, so Louis knows he has to act quickly. Looks like he doesn’t have much of a
choice here.
It’s like ripping off a band aid, he thinks.
(Not that he’d know what that feels like, it’s a phrase he’d heard a human use once. But he guesses
it’s supposed to mean that something’s quick and harmless. Hopefully.)
With his mind still racing unintelligibly, he aims for a centauress sitting calmly under a tree by the
main marble steps. She looks agreeable enough. From what Louis’ gathered, centaurs are agreeable
creatures for the most part. Slightly elusive and eccentric, but he can deal with that.
When Louis stops in front of her he awkwardly clears his throat to get her attention, and she stops
combing her platinum blonde hair with her fingers for a moment to look at him.
“Hi,” Louis says, and he can feel his cheeks going uncomfortably hot. “Sorry if I’m disturbing, but
—you don’t happen to know where Harry Styles is, do you?”
The centauress looks him up and down, and a frown deepens on her smooth face. “Why would
someone like you want anything to do with Harry Styles?”
“Um.” Louis looks down on his bare feet. “It’s—it’s nothing. A stupid bet. You know? And I’ve
never seen him or anything, and I—I thought maybe you have?”
Well, that’s just the smoothest he’s ever been. Really, congratulations, Louis, he scolds himself
internally and it takes all his strength to not kick himself in the shin or something equally
embarrassing. She'll definitely be able to look past your breakable appearance when you blush like
a hedge of roses and stutter worse than a suffocating pigeon.
“Oh, hun.” She looks at Louis with concern, and yeah, Louis hates being a fairy. Screw all the
advantages with being one, he wants to be a scary giant. He wants to be an incubus. He wants to be
a fierce dragon. He wants to be something that makes people look up at him with respect
and preferably slight fear, not something that makes people look down on him as if he’s a fragile
little autumn leaf.
“Do yourself a favor and turn around, yeah?” she continues, anxious wrinkle between her eyebrows
painfully visible and making Louis go positively insane. “Go back to where you came from and tell
your friends that they’re terrible souls for betting about this. This is not something you should do.”
I’m not a little child! I’m not a little child! I’m not a little child!
“Yes, it is,” Louis replies firmly. “I really need to do this, actually.”
“Look, Harry is not a good soul. He’s not someone you want knowing who you are. Especially not
you.”
“My Odin, I’m not made of glass!” Louis exclaims, throwing his hands up to emphasize his
frustration. “Look, if you don’t want to help me I understand, but this isn’t negotiable. Do you
know where he is or not?”
The blonde centauress looks at him for a few seconds with pursed lips, deliberating with herself
whether this is a good idea or not. It’s probably not. It’s definitely not, and she knows it, and Louis
admittedly does, too. But by now he’s desperate to prove that he’s just as tough as anyone else in
this place, and he looks as pleadingly as he can at her.
At last, she sighs and shakes her head. “He usually hangs around the back of the head building.
He’s probably not alone, though. He’s got his crowd of admirers, and they’re usually not very nice.
Please be careful.”
Louis exhales with a thankful smile. “Thank you so much. Really, thank you. I owe you.”
And then he’s off as fast as he can. He’s even hovering a few inches above the ground, not even
capable of controlling his wings in his eagerness.
He hears voices very soon, and he understands they must indeed be behind the head building like
the centauress said. The tones are hushed and rough, snickering, and it’s almost sending shivers
down Louis’ spine.
He’s not stupid. Louis knows by now that this could be dangerous, so instead of marching out there
in all his pride and glory, he opts for sneaking a peek first, hidden by the corner of the building. It's
always an advantage to know what exactly you're getting yourself into, and at the moment, Louis
does not. He may be loaded with enough adrenaline and desire to prove himself to feel faintly like
passing out, but he’s not completely reckless.
They’re all sitting in the grass—but there’s not an excessive number of creatures, Louis counts
them to about seven, and he finds himself a little relieved. At least Harry hasn’t gotten himself an
army of devious misfits. That would actually scare Louis off a bit (a lot. It would scare him off a
lot). There’s a difference between being brave and being out of your mind.
Now. Which one is Harry?
Louis studies each creature closely, looking for every single detail that might be important to
identify who he’s looking for.
There are lots of hybrids. One girl has got the torso of a human, but where her legs should be, she
instead has a long, serpentine tail. The scales are shimmering in the dim sunlight, matching the
moss green leaves above her. The creature next to her Louis’ seen once before. It’s the one with the
fangs and the pale skin who had been walking behind him on his first day. Louis knows now that
he’s a vryolaka, a vampire.
(A part of him wonders what these creatures could possibly contribute to the universes, what they
do that make them count as ‘helpers’ of any kind. He makes a mental note to look that up later.)
He spots a couple of male centaurs as well as a couple of what looks like Valkyries—if Odin knew
the company they were keeping—and then Louis’ eyes fall onto a boy in the centre of it all.
Louis vaguely remembers telling Stan that there’s nothing more beautiful than nature during
sunrise. He kind of wants to take it back.
The creature has a sharp jawline and wide eyes; his lips are red like cherries and his skin is the
piano key kind of smooth ivory. Louis watches as the wind pulls the curly locks on his head, and
he thinks of ripe chestnuts.
He would’ve mistaken the creature for a human, expect it’s probably genuinely impossible for a
human to maintain that kind of physical perfection. That, and the black, curving spiral marks
running up and down his bare arms.
Louis has understood by now that those black tattoos must be a sign of being a spirit of some sort
from the Romans or Olympians, since the spirits he knows from the Forest have got blue ones. He
doesn’t know if that’s what happens when you enter a host body, or if it’s just a sign that you are
not actually of flesh and blood, he's only certain they're a sign of spiritual attributes. Do spirits have
their own bodies? Is that a thing they can do, shift between flesh and bones and a breeze against
skin? Louis doesn’t really know a lot about spirits.
Except that they’re gorgeous, apparently.
Minutes pass, and Louis just stands there. He’s almost more intimidated by the spirit’s beauty than
his deterrent reputation, which, maybe he should make a re-evaluation of his priorities, but. It’s not
until now he realizes his next obstacle; what in the worlds is he going to tell the creatures out on
the grass? What was his plan in the first place?
It’s one thing to walk up and ask a centauress for help. This is a completely different matter.
What was he thinking, honestly? Is he supposed to walk up to Harry, say hi and walk back? Should
he bow? Should he ask questions? What kind of stupid questions would those be?
Fairies may be a lot of things, but they’re not the brightest of creatures, Louis notes sadly and
cusses himself out for his thoughtless actions.
Maybe he should just turn around now. He can lie. He can do that. He can tell Eleanor and Stan
that Harry and he had a civilized and calm conversation to prove his friends wrong and himself
right, and then no one’ll ever bring this up again.
Louis sneaks one last glance at the beautiful spirit, preparing to swiftly turn around and tip toe his
way back unnoticed.
It doesn’t exactly go as planned.
Just as he’s going to lean back and head off, the vampire lifts his head and stares straight into
Louis’s eyes all the way into his soul. It’s penetrative and terrifying and all Louis can do for
seconds is just to stare back, petrified.
And then the vampire starts laughing. He laughs, and it’s horrible, and he nudges Harry with his
elbow, pointing to where Louis is standing.
No. No, no, no—
Harry furrows his eyebrows in bewilderment at first, and then he looks in the direction the vampire
points.
Their eyes lock for just a second, and Louis’ widen in fear and Harry’s narrow in interest, plush
lips parting in a teasing smirk and Louis knows, he knows he’s screwed.
With a panicked hiss he flinches away from the place he’s standing on, turning on his heel and
flying away as fast as he can. His cheeks are hot and rosy with humiliation and he does his best to
flee in the speed of light back all the way to his and Stan’s dorm. The wings on his back are
fluttering desperately, turning into nothing but a blur of silver and light in his rushed attempt.
He actually doesn’t even enter the building; he finds their opened window and flies in that way,
landing face first onto his made bed with a groan.
His nose is hurting, and he sits up in a swift motion, rubbing it to assure everything’s fine. He does
like his nose. It’s a very important facial feature and he quite likes the way it’s so delicate and little.
He’s seen the trolls, okay, and he doesn’t like to be rude, but he’d probably actually rather die than
have that kind of swelled up scrotum taking up half of his face.
Stan is lying on his bed with his hands behind his neck, amusedly watching his friend and
roommate calm down from his distress, and Louis doesn’t even notice. He’s way too caught up in
the adrenaline and embarrassment, until—
“So I take it you found him, then?”
Louis winces in surprise, turning his wide eyes to the faun.

“Oh. Hi there.” He straightens his posture, crossing his arms over his chest and puts his chin up.
Position accomplished. “As a matter of fact, I did.”
Stan’s smile is less impressed and more knowing, and it annoys Louis. “And you were previously
flying for your life because…?”
Louis blinks a couple of times, trying to think of an appropriate retort. “I wasn’t flying for my life!
And certainly not because someone hurt me, that’s for sure. I was just… Seeing how fast I could
go.”
“Oh.” Stan nods excessively. “I see.”
“Sod off,” the fairy mutters, looking down on his crossed ankles. “I am right and you are wrong.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Stan disregards. “Really though, what happened?”
It’s quiet for a few seconds. Louis sighs then, freeing his arms to land them in his lap and play with
his fingers.
“I didn’t actually talk to him. I saw him, I did. But I didn’t actually, you know. Interact. Verbally.”
“Okay, so… Why the fleeing?” Stan’s brow is furrowed.
“Well…” Louis shifts uncomfortably and scratches his neck. He’s refusing to look at his friend.
“He kind of saw me too? Behind the corner of the building? Watching him?”
Stan widens his eyes, and then a laugh is nipping at the corners of his mouth. Louis hates him.
“Oh, man. Oh my god. I am so sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Louis mutters, and he doesn’t even need to look at his friend to know that Stan’s
smile has widened.
“He didn’t do anything, though, right?”
“Nope. Just saw me creeping. I left before something could be done.”
Stan shakes his head in amused disbelief. “This is too great.”
“Please don’t tell Eleanor,” Louis hisses pleadingly. “Please. She’ll never, ever let it slide. This
must stay between you and me. Promise you won’t tell.”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.”
“You don’t sound all that convincing.”
Stan rolls his eyes. “I won’t tell on you. She’ll probably find out anyway.”
That might be true. Not that Louis is ready to admit anything.
Honestly, it wouldn’t even be that bad. Louis little trip may have scared him a little, but it hasn’t
scared him off at all—rather, he was even more intrigued by the spirit of pain than before.
(And if that’s rooted in a small want to see those thick curls and red lips and forest like eyes again,
that’s no one’s business and nothing of importance at all and Louis would never admit it.)
~
During the weekend, Stan goes home. This is not a problem at first. It’s normal, really. There are
one way portals to every world in the basement of the head building, one room for each entrance.
It’s quite the process with signed papers and supervision, but it’s normal. You know. It’s all good.
Louis and Eleanor are just fine on their own, too. None of that turns his trip home into a problem.
It turns into a problem the following Monday at lunch, when he’s still not back and the public
announcement reaches Louis and Eleanor during lunch.
The portals are broken.
Apparently, this very morning, the janitor was cleaning the corridor by the portal rooms, and in the
process, he’d been disturbed in his peace by a violent banging on three of the doors.
Turns out when he opened to see what the fuss was about, that about ten creatures per room that
were certainly not supposed to be at the university, were in fact there. All of them came from
different worlds. All of them were confused. Half of them were mildly terrified. None of them were
students.
This has happened in every world, random creatures from the most unexpected places landing in
Olympus when they were going to Earth, or Wonderland when they were going to Asgard. None of
the portals are suddenly reliable. At the moment, they can lead anywhere and everywhere, and if
you go through a two-way one to one place, your destination could still be one of a one-way portal.
Long story short, the portals are useless and terribly unsafe.
This has never, ever happened before.
All Eleanor and Louis can do as they listen to the shocking news is stare at each other, horrified.
“Oh my God,” Eleanor whispers, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth.
Louis kind of wants to do the same. Cry a little, perhaps. He’s currently hovering about two inches
above his chair in distress. “Stan could be anywhere.”
“He could be trapped in the Underworld or something,” Eleanor whimpers. “He could be trapped
in Tartaros. Oh my God.”
It’s a bit of a catastrophe overall. No one is suddenly allowed to leave school, and everyone’s
ordered to, after finishing lunch, go straight back to the dorm building and stay there for the rest of
the day, while staff is called to a meeting to decide what to do with the portals and the creatures
coming from them. Under no circumstances are students allowed down to any of the portal rooms.
Most students match Eleanor and Louis’ reaction. The cafeteria is filled to the brim with shocked
looks and gasping conversations, worried glances and upset gestures.
And then—in the middle of it all, Louis’ eyes wander over to Harry. And the spirit just looks smug.
Louis frowns and nudges Eleanor’s side to get her attention. When she looks at him, he nods to the
curly haired boy by the table not too far away from theirs.
Eleanor quickly understands what she’s supposed to see, and her jaw clenches.
“I swear to you he has something to do with this. I could bet my existence that he knows exactly
why the portals are malfunctioned.”
“Are you really sure he’s powerful enough to shut down the entire World traveling system?” Louis
is doubtful. That’s not something a spirit could do. That must be hard enough for a God to
accomplish.
“No,” Eleanor snorts. “He’s not. But his mother, the Goddess of chaos, certainly is.”
Louis quietens for a beat. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” He bites his lip.
The two watch Harry again, observe as he leans back in his chair with a satisfied smirk, crossing
his arms as he looks at the creatures around his table eagerly discuss what might has happened.
When the snake girl turns to him to say something, he just licks his lips, tugging on the bottom one
with white teeth and says something that makes his dimples deepen impossibly.
Louis can’t help a wistful sigh tumbling from his lips.
“He’s stupidly attractive,” he thinks out loud.
Eleanor snaps her head in Louis’ direction, looking at him as if he’s just offended her mother.
“What?”
Louis flinches and looks at her as innocently as he can, biting his thumbnail uncertainly. “Um. I
mean. It’s not like. Look, I’m just objectively stating a fact. It’s in my nature to appreciate
aesthetically pleasing things.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, come on. He’s attractive. So are you. So am I. It’s no big deal.”
Eleanor’s face is stern. “It better not be. Never trust beautiful creatures from the Underworld. Ever.
They are assigned their looks just to give a false sense of reliability.”
“Isn’t that kind of unfair to—”
“Ever.”
Louis considers protesting and making an argument out of it, but decides against it. They don’t
need more tension or stress right here and now.
“Okay. Fine. Whatever.” He settles for rolling his eyes and swallowing a forkful of pasta to
underline that he’s not open for a continuation of the discussion.
Eleanor doesn’t seem to be either, so they’re good. She also picks up her fork and starts eating, a
worried wrinkle between her eyebrows. Louis understands her. His hands are slightly shaking when
he thinks of what his other friend could be going through right now.
He hopes Stan is okay. He hopes Stan got to go somewhere nice—surely, logically, he has a bigger
chance to end up somewhere tolerable than somewhere dangerous. To Olympus, or Louis’ home,
maybe. They’re friendly in the Forest. Maybe he even managed to make it home before they
malfunctioned. He hopes with all his heart Stan’s not stuck on Earth. Or Tartaros, like Eleanor
said. He’s heard nothing but awful things about that place.
In the end he’s bitten down all of his nails, rather than the food on his plate.
It’s terribly boring, this loneliness.
Louis’ currently sitting on his bed in his dorm, trying his best to study. Everything’s quiet except
the occasional scrape of pen against paper. He doesn’t get much done—his mind is too caught up
in everything else. Neither he nor Eleanor have really been the same after the announcement,
thoughts clouded with confusion and worry for their friend, and by now concentrating on
schoolwork feels to Louis akin to navigating his way through a thickly foggy forest he’s never
been in before.
He’s almost done with his ecology homework (which he does find quite interesting) when he
suddenly hears sounds in the hallway outside.
Louis frowns; no one’s supposed to be out right now. Unless it’s the teachers or other staff, of
course, but he doubts they’d be running around here when they have so many other issues to deal
with at the moment.
For a moment he almost thinks his overworked brain is making stuff up, but then he hears it again.
Rushing footsteps come closer, followed by voices. Screaming, actually. Someone’s shouting
to give it back, please, please give it back and all Louis can hear as a response is a snicker. Louis
contemplates going out there and telling whoever it is to give back whatever it is he’s taken to
whoever it is who needs it, but he’s also a bit too scared to get into trouble himself. It catches him
sitting quietly and nervously on his bed, listening with concern to the happenings outside his door.
More pleads ring desperately through the hallway, alternating between hopeless and angry, and the
other person doesn’t say anything; just laughs menacingly now and then to mock the poor guy.
And then all of sudden there’s a furious shout that makes Louis fly up to the ceiling, there’s a
whooshing noise and a loud thud on the floor outside, and then there’s a person standing inside
Louis’ room.
The creature is pressed to the wall beside the door, holding a hand to his mouth to suppress his
laughter. The person still in the hallway is knocking and banging on the door, furiously telling him
to come back out. The unwelcomed guest doesn’t answer.
Louis slowly lowers himself from the corner of the ceiling to get a closer look at who’s succeeded
with entering his dorm when the door is in fact, locked, and when he recognizes the head of fuzzy
curls, he can’t help but letting out a;
“What on Earth.”
The banging on the door has momentarily stopped, and Harry snaps his head up to see where the
statement came from.
When he sees Louis hovering a few feet above his bed, he first tilts his head with a puzzled
expression, knitting his eyebrows together.
Then something changes, and the corners of his mouth are dragged into a sly smile. “ Hey.”
Louis does not answer the smile. Rather, he just carefully lowers himself to the floor with a sceptic
narrow of his eyes. “What are you doing in my room?”
“I know you,” Harry says delightedly, completely ignoring Louis’ question. “You’re the one who
was spying on me a couple of days ago, aren’t you?”
Louis’ feels his whole face flush and his spine stiffens. “No I’m not.”
“By the back of the head building, right? I would’ve invited you for a chat but you left in such a
rush. For how long did you stand there, really?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Harry continues to ignore his attempts at denial. He makes a clicking noise with his tongue and
shakes his head slowly, taking a step forward. “Don’t think I could forget such a pretty face.”
Louis blinks. “I—I’m not. I mean. I don’t. What?”
Harry dimples smugly at him. “You’re an adorable one.”
Louis clears his throat and gives several internal slaps in the face to snap himself out of this state of
fluster and concentrate on the more pressing matter here—why this infamous, unapproachable
spirit is in his room this very moment.
“How did you—what were you doing out there?” he demands to know.
“Oh,” Harry raises his eyebrows nonchalantly. “Just playing around a little. Having a bit of fun.”
He’s holding something behind his back. Louis twitches an eyebrow at it and lets his gaze wander
from the hidden object and back to Harry’s face.
“What have you got there?”
The glint in Harry’s eyes is mischievous in an uncomfortably cunning way. “It’s a cane.”
He holds it out for Louis to see. It is a cane, he’s not lying—although Louis recognizes it. It
belongs to a dwarf in his genetics class. A dwarf who only has one leg. A dwarf who needs the
cane to be able to walk.
Louis eyes widen, appalled. “That’s—that’s Camron’s cane. Camron needs that.”
Harry nonchalantly strokes his long fingers up and down the dark, polished wood. “I guess.”
“That’s awful.” Louis is full on frowning now, voice blatantly taken back by the malice in Harry’s
actions. “Why would you do that?”
He gets a shrug and a smirk. “Why not?”
Louis’ mouth falls open in something alarmingly close to disgust.
“Because Camron needs that thing!” he exclaims, eyes hardening by the second. “The poor guy’s
only got one leg, for crying out loud. Don’t you think he’s suffered enough already?”
Harry pouts his lips. They’re the color of overripe raspberries. He doesn’t look bothered at all by
Louis’ words, and Louis is gradually starting to question his previous judgment of him.
“The question is rather, who decides what ‘enough suffering’ is?” he figures, seemingly not even
talking to Louis. “Is there such a thing?”
Louis’ eyebrows are so forcefully knitted together he might start worrying they’ll grow into each
other. “Yes. There is such a thing.”
He cocks a hip out and puts his hand on it, giving Harry his best authoritative look.
“Go out there and give it back to him.”
Harry stares at him for a moment. Eyes him up and down. Apparently understanding that Louis is
serious.
And then he starts laughing.
It’s deep and raspy and taunting, strangely melodic but Louis doesn’t like it one bit. Because
Harry’s laughing at him. He’s so obviously making fun of Louis, and if there’s one thing Louis
despises over everything else, it’s being made fun of.
“Oh, honey,” Harry just utters condescendingly. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”
And that’s the moment that Louis decides that he takes back every single thought he’s had about
Harry so far. He takes the kindness and beliefs that this spirit is perhaps just misunderstood, the
weird attraction and fascination, he takes it all back. He takes everything back, because Harry’s not
worthy of any of it. Harry isn’t worthy of any sort of respect or benevolence from anyone.
“A good soul,” Louis grits through his teeth. “That’s who I am. And you are giving that cane back
to Camron who’s probably still sitting out there unable to do anything to help himself out of this
situation that you put him in, unprompted and unjustified. Who does that? Do you not have any
bloody manners?”
Harry’s just quiet for a second. He looks at Louis as if he might think Louis is insane. He lets his
eyes trail up and down the fairy’s body for the longest of time.
“Do you know who I am?” he settles for in the end. His hands are still persistently gripping the
wooden stick. Good thing Louis is the most stubborn person Louis’ ever known, then. He thinks
it’s probably time Harry has a worthy opponent.
“Yeah.” Louis meets the eyes above him with confidence. Harry’s obnoxiously tall, really, he
might be a half giant or something, but Louis is not scared. He’s not scared of cocky spirits with no
concept of decency or respect.
Harry nods, barely noticeably. “Then you should probably watch that pretty little mouth of yours.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
The soul of Algo barks out another mocking laugh.
“Really now? I can cause you pain so intense you’ll think you’re dying with a flick of my hand,
and you’re a pixie with a god complex. I’d re-evaluate that statement if I were you.”
A pixie.
A pixie.
Louis’ eyes narrow into thin lines. Harry doesn’t know it, or maybe he does—he probably does,
actually—but if there’s one thing that Louis absolutely cannot stand, it’s when people have the
nerve to compare him to one of those teeny tiny, intolerable little creatures. Pixies are nothing but
troublemakers the size of a human’s thumb. They fill no function. They’re just there, like
mosquitos or flies or some equally irritating bug.
And Louis does fill a function. Louis is a nature fairy, Louis helps with changing seasons and with
harvest and growing grass and daisies and apple trees. Louis is not the size of a human’s anything,
thank you very much. Louis is not worth comparing to human’s limbs—pixies are.
And when Louis sees Harry’s excruciating smirk, he realizes that yeah, Harry is well aware of all
of this.
It makes him positively nauseous with fury.
“I am a fairy,” he says slowly and icily. “And you are pathetic.”
The crook of Harry’s mouth doesn’t quite vanish. Louis wants it wiped off of his face forever. “Am
I now?”
“Well.” Louis purses his lips and raises his eyebrows in challenge. “I’m not the one harassing
helpless creatures half my size.”
“Creatures half your size? Must be hard to find, pixie.”
“It kind of makes one wonder,” Louis continues pointedly, “why don’t you go bother creatures your
own size? Afraid you don’t stand a chance against someone mildly equal to yourself?”
His insides swell with pride when the amusement completely drops from Harry’s face.
The taller soul narrows his eyes hostilely, and he takes another step forward and leans down, so
that they are almost on eye level.
“Don’t question my abilities, little one,” he states deeply, speaking in quiet rasps. “I could fuck you
up so badly. I could end you, if I wanted to. So take my advice and keep out of my business.”
“I thought we settled that I’m not scared of you.” Louis can nearly feel Harry’s faint breath on his
face. They’re that close. “And if you have just a seed of decency in your body, just a pinch of
something that’s not wholly and completely despicable, you’re giving Camron his cane back.”
“I don’t take orders from a sassy nature helper.”
A moment of silence falls thick around them, both boys staring intently into each other’s eyes. It
turns into an unspoken game, seeing who will break that eye contact first. Louis can count the
different shades of green in Harry’s dark irises, he can count his black eyelashes and see the
creases of his eyelids.
Louis breaks it.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Have it your way.”
And then he squeezes past Harry, emphatically elbowing the spirit’s side while doing do, and
marches up to the door.
When he opens it carefully he, as expected, finds Camron sitting in fetal position with his back
against the wall on the right side of the door. He doesn’t even look up at Louis, and Louis feels so
awful for him.
“Hi there. Come on, buddy,” he says softly. “Come on, let’s get you to your room, yeah?”
The little dwarf looks up slowly when he realizes that the voice addressing him is too high and too
nice to come from Harry. His face relaxes remarkably when he sees Louis’ friendly appearance,
and he smiles a little. “Thank you.”
“Hey, no problem, alright? Now if you just put your arm here…”
Louis lowers himself and gestures for Camron to put his arm around his neck. Camron does, and
they manage to get up in standing position. Camron keeps thanking Louis over and over again, and
Louis keeps assuring him it’s nothing.
When they’re standing by the doorway to Louis’ room, Louis finds Harry staring at him with
something undefinable in his eyes. The cane is still in his hands, and Louis just gives him a look of
spite as their gazes meet.
“Don’t let him have the pleasure. I’ll make you a new cane,” Louis promises Camron. “I could
grow one out of whatever tree you’d like. Or, that’s growing on campus, at least.”
Camron nods shortly. “I—okay.”
Louis turns his head to Harry one last time. “Get out of my room, please.”
Harry just keeps watching for a few more seconds, eyes stormy and lips pursed, and then he starts
walking out with heavy steps. It’s like he sees this as a defeat. If that is the case, nothing could
make Louis happier.
“Thank you.” Louis closes the door behind the three of them, and then starts helping Camron to
make his way to his own dorm. Camron does his best to hurry up, hopping erratically down the
hallway.
But then, just before reaching the stairs, they hear a quiet cough behind them. Louis stops them,
and looks back to see Harry stand just a few feet away.
“Um,” the green-eyed boy says. He’s looking promptly down at his feet. “Here.”
He holds out the cane to Camron, still refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
Camron stares at Harry. Then he stares at Louis. Then he stares at his cane. Then he stares at Harry
again.
“Um,” he echoes, carefully taking the wooden stick out of Harry’s grip, as if he’s afraid it’ll just be
a joke, or that it’s going to hurt him somehow. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Harry just mutters. “Whatever.”
Camron lets go of Louis to balance himself again, and then he fully turns to the fairy.
“You’re—you’re a miracle worker,” he beams. “Thanks for helping me.”
Louis just returns the dwarf’s smile, and he can’t help but to shoot Harry a smug glance as well.
The glare Harry sends straight back at him could probably kill entire crowds.
As soon as Camron’s out of sight, he speaks again.

“Don’t think I’ll just let this go, pixie,” he murmurs. “I swear on Hades you’ll regret this every
single day for the rest of your life.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” Louis meets his eyes steadily and defyingly. “I’ll deal.”
Harry just shakes his head and throws him one last dirty look. “If you ever dare to speak loudly
about this, I will actually cut your wings off.”
“Aw, your little secret is safe with me,” Louis coos back.
There’s a huff leaving Harry’s lips, and then he’s gone again, as if dissolved into thin air.
Louis hurries into his room and locks the door behind him again, sliding down against the cold
wood to sit on the floor.
Needless to say, he doesn’t really study more that day.
Chapter End Notes
harry's introduced!! wey hey!!
kudos and comments really make y day, so if you read and have something to say
about it, DO!! i really love getting feedback on my things. criticism is great, too. xxx
my tumblr is still a-bit-extraordilarry, and i'll love you forever if you talk to me
because i am literally the loneliest person you've ever seen.
Chapter Summary

be easier.)
Chapter Notes
”I hate Harry Styles,” is the first thing Louis says when he sits down beside Eleanor at lunch the
following day.
“Congratulations,” Eleanor says, raising an eyebrow. Louis sighs exasperatedly.
“No, you don’t understand. I genuinely hate him. It’s a thing now. It’s a new day, the sun is
shining, birds are chirping, and I hate Harry Styles. He’s a… He’s a toad.”
“Could almost be sent to the Underworld with that language.” Eleanor quips with an eyeroll. “So
when exactly did this change of opinion occur?”
Louis huffs. “Yesterday when he broke into my dorm and was a jerk to Camron.”
Eleanor’s brow furrows immediately, and she redirects all her attention from having been split
between Louis and her lunch to being nailed to Louis, expression alarmed.
“He broke into your dorm? What do you mean he ‘broke into your dorm’?”
“Well.” Louis purses his lips as his mind unwillingly travels back to yesterday’s happenings. “He
was running around in the hallway outside. He’d taken Camron’s cane, you know Camron, right?
One-legged dwarf, very sympathetic, would never hurt a fly?”
“Yeah, course,” Eleanor gestures for him to continue.
Louis cracks his knuckles, straightens his back, and dives directly into the story.
“Okay. So there I am in my room, minding my own business, trying to study like the great student I
am, when all of a sudden, voices are heard from the hallway outside.”
Eleanor just barely manages to suppress another eye roll at her friend’s theatricality, but she nods,
still all ears.
“It sounds like some kind of fight. And you know, I'm heavily considering going out there in all my
pride and glory and stop everything, but then I’d have to break the rules because we couldn’t leave,
right, which doesn’t really fit well with me being a good student. So I’m obviously torn between
two choices, totally clueless which way to go—”
“Louis?”
“Yes?”
“Your inner heroic struggles are truly moving but I would love it if you could cut to the chase just
a little bit. I genuinely just want to know what happened.”
Louis huffs. “Whatever. Pardon me for trying to paint the scene accurately.”
Eleanor doesn’t get to answer, because Louis is on a roll and he doesn’t like to be interrupted for
longer than absolutely necessary.
“Anyway, so I'm in my bed contemplating whether to save the day or save myself, when someone
screams right outside my door and then suddenly—without the door ever opening—someone is
standing inside my room. You’ll never guess who it is.”
“Hades?” Eleanor mutters. Louis doesn’t care.
“Harry Styles,” he says, upper lip curling slightly, “is standing, back against my door, snickering
like some possessed little child. And I’m obviously startled, so I’m like ‘what are you doing in my
room?’, and he turns to me as if he hasn’t even realized someone else lives in there, and—”
He stops himself momentarily, biting his lip. Eleanor still doesn’t know about the creeping
incident, and Louis is not about to be the first one to tell her. No way. She’s not going to have that
pleasure.
“—And I’m like ‘what on earth were you doing out there?’ and he just pulls this cocky smirk and
tells me he’s having a bit of fun. Fun, Eleanor, can you believe it?”
“I could never.”
Honestly, Eleanor is a really ungrateful audience. Louis prefers the younger fairies back in the
forest. They adore him the way he deserves.
“Turns out Harry’s taken Camron’s cane, and he has no plans on giving it back. So I tell him that
that’s an awful thing to do and—he doesn’t care one bit. He’s completely indifferent, no matter
how much I try to lead him onto the right path. And then, do you know what he does?”
“No idea.”
Louis’ eyes narrow bitterly at the memory. “He calls me a pixie. He calls me a pixie and makes fun
of me. And I am obviously astounded that he has the sheer nerve, but I think to myself ‘he’s not
going to get to me’. And so I drag him to the ground, using only words. Something that he could
never do, I’m positive.”
“Go you.”
“The guy’s still not giving in, though. He’s keeping that cane. So then I decide that, ‘fine. Don’t
sink to his level.’ Because—well, because at the end of it, I know that there is another creature out
there in the hallway in need of help, and honestly? I’d much rather spend my time with him. So…
So I help him instead. I felt so bad for Camron, you have no idea—he looked so small, and I felt
awful. Just awful. So I promised I’d make him a new cane and he seemed grateful, and I don’t
think he would’ve taken me up on that, but I just—I had to say something.”
Louis’ voice softens a little when he talks about Camron. He knows a thing or two about feeling
small, and he’d hate for anyone else to ever have to feel that way, too. It makes his heart tremble
with protectiveness.
“That’s really nice of you,” Eleanor compliments softly, sounding genuinely admiring for the first
time since Louis’ opened his mouth.
The fairy smiles faintly and blushes, looking down on his lap for a second before picking up the
story where he left it.
“Anyway—right, we’re just about to take on the staircase, when we hear a cough. And we turn
around, and there he is! The one and only Harry Styles, looking bashful and bitter. And what does
he do? He returns the darn cane. I made him return the cane to Camron, can you imagine? And
then I think he tries to threaten me or something, but it’s not like I’m scared of him.” Louis huffs in
disgust at the memory. “And after that he just vanishes again. So… Yeah. I think that’s that. He’s
horrendous.”
Eleanor’s eyes widen and she slightly shakes her head in disbelief.
“He—he actually gave it back? What in the Gods’ names did you do?”
“I just exude that natural dominance, Eleanor.”
“I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about ‘hey, you’re such a great soul, Louis, and you deserve my deepest adoration until
forever’?” Louis suggests.
Eleanor snorts, twining a strand of hair around her finger. “You’re—look, you have such a kind
heart. What you did for Camron is genuinely so good. However you did also not only seriously
pick a fight with Harry Styles, but also managed to somehow probably embarrass him too, and—
god, I don’t know if I should be amazed by your courage or your stupidity, honestly.”
“Rude.” Louis looks at her, offended. “I made myself Harry Styles’ superior, I deserve credit.”
“Maybe,” Eleanor allows, “but you might’ve just got yourself the worst enemy you could possibly
ask for in this place.”
“I can take him on.”
“I don’t think—okay. There’s an incredibly small chance that Harry will just let this slide. And you
can talk, right—no one’s missed that. But if Harry decides he wants to physically or mentally hurt
you, you will stand no chance.”
Louis bites his lip. He doesn’t like admitting that other people are right if it proves his own actions
to be wrong, so he frantically searches for a good retort that would solve this. He wants to say that
Harry wouldn’t go that far, but he’s honestly not sure. He’s really not. Harry would totally go that
far. Harry lacks empathy. He wouldn’t care about damaging someone who made him look weak.
“Well,” Louis tries. “Look. I’m sure it won’t be that big of a deal. I won’t go search for him every
day or actively try to pick a fight or something, and I’m pretty sure he has better things to do than
go and deliberately hunt me down. And if I don’t look for him, and he doesn’t look for me, we
probably won’t even see each other. This place is huge. We have no classes together. I didn’t even
know who he was before you told me and I didn’t see him before that, either. We’ll be fine.”
“Who’ll be fine?”
The two of them are interrupted by a very familiar voice emerging from behind Louis. Judging by
the look on Eleanor’s face, and the raspy tone of the question, there’s no doubt about who it came
from.
Louis inwardly groans. Why. Why would this happen. Why now? Why ever? Why is Harry even
a thing?
“No one,” he says with a sigh. “Unless you leave, of course. Then everyone will be fine.”
He doesn’t even have to look at Harry to know he’s grinning as he speaks. “Aw. That’s cute.”
Louis closes his eyes for a few seconds. Don’t let anything get to you, don’t let anything get to you,
don’t let anything—
“I know,” he replies, turning around in his chair to give the spirit a blindingly fake grin. “I
am beautiful. Now that we’ve cleared that up, how about you just—”
He has to abruptly stop himself when a sudden rush of intense pain shoots through his ribcage. His
eyes widen in shock and he convulsively clutches his chest and gasps for air.
Harry’s laugh and the muffled sniggers from his petty friends ring in Louis’ ears.
“What’s the matter, pixie?”
The pain is gone faster than it came, and Louis gives Harry a positively loathing stare. Harry seems
completely unfazed.
“Nothing,” Louis grits out through his teeth, straightening out and adjusting his fringe. “Like I said
before, might want to try picking on creatures your own size. If some kind of power is what you
want to prove, that is.”
Something unpleasant flashes in Harry’s eyes for a second, and Louis catches his lips curving
downwards before he regains control.
“You’re probably right,” he smirks. “Anyone could damage you, isn’t that right? Breakable little
thing.”
Louis gets a funny feeling in his arms. Needles are piercing all over his smooth skin, and he makes
an attempt to shake it off, scratching with his nails. It doesn’t work. They keep stinging.
“Stop it!” he hisses. Harry and his audience just laugh.
“Harry, stop it,” Eleanor finally speaks, and it comes out as an icy snap.
The feeling in Louis’ arms disappear as Harry turns his infuriatingly cocky gaze to the girl.
“Eleanor,” he beams. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are things?”
“Lovely,” she replies, and Louis is impressed by her complete coldness. “Please leave us alone. No
one finds you amusing.”
“I actually find myself hilarious,” Harry says, fluttering his eyelashes innocently.
“Well, you have to. Everyone else is too busy kissing your rear.”
Harry sighs with a wistful smile stretching across his lips. “I do like how you good souls seem
allergic to cursing. It’s very charming.”
He waits for his group of people to respond with amusement, and when they do he nods in
satisfaction.
“Anyway,” he continues, turning to Louis. “I was just checking up on you. Letting you know I keep
promises. In case you thought I didn’t.”
“Good to know,” Louis deadpans. “I was beginning to worry.”
It’s quiet for a few moments as Louis and Eleanor watches Harry strut off with his insufferable
group of friends slash suck-ups, and then Eleanor opens her mouth.
“You must have a death wish.”
“I have a back bone,” Louis mutters. “And he needs someone who dares to shrink that ego of his a
bit.”
“Maybe. But it’d been better if that someone was a giant. Or the offspring of Harmonia. Or Zeus.”
“Don’t underestimate me. You talk back at him, too. Right after lengthily telling me why I
shouldn’t, might I add.”
“Yeah, but that’s because I am an offspring of Zeus’ daughter and Harry knows how to pick his
battles. He’s cruel, but he’s not stupid.”
“So it’s about me being a fairy, then, is it?” Louis bites back bitterly. “Defenceless little thing, am
I?”
“Louis, you know I don’t think that. I know you can stand up for yourself. But Harry will use
every weakness you have against you.”
Louis just shakes his head and looks down, deciding to just start eating his lunch. Maybe food will
help him push away the frustration that seems to always come with the presence of Harry and
underestimation.
The thing is, Harry doesn’t stop.
Louis really must’ve jinxed it with the whole ‘we’ll probably never see each other’ thing, because
all of a sudden, the spirit seems to be everywhere. He’s in the cafeteria when Louis is. He passes
him in corridors and on campus at least twice a day. He makes sure to burst into classes where
Louis is present for whatever reason.
He also makes sure to always do something to annoy the fairy. Every single time. Whether it’s the
illusion of a pinch on the skin on his neck, or a snarky comment, or pushing Louis’ books to the
floor as he gracefully passes him without dignifying him with as much as a look.
And Louis tries to listen to Eleanor’s warnings, he tries to listen to the sensible part of himself. He
tries to be the bigger person and he tries to ignore the curly boy.
But the thing is, it really does hurt—because every word that leaves Harry’s lips, every movement
or act of discomfort towards Louis, it’s a constant ploy to remind Louis that he is insignificant. It’s
all a play of power. Harry knows that that’s Louis’ weak spot, knows that Louis hates when people
thinks lowly of him just because he happens to be a fairy, and he makes sure to use it to his
advantage every chance he gets.
Louis cannot understand how he was ever intrigued by this creature. How he could ever have felt
compassion for him, how he could have found him beautiful.
He is still very physically attractive, make no mistakes—but it means nothing in Louis’ eyes
anymore. The spots of dark and amount of green shades in his eyes aren’t quite as mesmerizing.
Louis doesn’t have an urge to feel the velvety curls on his head. He doesn’t want to trace his
fingers along his ivory white skin.
It’s sad, really. Louis really would’ve liked to be able to quietly enjoy the beauty of the creature
without knowing how awful the inside actually is. Now all he feels every time he lays eyes on
Harry is aggravation.
He’s well aware of Harry’s purpose. He’s not doing this only because he thinks it’s funny to pick
on someone every now and then.
Harry Styles knows how to build up frustration and negativity inside a soul, knows exactly how to
play and where to go. He knows how to break down defences and pierce through someone’s
feelings. And Louis hasn’t thought of it like this before, he hasn’t come so far as to think the
spirit’s character through properly, but Harry is, quite honestly, terrifying. Not necessarily because
he can cause pain plain and simple, but because of the outright sinister game he plays on his way
to it.
I could fuck you up so bad. I could end you, if I wanted to.
He’s trying to, Louis is positive. He’s slowly trying to make Louis lose his mind.
Maybe Louis really does have a death wish.
Everything goes to absolute shit the following Monday.
To be fair, it’s not entirely Harry doing the work. Louis’ been walking around in a terrible mood
the whole day, like a ticking bomb. Harry just happens to set him off.
It’s just not Louis’ day today, alright? He manages to wake up to a cloudy, grey sky, and it
immediately makes the corners of his mouth drop. He hates bad weather. Detests it. As a nature
fairy, maybe he should be able to find something good in all weathers, and he knows rain is
essential, but he just can’t stand it. It gets him wet and cold on all the worst possible occasions, it
does a splendid job of complicating all of Louis’ own tasks and even though, yes, it is necessary for
nature to able to stay green and blooming, Louis just can’t help but let his mood wash down
quicker than the pouring drops outside.
Louis likes colours. He likes analyzing shades of green and blue and yellow and red, assigning
them places and emotions and meaning. He likes comparing colours and combining colours and
mixing colours. It’s incredibly fascinating to him.
And, you know, it’s kind of really very hard to, when everything is just grey.
You can only go so far with grey, can you?
There’s the water color splash kind of grey wandering about in the sky. There’s the grimy kind of
grey that washes down dirty drains and mixes with muddy spots on mismanaged lawns (which,
Louis hates mismanaged lawns, too. Like, you had one job. You had one job. Making sure grass is
covering all the places it needs to be covering is a job even the greatest of fools can do, and
someone messed it up).
There’s the polished metal kind of grey that lakes and oceans like to turn into during storms. There
is the charcoal of the streets.
And then when you have placed out all of the visible greys, you have to really strain yourself. The
clouds are the grey of a cold finger tracing your wrist. The trees are the grey of a boring
conversation, the buildings are the grey of melancholy.
It’s like watching something though a black and white lens, and even though life is very black and
white opinion wise to Louis, that doesn’t mean he wants the whole world to be. It’s extremely
depressing.
(He bets Harry enjoys rain.)
So he wakes up to this, and on top of that he wakes up later than he intended, which he’s not used
to at all. He’s so tired he can barely rise from his bed, his body is aching with sleep when he puts
his clothes on.
It doesn’t exactly help later, when he arrives to his first class with the wrong books. Or when he
drops his pen and it rolls three seats in front of him, causing him to have to crawl by someone’s feet
to get it.
He can’t concentrate in Greek History, and when the teacher calls on him, Louis can’t answer and
he loathes being wrong.
Eleanor visibly notices that something is wrong, but she doesn’t comment on it. Louis is glad, even
though it does make conversations a tad awkward and a tad few as well, but that suits him today.
He really isn’t in the mood for chatting, and he’s grateful he’s got a friend like Eleanor who
understands that.
In short, he’s having a terrible day. And it’s not like it improves when Louis hears that annoyingly
deep voice calling out his name in the big hallway on the top floor of the head building. Meaning,
it’s the place where most people are this very time of day. Meaning, Harry wants to cause a scene.
“Louis, darling.”
At first, Louis attempts to do what he usually does, which is to send him a dirty glare and keep
walking. He almost follows through as well, doing really well considering his state, but Harry
seems determined that today will be the day he finally and officially puts Louis to death.
“Are you running away from me, pixie?”
Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking.
“Aw, you are, aren’t you? You’re so cute thinking that’s a way to get rid of me.”
The classroom is just around the corner.
“What’s the matter, Louis? Wouldn’t you like a little chat?”
It’s ecology. It’s fun. This will be so fun. Louis is having so much fun.
And then it just drops on him, those words Harry has been keeping until this very moment.
“Wow. I thought you were trying to get me under the impression that you were strong. Not scared
of a petty confrontation.”
You know what? Screw ecology.
He stops abruptly, trying to calm his increasingly rapid breathing. His little fists are tightly
gripping his books.
This is the moment where he should be the bigger person. This is where he should just give him a
look and then keep walking. This is where he should prove that he’s rational and mature and
unaffected by Harry’s words.
It’s just that, he’s not.
Louis slowly turns around to meet Harry’s eyes. There’s a glint of humor in them that irritates him
so much he wants to pull his hair out. He wants to pull Harry’s stupid hair out.
“Do you need something?” he grits out through his teeth.
Harry raises his eyebrows in a way that’s supposed to look innocent.
“Just though we could have a friendly chat.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Not really, no.” Harry shrugs unapologetically. “You’re just cute when you’re angry.”
Cute.
Louis doesn’t want to be cute anymore. Especially not to someone like Harry Styles.
“Why are you so obsessed with me?” he asks, widening his eyes in frustration. “What makes me so
incredibly special to you?”
“Obsessed with you? Honey, I’m doing you a favor. I’m just trying to help you realise.”
“Realise what, exactly? Because you’d think you should’ve realized by now that you don’t matter
to me.”
Harry’s smile would almost be soft, if it weren’t for the slightly hardening glint of his eyes. “Your
place, babe. You need to realise your place.”
The tall spirit slowly approaches Louis as he starts speaking in a feigned gentle voice.
“You’re in way over your head, pixie,” he says lightly. “You want to be seen, don’t you? You want
to be a hero.”
There is laughter from around them, and Louis realises mostly everyone has stopped in their tracks
to witness their conversation. Witnessing the Harry Styles tear down the poor little fairy.
It's not a coincidence Harry chose this day, right now, to do this. He knows Louis is on edge as it is.
He's doing this solely to play around with him and provoke him into making a fool of himself. It
makes Louis’ skin prickle with anger.
“It’s so sweet, it really is,” Harry continues, nodding as if he feels compassion. “It’s a nice thought.
I’d love for you to fulfill your dream and be a winged three foot knight in shining armor. But, as it
is,” he sighs wistfully. “I do have a duty to fulfill, don’t I?”
“I guess you do,” Louis speaks coldly through a clenched jaw.
Harry looks at him and nods. “Thank you for understanding, Louis. Although I have to warn you;
it’s going to hurt.”
“Wouldn’t have guessed.”
The air is thick and tense with expectant silence from everyone around. Louis stares at Harry icily,
holding the passive-aggressiveness up to an impressive level, if he does say so himself. He’s
surprised he hasn’t exploded yet.
They’re close again. Harry is towering before him, looking down with a condescending expression
etched into his features.
“You are nothing,” he speaks slowly. “You’re not going to amount to any of the things you dream
of. You are a small, dainty creature with a child’s heart and you’re made to grow pretty flowers.
You won’t be more than that, Louis, you don’t have the ability. You don’t belong in a world like
this. The sooner you realise that, the better it’ll be for you and the simpler it’ll be for me.”
It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t hurt at all, it really, really shouldn’t because Harry’s saying it just to
watch Louis’ pain.
But it does. It hurts more than anything Louis’ experienced from mere words before in his life.
He’s always been afraid of that, is the thing. Of never amounting to anything, to never mean
anything to anyone except as a tool. Afraid of never making a change, afraid of eternally strolling
through life as the petite, breakable fairy who can do nothing but grow trees and harvest.
And he’s had it, now. It’s like every single negative emotion that’s been pushing and fuming under
his skin ever since he woke up this morning is on its way up, and Louis finds himself wanting to
break things.
He wants Harry to feel terrible. He wants Harry to be twisting in pain on the floor, he wants Harry
to gasp for air and beg for forgiveness. He wants Harry to feel the exact way he makes other
creatures feel every single day.
He’s not going to let Harry win. Not Louis. Because Louis can amount to whatever he wants to.
So he breathes deeply a couple of times, and then he looks straight at Harry with as much defiance
he can muster.
“You’re not going to win,” he says slowly, refusing to rip his gaze from Harry’s conceited one.
Harry looks so patronising and Louis wants to harm him. “What am I not going to win, pixie?”
Louis doesn’t answer his question. Rather, he just narrows his eyes and walks closer.
“Do you want to know the irony in this?” he asks. “Here you are, trying to tell me that my sense of
confidence is deluded--when you've gained all of your high and mightiness from fear. You are
where you are only because the people around you are scared you're going to hurt them. How
does that feel, Harry? Please, tell me how it feels to have every single person who ever crosses
paths with you being so terribly afraid of you that they either feel like they have to act like your
slave or avoid the mere name of your being. Tell me what it’s like to have no one but yourself to
rely on regarding absolutely everything. What’s it like being lonely like that, Harry? Please,
indulge me—tell me how it feels to only know pain, because it must be unbearable.”
The curly haired soul’s eyes proceed to darken as Louis speaks, and Louis almost wants to laugh
because it’s working.
So he keeps going.
“When you consider it, you don’t know more about the world than I do. You only hurt people
because no actual skills are required from you doing it. You only hurt them because that's the only
way you'll ever feel anything apart from empty. A soul like you, Harry, will never know love, or
happiness, because you’re made to destroy it. You will only ever know pain and I pity you.
I pity you.”
The condescending smirk has completely dropped off Harry’s face as Louis has spoken, and Louis
feels a small sense of pride at that. Harry doesn't have all the power he thinks he has. The spirit’s
jaw is tightly clenched and Louis almost worries something will break. The otherwise green eyes
are darker than a starless winter night.
“You are so naïve,” Harry eventually spits out.
“Maybe,” Louis keeps staring. “But so are you. Darling.”
“You should probably go.” Harry’s voice is bitingly stern.
“You’re so sad,” Louis keeps pushing, too blinded by hatred to even comprehend what Harry’s
saying. He just wants to break him. “Your mother, who’s supposed to love and care for you,
created you merely as a tool to do her scattered dirty work, and you walk around like you own the
world. You’re the one who’s worth nothing.”
He knows he’s made a mistake when a terrifying growl leaves Harry’s mouth and he springs
forward with clenched fists.
Louis immediately lifts off of the ground in self-defense, hovering a few feet above the ground.
“I will kill you,” Harry hisses, and it doesn’t even sound like a threat. It sounds like a promise.
Louis really managed to hit a sore spot with that one. “I will kill you.”
And he starts running, and Louis starts flying, and—
Yeah, this was probably a very bad idea. Stupid temper. Stupid temper.
They rush down the hallway. Louis’ wings actually hit a few people in the face, leaving creatures
confused with only a whoosh of the wind as confirmation it actually happened. Harry is right
behind him, lips pursed in loathing and hands fisted tightly in rage, occasionally reaching out to
grip after Louis’ flitting body. He pushes the poor souls mercilessly out of the way, eyes fixed on
the fairy’s delicate back.
Louis’ heart is in his throat, fluttering erratically as he fights to make his way through the building.
A part of him wonders why Harry isn’t stopping him, isn’t hurting him when he so obviously could
make Louis into a writhing mess in a matter of seconds.
He's glad he's not, though. Kind of makes things easier for him.
His wings have probably never moved this fast in his life. It’s extremely bizarre, actually, but
combined with the adrenaline pumping in his veins and the excuse to push people, actually relieves
Louis an awful lot. It’s almost—it’s almost fun.
He looks back quickly, Harry black-eyed and stern face only a little bit from getting him, and it
clicks in him then, that Harry’s probably doing this to prove a point. He’s deliberately trying to
hunt Louis down without using his powers, and as far as Louis is concerned, he's going to fail
spectacularly. Louis can’t help but let a giggle let out. He made Harry “Soul of Algos” Styles so
angry he felt the need to physically hunt him down. It’s a peculiar sort of accomplishment.
Obviously, though, Harry notices Louis’ amusement, and that makes his eyes narrows impossibly
thinner, and then he disappears, just like he’d done after the Camron incident. Louis is so surprised
at his action that he stops mid-air, frowning confusedly.
“Enjoying yourself, pixie?” a voice suddenly asks lowly into his ear, and Louis yelps and flies up
against the ceiling again.
Harry looks somewhat pleased with himself for startling Louis to that extent, and he looks daringly
up at the fairy.
“Someone’s being a coward,” he states.
“Someone’s being a creep with no concept of personal space,” Louis retorts heatedly, crossing his
arms.
“I will literally wait all day,” Harry promises. “I will gladly stand here until your wings fail you
from exhaustion.”
“You will miss class,” Louis tries and he feels right after he said it that yeah, that was lame. That
was extremely lame.
Harry actually lets out a laugh and Louis blushes. “More importantly, I’d guess, so will you.”
Louis watches the other boy cautiously as he slowly, slowly lowers himself to the floor again.
Harry doesn’t break the eye contact, standing completely still as Louis moves. He doesn’t make
any attempts at attacking the fairy, but then again his posture is still terribly hostile, so Louis by no
means thinks he’s going to let it go.
He’s right, because as soon as Louis is steadily on his feet, Harry launches forward and there they
go again.
They reach the marble stairs now, flying down them at the speed of light. Or, well, Louis is flying.
Harry might as well be rolling his way down, but Louis likes to think the spirit has slightly more
dignity than that. Or maybe not.
He would like to see him rolling down, though. It would be very amusing.
A funny thing about Harry, is that despite having a solid humanized body, he doesn’t seem to
possess very many human functions. For one, he doesn’t seem to ever get out of breath. He even
attempts holding a conversation with Louis on several occasions; probably just to emphasize how
unfazed he is by their little chase.
It irritates Louis to no end.
They’re still taking on the stairs; they never seem to end. Even though Louis thinks so many times
that they must’ve reached the first floor by now, there always seems to be more stairs. His wings
are growing tired. His breath is heavy, and he bites his lip as he forces himself to keep going.
Harry, as always, seems to notice. “Getting tired?”
“In your dreams,” Louis growls.
“Good. Watch out so you don’t break yourself.”
That little prick.
Louis throws a disgusted glance back, before aiming straight down the last (finally) set of stairs.
He’s going to show the pretentious idiot.
So he spurts. He flies as fast as his little body can allow him and a little faster, and he can feel
Harry falling behind and with a delighted grin on his thin lips, he crashes down into the wall down
by the hallway. Harry is nowhere to be seen. Louis is the winner.
Except.
Louis confusedly turns around so he’s not facing the concrete wall.
This hallway is way too small, it’s way too dark and it’s way too empty to be the main floor of the
head building. Actually, it’s almost claustrophobically narrow now that he’s actually looking. No
lights are on, except the bluish ones coming out from the small cracks of the door lined up on the
left side of the corridor.
It’s then that he realizes, that he’s not on the main floor. He’s in the basement.
The basement. This is where you travel to other worlds.
Shouldn’t this place be very, very locked and prohibited?
Louis feels uneasy, when he realizes his whereabouts—he would be dead if someone caught him
being here. Swiftly, he turns around immediately to walk back up.
And then he jumps about six feet up in the air with a shriek.
Harry is casually leaning against the wall only a few steps away, nonchalantly studying his nails.
“How do you do that?” Louis accuses in a high pitched tone.
Harry flashes a quick, dry smile, and then Louis’ body is pressed up against one of the doors,
wings aching from being pushed against the wood. He’s got a muscular arm under his chin,
holding him up. It’s adding uncomfortable pressure to his collarbones, and Louis squirms in the
firm grip.
Harry’s breath is on his lips.
“Did you really think I’d let a trick like that go?” the spirit growls. Louis meets his eyes. They are
dark and intimidating, pupils blown wide, and it sends shivers down Louis’ spine. He’s screwed.
“You know, I want you like you, Louis,” Harry continues, voice low and stern. “I really do. But
you have to learn how to keep your fucking mouth in check, or I swear to God I will—”
“Hurt me?” Louis spits out, trying to get as much edge to his reply as possible considering his
position. “That must be a first.”
“You talk and you talk, and you understand nothing.”
“And you’re pathetic.”
Harry’s eyes are huge this up-close, burning with what Louis can only describe as genuine hatred.
“You,” Harry whispers, edging closer, “need to shut up.”
Louis puts on his cockiest face, raising his chin the best he can and stares right back into the two
black fires inches from his own eyes.
“Make me.”
Harry’s rose petal upper lip curls, and Louis can do nothing but cuss himself out for not actually
being able to shut up ever and wait for the pain, but then he’s falling.
The wood he's pushed against vanishes, and Louis can only let out a small yelp as he falls
backwards, Harry stumbling with him.
The next few seconds fly unbelievably fast.
Someone’s furiously yelling at them to “get back, get away, stupid kids,” but they don’t have time
to listen, because Harry is still holding onto Louis and Louis is way too short to support both of
them and regain balance. So he keeps hopelessly stumbling backwards three more steps.
He sees Harry’s eyes first. They’re green again. They’re green, they’re wider than ever, and
they’re horrified.
“No, Louis, fuck, we need to—”
And then there’s something on the floor, something Louis would guess is a threshold, and every
chance of regaining stability before disaster strikes slips hopelessly through his fingers.
Louis gives out a scared screech and desperately digs his nails into Harry’s upper arms in need for
some sort of solidity.
And then they’re both falling, dwindling, tumbling.
It’s nauseating.
It’s like the universe can’t make up its mind on where to take them; colors and weathers and
surroundings pass by in a violent haze, leaving Louis dizzy and scared and desperately clinging to
Harry’s arm in an attempt to keep himself grounded some way. He would probably be ashamed, if
it wasn’t first of all, for the fact that he is a little too busy surviving to care about shame right now,
and second, he can feel Harry’s own grip around his waist, so no one can really blame him.
When they finally land, it’s forceful and Louis gets his face full of grass. Perfectly green, watered
grass. He splutters and flies up on his feet in a matter of seconds, bemusedly looking around. It’s a
beautiful forest, it really is. Every single patch of green is spotlessly managed and every bush in
sight is flawlessly cut and nourished. The paths are evenly grained and the trees are freshly
blooming.
Louis knows this place. He’s been traveling between it and his home practically since he was born.
“Where are we?” Harry asks, seemingly distressed, from behind him.
“Oh my God,” Louis groans. “Oh my God.”
“Where the fuck are we, Louis?”
A girl in a red hood skips by on the path a bit away from them.
Louis tries his best to keep his voice on normal conversation level when he answers, because truth
be told, he’d rather be screaming right now.
“Welcome to the Village of Grim,” he says bitterly.
Chapter End Notes
so, guys. i've got a beta. and his name is tj and he's awesome. so thank you tj for doing
this, ily :Dxxx
and I guess this is where the plot properly starts? yaaayyy?
as always, if you'd ever feel like making my day, my tumblr is a-bit-extraordilarry and
i literally get so happy when people talk to me. so, yes.
next chapter will be up next wednesday or thursday :D

chapter 4; the village of grimm
Chapter Summary

Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a
be easier.
Chapter Notes
They’re in Grimm’s Village.
They’re in Grimm’s Village.
Louis’ fallen through a broken one way portal to Grimm’s Village and there is no safe way to get
back to the University of the Three, and he’s stuck with Harry Styles.
“Oh my God,” he hisses again, looking around the green forest. “What have you done?”
Harry rises from the ground, brushing grass off his jeans and elbows, and he snaps his head up at
Louis’ accusing question to fix Louis with a murderous glare.
“What have I done?” He spits furiously, pointing disbelievingly at himself. “I didn’t do a damn
thing. You were the one who couldn’t stand on your own two feet for three fucking seconds!”
Louis gasps, eyes narrowing into hostile slits. “Excuse me, who was pushing me up against that
perfectly openable door in the first place?”
“’Openable’, isn’t even a word,” Harry snorts derisively. “You have wings, for fucks sake, was it
that hard to use them?”
“Well, you have the creepy ability to teleport however you want to, so don’t you dare put this on
me. Besides, maybe I could’ve used my wings if they weren’t sore from being—I repeat—violently
pushed up against a damn door.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “If you hadn’t acted like a little fucking brat from minute one, you wouldn’t
have been pushed up against a door in the first place.”
“Oh, really,” Louis puts his hands on his hips. “Well, if you hadn’t been so affected by me merely
defending myself I wouldn’t have been either!”
“You’re literally asking for the world to punch you in the face, you know that?”
“At least I’m not in happily charge of throwing those punches, am I?” Louis shoots back.
Harry smiles at him, tightly. “Obviously not, you’d be too weak.”

“Do you want a piece of me?”
Harry’s repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fists, and he inhales deeply through his nose a
couple of times, eyes fluttering closed. His jaw is stiff, his neck is strained, and Louis loathes him.
“No,” he replies simply when he opens his eyes again.
Louis frowns.
“No?” he repeats, almost angry that Harry gave up so easily. Louis was all prepared to swing.
Could’ve knocked him out. Maybe. Perhaps. Now they'll never know, regardless.
“No,” Harry confirms, cutting off Louis’ train of thought. “Because you’re going to get us to a new
portal, and it’ll be easier for both of us if you’re in one piece when doing so.”
He starts looking around him, trying to locate himself, most likely, and Louis just observes him
with itching incredulity. He’s slowly starting to suspect that Harry may not only be cruel, but also
very possibly slightly insane.
Louis tips his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest and blinks blankly.
“Why would we want to find another portal? And who says I’ll help you with anything?”
“I do.” Harry turns around to face the fairy again and points to the path that leads further into the
forest. “I assume we follow this way, or would that be too obvious?”
Louis knows exactly what he could say here. No, you do, he could say. Follow the path about half
a mile and then diverge to the left by the three birch trees. They’re the only ones of their kind in
the forest. Continue going straight for about a hundred meters, turn right by the daisy meadow,
cross the winding stream, turn right again by the seven dwarves’ house, continue for a while and
fly over the hedge of thorns when you get there, find the big oak tree. Make sure you’re a helper of
Grimm, not a citizen. Walk past on the right side. Welcome.
But he won’t. He won’t, because first of all, he’s not doing anything to help Harry, and secondly,
why the hell should they leave?
“We’re not going through another portal,” Louis declares stubbornly. “That’s just irrational.”
Harry blinks. “Well, we need to get out of here, don’t we?”
Louis suppresses an exasperated groan.
“Harry, dear.” His tired voice drips with the condescending tone Harry’s usually much too fond of
using. “Did you miss the part where the portals are broken?”
“Haha,” Harry deadpans. “Look, we can’t stay here. We need to try and get back.”
“Are you actually this incompetent?” Louis can’t believe this. “This is a great place in comparison
to where we could’ve ended up. We are so lucky we landed here. I know my way around this place
and it’s a place with humans so it can’t be that dangerous. We had immense luck to end up in a
relatively safe place—and you want to leave?”
“We’ll be alright wherever we go. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not!” Frustration is bubbling up again in Louis’ chest, threatening to spill over. Does
Harry want to die? Is that a thing he wants to do? Is he stupid? Is he joking? “You’re welcome to
find a portal on your own. But as far as I’m concerned, we’re staying right here, in Grimm’s
Village, until we’re sure that the portals are working again.”
Harry pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a slow, steady exhale. “We don’t know how long
that will take. Trust me, this won’t be a thing they’ll be able to fix in a couple of days. The Gods of
all Three will probably have to cooperate to fix this problem. It could take months.”
“Then we’ll stay here for months, Harry. I’m not going through another portal and risking going to
Tartaros or Hel or something equally awful.”
“We’d be fine.”
“No,” Louis rolls his eyes. “You’d be fine. I, on the other hand, would be eaten alive in a place like
that.”
Harry hums, considering. “True. But I’m sure we can come up with some kind of agreement to
deal with that issue.”
Louis almost laughs out loud. “I would never make a deal with you. Ever. Not one where me being
in pain is the subject of matter.”
Harry puts a hand on the spot where his heart should be, all feigned hurt and round eyes. Louis
figures there’s just an empty, mourning cage in there, though.
“You don’t trust me?”
Louis scoffs. “Oh, come off it. We’re not leaving, period.”
He crosses his arms over his chest to underline his closing for options, and sits down in the grass
with his back facing Harry. Harry sighs deeply and for a very long time. Louis’ almost a little
impressed by his lung capacity.
“Louis, listen,” he says after a while again, and his voice is low now, almost pleading. “This could
be the best decision you’ll ever make. This could be an adventure-out-of-the-extraordinary kind.
This could be fun.”
He knows what Harry’s trying to do. It’s painfully obvious that this is an attempt at manipulation.
Louis’ not going to give in. He straightens his back and raises his chin in defiance.
“I know what you’re doing,” he enlightens Harry. “It’s not working.”
“I really don’t understand you, Louis,” Harry says, seemingly completely ignoring Louis’
statement. “You keep wanting to prove yourself strong and brave, but when you have a golden
opportunity to turn your words into actions, you chicken out.”
“I’m not chickening out,” Louis protests. “There’s a difference between being adventurous and
being stupid.”
“No, there’s really not. Something you’d know if you were actually adventurous.”
Louis sighs. Part of him still intensely wants to protest and bite back, but he knows Harry’s just
trying to provoke him, and he’s tired of the conversation now.
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Fine!” Harry snaps, and Louis can feel his gaze burn into his neck. “Have it your way.”
Louis’ surprised at first, that Harry actually gave up, that he managed to argue with Harry into
doing things his way—once again, one might add. If there’s one thing he’s learned by now, it’s that
—grudgingly admitted—this is an area where the two of them are alike; they’re both incredibly
stubborn.
Louis obviously takes the crown though, because he’s won twice now. There’s Camron’s cane and
then there’s this, right now. Perhaps he should make a list—if they’re going to have to spend a
month in each other’s company, it’ll positively become a regular occurrence. He could hang it on
the wall of his dorm to look at whenever he feels sad.
But then, there’s a deep sigh once again, and Harry’s speaking.
Lovely.
“You’re such a coward,” he mutters. “You had your chance, right here to prove me wrong—which,
might I add, no one’s ever done before—and instead you just proved me right.”
Louis purses his lips. “No, I didn’t.”
“Whatever. I guess this’ll be just another thing we’ll laugh at you for once we get back.”
A bitter huff of laughter escapes Louis. “What you and your stupid friends laugh about really
couldn’t affect me less. My world doesn’t revolve around what others think of me.”
He’s given a skeptical snort in reply.
“Louis,” Harry’s voice drips with patronization. “That’s literally the only thing you care about.
That, and pretty flowers.”
Louis really wants to fight Harry. “That’s not true!”
“See?” Harry smirks. “You just proved me right again.”
“Did not!” Louis flies up on his feet furiously. “Look, I could easily walk through the portals and
do things your thoughtless way if I wanted to, okay? But I’m choosing to be smart, Harry, and the
smart option is to stay here!”
Harry just pouts, eyelashes swooping infuriatingly prettily as he looks down to study his nails.
“But how will we ever know that you’re not just bullshitting?” he figures wistfully.
Louis glares. “I’ll show you, alright.”
Harry looks up at him, nonchalant defeat so obviously faked Louis can’t stand it.
“It’s whatever, pixie. I get it. I know there are some scary worlds out there. You just stay here and
help the grass maintain its green. I don’t blame you.”
Louis clenches his fists and scrunches his nose, and he knows, god, he knows he’s walking right
into the spirit’s stupid trap, that Harry’s absolutely manipulating him and he’s letting himself be
manipulated, but he can’t even help it, now. Harry keeps smiling softly and it’s making him
nauseous with dislike.
“I can do everything you think I can’t,” he growls.
“Then prove it,” Harry replies simply. He’s so calm, so very calm and Louis doesn’t do calm.
“Alright,” Louis hears himself say, and he knows he’s going to regret it. “Fine.” Definitely already
regretting it. “But when we get back—you stay away from me and my friends. You won’t even
look my way. And—not that I actually care, but you’ll make sure all your dumb friends know just
how strong I am, too. I don’t want any of them bothering me, either.”
He cringes internally at how it comes out—petty and childish—but Harry just quirks an eyebrow.
“Honey,” he purrs. “If you actually do this, I’ll sing your praises in front of the whole school for
the rest of our time there—not that you actually care.”
“And how do I know I can trust you on this?”
“Because I’ll keep promises if they’re rewarding for me,” Harry shrugs. “And this one is. That
being said, if you decide to back out again, I suppose it’s only fair you’ll admit to everyone exactly
how you were just too scared to continue. And the staying away from you, well—that’ll be up to
me, then, won’t it?”
A part of Louis’ brain is practically screaming at Louis to stop what he’s doing, that this whole bet
is absolutely ridiculous and that their conditions are embarrassingly shallow beyond words and that
he should let his wellbeing go before his ego for once in his sorry little life.
The remaining bit tells that part to shut up.
Louis listens to the ‘shut up’ part. He can do this. He’ll prove himself, and he’ll make Harry pay
for everything he’s done—it’ll be like a game, and Gods know Louis does love a good game. He’s
ruthless.
Which, so is Harry, probably. Louis must hand it to him; he’s probably the worthiest opponent
Louis’ ever had.
This could be fun, yeah. It could.
“Follow me, Styles,” he says, turning swiftly on his heel to start walking.
He can hear the smirk embedded in Harry’s drawling reply.
“My pleasure.”
Louis doesn’t look back even once, but he knows Harry’s right behind him for the whole walk. It’s
amazingly quiet for once, neither of the boys making a sound, the crunch of the gravel under their
feet the only thing to graze their ears. It’s enjoyable, Louis decides, to just listen to nature. It’s
homely and calming, and he’s had just about enough of Harry’s infuriating voice, anyway.
Unfortunately, they don’t get very far before the silence is broken.
“Wait,” Harry suddenly says lowly, stopping in his tracks. “Stop walking.”
Louis groans loudly.
“What?” he exclaims.
“Shut up!”
Harry grabs him by the wrist and drags them both behind a big tree, nodding his head in the
direction of a small meadow close by. Little Red Riding Hood, it seems, has apparently stopped to
pick some flowers. Again. Louis rolls his eyes.
“This isn’t Earth, Harry. Magic is normal here, she’s allowed to see us. I’ve even talked to her
once. She’s nice.”
Harry’s quiet at first, and Louis guesses he doesn’t like being wrong. Louis’d be lying if he said he
didn’t understand the sentiment—he’ll rather die than be wrong, mostly—but it’s oddly satisfying
seeing it on someone else.
“Oh,” Harry just mutters, dropping his gaze to his feet.
He’s so tall Louis’ afraid he’ll get torticollis if he has to keep looking up at Harry this up-close.
“Can we continue walking now?” he asks impatiently, pulling his wrist out of Harry’s grip.
“No, wait,” Harry protests. He’s still watching the young woman in the meadow. “Things are
getting interesting.”
“What are you even—”
“Sssshhh!” Harry shushes him furiously, which—
Absolutely not.
Louis exhales sharply and glares, fingernails digging into palms, more insulted than he’s felt so far
in his life.
“Did you just hush me, Harry Styles?” he fumes.
“Will you shut your face for three seconds, Louis? Honestly. There’s a wolf there. I want to see if
he’s going to hurt her.”
Louis frowns and his head snaps to observe the meadow again.
“You’re abominable,” he whispers, just to inform the spirit that he most certainly does not
approve.
Harry just snorts. “How many dictionaries have you swallowed in your life?”
What happens is just what Louis suspects; it’s the same wolf he’s seen around a couple of times
before. It’s big and has soft caramel fur not a lot unlike Louis’ own hair color, and it’s tentatively
approaching Red Riding Hood as if it’s afraid she’ll scream and run away.
She doesn’t, though—she just lights up and greets the wolf, reaching out a hand to stroke the
smooth hair. The wolf seems extremely content with this, mewling appreciatively and melting into
her touch.
It’s really, truly, touchingly endearing. Louis sighs happily.
Harry sighs disappointedly.
“Dammit,” he swears. “I was really hoping that would go somewhere fun.”
Louis just gives him a severely unimpressed look, pouring every single negative feeling he can
muster into it and just stares for a couple of seconds for Harry to really get the genuine feeling
of you are such a shameful waste of oxygen, and then he turns back to watch the odd pair.
Red Riding Hood’s carefully putting all of her flowers down in her basket, holding a quiet one-way
conversation with the wolf. Louis’ moved by her kindness, the gentle lull of her words—he does
indeed appreciate people who are nice to animals. It reveals an enormous amount about their
character, after all.
It doesn’t take long until the girl has to get going again, though, and she stands up. Her delicate
hands brush straws of grass from her red hood, and she gives the wolf one last pet before skipping
off further into the woods.
The wolf stands still in its place for a while. It looks so alone now, suddenly, shrinking in on itself
in a way that feels oddly human, and Louis has the urge to walk up and hug it. He whines
helplessly.
“We need to do something,” he whispers to Harry.
Harry stares at Louis at first, and then with furrowed eyebrows into the void as if gathering
strength, as if Louis’ compassion’s just an unbelievable inconvenience to him.
“Louis, this was a waste of time. Let’s just go.”
“But look at him,” Louis pleads. “He looks like he could use some kindness.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t really feel like going out th—holy shit.” Harry interrupts himself,
eyes flying wide open and his jaw dropping with surprise. “Okay. Wow. Fuck.”
“Look, is your vocabulary really so poor that you always feel the need to—”
Harry doesn’t even listen to him—wordlessly, he just grabs the shorter boy’s shoulders to turn him
in the wolf’s direction.
Or, the wolf’s past direction. Because there’s no wolf in the meadow anymore.
There’s a man in the exact same spot. A man only wearing a pair of shorts. A half-naked man
sitting in the grass with resignation slumping his shoulders.
Louis squints his eyes in confusion. “What—”
“That’s the wolf,” Harry says. “He’s a shape shifter.”
“Are you—sure?” Which, that may not be the brightest response, but Louis doesn’t really know
what else to say.
He admits he’s confused; wolf shape shifters are supposed to be unpredictable, dangerous creatures
with hot tempers and hurtful impulses.
But that’s not what this looks like—the creature before them just looks sad. He looks so hopelessly
dejected Louis just can’t help the growing ache in his chest. He needs to help this poor creature. He
can’t keep walking knowing that this lovely man’s sitting in all his loneliness like this; it’s just not
right.
So he emerges from the tree, letting out a simple “Hey!” to get the shape shifter’s attention.
The man flinches and flies up on his feet immediately, looking around to find the source of the
sound. When he sees Louis standing only a few feet away, he seems to relax a little, but then his
eyes narrow suspiciously.
“Who are you?”

Louis smiles sunnily. “I’m Louis. I’m a fairy. What’s your name?”
The other man—boy? His brown eyes, loyal and secure under bushy eyebrows feel more boyish
than anything else—still looks slightly wary as he answers. “Liam.”
“Liam,” Louis repeats, smile not vanishing for a second. “What a lovely name. I think that’s a
lovely name. What are you doing here?”
Liam blushes. “Oh, nothing, really. Just. You know. Thinking.”
“Thinking’s nice. What were you thinking about?”
“Erm, you know. Just stuff.” Liam shifts a little to look behind Louis. “Who’s your… Friend?”
Louis turns to look behind him. Harry is leaning on his shoulder against the tree they were
previously hiding behind, his arms crossed and his lips pursed. He flashes them a tight smile.
“Oh,” Louis smile drops a little. “That’s Harry and we’re not friends. He hurts people for a living.”
Liam looks understandably alarmed. “How… nice?”
“It’s alright, he won’t do anything,” Louis assures him. “Right, Harry?”
“Of course not,” Harry replies flatly, inspecting his nails. Louis rolls his eyes.
“Anyway,” he continues, concentrating on Liam. “You looked kind of lonely and I thought, maybe
you wanted some company.”
Liam smiles, albeit sadly. “That’s kind of you. But uh, I think I’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Hear that, Louis?” Harry calls from his spot. “He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
“If you want to go so badly, then find the way yourself,” Louis snaps, and turns back to Liam. “I
feel like something’s bothering you. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Harry groans. “You’re bothering him, pixie. Stop it.”
Louis turns and fixes Harry with a look, “I’m sorry, but when, exactly, did I ask for your opinion?”
Liam just looks carefully between the two a couple of times, as if he’s trying to make sense of their
relation to each other. “Why are you two even here together?”
Louis waves his hand dismissively. “Long story. Let’s not get into details. Now, let’s talk, yes?
Let’s talk about your frown.”
“It’s nothing.” The shape shifter scratches his neck gently. “You don’t have to—”
“Does it have anything to do with the lovely Little Red Riding Hood?” Louis cuts him off gently.
That certainly seems to get Liam’s attention, at least. His face turn a charming shade of red and he
looks down on his rough hands.
“Her name is Sophia, actually,” he mumbles. “How did you—”
“I know this place. I know the people.” Louis’ smile turns a tad smug. “Do you like her? She’s
really pretty. And kind. I can see the appeal.”
Liam looks like he wants to sink through the ground, and that’s the moment where Harry chooses
to walk up to them and officially join the conversation.
“Louis, seriously. You’re making him uncomfortable.”
“Like you’d do this any better.”
Harry splutters in disbelief, but Louis has already set his attention back on his blushing new
acquaintance.
“Why haven’t you made a move yet?” he presses. “She’s lovely. You’re lovely. Why don’t you go
and be lovely together?”
Liam’s eyes shift between Louis, Harry, his hands and the trees around them. His forehead is
wrinkled, troubled, and he shakes his head. Louis thinks that maybe wolf isn’t exactly the most
fitting animal for him—he looks like a lost puppy, actually, his eyes remind Louis of melting
chocolate, and his full lips seem to have a permanent little pout to them.
Maybe he should turn into a golden retriever or something, rather. Wolves are supposed to be
predators and Liam simply feels like a loyal family dog.
“I don’t even know what’s going on,” he states, scratching his head. “I don’t—listen, it’s no use to
try and play matchmaker or whatever it is you’re doing. She’d never look my way.”
It’s evident that he really believes it, and Louis frowns. He doesn’t like people unhappy—it tears
away at him, knowing, settles like a bad bruise under his skin. He wants Liam to be happy and in
love and he’s determined to make him so before leaving Grimm’s Village.
“Well, have you actually talked to her? Like, you know. As a human.”
“This is so weird,” Liam mutters to himself. “No, I haven’t. I couldn’t, I – I’d just stutter and trip
on my words and probably end up insulting her and—no. It’s a lot better this way. It’s a lot better.”
“But I bet she’d like you. I like you. You’re likeable. Come on, let’s talk to her!”
“I really don’t think—”
“You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”
“I’ll regret it if I do do it,” Liam counters.
“What is it with people denying themselves happiness?” Louis exclaims, throwing his hands in the
air. “This pining thing isn’t going to make you happy! Why aren’t you just going for it? Why are
you not going for something that could make you happy? Love will make you happy!”
Harry cuts in with a huff of bitter laughter. “Oh, Louis. You don’t know a lot about human
emotions, do you?”
Louis’ irritation prickles his fingertips—what’s he missing? What’s with the games? Is love
supposed to be this complicated? It’s not. Love is supposed to be like breathing. That’s what he’s
been told since he was born.
Harry must see the cluelessness on his face, because he shakes his head, sighing.
“People don’t just ‘go for it’,” he explains, “Because they’re afraid of being hurt.”
He doesn’t give Louis a chance to answer, but turns to Liam with a smile that’s apologetic
borderline amused.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” he says. “Louis’ going through some kind of world view existential
crisis right now. He’s not the most understanding soul. I’m just going to take him with me and
we’re going to leave…”
“No!” Louis glares at the taller boy, his fists turning into small balls of frustration. “Listen, you
two. Everything’s not as hopeless as you play it out to be. Some things are simple! Love is simple,
in its core, and it’s worth taking risks for. We’re going to Little Red Riding Hood’s granny, and
you’re meeting her. Let’s go. It’s this way, right?”
He rises on his feet and points along the path. Harry groans, hand running through his messy locks.
“Louis, you’re being ridiculous. We’ve got nothing to do with this.”
Louis refrains from sticking his tongue out. “We do now!”
Liam just sits in his place, hesitantly watching the fairy standing by the edge of the meadow,
waiting for him and Harry to follow suit. He breathes heavily as if he’s trying to get accustomed to
what he’s gotten into here, and then he also stands up.
“Fine. Let’s do it, yeah? Let’s do it. But you’re helping me.”
And just like that, Louis lights up again, and he claps his hands together excitedly. “Thank you,
Liam! See, a real champion, you are. Let’s get your girl!”
He doesn’t even look Harry’s way as he asks “coming, Curly?” and starts walking.
Harry just mutters unintelligibly as he stands up and follows them.
“Don’t ever call me Curly again, by the way,” he murmurs when he’s caught up to the other two
boys and is walking next to Louis.
Louis grins before he can stop it. He needs some sort of leverage for ‘pixie’, doesn’t he?
“Don’t tell me what to do, Curly,” he sing-songs lowly.
Every fairy in the Grimm Forest knows where Granny’s house is.
It’s well-known, because Granny’s taken a particular liking to the fairies. She sets out cookies and
pastries and milk and lemonade on her porch for them to take, and in return, Louis and his friends
provide her with an evergreen, colorful garden. She’s endlessly nice, the old lady; always loving
the company and always making sure to thank the natures creatures in the woods when she sees
them. Louis treasures gratefulness.
So it’s not that hard to find the way, considering Louis’ memorized it perfectly and Liam’s got this
really cool super sensitive sense of smell. They make a good team, the two of them. Harry just kind
of walks behind them, muttering and whining about them needing to get going already and moping
when he’s ignored.
It’s like music to Louis’ ears.
“So,” he starts, an attempt at making Liam speak again. He’s awfully quiet. “When did you meet
her?”
Liam shrugs. “It was a couple of months ago. I was, you know, I was napping in that meadow. As
a wolf. And she came by because she thought the flowers were pretty and she was going over to her
grandmother’s.” He smiles a little. “I thought she was going to be scared, but she wasn’t. I guess…
I guess it just kind of went on from there.”
The fairy sighs dreamily. “That’s so sweet.”
Liam tries to suppress a small, shy smile on his lips. Louis decides he really likes him.
“So,” Liam says. “How did you get here?”
“Oh.” Louis is torn between being snarky about it and tell him to ask Harry and throwing himself
into the story with the enthusiasm of his life.
He falls somewhere in between.
“Well. We come from University of the Three, right? And basically, what happened was, that
Harry was being a right prick, so I defended myself and, well, Harry can’t handle opposition. So
long story short, we ended up in the hallway in the basement where all the portal rooms are, and
Harry had the nerve to push me up against a door that someone opened, and then we fell through
the portal in there and landed here.”
Harry, having been quiet and catching up to them while Louis spoke, finally scoffs.
“It’s not like you’re innocent, pixie. Congratulations, though. You said ‘prick’ without imploding.”
“I literally do not care about anything you have to say.”
“Wait…” Liam frowns. “So… Harry is not a human?”
“No,” Harry and Louis say in unison—Louis with a bitter twang and Harry with evident offense.
“I told you. He hurts people. He’s a spirit. It’s his job. He was born terrible.”
Harry ‘accidently’ steps on Louis’ foot. Louis swats his shoulder.
“I’m only telling the truth,” he mutters.
“Oh.” Liam flushes a little. “I’m sorry, you just… Your marks are black, so I figured they were just
human made tattoos or something. I though spirits only had blue marks.” He gestures to Harry’s
arms and the black spirals making their way up and down his smooth skin.
“No, you’re right,” Harry mutters. “Spirits from the Norse have blue marks, but I’m from the
Greek. I’m not a spirit of emotion in this world. I… I serve Earth.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds.
Then something clicks for Louis, and he gasps.
“You literal dimwit,” he exclaims, stopping to a complete halt, heat in his eyes as he turns to Harry
Harry rolls his eyes. “You know, these names really have got to go—”
“You’re powerless.” Louis can feel his face reddening, and he probably would be ashamed if his
body weren’t filled to the brink with rage. “You don’t possess more magical powers than a human
here. That’s why you’re in such a hurry to leave, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
Still unaffected, Harry holds his hands up in defense. “Okay, first off, there’s magic here. I’m still
a spirit. Calm down. You’re turning into a tomato.”
“But you can’t hurt anyone. You are such a little traitor,” Louis fumes. “I should’ve known there
was something more to that stupid bet. It wasn’t about you wanting to come back to UoT or going
on some stupid adventure. You just want to leave Grimm.”
“You’re making way too big of a deal out of this,” Harry rolls his eyes.
“Am I, though? Am I really?” Louis keeps glaring with such intensity his eyes should be
demolishing Harry right in his spot. Unfortunately, Louis has no such luck. “Deal’s off. We’re
staying here. We’re staying here and I’m getting you into as many life-threatening situations I
possibly can, you intolerable tool!”
Not moving a muscle, Harry just meets his gaze coolly. “You done now?”
Louis’ one tiny movement from tearing every single strand of hair off Harry’s head. He gives out a
growl—although not the most intimidating one—and then he just points at Harry one last time.
“You shouldn’t be so calm,” he snaps. “I’m not kidding. I will actually try my best to ruin you.”
Harry has the audacity to laugh. “Okay, pixie. Whatever.”
Louis’ about ready to punch him, when Liam clears his throat loudly, and the attention shifts to
him. He looks earnestly at the two boys.
“Could we just get on with this, please?”
Louis breathes. In and out. In through his nose and out through his mouth.
“Of course,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
The rest of the way isn’t really filled with small talk—probably because Louis was the one keeping
the conversations up, and now he’s too busy planning ways to make Harry pay for being a greedy,
selfish liar to humor anyone. Maybe he should have Harry meet the ogres. Or one of the sea
monsters. Possibilities, possibilities.
It’s not until they finally reach the little nice cabin that his mood tentatively lightens again. By now
he can smell the cinnamon buns and that certain extract of lemon in the air, and it’s making his
mouth water, and he can’t keep the frustration from seeping out of his body and leave. He hasn’t
eaten in very long, he belatedly realizes. Hopefully his tummy won’t protest loudly. That could be
awkward.
“Okay,” he whispers excitedly. “Here we are. If we just sneak our way to the other side, yeah?
Granny’s got a beautiful pair of raspberry bushes there, helped growing them myself. We should be
able to hide behind there, you know, wait for the perfect moment.” And let Louis eat some of the
berries because food is important for surviving.
They do as Louis says, quietly creeping behind the house and out on the opposite side, peeking
through the bushes. There’s not a lot of room, so they all have to be very, very close to each other.
Louis is the smallest, and apparently it seems to be a good idea for his self-esteem to press him up
in the middle of the two freakishly tall, toned boys.
This is his life, he thinks. This is his legacy.
He nearly sheds a tear at the thought, but then Red Riding Hood—Sophia— emerges from inside
the house. She’s holding a cup with a warm liquid inside it, gentle steam dancing in the air.
“Okay,” Louis whispers to Liam. “It’s your time, mate. Soon. Wait… Just…”
He’s just about to give the shape shifter the cue to approach the object (not that he thinks of Sophia
as an object. He’s just trying to treat this like the mission it is.), but then he stops. Someone seems
to have gotten there before them.
There’s a man walking on the path where they’d just been, a man with big arms and a ridiculous
medieval hat and a rifle hanging on his back. A quite handsome man, if Louis says so himself.
Said man calls out a greeting when he’s close enough, and Sophia’s entire face lights up like a
thousand stars when she hears it. Louis widens his eyes alarmingly, and all three of them watch as
she runs up to the man, throwing her arms around his neck. They then proceed to have some very
warm locking of eyes and then—
Oh. Right.
Then they proceed to kiss. Fervently.
Red Riding Hood is in a happy relationship with the Huntsman.
“Feel like a dick yet?” Harry murmurs to his left, and Louis just elbows him in the arm because—
he does. He does feel horrible, actually. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Red Riding Hood was
supposed to be available and she was supposed to see Liam and it was supposed to be love at first
sight.
Now, when Louis glances over at Liam’s crestfallen, forlorn eyes, he knows that he just made
absolutely everything worse.
“I don’t need moral lessons from you,” he settles for as a suitable retort to cover up his guilt. Harry
just sighs.
“He’s going to propose,” Harry whispers then, probably just to fuel Louis’ remorse. “He’s got a
box in his pocket.”
And, yeah. There is an outline of a small, square box, right there in the Huntsman’s front pocket.
Louis is going to throw up.
“This wasn’t meant to happen,” he mumbles. His voice breaks a little at the end, and he wants to
kick himself for being so thoughtless.
Liam doesn’t look at him.
“Can we go?” he just asks quietly and Louis genuinely feels like crying.
“Yeah,” he nods. “Of course.”

~
It’s a bit of a heavy walk away from there.
Louis fights to hold back tears the whole way. It’s hard to see the broken look on Liam’s face and
to see the drooping sulk of his shoulders, and Louis isn’t insensitive, right—the exact opposite
actually, and he can’t help but feel excruciatingly bad.
But the thing with Louis is that he doesn’t know how to handle these things, really. He doesn’t
really know what it is, but there’s always something preventing him from showing solemn
vulnerability. He hasn’t got the slightest idea why it’s like that—pride, perhaps, but he’d never
admit it out loud—but it’s just always there. The guilt and unease build up like concrete walls
closing in on him every time he does something wrong, and they’ll just threaten and threaten to
squeeze him until Louis has claimed the failure to be on someone or something else. It doesn’t go
away until he’s made everyone forget it the best that he can, and right now, it’s practically
suffocating, and he can’t stand it.
This is not that bad, he assures himself. This is not his fault. Really.
“Okay, so that was a bit of a bummer, wasn’t it? But hey, we’ll get over it. Won’t we?”
He looks hopefully between Harry and Liam. Liam doesn’t look at him, and Harry sighs, irritated.
No one answers.
Louis laughs a bit too obnoxiously. “Come on, let’s turn those frowns upside down. It’s alright.
We’ll be okay!”
No answer. Louis’ heart’s slowly starting to crumple like paper.
“Okay, look, Liam—we have to see the bright side of things, yeah? This might even be good. You
know, she probably wasn’t even that great. She’s the one missing out. You’re better off like this.”
“Louis?” Liam snaps, and Louis flinches. So it’s not working that well, then. “Just drop it, please?”
“But I don’t see why we would have to,” Louis protests in attempt at defending himself. “This is a
new start in your life, Liam. Embrace it!”
“Louis.” Liam sounds—angry, he sounds angry now. “Please just stop talking, okay?”
Louis’ whole body itches. He feels even smaller than he did before, and he realizes there’s actually
nothing he can do to cheer Liam up. Something uncomfortable pools at the bottom of his stomach.
He looks at Harry as a last, desperate resort for forgiveness and help.
Obviously, Harry doesn’t oblige. Because he’s evil and never to be trusted.
Instead, he snorts and suppresses a smile. “I’m a little proud of you, to be honest. Didn’t know you
had it in you to fuck up like this.”
Louis elbows his side. “You’re the worst soul I know.”
“Maybe,” Harry smirks, and then he continues in a lower voice. “But at least I’m not the worst soul
Liam knows at the moment, am I?”
It stings, and Louis has to look away to hide the flash of hurt on his face to reach Harry’s eyes. It’s
not fair. Harry purposely messes things up. It’s his job. Louis didn’t mean to. Louis actually feels
bad. He hates how Liam won’t look at him, he hates how he won’t pay attention to Louis’ attempt
at making peace. The worst thing is, he knows what word would be very fitting right know. He
knows exactly what he should say, but that one, tiny little word seems to only be effortless for
Louis until he’s genuinely messed something up. It makes things too real and too devastating and
too vulnerable—seeing Liam reject all his attempts at cheering him up is hurtful, but nothing
would be more cutting than Liam rejecting a sincere apology.
Louis’ afraid of making everything even worse, so he tries to respect Liam and not talk at all—but
in the end he can’t help it.
“Are you very angry with me?” he asks Liam quietly.
Liam seems to notice the change of approach, and he moves his gaze down to look at the fairy.
And Louis must look so hopelessly small, so heartbreakingly vulnerable, so unbearably innocent,
he must look like a child, because Liam’s hard look falters, and he just sighs.
“I guess not,” he answers, kicking a pebble absently with his bare feet. “I’m sure you meant well.
It’s just, I think I’d probably preferred just admiring from afar, you know? Instead of getting my
hopes up like that.”
“Yeah,” Louis swallows. This would be the perfect time to get that one word out that he should be
getting out, but he can’t. “Hey, let’s just forget this, yeah? Let’s do something else.”
“Um,” Harry cuts in then. He’s been quiet for a surprising amount of time; Louis’ almost
impressed. He’d expected Harry to be close to ecstatic, making the absolute best—or worst—out of
the situation. He’d expected teasing and sneering and smug smirks, but the spirit’s been
remarkably tolerable. The small accomplishments. “I think we should actually just be on our way,
shouldn’t we? Come on, we’ve bothered Liam enough.”
Louis laughs loudly. “Yeah, no. Not happening. Deal is over, remember? We’re not going
anywhere.”
“Where were you planning on going?” Liam asks quietly.
Louis’ about to answer, but Harry beats him to it. “Well, we’d made a deal, that we would try to
get back to the University. You know, by taking chances on the portals and see where we get. I
don’t know, I thought it could be fun to explore a little, but our little princess friend here I suppose
is just not feeling it anymore.”
“Oh,” Liam looks down on his feet. “I’ve always wanted to see the worlds. Never had the chance,
though.”
Oh, come on.
Why did he have to say that? Why does Liam have to secretly be interested in the worlds? Why
can’t he be a coward who would rather stay on solid ground where he knows he belongs and rest in
meadows all day while his shape shifter friends want to be out exploring? Why does Liam
just have to have an unpredicted thirst for adventure? Why can’t Liam be boring?
Because Louis knows what’s coming now. He can see it in the glint in Harry’s eyes and the slow
turn on his head and the way the corners of his mouth is perking up, and—
“Really?”
Yeah, Louis is doomed.
Harry shifts over so that he’s now between Louis and Liam, throwing an arm around the tall boy.
“How about you come with, then? Maybe you know the way to a portal?”
“I don’t,” Liam bites his lip. “Besides, they’re all blocked now anyway. To get to another world at
this point, we’d have to find someone who made their own. And that’s someone who knows their
way with very dark and very powerful magic.”
Ha!
“Oh, how sad,” Louis says, sounding probably the least sad he’s ever been. “Looks like we’ll have
to…”
“You don’t happen to know someone like that?” Harry interrupts hopefully.
“I don’t,” Liam repeats, but this time he looks a little more encouraged. “… I know someone who
might, though.”
What? No!
Harry beams like today’s the best day of his life, though. “Fantastic! Ah, Liam. My moon and stars.
Let’s go then, shall we?”
And then Liam actually smiles a little, he smiles because of Harry, and isn’t that just the biggest,
ugliest irony of the century? Louis feels a little ill.
The two boys look over to him, as he just stands with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Are you coming or not, pixie?” Harry asks, and his entire body just screams I win, I win, I win.
Louis doesn’t answer directly. He’s kind of busy trying to come up with a witty retort, actually, and
Harry sighs exasperatedly.
“Come on, Louis! Isn’t this the least you can do for this guy?”
And. And, well.
Louis spends the rest of the walk concentrating on the soft sound his feet make when they press
footmarks into the grass. It sounds like defeat.
Chapter End Notes
so that's liam for you!!! wohoo!!
like last time, thank you to tj for betaing this mess, and thank you for reading :) next
chapter will be up next wednesday/thursday unless there are any interferences. xxxx
you are still welcome to talk to me on tumblr @a-bit-extraordilarry bc even though i

am awkward it'd make me v happy c:
update: the chapter will be posted a little later than planned, but i promise that i'll put it
up as soon as i can :)
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
The house is gorgeous, big and white, and after a quick glance at the garden Louis can tell these
people are fairy favorites, too. He’s never really been to the actual town before, though, has never
felt that it was necessary so he’s never seen any of it before. Now, however he might need to
reconsider that choice.
It’s terribly cute, it really is; like a good early morning dream, like a snuggly bed time story, or like
a mid-day walk in the sunshine. Everyone’s so nice, as well, happily greeting each other as they
pass by, and Louis now understands why the wicked ones keep to the deep forest— this kind of
kindness would probably be toxic to them.
Speaking of toxic, Harry also seems impressed by the luxurious house. He whistles, shoving his
hands in his pockets and throwing Liam a wide eyed look.
“So,” he utters. “Whose house is this, then?”
Liam gives them a crooked smile. “It’s my friend’s house. I guess she’s got kind of… Experience
with the dark magic practitioners.”
“Awesome.” Harry flashes Louis another grin. He hasn’t stopped being cocky since Louis had to
agree to coming along. Louis has probably ripped out half of his hair at this point.
The three of them enter the extravagant building, without bothering to knock or anything, and Liam
is noticeably more relaxed now that he’s in a more familiar environment. He calls out his friend’s
name a couple of times, listening after answers or footsteps.
“Jesy?” He hollers. “Jesy?” When he gets not reply, he sighs heavily. “Great, she’s probably asleep
then. Amazing.”
Louis and Harry exchange a curious look and follow their new friend (Liam’s a friend, right? He’s
a friend. Louis would like to think he’s a friend now) as he moves further into the building, towards
a set of graceful, white marblestairs with a beautiful, winding mahogany handrail.
They find Liam’s friend snuggled up in an armchair, and just like Liam predicted, fast asleep.
Louis understands then, looking at her, that this is Sleeping Beauty. She had been quite the
conversational topic when a prince finally woke her up from her sleep a couple of years ago. She’s
almost like a celebrity, Louis thinks, and he blushes.
He and Harry quietly stand back to watch Liam carefully approach the girl, shaking her shoulder
lightly.
“Jesy?” He mutters, softly. “Jess. Hey.”
The girl, Jesy, startles awake with a confused frown, eyes darting quickly around the place to locate
herself. When she realizes she’s still at home, and that Liam is there, she sighs and smiles
apologetically.
“Hi, Li. What’s up?” she says, voice drowsy and thick with sleep.
Liam’s tone is soft. “Sorry for waking you, but I really need your help.”
“Of course.” She stretches and sighs, waking up more by the minute.
Liam smiles a little. “Okay. Jesy, I want you to meet Harry and Louis. They’re… New friends of
mine.”
Jesy blinks and looks both of them up and down a few times, eyes cautiously suspicious.
“You’re not from here,” she states simply, probably referring to Harry more than Louis, but Louis
is still the one who answers.
“No,” he says nervously. “I’m from the Forest and he’s from the Greek—but we came from
University of the Three.”
She hums in understanding. “Broken portals?”
Both boys nod.
“Speaking of,” Harry starts, daring to shoot her a smile that dimples his cheeks innocently. “We
really need to get back to the University, but all of the main portals are unfortunately blocked at the
moment -”
“Basically, what we’re asking here, Jess,” Liam interrupts, “is if you know someone who has a
portal of their own?” He looks at his sleepy friend hopefully.
Jesy raises her eyebrows at him. “You are aware that those kind of portals are also, in fact,
malfunctioning, right?”
“Yeah, that’s the thing,” Liam tries. “It was going to be an adventure, you know? And… I sort of
want to come along?”
“You… What?” Jesy is plainly staring at him now. “Liam. Do you know what could happen?
What if you ended up in Hel? Or Tartaros? Do you know what they do to people in Tartaros?”
Harry coughs uncomfortably. “I do. I am, um. From there. I’ll make sure we’ll be fine.”
Jesy massages her temples. “Great. That makes me feel much better. Cheers.”
“Look,” Louis cuts in, trying to make the situation better. “I like this just as little as you do. But
we’re all capable of taking care of ourselves—and each other, if that would be necessary.” He’s
pretty sure that last thing is a lie. Harry wouldn’t save Louis from anything. But still. “We’ll take
care of Liam if he, for some reason, wouldn’t be able to himself. To be honest, we just want to get
back to the University.”
“I’m sure you do, love, but…” The girl still looks doubtful. “I don’t want to encourage you to do
something that involves dark magic, because Dark magic is heavy stuff,” she explains, looking at
them, forlorn. “I mean, look at me. I got a sleeping curse cast on me, and from the moment I woke
up I’ve always been tired. I fall asleep all the time, and I can’t even do anything about it. I’ll go
shopping in town and I’ll just collapse on the floor. I have trouble sleeping when I’m actually
supposed to. Sometimes I even hallucinate when I’m either waking up or falling asleep. I can’t do
anything.” She sighs, smiling sadly. “What kind of life is that?”
Louis feels for her. His lower lip even quivers a little upon hearing the girl’s voice crack, but he
quickly scolds himself for that kind of weakness, biting down on his lip instead. He tries to not feel
so bad, but he really can’t. He just hates seeing people unhappy like this; it tears him apart to a
place of hopeless devastation and he can’t hold that back.
“That is awful,” he declares, but his voice is wobbly. “That is terrible. I hate that you have to live
with that. It’s not—it’s not right. You deserve to be free, you deserve to live a normal life, you
deserve—“
There’s a quiet cough from behind him, and Louis stops himself. He’s getting carried away again.
Right. He quickly blinks away the wetness in his eyes and sniffles once, pulling himself together.
Don’t be a baby, Louis. Harry will give you crap for it later. Don’t let Harry see you cry.
“Anyway.” Louis scratches his neck. “I, um, I know about dark magic. Not as much as you,
obviously, but we are taught the basics in case something would happen. I’ll be careful. I know
what to avoid, yeah? We’ll be fine.”
“Please, Jesy,” Liam pleads. “Please, tell us where that portal is. I’ve always wanted this,
remember? I’ve told you about it for years and years. This is my chance.”
Silence settles over them, and Jesy seems to be considering it. Eventually, she sighs in resignation.
“Well,” she utters with hesitance. “It’s said Mother Gothel has one in her tower. No one has ever
been able to find that tower, though. I think she’s cast some kind of spell over it that makes it
invisible to humans.”
Louis’ back straightens rapidly with pride, all of his unhappiness immediately forgotten. “I know
where it is. It’s Rapunzel’s tower, right?” He tries not to sound too smug.
Jesy stares at him for a while. “Right. I guess. Yes. Be really careful, though? You really don't
want Gothel to catch you.”
“You don’t have to worry one bit,” Louis beams pompously, all negative emotions suddenly wiped
away from his memory. “I’ve totally got this.”
If he had looked back at Liam and Harry, he would have seen Harry rolling his eyes and Liam’s
gaze moving between Louis and Jesy hesitantly.
Jesy smiles at the fairy, though. “Then good luck, I guess. But take care of Liam for me.”
Louis sincerely promises her that they will. They turn to leave, but just before they walk out of the
room, Harry stops a little, as if there’s something left he wants to do or say, but then he shakes his
head and keeps walking.
Louis frowns in confusion, but he doesn’t mention it.
Rapunzel’s castle is secluded and old and quite hard to find. Louis enlightens Harry and Liam at
least five times that they are extremely lucky to have him there to guide them. Mostly because he
can’t stand the thought of Liam liking Harry, Harry, more than Louis, and the fairy is eager to
prove that he’s actually the loveliest creature around. Because he is. Louis is fantastic.
Louis is also still not sure how to turn this situation to his advantage. Right now Harry’s got the
upper hand, getting Liam to join them and making it two against one on the leaving issue. Louis
gets that he’s probably, unfortunately, lost that one. What he needs to do, is he needs to find a way
to make this the best thing that could possibly happen for him.
Sure, he’d have chances to prove to Harry that he is more than nature caring and cute. But he kind
of doesn’t just want to show Harry. Louis wants to show everyone, he wants to show the evil and
the good, his friends and his family, the dead and the living, he wants to grab the Gods’ attention
and hold it for a while, he wants to make sure no one forgets his name.
That has always been his number one dream. He wants to be remembered—he wants to be praised
and loved and he wants to experience all those things that he’s heard the humans talk about during
his working years in Grimm’s Village.
That’s when he is roughly awakened from his daydreams by snapping fingers an inch from his
face.
“Louis? Mate, we’ve been walking for ages. Please tell me that wreck of a tower over there is what
we’re looking for.”
Harry’s pleading voice is right; they’re here. Finally.
Louis smiles. “Yeah, that’s it. Look, what we’re going to do is, we’re going to wait a little while
more. Mother Gothel will leave the place in only a little while for her daily round, and that’s when
we need to get in there and talk to Rapunzel. Hopefully she’ll be able to help us.”
Harry scowls. “What, we’re wasting more time? I can handle Mother Gothel. We’ll be fine.”
“No, you can’t,” Louis replies, his voice matter-of-fact. “You’re powerless. You can’t ‘handle’
anyone with magical powers at the moment.”
Harry sniffs. “Liam can bite her head off, then. Big deal.”
“I’m not a violent person,” Liam interjects quietly.
Louis nods in Liam’s direction with a pointed look at Harry. “Exactly. We’re waiting.”
Harry just huffs, but he doesn’t push it further.
The three boys hide behind a couple of bushy trees, Louis and Harry quietly bickering with Liam
rolling his eyes at them, and taking turns on keeping an eye on the tower. It’s during Liam’s turn
that it finally happens.
Liam clears this throat. “Guys.”
“I don’t care what you say, the Gods of Asgard are so much better than the Olympians.”
“Are you serious? Your Gods are dependent on golden apples to not age. If that doesn’t scream
weak, I don’t know what does. Gods aren’t supposed to have physical weaknesses.”
“Guys.”
“Your main ruler is a rapist.”
“Oh trust me, there are few people I dislike more than Zeus. I know.”
“Well, then. Looks like we agree on something.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“How divine.”
“Pretentious twat.”
“Atrocious abomination.”
“Oh, look at the breathing synonym dictionary go.”
“Guys!” Liam all but growls.
The boys flinch and turn their gazes to Liam. The brown eyed boy is looking at them, very
unimpressed. A familiar heat rises to Louis’ cheeks.
“What I wanted to say,” Liam speaks, “is that Mother Gothel has left. She disappeared into the
forest in the opposite direction a couple of minutes ago.”
“Oh.” Louis adjusts his feathery fringe. “Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
They carefully approach the tower, Liam muttering something about the other two being “ un-
fucking-believable”, which Louis chooses to generously ignore. Harry just follows right behind
him, footsteps being almost completely silent, and Louis makes a mental note to never let Harry
out of sight enough for him sneak up on the fairy. That would just be uncomfortable for everyone.
Standing in front of the awfully tall home of Rapunzel, Liam almost looks a little intimidated. He
looks to Louis for help.
“So, how do we get up there?”
“Well,” Harry answers right before Louis gets the chance to, “That won’t be a problem for me.
Louis flies. Try climbing, mate.”
“Quit being a jerk,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Have none of you heard of this? You shout at her to let
down her hair. Then you climb.” He scoffs. “Idiot.”
Harry snorts out a laugh. “Wait, really? Man, I just thought that part was the Earth humans being
intoxicated and creative. That’s amazing.” His eyes are glinting with humor. “Well, then, go on,
Liam.”
Liam gives him an annoyed look, and Louis is kind of glad that he also seem to find Harry
annoying. Maybe then he would favor Louis instead. Louis really can’t imagine anyone preferring
Harry’s company over his own for a longer period of time. That’s just not right.
Liam does what the spirit says, though, doubtingly looking up at the lonely window right below
the pointy roof, and then he half yells:
“Rapunzel… Let down your hair?”
At first nothing happens, but then sounds are heard, and suddenly a mass of golden, silky and not
to mention massively long hair is falling through the opening and all the way down to the boys,
almost gracing the straws of grass below.
All they can do at first is stare disbelievingly at the glorious mane before them, but then Liam
takes a deep breath and pops his knuckles.
“Right, then,” he sighs. “Let’s do this.”
Louis and Harry stay on the ground for a while as Liam starts to climb with great stamina and
speed, and Harry whistles, obviously impressed.
“Damn,” he states, tilting his head to study Liam’s back muscles. “I’d fuck him.”
Louis snaps his head in the curly haired boy’s direction, giving him a look of genuine repulsion.
“You are so vulgar.”
Harry beams. “Thank you very much. I grew up in an inspiring environment.”
Louis just rolls his eyes and snorts, completely ignoring Harry’s amused smirk.
“What, does it bother you?” he taunts. “Does little Louis not like bad words?”
“Shut up,” Louis murmurs, focusing his gaze on Liam climbing Rapunzel’s hair like a real champ.
He’s almost there, so Louis figures they should get going. He doesn’t like the turn this
conversation is taking.
“We should get up there,” he states nonchalantly. “Or would you rather stay down here and keep
watch?”
“All I would want to watch from down here just disappeared into the window.”
Louis makes a disgusted sound and elbows Harry. Harry laughs and Louis flies as quickly as he can
up to the top of the tower, fluttering his beloved wings as fast as possible.
(His wings must be what he treasures the most on his body. They never fail him; always eager to
obey and always perfectly in sync with his mind’s needs. He does kind of pity the creatures who
have to live without them.)
Harry is already up there when Louis also flies through the small window, and what meets his eyes
when he lands is quite the sight, really; Harry is standing casually in the corner, a girl is
hyperventilating on the other side of the window, and Liam is doing his best to calm her down.
“Look, hey, shhh,” he tries. “We’re not going to hurt you. We need your help.”
The girl, Rapunzel presumably, doesn’t stop shaking, and she clutches her hair tightly as if it’s her
lifeline. Her blue eyes are wide and frightened. Louis looks between Harry, who’s just grinning at
the whole situation, and Liam, who’s obviously becoming more and more distressed by the minute.
Louis decides to step in and save the day.
So he puts on his very best smile, he points his toes inwards, clasps his hands together, and skips
up to the pair.
“Hello!” he greets Rapunzel overly cheerily. “My name is Louis. I’m a fairy. You might have seen
me and my friends outside your house before. And you don’t have to be afraid; no one’s harming
you. You’re Rapunzel, right?”
Rapunzel looks at him suspiciously, but she’s not shaking as violently. “Please don’t call me that.”
Louis’ smile fades a little in confusion. “Um. Alright. What would you like me to call you, then?”
“I, um,” Rapunzel—or not, apparently—bites her lip. “Taylor. My real name is Taylor.”
She doesn’t say anything else, so Louis takes this as a sign to keep going. He does.
“Hi, Taylor. You have such lovely hair,” he compliments her. “I mean, here I was thinking that my
own hair was the nicest thing around, but I got to hand it to you, I think you take the price.”
Taylor doesn’t look that amused. “I hate it.”
“Really?” Louis’ eyes widen a little. Okay then. She doesn’t seem all too eager to cooperate.
“It’s always in the way, it takes hours to brush and it suffocates me when I try to sleep.”
“Oh,” Louis says. “Well then. Why haven’t you cut it off?”
“Mother won’t let me.” Taylor frowns. “She needs it.”
“That is the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard,” Louis declares. “It’s your hair, isn’t it? It’s on your
head. It should be up to you what to do with it, right? Gothel can get herself a ladder if she’s
determined to get in that way.”
The girl’s back straightens more by the minute, and she nods aggressively. Score. “Right? I think
so, too. But I’m not strong enough to do anything about it. She’s too powerful.” Taylor looks down
on her feet a little. “She kind of scares me,” she admits quietly.
Louis can’t help but feel sorry for her. She doesn’t deserve this, this lonely, secluded life Mother
Gothel makes her live; Louis knows that if he was in her position, he would positively go mad.
“You know what?” he says suddenly, face lighting up. “I have a great idea. A truly prodigious one.
We need your help, right? How about if you help us with this, we’ll help you escape.”
A spark of interest is awakened in Taylor’s eyes then, and Louis knows he’s succeeded. She twines
a strand of hair between her fingertips, loosely biting her lip and then she nods.
“I’ll do my best.”
Louis turns to give Liam and Harry a proud smile. Liam looks relieved and Harry almost smiles
back, too. He tries to hide it, but Louis can see the twitching of the corners of his mouth.
“Right,” Louis affirms when he turns back to the girl. “It’s said that Mother Gothel has a portal
hidden here. Do you happen to know if that’s true and where it is?”
“Oh.” Taylor’s forehead wrinkles and her eyes widen a little. “Um. Yes, she does. But you
shouldn’t use it now; the portal system is broken.”
Louis scratches his neck. “Yeah, we know. ‘S kind of how we got here.”
“But… Why would you need it, then?”
“Because my two companions are interested in potentially dying,” Louis mutters. “It’s not
important. Do you think you could help us?”
Taylor smiles a little. “Actually, yeah. I know where it is. But—“
A call from outside interrupts her and proceeds to petrify all four creatures in the tower with fear.
Louis stops breathing.
“Rapunzel, let down your hair!” a strained, female voice commands. Louis, Harry, Liam and
Taylor stare at each other in sheer panic. Mother Gothel just left, she’s not supposed to be back
already. What in the worlds are they going to do?
“Hide in my room,” Taylor hisses, rapidly waving her hand in the direction of an old, wooden door.
“Now, go!”
Harry is the one who regains control over his body first, hurrying into the room Taylor is gesturing
towards, gripping a hold of Liam and Louis in the process. He shuts the door tightly and quickly
scans the room for a good hiding spot.
He doesn’t seem to find one, because he runs a hand through his hair and his eyes fill with distress.
“Why would you have a fucking dresser for your clothes instead of a wardrobe?” he spits. Louis
kind of understands him; a wardrobe is always a good hiding place. Always. There’s too little room
under the bed, and the bookshelf and guitar in the corner are just useless. Taylor does not have any
other furniture to help them.
So it seems they genuinely have no good place to hide. If Louis didn’t know better, this would be
the time he’d curse so loudly an old lady on Earth would jump out of her seat and shake her head.
He does know better, though, because there are already voices in the room outside, and drawing
attention to them is the last thing he wants.
In the end, the three boys just kind of stand there awkwardly lined up against the wall by the door
and praying to whatever Gods that might be listening that Mother Gothel would not have a reason
to enter this room and that Taylor could get her out of the tower somehow again. Louis presses his
fingertips against the cold bricks behind him and tries to calm his breathing down. His heart is
pounding uncomfortably in his chest.
Voices are heard from outside; they seem calm and casual, so Louis figures they’ll be okay. As
long as no one makes a sudden and relatively loud sound, they’ll be just fine. He vaguely
remembers his mother telling him about witches and their defined senses.
And then, because faith seems to have a sadistic sense of ironic humor, just as Louis thinks that, he
feels a sudden tickle in his nose.
He’s about to sneeze.
It happens so fast and he doesn’t have time to stop it, so he does. He sneezes. And it’s not like it’s
one of those chainsaw sneezes (Louis actually have very petite and charming sneezes, thank you
very much), but it’s audible. And that seems to be all it takes.
Harry and Liam snap their heads in his direction, looking at him in horror. Harry looks very much
like he wants his powers back just about now, and then there are voices coming closer and closer to
the door and they’re not all that casual anymore and the three boys just stand there, too scared to
even move.
“Fuck,” Harry breathes, and when Louis turns to look at him, he’s gone.
He blinks. Did Harry just--?
That utter coward of a traitor.
Louis doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though, because then the door is thrown open with a bang
and he yelps, flying a few feet up in the air, and then Louis and Liam stand face to face with an old,
wrinkled lady with a hunched back and an evil eye. She looks kind of fragile but at the same time
absolutely terrifying, and Louis thinks, well, then. This is it. This is how I die.
Suddenly they’re thrown out of the room by sheer pressure of the air it seems, hopelessly falling
onto the rough floorboards.
(Well. At least they didn’t fly out the window.)
Louis whimpers and rubs his elbows in an attempt to dampen the pain. As soon as he and Liam are
on their feet again, another push comes from behind them, pressing them up against the wall to
petrify them by it. Louis desperately tries to shake his arms and legs back to life, but he can’t, and
now Gothel is approaching them.
Louis knew this was a bad idea. He should’ve just stuck to his original plan and not let Harry talk
him into finding the portal, he should’ve stayed there in the forest and let Harry go himself if he
wanted to so badly, because then he would’ve been guaranteed a continued life. And by the looks
of things right now, his chances of that have likely never been lower.
It’s all Harry’s fault, and now he’s gone, unscrupulously leaving Louis and Liam to deal with the
consequences. Louis has never met a more despicable creature in his entire existence.
Mother Gothel is standing close to them. Louis can almost feel her bad breath on his face.
“Is this what you do when I’m gone, Rapunzel?” she smacks her lips disapprovingly. “Having
pretty boys over? Are they helping you to escape, darling?”
She turns to the trembling girl in the corner. Taylor is crying, cheeks already wet and her eyes
tightly shut together. She’s terrified, Louis can see, and it’s understandable with the threatening
way mother Gothel is walking towards her.
“You know you can’t,” the old lady hisses. “You’re trapped here, love. You know what’ll happen
if you leave.”
Taylor’s head is hung in defeat, just awaiting her punishment, and Louis understands that this must
be quite common, the situation she’s in now. Louis understands Gothel must be incredibly cruel to
the girl.
He can’t let that happen on his watch.
“Wait!” he calls out, earning the witch’s attention again. She looks slightly irritated, and Louis
swallows.
He keeps going, though. “She has nothing to do with this. We were the ones who got in here. We
didn’t even use her hair. It’s all our fault.”
“Is that so?” Gothel’s look is wicked, and it sends a shiver down Louis’ spine. “Then what brought
this lovely visit on, hmm?”
She’s one of those people who doesn’t use harsh language when angry. Those are the scariest ones.
Louis swallows one more time, daring to give her an apologetic smile.
“Well, see,” he tries. “Word was on the street that you had a portal up here. And it’s deadly
important that we get out of here because of various reasons, and so we were desperate, and now
here we are…”
Louis trails off when he sees Mother Gothel’s unimpressed face. Panic starts rising in his throat, so
he starts rambling in search for something that would make that bothering raise of the witch’s
eyebrows to disappear.
“Look, we didn’t mean to pry. I mean. We weren’t going to do anything. Besides from, you know,
borrowing your portal this one time, but no more. We just wanted to get out of here, it’s not Tay—
uh, Rapunzel’s fault and we didn’t mean any harm so please, please just let us go. Please.”
Mother Gothel looks at them for another couple of seconds, seemingly considering her options.
Everything is quiet for a moment, air thick with hesitant hope and anxiety, and then a smirk pulls
her lips into thin lines, curling up to show off her few, yellow teeth.
“Alright. I believe you. Perhaps I'll even let you use my portal.”
All of the air in Louis lungs leave in one single exhale, and he could almost laugh with relief.
Maybe they would actually get out, maybe things would be alright—
“If, you do this thing for me.”
… And there it is again. God, why must there always be an ultimatum? Louis’ tummy knots
uncomfortably.
“A-and what would that be?”
Gothel tilts her head menacingly. “I have a sister. Her name is Hulda.”
Oh, for god’s sake—
“Mother Hulda?” Louis clarifies. “The one under the well?”
Gothel gives him an appreciative hum. “That’s right. See, things are not the best they could be for
me financially right now. I really need money, but she’d surely murder me if I showed up there
myself. Bottom line, if you go there, work for her like good boys, collect the rewarding money,
and give it to me, you’ll be allowed to use my portal. You have until dawn.”
Liam makes a hesitant sound, but Louis is not having reluctance right now.
“Deal,” he states firmly. “Let us go and we’ll get right to it.”
And Mother Gothel does; the invisible grip on Louis’ body loosens, and he falls to the floor,
moving his fingers and toes rapidly to make sure they still work properly. Then he straightens and
turns to Liam with a righteous nod. Liam doesn’t look all too convinced.
It doesn’t faze Louis that much. They’re doing this. They have to.
Mother Gothel hands them a spindle, instructing them to prick their finger on the needle and throw
it into the well before jumping in themselves, and both boys nod excessively as they listen. As
Taylor lets down her hair for Liam to climb down, Louis whispers;
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out,” to her before throwing himself out the window,
lowering himself to the lawn beneath him.
It takes some time for Liam to climb down, so Louis is once again stood to watch him. The guy’s
got really nice back muscles, though. Harry wasn’t wrong about that detail.
Then a wistful sigh is heard right next to his ear and Louis flies right up on his feet.
“I’ll probably never get tired of watching that back work,” Harry states, looking up at Liam with
dreamy eyes.
“What the actual—“ Louis stares at the spirit, blinking a couple of times to make sure he's even
seeing this correctly. “What are you doing? Where did you come from? Where did you go?”
At the last sentence, the fairy starts hitting Harry’s arm with clenched fists. The green eyed boy
hisses and immediately recoils.
“Ow!” he exclaims, rubbing his arm carefully up and down. “What was that for?”
“For vanishing and leaving us to deal with the consequences like a selfish tool!”
“I didn’t leave you!” Harry glares at the fairy, crossing his arms. “I was there the whole time.”
“Oh well, that’s okay then, isn’t it? Since you were there to witness us almost die on the sidelines
it’s all good!”
“I wasn’t just watching you!” Harry pulls at his hair in frustration. Good, Louis thinks petulantly.
Let him be frustrated. “Do you think I’m a complete asshole?”
Louis blinks. “Yes.”
Both boys are so caught up in their argument they don’t even realize Liam has reached the ground
and is right next to them by now. That is, until the shape shifter decides to open his mouth to scold
them.
“I can’t believe you two!” he declares disapprovingly, shaking his head and making the other boys
jump a little. “Harry’s been back for what, two minutes—where the hell were you, by the way?—
and you’re already at each other’s throats. How do you even have the strength to keep that up? It’s
exhausting enough for me to just hear it. God.”
Louis bites his lip and looks down on his bare feet bashfully. He feels kind of childish now, and he
hates that Liam makes him feel that way—but mostly, he just hates Harry.
“Whatever,” he tells the ground. “Don’t tell me you’re not a little bit interested in why he
abandoned us.”
“No, I absolutely am,” Liam says, and aims his hard glance at Harry. “Speaking of which. Why did
you?”
“I didn’t abandon you!” Harry exclaims. “I’m not a fucking coward.”
“Really now?” Louis can’t help but quip.
“I swear to the Gods when I get my power back I will--”
“Seriously?” Liam interrupts them again, glaring insistently.
Both boys quieten then, resolutely hanging their heads. Louis purses his lips to bite back the
annoyance Harry’s sheer presence causes him.
“There’s a mirror,” Harry finally mutters, breaking the silence. “In Mother Gothel’s room. That’s
her portal. She’s smart who disguised it, but. Yeah. It’s there.”
Oh. Louis blinks.
So that’s what…
Liam nods, mostly to himself, and lets out a sigh. “Okay. Alright. Thank you, Harry.”
His voice is earnest and Harry just nods back shortly, drawing invisible patterns in the grass with
his foot, and Louis feels a little stupid. Which.
“Right!” he practically yells, forcing them into another topic of conversation and causing the spirit
and the shape shifter to flinch in surprise. “Are all of us going to Mother Hulda, or what?”
They take the bait, as Liam immediately bites his lip and creases his forehead.
“That might be a bit unwise,” he figures. “Grimm is not exactly an uneventful place. I think
someone should stay up here to keep watch.”
Huh. That doesn’t sound all too fun, Louis thinks. Just sitting by a well for hours not doing
anything at all. He’s not doing that. He’ll wither away out of pure boredom. It does sound
reasonable, though, to have someone to watch out in case something happens.
“Alright,” he agrees. “My vote is on Harry. He doesn’t need to sleep and he’s hideous enough to
scare away any creature that may come this way.”
“Ha bloody ha,” Harry deadpans. “Wouldn’t think so. Louis should stay.” He straightens his neck
authoritatively. “He knows the forest like the back of his hand and besides, no one would dare hurt
him. They’d take a look and just get an immediate urge to baby him.”
Louis glares furiously. “What’s that supposed to—“
“I’m staying!” Liam cuts in sharply. The curly and the caramel haired boys snap their heads in his
direction, staring blankly at him.
It doesn’t seem to bother Liam the slightest, as he explains with impressive nonchalance. “I’m
good at guarding. I’m a wolf. I can defend myself if something happens. It only makes sense.”
Louis sputters. Liam might have a point, but it’s just not good enough. There would have to be
more than someone ‘having a point’ to convince him to fall down a well with Harry Styles.
“No,” he declares. “No. Not happening. I’m not going down there with him. It’s just not something
I’ll do. No. Forget it.”
Harry is just as eager to protest, but Liam only raises his hands to hush them.
“Do you honestly think you two will be able to survive a potential Underworld or Above together
if you can barely survive each other?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. “No. You need to learn how to
tolerate each other. I never agreed to come along just to babysit you. You’ll go down there
together. You will cooperate. And you’ll not complain.”
Louis glares his very best glare at his new so called ‘friend’ to emphasize how much he actually
dislikes him this very moment. Not quite as much as he dislikes Harry, though, so Louis gives the
spirit a very dirty glance before replying unwillingly.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But if we die because he screws up, I will come back to haunt you for forever.
Just so you know.”
“What would you even do?” Harry mumbles bitterly. “Pester his flowers? Sprinkle pixie dust on
his pillows?”
“Shut up, Curly.”
They catch a glimpse of Liam’s extremely demeaning facial expression, and they both turn silent.
Louis thinks he might just Liam better insecure and shy. Being persuasive is Louis’ job. Also the
shape shifter is treating him like a child, which is not okay. Even if he has a point. Or two.
“Let’s just go,” Louis says reluctantly.
Liam nods, giving him an encouraging smile. Harry groans, but starts walking as well.
“How far away is it?” he asks.
“Not that far. If we hurry, it’ll take half an hour tops.”
“Okay,” Harry nods to himself. “Also another thing, this well doesn’t count as a portal, right?”
Louis snorts. “No, it belongs to the hidden segment of Grimm’s Village.”
“Just wondering,” the green eyes boy shrugs. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t be so fortunate to expect
a nice, cookie baking granny and then be greeted by Odin’s deadly forces or something. That
would be a bit uncomfortable.”
Louis almost laughs at that, but he manages to hold it back before anything slips out. Instead he
nods and adds;
“Remember that we need to figure out a way to help Taylor, as well. We can’t leave her with that
hag.”
Liam bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair. “Right. I’ll try and figure something out while
waiting for you, yeah?”
“I don’t really understand why we have to,” Harry speaks, earning two pairs of alarmed eyes on
him. “What? It’s not our job to save damsels in distress here. The easy way would be to just have
our own backs and hope that she’ll get out herself eventually.”
Louis’ jaw is clenched. “I could say so many things right now,” he enlightens Harry. “But I won’t.”
“I appreciate you, darling,” Harry says coldly.

(Liam still rolls his eyes, but he figures it’s at least an improvement.)
Louis isn’t sure this is a great idea. He’s actually not sure at all.
It’s not that he’s afraid. God, no. He’s bravery personified, really. Truly lionhearted. A hero.
The well doesn’t look that inviting, is all. It’s deep and narrow and the water is intimidatingly dark
and cold.
Harry doesn’t look very bothered, though, so obviously Louis can’t show any of his hesitancy.
“Okay,” Louis breathes, climbing up to sit on the edge of the well. His feet can’t reach the water.
He swallows.
Harry just simply sits down next to him. “You ready, pixie?”
“What?” Louis tries to appear as tall and mighty as possible, and gives Harry a passive aggressive
look. “Aren’t you?”
Harry smirks coldly. “Bye, Liam,” he just says, before he grabs a hold of Louis’ arm. He pulls, and
then he’s off, dragging Louis with him. Louis’ eyes widen comically and he opens his mouth to
scream just as his body hits the icing cold water below, and it swallows both boys whole; there’s
no turning back now.
For a few seconds, things are just cold and unpleasant and Louis can’t breathe. The water is
surprisingly cruel, mercilessly throwing his tiny body back and forth and up and down, and Louis
finds himself absolutely helpless and he doesn’t even know where Harry is and he hates it.
And then it’s over, and then Louis and Harry find themselves sitting in a beautiful meadow, not a
lot unlike the one they landed on in Grimm’s Village.
Louis is currently on all fours, breathing heavily and just checking that all his limbs are still
present and well-functioning. They are, so he raises and looks around them.
“This is a very pretty place,” he says, almost wonderstruck. “I love this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry groans behind him. “Let’s get this shit going, alright?”
“Rudeness will get you absolutely nowhere.”
“You’re not exactly a delight yourself.”
Louis just huffs, turning his back and making a big deal out of strutting over the meadow to the
other side, waiting for Harry to hurry after him. He does, and Louis smiles a pleased smile to
himself.
“So, what do we do?” Harry asks when he’s caught up to the fairy.
Louis scratches his neck. “Well. I’m not really sure. The only thing I know about Mother Hulda is
that she helps us with winter. She has these bed sheets, yeah? And she shakes them to decide what
type of snow it’s going to be. Sometimes the feathers are light and few, sometimes they’re swirling
all around and in high numbers.”
Harry looks like this makes no sense to him, and Louis doesn’t expect it to. Night and day are
probably complicated to him.
The two are starting to walk out from the meadow and a bit into a sparse leaf forest, and they only
walk a few feet before they hear something just a little bit away. There’s a whining, a wailing, a
lament; and Louis, as the genuine person he is, immediately quickens his pace to help the creature
at unease.
“… You have got to be kidding me,” Harry states when they reach the whines. His eyes are wide
and disbelieving and greener than the trees as he stares at the…
Well. The oven before them.
“Is this an oven? In the middle of a forest? How does that even work?”
“Shut up,” Louis just commands, and he gets a disgruntled huff in reply. “It’s the bread, see?
They’re almost burned.”
The fairy is right (of course he is); inside the oven lie a couple of loaves, and that’s where the
unhappy moaning is coming from.
“Take us out, take us out, or alas! We shall be burnt to a cinder; we were baked through long ago.”
“Oh, right, obviously,” Harry mutters grumpily as Louis takes a hold of a bread shovel and draws
the bread out of the oven. “It’s the bread loaves. How stupid of me. It all makes sense now.”
Soon after, they keep walking aimlessly, not at all sure they were going the right way, but still
hoping for the best possible outcome, and that’s when they hear the second cry for help.
Harry gives out a long, agitated groan, but Louis just hurries again, to help whatever needs help. He
truly doesn’t understand why Harry feels the need to be so insufferably negative all the time; this is
not bad at all. They could be forced to do worse things than helping creatures in need. It’s like
dragging a defiant child along.
(Harry certainly does look like a child at this moment; he even pouts. He looks like a doll. If Louis
didn’t want to spit on the ground the spirit walks on, he’d find it quite adorable.)
The next thing that seems in need of a favor is an apple tree. It’s the only one of its kind, Louis
notes, and he feels a little sad for it. Especially with the earsplitting noises it’s making.
“Shake me, shake me, I pray,” it begs. “My apples, one and all, are ripe.”
Louis instantly obeys and Harry face palms.
“This place, I swear to fucking Zeus,” the curly boy drones as Louis flies up to shake the branches
of the tree with his little hands.
“God, Harry, you’re whinier than the bread loaves.” Louis rolls his eyes. The apples do fall down,
if only a tad too slow and a tad too few at a time. He frowns a little as he realizes it’s harder than he
thought; they’ll be here forever if Louis is the only one doing something.
“I’ve heard some nice insults in my time, but that was a first,” Harry informs him.
“Shut your mouth and help me shake the tree instead,” Louis orders. Harry, at first, looks at the
fairy as if he’s insane, but then he sighs for a long time, and grabs a hold of a branch heavy with
blood red apples, and pulls roughly.
The apples attack him instantly, tumbling down in piles around him and if he’d been human they
probably would’ve bruised both his head and arms and shoulders.
As it is, it doesn’t do much except put him in an even fouler mood. Cursing loudly, he looks down
on the stupid fruits around him, frowning so hard he should get permanent wrinkles on his
forehead. He looks like a child.
Louis can’t help but giggle at him, and Harry cocks his head, looking up at him challengingly.
“You think this is funny? Yeah?”
The fairy just clasps a hand over his mouth to stiffen his giggles. This is Harry Styles, the feared
Spirit of Pain, and he’s currently standing with rowdy curls hanging over his big eyes, and lips
tightly pursed in a pout, surrounded by apples in a sunny meadow. It’s hilarious.
Harry just smirks.
“You shouldn’t be so cocky, pixie. I could get all these apples down while you’d still struggle with
your third one.”
Louis’ giggles stop then, and he raises an eyebrow at the boy on the ground. “Is that a challenge?”
Harry answers by pulling another branch, causing another bunch of apples to fall down from the
tired twigs. Louis takes it as a yes.
The coming at least forty-five minutes are spent by violently and determinedly shaking fruit off of
a tree under ferocious warrior cries. It is a lot more intense than it sounds.
Chapter End Notes
so this took a bit longer than expected, but yayy!! it's here :D and i'm really excited
about it bc now the plot is really starting, you know, things are getting interesting.
as always, kudos, comments anD MSGS ON MY TUMBLR @a-bit-extraordilarry

MAKES ME THE HAPPIEST PERSON so yeah. if you feel like it, please do that bc i
will love you.
next chapter will be up hopefully within the next week. i have a shit ton to do in school
at the moment so if there's no chapter next week, that is probably why. just a heads-up
:)
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
“I won, you pompous liar.”
“You did not!”
“I’m taller, I’m faster, and I’m stronger. Clearly this couldn’t end any other way.”
“Well, things must just be that much more embarrassing for you, then, since I had more apples
than you did despite all that.”
Maybe Harry and Louis just aren’t meant to not fight; it’s been only a little more than an hour since
they arrived here in Mother Hulda’s quarters, and they couldn’t even make it half of that time.
Louis thinks they’re probably a lost cause. He’s not going to take the step to change that, though.
He’s not letting Harry win.
He doesn’t let Harry come up with a retort to his sassy statement, because then Louis sees the
smoke of a chimney and the brick wall kind of red beyond the birch trees they’re walking among.
“Hey!” he exclaims, pointing to where the cabin is comfortably standing. “That must be Mother
Hulda’s place, must it not?”
“’Must it not?’” Harry mutters mockingly. Louis ignores him for now, picking up speed towards
the little house they’ve been searching for.
When they’re close enough, they see an old woman open a window to peek out on her visitors.
Which should be completely fine and understandable, and nothing that would cause any
exaggerated reactions.
Except this woman has got these enormous teeth—like giant marble blocks. Louis lets out a
surprised borderline horrified yelp, backing straight into Harry’s warm body out of reflex and then
flying two steps forward again, startled by the physical contact.
The lady doesn’t seem to be bothered by Louis’ obvious discomfort, though, as she just smiles and
calls out;
“Do not be afraid, dear! Stay with me. Things will go well for you both if you do the work of my
house properly, for I am Mother Hulda.”
Louis inhales and exhales deeply to calm himself down. Harry snickers beside him and the fairy
promptly elbows him in the side.
“Don’t be a tool,” he mutters. “Let’s just get this over with. Put on your best smile.”
Louis doesn’t look at his companion to see if he’s complied, because honestly, if Harry wants to
spend the rest of his life with nasty pitch drenching his skin, that’ll be his own business and
nothing Louis will be a part of. He’s doing this by the book.
Louis’ feet lift only a couple of inches above the ground, and he lightly flies over to the nice little
door and knocks carefully. When Mother Hulda opens, Harry’s right behind him on the doorstep
again.
“Hello,” Louis greets her with a smile. “I’m Louis and this is Harry. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Mother Hulda welcomes them inside with open arms and huge toothed grin, and Louis must say
she really is one charming old lady, despite her mildly horrifying appearance. There is a plate of
cookies and a pitcher of lemonade on her round little kitchen table, as if she’d known someone
would soon be visiting.
“Tell me about yourselves, dears. How did you get here?” she asks them, and Louis smiles
nervously.
“My name is Louis, and this is Harry—I already told you that—and… Well. We’re not exactly sure
of how this happened, it’s all a bit hard to comprehend still,” he shrugs, fumbling to come up with a
quick, believable lie. “I was just casually spinning by the well and keeping a small conversation
with Harry, when I pricked my finger on the needle! And the pain was so sudden I fell backwards
still clenching the spindle tightly, and Harry was sitting right next to me so I tried to hold onto him,
but then we both fell instead.”
Mother Hulda nods appreciatively, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “And what’s your
relation to each other? You’re not from the Forest,” she turns to Harry. “Are you from Grimm
then?”
Louis holds back an eye roll and opens his mouth to tell her that, no, Harry is definitely not from
anywhere near Grimm, but Harry gets there before him, and his answer takes Louis aback so much
that his mind is sweeped entirely blank of any response.
“No, I’m not,” Harry looks down on his hands, and Louis swears he looks... Bashful. It fits his
face; he reminds Louis of a budding rose. This cannot possibly end well. “I don’t belong to Grimm
at all, really. I’m from the Greek. I’m—I’m just here for him, really.”
Harry nods in Louis direction, a small, timid smile carefully starting to play on his lips. Louis feels
his jaw drop momentarily, and though he immediately snaps it shut again before Mother Hulda
notices, warning bells start ringing in his ears. What the—?
Mother Hulda’s full attention is now on the spirit, too, and she leans almost unnoticeably forward
in interest. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Harry meets Louis’ alarmed stare with a gaze so steady and calm not a single bat of an
eyelash interferes with it. Louis has absolutely no idea what he’s trying to do. “I don’t know, we
met at the University of the Three and it just—it felt right, you know? Right away.”
Louis has to physically press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to suppress a quip about how
Harry has a very funny definition of something ‘feeling right’.
But then Harry decides that apparently what he’s doing isn’t already enough—so he reaches out
over the table to intertwine his long finger with Louis’ small ones. Louis may genuinely pass out.
He doesn’t dare saying anything, though, because the only thing that could possibly make this
worse would be revealing that it’s a sham. Mother Hulda's teeth scare him way too much to take a
chance on such a revelation.
So Louis sits quietly on his chair and lets Harry hold his hand. Which is, you know. Completely
fine. Louis’ hands were kind of cold anyway. It’s not like it’s a big deal; just hand holding between
two enemies. Staged hand holding. Louis holds hands with a lot of people. He quite enjoys hand
holding, actually. Which is the only reason this is not uncomfortable for him. Even if it’s with
someone he hates. Because hand holding isn’t a big deal.
He’s unnecessarily overthinking this.
“He’s,” Harry bites his lip a little. “He’s the love of my life, I reckon.”
Louis whips his head away from the two other creatures to ensure only the floor will bear witness
to the momentarily lost control over his facial expressions, then, because he’s pretty sure his eyes
are just barely holding on to their sockets at this point. He squeezes Harry’s hand as hard as he can
in an attempt to convey the exact feeling of ‘what the hell are you doing?’ without using words or
obscene gestures. Harry doesn’t bestow even the slightest glance upon him in return, but merely
keeps smiling softly at Mother Hulda.
Hulda reciprocates it easily, admiring eyes moving between the two creatures before her. Louis
presses a grin upon his features as well. The hands down weirdest thing about this is that Hulda
genuinely believes this. She has no qualms with thinking that they’re lovers.
“That’s lovely,” she compliments them. “Truly. I wish you the best.”
Harry thanks her, and after that, the three of them are raising from the table to get on with the
chores. Harry slowly lets go of Louis’ hand, and Louis shoulders immediately sink down from his
ears. His hand is a little cold now, used to the warm pressure Harry’s own hand had provided, and
he stops a shudder from running through his body.
It’s fine, though. It’s all good. It’s—yeah. Louis isn’t affected in the slightest.
They’re led into a nice little room with baby blue wallpapers and creaky wooden floors. Most of
the space is taken up by the huge bed standing in the middle of it all, covers thoroughly
straightened and probably ironed, made neatly into perfection. Louis’ immediately overwhelmed
by an urge to land himself a place under those covers, bury his face in one of the many puffy
pillows and disappear under fabrics of clean, cloud-colored cotton.
That would be unprofessional, though, he knows, so he reluctantly refrains.
Mother Hulda kindly explains to them exactly what to do, and then leaves them to their work,
closing the door behind her. Louis is by the bed in no time, gripping the covers to start shaking
them as enthusiastically as he can.
“So, for how long will we have to do this?” Harry asks lowly, still standing right where he’d been
since they entered the room, just watching Louis getting to work. Louis sighs exasperatedly.
“Once, Harry,” he answers, as if Hulda didn’t tell them a minute ago. “We have to do this once, and
dust off the furniture once, and mop the floor once. And we have to do it well.”
“This better be worth it or I’m going to cause Gothel some severe discomfort.”
“Still have no powers, curly.”
“I won’t need them.”
“Would you stop pouting and help me?”
Harry eyes the fairy up and down for a beat, deciding whether to keep putting up a fight or to just
give in and get it all over with.
He seems to settle for the latter, grabbing a hold of the sheets and shaking violently alongside
Louis. Wise choice, Louis thinks.
It certainly gets the feathers going, and they’re swirling around their working bodies in no time,
like small, innocent glimpses of winter. Louis thinks it looks absolutely beautiful. He always has
known how to appreciate the smaller things in life—sometimes he’s almost jealous of the pixies,
he figures. Almost, just because of their size. They’re always out, resting on falling autumn leaves
and hanging off of swirling snow. Louis would like to be that close to serenity, too.
“See?” he says, when the feathers have finally calmed down and the bed is neatly made. “Wasn’t
so bad, was it?”
Harry scoffs and throws a glare at the bed as if it’s personally offending him. “I really don’t like
this.”
“You don’t have to like it, curly,” Louis smiles sweetly. “Now, you grab the mop over there and
I’ll dust off the furniture behind you. Let’s do this.”
Harry stops and gives him an incredulous look. “Are you seriously enjoying this? What’s wrong
with you?”
“Now, now,” Louis pats his elbow. “That’s not the tone to use with the love of your life, is it?”
It’s impossible to miss the bitterness in his words, and Harry certainly doesn’t. “Come on. Mother
Hulda is a good creature and good creatures are obsessed with cheesy shit like that, just take a look
at yourself. I gave her a reason to empathize with us.”
Louis wants to argue, he really does, but he realizes begrudgingly that he sort of can’t. He probably
would’ve swallowed a love story like that whole, as well. Damn it.
“Whatever. Pick up your mop. We have a house to clean.”
They clean the entire house, and they do it well. It’s blindingly spotless by the time they’re done.
Mother Hulda gives them a content smile and an appreciative nod after inspecting every aspect of
her now sparkling fresh home, and Harry and Louis exchange a triumphant smile when she leads
them out to her porch to have them receive their prize, their money. Louis’ so happy they managed
to make it this smoothly he could cry. Harry has pools of contentment playing in his dimples the
whole time, too. They did a good job.
But then, just as the two of them stand to await their reward, everything turns.
Louis freezes with panic.
Because Mother Hulda slowly turns around to walk away.
That’s not a good sign. That’s not a good sign, Louis knows immediately. Good creatures want to
stay and watch other creatures be happy because of them. It’s a thing. The only reason why Mother
Hulda would turn around to not watch Harry and Louis get their reward would be—
Would be the fact that there is no reward.
Louis’ mind just goes blank, and he can’t come up with anything to do or say, except to helplessly
shout out a frantic:
“Wait!”
To his huge relief, Mother Hulda does as she’s told, turning back slowly to meet Louis’ plea. Her
face, on the other hand, makes Louis’ hope crumble and sink all the way through his stomach and
down to his toes. It’s stone-cold and unfriendly; in that moment, she reminds Louis of her sister.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, painfully passive aggressive, and Louis swallows.
“W—what did we do?” he wonders. Harry is watching both of them, worried eyes flicking around
the place. He obviously realizes something is terribly wrong, as well. None of the boys truly
knows what to do now; they haven’t actually considered a plan in case they’d fail.
Mother Hulda laughs bitterly. “Do you think I’m a fool?” Louis doesn’t dare reply, so she keeps
going. “Don’t ever think I don’t hear every single word you utter in my house. You’re working for
my sister.”
“Fuck,” Harry breathes.
Everything’s crumbling to Louis. They’re not going to get the money. They’re not getting the
money, he’s going to get pitch all over his precious, smooth skin and it’ll never go away, and
Mother Hulda looks like she’s moments away from biting both of their heads off with her stupid,
gigantic teeth and it’s too much.
It’s just one of those moments; there are so many things he could do and so few that would actually
help him, and his head’s a second away from bursting with distress. Harry doesn’t seem to know
what to do, either, because he just stands behind Louis, biting his lip and eyes rapidly looking
around, as if hoping something will miraculously appear to save them.
So Louis resorts to the only reasonable—and likely simultaneously completely out of his mind—
thing he can think of.
He buries his face in his small hands, and he starts crying.
He doesn’t hold back, either. He emphasizes his hopeless supposed vulnerability with—possibly
excessively—loud sobs, shaking his head and wiping at his eyes, his petite shoulders shaking. He
can’t really define Mother Hulda’s reaction, but she sure does look surprised.
Time to put on the performance of his life.
“Please,” he tries. “Oh, please, I am so sorry. I have failed miserably, I—I only wanted to help.
And now we’re doomed! We’re destined to a miserable life of dirt and shame, and that’s all on me.
Harry,” the fairy turns to him, and his voice says, “I never meant to drag you into this,” but his eyes
say play along if you want to live.
Harry’s face goes from mildly shocked, to confused, to understanding in about half a second, and
then he also schools his features into something dramatically dejected. He shrugs gloomily.
“It is what it is, Louis. You couldn’t have known.”
“No,” Louis shakes his head. “No, I must fix this,” he looks to Mother Hulda. “Will you please
give me a chance to explain?”
There must be something about his desperately pleading tone that does the trick, because Mother
Hulda reluctantly gives in.
Louis dries his feigned tears away. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You see, we might not be
here for the reason we told you we were, but I can assure you our motives are nothing but pure. We
—we fell through a portal, right? And the portal system is broken, and we fell through and—we
were kidnapped by Mother Gothel. She threatened to throw us through her portal if we didn’t fix
your money for her.”
Mother Hulda still looks bitter. “You being forced doesn’t make your actions pure.”
“I know,” Louis says, mind racing to come up with something to ultimately assure her of their
innocence. “We weren’t ever going to actually give her the money—we’re trying to come up with
a plan to free poor Rapunzel and give her the money. So she can live her own life.”
He supposes the truth should do just fine, this particular time.
The old lady’s eyes catch a twinge of blue at the mention of the girl. She looks down on her long
skirt for a moment, and she sighs deeply.
“I feel such pity for dear Rapunzel. She’s nothing but good.”
“We think so, too!” Louis agrees, maybe a tad too enthusiastic. “And that’s why we want the
money. She doesn’t deserve the torture Gothel puts her through.”
It’s quiet for a while. Mother Hulda seems to think this through, and Louis holds his breath and
crosses both fingers and toes. Harry is completely still, as well.
“I trust that you have a clean conscience,” Mother Hulda allows at last with a look on Louis, but
when her eyes moves over to the fidgeting spirit next to him, they go hostile again. “But your
friend, I cannot. He is a wicked one, I can tell. He’s from the Underworld.”
Yeah, Louis thinks bluntly. Yeah, he is.
He could say that, as well, he acknowledges for a split second. He could escape with the money
and leave Harry to deal with the pitch. It would be easy, and he wouldn’t have to leave Grimm,
either. He could make up some sad excuse to Liam and then he could just wait for the portal
system to be fixed.
He could, but Louis can’t bring himself to. There’s just something holding him back from doing it.
Probably because going through with that plan would be really mean, and Louis isn’t mean. He’s
proud, sure, and a little too much at times, but not mean. Besides, even though he hates to admit it,
he kind of owes Harry, because despite his complaints and snide remarks and condescending
actions, he’s proven to be loyal. He’s had the opportunity to completely abandon Louis and Liam to
save his own ass, but he hasn’t, and Louis will be damned if he proves to be unreliable before
Harry does.
“Oh, Mother Hulda,” he instead says reproachfully. “Let’s not be creatures to judge a book by the
cover.”
Mother Hulda raises an incredulous eyebrow. “So he’s not a wicked one?”
Louis shakes his head fiercely. “Don’t get me wrong, I doubted his motives and personality in the
beginning— I guess we all do when they come from down there, don’t we? But I have along the
way been forced to see that I was mistaken. Once I saw through his cold demeanor, I found
genuine kindness in him. We can’t blame the boy for being raised the way he was, that’s not
something he can control. Believe me, Harry’s assignment and origin might be wicked, but his soul
is not.”
The words are disgustingly cheesy and pretentious and bitter on his tongue, but they at least seem
to work.
(If he’d look behind him, maybe he’d notice the way Harry’s emerald eyes sparks with something
new, see the way his jaw drops just slightly, the way it does when it’s unrealized.)
Mother Hulda folds her hands, hesitantly looking between the two hopeful and imploring creatures
a couple of times—until finally, a defeated roll of her eyes, and a final exhale.
“Fine. You will have the money, but you need to promise me something.”
“Anything,” Louis swears, heart instantly speeding up a hundred miles per hour.
“You need to kill my sister.”
Oh.
Uh. Louis blinks, at loss for words for a moment. Probably anything but that.
“Is there,” he clears his throat, “is there no other way to deal with this?”
Mother Hulda shows no sign of emotion on her face when she deadpans her answer.
“No.”
“But. You know, call me a coward, but I haven’t exactly killed anyone before. I don’t consider
murder very ethically… right.”
“I don’t like it either, but it’s not negotiable. Gothel will never leave Rapunzel alone,” Mother
Hulda explains with the same kind of informative indifference. “She will start the search for her
the second the girl slips through her fingers. She won’t ever give her a rest. The only way to secure
a safe and promising future for Rapunzel is to permanently get rid of the thing holding her back.
My sister has had too much power for too long.”
Louis still frowns hesitantly and he’s just on his way to protest again, when Harry decides to open
his mouth.
“We’ll do it,” he affirms.
“Very well,” Mother Hulda offers him a small smile. “Then reach out your hands, dears. Collect as
much as you can.”
She doesn’t leave, but stays to watch them get their reward, and Louis breathes out, bones aching
from the emotional exhaustion. She’s not bluffing.
“Thank you,” he utters, and his voice trembles with earnest. “Thank you so much.”
And so, the gold is falling.
It’s close to midnight when they get back to the Village of Grimm, and the velvet black sky is
freckled with tiny, pointed stars. The moon casts a silvery light onto trees and bushes, painting it in
its own soothing colors. It reminds Louis of a black bird’s sweeping, gracious wings. He’s always
liked to think of night as gentle watercolors and day as fierce acrylics, each one intense in their own
way.
Liam’s a wolf, and he’s lying comfortably in the same place he’d been standing when they left.
He’s not sleeping, though, because when Louis and Harry land on the grass beside the well, he
instantly jumps up on his feet, pointing his ears and sniffing to catch the scent of something
potentially threatening.
“Liam?” Louis hisses. “It’s us. We have the reward.”
There’s a muffled bark, and then Liam’s human head is sticking up, squinting his eyes to see them.
“Finally,” he replies. “I was seriously starting to wonder.”
“Aw, no need to doubt us,” Louis coos. “We’d never let you down. Or. I can’t speak for Curly, but
I wouldn’t.”
Harry just scoffs. Liam sighs lightly.
“I guess it’s a minor improvement,” he figures. “I’d hoped for more, but alright.”
“What?” Harry mutters. “Were you hoping we’d be besties braiding each other’s hair and
exchanging boy advice from one little trip together?”
“What do we do now?” Liam just asks, deliberately ignoring Harry’s scorn.
“Uh.” Louis looks down on the ground. “We have to. We might have to kill Mother Gothel.”
Silence. Wide-eyed stares. And then;
“What?”
Louis winces a little at the obviously aghast tone in Liam’s deep voice.
Liam’s visibly not at all okay with this, and if his tone of voice didn’t give that away enough, the
way he flings his arms out and lets his pupils move so quickly between the two Louis fears he
might turn cross-eyed, certainly does.
“Are you crazy?” he hisses. “Have you lost your goddamn minds? Do you want to die?”
“Don’t blame any of this on me,” Louis quickly defends himself. “Harry was the one who accepted
the job.”
“Harry!” Liam looks disapprovingly—and kind of frantically— at the spirit.
Harry rolls his eyes. “Give it a rest. Mother Hulda would’ve never let us go if we didn’t agree to it,
it was her only condition. Someone had to save our asses. And Taylor’s, too, for that matter.”
“You want us to kill a dark witch,” Liam says slowly.
“It’s not like it’s that hard,” Harry tries. “Look, I don’t know how much you know about witches,
or any kind of dark creatures, but in the presence of possible wealth they just go wild. They can’t
focus on anything else. You’ll practically just have to hold the money bag by the window and
she’ll make a run for it. I’ll push her out and make sure she falls onto the thorns. Done.”
“I am very uncomfortable with you talking so indifferently about this,” Louis enlightens him. Harry
just laughs humorlessly.
“It’s not like I’m a stranger to death.”
Louis’ aware of that. Obviously. Anyone with functioning comprehending abilities wouldn’t need
Harry to say that out loud to at least guess it. Of course Harry’s not a stranger to death. But hearing
him say it like that, like it’s the clearest and most mundane thing in the world, really does
something to Louis’ stomach and he has to look away from the green eyes above him.
If Louis didn’t know better, he would probably tell you that this is what pity feels like, because no
one should ever have to say such a thing with such painful triviality.
He does know better, though. And he knows he doesn’t feel any sympathy for Harry, none at all.
It’s most certainly just the topic of conversation that irks him.
Regardless—Harry might be right. Which, no, Louis doesn’t like admitting that very much, thank
you. But it’s not like Liam the Puppy or himself has any sort of expertise to provide with when it
comes to this topic.
So at last he exhales, and he tries to momentarily push away the hostility that always kind of clouds
his thoughts whenever he interacts with Harry as he looks back up at the spirit.
“So is that plan accurate?” he asks. “The thing about holding the bag by the window.”
Harry’s eyebrows furrow in surprise for a split of a second, and then he wordlessly shrugs, quite
evidently taken aback by Louis’ accommodation. A dimple is teasing his cheek.
“Yeah, I reckon so. Obviously it’d need some polishing, but. Yeah. It’s accurate.”
“Alright.” Louis sits down in the grass, folding his hands in his lap and looking expectantly at the
curly haired boy. “Do tell.”
“Well.” Harry tilts his head in thought. “You and Liam would both have to get up there, so Gothel
doesn’t suspect anything. You’re bringing the money with you, too, of course, she’d have to see it
to be convinced. Maybe shake it a little so she can hear it rattle. You make sure she doesn’t
actually get a hold of it though—have her go to the window. Tell her you have another, even better
surprise for her down there. She’ll probably buy it. She’ll look down on the ground or possibly the
sky depending on what you tell her, distracted and eager to find her surprise. I’ll be the only one
getting my hands dirty.”
Louis listens intently and nods. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I am.” The shadow of a smile still hasn’t properly left Harry’s face and Louis bites down a snap to
make it go away. He just nods his head once more, and then turns around to start walking.
Harry follows shortly, and Liam looks at their backs as he, too, starts walking behind them.
“That’s more like it,” he mutters.
“So,” Harry says quietly. “That speech back there. With Mother Hulda. It was, um. It was
impressive.”
They’ve been walking for probably about half an hour in a steady pace. Louis figures they should
be seeing Rapunzel’s tower at any minute, and none of the three have been speaking a lot during
the walk. Louis in fact thinks that’s the first time Harry’s opened his mouth since they started
moving.
A slight itch has been irritating his skin ever since he had to let his guard down and show Harry
some trust, because Harry’s looked insufferably satisfied since, and neither has he in any way tried
to reciprocate the generous humbleness. Maybe it’s Louis being agitated, and not to mention
incredibly tired, or maybe it’s just that it’s unthinkable that Harry would actually genuinely
compliment someone, that has Louis’ spine stiffening, but he instantly mistakes the statement as
taunting. He doesn’t look at Harry as he answers coldly.
“Don’t let anything get to your head, curly. I just said what needed to be said.”
Harry doesn’t answer right away, and Louis’ grateful he’s not turning it into a big deal. He can’t
believe he even has one, but he’s filled his quota of drama for today.
It’s nice to know he has a limit, though, he thinks absent-mindedly.
If Louis would actually look, he might see the way the green eyed boy’s shoulders slump slightly
after his sharp answer. He might see the tiny, tiny upturn of Harry’s mouth falter, he might see the
way he hangs his head.
“Right,” Harry murmurs at last. “Of course.”
And it’s an odd response, but Louis doesn’t dwell on it.
(Obviously, Liam sees what Louis doesn’t, and he makes sure to ‘accidently’ step on the fairy’s
tiny foot to underline his disapproval and makes a mental note to be a little gentler to Harry in the
future.)
Louis whines and gives Liam a dirty look, rubbing his sore foot against the grass. “What was that
for?”
“Sorry,” Liam shrugs. “I’m a bit clumsy.”
Louis mutters something incomprehensible and keeps walking, slowly lifting from the ground to
fly the last bits. His foot really hurts. Liam should watch his steps.
The tower is soon apparent in the gloomy, dark forest, and it looks extremely intimidating, Louis
admits. As if the whole building is holding its breath anticipating their arrival. The wind is gently
pulling the hedge of thorns. He shivers.
“Okay.” Liam starts, turning to Harry and Louis with a serious expression. “So Louis and I will be
going up now, yeah?”
Harry nods. “Yeah.”
“And you’ll be up there, right?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Harry assures.
He sounds sincere, and it’s a little too dark to be able to tell if his eyes are lying, so Louis lets it be.
Liam breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth. “Okay. Alright. Let’s do this.”
And then he calls out for Rapunzel to let down her hair, and that’s their queue.
Louis clenches the bag with money tightly. Harry fades into nothingness. They’re on a mission,
and the adrenaline is pumping in Louis’ veins. It’s almost exciting. He’s never done anything like
this before.
Liam inhales and exhales once, deeply and slowly, and then he grips the golden mane and starts
climbing. Louis’ wings work eagerly, and the fairy can feel his pulse quicken its pace the closer
they get to the opening of the mighty building. Harry is nowhere to be seen, but Louis hopes he’s
just as adrenaline-drivenly ready as he is.
Rapunzel is sitting nervously in a corner and Mother Gothel is eagerly awaiting them, eyes glinting
with anticipating greed. As soon as she sees the bag in Louis’ little hand, she gets a practically
predatory look in them instead. Louis should probably be scared, because she appears about ready
to rip Louis’ limbs to shreds to get a hold of the fortune.
She’s inferior right now, a voice says in his head, and Louis flinches in surprise. She can’t
concentrate on anything but the reward, so she’s an easy target for you. You have the upper hand
here.
Well. That must be Harry, then, Louis figures. Showing off another spirit-y attribute.
Louis breathes, concentrating on his pulse, and forces out a sly smirk. “We made it.”
“I see that,” Gothel drawls and Louis swears her eyes sparkle. “You’ve been good, you’ve been
very good. The portal will be all yours.”
She starts staggering forward, hands practically gripping in the air after the bag, but Louis
promptly holds it out of her reach, smacking his lips. His demeanor is cocky and confident, but his
insides are alarmingly insecure of how he should do this. He bites his lower lip loosely, trying to
come up with how to continue. Mother Gothel looks at him, clearly irritated, and it’s stressing him
out.
Say you got something more from her sister. Tell her it’s bigger than she could ever dream of. Lie,
Louis.
“Wait,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows teasingly. “This is not all there is.”
“What do you mean?” Gothel frowns.
“I guess you could say we got… Something more from dear Hulda,” he studies his nails
nonchalantly the way he’d seen Harry do a couple of times.
(Not because he thinks Harry is impressive in any sort of way. No. Not ever. More because he’s
supposed to act like a cocky, secretive brat and Harry is the best reference he could possibly get.)
“Something so precious you’ll never, ever have to worry about money again as long as you’re
alive,” Louis continues.
That certainly does get Mother Gothel’s disapprovingly wrinkled eyebrows to loosen up.
“Where is it?” she asks, widening her eyes and looking around herself as if it would pop up out of
thin air. Louis suppresses a smile.
You’ve got her. Lead her to the window. Harry sounds amused.
“It’s outside. We had to leave it down there because we couldn’t possibly carry it up here on our
own.” Louis looks to Liam who’s standing behind him, carefully watching the interaction before
him. “Liam will show you. Right, Liam?”
“Right.” Liam pushes his shoulders back and nods once. “Over here, madam.”
Maybe ‘madam’ is pushing it a little bit, Louis thinks, but other than that Liam is doing fine.
Gothel blindly follows Liam to the window.
“It’s right… There. You see it?”
Gothel sounds confused and slightly frustrated. “No. Where is it?”
“You might have to look really closely, it’s pushed up against the wall right down there.”
And, as birds sing and babies laugh and elves dance, Mother Gothel bends over to properly see the
tower wall all the way down on the ground. She’s even lifting one foot to bend as much as
possible, and Louis can only barely keep himself from breaking down in tears with relief that she’s
falling for it (no pun intended). He holds his breath now, waiting for Harry to appear and finish it
off.
He does.
Mother Gothel lets out a horrified shout when she feels another body wrap itself around her, and
then Harry’s dragging her all the way down to the ground. Louis can hear her scream for the entire
fall, he can hear it abruptly end.
Neither he nor Liam looks down to see the results of what they’ve done. Louis can only imagine,
imagine Gothel’s aged, distorted body perched on the dark thorns down there. He feels a bit ill at
the thought.
Harry is up in the tower again in no time, hair ruffled and lips pursed.
“The minute her heart stopped she turned to ashes,” he informs them with a frown.
Taylor emerges from the corner where she’d been watching it all with wide eyes.
“I guess her age caught up with her.” There’s a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Louis can see her struggling to hold it back and it makes him happy knowing she’s happy.
“Hey,” he beams and skips up to her, giddily giving her the bag of money. “You’re having this.”
Taylor’s jaw drops in astonishment as she stares at the fairy and the fortune he’s holding out to her.
“What?”
“Take it!” Louis shakes the bag impatiently. “Take it, take it, take it!”
“God, okay, I will,” Taylor gives in and she’s trying to sound annoyed, but it’s clear that she’s far
too excited to genuinely succeed. With a huge smile stretched across her face she accepts the
money, and it’s so heavy she almost drops it all at first. Louis giggles a little. He loves happy
people. He loves them so much.
“Thank you,” the girl whispers. “Thank you so much.”
She drops the bag on the ground to throw herself at Louis in a crushing embrace. She picks him up
from the ground with ease, and though this would usually bother Louis a bit, he can’t really find it
in him to care right now. This is what he likes best, he thinks. Happy, grateful people, and getting
acknowledgements for his own brilliance. It’s fantastic.
He’s quickly released from her grip as she runs off to Liam to fling her arms around his neck,
causing the boy to stumble back a few steps in surprise. He hugs her back as well as soon as he
regains balance, and Louis can see the joyful crinkle of his brown eyes over Taylor’s shoulder.
Things get really interesting, however, when Taylor decides to, completely without a doubt, go on
to hug Harry, with just as much intensity and glee as she did with the boys before him.
Louis watches the spirit’s eyes grow twice its size in shock when another body collides into his,
hands freezing at his sides for the first couple of seconds. It’s painfully evident that Harry Styles
hasn’t received a lot of hugs in his lifetime—something that manages to be understandable and
terribly tugging on Louis’ heartstrings at the same time. Louis can barely imagining Harry
enjoying hugs at all, if he’s quite honest. It doesn’t quite go together with his character.
Except—after those first seconds of shock has passed, Harry lifts his arms to wrap them around
Taylor as well, and though the taken aback dilation of his eyes is all but gone, Louis catches the
smile making teasing a deepening of his dimples. It’s a soft smile, one that makes him look
weirdly… Shy. Sweet. It’s a kind of smile Louis’ never seen on him before.
It hits Louis that Taylor just made Harry sincerely smile by merely hugging him. Louis, who
usually prides himself on his ability to make other people happy, hasn’t even succeeded with
forcing a slight crook upon those lips that hasn’t been ironic, bitter or condescending.
For a split second, the hatred washes off of Louis. Maybe, he thinks, maybe if he’ll stop picking
fights with Harry, Harry will do the same. Maybe this feud they have going on is nothing but
unnecessary and misconstrued. Maybe Louis can make Harry smile like that in the future. He’d
quite like to, he thinks.
Oh my god, no. No. That is not happening. Not now, not ever.
Louis mentally slaps himself in the face. What even was that? Stupid, is what it was. Completely
absurd.
Harry and Taylor finally part, and Taylor takes one last look around the room. Her eyes are
glinting with something new.
“There’s one thing I want to do,” she tells them, before she scurries off into Mother Gothel’s room.
She soon emerges again with a silvery scissor. “I’m cutting this nightmare off.”
She gestures at the length of her beautiful hair with a determined expression.
Louis, Liam and Harry all help Taylor to hold her hair in place as she starts cutting it, from one side
to another. Her body seems to grow lighter with every snip of the scissor, like every strand of hair
is a huge weight on her skinny shoulders and she’s finally letting it all go.
She probably is.
When Taylor’s hair barely reaches to her shoulders and meters of meters of long, golden locks are
lying in swirls, soft against the rough tiles of the tower floor, she explains that she wants to make a
rope out of the cut hair on the floor to get down to the ground.
“You’ve been so lovely, you really have, and I understand if you want to go immediately, but—if
you’d help me, that’d be great.”
“Of course we’re helping you,” Liam insists earnestly, instantly sitting down on the floor. “How do
you want it?”
Louis is on his way to join, when he realizes something, and it’s urgent.
He’s tired. He’s never been this tired in his life. Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t slept for 24 hours
and counting, or the endless amounts of adrenaline that’s been pumping through his blood ever
since they entered Gothel’s tower yesterday—either way he’s crashing now and he feels bad, but
he’s practically unable to keep his eyelids from shutting.
“God, I’m tired,” he exclaims. “I’m sorry, I’d—” he interrupts himself with a yawn, “I’d love to
help you, but I—I really need to sleep. Just for a little while, yeah? Just a nap. Please wake me up
if you need more help.”
“Sure, Louis,” Taylor smiles. “It’s alright.”
“Actually, uh, by the way?” Harry suddenly says, causing three pairs of eyes to focus their
attention on him. “I… I’ve been thinking.”
“What?” Louis says, letting only a little irritation seep through. Harry can’t mean he’s seriously
having second thoughts now? After all they’ve gone through just for him to get his way, now is the
time to start consider his other options?
The spirit bites his lip. He seems conflicted by something, deciding what to do. At last he looks at
his companions, and he excuses himself with a;
“There’s something I have to do. I’ll be really, really quick, I promise. Just wait here, yeah? Wait.
I’ll be back.”
And then he dissolves into thin air, without even awaiting a response.
Liam and Taylor just look confused. Louis understands them, he is too, but he’s mainly annoyed.
This is probably just an excuse to not help Taylor.
“What if,” he mutters, before he shuts his eyes, “that creature could take others into consideration
before himself just this once.”
Yeah. Definitely not going to be friends. No way.
It doesn’t take long for Harry to find Jesy’s house; it’s just a matter of seconds, really.
He has to admit—he’s kind of ashamed of what he’s about to do. It’s an act of weakness he’s never
even felt even the slightest need to commit before. This is… It’s almost nice, what he’s about to
do.
Why is he doing it? He’s not sure. He’s really not sure at all. Actually, Harry has never felt more
clueless about his own actions before in his life. It just, it didn’t feel right, what he’d heard and
seen since he arrived in Grimm. It felt wrong to just leave it.
Maybe this is what people call ‘empathy’. Maybe this is why his mother never lets him be around
good creatures for longer than an evening at a time—maybe empathy is infectious.
Harry doesn’t knock. He doesn’t call out for Jesy, he doesn’t even turn back to his human-like
form until he’s in the room Jesy is currently in; the kitchen, cooking some dinner. For two, he
observes. Probably her savior, then.
As soon as he’s back in his visible, solid body, he coughs quietly to get her attention.
Jesy yelps and turns around in one swift motion, her hand flying up to press against her heart. Her
facial expression quickly goes from scared to confused, though, when she realizes Harry is the one
standing in her kitchen, uninvited.
“Harry,” she breathes, and it almost comes out as a question. “It’s Harry, right?”
Harry just nods. He doesn’t really have time for small talk. “Look, I won’t be staying long, don’t
worry. Everything’s fine, we’re all good. We got to the portal.”
Jesy looks impossibly relieved at first, and then confused again. “Then what—?“
“Have you ever heard of narcolepsy?” He decides to just go straight to business. He watches Jesy’s
forehead wrinkle, as if she’s trying to figure out where he wants to come with this.
“No,” she replies.
“It’s a neurological disorder,” Harry explains. “It happens when the group of nerve cells in your
brain that are supposed to regulate your sleep-wake cycle stop functioning. I think—I think that
might be what you’re dealing with.”
“Okay,” Jesy says slowly. “And what’s this supposed to mean?”
“Do you feel paralyzed sometimes?” Harry knows he’s probably not being the most sensitive right
now, but he doesn’t really care. He just want this moment and the itchy feeling in his bones to pass
already, and besides, he needs to get back to Louis and Liam as soon as possible. Their trust in him
is frail enough without him disappearing for extended periods of time. “Like, that parts of your
body might go limp or weaker if you get overemotional or are just waking up or falling asleep?”
Jesy blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, sometimes, actually. When I’ve just woken up, it’s happened a few
times.”
Harry exhales. That would be the cataplexy. He’s seen this before on Earth, has had to work with
sufferers. It causes a lot of distress.
“Then it sounds like narcolepsy is a decent guess, at least. I’m obviously not a professional, but,
you know. I’ve seen this a couple of times. If we do end up on Earth I could try and get some—
help, maybe?” The word tastes unfamiliar and uncomfortable on his tongue, but he fights it. “Like,
some medicine or coping schedules or something, I don’t know exactly what they do for these
things. I could send it with Liam and he could help you when he gets back here—you shouldn’t
have to be a prisoner in your own home because of a condition that’s relatively treatable.”
Jesy stands quietly for a while as she thinks it over. Harry can see the emotions flash over her face,
one at a time; confusion, relief, fear, surprise. In the end, she seems to settle for consent.
“Yeah, okay. If you want to.”
Harry nods. He can’t quite bring himself to indulge eye contact with the girl, so he just stubbornly
speaks to his shoes.
“Alright.” He scratches his neck. “Just. Just thought it might be comforting to know that you’re not
alone. And that there are things to facilitate what you’re dealing with.”
“Thank you, Harry.” Jesy sounds sincere, and Harry doesn’t really know what to feel. Satisfaction,
he guesses. But the situation is far too unfamiliar to him to feel anything but slight unease.
“’S all good,” he responds and dares shooting her a crooked smile. “I’m, uh, going to leave you to
your cooking. Also, if you’d ever stumble across a girl called Taylor, I think you’d make her a
huge favor in befriending her. I think you’d go together really well. Anyway, pleasure to meet you.
Bye.”
Harry is just about to turn around and travel back to the tower, when Jesy utters one last question.
“Does this have anything to do with how upset the fairy was? Louis?”
Harry frowns, throwing her a sceptical look.
“No,” he snorts. “Why would it?”
“I don’t know,” Jesy shrugs. “You just seemed quite concerned with him.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Harry declares, leaving no more room for discussion around the subject.
“Louis isn’t my friend and certainly no one I would do favors for. Goodbye.”
He makes sure to leave his body then, so he can escape Jesy’s pensive eyes, and he hurries back to
the two creatures waiting for him. Jesy has no reason to believe any of Harry’s actions are because
of Louis. That’s the most laughable thing he's ever heard. The only thing to possibly make that
theory make sense would be for this to be a sort of thank you from Harry for the fairy’s act at
Hulda’s, maybe—but Louis obviously didn’t want to save anyone’s ass but his own back there,
anyway. He made that much clear.
Harry shakes his head.
Ridiculous indeed.
Chapter End Notes
i am back!!!! and i am officially on summer break so i can finally dedicate the time i
need and want to writing. sorry for the long wait xx
so i'm going to greece this saturday, where i'll be staying for a week. which means that
the next update will probably be somewhere around monday - wednesday the week
after. but after that i will be free to write as much as i like :DDD
thank you for reading and, as always, please talk to me on my tumblr @a-bit-
extraordilarry. i will repay in virtual hugs and kisses.
chapter 7; wonderland
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Louis thinks they must be in Wonderland, because he kind of feels like he’s on drugs.
That, and the fact that they’re lying under a huge mushroom, which. Yeah, that tips him off pretty
well, too.
Liam gasps after air, hair ruffled and eyes widened from the overwhelming trip. His head snaps
around to get a grip of where he is.
“Where are we?” he asks almost frantically. “What is this?”
“Calm down,” Harry huffs, brushing a couple of chocolate curls from his forehead and follows
Liam’s example of looking around, if only with a bit more emotional stability to it. He n arrow s
his eyes thoughtfully. “Cloudy skies. Trippy colors. No sense of rationality regarding whether size,
form or environmental development. This must be Wonderland.”
“You don’t say?” Louis raises from his spot , too , scratching his neck and leaning against the
mushroom to not lose balance.
“I do,” Harry replies indifferently. “We should probably be careful.”
“What?” Liam looks slightly panicked. “What’s dangerous about this place?”
Harry and Louis can’t help but exchange a look. Harry straightens out his black t-shirt and decides
to answer Liam since Louis makes it clear with a defiant raise of his eyebrows that he won’t. Louis
isn’t really good at breaking possibly bad news gently —h e’s more into lightening someone’s
mood after receiving them. That’s his forte.
“Wonderland…” Harry starts, pouting his lips and biting the lower one thoughtfully, not entirely
sure how to put the rest.
(Louis doesn’t stare at the way the lower lip plumps out redder than Snow White’s apple after that.
He most certainly does not. Who even cares about stuff like that? Not Louis. That’s for sure.)
(So what if he did anyway. It doesn’t make Harry any more enjoyable as a person.)
“Nothing makes sense here,” he settles for at last. “It’s built on solely the imagination of the right
half of a brain. You know how our brain halves function and control different areas, yeah? The
right half is what makes you emotional, creative and intuitive, the left one makes you organized
and analytical and logical. To be able to think rationally and work properly as a living creature, one
side of the brain can be dominate, but you always need a mix of both. They need to balance each
other.”
Liam swallows frailly . “Yeah?”
Harry smiles gently, but his eyes are serious. “Wonderland does n’t have any left brain thinking.
Nothing is logical. Nothing is organized. We’re living inside one big dream right now, and it tends
to fuck with your brain, to not be in an environment accommodated for both parts of it. Wonderland
confuses you. It makes you lose grip of what’s real and what’s not. You can feel it in the air
already, yeah? ”
“Yeah,” Liam almost whimpers. He looks sort of pale.
“Long story short, we need to be careful down here, because this place dims the part of your brain
where you can think rationally. And do you know when you need to be able to think rationally?
When you need to stay out of trouble. Which is what’s we need to do, because nothing about
Wonderland will work in our favor. It’ll work in the creatures who live here’s favor.”
Harry looks pretty unbothered by this fact. Liam doesn’t.
Louis guesses this is where he steps in.
“It’ll be fine, Liam,” he says softly, slowly walking up to the shape shifter, putting a comforting
arm around his waist. It has to be the waist, because Louis would probably actually have to fly a
tiny bit above the ground to reach around Liam’s shoulders —which is not something Louis would
openly confess. “We’ll keep each other grounded, yes? Stop once in a while and solve some
mathematical problems to keep our minds in shape. I could start if you’d like, look. There are six
cotton candy trees over there. Say I cut them down, and I’m dividing them fairly between us. How
many trees do we get each?”
Liam furrows his eyebrows, giving Louis a confused look. Louis just answers it with urging
anticipation.
“What,” Liam says then. “You want me to answer?”
Louis rolls his eyes as if Liam should’ve gotten that ages ago. “ Yes .”
“Oh. Two?”
“Wrong,” Louis sighs and shakes his head with a wistful smile. “I get all six. I would never share
that loveliness I worked so hard for with your ugly mugs.”
Liam still has a doe-eyed, doubtful glint in his eyes , but a smile is twitching in the corners of his
mouth, and Louis sees that as a victory. Harry just snorts behind them. Louis doesn’t know if it’s to
cover up laughter or because he thinks Louis is ridiculous, and Louis can’t really bother with
caring. He knows he’s fantastic. That’s all he needs.
“Okay,” Liam inhales and exhales deeply, fluttering his eyes shut for a moment, adjusting to the
bizarre situation. “Alright. Okay. Right. Let’s just —w hat do we do, then?”
“We find another portal.”

“Gee, Louis, we wouldn’t have guessed,” Harry rolls his eyes at the fairy’s naïve answer. “How
were you planning on finding it, babe ?”
Louis shoots him a glare. “I don’t know. I haven’t been here before, you two are the ones who
thought this was a good idea in the first place. Does anyone know what to avoid and what to look
for?”
He gets two pair of blinking eyes at him. Right then. Great.
“None of us have been here before, Louis. We’re not supposed to.” Harry says slowly.
“Wonderland is the most secluded place of all the worlds, probably. No one leaves, and no one
goes here.”
“So we’re absolutely clueless,” Louis confirms , brow furrowing . “We know nothing.”
“Why did I agree to this?” Liam wonders, shaking his head hopelessly.
Louis would love to know that, too .
“Well,” he figures when no one else seems to take the initiative. “I think we should go that way.”
He points towards the squiggly road that continues on by the cotton candy trees. “It feels like the
right thing to do.”
“Right thing for you or for your stomach?” Harry sneers, and the fairy promptly turns to him with a
glare that should terrify nations, but Harry just looks amused.
“ What are you trying to suggest with   that ?” he demands furiously.
Here’s the thing; Louis has got this small pouch of a tummy, right, he’s well aware, and it’s not a
huge deal, but it’s one of the more unfavorable physical traits of his—yeah, he’s self-conscious
about it, to be frank, to the point where it’d been quite a relief to be able to wear shirts for a change
when he got to UoT. And right now he’s caught between Harry, who’s tall and slim, and Liam,
who looks like he could crush Louis in his embrace, and it’s not exactly doing wonders for his self-
esteem. He’d never openly admit to having any qualms about it, though, and he certainly won’t
ever take any sort of crap for it. Especially not from Harry. He may not have Harry’s toned,
commanding physique, but that doesn’t give the spirit the right to try and pique him for what he
may or may not eat.
The spirit’s eyes widen animatedly and the smirk immediately falls off of his face. “What?  N
othing .”
“Then why did you say it ?”
Harry looks extremely uncomfortable all of a sudden, running a hand through his curls. “I was
referring to the— the mathematical task you did. You, you know, the punchline was you taking all
of the—so I thought, I thought maybe you just really liked—you know what, just forget it. I didn’t
mean it like that.”
He seems genuinely distressed by this, that Louis thought he’d been insulting his weight,
interrupting his own sentences and tripping over words, and if Louis wouldn’t be so busy building
his Harry proof walls even higher, he’d probably be more astounded by the contrast to the spirit’s
usual behavior. H e doesn’t now, though, just narrows h is eyes a little further. H is hands are
promptly resting on h is hips.
“Well, then. I think an apology might be in order if that’s the case, don’t you?”
That certainly gets the Harry Louis knows and despises back. “ What ?”
The fairy’s eyes are stern. “You heard me.”
“Why should  I  have to apologize for  you  misunderstanding something?”
“You offended me, and when that happens one usually apologizes.”
“You’re overreacting, pixie. I’m not apologizing to you.”
“Oh, don’t even try. I think you just don’t apologize, period.”
“ You’re getting real brave trying to pin that one on me . ”
Louis is just about to bite back with a venomous retort to cover up how close that one hits to home
when Liam decides it’s probably a good idea to not let this argument develop any further .
“Right!” he exclaims, walking to stand in-between the two creatures. “Let’s go that way then, shall
we?”
He points to the way Louis had suggested only moments earlier, sending scolding borderline
pleading looks to both of them.
And Louis really likes a good argument, right, no one’s missed that, but he also likes Liam. He
thinks Liam is kind of awesome, actually. Besides, he still feels really bad for messing up so badly
with Sophia (honestly, he has an apology to utter as well, he knows he does, but it would just be
awkward to bring up now, wouldn’t it?), so he lets it go and gives his new friend a compliant
smile.
“Of course. Let’s go.”
And they do.
Louis concentrates on the grainy, bright yellow pebbles under his feet as they walk in silence,
quietly ripping off small pieces of cotton candy when they reach the trees. He can feel Harry’s
amused eyes on his neck, and he’s extremely tempted to turn around and pick a fight, but then he
remembers Liam, and he decides against it.
The air is weirdly thick in this place in a way Louis hasn’t felt before. It’s not actually different
from the oxygen he’s used to inhale, per se; but he can feel it all the way down in his lungs, he can
feel his head lightening remarkably with every breath. Louis can’t decide if it’s a good kind of light
or a bad one. It’s like someone decided to take the expression of ‘clouding one’s judgment’ and
then make it painfully literal—maybe this place is where that saying comes from. Louis tries to
remain calm. H e thinks of math.
“So, um,” Liam starts lightly. “What’s the plan?”
“Hm?” Louis is pulled out of his (well, attempted to be) concentrated thoughts.
Liam scratches his neck anxiously. “Like, where do we go? Are we just following this road until it
ends?”
“Oh. I don’t know.” Louis looks at Liam and then at Harry to maybe get some kind of help with
this decision . He doesn’t get any. Shocking. “The castle, maybe? There ought to be someone
around who can help us.”
Liam is just about to answer with a hum of agreement when Louis hears voices and freezes where
he’s standing.
“Do you hear that?” he asks, widening his blue eyes as much as he can. “There’s someone just
around the corner!”
And like the times before, Louis doesn’t give his two companions a second thought before taking
off in rapid speed to settle behind another tree made of cotton candy. It’s pastel green, and he
thinks at the back of his mind, at least they kind of got the color right on this one. It could almost
pass for an actual tree. Almost.
When he looks out from his spot, he realizes two things; one, the ‘voices’ are more like ‘frantic
laughter mixed with loud conversation’, and two, Wonderland’s fields are a beautiful turquoise
now. Louis is charmed .
The laughter is coming from a table, set in the middle of the widely stretched lawns, and Louis
furrows his eyebrows in confusion as he looks closer. Harry and Liam seem to have caught up to
him now, as they are both right behind him once again, observing with him.
(Louis smiles nearly unnoticeably. Leading a group in this kind of way, knowing that they follow
and trust him enough to not question his random impulses, kind of makes his heart wrap itself up in
a warm blanket. He realizes he really likes the feeling of being important like this —not that that’s
a surprise , but still . It’s a nice feeling. Even if one of the people making him feel that way is kind
of despicable.)
“Is that… Is that a hare? Next to that man with the hat?” he asks. He genuinely thinks it is. A huge
hare currently pouring himself a cup of tea. Maybe the place has got to Louis already.
Except b oth Harry and Liam are blinking, eyebrows pr actically grazing their hairlines, so Louis
can’t be the only one.
“Yeah ? ” Liam ’s voice trembles just the tiniest . “I think so.”
Well. The place stays true to its’ reputation, Louis supposes . At least the hare seems to be a very
happy one, and positivity is always nice. His laugh is screeching and obnoxiously loud and
occasionally gurgling from the liquid he is eagerly emptying inside his mouth. The man beside him
is wearing a funny hat and even though the table is quite big, they’re still sitting at the short side of
it, tightly pressed against each other’s sides. A dormouse is sleeping in one of the cups between
them on the table.
“Should we ask them for help?” Louis asks again, hoping for a definite answer because quite
frankly, he hasn’t got a clue. Would they actually get help? Is the madness contagious? Are these
creatures even safe? They could be killers for all Louis knows. Maybe they weave webs of
nightmares underneath that quirky table. Maybe they’re laughing about how terrified they have
made creatures with regular sleeping patterns. Louis wouldn’t know.
“Yeah.” Liam doesn’t answer this time — Harry does. “It’s at least worth a shot, yeah?”
“You don’t think they seem a bit… Unreliable with solid information?” Louis figures, watching
the nearly hysterical pair smash down their tea cups on the table again. The cups break.
“This is probably the best we ’re going to get,” Harry states with resignation. “Sorry.”
What’s the worst thing about this situation? Harry’s probably right. Louis purses his lips
unwillingly and sighs.
“Alright, then. Off we go?”
“You take the lead, little one.”
“Don’t call me that ever again.”
Judging by Harry’s smug smirk, Louis just got himself another nickname. Great .
He occupies himself as they begin to approach with coming up with as many alternatives to
Harry’s name as possible. The only catch is that Harry likes to comment on a minor flaws in Louis’
appearance , like his height, and Harry’s got, well, just about none of those. He’s frustratingly good
looking and it makes Louis hate him even more.
(Maybe he could figure something out about his nose. It’s a bit bigger than average, right? Louis
has a nicer nose than Harry. That’s totally nickname material.)
(Maybe he could refer to the way Harry looks like a frog with his eyes widened. Possibilities.)
When they reach the table, Louis kind of expects the hatter and the hare to see them and initiate a
conversation themselves, but they don’t. They actually don’t even spare the trio a quick glance.
Which means that Louis needs to take the matter into his own hands.
This should probably be uncomfortable —t he situation could go any direction imaginable. It

should be awkward, probably, and Louis should perhaps feel a bit insecure. Because once again, he
needs to participate in something where he’d have to cooperate with people bigger than him, taller
than him, people who’ll most definitely look down on him. People who tend to disregard his
personality just because he looks fragile.
Louis should be feeling small. He should be, but then again, this is Louis. And when has Louis’
physical size ever been equivalent to his personality?
Never, the blue eyed soul thinks resolutely and pushes his shoulders back. He clears his throat.
“Excuse me, gentlemen?” he speaks loudly, voice clear and melodic like wind chimes. “Excuse
me, lovelies.”
The two creatures stop mid conversation, curiously turning their heads to look at their guests.
Louis smiles and nods once in a greeting. “Hi. Could we have a quick chat?”
The hatter and the hare just blink in time with each other, and Louis decides to go ahead and take it
as an invitation.
“Come on, lads,” he murmurs to Harry and Liam. “Let’s sit down.”
None of them protests, so Louis just walks the remaining steps that sets himself and the chair at the
other end of the table apart. He’s dragging the chair out to comfortably sit down on the soft
cushion, when the hatter and the hare at last seem to snap out of their tongue-tie and proceed to
loudly protest against his decision.
“There’s no room! There’s no room here!”
Louis raises an eyebrow, checking the chair an extra time. It’s as empty as can be, so he sits down,
anyway. To his right he spots Liam and Harry doing the same. “There’s plenty of room.”
“It ’ s very rude to just sit down without an invitation,” the hare enlightens them. “You need an
invitation. This isn’t just some come-and-go tea party, right Nick?”
The hatter—Nick, apparently— agrees whole heartedly.
“Yes, yes, very rude indeed,” the dormouse mutters in its sleep.
Louis shrugs and opens his mouth, but Harry beats him to answering, and the smile on his lips is
ingratiating.
“Well, then,” he says. “May we have tea with you?”
“Do any of you take sugar?” the hatter asks, not even answering the proposal. The three boys
decides to take it as an invitation, though, because no one complains about it after that.
“I do, thank you,” Louis tells them amiably. “Harry doesn’t really like anything sweet, though, isn’t
that right?”
“Funny,” Harry deadpans.
The hare takes a cup and fills it with sugar all the way up until there’s a nice little mountain
towering over the rim and offers it to Louis . Louis accepts it, although he leaves it be —h e’s not
all that pumped about getting cavities later. He doesn’t have the heart to tell the hare this amount of
sugar wasn’t what he had in mind, and besides, they’re not here to drink tea anyway.
“So, what are three foreigners like you doing out here attending tea parties?” the hare asks,
downing a scolding cup of tea in one go.
“It’s kind of a funny story,” Louis laughs nervously. “ The portals are broken. And we just fell
through one! And now we’re here, and we really need to get back to where we come from.
“Oh my, you better get out of here,” Nick drops his wide grin in a heartbeat to nail him with a
serious stare , and Louis must admit he’s quite impressed — he didn’t think he had it in him. “The
Red Queen doesn’t like visitors.”
“Who’s the Red Queen?” Liam asks. Louis lets h is gaze fleet over the boy ’s features for a
moment, search ing for any signs of distress, but he’s seemingly calm—h is freak-out in the
beginning must have faded by now, then. H e’s back to h is responsible, sensible standard setting.
Nick nods absent-mindedly. “Hey, why is a raven like a writing desk?”
It’s like talking to a little child. Louis fidgets impatiently.
“Look, mate, you’re a delight but we just really need to know who the Red Queen is, yes? And
possibly how to get out of here. You don’t happen to know where a portal is?”
“Wow, now,” Nick raises his palms to stop the fairy. “You can’t answer my question with a
hundred new ones. I can’t keep up.” Another teacup is emptied. “I think you should help me with
mine first.”
“What, with your riddle?”
The hatter looks at him expectantly. “Yes.” Then his eyes light up. “Let’s make it a game!”
Sure, Louis thinks. He shrugs in consent . He can do games.
“You get the answer to my riddle right and I’ll tell you all I know.”
“Deal.” Louis leans over the table, clasping his hands tightly in front of him and narrowing his eyes
determinedly.
Liam gazes between the two of them doubtfully, and then to Harry to see if someone can confirm
that this whole situation is actually happening and not something h is tired mind is making up as it
goes. Harry looks amused more than anything , but he does roll h is eyes a bit when he catches
Liam ’s eyes to tell h im that yes, he finds this quite ridiculous, too .
Louis doesn’t notice their non-verbal exchange . He’s too preoccupied pondering and wondering,
turning the riddle inside out and upside down looking for a suitable answer. He’s sternly glaring at
Nick’s smug and delighted face as the hatter keeps laughing along with the hare, filling up endless
cups of tea. The teapot seems unable to empty.
After repeating raven and writing desk in his head at least thirty times in different ways, the fairy
gives out a drawn out groan and smacks one hand down on the table.
“Can you at least give me a clue?”
Nick frowns as if deeply personally offended. He puts a hand on his heart. “No! That would be
cheating. We don’t cheat here.”
Louis’ fingers are slowly starting to itch with a want to slap the man across the face . He’s not a
violent person, he’s not, but Nick is  really  getting on his nerves.
“God, I don’t  know ,” he hisses. “Why  is  a raven like a writing desk?”
Nick sighs and stirs down some tea in his honey filled cup as he answers happily. “I have no idea.”
Louis sputters and Harry barks out a joyous laugh beside him.
“You’re fun,” he proclaims. Louis’ blood isn’t boiling, per se, but it definitely has potential to get
there. “I like you.”
Nick beams at the spirit. “I like me too! And you’re alright, as well, I suppose. Nice hair.”
Harry just flicks a strand of mahogany hair from his face (Louis rolls his eyes so hard they almost
disappear up into his skull) and smiles fawningly.
“Look, Nick, we would love to stay longer, but we must get going. We’d hate to cause any trouble
by being here. Certainly you understand.”
“Of course,” Nick nods and raises his hands to wave them off. “’Twas nice drinking tea with you!”
“ However ,” Harry continues, smooth and slow like velvet, not moving out of his spot. “Before we
go, since I consider us friends, I think you ought to tell us about some portals that you know of.”
“Friends?” Nick’s eyes widen and he exchanges a look with the hare. They both look back at Harry
shiny with delight over the spirit’s choice of word.
“Best of friends,” Harry promises.
“There are portals in the labyrinth!” the hare says, almost interrupting Harry in his eagerness to
please. “The labyrinth behind the Red Queen’s castle, yes, but it’s very hard to find anything in
there. That place is a maze! Hah. A maze. Get it?”
He laughs hysterically along with Nick. Harry’s smile is patient and Louis does not understand.
“So what’s the way to Red Queen’s castle, then?”
“Oh, you mustn’t go there, friend!” Nick says , eyes widening comically. “She will have you
beheaded. She doesn’t like visitors very much, the queen. Have I already said that once?”
“I think you have,” the hare figures.
“You have,” the dormouse sleep talks.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Harry promises, tilting his head and softening his eyes until h e looks
infinitely friendly.
Louis has got to hand it to him. He’s  good .
Nick pours himself another cup while looking hesitantly between his three guests. He touches his
hat up a bit. The cup fills up quickly and tea is spilling over the edges. It doesn’t stain.
“It’s that way,” he says at last, pointing to a crossroad not too many steps away. “You go left by
the yellow tulips and then left again by the candy canes. Just keep going, you will see the castle
soon enough! It’s pretty big.”
“Huge,” the hare offers.
“Enormous,” the dormouse helps in-between soft snores.
Harry shows off all of his white teeth, positively blinding Nick as he stands up.
“Thank you so much. You’re a darling.”
Nick and the hare wave enthusiastically as Louis, Liam and Harry starts walking towards the huge
yellow tulips , and L ouis purses his lips and fidgets a little. He’s not too this overly large theme
this place seems to go with. He’d quite like for a few things to be unusually small as wel l—surely
that’s not too much to ask.
That’s not the number one thing on his mind right now, though. What he wants to know primarily
is why Harry, the spirit of  pain , just  charmed  his way into getting information.
“Okay. So what was that?” he hisses, eyes demandingly locking with Harry’s.
“What was what?” Harry sticks his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet. He can’t quite hide
the smile nipping at the corners of his mouth, though.
“Why did the Nick guy like you? Aren’t you supposed to have the opposite effect on people?”
“I am a spirit of emotion,” Harry says simply, “which makes me intuitive with people, no matter
what my assignment is.”
Unsatisfying answer. Louis doesn’t like it, even if it makes sense— Harry can sense what makes a
person anxious and scared and hurt, and that must also be a pretty good indicator of what to do to
keep them calm, if necessary. Maybe Louis just doesn’t love Harry being useful, ever, in h is life.
“I don’t get it,” he settles for with a head shake .

“I don’t expect you to, pixie.”
“I’m not a pixie.”
“You’re like, two feet tall.”
“ Could you l iterally shut up for one second? ”
“You don’t want me to figuratively shut up, then?”
Louis can’t even bother with a reply to such an unnecessarily snarky smartass answer— he just
pointedly narrows his eyes and hopes that delivers the message of ‘ I hate everything about you ’
enough.
He thinks it probably does, because Harry grins and for the spirit that’s probably a reasonable
reaction. Dislike must be a sort of warmth for him.
“Right,” Liam pipes up , rubbing his eyes a little . “So , the labyrinth is behind the Red Queen’s
castle.”
“Yes,” Harry confirms.
A concerned crease appears between Liam’s eyebrows, and he narrows his eyes in thought.
“What’s wrong, Li?” Louis wonders softly.
“Oh, nothing,” Liam shrugs and purses his lips. “It’s just, castles usually have guards, don’t they?
By every entrance.”
Yeah. Presumably, t hey do.
Fantastic.
The castle, quite unsurprisingly, has guards. What’s slightly more surprising is the sheer excessive
amount of them.
That, and the fact that they ’ re literal playing cards. Like, the guards are  literally  a scattered deck
of cards in hearts and diamonds with faces and limbs. They’re absolutely everywhere, backed up
against every wall and peaking out of every corner and shielding every possible way in to the huge,
fancy castle, protecting doors and windows on every single floor. This is going to be hard.
“Well, shit,” Harry states. It’s a bit too calm and indifferent for Louis’ liking. “What do we do
now?”
“I don’t know,” Louis hisses. “Liam, you’re smart, right? You’re smart. I think you’re smart. Tell
us what to do.”
“How about  you  tell us what to do?” Harry interjects with a pointed look on the fairy. “Oh, Louis
the a lmighty. Lighten our path to success.”
“Oh, sod off,” Louis snaps. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
“Well, the funny thing with this, Louis, is that I’ll give my opinion on things regardless of who
does and doesn’t ask for it.”
“You’re only doing it to make fun of me!”
“No, I’m eagerly awaiting the moment you will finally put your money where your mouth is.”
Louis gives the spirit a well-deserved glare. “Oh, don’t worry, curly. I will.”
That’s when Liam clears his throat vigorously, brown eyes severely judging them in that way he’s
established so particularly well in such a short amount of time .
Louis looks away and blushes. God, this whole truce thing with Harry will never work, and it
frustrates him to no end that Harry, of all people, winds him up to the point where he can’t even
take two seconds to evaluate whether the argument’s silly or not. He’s usually at least able to
recognize when he’s making a fool of himself and not during fights, he usually knows when it’s
appropriate to build up the bickering and when to let it stay shallow—but not now. Not with this
creature. With Harry, everything is suddenly infuriating to the brink of murder.
Harry’s just taking advantage of Louis’ temper. He knows which buttons to push, Louis reminds
himself. Don’t let him win.
“Maybe,” Liam suggests, “if we try and sneak around this hedge and to the back, we can figure
something out? Maybe it’s not as heavily guarded there.”
“Maybe,” Louis repeats, nodding. “It’s worth a look, yeah?”
And so, that’s what they do.
Harry and Liam both have to occasionally duck when they walk around the hedge, as it tends to
change height whenever it feels like it. It makes them look a bit stupid and a bit tired, and Louis
smirks in amusement. The next time Harry decides to poke fun at Louis’ height, he’ll remember
this.  Remember the hedge in Wonderland , he’ll say,  the moving one . The one that made you and
Liam look like Jack in the Box while I could just casually mind my own business.
Louis giggles into his palm as he looks at the two of them behind him, who can’t even tell him off
in their concentration on the hedge to be prepared for the next move. The whole thing is strangely
hilarious for some reason.
None of them realizes that no one’s watching the way in front of them anymore.
“ Intruders !  Intruders !”
The yells are sudden and loud and unbearably screeching, and all three boys jump about five feet
up in the air, their hearts in their throats and panic rising like the tide .
“ Shit ,” Harry exclaims again, but this time , it’s a lot more passionate.
Louis’ head snaps around in all possible directions, and he realizes there’s nowhere to run. Guards
are coming at them, forcefully raising their sharp spears while endlessly chanting “ intruders,
intruders, intruders ” at the three clueless boys in the middle of it all. No ne of them knows what to
do. All Louis can come up with is tumble the castle over on the cards , or blow really aggressive
wind in their faces to keep them away, but he doesn’t know how he’d do those things — and at the
same time there’s a steady stream of frustration tingling all the way to his fingertips because he
knows he’s forgetting something , he knows there must be an option he can’t figure out.
Neither can Liam or Harry, apparently, because the very next second they’re completely
surrounded by cards and Louis is sure there must be more than one deck of cards used here ,
hostile frowns and spears poking inwards. Louis folds his wings down and turns around to stop the
pointy tips from scarring them.
At the end of the day, he’d rather his face get messed up than his wings.
“Well,” he mutters, looking into the stern eyes of the nine of hearts in front of him. “This is
unfortunate.”
The inside of the castle is surprisingly neat and bright, which is a sudden, but not unwelcome,
change from the dimmed and messy environment outside. The ceiling is high and beautifully
painted like in a church, but instead of the wistful angels you’d see in those, these smooth concrete
surfaces are covered in delicately drawn playing cards, laughing and swirling and dancing as if it
was the most normal thing, and Louis takes the time to admire the fine handwork. He’s always
wished he could draw —t here’s something special about people with the ability of putting emotion
into pictures and colors and constellations of shapes , he thinks .
This far, the palace doesn’t seem all that bad—it’s actually giving Louis a feeling of security, the
brightness and the open spaces. The serenity is different in here, and it’s a welcome change.
It’s not doing the same for Harry and Liam, however.
Both boys’ eyes are narrowed in suspicion, looking warily around the hall—they’re eyeing the
smooth marble statues lined up along the red carpet under their feet, studying the oil paintings of a
big-headed woman—presumably the queen— on the walls like they’re out to get them. Louis
thinks maybe they should relax a little. The queen can’t be as bad as she’s been played out to be,
can she? Not when she’s got this remarkable sense of décor.
She even has the delicate taste to put freshly cut rose bouquets in mighty vases along the aisle.
Louis can feel the clean, blossoming scent of them even from where he’s being pushed forward a
few meters away.
A giant door which reaches all the way to the ceiling opens obediently before them as they
approach, and they enter the next big hall.
There’s a throne at the other end, massive and ornate and demanding of attention. It’s got m
agnificent golden patterns gracefully looping and swirling their way down the frame of the
backrest and down to the armrests, where thin fingers are knocking down the hard metal
expectantly.
The Queen of Hearts has a very fragile body, arms like the top twigs of a birch and a torso like a
down pointing arrow. Her ankles peak out out from the countless layers of fabrics and skirts, and
they look like they’d snap if they’d ever have to substantially support the weight of her body. And
her dress, of course. The dress alone probably weighs more than her entire body.
The only thing to not add up, is her enormous head. It’s twice the size of her body and it’s wearing
an unwavering frown, and it’s making Louis’ stomach churn with discomfort. Maybe he was wrong
earlier. Maybe her impeccable interior design is just an unfortunate coincidence.
Her heart-shaped lips are distorted into an ugly purse as the group approaches her.
“Who are these strangers, then?” she asks with a bitter look. Her eyes are pitch black.
“Your majesty,” the Eight of Diamonds next to Harry begins. “They were found trespassing
outside the castle.”
The wrinkle between the Queen’s eyes deepens further. “Trespassing, hm? I  hate  trespassers.”
“ U m —” Louis starts, immediately alarmed by her unchanged hostility, but he’s quickly cut off
by the card on his left.
“ So do we, your majesty, so do we!”
“This is a misunderstanding,” Louis declares with a panicked look at the Queen. “We didn’t know,
we— ”
“Hold up!” the Red Queen silences him with a raised finger. She looks up and narrows her eyes, as
if to listen to something very faint. “Do you hear that?”
It’s drop dead quiet in the hall. If an ant came sailing in on a feather, you’d hear it arrive before it
even entered the building. Louis has never been in a place this tremendously silent in his entire life.
No, he does not, in fact, ‘hear that’.
“No… your majesty,” he utters, trying his very best to sound as if he doesn’t want to strangle
someone. He hates these stupid people with their stupid questions. Especially with the added threat
of lethal danger within a direct future. He doesn’t have time .
“Hm.” The Queen purses her lips thoughtfully. “I could’ve sworn those were the souls of the
beheaded men before you telling you I couldn’t possibly care less about your motives.”
Louis sputters as the guards take a new, firm grip around his biceps to keep him still. They’re
obviously waiting for their Queen’s doom, and by the sound of this, it won’t be a favorable one .
The Queen of Hearts lets her eyes sweep over Louis, and then Harry, and then to halt on Liam.
The boy is nervously biting his nails, and when their eyes meet, he looks pleadingly at her.
She gets something soft in her eyes for a few seconds, and she shoots him a small smile. “I like
you. You can stay. Eight of Diamonds, make sure to get out the second throne and send after the
cleaners to polish it until it looks brand new!”
What ?
Liam’s eyes shoot wide open, and he exchanges frightened stares with both Harry and Louis, who
are just as desperately clueless as he is .
So if Liam stays, what ’ s she going to do with—
“And for you two,” she points a thin, frail finger to the remaining two boys. “Off with your heads!”
Harry and Louis don’t even get a chance to protest before they’re roughly and viciously dragged
out of the room, Louis frantical ly trying to reach his hands out towards Liam, who’s promptly held
put, brown eyes widened impossibly with confused fright.
There’s nothing to be done. The huge gates close behind them, separating the shape shifter from
Harry and Louis with finality , and then the two of them are pushed down to a set of stairs, all the
way down to the dungeons.
Chapter End Notes
dun dun duuuun

i'm a bit meh about this chapter but hopefully it turned out alright???
ALSO oh my god I just want to say that you literally make my day when you read and
comment and give kudos and stuff on this i am sO happy about it?? like some of you
even wished me a nice trip to greece and shit yall are so NICE i don't even know
xxxxxxx
thank you v v much and as always, if u talk to me i will love you forever so hit me up
@ a-bit-extraordilarry.tumblr.com :D
chapter 8 part a; wonderland
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Louis is thrown into the chamber headfirst, and he scrapes his small elbows on the rough concrete.
Harry is right behind him, cursing and yelling as the guards leave through the heavy door without
as much as another word, and he shakes the bars as if they should falter under his frantic grip. It’s
—quite disappointingly—changing absolutely nothing, and Louis rolls his eyes when Harry still
doesn’t stop.
“Look, mate,” he says. “If that plan worked, we’d be sneaking down the hall looking for Liam and
an exit right now. If you want out you’ve got to come up with something else.”
Harry gives him a frustrated glare. There’s a vein on his neck that doesn’t seem to have any
problem of making itself known, and Louis gulps because if he didn’t know better, he might just
find it a bit attractive.
He doesn’t, though. Obviously.
(Or maybe he does. Possibly. But like, in a completely objective way.)
“What other ways would there be? Why is it so hard, why is it not budging?” Harry questions and
gives the cold metal another rough shove for emphasis. Louis raises his palms defensively.
“I don’t know, but it’s clearly not doing the trick. Sit down for a moment. Let’s think about this,
yes?”
The sprit looks extremely reluctant to this suggestion, but he seems to realize that there really isn’t
much else to do, and so he finally slides down against the wall with an exasperated sigh.
“So. What the fuck do we do, then?” he mutters, sliding his legs up to rest his elbows on his knees.
Louis doesn’t know. He honestly has no idea. It bugs him to no end, because just like before, he
feels like he’s missing something obvious—he just can’t put his finger on what.
“Hey, Louis?” Harry mumbles from his corner. “What’s two plus three?”
“I…” Louis frowns. He’s quiet for a few seconds, narrowing his eyes and straining himself to
search for the answer he knows must be somewhere in his clouded mind—and he doesn’t succeed.
A cut of panic slices through his chest when he realizes he doesn’t even remember what the
numbers look like. It’s all a bundle of weird shapes in his head. “I… I don’t know.”
The spirit groans and buries his face in his hands.
“This is fucking great,” he exclaims into his palms. “Really.”
Seems like Harry wasn’t lying back by the giant mushroom—about this place inevitably messing
with your brain.
This isn’t what Louis had imagined then, though. He’d imagined his mind going chaotic, a
screaming, pounding mess of colors and emotions and shapes and nothing left to stabilize them.
He’d feared spiralling and panicking and losing his mind. He’d feared an explosion, not this…
Fizzle. This fog. This creeping, calmly swirling smoke of not insanity, but confusion. There is
nothing left to stabilize the rational content he’d usually have no trouble remembering, so in a way
he guesses he was right, but there’s nothing loud or chaotic about it. It’s a blur, is all it is. A calm,
smeary blur which doesn’t mess up his head. It hides away certain parts.
It’s certainly more annoying than Louis had imagined it to be. In this state that Louis and Harry are
in, it’s so obvious that they’re missing things, it’s so evident that something is restricted and
shielded, but Louis can’t reach in and find it. He can’t reach in and find what’s usually making him
recognize shapes as letters or numbers, he can’t find the voice telling him what it is that’s making
the bars stay solid and unmoving.
What if they’re not even physically trapped in here? There might be another choice to go for, a
laughably easy way out, and they won’t know simply because it’s something where you’d have to
think a little to figure out.
They’re trapped by their own ignorance.
“Right.” Louis bites his thin lower lip, gazing over at the head of soft curls. He feels like he should
do something, craft something, discuss something, anything to keep his brain occupied. He fears
that maybe, if he sits around doing nothing like this, things will only get worse. He needs to talk
about something, and, well. It looks like he’s only got one option.
“We should probably talk about something,” he states resolutely.
Harry looks up from his hands to give the fairy an incredulous look. “We should?”
“I think we should.” Louis bites his thumbnail. “Maybe that’ll keep our brains in shape a little, at
least.”
“No offense, but if I wanted to improve my intellect you wouldn’t be the first person I’d talk to.”
Normally, Louis would go off at a comment like that. He’d shoot an ice-cold glare, he’d make
himself look taller, he’d bite back with something equally awful to hide the gnawing the comment
causes in his chest. But right now? He can’t really… Bother. He doesn’t know how to stop feeling
hurt—how do you stop yourself from feeling an emotion anyway? Why would anyone hide away
something so significant? He needs to feel, doesn’t he?
So in the end he just looks down on his hands, and he speaks quietly.
“That’s really mean.”
Harry snorts, but he slowly looks up at Louis, unable to not be at least a little taken aback by the
fairy’s sudden softness, by the lack of defensiveness or infuriation in his reply. His tone is a lot
calmer, too, when he finally forms his reply.
“I suppose it is.”
Louis doesn’t say anything. He absentmindedly plays with his fingers, listening to his own breaths
and he makes sure he doesn’t look at Harry one bit. He better sit there and feel bad for being so
rude, especially when Louis wasn’t even picking a fight.
Not that Harry would ever feel bad for something like that. It is, after all, his job. He must’ve had a
lot of time to get accustomed, to no longer taking blame. If he ever did. Louis doesn’t really know
how it all works.
The silence stretches, and in this is feels concrete, as if you can reach out and close a fist around it,
let it soak into your skin and numb your bones. Louis’ managed to bite off the majority of his nails
on one of his hands by the time it all seems to get to Harry, as well, and the spirit decides to look
up and sigh resignedly.
“Alright,” he offers curtly, giving Louis an expectant look. “What should we talk about, then?”
Louis frowns confoundedly, snapping his head up to lock their eyes in a stare. He still doesn’t utter
a word, surprised by the fact that Harry chose to give in—just keeps looking at the spirit while
trying to find a suitable answer hidden somewhere in his brain.
Apparently, he’s taking too long, because soon Harry sighs in frustration again and turns away.
“Or we don’t have to. Whatever.”
“No,” Louis rushes. “No, let’s talk. I’m bored to death. We should. Yeah. Speak.”
Louis catches the amused glint in Harry’s green eyes as the spirit props himself up against the wall
a little, sliding one leg down to rest on the cold floor beneath him. “Alright.”
“So, uhm.” Louis quickly scans his mind after a good topic of conversation. “Uh. So how does it
work?”
Harry blinks, raising an eyebrow. “How does what work?”
“You know,” Louis gestures towards Harry’s figure. “The whole… Spirit thing.”
Harry snorts. “’The whole spirit thing’?”
Louis tries to seem nonchalant and cool as he explains further, but truth is, he’s been wondering
about this for quite a while—how spirits’ bodies and minds and powers work, and his curiosity’s
grown more and more every minute he’s been in Harry’s presence. It’s all completely objective,
though, obviously. He likes knowing things, and there’s a lot to know about Harry, who’s from a
completely different world, doing completely different work, functioning in a completely different
way. He’s merely a source of new information.
Because Louis has definitely let the whole fascination with Harry as an individual go by now. He
dropped that like a bad habit the second Harry spoke his first word to him. Yeah, he did.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he begins, “but isn’t the thing with spirits that they don’t have a body
of their own? Like, how does that even work, because you’re not a hologram the last time I
checked? Are you possessing some poor human right now or something?”
“Oh, please,” Harry snorts. “I’m not an eidolon. Spirits with purposes don’t do possession,
especially not with creatures as petty as humans.”
Right. Louis can’t help but roll his eyes at the palpable superiority Harry speaks with—he really
does have some kind of need to sound like a conceited prick at all times, doesn’t he? And Louis
who’d kind of dared to hope they could have a normal conversation without him wanting to tear
those dumb curls off his head for once. Not that he’s exactly surprised to be wrong.
(He decides to overlook it in the end, though, because truth is, he doesn’t think very highly of
humans himself. He’s always seen them as a little bit ignorant and tiny bit pliable. But that’s not
the point.)
“Then how do you have a physical appearance?”
“You’re really trying to confuse me with demons, aren’t you?” Harry rolls his eyes. “Spirits of
emotion and nature adjust their form to their situation, as you probably know. This is my body,
these are my bones and my eyes and my voice. This is me. I look like this, and most of the time I
prefer to be like this. If I have work, though, it’s obviously not the most effective, because I need to
be able to move more quickly and efficiently than this body lets me. So if I have work to do on
Earth, I become abstract. I don’t exist in any way except my thoughts and feelings—I become my
emotion, then. I’m a gust of wind, or the feeling of goose bumps, or a tear in someone’s eye, and all
of that is me, too.”
Harry quietens then, and Louis swears he catches a rosy blush resting on his cheekbones, as if he’s
embarrassed to show such eagerness for explaining this to Louis, for responding so positively to
Louis’ initiative.
Louis doesn’t find it embarrassing, though. He’s kind of surprised at the eloquence of the words,
how soft the deep voice went. It shows just a bit of depth to Harry Styles that Louis’ previously
passed off as non-existent—the possibility of Harry caring about something, anything at all.
Which must be why Louis can’t find it in him to make fun of it or make Harry more uncomfortable
than he already seems to be. Not when he already reacted with shame, like being passionate or
genuine is something Harry’s been taught he should suppress.
“Must be convenient,” Louis comments lightly. “I mean, I couldn’t pass as anything but what I am.
I can’t cover up my wings. Or my ears. Or explain my height…”
“Lack of height,” Harry cuts in casually, and all Louis’ benevolence disappears again. Right. Back
to normal, then.
“Explain my height,” he repeats icily with a pointed look before continuing. “I’m just saying. It
must be nice, no?”
“Most of the time,” Harry looks down on his feet. He looks strangely melancholic then, sliding his
hands up and locking them around his upper arms. He looks uncharacteristically small, hugging his
body like that. It confuses Louis a little, finding himself uncomfortable with the image, and his
gaze falls on his own lap instead.
“But…?” he pushes, keeping the conversation going.
Harry smiles, but the edges are dull and the crook of it strained. “But nothing. It’s awesome,
actually.”
“I can imagine,” Louis mutters. “Especially seeing as you never have to be held accountable for
your actions, right? That must truly be awesome.”
Harry doesn’t answer for a long time.
“Yeah,” he says finally, but it sounds kind of wrong and unconvincing, and when Louis looks at
him he doesn’t look back anymore. “Yeah, it’s fantastic.”
Louis gets the feeling that Harry doesn’t actually find it that fantastic, and part of him desperately
wants to cross that boundary and ask.
He doesn’t.
They seem to run out of words a little after that, and Louis is fine with it now, because he has
things to think about to keep him occupied this time.
He wonders how it’d be like to have that ability Harry has, to be able to just dissolve and disappear
from the eyes of the people around him. Louis would travel, if he could do that. He would travel to
the endless depths of the ocean and to the thin-aired highs of the open skies. He would travel to the
caves where the trolls lived, he’d listen to their conversations, and he’d watch the elves dance in
lonely meadows in the middle of the night when Louis’ supposed to be sleeping. He’d probably use
it to prank humans, a little bit—that’d be hilarious. He’d use it for running away, too, if he did
something wrong. Wordlessly fade away from interactions where things didn’t turn out how he
wanted. That one would certainly be useful, Louis thinks, and in that weak moment he finds
himself almost envious.
Not that he’d ever give up his wings, he’s not stupid. But it’d be so effective to just be able to
vanish sometimes. With a power like that, you couldn’t ever be trapped, literally or figuratively.
Wait.
Hold up.
Louis flies up on his feet faster than he’s ever done before, staring at Harry as realization dawns
upon him.
Hold up.
“Harry!” he exclaims ear-piercingly, causing the other boy to flinch and snap his head in Louis’
direction.
“Holy shit, what?” Harry wonders, a tad frantic.
“We can get out! We can get out of here so easily!”
“What?” Harry repeats, but definitely more interested this time, leaning in towards Louis. “How?”
“You’re a spirit, Harry,” Louis beams. “I was thinking, this place contains magic, and it produces
dreams for all humans. So, this is a valid place for servants of any world, which means, your
powers must be working here. You can do your creepy teleport-emotion-thing. Can’t you?”
Harry’s eyes fly wide open and his jaw drops when he finally understands. “I can.”
“And remember when you were being a tool and you took that cane from Camron?”
“Yeah?” The other boy doesn’t even care to remark on Louis’ choice of wording, that’s how blown
away he seems to be by this.
“You totally made the cane teleport into my room with you. Didn’t you?”
“I did. That’s a thing I can do.” Harry nods eagerly.
“Does that ability extend to other living creatures?”
“It does.”
Harry looks like he’s one step from enthusiastically clapping his hands together in delight from the
fact that he can do something he’s been able to do his entire life. Dimples deepen in his cheeks and
his eyes genuinely sparkle. He looks like a five-year-old and for a second, Louis forgets he’s
supposed to hate the guy.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” he demands. “Let’s go!”
Harry stands up as well, his breathing rapid. “Right. Okay.”
He holds out his hand for Louis to take. Louis just stares at it with furrowed eyebrows at first,
slowly lifting his gaze to meet Harry’s own with scepticism.
“Look, I know I’m a genius, but there’s no need to get sentimental.”
That seems to bring Harry’s mood back down to normal, and he scoffs with a roll of his eyes.
“I can’t just make something disappear, smartass. There needs to be physical contact involved.” He
raises an eyebrow at Louis. “Unless you want to stay in here, that is. But if I remember things
correctly, that wasn’t what you said thirty seconds ago.”
“Oh. Right.” Louis looks down and scratches his neck to hide the faint blush that creeps its way
onto his face. “Obviously.”
He takes his place next to the other boy, carefully slipping his hand into Harry’s. His fingers are
long and fit puzzle-like into the dips between Louis’ knuckles. Louis’ own hand looks dainty in
comparison. Louis still isn’t quite sure how to feel about it.
(He still doesn’t hate it, is the thing. And Louis’ rather confused by this, because he usually hates
reminders of being tiny.)
“Alright,” Harry exhales slowly. “No sudden movements or thoughts. Don’t try anything. I’ve
barely ever done this with another living creature before.”
Wait. What?
Louis’ eyes blow wide rapidly, and he looks up at Harry with a horrified expression. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not going to be a big deal,” Harry promises, “if you just nicely float along and don’t decide to
try something stupid.”
“Okay. Alright.” Louis purses his lips, blinking a couple of times and fidgeting around a little in an
attempt to relax and get used to the thought. It’s not like he has a choice if he wants to get out, does
he? “Do it. Whatever.”
Harry nods one last time—and then Louis isn’t real anymore.
If he’d still have a jaw to drop and eyes to widen, he would; only he hasn’t. It has to be the most
surreal thing he’s ever felt in his life, this, because he’s there—he’s seeing every jagged crack in
the rough stone walls around him and he’s hearing the steps of pacing guards in the hall outside
and he’s perfectly able to think and reason. He is there, but he’s not.
He is the air, now. He’s a part of his surroundings. He’s floating around like a corn of dust in the
light from sunshine poking through a window, and if there weren’t something invisible, yet
indescribably existent, holding him down, Louis would feel like he could fly up and up and above
the clouds.
I get it. It’s cool, he hears a voice ring through his thoughts, and he immediately stops his
analyzing. Harry’s here, too. Obviously. He’s nowhere to be seen, but he’s right there in the back
of Louis’ mind, and Louis can practically feel him roll his eyes at him. Shut up so I can listen to the
relevant people.
Has Louis been speaking out loud? There hasn’t been a single sound leaving him during the entire
time. He doesn’t even know how he’d go about that.
Yeah, if there’s anything you don’t want me to know, this is not the time to think about it. There are
no filters here.
I can’t hear your thoughts, though. Louis’ a bit disappointed at that, he must admit. He’d enjoy a
small look into how things work in that curly head of Harry’s, of how he sees the world in the
position he’s in. There are lots of questions Louis forgot to ask, he realizes.
No, because I’m in control here. This state’s especially constructed for my job, Harry snorts. I’m
truly touched, pixie, I am, but I reckon you’ll have to keep dreaming.
If Louis would be able to, he’d blush. Right. Sorry.
Why are you apologizing?
…Because that’s what you do when you cause someone discomfort, Louis reminds him.
Oh.
It astounds Louis how taken aback Harry seems by the concept. This is the second time he’s had to
remind Harry of how apologizing works in a very short amount of time, and he’s still not getting it,
which is a bit unbelievable—is it that he can’t comprehend Louis specifically uttering a sentiment
like this, or does he just not know manners? Granted, Louis hasn’t exactly shown himself the most
apologetic of creatures, but still. With all the work Harry does around people he ought to pick up
some everyday cues.
Hey. There’s a twinge to Harry’s tone that comes off a little—well, hurt, actually, and Louis cusses
himself out. Two seconds and he’s already forgotten to keep his mind in check.
Sorry again, he apologizes, and he’s sincere. It’s one thing to just have those thoughts, but it’s a
completely different one to have the person of matter having to listen to it when there’s no need for
them to. Louis is not a bad person.
It’s fine, Harry promises, slowly starting to move them out of the room. I do have manners, by the
way.
Louis groans inwardly. Listen, I’m sure you do if you really want to, you don’t have to—
I do have manners and I do know when people should apologize to me, Harry interrupts. That just
wasn’t a moment fit for an apology.
What?
What does he mean ‘not fit for an apology’? That moment was perfectly fit for an apology. You
can’t just dismiss the times Louis’ actually able to admit he’s sorry, even if it’s a tiny thing. Even if
the only times he’s able to apologize are for tiny things. That’s not something you do.
You didn’t cause me discomfort, Harry calmly explains and Louis is almost positive he can detect a
small smile embedded in those words.
Oh.
Louis decides not to question it.
It’s quiet for a while as Louis lets Harry work. They’re slowly floating out of the room and down
the hallways as the spirit tries to find something worth listening to.
Liam’s with the Red Queen in the great hall, he enlightens Louis after a while. But there’s no way
we’ll get him out of there without some kind of distraction. She’s smitten with him.
He sounds quite amused at this fact, and Louis wants to tell him off. This isn’t funny, this is awful.
Liam must be terrified right now, Louis could only imagine if it’d been him. Not that Louis would
be scared or anything. Just, you know. Uncomfortable and slightly anxious about the possibility of
the Queen suddenly changing her mood and deciding to snap his neck. Which is totally not the
same thing as fear. It’d be terrible, either way, and not a laughing manner.
Then Louis realizes that he doesn’t need to say any of this because Harry can already hear
everything, and he catches the spirit’s soft snicker just a few inches away as a reminder.
Okay. Louis chooses to not make that into a conversation and focuses on what Harry had been
meaning to say. How do we distract the Queen?
It’s going to be tough, because—hold on.
There’s a sudden dimness in Louis’ mind for a couple of seconds, and then they’re down in the
great hall once again. Louis’ vision quickly locate Liam, seated in a red velvet chair right next to
the Queen’s. His leg is nervously bopping up and down and his gaze can’t seem to fix on anything
for more than five seconds. The Queen is happily blabbering on about the excitement of golfing,
and how her flamingo is always the best one, bragging loudly and obnoxiously and Liam just
shoots her uneasy smiles whenever it fits.
Harry’s chuckling quietly, and Louis’ slowly starting to see the cons with this condition because
he’d give a lot to have the ability of elbowing Harry in the side right now.
You’d probably only reach my hip anyway, Harry taunts.
I’ll genuinely fight you, Louis threatens. Right here and now.
Mm, yeah. Good luck physically damage someone while neither of you have a physical body.
Fuck you.
Holy shit, pixie. Didn’t know you had it in you.
…It doesn’t count. I didn’t say it out loud. Louis figuratively bites his lip, shame tainting his non-
existent being. He’s not completely sure why, though—if it’s because Harry’s foul language has
managed to rub off on him, or because he’s… He’s that righteous, so innocent that Harry feels the
need to react if he curses.
Not that he hasn’t made a big deal out of the bad habit in earlier conversations. Louis kind of
brought this on himself, he must admit. Dammit.
God, pixie, everyone curses. No need to have an existential crisis about it.
Louis really doesn’t want this whole mind-reading thing anymore. It’s starting to get seriously
embarrassing with the way he keeps letting his mind run free. He can’t help it, he knows, his
imagination’s one of his better qualities most of the time, but he feels way too exposed now.
Leave my head alone, he just snarls. What needs to be done to get out of here?
Luckily for Louis, Harry lets it go. The Queen practically never moves out of that seat. Something
would have to happen that her guards can’t fix for her.
That sounds pretty complicated. Louis hums, deep in thought. We can’t just wait until she goes to
sleep or something?
Harry snorts. Don’t be funny. Sleep isn’t a thing here.
Right. How silly of me. It’s not like I haven’t been here before.
You don’t need to be an expert to figure out that people don’t sleep in an environment that’s
already one big dream.
God, alright. Shut up.
Or you could try just listening for once instead of trying to pick a fucking fight.
I don’t take orders, you appalling piece of trash.
Do you want to stay here forever, then? Should we just settle down and let the Queen of Hearts
have our heads chopped off? That sound good with you?
If Louis were able to, this would be the part where he’d cut through Harry’s non-existent soul with
his eyes. They’re a good shade of blue for glaring. Piercing ice cold. Intimidating and beautiful as
hell.
Your mind truly is something else, pixie, Harry tells him, and Louis can’t even tell if he sounds
mocking or impressed. Either way, it’s coming from Harry, so Louis doesn’t like it. He ignores it.
We can’t just… Like, you couldn’t just get Liam into this spirit-form-thingy as well when the
Queen looks away or something?
He’ll be scared if I do that, Louis. And if he’s scared, he’ll be extremely unpredictable and I’ll lose
him.
Tell him with your mind transferring thing, then.
It’s not entirely sure he’ll understand what’s going on. Just because we managed to snap out of it
for a while doesn’t mean he’ll do it as well within a couple of seconds. We don’t know how
affected he is by the Queen, he might even try and tell on us. We can’t afford to trust anyone right
now.
Dammit. Louis just hates it when Harry’s right. Can’t trust anyone but each other, then?
Pretty much, Harry confirms.
Right. You’re definitely the one person out of every single soul in the worlds I’d want to be stuck
having to trust, Louis mutters back sourly.
Harry takes his time to answer for some reason, which confounds Louis a little because he’s
usually quick to bite back.
That’s really mean, is what he finally settles for, mimicking the exact words Louis said in the cell a
little while ago.
And he hates it, but it manages to leave Louis just a little dumbfounded. It didn’t even sound
taunting, the way he’d said it. It’s just a simple statement, and yeah, that is really mean. It dawns
upon Louis that that’s a word you can use when referring to his actions. Louis is Mean. He hasn’t
really thought of it like that before. Is he? Is he mean?
No, he’s not. That’s just how they are, Louis reasons. Because they hate each other. Harry is mean,
too, and Louis is mean back. Louis’ overanalyzing this.
What do you suggest we do, then? he asks, aware and slightly ashamed that Harry’s probably heard
all of his stupid thoughts once again.
Harry, to Louis relief—and slight confusion—decides to leave it and spare Louis the discomfort
again. What his motives are for this, Louis doesn’t know.
His figurative voice is lowered and steady but audibly thrilled when he explains. We need to get the
Queen to leave her chair, which means we have to do something to put her in a situation where no
guards can do her job. She gives the impression that she’s a strong and mighty leader, but really,
it’s the guards who keeps this place in check. The Queen just makes the calls. So, we have to set
the guards off.
I’m listening.
I know you are. Basically, what we need to do is get every single one of the guards distracted. Or
angry, or confused, or absolutely scared shitless, whatever works the best. We need to make them
unable to do their job. The damage has to be so big the Queen is forced to get out of that hall and
check for herself what’s going on, and we need the damage to be big enough for her to be so taken
aback by it she’s distracted for a good while.
Okay… Louis considers this sceptically. He sees many flaws with this reasoning—so many, so, so
many—but there’s one he’s especially hung up on. So… The… The two of us. Us two, us as a pair,
you and I both. We are, together, as a team on two…
Yes, Louis. Us two. Co-operating. Teaming up. Get to the fucking point.
You need to stop. It’s not Louis’ fault this plan seems to be lacking some, well, complete
rationality. That’s all on Harry and his imagined superiority. So, we, alone, are going to succeed
with creating a chaos so chaotic that every single guard in this damn castle is suddenly unable to
do their job? Do you know how many creatures that is? Do you know what kind of catastrophe
we’d have to create? How on Earth will we do that?
Harry doesn’t answer, but Louis can feel the air around him turn into something sly, and they’re
suddenly in a hallway several floors up. Two guards are patrolling here as well, from one side to
another in a strict pace, faces stern and focused on the heart patterned walls.
Louis feels a kind of static power thicken the air just the slightest, and he tentatively looks around
for a sign of what Harry’s planning to do.
The adamant silence is suddenly broken by a loud shriek. One of the guards jumps a couple of feet
up in the air just as he passes his co-worker, dropping his spear to tightly press his paper thin hands
against his backside.
“Ow!” he exclaims with a scolding glare at the other guard. “What did you do that for?”
The other guard frowns. “Do what?”
“You poked me with the javelin, you idiot!”
The accusation makes the other guard’s mouth drop in shocking offense. “Would I? A respectable
guardian? Who do you take me for, Seven?”
Seven—apparently—merely shakes his head in disbelief and turns his back to his companion to
keep walking. Something stops him, though, because the second he turns around, he lets out a high
pitched yell, and he furiously turns again, rubbing his back as good as he can.
“I cannot believe you! You almost ripped me, you incompetent fool!”
The other play card—Louis remembers him from outside when they were captured, remembers
recognizing a nine in the upper corner, so he’s guessing the name is Nine—has his eyes blown
wide, and he looks extremely offended by the words. “I have done you absolutely nothing! Are you
going mad?”
“What is this mockery even about?” Seven demands. “Are you so incredibly childish that you’re
still upset about miss Six of Diamonds? Is a literal stab in the back relieving your petty jealousy?”
An appalled gasp falls off Nine’s lips.
“Seven,” he scolds, clutching a hand over the heart in his left corner. He’s visibly hurt by Seven’s
words, and Louis understands exactly what’s going on now.
This is Harry’s work. Why is this Harry’s work?
“So typical of you to bring that up again right when I’ve started to finally forget,” Nine continues,
tone icing cold. “I am a man of honour, my fellow heart, and I do not engage in such childlike
behavior. I’m mortified you’re even accusing me of this, especially after all the pain you’ve
already caused me.”
“All the pain I caused you? Let’s not forget your deal with the Cheshire cat!”
“That was ages ago!”
Harry giggles softly in the back of Louis consciousness. There is so much dirt between the guards
in this place. Every single one has buttons to push.
Seven of Hearts is trembling with anger. “I have had it up to here with you, Nine! I’ve tried to be
noble and forgive all your wrongs, but I cannot hold in my terrible and genuine dislike for you any
longer. You are a nasty excuse for a Heart and you know what? I am glad for what happened
between Six of Diamonds and I. I quite loathe you, now that I think about it! And I know for a
fact,” he grits the last part out through his teeth, eyes menacingly dark, “that she agreed with me to
one hundred percent.”
That seems to be the last straw for Nine, and with a roar, he grips his spear tightly and aims right
for Seven’s stomach (would stomach be accurate? Louis only has to assume). Seven quickly
maintains his own weapon to block the murder attempt, and then they’re ferociously fencing their
way down the hallway. They’re being so loud that other play cards are emerging from both left and
right to see what’s going on, and they certainly get a show when the first thing they see is Nine and
Seven of Hearts, under ear-splitting warrior cries, crash into the beautiful windows right by the
staircase and recklessly fall the good fifty meters they have until the ground. Louis and Harry listen
breathlessly as distressed noise as a result starts to arise from down in the garden, and Harry sighs,
content.
If they’d still been in their physical forms, Louis would stare at Harry like there’s no tomorrow
until he’d stridently demand a thorough explanation of exactly what the hell that was.
So that was mildly disturbing, he states, but I still don’t understand what the point was.
If they’d still been in their physical forms, Louis is one hundred percent positive Harry’s smile
would be endlessly impish and the green in his eyes a sparkly kind of mischievous.
Point is, chaos will be easy to create. You forget who my mother is.
Chapter End Notes
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
so when i realized this chapter would be too long to have as a single one, i split it up in
two different documents. and omg. guess what happened??? the second part was
deleted off my computer. the whole thing. gone. SOOO i'm currently completely
rewriting a 7000-word work :) which completely set me back on my writing schedule
:) amazing :) i love life :)
so the next chapter might be a tiny bit late, but hopefully it won't be. in the meantime, i
hope you enjoyed 5k of harry and louis bonding and bickering. idek.
again, thank you so much for reading and liking and commenting, it means the world
to me and you're all so so so so nice i can't believe you thank you so much xxxxx
(and, as always, you can find me on my tumblr a-bit-extraordilarry and every single
interaction on there makes me v happy)
chapter 8 part b; wonderland
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Liam has positively never been put in a more lavish situation ever before.
The chair he’s been provided with is clad in dark red velvet and the cushions are soft and plush.
The shoes he’s been given are made of the smoothest leather, and they fit perfectly around his feet,
the woollen insides brushing comfortably against his ankles. The jacket hanging on his shoulders is
capacious and warm, and the fabric smells of roses. It’s absolutely unreal.
Still, Liam has never felt more uncomfortable in his life.
It’s not that the Queen’s being cruel to him—she’s on the contrary very nice, chatting on about
golfing and tea parties and the countless other wonders of Wonderland. Liam should maybe even
dare to enjoy himself a little bit.
It’s just that his head is so light. He feels like he’s one single thought away from floating out of this
chair and up into space, that’s how light his mind is, and it’s so confused. He’s been trying to do
math in his head for the past five minutes, but he can’t even remember what numbers look like. He
doesn’t know what the alphabet looks like. He can’t remember anything of substance, all he knows
are shapes and emotion, and he detests it.
The Queen of Hearts gradually lets her story fade out as all the responses she’s getting from Liam
are nods and nervous smiles, and she decides to go for a different approach.
“This must be a lot to take in,” she smiles kindly. “Where are you from?”
“Uh. Grimm. So, it’s. Yeah. It’s a lot,” Liam stutters out breathily. He forces a reassuring smile
onto his face to not upset the Queen, though. Partly because he’s a nice person, and partly because
he’s scared her temper will completely flip like a switch the second he says or does something
wrong. Everything’s unpredictable and he cannot afford to relax for even a second.
“It’s alright,” the Queen promises. “You should be glad. I saved you from those two—” she frowns
in disgust, “—criminals you came with. That’s not the company you want.”
Liam’s pretty sure that’s exactly the company he wants, especially right now, but he’s not dumb
enough to say it out loud. “Why… Why did you send them away but kept me here?”
He crosses fingers and toes that that’s an acceptable thing to ask. Luckily for him, the Queen just
grins happily, so it must be alright. “Oh, hun. You’re kind. The other two had obvious problems
with pride and superiority. Even the little one, yes, despite looking modest and gentle he thinks
very highly of himself, and people like that are not to be trusted. Besides,” she leans backwards to
rest her oversized head against the gentle velvet, “I’ve needed a new favorite for a while.”
A new favorite? Meaning, there had been other favorites before Liam?
Liam gulps. “What—what happened to the others?”
The Queen waves her hands dismissively. “They proved to be unreliable in the end. Luxury and
fortune can get to anyone. So I got rid of them. Don’t pay it any mind.”
Got rid of them.
As far as Liam knows by now, he won’t be able to escape from here. The only thing he could
possibly come up with is to just get up and run for it, but he’s still rational enough to acknowledge
that that plan lacks both intelligence and safety. His only hope for now, is that Harry and Louis are
having more luck than him. Which, unfortunately considering the circumstances, is highly
unlikely. Liam sighs and wonders for the thousandth time how the hell he ended up letting these
two weird creatures pull him into whatever dysfunctional adventure this is supposed to be.
It’s not really their fault, though. At a time like this he wishes he could put it all on them—on Louis
who wanted so badly to do him a favour and ended up breaking his heart a little, and on Harry who
probably saw him in a weak moment and decided to use it for persuasion, but the truth is he’s not
here because he’s fooled into anything. Somehow, he actually just really likes the pair. He’s grown
attached Louis’ blind alacrity and biting commentary, is quite fond of Harry’s sarcasm and quiet
observation. They’re intriguing, in a weird way—because it’s obvious they really must hate each
other in every meaning of the word, and Liam could’ve handled that and worked with that, if that
had been all there was to it. But it’s sometimes he catches Louis’ eyes softening when Harry hugs
Taylor, or sees Harry’s concerned frown when Louis’ in distress, that things get difficult, and Liam
doesn’t know what to do with it.
They’re just difficult to place, is all. And maybe that’s a part of their pull; Liam’s always been a bit
of a problem solver.
His thoughts don’t get to wander much further, because then he’s snapped out of it by the Queen’s
shrill voice.
“Oh, my, I almost forgot!” she exclaims, before yelling so loudly the crystal chandeliers hanging
above their heads tremble, “Jack! Jack, get in here!”
A Jack of Hearts immediately appears from behind them, hand raised in a salute. “You called, your
majesty?”
“Get the drink and the cake in here this instant!” the Queen demands stridently.
Jack nods, and in the shortest time possible, he leaves, comes back with a piece of cake and a bottle
with an unknown liquid, and disappears faster than he arrived.
“Since you’re living here now,” the Queen begins giddily, handing Liam the two items, “you will
notice that the palace tends to shift in size depending on where you go, so, you’ll need these to
adapt. The drink will make you smaller, and the cake—”
Liam pales visibly at the ‘since you’re living here’ part—but the Queen doesn’t even get to finish
her explanation, because a paining scream from outside roughly cuts her off.
They both look to the big panorama window just in time to see Nine and Seven of Hearts sail down,
spears aimed to kill and mouths stretched in furious roars.
The fall is emphasized by a crash and soon followed by an eruption of horrified noise from the
garden, and Liam and the Queen exchange bewildered looks.
“Jack!” The Queen yells again, just as loud as last time. Jack is there just as quickly. “Collect the
other guards inside the castle and go out to see what in the worlds is going on out there. It sounds
like someone’s dying.”
Judging by the disturbing vision they’d just had the displeasure to witness by the window, Liam
bets someone very well could be.
Jack, ever the obedient guardian, does as she says, and within a matter of minutes, there’s a
vehement group of red playing cards making their way out to the garden, spears sharpened and
pointed forwards to intimidate any sort of threat that may be out there. Liam feels sorry for
whoever brought this on—he has a feeling the Queen won’t be very merciful about it.
But the Queen’s standard plan to send her fervent masses towards any potential threat proves to be
a wrong move. As soon as the big doors close after the hoard of cards, the determined yells turn
into agonizing shouts, and Liam can detect by how the noise first makes the windows vibrate and
then scatters in all possible directions, that they’re all running separate ways in fear.
Apparently, the Queen comes to the same conclusion, and the crease between her eyebrows
deepens alarmingly.
“What?” she bursts out, clearly agitated. “Did they just—those are my very best men! Did you hear
their petty screams, Liam?”
Liam can only nod in confirmation, and that seems enough for her.
She shakes her head in disbelief. “Well, someone needs to check what’s going on. Liam, do you
think you could be a darling and take a look at what’s going out outside? And leave the doors open
so I can see, as well.”
Liam sees a possible, if he’s incredibly lucky, chance to escape, and as his heart starts pounding
against his ribcage, he nods and straightens his back to raise to his feet.
However, he doesn’t get further than that. Because the second he stands up, his leg cramps up
terribly, like something’s locking its jaw forcefully around his muscles, and it’s the worst thing
he’s ever felt.
He yelps out a pained “Ow!” and clutches his thigh tightly, sinking down in the chair again under
rugged breaths. It doesn’t stop, and he throws his head back with a grimace, whimpering out small
complaints.
The Queen looks understandably concerned. “Liam, dear? Is everything alright?”
“Fine,” Liam gasps out, massaging his clenching muscles. “I’m fine, give me—two seconds.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Just a bit, it’ll pass.” Liam isn’t sure it’ll pass, if he’s honest. At this rate he doesn’t know if it’ll
ever stop and he convulsively shuts his eyes together.
The Queen puts a comforting hand of his shoulder. “It’s evident you’re hurting a lot. What’s
brought this on?”
“I—I don’t know.” It comes out as a meek whimper and Liam’s a tiny bit humiliated. The highly
unpleasant tightening and aching of his thighs overpowers pretty much any other relevant emotion,
though, and the Queen lets out a soft hum.
“Don’t worry. I… I guess I’ll go look, then,” she says, ending on a sigh. “It’s not too far to carry
my head, is it? I get tired very easily.”
“I’m sure you’ll be okay,” Liam tries to be encouraging in-between his heavy breathing. “I believe
in you.”
It sure seems to be the right thing to say, as the Queen smiles warmly at him upon hearing it,
before ever so slowly standing up from her chair. The wrinkle between her eyebrows is determined
now, and it doesn’t vanish as she steadies herself, gripping the armrest of her chair for support. She
stomps a little with her heels to get used to the feeling, and then she straightens right up, throwing a
triumphant smile at—still in just barely bearable pain—Liam, who presses a smile upon his lips in
reply. Or, as much of a smile as he can muster when he’s strongly considering cutting off his leg to
end the torture.
But then the Queen starts walking, and the second she takes her third step forward, the cramping
stops abruptly in Liam’s leg. Liam sinks back in his chair like jelly in exhaustion, not even having
the energy to wonder what had even caused it in his relief of it being over. He doesn’t stop the
Queen from walking, either, figuring that 1. Who knows whether it’ll come back, and 2. Maybe he
could escape after a little bit of recovery.
He doesn’t get to hold that thought for very long.
The second the Queen is out the door, familiar voices are heard on Liam’s left, and he jumps in his
seat as none other than Louis and Harry—as if pulled from thin air—drag him up from the
cushions, and tell him to “Go, go, go, before she comes back!”
The three of them run out of the hall as quickly as they can, rounding an empty corner to stop and
catch their breath.
Liam wipes his palms on his jeans and stares at them with round, blank eyes as he tries to put his
messy head to a halt. “How did you get here?”
Louis immediately puffs out his chest with a grin (here we go) and opens his mouth eagerly.
“Well you see, we were locked up in a terrible prison cell, but I managed to save the both of us, and
now we’re saving you.”
Harry snort, quirking an incredulous eyebrow. “You saved us? I’m the one who got us out and put
this whole plan into action!”
“Well, would you have been able to if I hadn’t reminded you that you could get us out at all?”
“I’m sure I’d come up with it myself after a while.”
“Well. I’m not.”
Liam groans and slaps his palm over his forehead. Disputing to this degree and volume really
shouldn’t be humanly possible, but sure enough it’s barely been three seconds and they’re already
at it again. At this rate, the small candlelight flame of hope Liam’s had to maybe, possibly find a
way to tame them down the line is slowly but surely dying out.
“God, you really have a lot more in common than you’d ever want to admit, you know that?”
His words certainly are the right thing to say to distract Harry and Louis from the silly argument, as
they trip over their words trying to sputter out protests to this apparently outrageous allegation, and
Liam can’t help but roll his eyes in faint amusement. Like a pair of children, they are.
“Guys,” he reminds them. “I literally don’t care. What’s this plan about?”
Harry throws him an annoyed glance before speaking up. “We had to get the Queen up and moving
so we could get you out of here safely, so uh… We—I—kind of turned all the guards against each
other to create so much chaos the Queen would have no choice but to do something about it
herself. And here we are.”
Liam’s eyes widen as he connects the dots. “Hold on. So those two guards who fell down
outside… That was your work?”
“Yeah,” Harry smiles sheepishly, pushing a lock of hair from his orehead. “And the other couple
guards who fell down from the balcony a floor up a couple of minutes ago to land on the house of
cards in the making under them. And the flamingos who started running wild trying to pick the
guards apart. Of course, followed by all the hedgehogs, dogs, cats, rabbits and other poor animals
used for the Queen’s entertainment.” He pauses, and Liam desperately hopes that’s it, but it’s not,
as Harry’s eyebrows soon shoot up in remembrance. “Oh! And also the Queen of Hearts who’s
currently crying her eyes out on the porch because they had the wrong sandwiches at her breakfast
buffet this morning. Also, the hedge is on fire. Jokes on the Queen for using torches to light up the
dungeon staircase.”
There’s not much for Liam to do but stare at the indifferent spirit incredulously. “This is—I can’t
believe—wait, were you the one who cramped up my leg as well?”
“That, I’m genuinely sorry about,” Harry shrugs. “We just really needed it to be the Queen who left
the room. We couldn’t exactly have this talk on the porch with what’s going on there.”
Liam’s brow is furrowed as he continues his staring, baffled. “Do you know how much that hurt?
My muscles are still sore!”
“No, they’re not,” Harry states lightly, looking over the room, “If they were, I’d know. I’d be
behind it. Listen, do you want out or not?”
“Of course I want out.”
“Then we sadly can’t afford being entirely ethical. Now, I can’t take two people with me into my
other form because I haven’t tried keeping two different minds in place at the same time before,
and I’m not about to try here, of all places. Is there possibly a subtle backdoor somewhere around
here?”
“Don’t worry,” Louis whispers to Liam, and Liam thinks that’s probably the longest he’s gone
without speaking since they met. “I think this is awful, too. Which is exactly why we’re not even
a little bit alike—”
“I have no idea,” Liam cuts him off, emphatically fixing his eyes on Harry. “This place is huge,
though. We’d probably get to the maze quicker by the head entrance.”
“Right,” Harry nods in small motions to himself before turning to Louis. “Are you okay with that?”
Louis scoffs. “You actually care?”
“Right, excuse me. I forgot I’m supposed to completely disregard both of you at all times. Which
is exactly why I keep doing the exact opposite.” Harry’s jaw is tense as he nails Louis to his place
with his green gaze. “Sorry for wanting your opinion.”
He doesn’t get a proper answer, which has Liam relieved because he’s just really, really not in the
mood for another argument already. He needs to build up tolerance and maturity for that, and this
isn’t exactly the time.
Louis gives him a half-hearted glare and an eye roll before finally dignifying them with an answer.
“Well. If it’s still as much of a catastrophe out there as it was when we got in here, then we should
be able to sneak around to the back without drawing too much attention to ourselves. I guess.”
“Alright.” Harry nods, instantly turning to approach the huge doors, still standing half open, and
Liam’s stomach churns slightly at the noise coming from outside now that he knows exactly
what’s going on.
He pushes it away with determination, though, as he and Louis follow the spirit, stopping by the
entrance to peek out and get a hold of the situation.
Liam is met by a, quite honestly, disturbing sight. His eyes pace in alarm from one side to the
other, wandering from the burning hedge, to the fighting guards, to the livid animals. The Queen is
sitting only a few feet away with her back turned to Liam, sobbing uncontrollably while Jack is
roaming around in panic-like bewilderment trying to find out what it is she wants. He’s not having
a lot of luck, Liam notes.
“Alright,” he leans in and whispers to Harry. “Let’s go, then. To the left?”
Harry nods and repeats it in a hushed tone to Louis, who starts walking with caution in his steps.
The three of them make sure to walk as close to the castle wall as possible, staying out of the mess
only feet away. It’s actually going unrealistically well. Everyone’s so busy with their own urgent
problems, no one even notices the three of them, and Harry soon starts to fall behind a bit as he
works creatures up into even rougher frenzies to make sure they’ll keep being too busy to notice.
They get to the back of the castle with childlike ease, and Liam’s relieved they’re not having a hard
time for once.
Which. He’s a little too quick to think.
Liam almost starts crying when they reach the entrance of the maze, and it proves to be blocked by
a well-built pyramid of cards.
Of course the universes can’t let them have this. The universes won’t ever let them have anything
nice.
“What do we do now?” he asks with a frantic look at Louis.
Louis warily looks back at Harry a couple of meters behind him, who’s still up to his elbows in
putting people in foul moods and immense pain to ensure their focus will still be fixed on other
things.
“I don’t—I don’t know,” he replies, blinking rapidly and anxiously. “Maybe we could, like—blow
really hard? Or like crawl under, I’m sure they wouldn’t—”
But then he’s interrupted by a piercing yelp from a card of Diamonds in the bottom row of the
pyramid, yelling furiously about his back breaking, his back breaking, before he’s losing control
and falling. He takes every single one of his colleagues with him, and before they can fully
comprehend it, cards are sailing down and swirling around helplessly around them, and Harry’s
gripping Louis and Liam by the arms, and all he does is hiss “Run,” before dragging them into the
towering, intimidating labyrinth.
Liam didn’t ever think there would be a moment in his life where he’d think this, but he establishes
that for the moment, he’s thankful for Harry’s powers.
The labyrinth is too big, too dark, too threatening, and Liam wants out before he even properly got
in. Harry doesn’t seem fazed by it at all, as he still hasn’t let go of them and is, without so much as
a worried frown, pulling them further into the labyrinth, away from the chaos outside. Liam and
Louis don’t do much else but let him, and when they’re finally far enough in that Harry deems it
safe to let them go, all three of them keep running.
One of the first things Liam realizes as they’re moving, is that neither Harry nor Louis seem to
have any sort of problem with running out of breath. Louis’ wings are fluttering rapidly without
any signs of possible exhaustion, and Harry must have the greatest stamina in all the worlds or it’s
a spirit thing, because his breathing is perfectly regular, and as calm as it can be when you’re
running through a dimmed maze, searching for a portal you have no idea where it is, possibly
being hunted down by a hoard of aggressive guards.
This is going to be a problem. Because Liam’s a good runner, great even, definitely better than
most, but he’s also currently just human. And he can already feel the air clogging and hitching on
its way out of his throat, and he can already feel the way his calves stretch and he can’t block out
the awful sound of his own strained breath, making him fully aware of how tired he’s about to
become.
This is definitely going to be a problem, because Liam won’t be able to keep this pace throughout
the entire labyrinth. The mere thought quite frankly puts him to fatigue.
He dares throwing a swift glance behind them. There’s no sight of any guards yet—maybe he
could, maybe he could take a break, rest for a bit, just for a minute or so. Like, really quickly. It’d
just make him feel one hundred percent better about this situation, he’s sure of it, just escaping in
the first place is making his nerves wobbly and whimpering and the emotional stress of it all is just
adding to his already increasingly pounding heart. At this point, he’s scared it’ll burst out of his
ribcage, and Liam isn’t sure what he’d do about his heart lying in a sad puddle in front of him.
Maybe then he’d get a free pass to rest.
Harry and Louis remain unaffected by it all, and Liam’s steadily finding himself falling behind. He
purses his lips in concentration and surges forward the best he can in an attempt at catching up, but
no matter how hard he tries, he soon winds up watching their backs again. His two friends don’t
even seem to notice his struggle, as they only keep pushing harder and harder, only throwing
challenging glances at each other.
They’ve literally made running for their lives into a competition, Liam realizes. This is fucking
ridiculous.
It’s making Liam’s temper flare up, how distractible they are, how quickly they seem to have
forgotten about him and his poor, poor lungs in the back just because of some petty rivalry. This is
worse than third wheeling a couple and they’re being shitty, shitty companions.
If they can’t see his struggles, then he might as well stop anyway. He would ask them if they could
halt, but it’s evident they wouldn’t care anyway, as into the feud as they are. They’re outrageous.
Liam decides to scold them both as soon as they find safe ground.
(If they survive to find it, that is.)
But for now, he doesn’t have the strength. He doesn’t have the strength, and so he stops. His
muscles are aching as the straining he’s had to do washes over him, the taste of metal
uncomfortably tinging his tongue, and he bends over to put his sweaty palms on his knees as he
drags breath after ragged breath.
That’s when Liam sees him.
There’s a boy, just rounding a corner from one of the other ways in the labyrinth. He’s walking
slowly and carefully, watching his surroundings with wonder. He looks terribly out of place,
wearing only a gray t-shirt, and washed out sweatpants swung low on his hips. His dark, feathery
hair swoops over his forehead tiredly, and the only thing ringing gently through Liam’s head like a
never-ending windchime is, he’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.
Liam is supposed to do something. There’s something Liam’s supposed to do this very second, but
he can’t bring himself to move a single inch, mesmerized by every small movement the boy
makes, every soft jolt of his knees and every swing of his arms, and the skin stretching over his jaw
as he looks up, looks up, looks up—and finally locks his warm, brown gaze with Liam’s own.
It shouldn’t be monumental, but it is. Every line and crook of the boy’s face is perfectly
symmetrical and inviting, lips pouty and full and eyelashes thicker than Liam’s throat suddenly is.
He looks so carefully and tenderly constructed in a way Liam’s never seen before. It’s like his
features are drawn with a gentle painting brush by an artist who’s newly fallen in love. That’s what
he looks like, Liam thinks. He looks like falling in love.
The boy hasn’t moved since their eyes met, either, but he’s slowly coming to life again in ways
Liam still can’t quite remember how to—he tilts his head curiously to the side, slowly approaching
Liam where he’s standing completely frozen in his spot.
Liam barely even blinks, awaiting the stranger to finally reach him, waiting for him to come so
close that Liam can tell him hi and hear his voice and count his eyelashes—
And then rough, cold hands are on his arms, pulling him along, and away and away and away.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Louis hisses frantically to his left. Liam just frowns, looking back
with worry blossoming in his chest. What’s going to happen with his stranger?
“I didn’t know you cursed,” is what tumbles out of his mouth.
Louis groans and Harry chuckles.
“’You are so vulgar’,” Harry mocks.
“Literally don’t even look at me until you’re ready to never disgrace my poetic use of beautiful
words with your sinful tongue ever again.”
Harry doesn’t take the demand very seriously, just snickering out a “sinful tongue, hm?” as he
keeps running. Liam can’t take any of it in, his feet numb and stumbling. He thinks he might be
close to reaching the limit for how many different kinds of intense feelings he can be hit by
directly after each other.
“Guys,” he tries. “Guys. There was a boy over there.”
“How nice,” Harry deadpans, his face expressing no forms of emotion.
This is not right. Liam’s stranger could get deeply injured. The guards could be anywhere, and if
there’s one thing they lack—except possibly thickness—it’s mercy. “He was all alone. I don’t
think he’s from here. What if he gets hurt?”
“We can’t risk it,” Harry sighs, “sorry.”
Liam look helplessly to Louis as a last resort, hoping that maybe it would strike a chord in Louis’
heart, at least. It wouldn’t be like him to leave a creature in need like this, and if Louis really wants
something, Harry will probably give in as well.
(Liam isn’t sure if that’s a part of their confusing dynamic, or if that’s just Louis’ impeccable
ability to be persuasive.)
Louis does look hesitant, glancing back with a concerned wrinkle growing between his eyebrows.
Then he stops abruptly, and Harry almost trips over his feet in his attempt to slow down, and Liam
could cry with relief. Louis is a true friend. Bless him and his kind heart borderline god complex.
“Wait,” he demands. “Liam’s right.”
Harry stares at his two companions for a long time, before he looks towards the sky and groans.
“Listen. If we could afford taking that chance, I’d be all for it, but we genuinely can’t. We don’t
know how far away the guards are, and if they’re too close, they’ll just have one more person to
kill.”
“Oh, come on,” Louis whines. “It’s worth the chance if it means we could save some poor soul
from getting his head chopped off by the queen, isn’t it? Just because you’re okay with leaving
people behind to die, all heartless and cruel as you are doesn’t mean we—”
The way Harry’s eyes darken and his mouth crumples into an ugly line makes Liam very aware
that Louis should not have gone there.
It’s like something inside him finally snaps like a rubber band, like Louis’ been tugging and
tugging and tugging with every provocative comment until it stretched for miles and Harry just
can’t contain it anymore. Liam feels himself pale as the spirit drops all previous cautions to storm
up to Louis until they’re only inches apart, locking their eyes wrathfully and roughly cutting him
off mid-sentence.
“I am fucking trying, Louis,” he grits out. “Ever since we got into this situation I’ve been trying my
very best to prove that I can be reliable, and loyal, and whatever the fuck else, only for you to keep
treating me like I’m useless baggage to your one-man hero parade. I found Mother Gothel’s portal,
and I didn’t use it when I could’ve. I went with you at Mother Hulda’s and did everything I was
asked to do. I guided you through luring Gothel into our trap, and then I literally killed her for you.
I got the information we needed out of Nick, and I got you out of that dungeon when I could’ve just
left all of you behind and escaped myself. I’ve had opportunity after opportunity to save my own
ass, but I haven’t! I’ve literally done things my mother would disown me for if she knew about,
and you’re so far up your own ass you can’t even take one second of your time to actually see it.”
“Oh, boohoo!” Louis yells, flinging his arms out.
Whatever Harry wished to accomplish with this, it’s backfiring hard. Fury is raging in Louis’ ice
blue eyes like lightning, and oh no, this is bad. This is so bad. His jaw is so firmly clenched it
could be set in stone, and Liam thinks, they’re going to kill each other. This is the final straw.
“And want do you want for that, Harry?” the fairy continues icily, “A round of applause and me
kissing your ass because you’re acting like a decent person? Because, newsflash, Styles—not
abandoning someone in a lethal situation isn’t something you should have to ‘try hard’ to refrain
from. Who the fuck are you to demand kindness from me? Who are you to feel this entitled to my
praise for not leaving us to die?”
Louis is a head shorter than Harry is. That’s a fact. But Liam watches as Harry falters under his
words. Liam sees Harry’s shoulders sink with every razor-sharp syllable leaving Louis’ lips and he
sees Harry’s face crumble and his lower lip wobble.
Liam doesn’t know what exactly Harry did to deserve the peaks of Louis’s wrath, but it’s the most
horrible thing he’s ever seen in his entire life.
“I do not care if you had the worst upbringing in all of the worlds. It doesn’t change the fact that
you’re a bad creature, with bad intentions, designed to commit bad actions, and you’re completely
undeserving of any compassion of mine.”
Louis might as well just punch him in the face and be done with it, because Harry looks like he just
did. He stumbles backwards, face distorted into something that so obviously screams ‘hurt’ that
Liam has trouble looking at him for more than a second at most.
The wretched gleam of the spirit’s eyes is apparently what Liam needs to finally snap out of the
shell-shocked state he’s been caught in and decide that that’s definitely enough, and he’s opening
his mouth to tell them off.
Sadly—or perhaps fortunately—he doesn’t get the time to. Because just as he’s letting the first
syllable roll off his tongue, other, approaching noises cut him off, and then a roaring hoard of
guards are brutally coming at them with terrifyingly great stamina and speed.
And so, instead, they run for their life, and the argument is left completely forgotten for the
moment.
“Shit,” Harry swears frenetically, “what do we do now?”
Liam doesn’t know, but his muscles are still hurting. His calves are straining and his shoulder
blades are aching, his feet are sore from stomping so violently to the ground. The bottle and the—
probably crushed by now—cake are both weighing down his pocket uncomfortably, and they hit
against his thigh crudely with every step. He knows he won’t be able to do this for a lot longer in
his human form.
“We need to outrun them!” Louis yells to overpower the uproar just meters behind them.
Yeah, Liam thinks, that’s not going to work.
“I—” he gasps, “I don’t—think I can do that. We’ve been running a lot.”
Louis gives him an exasperated glance. “What? Of course you can! You’re a wolf!”
Liam likes Louis, he really does. But sometimes his naivety is striking.
“Do I look like a wolf to you right now?” Liam splutters.
“Well,” Louis looks back, panic rising in his pointy face. “Become a wolf, then! Do something,
because we need to get so far away from them that they lose track of what way we go. It’ll be fine,
I’ll fly and Harry can do his own creepy thing. We’ll be gone before they know it.”
Liam directs him an incredulous frown.
“But—communication!” he exclaims. “We need to be able to communicate, and that’s pretty

fucking difficult when Harry’s invisible and I bark.”
“We won’t need communication,” Harry interjects. “If we just decide that you take the lead and we
follow you until you deem it safe, we won’t need to talk.”
He’s not even a little out of breath, and neither is Louis. Liam wants to strangle them both.
This is can’t be a good idea. They’re clearly taking advantage of the fact that Liam is tired and
oxygen deprived due to the shortness of his breath to get him to agree to this.
But Liam can’t find any good counterarguments, so with a groan, he empties his pockets, throwing
the bottle and the—worth noting, not crumbled—piece of cake to Harry, who catches them
smoothly, and then he explodes into his other form.
Liam, Louis learns, is a fast runner as a wolf.
And by fast, he means fast. To the point where Louis almost has trouble keeping up, and wings are
generally a quicker way of transportation than any kind of legs.
He’s not complaining, though, as he lets Liam take the lead, and he throws a quick glance back to
see the playing cards grow increasingly smaller with every leap forward Liam takes, and he
exhales deeply in relief.
They’re at least going to succeed with outrunning them. It’s a calming thought, so Louis focuses on
that for now.
These are the kind of moments Louis really, really wishes he had some sort of super strength. He’d
be able to save the day so easily, just grabbing Harry and Liam by the arm and fly up above the
maze and to the portal. No one would ever be able to catch up. Also, Louis would be a hero and it’s
not like he’d ever decline that opportunity.
As it is, he thinks sadly and throws a disappointed glance at his averagely strong arms. They’re
nice arms, no doubt, nicer than most. But physical beauty just isn’t cutting it at times like these.
Which is terribly unfortunate, but Louis supposes he’ll manage.
Soon enough the three of them are deeper into the labyrinth than ever and the guards are long
gone, so Liam the Wolf finally deems it a good time to slow down, rounding one last corner before
stopping completely and turning to face Louis. Harry also reappears beside him, stretching out his
back with a satisfied expression.
“So that went well,” he declares, as Liam changes back into his human form, promptly sitting
down on the ground for a couple of minutes to catch his breath. “What now?”
“We need to,” Liam huffs, “find a simple way to get to the portal. We might never find it if our
only strategy is running around aimlessly.”
Louis, again, wishes he was stronger. He wants to save the day so badly it aches under his skin. He
feels a little inferior at the moment, as Harry—as he so exceptionally dickishly pointed out just
recently—is substantially to thank for getting them this far. Louis knows this, he isn’t stupid. But
that precisely is what riles him up even more. So yeah, he was probably harsher than he needed to
be back there, since he knows Harry does have a slight figment of a point, but he just can’t stand
Harry, once again, saving the goddamn day when he’s not deserving of the gratitude that follows.
Speaking of Harry, he’s the one who takes the initiative next, holding up the cake and the drink
Liam threw his way before turning into a wolf.
“Liam?” he starts tentatively. “Um. So what exactly are these?”
“Oh,” Liam’s expression first form into one of recognition, then deliberation, and finally,
realization. The corners of his lips perk upwards. “That, is our way to the portals.”
He’s met with two blank faces, and he rolls his eyes as he takes the drink and the cake from Harry
and examines them for a moment, before looking back up. Louis has no idea of what’s going on.
“Alright,” Liam holds out the weird objects in his hands. “We should be far enough away to use
these without the guards catching up on us.”
“It’s a piece of cake and a bottle.”
“Great observation, Louis, really,” Liam deadpans. “The Queen gave these to me with the intention
of me living for the rest of my life in her castle. She said the rooms in the castle tended to change in
size a lot, so I needed these to adjust. Basically, one of these makes you grow and one makes you
smaller.”
Liam pauses to see if the two’s gotten his plan yet. The continuously empty blinks of his friends
proves him wrong.
He sighs. “One of us needs to turn as big as possible. Like, consume the whole thing. That way
we’ll be able to get a good view of the maze from above and find where the portal is, and we can
also overpower the guards and set them back, if necessary.”
“Oh,” Louis exclaims, eyes finally widening in amazement. “Oh, that’s really smart, Liam! I
volunteer to grow!”
He beams at the shape shifter. He can hear Harry burst out a laugh next to him, slapping his big
hand over his mouth to stifle it.
“You volunteer to grow,” he sniggers. “Been doing that your whole life, haven’t you?”
Louis doesn’t indulge Harry with more attention than an unimpressed glare. Thing is, he has been
waiting his whole life for an opportunity like this. Liam just handed him immediate ferocity on a
silver platter—only momentarily, given, but he graciously overlooks that part. He’s never gotten a
chance like this in his life ever before, and he’s seriously doubting he’ll get it again.
Louis takes a look at the high, intimidating walls of the labyrinth. He guesses they’re at least
twenty feet tall. For this plan to work, Louis would have to be taller than twenty feet. That’s
essentially a giant’s size.
Louis’ heart jumps erratically in his chest as he realizes his chance has come. His dream is coming
true.
“Which one will make me big?” he asks with probably a tad too much enthusiasm.
“Well,” Liam muses, eyeing Louis with amusement. “I think she said the drink makes you smaller.
So my guess is the cake.”
Louis has to strain himself not to actually make grabby hands after the cake as he reaches out for it.
“Well? What are we waiting for?”
Liam hands him the soft piece of cake, starting to tell Louis something about being careful and
begin with small bites, but Louis has already stuffed half of it into his mouth, chewing with fervor
and waiting for the world to grow smaller.
And it does.
Louis watches, eyes filled to the brink with wonder as the ground grows farther and farther away,
until he’s starting to worry he’ll have to send postcards to his feet if he ever wants to get in touch
with them again. The top of the maze is gracing Louis’ fingertips when he finally stops expanding,
and Louis has never felt this alive.
There are mixed cries erupting from a little behind them, and Louis instantly sinks down on his
knees in an attempt to get closer to Harry and Liam, and to collect himself before officially starting
his mission.
His—usually several inches taller—friends are now small enough to comfortably take a seat on
Louis’ shoulders. Louis can’t stop a grin from spreading across his entire face, crinkling his eyes
into thin lines. He feels something tiny poke his cheek.
“Stop grinning and get on with things,” Harry demands. He looks little and helpless and done, and
Louis giggles.
“I will remember this moment for the rest of my life,” he promises, and then he raises to his full
height once again, and beings to search after the by now familiar, blue light that signifies a portal.
The guards are now—absolutely mad with rage—chasing and searching for the correct path that’ll
lead them to the giant fairy in the middle of it all. Louis sees it happen, and he smirks as he lowers
himself once again.
“Sorry, I just really need to do this,” he tells his companions who clutch the fabric of his shirt on
his shoulders, and Louis bends over so his head’s only inches above the hoard of guards.
He inhales deeply before blowing as hard as he can on the group, and the cards drop their spears as
they set of, whirling and flying under excruciating protests, setting them back all the way to the
very start of the labyrinth again and effectively shattering their mission to hunt the trio down.
Louis stands up again with a satisfied smile, Harry and Liam praising him in his ear.
He is big. He is intimidating. He is ferocious. The playing cards flew away helplessly by Louis
merely blowing out air through his mouth. Obviously he didn’t hurt anyone, the cards will be just
fine when they land again except probably a bit or a lot confused, so it’s not like he’s—
he’s Harry or anything, but he can’t deny that doing it felt good as hell.
“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he tells the boys giddily, scanning his blue
eyes over the maze again, finally able to concentrate on finding what they’re looking for.
“I’m sure, pixie,” Harry pats him on the skin right by the hem of his shirt collar, and it’s truly
astonishing how, even when Louis’ literally over twenty feet tall and Harry’s the size of a fly in
comparison, he still manages to be condescending.
Still, Louis only snickers. He’s got the true upper hand here. “Who’s the actual pixie now,
though?”
“Aw, you’ll always be a pixie to me,” Harry promises. “It’s a state of mind.”
That’s so not an answer Louis wants, and he flicks Harry’s head with his pinky finger. “You know,
I did always think there was something very off with your appearance, but I haven’t truly been able
to put my finger on what until now.”
“Excuse me?” Harry looks uproariously offended by this, and Louis has to fight to keep a straight
face. It’s rare to find someone as aware of their physical appeal as himself, and it’s hilarious to
finally be able to use that against someone else.
“Your head is literally so big it’s just now looking regular sized to me.”
“Oh, come on,” Harry groans. He’s visibly less affronted by being called conceited than ugly—
which fascinates Louis a bit because if he’s honest, he’d probably do the same. He thinks it’s
because he sort of takes pride in being confident, so it’s not that big of a deal when someone points
it out to him. He’ll just take it as a good thing. There isn’t really a lot to do if someone insults your
appearance.
Liam’s words echo uncomfortably in his head, so Louis quickly shakes it off and focuses on the
issue at hand again. You really have a lot more in common than you want to admit.
Liam’s the one who finds the portal. With a sudden exclaim and a pointing finger he interrupts
Louis’ thoughts, and Louis looks where the tiny hand wants him to, and he sees it as well, he sees
the blue light, and he immediately starts stepping over the evergreen maze walls to get to where
they’re supposed to be. It doesn’t go as gracefully as he’d want it to, because despite being tall he’s
still not that tall, and the walls still reach pretty far up. There’s quite a lot of legs flaying around
and almost-tripping and Harry snickering and Louis snapping at him to be quiet.
When they finally, finally reach their destination, Louis lowers himself to his knees and holds out a
hand for his friends to safely let them down on the ground again. Liam immediately collapses in
the damp grass, completely worn out from the whole thing, and Louis thinks he wouldn’t quite
mind doing the same.
At the moment he can’t, though, he’s too tall to lie down without crushing someone or kicking
down one of the walls around them. He thinks also, that this was fun, trying the whole big and bad
thing. It gave him the sense of power he anticipated and it did make him feel extremely good about
himself.
But, as it is, Louis figures it’s probably just not for him, as he carefully asks Liam for the drink to
make him his normal size again. After all, how would he ever be able to do his job if he had to
carry around all that extra length? How would he be able to fly in the forest if his wings were big
enough to plunge down the trees?
Liam just grunts, but he holds out the bottle with the unknown liquid, and Louis takes it with much
caution. It’s so tiny in his palm he could crush it between his fingers, and that’s decidedly not
something he wants to do.
He manages after a bit of hard work to get the miniature cap off, and then he’s downing small
mouthfuls at a time—he remembers what happened with the cake and he’d rather not turn into an
actual pixie with Harry right next to him prepared to make fun of him any chance he gets—and he,
a tiny bit wistfully, watches the ground come closer and closer to his normal length. He quickly
contemplates stopping when he’s just about half a head taller than Harry, but he honestly feels
quite uncomfortable having to look down on the head of curls instead of up.
Who needs height, anyway. Not Louis, that’s for sure. He doesn’t need to cheat to maintain
authority. He’s perfectly fine as he is.
Even if creatures around him seem to have problem understanding that sometimes.
Liam looks just about dead to the world when Louis has finally grown accustomed to being normal
sized again, and Louis knows he’s not asleep just yet, but he doesn’t have the heart to disturb him.
He’s due for some rest after all of this. So instead, Louis tucks the bottle carefully into Liam's
pocket where the cake already lies. Liam doesn’t even move. He must be exhausted. Louis is
exhausted.
“So,” Harry starts, quirking an eyebrow, “how does it feel to be back?”
Louis follows Liam’s example and lies down, letting his muscles relax one by one. There’s a spot
between his shoulder blades that’s currently killing him, and he rolls his shoulders a couple of
times to ease it up. It works a little.
“Nice, actually, thanks for asking,” he tells him. “Feel kind of bad for giants, if I’m honest. Must
be awful being that clumsy all the time.”
“Nah, I just think that’s you.”
Louis rolls his eyes. “Fuck off.”
“You know, just because you broke the cursing barrier doesn’t mean you have to wear it out
immediately.”
Usually, Louis thrives off bickering like this. It’s his number one specialty. But at the moment, he
just wants to lie down until his back feels fine again, so he settles for a lazy roll of his eyes and a
“Shut up, curly. Get some rest.”
Harry doesn’t object, but stays quiet, and Louis spreads out in his spot, moving fingers and toes to
make sure they’re fully there and rolling his neck to check how tense it is. It’s kind of nice, the
silence. They’re far enough away to not even hear any trace of the chaos that’s undoubtedly still
going on back by the castle.
It’s pleasant, and it’s quiet, and there’s nothing more really to discuss that comes to Louis’ mind.
Which might be why it comes as a surprise to him when Harry finally decides to speak up again.
“Am I…” he starts quietly, tugging hesitantly on his shirt sleeve. “Am I really so bad?”
Louis frowns in confusion.
He means, sure. To think of it, he’s been expecting a continuation of what they started before, no
doubt, it was way too heated to just sweep under the rug. He’s even practiced biting comebacks in
his head.
What’s unexpected, is Harry’s approach. His calmness, the serenity of his words, is what makes
Louis at loss for a good answer. All the ones he’s prepared are too violent and unnecessarily rude if
Harry doesn’t provoke them. “I’m… I’m not sure what you want me to say here.”
Harry groans quietly in frustration. “It’s just—fuck, Louis. You’re nice. You’re nice to practically
everyone but me, and I don’t know why that bugs me so much, but it does. Especially since I’m…
Since I’m genuinely trying. To be of use.”
Louis rolls his eyes and sighs. “Look, it’s possible I may have been a bit harsh earlier. You’ve
helped us loads and I know you have—but you’re not doing it for the right reasons, alright? You
never do a single thing with good intentions, and now you expect me to just fall at your feet like
everyone else because you’re finally acting like any creature with a slightly humane bone in their
body already does? That’s not how it works.” Besides, you made my university experience a living
hell just because you found it funny to see me hurt, so I think I'm allowed to not magically warm up
to you when you deem convenient.
Harry doesn’t answer, and yeah, okay. Louis scoffs and turns to his side, his back against the spirit.
He’d expected at least some kind of discussion here, maybe something that would indicate the
tiniest development of Harry’s character, but no. Of course not. He’s despicable as always.
But then there’s a deep voice speaking again, and it’s tentative and low and it makes Louis’ eyes
widen.
“I think…” Harry tries. “I think I want to try for the right reasons, then. Maybe.”
Hold the fuck up.
Louis snaps his head up, rolling over again so he can properly stare at the boy in severe disbelief.
This isn’t... This wasn’t a part of the calculation at all.
“I… What?”
“I don’t know, I just. I think so.”
“Why?”
“God, I don’t know,” Harry exclaims, pulling a hand through his hair roughly, letting it slide down
to massage his neck. “Forget it. It’s stupid, anyway.”
Oh hell no. Louis shoots up into a sitting position again, leaning in towards Harry to show his
interest.
“No,” he insists. “Absolutely not. You cannot weasel your way out of this. Keep going, curly.”
A good thirty seconds pass before Harry finally parts his cherry lips to speak.
“I just… This whole trip, this thing, it’s been. It’s been a bit confusing? You know, because like…
Mother Gothel, and the Queen of Hearts, and her guards. That’s me. That’s my assortment of
people. And so I tried to tell myself that the only reason I’m going against them now was because
it was the most strategic thing for the moment, and then when that excuse wore thin I tried to pin it
on, like, collecting favors to blackmail you, and then when that excuse didn’t hold up anymore I
tried blaming it on just wanting to prove you wrong. But… I think, what it comes down to, really,
is that—I just find helping people isn’t so bad.”
Well. Shit. Louis blinks one and two and three times, shaking his head slightly to himself. He’s not
sure what to do with this information. He’s not even sure how to process it enough to do anything
with it, really. This is a lot to take in and assess at once.
“Alright…” he breathes. “Okay. That’s—a good thing. Definitely.”
Harry smiles sadly. “I’m not very good at it, though, am I?”
“At what? Being nice?” Louis frowns.
He receives a small, gloomy nod in return, and no. That is not happening. Harry’s not allowed to
dump all of that game changing content out there in the open just to put himself down immediately
after it. He’s not allowed to hug himself, as if trying holding himself together, as if vulnerability
makes him think he’s going to break, he’s not allowed to bite his lip as if he’s a lost cause. That’s
not a thing that Louis’ going to let happen, even if he’d thought of Harry as hopeless only minutes
ago himself. Blame his kind fairy genes, but this is not going down on his watch.
(The smallest twinge of guilt sears through his chest when he thinks that yeah, he’s not obligated to
kiss Harry’s every footstep, but if he’d been a bit nicer about everything, Harry probably wouldn’t
be so dejected now.)
“No. Hey. None of that,” he orders. “That won’t be a problem. I’m here. I’m like, the nicest person
you will ever meet. I’ll teach you. Nice Behavior 101. Let’s do this.”
Harry looks up with furrowed brows to meet Louis’ eyes, and he’s judging him, Louis can tell. But
a smile is teasing his lips and amusement is crinkling his eyes, and that’s what matters.
“Right,” Louis straightens his back and cracks his knuckles, getting straight into business. “Lesson
number one. Complimenting. Simple, but effective. Ninety-nine percent sure to effortlessly put an
immediate smile on someone’s face. It doesn’t matter how much you hate a person, you can
always find something to compliment. Which I’m going to prove now. Because I’m going to
compliment you, and I hate you.”
By now, Harry has the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, and Louis deliciously suspect
it’s to stifle a grin. His eyes sparkle, and Louis thinks once again, that he looks like a little child
when he’s happy. It’s probably dangerous, because every time his emotions are painting his face in
expressions actually suitable for his young face, it urges Louis to like him.
“Louis,” he tries, “I don’t think this is a—”
“Hello, Harry,” Louis interrupts him, pointedly ignoring the weak attempt at a protest. “You have
lovely hair. Your turn.”
This is hardly one of Louis’ brighter ideas, and he knows he’s probably making a fool of himself,
but Harry’s plump lips are stretched wide, dimples deepening like craters in his cheeks, and Louis
thinks if he didn’t hate Harry, his smile would be one of the most endearing things Louis knew.
When it’s genuine, mind you. Not one of those infuriating smirks.
“You want me to compliment you?” Harry reaffirms, fighting to keep a straight face. Louis allows
himself to feel pride at this as he nods back.
“I’m waiting.”
“Alright…” Harry narrows his eyes in thought as his eyes fixes on Louis’ face. “You have… You
have pretty ears.”
Louis friendly smile instantly drops of off his face, a seriously unimpressed look replacing it. “I
have ‘pretty ears’?”
“That was a compliment!” Harry insists. “They’re pointy. It’s cute.”
Louis is not blushing.
“No one wants to hear that their most prominent physical trait is their ears, Harold,” he urges,
shaking his head. “I won’t stand for this. Try again.”
“My name is not Harold.”
“I literally cannot hear you over ‘pixie’. Now, again.”
“Okay, fine,” Harry rolls his eyes. “God. Didn’t realize we were so picky.”
His face goes concentrated once again as his gaze rakes over Louis’ body, stopping to thoroughly
examine his face, and Louis can feel his neck going hot. It’s just, that when Harry watches, he does
it in a way Louis’ never experienced before. There’s something strangely intense in the way his
eyes wander, and it makes Louis’ stomach knot and unknot with heat.
“Okay… You… You have nice eyelashes,” Harry settles for in the end. “I mean, they even cast
shadows on your cheeks when you look down, and I thought that was only a thing in cheesy
romantic fiction, so. Good for you.”
So maybe Louis’ face is radiating heat from his neck and up by now. It’s not inexcusable. In his
defense, Louis was prepared for something obvious and effortless, like his eyes, or smile. Not
something so… Subtle. Not something that witnessed of Harry genuinely looking, and looking
closely. And it seems oddly sincere, as well. Louis is not at fault for going a few shades redder.
It’s not the best of compliments anyway, Louis judges. Definitely in need of some polishing. Too
specific. Clumsily delivered. But, in the end of it, Harry does complete the assignment and
manages to make Louis blush, so Louis lets it slide.
“See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Harry shrugs, smiling crookedly. “Yeah. I guess.”
“You should be thankful, I usually charge these lessons per minute. Next time we’ll go through the
full and correct usage of polite phrases, since I’ve noticed you do have quite a problem with those.
I’m expecting splendid results or the deal’s over.”
“Nice,” Harry quips, smile instantly fading a bit at the corners from Louis’ slight jab at him.
Maybe that wasn’t the best idea Louis’ ever had. “Tell me, do ‘polite phrases’ include
apologizing? Because I don’t think you’re qualified for that yet.”
Louis’ spine stiffens and the kind glint of his eyes turns cold within mere seconds. Why can’t
Harry let them have nice things, honestly? Does he have to ruin things even when he’s meant to
improve?
So, like, okay, maybe Louis shouldn’t have phrased things the way he did, either. But he tried to be
funny while Harry’s just hitting close to home on purpose.
“Ah. Thanks for reminding me why I hate you,” he replies through his teeth.
“Aw, you needed a reminder?”
Louis reaches out and slaps Harry’s upper arm, and then raises to go to Liam. “You’ve got a long
way to go, Styles.”
“You know,” Harry says, rubbing his arm. “For a nice person, you’re quite rude.”
Louis starts shaking Liam as violently as he can, completely ignoring Harry’s comment. “Liam,
love, we should get going. Harry’s being mean.”
(Liam has to hide a smile the entire time they’re getting ready to go through the next portal, having
heard every single word that’s been said between his friends. Despite the small bicker at the end of
their conversation, Harry and Louis don’t go any further than that, and when they finally stand to
go through the portal, they don’t bother with making Liam stand in the middle so they can avoid
physical contact.
Now this is finally, at last, actual improvement.)
Chapter End Notes
ahhh it's here!! and it's late and i'm sorry, but it's been a busy period with personal
stuff, and then with the rewriting, and then with the fandom drama like???? heLP
anywayyyyys. i'm excited to write the following chapters bc dynamics and relation
developments are my literal fav and this is where that shit finally truly kicks in yayy
:D
as always, thank you very, very much for reading/commenting/leaving kudos. it makes
me so happy every single time it happens and you're all so incredibly nice it makes my
heart throb. xxx next update hopefully in about a week.
(my tumblr is still a-bit-extraordilarry talk to me i will love you forever)

chapter 9; pantheon
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Majestic, white, ancient.
That’s the first three adjectives coming to Louis’ mind when he opens his eyes to the next world.
It’s not like anything he’s seen so far. It’s the blatant opposite of Wonderland—everything here is
thoroughly and thoughtfully constructed, every corner and way marked with massive marble poles,
reaching up and up and into the sky. You can’t see them end, and Louis wonders if they ever do.
The few houses they can catch a glimpse of don’t even look like houses. Rather, they remind Louis
of tiny churches and chapels, all white with detailed handwork engraved on porches and roofs.
“So,” Harry starts, blinking a couple of times to get used to all the white. “This isn’t the
Underworld, it’s too bright. And it isn’t Olympus. It’s not Earth, I’m guessing it’s nothing of the
Norse, either, because the environment’s too similar to the Greek.”
Louis is about to ask him what his conclusion is, but then there’s a sudden, joyful, and very
unfamiliar voice behind them answering in his place.
“Yeah, you’re in Pantheon.”
Liam flinches so hard he almost knocks Harry over, Harry inhales sharply, and Louis flies a fair bit
over their heads, all three turning with the speed of light to find out what creature has found them.
The guy standing before them is blond, short, and most remarkably, the happiest creature Louis has
ever seen in his entire life. He’s actually positive he hasn’t ever seen a smile that unapologetically
wide before; not even on himself. And that sure is something. Two small, feathery and white wings
are poking out from his back, and Louis almost want to reach out and touch them because they
look so soft.
“Hello boys!” the new guy greets them cheerily, letting his eyes scan the three creatures before
him quickly. “I’m Niall. And none of you are from here, are you?”
Liam clears his throat, taking it upon himself to explain the situation. Which is good, because he
seems to be the one to recover from the surprise first. “Um. No. Not really. We actually, we have
no idea where we are, so if you wouldn’t mind—"
But he doesn’t get to finish his request.

In the time he’s stepped forward, opened his mouth and started talking, the new boy has managed
to completely drop his dumbly enthusiastic smile and shoot up to him until they’re only inches
apart. He presses a pale finger to Liam’s lips, effectively silencing him.
Now, this is getting a little bit weird.
“You are Liam,” Niall declares, and he seems absolutely wonderstruck by this fact. Louis watches
as an amazed kind of haze swoops over the boy’s features, to then again be replaced with the
giddy, overly excited smile he’d had on before, and he backs away from Liam’s space.
“You, the Red Queen, this guy,” Harry whispers to Louis. “What exactly is this fixation with
Liam?”
Louis stops a loud snort from erupting at the last minute, and settles for a pursed smile and a roll of
his eyes. “He’s adorable, Harry, that’s what. Likeable. You wouldn’t be familiar with the concept.”
He gets a scoff in response, but Louis sees the slight deepening of Harry’s left dimple, and Louis
can’t stop the corners of his own mouth to perk a tiny little bit upwards.
(This is weird. They’re not supposed to smile. This is a harsh exchange of words. What is going
on. Louis isn’t sure.)
Liam just kind of stands there, swaying uncomfortably back and forth on his toes to his heels, and
he awkwardly scratches his nose, the words he was going to say before Niall’s interruption
completely forgotten in his fluster. “Um. Yeah. That’s me.”
Niall’s beam could light up an entire universe, and he enthusiastically grabs Liam’s hand to shake it
so violently Louis kind of fears for Liam’s joints. “I can’t believe I get to finally meet you!”
Liam just nods, staring at Niall as if he’s a confusing clue he has no idea how to figure out. “Right.
Um.”
Niall’s smile doesn’t fade one bit as he nods approvingly at Liam’s blush, and he then proceeds to
look over Liam’s shoulder, as if searching for something, or someone, else. Which is kind of
strange, because they’re alone. It’s just the four of them out here at all, and he’s obviously not that
interested in neither Harry nor Louis at the moment.
“So,” he begins, as a shadow of a confused crinkle forms between his eyes. “Where’s your match?”
They’ve just left Wonderland, Louis thinks. They’ve just left a world where the words absurdity
and irrationality is key to the way of living, they’ve left the world where play cards are alive and
cotton candy grows on trees and hares have tea parties with hatters.
They’ve just left Wonderland, so Liam’s facial expressions for confusion should’ve reached its
official peak. It’s shouldn’t be physically possible to become more confused by something than the
things they’ve seen in Wonderland.
But right here, in this moment, Liam manages to do just that.
“My…” he starts, tilting his head questioningly, “… match?”
The corners of Niall’s mouth are visibly dropping by the second, increasingly settling into
something completely different.
“Your match,” he repeats. “My boy. The one I’m meant to pair you up with. Your soulmate.
Spouse. Significant other.”
“Um,” Liam scratches his neck uneasily, “no such luck, mate. I’m sorry?”
Judging by the way Niall’s face entirely drops, Liam very well should be sorry.
“But—that doesn’t make any sense! You were going to meet—you were going to meet! In
Wonderland! We made sure of it!”
The blond lad stares at Liam with a throttled expression, his hands reached out in a helpless
gesture. Liam begins to merely shake his head apologetically, but then, at the exact same second, it
dawns on the trio just exactly what Niall said.
“Now hold on a second—” Harry tries sceptically.
“Who are you?” Louis demands furiously.
“Who was I going to meet?” Liam breathes doubtfully.
Niall doesn’t listen to any of them.
“So,” he inhales and exhales deeply, pressing his palms tightly together. “You mean… to tell me,”
he starts walking around in a messy circle, “that Freyja and I… That we’re given
this impossible mission, right, that we’re meant to pair up two humans from different worlds
—which is against our laws, I might add, since humans on Earth aren’t allowed to know about our
fucking existence.“
He makes a pause to give each and every one of them a pointed glare each to emphasize the gravity
of his words, before continuing. “You’re honestly telling me that we’ve had to cooperate,
desperately searching far and wide for a way to possibly get you to meet for years… That we
worked our asses off, despite it being forbidden, to at last move Zayn to Wonderland—and risking
his life, actually, in the process—just so you could finally get it the fuck on… And you just don’t?”
Niall finishes off with an enraged expression aimed directly at Liam. Liam looks just as dazed as
Niall looks frustrated.
“Zayn?” he breathes. “Is that… I—what?”
Niall throws his hands in the air, hopelessly slumping down to sit on the ground, rubbing his hands
up and down across his face. “I fucking hate this job.”
As interested as Louis is in the existence of Liam’s soulmate—how’s that for naïve, Harry?—there
are more urgent topics to discuss at this moment.
“Mate,” he declares, earning two blue eyes on him. They’re almost bluer than his own, he states
with certain displeasure. Almost bluer, he assures himself before snapping back to the situation at
hand. “What the hell are you, exactly?”
Niall bites the inside of his cheek and sighs. “I’m a cupid. I make people fall in love for a living.
Or should I say, I try my very damn best. And fail, apparently.”
Louis’ eyes widen. A cupid.
A cupid.
This is the best moment of his life so far. He has so many questions. So many questions. And he’s
finally going to get an answer to every single one of them, this is absolutely brilliant—
Liam doesn’t seem quite as impressed yet, frowning in concern. “What happened to—to Zayn? Is
he alright, have you gotten him back to Earth yet?”
Niall groans. “No. We thought you two would actually meet, and then he’d come with you. This is
fucking unbelievable, I swear—” he sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. “It’ll be alright, though.
Somehow. I’ll talk to my mother, we’ll… She’ll get him out, somehow, pass it off as a dream to
him or something. Whatever. There will be other opportunities. Hopefully.”
A silence sinks in between the four of them for a while, no one really sure what to say. Louis
notices that as soon as the word ‘cupid’ left Niall’s lips, Harry went stiff by Louis’ side, and he
hasn’t relaxed since. He doesn’t understand it at first, but then he figures it makes sense that a
spirit of pain would be a tad uncomfortable in the presence of a creature of love.
Liam’s the one who speaks up first, frowning and anxiously biting on his thumbnail after several
minutes in deep thought.
“There was… A boy,” he starts tentatively, earning three pairs of eyes on him. “In the labyrinth,
when we were running from the guards. And he looked terribly lost and out of place, and I wanted
to take him with us, but—” Niall’s stare intensifies, and Liam looks down, a faint shade of pink
coloring his cheeks. “We didn’t have the time.”
“Was this boy possibly… Dark haired? Brown eyes, lean figure, face as if sculpted by Venus?”
Niall questions lightly.
Liam just nods.
“That would be your boy,” Niall confirms. “So you mean to tell me you were actually that close?”
He receives another still nod, and groans. “What went wrong?”
Louis stomach knots as it dawns upon him that he and Harry is what went wrong. Harry’s the one
who didn’t think they’d have the time, Louis’ the one who decided to rile Harry up about it—not
that he realized things would blow up like they did, but still—and then after that, they just couldn’t
keep calm. Again. It’s humiliating, actually, how that’s where they always end up, in each other’s
faces out of bottomless rage—but it’s especially nagging at Louis’ conscience now that there’s
such solid proof of it getting in the way of other people’s comfort and happiness—they deprived
Liam of his soulmate. Honestly, how selfish are they? It’s like they don’t even know how to
control it, with the way it always builds up. Louis doesn’t know what to do about it, but he
promises solemnly that from now on he’ll genuinely make an effort to keep away from the
fighting. If anything, for Liam’s sake.
To make Louis feel even worse, Liam just shrugs and responds;
“We just didn’t have the time, really. There’s nothing we could’ve done about it.”
Louis hates himself and he decides he will start working on his irrational fear of apologies
immediately just so he can one day hug Liam for an hour straight under declared confessions of
regret.
When he briefly throws a glance at Harry just to see if this is bothering him as well even the
slightest, he’s equal parts surprised and relieved when he catches the tall boy looking down on his
shoes with a frown on his face. It’s nice to know Louis’ actually not alone in bearing this burden.
They have, after all, just interfered with true love.
Niall doesn’t seem to notice either of the two’s guilty expressions, as he just keeps his gaze on
Liam, sighing wistfully.
“Well, then,” he states. “I’ve already broken a rule by telling you about your mate, and I feel kind
of bad about ruining it for you, so I’d be more than happy to try and make it up to you. If you want,
you’re very welcome to stay here until the portals are fixed. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Louis sighs in relief. It’s been way too dangerous this far, and Pantheon seems nice enough to
settle a longer time. He’s just about to answer with a thank you and a yes, but Harry’s there way
before him.
“That’s awfully nice of you, but we need to keep going.”
What? No, they don’t.
“No, we don’t,” Louis frowns.
“Yes, we do.” Harry gives Louis a pointed look. “We agreed on making this an adventure, didn’t
we?”
He earns a snort from the fairy. “That deal was off the second I realized you only made it for your
own benefits. I only left with you because Liam wanted to leave, and look where it got us. We were
almost decapitated. It’s too dangerous.”
“We can’t stay here.” Harry looks pressed, speaking lowly and controlled, warily looking around
him.
Louis’ narrows his eyes as he watches Harry’s clearly uncomfortable body language. “What, is it
because you’re powerless again or something? Literally why would you even need your powers in
this place?”
“It is not because of the powers,” Harry snaps. “It’s because this place is the Roman equivalent of
Olympus while I come from Tartaros and I’m fucking uncomfortable. Do you know how many
Gods I piss off just by existing?”
“Oh.”
Louis can’t really come up with anything else to say, and he looks down on his hands, admittedly a
little bit ashamed. That’s actually understandable, that Harry would feel uncomfortable here. Just
like Louis would feel uncomfortable in any part of the Underworld. Louis hates it when Harry’s
feelings are rational. It makes it so much more difficult to dislike him.
“Besides, I’m not powerless here,” Harry mutters. “This place serves Earth and so do I.”
Cool. Pour salt into the wounds, then.
Niall’s awkward clearing of his throat snaps them both out of it. His spine has stiffened remarkably
since Harry let the name ‘Tartaros’ fall off his tongue, and he swallows, eyeing the pair carefully
before speaking up.
“We should probably sit down and have a proper chat,” he suggests.
He earns an agreeing grunt from Liam, Harry and Louis in return.

~
Niall takes them to a lovely little chapel a bit further away, and Louis gets the opportunity to fully
admire his surroundings. It’s so clean, Pantheon, so white and polished and carefully designed.
Louis feels a deep respect for the people who work with keeping it this way—after all he knows
what that’s like. Keeping the environment nice and fresh takes effort and time.
The chapel is exquisite and thoroughly detailed, with carved patterns into the walls and, also here,
pretty paintings on the ceiling portraying what Louis guesses are the other Gods and Goddesses of
Pantheon. The scarily well-made marble statues by the entrance depicts Niall, together with a
beautiful woman and a few other attractive men. Niall’s family, Louis figures. The other creatures
of the Roman who are assigned love.
“So,” Niall concludes, sitting down in a pile of cloud soft pillows and motioning for Louis, Harry
and Liam to do the same. “Let’s take a round to properly introduce ourselves, yes? I need to know
what I’ve gotten myself into here. I’d like a name, an origin, and what you are assigned. Go, start
with the little one.”
Louis looks up, affronted, when he realizes Niall is pointing at him. Harry coughs out a stifled
chuckle next to him, and Louis has to breathe deeply to maintain his calm. He’s above being
affected by such an ignorant nickname.
“I’m Louis,” he starts, and he can’t help but send a sharp glare Niall’s way. Just a tiny one. A tiny,
harmless glare to put him in his place. Nailed it. “I’m from the Enchanted Forest of Grimm. I’m a
nature fairy and I’m tall for my kind, thank you very much.”
Great, now he sounds like a grumpy child. This whole not getting affected thing is probably
something Louis should work on. Maybe.
“It’s alright, Louis, I get it,” Niall assures and claps a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Us
short fellas got to stick together, mate, it’s all good. Sorry if I offended you.”
A sudden spark of remembrance flashes through Louis at those words, and his chest stings a little
when he remembers someone else saying almost that exact thing when they first met—Stan said
that. Stan, who Louis still doesn’t know where he went. Stan, who could be in terrible, terrible
danger for all Louis knows. He realizes that in the rush of recent events, he’s been completely
forgetting about his friend, and he feels sick thinking about it now. There’s been so many other
things going on, Louis hasn’t been able to process it properly, but sitting there hearing those exact
words now, it just smashes into him like a tsunami wave.
“Louis?”
Harry’s voice snaps him out of his condition, and Louis blinks a couple of times, whipping his
head around to trace everyone’s faces. This is now, he reminds himself. He has other things to
concentrate on.
But now that the thought has officially taken root in Louis’ mind, he can’t get it out, because now
he knows. He knows how dangerous things could get, and there’s only one of Stan. Stan doesn’t
have anyone to help him.
“Louis, are you okay?” This time it’s Niall asking, watching Louis carefully and ever so slightly
flicking attentive glances to the head of curls by Louis’ side. Why, Louis doesn’t know, but he
gives himself a mental kick in the shin and tells himself to get himself together. He can save
worrying for later.
“Yeah,” he utters. It’s way too frail and quiet for his liking, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry.
Got lost in thought, I did. Tends to happen. Now, we were doing introductions, weren’t we?”
Niall raises his eyebrows with concern, but decides to let it go.
“Right,” he nods. “Right, curly guy. Your turn.”
Harry lets a sigh fall off his lips. “I feel like I’m at a group therapy meeting.”
“Would you like it to be?” Niall looks bizarrely serious. “I’m a very good listener if there’s
something you’d like to open up about. I know pretty well how to deal with that shit.”
Harry blinks emphatically, his eyebrows shooting up in what can only be incredulity.
“I’m Harry Styles,” he says, slowly. “I’m from Tartaros. I’m a spirit of pain.”
The supportive widening of Niall’s eyes changes into something alarmed, and then he whistles.
“Shit, mate. From what I’ve heard you could probably do well with some psychological guidance.”
Louis would be laughing his ass off at the frankly horrified look on Harry’s pretty face, if it
wouldn’t be for one, Niall actually sounds incredibly serious, and two, Louis’ pretty sure that
seriousness is justified. The two times Louis’ dared to bring up anything about Harry’s
background, the spirit’s either full on attacked him or looked ready to cry. It’s clearly a sensitive
subject.
“Thanks,” Harry says, weighing heavily on the syllable to underline he’s really not grateful at all,
“but I’ll respectfully decline.”
Niall blushes. “Sorry. I just—man. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve foreseen a
hurtful fall of a relationship and felt so sorry for the creature who had to deal with that part. Not
that I don’t think you’re good at your job. You’re probably ace, with all that training, I mean—”
“Is it like, a thing?” Harry mutters to Louis. “That short people need to make up for their height in
amount of words per minute?”
“Yeah,” Louis deadpans. “It’s an extreme competition, very merciless. I’m in the lead.”
Harry hums thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised.”
Louis can see the tiniest of smiles pulling at the spirit’s lips, though, and his shoulders looks visibly
less tense.
Did I do that? a small, humble voice in the very back of Louis’ mind wonders. Did I do that? Why
did I do that? Is this a good thing? Why does it feel like a good thing?
Niall bites the inside of his cheek, silent the second Harry opened his mouth to speak to Louis. He
lets his eyes wander between them, again, and then he raises his eyebrows quickly to himself
before starting again.
“Anyway. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude or anything, it’s just—I’m curious. Because you’re a
son of Eris, aren’t you?”
The upwards curve of Harry’s lips Louis were able to bring out slowly smoothens out again. “Yes.”
“Everyone’s saying she’s the one who did this to the portals.”
“She’s not.”
“Oh.” Niall quietens, looking down on his hands for a second before looking up. “I’m sorry if that
was offensive or anything. We’re just trying to make sense of it all, still.”
“It’s fine,” Harry shrugs. “I get why you’d make the connection, like… I guess you’re not
completely wrong. But she’s not the one who shut it all down.”
Liam’s eyes narrow slightly in thought at Harry’s vague confession. “Harry… How much do
you know?”
It’s quiet for a beat. Harry looks extremely troubled by suddenly having three speculating pairs of
eyes on him at the same time, and he scratches his neck and looks down on his lap.
“Not as much as you want me to. Trust me. I can’t help.”
God, this is so uncomfortable. Niall’s still eyeing Harry up and down, his pale blue gaze intense
and a tiny bit confused, and no one’s saying anything. Louis desperately wants to take Niall’s side
and demand a further explanation, but he can’t find it in him to put Harry’s position even more out
there when he’s already so visibly unwilling to carry on this conversation.
Maybe later. He’ll ask him later. Nicely, even. Louis will be gentle and understanding and reliable.
At this moment, though, an unexpected wave of something very close to protectiveness washes
over him at the sight of the usually so confident Harry Styles insecurely fidgeting with the hem of
his black t-shirt, so he clears his throat loudly and excessively to take away the attentive gazes
from Harry.
“Well. Aren’t we curious today,” he says lightly with a warning glance at Liam and Niall, hoping
they’re getting the sincere message of back off he’s trying to convey. “If I’d known we were
supposed to talk about our roots so thoroughly I’d have told you all about it. I’ve got quite the
collection of stories.”
It does have immediate effect, his words, as Liam snaps his head away from Harry and down on
his lap bashfully, and Niall closes his mouth shut to purse his lips. The only thing that Louis
doesn’t really understand with their reaction, is the growing smirk on Niall’s childlike face. It’s
terribly out of place, Louis decides.
“You’re right,” Niall nods. “We don’t have to talk about this right now. I’m sorry, I got carried
away.”
He at least has the decency to sound sincere, so Louis lets his guard down carefully, deconstructs
the wall he didn’t even realized he built up the second Harry shrunk to something smaller than he
is.
Louis decides to put all this perplexing content in a small compartment in the back of his buzzing
brain to deal with later.
“Liam,” Niall continues, brushing the last couple of minutes off like they never happened. “Now,
we know your name and your origin, but is there something else we should know?”
“Um. Well,” Liam frowns, tilting his head. “Do you already know I’m a shape shifter?”
“I did not,” Niall replies, and for a moment Louis thinks he’s going to have another fit of
frustration, but luckily, Niall remains perfectly calm. “I can’t believe Freyja didn’t tell me that part,
though. Shape shifters are cool, man.”
Silence falls over the four of them once again, this time aimed at Niall who seems to be a little lost
in thought for a moment.
“So,” he begins slowly. “Do you still want to leave?”
This time, Louis looks to Harry before answering. “Are you sure we’re not staying? Like, are you
sure you can’t endure?”
He doesn’t receive a proper answer, but only a small nod to insinuate Harry’s answer. Louis settles
for that, and turns to Liam.
“Do you want to keep going, as well?”
Liam considers it for a moment.
“I think so?” he decides. “If there’s even the slightest chance that we end up on Earth… I’ll gladly
take it.”
Well, then. It seems like Louis has to admit defeat. Again. Niall claps his hands together in a
determined manner.
“Obviously I’m coming with,” he states as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I’m too
involved now, and since I’ve already broken rules I might as well do it properly.”
He stands up, pulling Liam and Louis with him by the hands, Harry following instantly. “We’re
going to be a nice little family,” he beams, pulling them all in closely.
Louis suddenly finds himself with Harry’s side pressed up against his own. He’d like to stay
indifferent to it, but the touch burns into Louis’ own skin, intense enough to leaving marks where
their arms line up, and the fire lingers as Niall finally releases his grip.
Both Harry and Louis recoil as quickly as they can, Louis making an attempt to rub the flesh on his
bicep subtly, putting the fire out, hoping Harry doesn’t notice. He can see Harry glancing at him
from the corner of his eye, though, so he’s probably hoping in vain.
Niall seems to have gotten a new shot of cureless enthusiasm at these new plans, grinning and
waving for the other three to follow him out. He tells them that their best shot at getting out of here
is through his mother’s portal in her own chapel. It’s most definitely going to take some
persuasion, though, as she’s flat out refusing to use it at the moment, just like every other God and
creature. Niall still thinks they could have a good chance, though, if he gets to explain their
situation.
“Oh, and since we’re going to spend a lot of time with each other from now on, I should probably
give you a heads up,” Niall adds thoughtfully. “My presence tends to have certain… Effects on
other creatures.”
Louis frowns. “Effects?”
“Basically, if you suddenly have an overwhelming urge to jump each other’s bones, it’s probably
my fault and I’m sorry. It’s not on purpose.”
“What does that even mean?”
Niall stops to give Louis a look of disbelief, gaze shifting to Harry as to confirm Louis’ not joking.
Harry pets Louis’ shoulder. “He means to fuck, pixie. Shag. Engage in sexual intercourse.”
Oh.
“God, alright,” Louis flushes, looking down on his feet to hide his blossoming cheeks. His equally
colored ears are probably giving away, though. Fairies just had to be blessed with ears impossible
to ever cover up. It won’t matter how puffy Louis makes his hair; they’ll still be there, making
themselves very well-known. “I get it. No worries, that won’t ever happen.”
Harry rolls his eyes.
“As far as my interpretations go, Louis is a bit… unexperienced, if you will,” he explains to Niall.
“I don’t think he’s even seen his own dick up-close.”
The remark earns a sharp inhale from Louis, who gives Harry an appalled glare and then stomps on
Harry’s foot as hard as he can, frantically trying to contain his unfortunate tendency to turn even
redder.
“Anyway,” he continues emphatically. “Let’s change the subject, shall we?”
Harry’s barely even bothered by the stomp, seeing as he’s wearing shoes—they’re these
pretentious black boots that Louis immediately decides to dislike—but he does shut up at least, so
Louis got what he wanted.
He scans his mind after a new topic of conversation, a question to ask Niall, any issue they might
have about getting away, something he’s been wondering during their conversation, something like
—
Louis widens his eyes as he realizes.
Stan is from the Roman. Pantheon belongs to the Roman. Maybe, maybe possibly, there’s a tiny
chance that—
“Niall,” Louis says, tone rushed and breathy despite their calm pace. “I have a friend. He’s from
here, he’s a faun. He, um, he went home through a portal only days before the announcement that
they’re broken came. And I have no idea what happened to him, if he got here before the portals
broke or if he’s just as lost as we are… Is there a way I can find out before we leave here?”
He looks at Niall with wide, pleading eyes, crossing both fingers and toes that there is a way—if he
somehow ends up finding out that Stan’s okay, that would definitely give Louis some well-needed
peace of mind.
Niall looks hesitant, and Louis’ heart drops a little, half awaiting an apology and a denial.
“I don’t know…” the cupid starts, licking his lips pensively. “I think… You could always ask
Faunus. He ought to know if there’s anyone of his hoard missing.”
“Where can I find him?” Louis asks instantly, just barely letting Niall finish his sentence. There’s
something bright seeping into his veins now, and he thinks it’s hope, and however stupid it may be
to harbor it so quickly, he would do anything to get to keep it for a while.
“I could take you there.” Niall can’t help but break into a smile, mimicking the one on Louis’ face.
“It’s quite the walk, but if you’re sure…”
“Completely sure.” Louis nods vigorously. “Take me there. Please,” he adds, because he doesn’t
want to sound rude when Niall’s making this kind and generous offer.
He turns to Harry and Liam with fervently raised eyebrows. “You’re coming with, right? Or, you
don’t have to. But it’d be nice.”
A part of him wants to specifically exclude Harry from the question, just to see his eyebrows knit
together in annoyance, but he remembers what he promised about improvement earlier and he’s
dead set on keeping it.
There’s a hum of agreement from the two, and Louis claps his hands in excitement. He makes sure
to express his uttermost gratitude towards Niall once again, as they start walking.
So. Louis is confused. He’s very, very, very confused.
He knows it’s Niall’s fault. He knows Niall warned him about this literal thing, but Louis was so
sure would just not even pass the first state of possible attraction to Harry, he didn’t even pay it
further attention.
Some might argue Louis’ already passed the first step a long time ago. Louis would argue back that
you’d be stupid if you didn’t find Harry at least a little bit attractive, so that teeny tiny fragment of
aesthetic appreciation doesn’t count. It doesn’t mean he wants to kiss his face.
Or, it doesn’t usually mean he wants to kiss Harry’s face. Hence Louis’ total confusion, because
now, apparently, it does.
It’s like—it’s like, Louis can barely even look at Harry for more than five seconds because his face
is so radiantly beautiful it’s blinding. He sneaks a look at Harry’s torso and he instantly craves to
wrap his arms around it because he bets it’d feel safe. He peeks at Harry’s hair and he wants to
comb his fingers through it, because it’s the softest looking mop of hair Louis’ ever seen. He
glances at Harry’s hands and wants to feel them run down his back, because he’s positive they
would be warm and send shivers down his spine.
And this is one hundred percent not okay. Louis’ thought up until now that he’d be able to oppose
whatever possible surges of attraction Niall’s presence may send his way, but he is absolutely not,
and it’s not alright with him. His blood’s pumping anxiously through his body, every inch of him
longing, yearning to reach out and graze his fingertips against the dip of Harry’s collarbone, or the
small patch of soft skin under his belly button that becomes visible every time his t-shirt rides up a
little too high. He feels dizzy with it.
Louis’ complete cluelessness is justified. He is, after all, dead set on hating this guy at all other
times, and now all of a sudden he can’t even look at Harry out of fear of losing self-control and
attack him with kisses. His fingers are itching, and he begs them to stop.
Maybe Harry can feel it, too, because he’s awfully quiet as well. He’s not initiating any kind of
conversation, and neither is Louis, and the two of them aren’t even lowly bickering like they
normally would, so there’s an unfamiliar silence falling over the four boys now.
When they finally reach the beginning of a path that’s less plain white and more hinting at the
green forests Louis is used to, plants clinging onto the poles lined up to show the way and small
specks of flowers poking through the stone cold ground, they stop walking. It’s very pretty, Louis
thinks, it’s really very pretty. He would probably be able to appreciate it even more if his mind
wasn’t so persistent on fawning over Harry’s appearance.
“Alright,” Louis speaks when no one else seems to. “Should we keep going then?”
He starts moving his bare feet again, and Harry and Liam are just about to join a few steps behind,
when they’re stopped once more, and a lot more determinedly this time.
“No,” Niall rushes suddenly, stopping them all in their tracks. “Wait. All of us can’t go in there.
There’s, uh, there’s a rule. That you can only go two at a time.”
“Oh. Alright,” Louis frowns. He decides not to question it. “Um, so I guess you and I should be—”
“Me? No!” Niall cuts Louis off. “No, I shouldn’t go in there… I reckon you just take Harry and
things will be okay.”
“What?” Harry and Louis immediately start to mutually protest over this suggestion. It makes no
sense, Louis thinks, Harry already established that most Gods here probably dislikes him on
principle—and he’d rather have the Roman creature with him, anyway, someone who knows what
to do if something goes wrong. Not to mention that he’d love to get away from Harry at the
moment, so he can finally get some release from this terrible condition.
Niall doesn’t seem to understand any of this, though, dismissing every single objecting sentence
leaving the pair’s lips. “Stop being silly. You just tell him I sent you, and things will be okay.
Probably.”
The addition at the end makes Louis’ and Harry’s faces drop, and Niall can see another wave of
objections threatening to break through, so he rushes them forward onto the path, causing them to
stumble a little and give him an irritated glare each.
“You’ll be fine,” Niall promises one last time, waving exaggeratedly as they finally start walking.
“We’ll be waiting here!”
The minute Louis and Harry are out of earshot, Niall turns to Liam akin a twig snapped off its
branch, gripping Liam’s arms to keep him still as he engages them in the most intense eye contact
Liam’s ever experienced in his life.
“Shit, Liam,” he squeaks, “you have got to help me the out with those two.”
At first Liam’s so taken aback by the sudden closeness of the cupid, that he just stands there
completely dumbstruck—but as the words sink in, his facial expression quickly melts into one of
utter incredulity.
“What do you mean?” he asks, but he’s not entirely stupid. Niall the Cupid just asked for help
regarding two people together. Which brings Liam to hope that maybe he’s just interpreting things
the wrong way, or Niall might need to get his head checked out.
“I mean,” Niall hisses, “that those two idiots have so much unresolved sexual tension between
them and nothing’s being done about it. How can you live with this? I can hardly breathe because
the air around them is so thick!”
There is quite a lot of tension between Harry and Louis, that’s true. It’s the sexual part that has
Liam sceptical.
“Niall,” he tries to reason calmly, “they hate each other. That’s just how they are.”
Niall refuses to listen, though, shaking his head violently.
“Compatibility,” he enunciates, “is a tricky thing. So are love and hatred. Sometimes emotions
become so strong when you find a compatible creature, that your body just don’t know how to
handle them. And that’s when you confuse the two. There is a thin, thin line separating them and
the only thing preventing your friends from boning in a corner is that all their energy and emotions
are focused on the wrong aspects.”
Liam wants to tell Niall that this is all insane and wrong, but he also regretfully reminds himself
that this is Niall’s job. Niall’s the expert here. Niall deals with this kind of stuff every single day.
Niall must know what he’s talking about, and it all seems so wrong to Liam, but at the same time,
maybe it makes more sense than anything he’s been told since this journey started.
“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Niall agrees.
“Are you completely sure about this?”
“I’ve been trying to figure out what kind of relation they have to one another since you all got here.
But it wasn’t until, first of all, Harry’s looks of concern, second of all, when Louis got protective
and defended Harry, and third of all, they completely fell for my lie, that I could be entirely sure.”
Yeah, Liam thinks, the defending thing was actually kind of odd to think of it, and then—hold on.
“Lie? What lie?” Liam demands.
“The lie where I told them my presence has an effect on people when in reality it doesn’t do shit
unless I choose it to. And I haven’t chosen it to. I wanted to see whether that would release some
kind of feelings now that they think they can’t hold them back. And the energy between them has
been a very different kind of strained this whole walk. It’s suffocating.”
Oh god. Liam’s not nearly prepared for all this. He shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head
erratically, trying to make sense of it all.
He must admit, that this could be a good explanation for the moments of weakness he’s witnessed
between Harry and Louis sometimes. The times where they seem to forget they hate each other for
a few seconds.
Still, it doesn’t explain everything.

“Niall,” he tries helplessly. “You haven’t seen them fight. That can’t be all there is to it, I—I can’t
imagine them ever focusing on the right aspects long enough for a romantic relationship.”
“You can’t see that right now,” Niall corrects him effortlessly. “I’m not only coming with you
because of the joy of your company and the possibility of meeting your match, Liam. Be patient.”
Chapter End Notes
omg this is like 95% dialogue i'm sorry
um so i finished this at like 5.40am. there hasn't been enough time to edit it, which i
will take care of later so i hope it worked atm :). i just wanted another chapter up now
bc i'm going away again, we're visiting family and friends in the north of sweden and
i'll be gone for i think ten days. i will try to write while i'm gone but there won't be
another update until at least august 7th.
but hey. niall is officially in the game yayy :D
as always, thank you for reading/leaving kudos/commenting bc it absolutely makes my

day and if you ever want to talk or just feel like dropping a single message or just
anything rly u can always find me @ a-bit-extraordilarry.tumblr.com xxxx
chapter 10; pantheon
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Louis focuses on putting one foot in front of the other at a good pace, looking at the contrast of his
tanned feet against the white, cold marble beneath him. The pale solidity’s slowly fading into
something greener, softer, more colorful, and a distinct fog’s making it increasingly impossible to
see how far away their destination actually is. Louis’ mind calms down a little more with every
step. Green calms him down more than anything else. Nature is peaceful, and Louis lets it lull him
into a false—very false—sense of control. After all, he needs as much of that as he can get, with
Harry walking only inches next to him. Louis can still feel the electricity threading and sparking in
the small space between their arms.
“Thank you, by the way.”
Harry’s tentative voice is what finally breaks through the thickness of the charged silence. Louis
quirks an eyebrow.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
He’s answered with a quiet snort, and Harry kicks a few leaves lying astray on the ground out of
the way to not have to meet Louis’ piercing eyes.
“I mean, for… You know. Changing the subject back there. I—I’m really thankful you did that and
I thought I’d let you know.”
Louis wants to stop them and give him a blinding smile. And a hug, maybe. Maybe examine what
his lips taste like, if they taste as much like cherries as they look—particularly now, that they’re so
bitten from Harry’s apparent nervousness.
He doesn’t do any of that, though. The moment the last word drops off of Harry’s tongue with
something a little too close to vulnerability, Louis panics. His hostile reflexes immediately kick in
with force, and he blurts out;
“It wasn’t for you, but sure.”
If feels wrong before he’s even finished it.
Louis isn’t sure if it’s the way Harry’s hesitant smile drops, or just the fact that Harry just tried
being genuinely nice and Louis coldly shut him down, that makes the words taste so ugly in his
mouth. Here Harry is, trying to follow Louis’ advice on being kind. Being polite. And instead of
encouraging it, Louis turns insensitive and, quite frankly, bitchy. He can’t stand for this. He
feels bad.
Besides, Louis did actually do it for Harry, after all. Even if he hates to admit it.
Harry bites his lips loosely—Louis is not distracted—and shoves his hands in his pockets as he
quickly tries to come up with a way to brush the whole thing off.
“I know, but—but I still—”
“I totally lied,” Louis interrupts. “It was for your sake. And I’m glad I could help.”
At first Louis almost regrets telling the truth, thinking Harry would go all arrogant on him, but his
doubts are washed away when Harry’s face lights up by a smile that shows off all of his white
teeth, and he tries to tuck his chin in to hide it.
“Really?”
Shouldn’t Niall’s effect be wearing off by now? They’ve been walking for quite a while, so there
should be a fair amount of distance between them, but Louis still wants to pinch Harry’s cheeks
and tug at his locks. Maybe it doesn’t truly disappear until you leave Pantheon or something. Either
way it’s not looking bright for him.
“Don’t get cocky, Styles. It’s not attractive.”
Harry snorts out a laugh. “You’re a liar.”
Yeah, he kind of is. “I am not.”
“Everything I do is attractive.”
“Modesty, I personally think is the most attractive trait.”
“Well. Since opposites attract, I guess that would make sense.”
“You calling me big-headed?”
“Kind of, yeah. But so am I, I suppose.”
“Congratulations,” Louis meets his eyes. “At least we’re in this together, then.”
Wow. That… Doesn’t at all sound like Louis finds Harry repulsive. It actually suggests the
complete opposite, and Louis can see that the spirit notices that as well, because something new
and curious awakens in the jade of his eyes, and he tilts his head to the side, giving Louis a proper
look.
“Great,” Harry answers, happily smirking along—testing the waters, Louis thinks. “Maybe being
around other big-headed creatures is what we need.”
Louis snorts. “Judging by your group of university friends, you succeeded long ago.”
“They’re really not as sure of themselves as you may think. If they were, they wouldn’t let me call
the shots on everything.”
“Oh, so there’s like a test? ‘Are you unoriginal and lame enough to be Harry Styles’ friend?’”
“There is. You definitely didn’t pass it.”
“I’m flattered,” Louis puts a hand on his heart. “I knew my self-love would take me places one
day.”
“Me too,” Harry grins.
Is this some kind of weird… flirting? Are they flirting right now? Is this actually happening? When
Louis swore to try and tone down the fighting back there, this is not what he had in mind to replace
it.
Louis shakes his head and blames Niall.
With those two simple words—me, too—echoing in his head and bouncing around in his ribcage,
wondering what exactly they mean, Louis pushes away his fluster and forces his shoulders to relax
indifferently.
He needs this to take a different approach. He can’t do this, he can’t do banter and flirting with
Harry, he really can’t. Not necessarily because it feels wrong—unfortunately, it really doesn’t—but
rather because it feels like if they continue any longer Louis’ stomach is going to start fluttering,
and that’s just preposterous. Stupid Niall.
“Well,” he says lightly. “I think my company good for you, honestly. I mean, since my big-
headedness is justified and all, and yours isn’t. It must be humbling.”
Harry stops walking to properly be able to fix Louis with his gaze, raising a challenging eyebrow.
His tentative smile shrinks into an entertained smirk. “Really, now?”
Louis must hand it to him—most creatures have trouble keeping up with Louis. His mood and his
always buzzing mind are unpredictable and abrupt forces, and Louis knows that it often leaves
people in his surroundings a few pages behind himself. He’s never quite met someone who’s
constantly so on the same wavelength at Harry is.
Not that it’s a good thing. Certainly not. It’s annoying and Louis detests it, naturally. But still.
Credit where credit’s due.
He nods defiantly, adds a shrug to it to look his most nonchalant.
“Looks isn’t everything, you know? And I mean, here I am, outshining the Day itself with not only
my stunning face, but also my wonderful wits and outstanding charisma—”
“Okay, let’s not push it,” Harry says, amusement prickling his features.
“And here you are,” Louis makes a gesture towards Harry, scanning his body critically. “And you
have a pretty face and nice legs. What do you do with that?”
A laugh bubbles up in Harry’s throat and he shakes his head. “My job, maybe?”
Does he have to be a goofy laugher? Goofy laughers are nice people. Goofy laughers are
endearing. Louis does not have time to be endeared.
“Oh, come on,” he snaps, “There’s no reason for you to be attractive to be able to do your job.
Awful people shouldn’t be able to look attractive.”
“Not that I’m not enjoying this unexpected stroking of my ego here, but how much do you actually
know about Underworld creatures, Louis?”
Hotness flares up along Louis’ neck and he pointedly ignores it.
“Enough,” he decides. He doesn’t really know anything about Underworld creatures. He knows
they’re probably very bad.
“I possess a physically attractive human form,” Harry grins, “because it makes me have the upper
hand. You have no idea how much being hot will do for people’s trust in you.”
Louis wrinkles his nose. “You’re repulsive.”
“I’m only telling you the truth,” Harry shrugs. “Obviously there are a bunch of truly hideous bad
creatures as well, but they’re supposed to scare you. They’re mostly just dangerous for your
physical well-being. You can easily outsmart them, if they ever encounter you. The creatures you
should really fear are the ones who can affect your mind.”
“Like you?” Louis asks defiantly. He’d be dead before he’d ever genuinely fear Harry ever again.
Harry doesn’t say anything for a while, and then he nods. He’s coming closer and closer, and Louis
doesn’t know which one of them is moving forward.
“Yeah. Like me. I’m not the only one, though. All my sisters and brothers are beautiful, beautiful
beings. We lull humans into a false sense of security, of reliability. Humans are terribly
impressionable and if they see a pretty person, they’ll immediately give you a part of themselves
without even knowing it, because their first impression is to like you.”
Louis vaguely remembers Eleanor saying something similar once. He’s having trouble actually
recalling anything now, because Harry’s face is only a couple of inches from his own. His eyes are
too green, now, eyelashes long and sweeping, every single bit of him challenging Louis to back
away. Louis should back away. He doesn’t.
“That wasn’t my first impression,” Louis totally lies. Again. It had been, hadn’t it? It’s
embarrassing, to think of it now. “And even if I had, it disappeared as soon as you opened your
mouth. Because. Um. Because your personality is—revolting.”
How did they end up this close? Louis has no idea, but he’s stuttering, and Harry’s warm breath is
hitting against his face and tickling his lips, and Louis’ head feel light from the sensation.
“Really?” Harry mutters, and now their chests are touching. Louis can hardly breathe.
Harry’s lips are so plush. They look like rose petals, like velvet cushions, like raspberry stained
silk. It’s hypnotizing, having them this up-close, and Louis just wants to taste them.
He’s been trying to hold it back, press it down now, because he shouldn’t, he can’t, he doesn’t want
to give Harry this piece of him. He doesn’t want to ruin the perfectly solid walls he’s built ever
since their first conversation, the walls which protect him from Harry turning dangerous, the walls
which seem to crumble a tiny, tiny bit every time he manages to make Harry smile.
But as he dares flick his eyes quickly upwards and down again to catch a glimpse of Harry’s eyes,
they’re dark and focused, and he seems to feel this pull just as much as Louis does. Tentantively,
achingly slowly, there’s a hand sneaking up to press against the short of Louis’ back, and Louis
thinks, fuck this.
He blames Niall one more time as he gives up and leans in.

And then they’re rudely interrupted by the shrill, loud sound of a flute.
Harry and Louis fly apart like two negative magnets, leaving as much space between them as they
can to make up for the previous lack of it. Louis can feel himself go beet red all the way from his
chest up to the very tip of his ears as his judgment seeps back into him.
What just happened?
Or—what was just about to happen, more like.
Harry scratches at the back of his head, turning his back to Louis. Louis’ glad, because he’s sure he
himself is looking awful right now, all flustered and red and glossy eyed. Harry definitely doesn’t
need to see the effect the almost-happening had on Louis.
To Louis’ relief, there’s no time for a loaded attempt at conversation, because the sound that—
fortunately? Unfortunately? Louis doesn’t know—interrupted them doesn’t stop, but rather
advances and comes closer. Louis narrows his eyes and shoots his head a little forward, trying to
see what’s emerging out from the thick fog in front of them.
It’s a faun. A small one, definitely a child, with a pan flute gently put to his lips as he’s skipping
happily along the path. He stops when he reaches the pair, eyeing them both up and down with a
curious expression.
“Hello,” he greets them. “What issue of yours is leading you here?”
“Um,” Louis gives the young faun an uncertain look. His brain is still mushy from the warmth of
Harry’s breath, and he struggles to articulate the right words. “We’d—I’d—like to talk to Faunus.
And, uh... Niall sent us here?”
At the mention of Niall’s name, the faun relaxes in a smile and nods. “Of course. Follow here,
gentlemen!”
Louis exhales deeply in relief and tells himself rigorously to wake the fuck up. Then he follows the
faun, Harry just a few steps behind.
As the fog disappears, a forest appears in its place. Or, well. Not exactly the kind of forest Louis’
used to. Instead of birches or oaks, there are what Louis believes to be palm trees standing up
proudly, sprouting from a foundation of thick grass which brushes against Louis’ calves as he
walks through it. There’s a huge throne towering up in front of the massive trees, though, a throne
—unsurprisingly made of marble— covered in palm leaves and framed with rich bowls of deep
purple grapes. In the chair itself, another faun sits, more regal in his energy—Faunus, presumably
—also playing along on a flute similar to his little helper’s one.
The little faun who led the way bows when he catches the attention of Faunus, and disappears into
the forest, and now Harry and Louis are left alone with the God.
Faunus stops his playing to eye his new visitors curiously.
“Well,” he says. “A Norse one from the Forest and a Greek one from the Underworld. What can I
possibly provide this odd pair with?”
Louis swallows, the tiniest bit intimidated by Faunus’ authority. He won’t let that show, though, so
he clears his throat and starts explaining the issue.
“Well,” he echoes firmly. “I have a friend who’s one of your fauns. He went home from University
of the Three a couple of days before the malfunction of the portals was announced. And I never got
to know what happened to him, but now since I’ve ended up here I thought I’d ask… You don’t
happen to know where Stan is?”
Faunus, who’s been listening intently with a concentrated frown, lets his face soften with a smile.
“I do,” he confirms. “I am happy to tell you Stan is just fine. Luckily he got home in time.”
Louis almost falls to his knees in pure relief. He drags the heaviest of sighs, emptying his lungs of
all the air that’s been thickening with stress inside his body, shoulders sinking down to their
normal height after being tense for so long.
“Thank you. Thank you,” be breathes. “Is there any chance for me to meet him?”
“Of course. You just walk into the forest here on the path and take left when it splits. I’ll call for
him to come and meet up with you,” Faunus assures, before bringing the flute to his lips once
more, playing a new sort of melody.
Louis hasn’t been this excited since—well, probably since he got the chance to become forty feet
tall for twenty minutes in Wonderland, so not really that long, but still. This is a different kind of
excitement; this is combined with relief and anxious bones being put to rest and the sweetness of
being reunited with a friend, and it’s lovely. He lifts off of the ground in his eagerness, and Harry
stumbles after, swiftly running after him with an eye roll.
The forest is all green and thick, and the sound of various melodies sounding from pan flutes all
around should be disorienting and annoying, but it sounds weirdly melodic. It quickly becomes
apparent to Louis that the flutes must be how they all interact with each other from a distance.
Louis follows the path Faunus referred to, straight to the left with Harry straggling on behind him,
until he finally catches a glimpse of another creature coming from the other end, towards him.
Louis widens his eyes and picks up the pace a little more. When he finally can see that yes, it is in
fact Stan, he lights up in a smile so wide his cheeks ought to be sore for days after.
“Stan!” he yells at the top of his lungs, flying for all that he’s worth.
“Louis?” a cry echoes back with just as much fervor, but also a whole lot of confusion. “What are
you doing here?”
Louis doesn’t have the time to slow down, and within a couple of seconds he’s crashing into his
friend, bringing them both to the ground.
Stan yelps, squirming out of the pile he and Louis’ created on the ground. “Gee, Lou, you sure do
know how to make an entrance.”
Louis doesn’t care.
“I am so happy you’re okay!” he exclaims, pulling Stan into his chest tightly. “Do you know how
scared Eleanor and I was? Very, that’s how scared we were. We thought you’d gone to the
Underworld or something.”
Stan huffs, cheek violently pressed to Louis’ chest. “Lou. Can’t breathe.”
“Oh!” Louis’ eyes widen and he bashfully lets go. “Sorry.”
“’S alright.” The faun rubs a hand over his collarbones. “Now, what I really want to know is when,
how, and why you got here.”
Louis beams. “You’re going to be blown away, Stan, I swear.”
He takes a deep breath, getting himself in the epic-story-telling zone, but he’s promptly interrupted
by a stiff cough.
They both look up at Harry, who’s still standing there, eyeing them with a raised eyebrow.
“I can leave if you guys want,” he suggests.
Louis lets out an “oh,” as Stan lets out a gasp, his eyes growing so big Louis fears they’ll pop out of
their sockets.
“Oh, no!” Louis is quickly on his feet again, pulling Stan with him. “Just got a bit carried away,
there, it’s all good…”
“I can see that.” There’s a strange purse to Harry’s lips that’s very difficult for Louis to read.
Louis clears his throat uncomfortably, and Stan has yet to lose his stare on Harry’s tall figure.
“Louis…” he swallows. “This, uh… A friend of yours?”
Harry flashes him a tight-lipped smile. “Harry Styles. You take Human Anatomy at UoT, right?”
“Yeah.” Stan blinks. “I know who you are. It’s kind of hard to… miss. In class, I mean. Because
you. Uh. Hold on, this is—Lou?”
Stan gives Louis a nearly desperate look. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Louis moves his gaze over to Harry, and he must roll his eyes when he sees the spirit’s stance.
Harry’s arms are crossed tightly over his chest, his eyebrows bitterly furrowed and it’s one of those
moments Louis is really, truly reminded of who Harry is, because he actually looks—well. Scary.
Louis isn’t having it, though. So he elbows Harry’s side to get his attention, giving him a stern
look. “Stop it, Harry.”
Harry tilts his head, still defiant. “Stop what?”
“With the grumpy intimidating thing. It’s mean.”
“That’s my face, Louis.”
“No, it’s not,” Louis pouts. “Your face has dimples. I’m not seeing any.”
The glare Harry levels Louis’ way could kill anyone on sight, but doesn’t bother Louis much. He’s
used to it by now. He looks back with determined insolence.
“Well?” he demands. He just receives a disbelieving scoff in return, so he decides to take the
matter into own hands. He can’t properly talk to Stan when Harry’s standing there purposely
making the faun nervous. Louis doesn’t know what he’s playing at, but he needs it to stop.
So Louis reaches out and pokes a finger into Harry’s cheek where his dimple is supposed to be
showing. Harry flinches away a little in surprise, but it doesn’t stop Louis from poking again and
again.
“I’m not stopping until I see a dimple,” he enlightens Harry, “the rest is completely up to you.”
Without stopping, Louis then turns back to a practically gaping Stan, not even batting an eyelash as
he starts explaining.
“So to skip the messy details, Harry and I kind of fell through a broken portal. By accident, mind
you, it was a complete matter of bad luck.” Poke, poke, poke. “So we ended up in Grimm, where I
wanted to stay, but Harry had to go and be an asshole—”
He completely ignores Harry’s glower. “And then along the way, we adopted a shape shifter, his
name is Liam, lovely boy. And unfortunately, it’s been his lifelong dream to explore other worlds,
and I just seem to get outvoted every time I want to settle down and wait somewhere, so… Here
we are. And we’ve been proper heroes, like, we helped a girl escape from imprisonment of a bad
witch, and we created total chaos in Wonderland to find a portal, and I grew the size of a giant for a
little while—it’s been wild, I tell you that. And we’ll be going again as soon as possible because
apparently Liam has a soul mate on Earth and that’s worth taking the chance to end up in the
Underworld once again—which we kind of owe him. So I guess we’ll have to leave in just a bit. I
just wanted to make sure you were okay. And you are!”
Louis finishes his ramble with a winning smile, and Stan doesn’t look like this made the situation
any clearer at all.
“Right,” he utters slowly. “Um.”
Louis decides to let the words sink in for Stan a little, so in the meantime he turns to Harry again.
“Smiling yet?” he asks lightly. Harry’s immediate reply is a tired eyeroll, but Louis is positive
there is something tugging at his lips, so he keeps up the poking. “You want to, you tragic idiot.
Pouting is such an unflattering look on you. No wonder poor Stan is uncomfortable by your
presence.”
Maybe Harry is some kind of masochist, because the abuse seems to do the trick, and his mouth is
finally widening into a—if only a little unwilling—smile. Louis nods and removes his finger from
the now deepening of Harry’s left cheek, incredibly pleased with himself.
“See?” he motions for Stan to look. “Got the whole world fooled, this one. Real child, he is.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Charming, as well. Courteous and benevolent. Don’t know what all this fuss is about.”
This does, admittedly, make Stan look less wary, but he weighs it up with a strong sense of
confoundment. He’s quiet for a while, studying the two carefully.
“Are you two…” he at last attempts hesitantly, “like… A thing?”
Silence. Widening of eyes. Then;
“No!” Harry and Louis exclaim in unison, a little too loudly, horrified looks on their faces.
Louis clears his throat and swallows, refusing to look at Harry for even a second, so he focuses all
his attention on Stan.
“No,” he reaffirms. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh.” Stan bites his lip. “Sorry. I just though it—I don’t know. Phew. Or, not that I’d mind if you
ever were. Whatever floats your boat. It would make sense, actually, Louis, you have to admit,
given your weird proclaimed fascination with him—”
“Hah!” Louis shrieks obnoxiously, roughly cutting his friend off before things get completely,
irrevocably mortifying. “Ha, ha! You’re just hilarious, Stan, really, you should be a comedian,
you’d do great, I’d be right there in the front row—”
“Maybe we should get back,” Harry interposes, an infuriating shadow of a smirk playing on his
face. Thanks a lot, Stan. “Niall and Liam are probably growing tired of waiting.”
Louis nods. “Right.” He tries to breathe calmly in and out to regain control over his face, which is
probably blossoming more than flowerbed of roses in July, before turning to his friend. “Stan. It
would feel wrong to not at least offer, so if you want, you’re free to come with.”
Stan is quiet once again, letting his apprehensive gaze wander over Louis and Harry and back with
slight scepticism in his narrowed eyes. At last, he sighs and smiles.
“I’m just fine where I am,” he shrugs. “I suppose there’s nothing I can say to make you consider
staying?”
“No, not really,” Harry replies before Louis gets the chance to, and Louis swats his upper arm.
“We’ll be fine,” Louis assures. “We made it this far, right?”
“Right.” Stan draws out swirly patterns in the ground with his toes, considering something for a
minute. “Can I… Just talk to you in private for a bit? Like, two minutes tops.”
“Of course.” Louis nods, turning to tell Harry to start walking, but Harry seems one step ahead
already, slowly backing away with a crooked smile. So he’s still stuck on that whole ‘proclaimed
fascination’ then, Louis assumes with dread. “I’ll catch up with you, then.”
Harry nods, turning on his heel to start walking.
As soon as he’s remotely out of earshot, Louis throws a glare at his friend.
“Did you have to mention that?” he hisses. “Really?”
“I’m sorry,” Stan raises his hands apologetically. “If I knew I wasn’t supposed to mention it, I
wouldn’t have.”
“Why would you even think it was okay to begin with?”
“Because I thought he knew already!” Stan snaps impatiently. “Which is what I want to talk about.
Listen, Louis, if you, like… If you fancy him, that’s completely alright with me. Just be careful,
okay, because what Eleanor and I warned you about before still stands, and—”
“Wow, now,” Louis exclaims, slightly panicked. “Hold your horses. No one’s ‘fancying’ anyone.
Where did you get that from? Harry’s the worst person I know. I hate him. You weren’t there to
witness what happened at UoT, but trust me. I hate him.”
To Louis’ dislike, Stan’s opinion doesn’t seem shifted in the slightest by this. He doesn’t even
have the decency to look puzzled, but rather, he just raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yes!”
“Is that why you insisted to poke his cheek repeatedly because you wanted him to smile so badly?”
“I—that was for your sake!” Louis stutters. “He was being unnecessarily frowny for no reason and
I could see it bothered you.”
“He was ‘frowny’,” Stan says slowly, “because he was jealous you and I were so close.”
This is insane. This is flat out, undoubtedly ridiculous. Louis can’t do anything but stare for a good
twenty seconds before he can even muster up the control to answer.
“You,” he accuses, “are crazy.”
“Am I really, though?” Stan figures, eyes fixing on Louis, so sure of his thing. Louis is speechless.
“You attack me, Harry’s mood drops instantly. Anyone would be expecting him to be moody and
intimidating for no reason, but you start complaining about him being ‘grumpy’. You then proceed
to touch his face repeatedly just to make him smile, and you succeed. When you’ve brought out a
smile genuine enough to make him look sympathetic—which I’ve never seen on him before
personally—you must also indulge in a bit of banter. Do you know what he would do to anyone
else calling him ‘a tragic idiot’? Can you guess?”
Louis closes his mouth shut, pursing his lips for a second.
“Okay,” he tries, “so when you put it like that I guess it sounds kind of suspicious—”
“Look, I’m not going to pry,” Stan says, backing away with an apologetic smile. “I’m just saying,
that if there was something going on—”
“Which there isn’t—”
“I’d want you to be careful.”
Louis rolls his eyes as pointedly as he can. “I wouldn’t get together with him for anything, Stan.
I’m perfectly safe.”
Stan sighs. “Sure, if you say so.”
“I do.”
“Just—” the faun bites his lip. “You do know you’re capable of staying here yourself, right? Let
them go without you?”
Louis frowns. What does that have to do with anything? “Yeah, I guess.”
“Then why are you going with him? If you don’t think it’s a good idea, why do you still go with
him?”
Louis has so much to say—he wants to tell Stan about how that’s absolutely irrelevant to Harry,
that he’s doing it because of Liam, or because maybe he genuinely enjoys the adventures, or just
about anything that doesn’t come right back to the spirit of pain. Except all those arguments feel
shallow and unsustainable.
He doesn’t get the chance to utter them, anyway, because the next second Stan’s enveloping him in
one last quick hug, patting his back.
“Just consider it, yeah? Have a nice journey, Louis.”
And then he turns around, walking away, and Louis stands there watching him go, quite
dumbfounded.
It’s probably Niall’s fault, he settles for. Everything is Niall’s fault.
It doesn’t take too long to catch up with Harry, as Louis flies and Harry walks in his own,
comfortable pace, and the air is, if anything, even thicker than before between them when they’re
walking next to each other again. Louis curses internally.
“Did you have a nice chat?” Harry asks nonchalantly.
“Yeah.” Louis doesn’t even look at him, focusing on the path straight ahead of them, watching the
green slowly, slowly fade to smooth marble again.
“May I ask what the topic was?”
“Uh, just making sure I’m not staying here, really.”
“Okay. And you’re not, then?”
“No. Someone’s got to save your asses out of trouble.”
Harry snorts as a reply, and silence settles again. Louis’ head still spins from Stan’s words and
irrational thinking—was he genuinely able to look at Harry and Louis, enemies extraordinaire, and
think ‘oh, this might be how a pair of romantically involved individuals act’? That’s just
completely absurd. Stan must have the absolute worst intuition in all of the worlds.
Louis thinks ‘why are you going with him?’ and ‘if you fancy him, that’s completely alright with
me’, and his head hurts. It really doesn’t make things easier that the Niall Effect is still alive and
thriving, clouding his judgment as soon as he as much as catches a glimpse of the spirit’s face.
When the silence is broken by Harry once again, he seems to take a different approach, and Louis
spine stiffens.
“So.” He’s dragging out the word suggestively, and when Louis throws a glance at him he’s met
with the smuggest smirk he’s ever seen in his life.
Fuck.
Louis knows straight away what’s coming, and his only thought is that this would be hard enough
already without wanting to smoothen out that awful sneer with his tongue.
“Proclaimed fascination, huh?” Harry questions, sounding endlessly satisfied with himself.
Louis makes sure to not bestow upon Harry a single glimpse when he answers. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”
Harry hums, obviously not believing him, and Louis can feel green eyes burning spots into his
temple.
“You can’t blame me for wondering,” he muses. “Given our first encounter.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—Louis had hoped Harry would’ve forgotten that by now. Hoped
in uttermost desperation, to be honest, that it would never, ever be brought up ever again.
“What are you talking about?” he still insists, hating the way red warmth slowly creeps up his face.
“You broke into my dorm and picked a fight at our first encounter.”
Harry rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean, Louis. Our first encounter.”
Oh god. Louis completely ignores how the rush of his blood goes from slow and threatening to flat
out racing, coloring his entire face several shades more blossoming within microseconds. He puts
on a stubborn frown to hide it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats, at loss for other words. This doesn’t bode
well for him. When Louis doesn’t know what to say, that’s his first sign of a disaster coming on.
“You blush quite a lot, pixie,” Harry comments lightly. “What for?”
“Shut up! I’m not blushing.”
“You’re blushing.”
“Am not.”
“You’re blushing so hard. You have like, never blushed harder, actually.”
“You are so failing this being nice class.”
Harry just laughs, a throaty and strangely melodic sound. Well. Louis’ glad at least someone’s
having a good time. He shakes his head. Why couldn’t it have been Eleanor who’d gone missing?
Eleanor would never do Louis like this. She’d be far too busy glaring to have the time to bring up
humiliating memories of Louis’ previous judgments. Stan’s the worst friend in the world. And
Harry’s the worst creature. So maybe they’d be more compatible, really.
Louis frowns at the thought. No, actually. That would be wrong on so many levels.
He shakes the image off and looks back to Harry, who’s staring right back pleadingly. Louis
swears he can detect a beginning of a pout to his lips, and he swallows.
“Why can’t you tell me what that was about?”
So he’s attempting a different approach, Louis states. It’s a slight improvement from the
embarrassing complacency, admittedly, but Louis’ still determined not to fall for it.
“Because there’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re lying, though.”
“I am not!”
“Are too!”
“I am not!”
Harry bites his lip, raising an eyebrow. “Would there still be nothing to tell if I told you something
in return?”
Louis wants to blatantly turn him down, wants to be indifferent and unaffected by the offer, but he
just can’t help the flicker of curiosity poking its head up in the back of his mind. As much as he
hates Harry, he’s—sadly—still an incredibly intriguing person who Louis has many questions for.
“What would that something be?” he swallows, trying his best to sound nonchalant, but he knows
he’s failing miserably.
The corners of Harry’s mouth are pulling upwards. “Your choice.”
That’s… That doesn’t sound too bad. Louis scorns himself for taking the bait like this, but he
simply can’t resist it. He can’t resist an opportunity like this, and he’s ninety-nine percent sure
Harry knows that, too.
“And you’ll answer? No matter what the question is?”
He looks closely for something on Harry’s face that might hint at this being a lie, but he’s not
finding anything. Harry’s face is completely straight as he answers simply;
“Yes.”
Louis is just about to give his approval and seal the deal—but then he looks forward and realizes
they’re starting to close in on Niall and Liam again. Harry notices this as well, because his face
drops in, what Louis is pretty sure, is disappointment.
“We’re talking about this later,” he declares, and Louis just nods. This is good. Now maybe he’ll
have time to prepare both a suitable answer and a question. Maybe, best case scenario, they’ll just
never have the time to get to a ‘later’.
Liam has a very weird look on his face when they finally get so close they can make out each
other’s features. Louis can’t understand what it means, brown eyes wandering along the pair before
him as they stand for a second in loaded silence. Why it’s so thick, Louis doesn’t know.
Niall, though, is happy as always.
“Did you find your friend?” he asks.
Louis confirms that yes, he did, with a smile and a thank you, and Niall just beams and turns
around.
“Fantastic. Now, let’s go find Mother.”
Louis excitedly nods his head, but Harry’s shoulders slump remarkably beside the shorter boy.
“Yay,” he mutters.
“What’s wrong this time?” Louis rolls his eyes.
“Oh, nothing,” Harry deadpans. “Just a little hesitant towards being in the same room as the literal
embodiment of love, is all. No biggie.”
They start moving forward again, Niall slowing down his pace to fall back a little so he can pet
Harry’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright, mate.”
It doesn’t seem to lift Harry’s spirit very much, as his only response is biting his lip and sighing
softly.
“Hold on,” Louis says suddenly, as soon as the meaning of Harry’s words has properly sunk in.
“Literal embodiment of—Niall, who is your mother?”
Niall blinks.
“Venus,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing. “I’m guessing you’d know her as.”
Louis is going to pass the fuck out.
“Venus?” he breathes. “Like… The goddess?”
“Is there another Venus I don’t know about?” Niall quirks an eyebrow.
That’s… That’s… That’s something. Louis is fine. Louis is so completely fine. This is great. He’s
cool, calm, collected. It’s not like he’s been wishing all his life for something like this to happen.
“Let’s just go,” he asserts, picking up the pace.
Venus is easier to convince than any of them expected. She’s calmly sitting there in her mountain
of pillows and silk sheets, eating sensually from the—apparently essential—large bowl of grapes
by her side while attentively listening to everything Niall has to say. Louis remembers what
Eleanor said about Aphrodite, wonders if Venus is the same. Everything she does looks incredibly
suggestive, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s a conscious thing or not, but it would make sense either way.
Niall’s explaining their situation factually and simply, but it seems like he’s simultaneously having
a completely different discussion with his mother—one that consists of weird looks and short nods
that doesn’t at all add up to the words spilling from his mouth, and it’s definitely confusing to try
and keep up with.
When he’s finished talking, Venus strokes her long, adorned fingers over her chin—endlessly slow
and sultrily—in thought. Louis can’t help but admire her enticing elegance.
“Very well,” she announces after a few moments of silence. “You may use my portal. Although,
before I’m greenlighting this completely, I would like to have a word with my son.”
All four of them exchange baffled looks, surprised that that seemed to be all it took. Niall speaks
up first, nodding as he directs the other three to another room a couple of doors away inside the
beautiful mansion.
“Walk into the room over there,” he says, pointing towards a marble doorway to their right. “And
then through the left door and wait for me there. Don’t touch anything.”
Harry, Louis, and Liam nod and obediently start walking in the direction Niall pointed out.
“On a second though!” the cupid exclaims suddenly, causing everyone to flinch and turn around. “I
think it’s better if Liam stays behind. After all, this might be good for him to hear. Right, mother?”
More of that strange eye-communication ensues, and at last Venus raises an eyebrow and agrees.
“Of course.”
Liam stares, flipping his gaze between Harry and Louis and over to Niall, before carefully walking
back over to the cupid. Niall smiles angelically.
“That’s better. The both of you better go in there, though, this is private stuff,” he tells Louis and
Harry. “We only have to discuss a couple of things, you can wait a while, yeah?”
He gets a muffled response from the pair, who unwillingly keep walking into the other room.
Niall watches the pair leave with endless satisfaction, Liam stopping to stand next to him.
“You don’t actually need me here, do you?” he asks tiredly.
“Nope.” Niall pops the ‘p’ innocently, smiling sweetly.
“So. I guess, since we have nothing better to do, maybe we could finish that conversation we had
earlier.”
Louis snaps his head up to look at Harry, internally groaning—his face must show just how little
he wants this because upon meeting Harry’s gaze, the spirit’s mouth quirks upwards in amusement.
Why does Harry have to push it so hard anyway? Why can’t he let Louis live? It’s not even that
important, Louis was naïve and didn’t know better, and—
But Harry’s standing there only a few feet away, leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed,
looking at Louis expectantly, and Louis know he’s probably screwed.
“Do we have to do this?” he still tries pleadingly.
He’s met with an immediate, solid “yes”, and he sighs, so slowly and for so long he nearly starts
seeing stars in the corners of his eyes.
“Right,” Louis says at last. “Fine. Whatever. But I ask first. That’s my only condition.”
“Fine.” Harry’s face is unreadable. “Shoot.”
There’s a lot Louis wants to ask. He wants to ask about Harry’s job—how many people does he
hurt on a regular day? How bad can he make something hurt? Why does he seem to like it? Is that
something he’s been forced to enjoy, or is it just in his nature already? And if it is, why would he
want to change it suddenly? Maybe Louis could ask about his upbringing—why is Eris such a
sensitive subject, especially if he’s her favorite child? What are his sisters and brothers like? What
kind of souls end up in Tartaros? Is it as bad as the rumors say it is?
He should probably ask about what Eris has to do with the portals. He should demand for Harry to
tell him everything he could possibly know about this. That would undoubtedly be the most
practical and important question to ask, considering their situation.
But as he’s opening his mouth, memories of his conversation with Stan comes flooding, bouncing
around like ‘he was jealous’ and ‘do you know what he would do to anyone else calling him a
tragic idiot?’ and what tumbles out of his mouth instead is;
“Why do you put up with me?”
As they both widen their eyes in surprise, it’s painfully evident none of them expected the question
to take that approach.
“Wait,” Louis rushes. “Shit. Can I redo that? Is that a thing?”
“I mean. I guess, but I’ll answer if you want.” Harry blinks a couple of times. “Please elaborate.”
“Uh.” Louis’ feeling his face flush again—he must’ve beat some sort of record by now. Harry will
never know, though, that’s he’s managed to make Louis blush more in a day than anyone else has
managed during the entire time they’ve known him. Louis will die with that information still
perfectly tucked in safely in a little folder in the far, far back of his brain.
“I mean…” How does he even explain this without sounding like an idiot? “I know I can be—I’m
quite brilliant, obviously, but I know that also makes me quite a handful. Like, I know I can come
off as quite rude and ever-changing and stuff, and a lot of people… Find that hard to deal with.
And I mean… You have gotten your way practically your entire life, haven’t you? So you if
anyone should be annoyed and quite frankly, ready to crush me. Why do you put up with me?”
Harry tilts his head and gives Louis an incredulous look. “I am annoyed and ready to crush you.”
“But you haven’t,” Louis points out. “And you could. Nothing’s stopped you before, as far as I
know. But you don’t.”
“Hm.” Harry’s quiet for a second, but it doesn’t look like he’s contemplating an answer. He looks
like he’s already pretty sure of the reason and rather just gathering courage to speak it out loud, and
he confirms it when he finally parts his wetted lips to reply. “Because—you’re not scared of me, I
guess.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You only got one question, but I’ll let that slide because I’m feeling generous.” Louis rolls his
eyes and has a retort ready, but Harry continues before he gets there. “I mean, most creatures
around me just let me have my way with everything because they don’t want me to—to hurt them,
I guess. And you just don’t seem to care about that. And—god, don’t think you don’t drive me
crazy. But you treat me like a person. And it’s kind of refreshing, to not have to worry about being
scary all the time.”
Louis wants to know more. Now that Harry’s started, now that his voice has gone all low and
revealing and now that he’s refusing to look Louis in the eye, Louis desperately needs to know
more of this apparent effect he’s having on the spirit. The thing is, not even once has he ever gotten
to hear that his mood and sharp comments are particularly good in the long run. Tiring, he’s heard,
he’s seen, he’s known, confusing, he’s pretty sure. He’s been able to see it on other creatures’
faces, that amused albeit puzzled expression, and he hasn’t ever had any intention to stop because
this is who he is, and he likes how he’s always a step ahead of his surroundings.
Of course, that still doesn’t change the fact that it’s usually a bit lonely, living like that, and hearing
someone else—even if only vaguely—complimenting those aspects of him makes his chest flutter
a bit. And Louis loves himself, and naturally, he wants to hear more. He wants to know if Harry
has thought about this before, if maybe Louis could get a full analysis sometime.
As it is, Harry seems content with ending it there, and Louis wouldn’t embarrass himself with
pressuring for half-compliments. That would make him come off as awfully desperate, and he
doesn’t really do desperate.
“Okay,” he concludes, the small upwards perk of his mouth dropping when he realizes what he has
to do in return. Fuck. “Listen, I just want you to know that what I’m about to tell you is such a
small thing. Like, don’t even dwell on it. It’s stupid, yeah? Don’t expect too much.”
Harry just waves his hands dismissively with a frown. “Just tell me.”
“Okay.” It comes out as a pathetic squeak, and Louis clears his throat thoroughly before starting to
dig his own grave with his words. “So, this was a while ago. And basically, we had this thing
where Eleanor would tell us a bunch of things about Olympus and her life there, because I like the
stories and Stan just likes Eleanor, I think. And this one time, she got on the topic of Harmonia and
Eris, and then her, um. Offsprings. And from there, she started talking about you. She really
doesn’t like you, you know?”
Harry scoffs. “Yeah, I know. Full of lovely bullshit, that girl.”
Louis stops, face crumbling sternly. “She’s also my friend, Harry, so I’d watch it.”
“Whatever,” Harry stresses the expression with an eye roll. “So Eleanor talks some shit that she
probably heard straight down from her grandfather. Then what?”
Let it go, Louis. Let it go. This isn’t your issue.
“Well,” Louis drawls. “The stuff she said sounded pretty harsh. But I, call me foolish, like to
believe that people have motives for acting the way they do. So naturally, I asked her if she
knew why you did all the things she claimed you did. And apparently, to my friends, that counts as
having some sort of dangerous obsession with you, because both of them got super defensive. And
they assured me that you were the most terrible creature to ever grace the worlds, and so
obviously, I stood by my cause, because I didn’t want to just blindly believe a creature could be
born so cruel, like, there must be a story, and instead of considering if I might have a point, they
accused me of being naïve.”
As Louis continues speaking, Harry’s bitterly furrowed brow loosens up, green irises glossing over
into stunned peridots and his jaw slowly going slack. Louis wouldn’t know, though, because he’s
starting to steam up again at the memory, ranting quicker and fiercer by the second.
“And they turned so condescending, so mocking, just because I honestly thought you might have a
bit more substance to you than your upbringing and job, so in the end I just thought, fuck it! I’m
going to prove that I’m right. I’m going to march my way down there, and I’m—”
And then he’s roughly cut off by a firm pair of lips and a warm body against his own.
Harry’s kissing him.

~
“Mother,” Niall starts. “I just really need your thoughts on Harry and Louis before we leave. I’m
absolutely certain there’s something there, their entire body language screams out that there is,
but… I just need to know I’m doing the right thing. They’re after all not mine to pair up, are they?”
Venus bites her lip thoughtfully, ponders her son’s words for a moment.
“You need to not interfere more than absolutely necessary,” she replies slowly. “Too much
interference may scare them off. It’s a tender thing, their spark, blowing too hard could put the fire
out. You mustn’t rush it. But yes. You are doing the right thing, and if you want them, you can
have them.”
Niall sighs, relieved. “Thank you. So, they’re supposed to be together? It’s going to end happily,
right?”
Venus purses her lips, face hardening into something serious.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” she reminds him sternly. “That’s not entirely up to me,
regardless.”
Right. Niall’s shoulders slump a little with disappointment. He makes sure not to show it
excessively, though, as he knows that if his mother caught even the slightest hunch of him getting
emotionally attached to Harry and Louis, she would take it all back immediately and have someone
else pair them up. You can’t get too involved with your client’s lives, is the thing, you can’t start
sympathizing with them too much. Niall constantly cheats that rule, as he’s a hopeless romantic
and takes a liking to other creatures easily, but he’s become quite good at covering it up. Especially
now, he can’t take any risks. He wants this too much to fuck it up.
“Of course,” he says. He turns to Liam, who’s been standing quietly beside him the entire time,
nervously biting his thumbnail. “I guess we better be going, then.”
“You better,” Venus agrees. “I have an appointment with Mars in only a little while.”
Niall rolls his eyes. “That’s like, the fourth time this week, isn’t it?”
Venus just smiles with satisfaction, and it’s evident where Niall got that sweet but impish grin
from.
“I would also like to remind your shape shifter friend here,” she continues, ignoring Niall’s jab and
moving her attention over to Liam, “that if he ever mentions this conversation to anyone, especially
the couple in question, there will be consequences. This isn’t usually for your ears to hear.”
Her eyes are piercing through the very heart of Liam’s soul and out on the other side, and Liam
gulps and nods as an answer. Niall kind of understands him—his mother can be quite intimidating
at times. Not that she’d ever genuinely hurt someone, but she can give off the vibe. Niall’s envious
of that, as he doesn’t seem to have inherited that particular quality. He couldn’t scare someone to
save his life.
Venus seems content with the confirmation, Niall makes her agree to do her best to help Zayn get
out—although she makes it very clear that it might take a while, that she might even not be able to
do it because of the portal malfunction (Liam’s breath hitches beside Niall at that, and Niall’s
stomach drops as he prays with all he has that that won’t be the case), and after that she finally
sighs.
“Right then, off you go. And be careful.”
Liam is quickly out of there, Niall following closely behind, eager to get started. Adventures
always gets him going. Not to mention that he can disguise this one as a job and get the full
experience.
He stops, though, as they leave the first room, standing completely still as he’s struck with a
sudden electric wave of tension from behind the door they’re supposed to enter. His eyes widen
when it dawns upon him what’s going on in there, in glee at first—and then in horror as he watches
Liam storm up to burst through that door, totally unknowing of what’s behind there.
“Wait, Liam—” he tries, but he’s too late, and Liam’s already pushed down the ornate handle and
flung the door wide open.
Harry’s lips are a soft sort of rough on Louis’ thin ones, his smooth tongue massaging specks of
emotion into the small creases of the fairy’s lips.
Louis’ eyes are blown wide, at first completely taken aback by the sudden closeness, unsure what
to do. He tries to reason, tries to remember why this shouldn’t be a thing that happens, but he can’t
focus on anything except the burning, dizzying feeling of Harry’s hands against his back pulling
him in and the fact that his lips are just as warm and soft as they look. In the end he can’t contain
himself from pushing up on his toes, pressing impossibly closer to get more of Harry’s intoxicating
scent, more of his heat, more of everything. He just needs more.
It’s not like Louis hasn’t kissed anyone before. He’s kissed creatures of all genders, short, playful
flings brought on by the rush of spring or need of warmth during winter. They’ve been fun, they’ve
been shy, and they’ve been nice. Louis likes kissing.
But as he sneaks his own, small hands up Harry’s chest and neck to tangle fingers into soft,
chocolate curls, he thinks he might as well never have had physical contact with another creature
before, because nothing he’s felt has been even close to the sensational sparks exploding all the
way to the tips of his fingers right now.
Harry just kisses so differently. There’s nothing shy or innocent about the way he sucks Louis’
lower lip in between his teeth and slipping his tongue inside when it makes Louis gasp, there is no
hesitation or insecurity. It makes Louis’ head light and spinning as a shaky leaf in a thunderstorm.
"Fucking Niall," Harry mutters, pulling Louis’ lower lip with him a bit as they part just enough to
speak. Louis shudders.
"Fucking Niall," he agrees. Indeed. The cupid probably planted this seed right here for pure
entertainment. He’ll probably laugh at them later. Louis realizes he can’t really bother to care.
He does care, however, when the door to the room is loudly slammed open, revealing an impatient
Liam.
The shape shifter’s face drops immediately as his eyes land on his friends, and he looks about
ready to turn in the doorway and run for his life in the opposite direction.
Louis yelps and rips them both apart, flying so far away from Harry he knocks his back against the
rock-hard wall with a hiss. His face’s undoubtedly flushed and flustered, his lips are still tingling
and his jeans are a tad tighter than earlier. This is the worst thing to ever happen to him, he’s sure,
as the three of them stand completely still, staring at each other for unbearably long seconds. Liam
in distress, Louis in shame, and Harry—well, Louis wouldn’t know. He’s refusing to look at the
spirit.
So for an excruciating amount of time, they’re all engaging in the most painful, awkward silence
this far known to man, and Louis wishes to quite simply have a dagger stuck into his ribcage to end
the torture, when Niall perks his head up from behind Liam.
“Hi, lads! Ready to go, then?”
It’s obvious that he knows what’s been going on in here, with the way he’s eyeing Harry and Louis
with amusement, and Louis narrows his eyes. This is all Niall’s fault. He shouldn’t be smirking like
there’s a reason to be happy in life. Louis wants him to hang his head in shame.
“Yeah.” Liam whimpers out a reply, seemingly coming to life again. He starts moving forwards on
wobbly legs towards the portal in the middle of the room. He dares to throw one look on Harry and
Louis again, before closing his eyes and shaking his head frantically.
Harry silently follows his example, and Niall’s about to as well, but Louis grabs a hold of him first.
He pulls the cupid aside, giving him his very best glare.
“This,” he hisses, “is your fault.”
Louis wants to punch the grin off Niall’s face.
“What’s my fault?” Niall asks innocently. He is full of shit, Louis decides.
“You know very well.”
“Do I, though?”
What’s that even supposed to mean? “You and your stupid effect, Niall! Don’t play stupid.”
Niall’s smile only widens even further. “What effect?”
Louis sputters, at loss for words. “The stupid attraction effect you warned us about!”
“I don’t have a ‘stupid attraction effect’, Louis, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But—” Louis stares at him in panic as it slowly starts to sink in what Niall might have done. “Yes,
you have! You told us you had, you warned us about it!”
Niall shrugs. “I haven’t used any of my powers, actually. I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,
but it’s not true.”
Louis is going to be sick. “You—you liar!”
“To be fair,” Niall figures, “you’re the one who told me nothing would ever happen even if I did
use powers, anyway. So who’s the actual liar here?”
Definitely the worst thing that has ever happened to Louis. Crushingly so.
When Niall and Louis get in line next to Harry and Liam—Louis making sure he’s as far away
from the spirit as possible—Harry’s back is remarkably stiff and Louis understands he must’ve
heard the conversation, too.
Louis pulls Liam away from Harry to stand between himself and Niall, since Liam is practically
the only person in here which he, at the moment, doesn’t completely refuse to hold hands with.
Liam doesn’t protest, which is good. Louis wouldn’t listen, anyway.
“Let’s just go, yeah?” he mutters.
And they do.
Louis is under water.
His head is dimmed and puzzled from the icing cold pressure, his lungs are sore and his tongue is
dry and salty, and he wants to breathe but he can’t.
Louis isn’t sure about what exactly is going on, or how he ended up here, or what he’s supposed to
do, or for how long he actually is deep down there, fighting his way upwards and away from the
cold, pulling streams below. He doesn’t really know anything, except that he wants away from
there.
Which is why he keeps kicking and pushing himself towards what he hopes to be the surface,
struggling and feeling his body weaken by the second from the lack of air. Until, there’s a big hand
firmly gripping around his bicep, determinedly and roughly pulling him along towards a different
direction. Louis lets them, his head way too light to fight back or even comprehend what’s going
on.
What he does comprehend, however, is how he’s dragged away from the darkness and he watches
things as they get increasingly brighter, and soon enough, his head is above the surface, coughing
and sputtering and breathing desperately.
They’re not that far away from the shore, and a voice just commands “swim, Louis,” in his ear,
and Louis doesn’t know what to do but oblige, pushing his aching bones to move him forward one
last time.
Then they’re finally washing up on the shore, Louis digging his trembling fingers into the sand as
he crawls on all fours, and he doesn’t stop even though his body is aching all the way out to the
tips of his toes, until the sand under him is dry and stubbornly sticking to his wet skin.
He raises a hand to shove his floppy fringe out of his face, stretching out his back to shake his
wings dry.
Which is when he realizes something is incredibly, undoubtedly, out of this world, wrong.
“Oh my—” his breath catches in panic. “My wings! My wings! Where the fuck are they?”
Behind him, the other three boys are approaching as well, Liam following Louis’ example by just
slumping down in the sand, while Harry and Niall are working their way up on two feet again,
shaking their hair out of their face.
“Wow,” Niall puffs enthusiastically. “That was a rush. Everyone alright?”
No. Louis is not alright.
“My wings are gone!” he shrieks frantically. “They’re—I—what’s going on? I want them back!”
There’s a hand clapping his shoulder, and Louis looks up to see Niall sit down beside him,
bizarrely calm about the whole situation. His smile is so wide the corners of his mouth might as
well stretch all the way around to the back of his head.
“That’s because you’re on Earth, Louis. Looks like fate’s doing the work I’ve been struggling
with.”
Chapter End Notes
:)
um so this update came later than expected. probably bc i had a major writer's block
for like three days. sigh.
BUT it is here now and yay?? there is kissing?? and communication?? which is nice. i
hope.
ALSO it has come to my attention that i have never mentioned any kind of soundtrack
music despite having a playlist of roughly 100 songs that i use as inspiration????? what
is this.
so in case anyone is interested or need some nice music to listen to, harry's character is
based on 'polaroid - imagine dragons' (such a great song i cry) and another song i've
been listening to non stop for weeks which inspires the story is 'delicate - janet devlin'.
so. there you go. i have finished my duty.
anywayyyy next update should be up within 1 - 2 weeks depending on how busy i am

and thank you very much for reading :)) kudos and comments make me the happiest
person xxx
AND if you want please hit me up on my tumblr @tequiladimples. (which, yes. i have
changed url for the first time since i got it like 3 years ago. well done, emilia.)
chapter 11; earth
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Fuck, is the only thing Louis can bring himself to think. Fuck.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. He must’ve been thrown into the deepest, darkest pits
of Wonderland, because there is no way this could be anything but a vicious nightmare.
It feels so wrong, not being able to feel the small dents in his back where his wings are usually
grown out and strong, bizarre to crawl up drenched from the ocean and not feel wet drops running
down soaked, spun silver material, keeping him sane and balanced. He looks over to Niall and—
unwillingly—to Harry, and he confirms that none of them have suffered this horrifying loss of
magical traits, of course, because their bodies are designed for Earth, and Louis envies them so
much it hurts.
We only function, Louis, in places that hold magic. Without it we are useless.
His mother’s words ring in his ears, and his head spins faster and faster with each passing
microsecond.
He’s human.
“I’m human,” he breathes out in terror.
“You are,” Niall pats his back once again. “If it makes you feel better, there are no major changes
in your appearance except the, uh, wings. And also, I think you’ve grown a good five inches at the
least.”
Louis fills his lungs to the brink with air and lets it out slowly, trying to calm himself down and
force himself into getting accustomed to the absurd situation. He’s grown, Niall claims, and when
Louis looks at the cupid he realizes that he’s right. Niall, who’s usually around the same height as
Louis, is now several inches shorter. That’s a nice thing. Let’s focus on the positive.
Louis pushes his ice cold legs to start moving forward as he carefully looks around for a sign of
human life. He doesn’t find any—but then again he wouldn’t really call this suitable weather for a
swim anyway, he figures as he looks up towards the thickly grey sky. Either the clouds are on their
way off, or they’re incoming. So there’s a fifty percent chance rain could start falling at any
second.
Niall is right by Louis the entire time, unquenchably cheery and lively as always. Louis can’t help
but admire it a little bit. They have after all just been close to an icy, cold death. Not even Louis’
mood can be on top after that.
Not that Louis’ rarely moody. He can be a nightmare when he wants to, and he takes full pride in it.
He sees it as a good quality—it brings a bit of character. Besides, he has to be ready to whip out
harsh words at any minute, because he’s absolutely positive that if he didn’t have the ability,
people would walk all over him all the time. He’s lost track of how many times people have tried.
Breakable little fairy, sweet, happy, gullible creature. Louis can’t be just that if he ever wants
respect.
Not that he’d want to be just that. He’s proud of the surprised looks he’s managed to press upon
condescending creatures’ faces through the years.
He doesn’t get any further before his thoughts are roughly cut off.
“Are those—wings?”
Both boys jump several feet up in the air at the sudden unfamiliar voice, swiftly turning around to
see who’s caught them. Niall folds his small wings in behind his back with bolt-like speed.
(A tiny part of Louis’ mind is a little jealous of that ability— it must be very useful to be able to
just tuck them away at times.)
The heavy majority of his mind is way too busy focusing on the alien boy in front of them, looking
just as blown away by their presence as they are by his.
Louis is really growing tired of the universes’ shit, because this is the third unbelievably attractive
male stranger standing before him during startling circumstances in a very short amount of time.
It’s like this is fate’s way of telling Louis he should take his ego down a notch.
For a moment he’s way too mesmerized by warm, brown eyes and chiseled facial features to
actually comprehend what’s happening, too caught up in black leather clinging to thin arms and
slim fingers clutching around a thick book—but then he snaps out of it and realizes this guy just
saw Niall’s wings, and fear colder than salt water in January starts seeping through his chest and
down into his stomach.
What does this mean? What happens if an Earth Human sees magic? There must be consequences.
There must be. Oh god. What if it’s a life time in the Underworld? Is this how it ends? Fuck.
This is how it ends, this is it, Louis should’ve just stayed in Grimm to begin with, he shouldn’t
even have picked a fight with Harry in the first place, how could he be so stupid—
He snaps his head over to Niall, looking for support, for a way out—and finds himself quite
dumfounded when he realizes the cupid doesn’t look very terrified at all. His eyes are widened in
definite shock, but it’s not scared. Rather, there’s a kind of… Amazement.
Amazement? Louis is ninety-nine percent sure they’re doomed to death, and Niall looks amazed?
But then Niall breathes out a “Zayn?” and it all clicks into place.
Louis decides that if Zayn’s personality is even half as pretty as his complexion, Liam definitely
did well with his soulmate, because this guy, he looks—he looks magical. He’s simply too
attractive to be only human, Louis would be absolutely positive, and yet. Here he is. A human.
Zayn doesn’t respond immediately, just lets his eyes wander from Niall to Louis and back to Niall
again a couple of times, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Louis understands him; he’d be
pretty confused, too.
“I… I am awake, right?” he asks slowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Yeah,” Niall breathes before clearing his throat subtly. “Why—wouldn’t you be?”
The new boy looks down on his feet and buries his hands in the pockets of his washed out jeans.
“Just tell me if those were wings or if I’m crazy,” he mumbles.
Louis doesn’t know a lot about rules on Earth, but he’s absolutely certain they’re breaking so many
of them it’s not even funny as Niall nods, slowly folding his wings out again while carefully
watching Zayn’s facial expression.
Zayn closes his eyes tightly, breathing slowly in and out a couple of times and massaging his
temples.
“Can you please explain what’s going on? How do you know who I am?” he pleads lowly, and it
sounds calm enough but Louis can definitely hear the distress he’s trying to push aside. “Because I
think… Am I going crazy?”
Niall is about to answer something soothing, but he’s interrupted before he even has the chance to
begin as another creature joins their little conversation.
Liam seems to have finally regained control over his freezing legs and succeeded to wobblingly
move them all the way up to the other three. His breath is ragged, and his hand is trembling and
cold when he puts it on Louis’ shoulder for comfort. He doesn’t look up at Zayn, but rather locks
his exhausted gaze with Louis’ first, confusion evident on his face.
“I almost drowned,” he declares, but the way his eyelids are hanging tiredly kind of takes the
firmness of his words away.
“I know,” Louis tries to comfort. Whether that’s the best reply to achieve the desired effect stands
unanswered, but he decides it’ll do. “But you didn’t.”
Liam nods shakily, seeming a little calmer for a few seconds before he remembers his next issue.
“Louis,” he mumbles. “Why are we not magical?”
“Because we’re on Earth,” Louis explains and pets Liam’s damp head lightly. “Looks like we’re
going to have to be without our powers for a while.”
Liam frowns.
“Earth?” he echoes. “That’s. That’s where we wanted to go, right?”
“Yeah,” Louis assures him.
Niall is beaming beside them. “I should’ve trusted that fate always finds a way around everything.
This is way too good to be some kind of coincidence.”
Louis could argue with this. He doesn’t really agree that him having to lose his wings would be a
‘good’ thing, no matter what comes with it. He’d rather try and tuck them away for the stay or
something, hide, maybe, than having to do without them. He feels out of place without them. Tied
down.
He bites his lip though, to force the remarks to stay silent on his tongue, and settles for writing an
angry note to fate in his mind. That’ll suffice for now.
Liam has yet to look up right in front of him, so he’s still unaware of the new person watching him
with wide, curious eyes. Louis exchanges a mildly stressed look with Niall, wondering what
exactly will happen when Liam does notice, given the state he’s in.
“I’m really tired,” Liam manages to get out in-between heavy breaths. “Can we just—rest?”
Louis is about to answer something reassuring and slightly patronizing, but he’s cut off before he
gets there, because Zayn parts his lips to speak.
“I’ve seen you in my dream.”
Liam immediately snaps his head up, surprised by the unfamiliar voice blurting out such an
unexpected thing. The moment their brown eyes lock, Liam goes completely still.
It’s terribly quiet for several seconds, Liam and Zayn just staring at each other in shock while
Louis and Niall move attentive eyes between the pair.
And then Liam’s knees go weak and he grips tighter around Louis shoulders as he whines out a
“oh, for god’s sake,” shutting his eyes tight in something only akin to agony.
Louis thinks that this is a face of a man who’s finally had too much.
Understandable.
Louis stumbles a little from the sudden pressure, gripping under Liam’s arms to support him.
“Wow, now,” he says, petting Liam’s head softly. “It’s all right, Liam. Deep breaths, yeah? In and
out. We can do this.”
To be quite honest, Louis isn’t entirely sure Liam can do this.
“Can we—sit down?” Liam splutters breathily, making it very clear Louis’ half-hearted breathing
exercises had no effect.
“Is this really what you want his first impression of you to be like?” Louis scolds, like an unhappy
mother, but he does lower Liam to the ground. Liam slumps down like a massive weight is on his
shoulders, forcing him to bury his hands in the sand and hang his head tiredly.
Zayn’s beautiful face has gone from amazement and confusion to concern. “Is he… Okay?”
“I just need a minute,” Liam breathes.
“He just needs a minute,” Louis repeats, shooting Zayn a reassuring grin that aches in his cheeks.
“He’ll be just fine, this is just a little overwhelming for him—surely you understand.”
Zayn barely seems to listen to Louis’ kind convincing, worried frown firmly set on the shaken
shape shifter on the ground.
“Hey,” he tries softly, leaning down to come closer to Liam’s face which is currently stubbornly
facing the ground. “Is everything alright?”
Liam’s eyes fly open again with remarkable speed at the realization of Zayn speaking to him, and
his entire body jolts upwards, he snaps his head up to look at Zayn.
Unfortunately, Zayn leans down a little too far a little too early, and Liam manages to bang his
head straight into Zayn’s nose, causing him to fall backwards with a pained hiss and a hand
covering his face.
If Liam looked distressed before, he looks terrified now.
“Shit!” he exclaims, flying up on his feet, the previous unsteadiness of his legs obviously forgotten
about. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
Zayn reaches out a hand to wave it dismissively, taking another two steps back. His brow is
furrowed in agony and when Louis looks at Liam, the shape shifter looks so utterly horrified Louis
fears he might just implode.
“I’m sorry,” Liam tries again hopelessly. “God I’m sorry, are you—are you bleeding?”
Zayn shakes his head quickly, tentatively removing his hand from his face to bop his nose carefully
with his palm a couple of times, checking if it actually is alright. It seems to be, luckily for him—
and for Liam’s mental health.
“I’m—ah, I’m fine, I’m okay,” Zayn assures, locking his and Liam’s gazes with sincerity.
“Really.”
Liam stills looks anxious, but his spine unstiffens and his shoulders sink down until almost normal
height.
“I—okay,” he breathes. “Okay. Sorry.”
Zayn can’t help but let a small smile play on his lips, and he nods softly. “What’s your name?”
“Liam,” Liam gets out. “My name is Liam.”
“Hi Liam,” Zayn attempts tentatively. “I’m Zayn.”
“I know.” Liam stops himself, looking horrified at letting such a thing slip out with such eagerness,
and his neck flushes red. “Uh—I mean—“
“We should probably talk?” Niall cuts off before Liam has the opportunity to torture himself even
further. “Like, really talk about this whole—situation. It’s not exactly just something you get over
with in ten minutes.”
Zayn scratches his neck and nods, straining himself to keep his breath as steady as possible.
“I figured as much,” he agrees.
Louis is so torn. He’s absolutely positive they’re not allowed to do this, one hundred percent sure
that this is already breaking all sorts of rules, rules that could get them killed at worst. Niall
shouldn’t be doing this. Besides that, Louis’ never felt this uncomfortable with his own body
before in his life. It’s so limited like this, so heavy and earth bound, and his balance is so rubbed he
can feel his stomach twisting with every step he takes. He doesn’t want this. He needs the magic
back, he needs his wings.
“Do you maybe have a place where we could do this?” Louis urges, fidgeting nervously.
Zayn looks contemplative. “I would take you to my flat, but London’s two hours away form here
and I was kind of hoping to stay a little while longer. And I think my flat mate’s home anyway and
he’s probably having… Guests. So it’s probably not the best option.”
“Alright. Let’s just do it here, then,” Louis suggests. “Sit down in the sand and have a nice chat.”
“It’s going to be cold,” Zayn figures. “This is England, after all,” he adds, as if that’s something
Louis’ supposed to understand the point of.
“Then—make up a fire, knit blankets, I don’t care,” he whines. “Just get it over with so we can
move on from here—“
“—We’re not moving on from here,” Niall interrupts him promptly with a rigorous look at Louis.
“Not for a while, I’d say. We have plenty of time.”
A chilly blow of wind sweeps through right at that moment, causing the hairs on Louis’ arms to
stand up and his teeth to clapper harshly.
“Fire,” he mutters, figuring he could argue the point with Niall at a more fitting occasion. “Let’s
make a fire. And where’s the closest place to get food? Because I’m fucking starving.”
So he gets a little more grumpy when he’s tired and hungry—so what? He’s positive everyone does
at some level. Louis’ got a better reason than most, honestly, what with the unfortunate world
change to top it off and everything. It’s justified.
Zayn seems to mull this over for a minute, before getting a look of enlightenment in his otherwise
dark eyes.
“There is a small fireplace over there where we could make one up. We could make s’mores,” he
says, plump lips widening into a grin. “I think we should make s’mores. We could take the train to
a grocery store or something, it’s maybe half an hour per way. Kill some time to get to know each
other a little better.”
Louis does not have time for this. “What the hell are s’mores?”
Zayn stops his planning abruptly to give Louis a proper stare.
“You’ve never had s’mores?” he asks, wide-eyed. His eyes are so pretty Louis almost forgets that
he’s supposed to answer a question.
He can only imagine how hard of a time Liam is having.
“No,” he frowns. “Is it a human invention?”
Zayn looks horrified. “How have you lived?”
Louis just shrugs. It’s quiet for a while, Zayn taking this in, moving his eyes back and forth
between Louis and Liam in awed disbelief.
“Have you… Ever been to a grocery store, then?” he asks carefully.
He receives two blank stares, and he whistles, clearly taken aback.
“Wow.” He drags out the word. “I’m—I’m sure we’ll clear up how that’s even possible later,
yeah?”
“Sure.” Louis is a tiny bit intrigued. What is this grocery store? Why is it so necessary to Zayn?
Zayn nods, breathing heavily. It must be a lot to take in, this. Louis is kind of fascinated with how
calm he manages to remain. Wonderland must’ve fucked him up really bad, or he’s just a little
insane to begin with. Louis wouldn’t know.
“Okay, so—Liam, yeah?” Zayn points at Liam, who merely nods, eyes still blown wide when he
looks at the new boy. Zayn nods as well and turns to Louis. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Louis,” Louis introduces himself, putting on a blinding smile for best effect. “And this is
Niall.”
Zayn returns the smile timidly, and then swoops his gaze over to set on something behind them.
“What about you, then?” he asks lightly.
Louis, for the first time since Pantheon, turns to look where Zayn is aiming his attention and sees
Harry, whom he hasn’t even realized was standing there, and he’s suddenly curious as to why he’s
so awfully quiet.
It instantly becomes clear that something’s incredibly, seriously wrong, judging by the frank,
undisguised horror in the spirit’s eyes. Louis almost flinches back in mere surprise, because he’s
seen Harry upset before, he’s seen him angry and bashful and dejected, but he’s never seen Harry
look scared.
It’s uncomfortable to see. His entire body is rigid and his eyes are so wide and his jaw is slack, and
Louis has to fight to not let his guard down once again to attempt calming him down. He knows
what could happen now if he does, and he’s still so confused he has a headache just thinking about
it, but under no circumstances will he ever risk it again.
There’s no ‘hello’ from Harry. There’s no arm extended for a handshake, there’s not even a tight
smile or a cocked eyebrow. There’s just a whole lot of shocked staring, as if he’s forgotten how to
move his limbs.
Then he breaks out of it.
“Excuse me,” he mutters, before briskly turning on his heels and hurrying off before anyone even
gets to say a word.
Everyone’s staring after him with furrowed brows, not saying a word for a while. Confusion is
palpably thick in the air.
It’s Zayn who awkwardly breaks the silence.
“So my guess is he doesn’t like me very much…?”
“No!” The other three erupt into protests, eager to assure Zayn that that’s absolutely not the case,
even though no one’s entirely sure. “No, no, that’s just Harry being Harry, it’s nothing personal—”
“I’m sure he’ll come back,” Louis says, patting his arm. “Harry’s a little irrational, if you will.
Leave it for now.”
He’s not too sure of his own words, though. A part of him really wants to run after and demand an
explanation, but he can’t do that. Louis has decided not to talk to Harry ever again. If that were to
ever happen in the future, Harry would have to be the one coming crawling back with apologies,
because Louis is certain it’s all the spirit’s fault.
Liam sighs.
“I’ll go after and try finding out?” he proposes, glancing at Louis especially, as if he wants some
kind of permission, as if he’s expecting Louis to go ‘no, I’ll do it’ and run off before anyone has the
chance to blink. As if Harry’s somehow Louis’ forte, as if there’s some kind of connection.
He’s not going to do that, though. And that’s not true. Harry’s not going to be Louis’ problem
anymore.
So he shrugs, putting on his best nonchalant face. “It’s not my problem, is it? We’ll be leaving soon
anyway, he’ll have time to get over whatever it is.”
Liam winces at the thought of having to leave, the corners of his mouth sinking and Louis
immediately feels bad.
“I’ll go and talk to him then,” he confirms, before stumbling off towards the spot Harry’s now sat
down in.
Louis’ stomach quivers a little like it does when he knows he’s done something wrong but won’t
apologize for it. He scratches his neck loosely and turns to stare right into the disapproving
blueness of Niall’s eyes. Damn it.
“Zayn, would you excuse us for a second?” he asks, very politely and passive aggressively, and
Louis gulps. When Niall loses his smile it’s a sign of something serious going down, he’s been
able to understand that much during the short time they’ve known each other.
Zayn just nods a little in mild confusion, and so Niall pulls Louis with him a few meters away, not
a lot unlike Louis had with him back by the portal in Venus’ chapel.
“Why do you keep talking about leaving?” Niall demands as soon as they’re out of earshot, and his
usually blinding smile is nowhere to be seen. Louis flinches uncomfortably.
“Because we are?” he replies, raising a questioning eyebrow. They are, right? They must be.
“Are you kidding?” Niall hisses. “No, we’re not!”
What?
Louis blinks once, twice, three times, trying to find words. What does Niall mean they’re not
leaving? They have to leave! Louis is not going to live with this. He can’t.
“Why not?” he presses, slightly frantic.
“Because we’re on Earth! Zayn is here, Louis. I’ve been struggling and fighting for this very union
to happen for so long. I’m not going to abandon what could be the only chance I’m going to get to
pair them up. This where we are now, and we’re staying as long as it’s not life threatening.”
Louis is going to pass out any minute. The first and only time Louis is the one who wants to keep
moving, they’re suddenly staying? For an undetermined amount of time?
What did Louis ever do to deserve this injustice?
“Niall,” he pleads. “I don’t like it here!”

“You’ve been here for a total of twenty minutes, you don’t get to decide that yet. And if you
desperately want to, I could tell you how to find the next portal and you could keep going on your
own, but I really don’t think you want that, do you?”
That silences Louis effectively, and he resigns to biting his lip and avoiding Niall’s gaze. No, he
kind of really doesn’t want that. He hates to admit it, but he’s secretly grown a little attached to this
thing they’re doing, no matter how much dislike he’s expressed thus far. It’s been making him feel
a little less small and a little more like a hero.
Niall seems to understand that’s what Louis’ thinking even without an audible reply from the fairy,
and he nods slowly.
“We’re going to stay here,” he says slowly, facial expression stating that this is not a suggestion.
“Because Earth is safe, three of us know our way around it, if we bring Zayn along to any of our
magical universes our punishment would be a never-ending life in the Underworld, and lastly—I
don’t know, do you want to live with separating two soulmates on your conscience, anyway?”
No. Louis doesn’t. Especially not with the Sophia incident still nagging at the back of his mind.
So he decides there and then, to push it all aside for now as well as he can, and do this for Liam.
Because he likes Liam. Because Liam deserves this more than anyone he knows, probably.
“Fine,” he states. “For Liam. But I don’t have to like it.”
That seems to do the trick to put an end to Niall’s stream of serious facial expressions, and he
breaks into a wide smile.
“Don’t worry, Louis, I have a feeling you will,” he beams. “Now, let’s go to the grocery store.”
“What even is a grocery store, anyway?” Louis mutters, wandering along.
Niall doesn’t answer, so the conversation ends there and they get back to Zayn smoothly,
reassuring smiles on their faces. Zayn returns them with one of his own, and then gets right back to
watching Liam trying to speak to Harry. And failing, by the looks of it.
Harry still hasn’t moved an inch from his place. Louis watches him with mixed emotions as Liam
tries to communicate with him, evidently not succeeding as Harry doesn’t react in the slightest.
Louis finds himself wanting to hurry down there and scold Harry for being childish and tell him to
snap out of it. He reminds himself sternly that he’s not speaking to Harry anymore. Lecturing him
is not his job.
It’s obvious that Liam’s on the verge of giving up, and when he finally does it’s with a heavy sigh
running through his entire body, and he gets up with shoulders slumping in defeat.
“There’s nothing that even lures out the smallest reaction from him,” he tells the other boys when
he reaches them. “I think we’ll have to go without him.”
That does awaken something ugly in Louis’ chest. No one knows what Harry will do if they leave
him here.
“What if he leaves?” he can’t help but protest. “If we don’t know what the problem is, we don’t
know how he’ll deal with it. What if we come back and he’s gone?”
Niall raises an eyebrow.

“You’re more than welcome to try and talk to him if you want, Louis.”
“No!” Louis snaps quickly. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to leave him alone when we know so
little. What if he hurts himself?”
“Does that matter to you, then?”
Niall’s voice is unforgiving and blunt, but what makes it so awful is that it’s not mean. It’s a
genuine question, as if Niall’s trying to figure them out. Louis doesn’t want Niall to figure anything
out. He doesn’t want Niall to find connections and do stupid over-analyzations of their behavior.
He doesn’t want this.
And so he wants to protest, but he can’t, because there’s nothing to defend himself from. He’d just
make himself look guilty and foolish, and in denial. Which, he might be the latter but he also might
not be at all. And he doesn’t need anyone else analyzing his feelings and intentions.
So he realizes, he has no other choice but to let it be.
“I’m not a bad person, I don’t want anyone to hurt,” he mutters so quietly he wonders if anyone
even heard him, before speaking up properly. “Alright, then. Lead the way, Zayn.”
The grocery store is called Tesco, and Louis is in awe.
He doesn’t love admitting it, but he hasn’t quite stopped being in awe since they left the beach.
Zayn gave Niall his leather jacket to cover up his wings, and then they took off towards the
‘underground’—which is not at all some kind of doomsday place for lost souls, but a way of
traveling under the ground, Louis notes fascinatedly—and after the underground, into town and to
the bespoken supermarket.
It’s all so overwhelming to Louis. There are just so much of everything, so much people and so
much noise and so much stuff and—so much food. So much food, all collected in one place. So it’s
totally understandable that Louis is amazed.
He’s just walking around behind Zayn with Liam on his right and Niall behind them, wide-eyed
making his impression.
Maybe Earth isn’t so bad, after all. A place containing grocery stores can’t be a source of too much
evil. Maybe Louis can live with this for a while.
“Okay…” Zayn casually strolls down one of the filled aisles, looking for something. “We’re going
to need graham crackers, marshmallows and chocolate.”
Louis only knows what one of those things are, but he figures if chocolate’s involved, then it must
be good. His mood is a lot better now than before, and now he’s just excited. Things are definitely
looking up.
He looks over to Liam, who’s wistfully staring at Zayn’s back as the boy picks out a plastic
package with white, fluffy content from one of the shelves.
“He’s so pretty, Louis,” the shape shifter whines lowly. “What do I do?”
Louis can’t suppress a grin. “Shouldn’t you be asking Niall this? He’s our expert, after all.”
“I have, and he won’t tell me anything.” Louis swears Liam is genuinely pouting like a six year
old, and he snickers.
“Then I guess you’ll just have to figure it out on your own. But if it makes you feel better, he seems
just as enamored with you.”
Liam obviously tries to hide a smile by tucking his face into his shoulder, but he’s not fooling
Louis. “You think so?”
Louis grins widely and pats Liam’s back. “I really do.”
“Liam!” Zayn suddenly calls out a few steps in front of them. “Can you, ah—help me for a bit?”
Liam instantly snaps his head up, once again in awe over the fact that Zayn chose to acknowledge
his existence, and abandons Louis to walk up to him. Zayn’s currently holding graham crackers,
chocolate, marshmallows, and a pack of napkins in his hands simultaneously and it’s looking rather
difficult. He should’ve taken one of those plastic baskets by the entrance, Louis thinks.
Before he has a chance to react, Niall is by his side instead, a smug smirk on his lips as he watches
Liam walk.
“Wait for it…” he whispers.
Louis’ about to ask what exactly he’s supposed to be waiting for, but just as he opens his mouth,
Liam just trips over absolutely nothing, and he knocks into Zayn, making him drop all his goods on
the floor.
“Is Liam actually this clumsy or is that you just fucking around with him?” Louis mumbles,
suppressing an amused smirk. “Because this shouldn’t be physically possible.”
Niall snickers. “I’m merely doing my job.”
Liam—obviously—starts apologizing profusely before they’ve even reached the floor.
“Hey, hey, I’m fine,” Zayn calms Liam through the endless stream of sorry’s. “Is it, like, a thing of
yours to try and knock out new people you meet?”
His smile is crooked and playful, and Louis is almost positive Liam will ruin this attempt at
almost-flirty banter with more apologies.
Liam definitely surprises, though, as he blurts out:
“Only pretty ones.”
It’s obviously not planned and Louis can imagine how wide Liam’s eyes must be with terror in that
very moment, but the comment makes Zayn blush and look away, smile nipping at his pink lips.
Louis counts it as a victory.
“Nice one, Liam,” Niall whistles, visibly impressed.
Louis wipes his eyes delicately.

“My boy,” he sighs, voice dramatically trembling. “Growing up and making boys blush. Brings
tears to my eyes.”
“Truly,” Niall nods, putting a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Before you know it they’re
going to go on dates and share clothes and blow each other in semi-public places.”
Louis wrinkles his nose. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
Niall just laughs as they start moving towards the pair who’ve managed to collect the things off
the floor and carefully stand up again.
“You got all you need?” he asks them, eyes glinting.
Liam sends him a subtle glare and Zayn nods.
“Yeah, I think this is it.”
Louis lets his eyes wander along the aisle one last time out of pure curiosity, but he stops at a
particularly intriguing thing, narrowing his eyes.
“Nutella? What’s that?” he asks.
“Oh,” Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Chocolate and hazelnut cream. You put it on sandwiches and in
pastries and stuff. It’s really good.”
“Hold on.” Louis can’t let this go. This is an astounding invention. This is—this could be Louis’
favorite thing. He loves chocolate and he loves hazelnuts. “It’s like… The consistency is like
sticky cookie batter? But chocolate and hazelnut flavored?”
Louis loves cookie batter.
“Uh. Sure. I guess you could say that,” Zayn replies, visibly amused by the fairy’s awe. “I could
buy a jar for you if you want?”
Louis dropped jaw and glossy eyes in amazement is enough of an answer.
If people look at him weirdly as he clutches a jar of Nutella tightly to his chest on the ride back to
the beach, Louis doesn’t care.
Harry hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting in the exact place they left him when they get back, and
Louis sighs out a breath of relief he hasn’t even realized he’s been holding.
“I’ll go and get the fire ready,” Zayn says, looking hesitantly at Liam. “Do—do you want to help
me?”
Liam’s eyes go wide, as if it’s absolutely unthinkable to him that Zayn would still seek out his
help. “I—Of course! I mean. Yes. I’d like that.”
Zayn just smiles, and they both start walking in a comfortable pace over to the small fireplace a bit
further away. Their arms touch ever so slightly at times, and Louis sighs, content.
“Young love is such a beautiful thing,” he states dreamily. Niall hums.
“Theirs certainly is,” he agrees. “So, um. It’s nice to see Harry hasn’t done anything, right?”
Louis knows where this is going and he’s not playing along.
“Please don’t.”
Niall groans and locks his fingers together in a pleading gesture. “Oh, come on, Louis, at least
try?”
Louis draws his finger around in swirly patterns in the sand. “I can’t see why you don’t just try.”
“We both know he won’t listen to me.”
“Send Zayn then, maybe that’ll do. That seems to be where the issue lies, anyway.”
“Louis.”
“I’m not doing it, Niall!”
Niall groans in frustration, running both hands through his hair.
“When are you going to stop wimping around and admit you actually care for him? Because I’ve
known you for barely twelve hours and I’m already done with it.”
“Fine!” Louis snaps, standing up abruptly and glaring at the cupid. “I’ll fucking try, just stop
talking. And don’t blame me if things get worse.”
With that said and without waiting for any type of response, he staggers off towards the other end
of the beach where Harry’s currently sitting, quiet and completely still, watching the waves calmly
wash into the shore. Louis stops for a moment, sighs and tries to push aside the anger and
frustration that came with Niall so bluntly calling him out. He’s making this whole thing a way too
big deal.
It’s just that Niall sees so much. Liam’s been peacefully oblivious and unquestioning, and that fits
Louis perfectly. This is—this is different. This is new and frustratingly enough, vulnerable, and
Louis doesn’t want to face what his relation to Harry means. He wants to keep going as if it’s
normal and ignore questions and other things that may have to make him stop and think through
whatever they’re doing, and Niall makes that so hard.
Louis shakes his head and breathes deeply a couple of times, and then he sits down next to Harry in
the damp sand.
He doesn’t know what to say. Still really doesn’t want to talk to Harry, if he’s completely honest,
doesn’t even know if he’s able to properly look him in the eye ever again, so he just sits quietly,
trying to make himself as small as possible. Which probably is a first for him.
Harry doesn’t even bat an eyelid, just keeps his gaze firmly aat the horizon, which is growing
increasingly golden while the sky above fades gently from lavender into a dark purple.
Louis fumbles for a suitable phrase to initiate the conversation. Something humble, yet straight
forward and stern. Something light-hearted, yet serious. Something that’ll make Harry think.
“I really like sunsets,” is what he ends up with.
Harry still won’t look at him, but Louis can see his eyebrow raise. “Okay.”
“It’s just one of those things, you know? Like, it’s constant. I mean, everything’s been so messy
lately. We’ve been roughly tossed between different circumstances and conflicts and met new
people in new worlds and seen how different creatures live their lives, and it’s like, it’s exciting,
but—you lose grip, I think, of consistency. You lose grip.” Louis continues rambling to fill up the
empty space of silence. “But the sun still always sets somewhere. Time always passes in the same
secure pace no matter what we do, or how we perceive it. Nature always keeps going, regardless of
messy or confusing or hard things around you are. It never stops, it never flies. It ticks on steadily.
And I think—I think that’s really nice.”
He quietens for a moment, and Harry huffs. He still won’t look anywhere but straight in front of
him.
“How very wise if you. Was there a point, or…?”
“No, not really,” Louis replies honestly. “I’m just really enthusiastic about nature.”
“You would be.” Harry rolls his eyes, but Louis swears there’s amusement faintly playing on his
face. Unwillingly, because he contains it immediately, going back to looking empty of emotion,
and Louis swallows.
“So,” he starts, but Harry cuts him off right away.
“I know what you’re doing,” he says tiredly. “Please leave me alone.”
“It’s funny that you know, because I don’t,” Louis snaps. “I’d decided to not talk to you, but
apparently, you’re being so frustratingly difficult that Niall’s forcing me.”
Harry doesn’t even blink. “Why have you decided to not talk to me?”
He’s doing it deliberately to avoid the actual subject in need of discussion, but Louis’ ears still heat
up.
“You know why.”
“Ah. Bit of an overreaction, though, don’t you think?”
“I do not.”
“You’re attractive, I’m attractive. Big deal. It’s just a kiss, anyway.”
Louis flinches a little at the mention, and he can’t help but feel a little hurt by the triviality of
which Harry speaks about the incident. Obviously it’s nothing big—especially not to Harry, who
Louis would imagine merely sees stuff like that as a way to pass time—but still. He doesn’t want to
be a ‘just’ anything to anyone. Even if it’s someone like Harry. He needs to always be spectacular.
He’s determined not to let that show, though.
“What’s bugging you?” he asks quietly.

Harry lets the sound of softly crashing waves fill the space between them for a while, and Louis
watches him clench his jaw as he contemplates what to do.
“I can’t be around Zayn,” he says at last, flatly.
“What?” Louis stares. “Why?”
“That’s not important. What’s important is that it’s not an option to keep Zayn around while I’m
there, and if you still want him with you so badly I’ll be just fine on my own.”
“Of course it’s important why!” Louis can’t help but raise his voice, heat of frustration flaring in
his chest. “Am I supposed to just walk up to him like ‘no offence, I know you just found your
soulmate, but I’m going to need you to leave because Harry said so’? I’m not doing that!”
“Well, too fucking bad for you,” Harry snaps back, “figure something out because I’m not doing
this.”
“Are you really willing to do this to Liam? Again?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Liam.”
“Like hell it doesn’t!”
The words do have an effect to an extent, something pained flashing by in Harry’s eyes before
they’re taken over by stern resolution again. “I don’t mean for it to.”
“What did Zayn ever do to you anyway? He seems nice!”
“You don’t get it. That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is it?”
“He’s one of my humans.” Harry’s fists tighten and unclench as he at last lets his guard fall,
snapping his head in Louis’ direction to glare at him furiously, and it would be terrifying if he
didn’t look so desperate at the same time. “He went on a trip with a couple of friends to the Greek’s
territory of Earth once. I’ve worked with him, Louis, I’ve—I’ve seen all the ugly little cracks and
creases of his mind, I’ve felt his entire life hurt so badly he couldn’t even be free from it on a
vacation he went on just to enjoy—I’ve known all his memories and darkest secrets, I’ve entered
his life to cause him pain and left before I got to know him and now—“
His voice breaks on the last vowel and he looks away, humiliation evident in the way his shoulders
slump.
“You’ve never really faced the consequences of your job, have you?” Louis asks slowly, carefully,
as realization dawns upon him.
Harry scoffs. “I’ve never had to.”
He’s never had to. Louis ponders this statement with tumbling bewilderment—but also a hint of
comprehension. Because that would make sense, maybe. That Harry hasn’t felt bad about his
actions so far not necessarily because he purely, simply and horribly enjoys pain, but because he’s
never seen the bigger picture.
It doesn’t—it doesn’t excuse anything, god, but it’s something Louis can work with. It’s something
Louis can use to come closer and help him in the right way.
“Please don’t run from it, then,” is what Louis says.
“I have to,” Harry whispers. “You can’t get attached to your clients. Especially not with my job, do
you know what would happen if I sympathized with every single person I had to work with? I’d
implode.”
“You haven’t seen the way Liam looks at him. I’m afraid we have no choice but to keep him
around, Harry. Besides, I think… I think it’d be a good thing for you, maybe.”
“A good thing for me?” Harry barks out a horrified, short laugh and bores his gaze into Louis’ own
with disbelief. “You don’t get it—Zayn’s life sucks, Louis. He’s an orphan. No one knows who his
actual parents are. He’s been passed on through various host families, some who’ve treated him
awfully. His pain is pulsing through my entire body every single time I look at his face—his worst
memories and his mistakes and his trauma and I—it would not be good for me, and it would not be
good for him either. It just wouldn’t.”
“Maybe not that part,” Louis admits. “I understand that. But it might help to get to see him have a
happy ending. Despite it all.”
Harry shuts his jaw, going completely silent. Louis can practically hear the thoughts bouncing
around inside that curly head of his, and he lets him think things through in peace.
So Louis looks back out on the open ocean, counting the rolling waves as they approach, and lets
himself be reminded of time once again.
It’s been quiet and uneventful for so long that Louis jerks back, startled, when Harry suddenly
shoots straight up onto his feet, brushing off sand from his black jeans.
“You going to keep sitting here, then?” he asks Louis casually. His jaw is still tense and he tries to
come off as arrogantly nonchalant, but Louis can see the hint of determination in the curve of his
lips.
He fights a smug smile from erupting on his face as he stands up as well, and starts walking behind
Harry.
They join the three boys around the fire quietly, Harry offering Zayn a hesitant smile and a hand
shake, and Niall mouths a ‘thank you’ around a big smile to Louis behind their backs. As if Louis is
some sort of miracle worker.
And, like, Louis kind of is. He’s very aware. But there’s a feeling taking root in his ribcage making
it swell up brightly, and he thinks it’s pride, and that scares him a little. Being the only one who
could convince Harry to break out of his mood, being the one he trusted to tell, it all does
something wobbly and soft to Louis and it feels—bloody fantastic, actually, to know that someone
trusts him like that.
Especially Harry, a tiny voice says in his head. Especially Harry, who doesn’t seem to trust
anyone.
“So, Zayn,” Niall starts suddenly, snapping Louis out of his thoughts. “I was hoping your
conscience could be removed from Wonderland while still making you think it was all a dream.
That didn’t really seem to succeed, since you’re taking, well—our existence, as well as you are.”
Zayn flinches a little at the mention of Wonderland, frowning and biting his lip. “It was just… too
real to be a dream. I remember too much, and too intensely, it just—it can’t have been. It had this
—this whole, solid plot, like, I remember getting there, and locating myself, and meeting all these
people, and getting in and out of trouble, and then finally finding a portal, and—and when I went
through the portal, that’s when I woke up. I even woke up with a cut on my arm I got from one of
the play card’s spears, and still I was right there in my bed, in the very same position I fell asleep
in. How does that work?”
There is a mutual widening of eyes around the fire, staring disbelievingly at Zayn, who seems very
uncomfortable with the attention.
“You—escaped yourself?” Niall asks, eyes blown wide and jaw slack. “Through a portal?”
“I mean, yeah. I think so.”
“And you ended up here? On Earth?”
“It’d be safe to assume, wouldn’t it?”
A strained, disbelieving silence stretches around them for several moments as this information
sinks in.
“Well. What seems to have happened,” Niall starts slowly, “was that w—someone, moved you into
Wonderland. It’s a very, very dangerous move, since your presence there might cause serious
imbalance because you’re an Earth human and Wonderland is built up by your people’s
imagination. But, the thought was—probably—that you were supposed to follow Liam, Harry and
Louis when you were there, and then travel with them out of there? That didn’t go exactly as
planned, though. So naturally I—someone’s—been freaking out a little about that because you
were left to your fate in Wonderland all by yourself. But apparently there’s no need for that,
because you… Escaped yourself. Through a portal. And you ended up back on Earth. I have no
idea how one human could have that much luck, but fate must fucking adore you.”
When Niall finally stops talking, he does so with a shake of his head, his eyes still firmly on Zayn
as if he’s a puzzle Niall can’t figure out. Zayn, meanwhile, doesn’t look like this explanation made
thing much clearer to him at all.
“Has anyone ever told you that making sense of things might not be your strongest quality?” he
asks, and Louis can’t help but burst out a small laugh.
“I like you,” he exclaims happily.
Niall rolls his eyes. “Don’t sass me, mate. I possess powers you could never dream of.”
“What are your powers?”
“It’s—” Niall starts, but quietens. He can’t really tell Zayn what his job is, Louis guesses, because
Zayn would probably figure out then that Liam is his soulmate. And that would probably make
things forced. The chemistry wouldn’t work out as naturally. “I can’t say. I’m sorry.”
Zayn frowns. “But I was supposed to meet you all, yeah? Why?”
Niall scratches his neck, and Louis can practically watch his thoughts race.
“Some things that fate wants is a mystery even to us,” he at last says lightly. “I guess we’ll all see
in time.”
It's not the richest lie Louis’ ever heard, but it doesn’t seem to faze Zayn too much. Which Louis
guesses makes sense. After all, who's a mortal to question these things?
“Is it all real, then?” he asks, dropping the subject easily and quite eagerly. “The universes?”
Louis nearly passes out with distress at that because how does Zayn even have the slightest idea—
but Niall just nods.
“All you’ve read in books and religion studies is true. I’m from the Roman, Louis and Liam are
from the Norse and Grimm, and Harry is from the Greek.”
And maybe that makes sense, then, that Zayn knows from books. Louis remembers his mother
telling him that the humans on Earth still needed to know, still needed to believe, for the worlds to
be able to go on. Of course there must be books for that to work properly.
And Louis would guess that Zayn is one who believes, because he currently looks like a little child
on Christmas morning. No confusion, no concern, no anxiety—just pure excitement and joy. His
eyes are sparkling.
“I fucking knew it,” he exclaims giddily, moving his marshmallow away from the fire to cram it in-
between two graham crackers. “I—I knew it was too complicated and thought out to be only stories.
Fuck.”
He looks to the other three with expectant eyes. “Are none of you allowed to tell me what you are?
Because I’d love to know. I’ve read all there is to know, I swear—nothing can shock me.”
Liam obeys first, blurting out an “I’m a shape shifter,” without even hesitating, obviously so eager
to please Zayn already.
Zayn’s smile only widens, showing off his white teeth. “What kind?”
“A wolf,” Liam scratches his neck. “But I’m not too sure it fits me. I’m not fearless enough.”
“I think it fits you perfectly,” Zayn tells him gently. “You made the decision to make this trip,
yes?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Liam agrees.
“Well, if that isn’t fearless I don’t know what is.”
Liam snaps his head up to lock his eyes with Zayn’s encouraging ones, and the smile that slowly
breaks out over his face makes Louis’ heart quiver.
Screw everyone who’s ever tried to tell him love isn’t gentle and beautiful.
Louis’ the next one, proudly stating that he’s a nature fairy. He lets a little bitterness seep through
his words when speaking about his currently nonexistent wings, because he can’t help it, alright,
it’s not like he’s ever been without them before. And then it’s Harry’s turn, and Louis looks up at
him with concern to observe the conflicted furrow of Harry’s brow. He lightly knocks his knee
together with Harry’s to show some encouragement—even though he’s supposed to be indifferent,
even though he’s not supposed to do this anymore—and Harry bites his lip.
“Um. I’m a spirit of pain,” he utters slowly, carefully watching Zayn’s reaction.
He’s right in doing so, as Zayn’s interested smile dulls a little as he realizes what this means.
Because if Zayn has read all there is to know about the worlds, he most definitely knows what a
spirit of pain does. Even if he doesn’t know Harry’s worked with him, he knows enough to
understand that Harry can read off, categorize, and use all the pain he’s ever felt with one simple
gaze.
“Right.” He purses his lips. “That’s… Nice?”
“Not really, no,” Harry deadpans. “Don’t worry, though. I won’t pry.”
Zayn swallows and nods. There’s a long conversation to be held here, Louis can almost physically
touch the unspoken content that desperately wants out, but it’s very obvious Zayn doesn’t want to
discuss those details in front of more people than necessary, and Harry’s short answer tells a
similar story from himself.
Louis thinks that if they are ever able to overcome the obstacle that this obviously is to them, they
could probably be the best of friends. There must be a lot of mutual understanding between them.
Louis decides to do his best to help them get along. It’d be good for both of them.
“So, uh,” Zayn starts again once the silence moves into slightly too strained territory. “What are
you all doing here together? I mean… Liam shouldn’t even know about Earth, right? What’s going
on?”
“Oh,” Niall smiles sheepishly. “Nice story, that. Our portal system is broken. We can’t control
where the portals are taking us anymore.”
Zayn’s eyes widen in genuine, taken back surprise for the first time since the conversation started.
“I thought that was—well, impossible?”
“Oh, believe me,” Louis mutters. “We did, too. We still have no idea how it could’ve happened.
No one does.”
Zayn frowns, pondering this for a second, before he turns to pull up his thick book from where he’s
neatly put it next to him on the wooden bench. Louis’ been wondering as a passing thought what
that book actually could be, and he now sees the title; Mythology of the Universes – A Complete
Guide. Zayn starts flipping through the pages quickly, eyes skimming over the constellation of
letters and spaces.
“There’s an entire chapter on only portals here,” he explains quickly. “Their history, function, old
related legends—practically all you need to know.”
“Damn,” Harry mutters, “Earth humans get more educated on our traveling system than we do at
the University.”
Louis’ kind of thinking the same. It’s honestly unfair, he’d quite like a book like Zayn’s one
himself. He’d read it all in one night, probably, that’s how eager he’d be. It almost irks him that
Zayn seems to know more about their worlds, Louis’ worlds, than Louis does.
“Ah, here!” Zayn exclaims and stops at a page, pointing into his book. “You don’t think it may
have something to do with the Powerhouses? Or have you looked into that already?”
Harry goes completely tense by Louis’ side at the exact same time as Niall lets out a drawn out
“oh”, and Louis doesn’t understand a thing. He looks over to Liam for confirmation that he’s not
the only one, and he seeks peace in the way those puppy-like eyes are darting all over the place.
“Every world has a Powerhouse,” Zayn reads. “The Powerhouse is a prominent place, building, or
other type of impressive work which symbolizes each of all the worlds. It contains every magical
power that every God and Goddess represent, binding together a force field where the magic
thereby flows and flourishes from. It is the reason magic has the capability to function in our
worlds, because just like everything else you create by hand, you can’t make it out of thin air. You
need basic tools and material—and you need a source. Varying from world to world, the
Powerhouse contains different amounts of magical powers based on what’s necessary and
acceptable in that very universe. Once a type of magic is submitted to a powerhouse, it’ll stay there
forever. The only exception from that rule is the lightning and electricity creating powers, which
need to be adjustable since they represent the function of the portals, and the portals—as earlier
mentioned—are constantly moved, removed or renewed.”
He closes the book with a loud thud, looking at the other three expectantly. “What if someone
messed up the electricity bonds?”
Harry doesn’t say a word. Niall, on the other hand, looks like someone just handed him the
solution to every single one of his problems on a silver platter. That’s how wide his grin is.
“Zayn!” he cries. “You’re a genius! How come no one’s looked this up before? We need to tell
people to investigate this!”
“And how are we going to do that?” Harry asks, voice peculiarly distant. “We’re on Earth. Who is
there to ask? Who can actually make a difference?”
Niall’s smile fades. “Fuck. You’re right about that. Shit. We may have to figure something out
there.”
The conversation treads on from there in rapid speed—Niall and Zayn seem too caught up in
discussion of portals, and Liam seems too caught up in Zayn, to notice Harry’s weird behavior.
Louis, though, when no one else pays attention, turns to the spirit with narrowed eyes.
“You know so much more than you let on,” he says. It’s not even close to being a question.
Harry stares firmly right back. Louis can see his jaw clench and unclench.
“I know nothing that can help us,” he replies, every syllable receiving elaborate stress to emphasize
how final his words are. “And that’s what’s important.”
Louis huffs and shakes his head. One day, he thinks, one day he’ll squeeze the truth out of Harry.
He turns his eyes and attention back on Zayn and Niall, Zayn looking kind of dejected now.
“So you’ll have to leave sooner than you thought, then?” he confirms.
Niall nods apologetically. “Maybe. I’m really sorry, Zayn. I promise I’ll try my best to let us stay
for as long as possible, and I promise I’ll find a way for us all to meet again as soon as the portals
are fixed.”
There’s a slight bitter tone to that last bit, and Louis understands that this must be awfully
energetically draining for the cupid. It’s like fate’s playing a game with him, pulling him towards
his goal just to push him right back to where he started. Louis does feel a little bad for him.
Zayn nods, looking down on his hands folded in his lap. “You’re staying for a little while, though,
right? Like, a couple of days, do you have that time?”
“Yes,” Louis interrupts before Niall can say anything. He’s nothing if not kind and sacrificing. “We
have time to stay a while, right lads?”
Niall sends him a grateful smile, and Zayn and Liam both perk up at the suggestion. Harry’s quiet,
but Louis’ still meant to be kind of upset with him, so he doesn’t really care.
“You’ll have to teach us all about the life on Earth,” he suggests, looking at Zayn cheerfully. “I’m
dying to know.”
“Of course,” Zayn grins back. “You could start right now by trying a s’more, if you’d like.”
The following couples of minutes are spent by Zayn showing Louis exactly how to get the
marshmallow perfectly burned—two attempts turns out black, one attempt is dropped, Louis is
frustrated—and then how to getly squeeze it into a nice sandwich with the graham crackers and
chocolate.
Louis watches the result in his hand suspiciously. Studies the string of white hanging off the edge.
And then he shoves half of it into his mouth in one go, and his eyes instantly widen comically, a
stifled gasp leaving his lips.
So s’mores might possibly be the absolute best thing Louis has ever tasted in his entire life.
He’s beginning to understand where Zayn was coming from with his horrified gaze earlier when
Louis and Liam admitted they’ve never tasted it before. Louis so gets it now, because he doesn’t
know himself how he’s been living without the glorious, mushily sweet taste fresh on his tongue
and sticking to his lips.
He can’t have been properly living before this, he concludes. It’s like all he’s experienced until the
very moment the first bit of melted marshmallow touched the tip of his tongue has just been
blandly passing by in grey shades of nothingness. It’s all he can focus on. He doesn’t even know if
there’s some kind of conversation going on around him at the moment, because the only thing he
can focus on are these heavenly sandwiches of sugar and joy.
Beside him, Harry is sitting, and he is struggling.
His neck is strained and he’s flat out staring at the sticky, white string of melted marshmallow that
Louis still hasn’t been able to lick from his lips quite yet. Louis is way too caught up in the
fantastic sensation his taste buds are giving him to notice anything, but Niall certainly isn’t. He
momentarily stops listening in to Liam and Zayn’s shy attempt at conversation to watch the
situation closer, knowing smirk widening on his lips.
“This,” Louis manages to get out between the enthusiastic bites, “is my favorite thing.”
He finishes his fourth s’more and pointedly sucks his fingers clean from crumbs and drying
marshmallow, making a popping sound whenever he pulls off. Harry gulps.
When Louis immediately dives in for a fifth one, impatiently waiting for the marshmallow to
become perfectly gooey on the inside, Harry decides to clear his throat to speak up.
“You should probably be careful, pixie,” he suggests lightly. “Keep stuffing them like you’re doing
and you might start choking.”
He does an awful job of sounding casual and joking. Louis takes it as a challenge instantly, turning
his entire body to make full eye contact with the spirit and then thrusts the whole thing into his
mouth at once, chewing with emphasis.
“That’s alright,” he shrugs when he’s swallowed it all, oblivious to the look in Harry’s eyes that’s
definitely telling everyone around him about a very different kind of own hunger. “I don’t have a
gag reflex, anyway.”
And true to his word, Louis doesn’t choke on anything, but Harry certainly does on the sharp
intake of air he makes, spending the next thirty seconds in a coughing fit.
Chapter End Notes
(hello i am emilia and i am a dialogue abuser)
i am extremely sorry about the delay, first off. i've been very busy with school starting
again among other things, but i sincerely promise i'm doing my best xxx so i hope this
was alright, i'm not too happy about it tbh but when am i ever?
if everything goes as planned, the next chapter will be ready in about 2 weeks and i
will try my very hardest to have it done by then :)
as always thank you for reading, kudos and comments make me so so so so happy like
they make my days, and if you want to talk my tumblr is @tequiladimples :)xxxx
chapter 12; earth
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
warning for sexual content towards the end!! if you are not into that you can easily
skip to the next scene xxx
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Louis’ tummy aches. His lips and fingers are sticky and he’s positive his tongue’s actively
crumbling from all the sweetness. He’d quite like something to drink right about now but it’s
already abundantly clear to him that walking down to the shore and drinking from the ocean is not
an option like it would be at home in the Forest—the lakes and streams over there are always
perfectly clear and clean and fresh, and the harsh, salty water he got out of a couple of hours ago is
none of those things. He mentally cusses the others out for forgetting to buy some kind of beverage
when they’d been at the grocery store. Not himself. How would he know that eating so many
s’mores would get you this thirsty?
He wouldn’t know. And he’s just about to call Zayn or Niall out on this, when Zayn gets there
before him with a different subject.
“So. Teach you about Earth, huh?” he questions. His gorgeous eyes are glinting with something
slightly mischievous, and Louis’ immediately over his dry tongue and leans forward. He knows
that when he himself has got that look in his eyes, only beautiful things can come from it.
(At least according to him. What others around might reckon is not important.)
“So have you… Have you ever gone clubbing, then?” Zayn asks, and as soon as the last syllable
leaves his lips, a grin splits across Niall’s face as he pumps a fist in the air.
“Fuck yes. You’re a man after my own heart, Zayn Malik.”
Louis hasn’t gone clubbing. He’s never heard the expression before.
Perfect.
“What is clubbing?” he asks, notably intrigued.
“You don’t have any related activity?” Zayn raises an eyebrow. “You go to a place where there’s
alcohol and loud music, and then you get wasted and dance on other wasted people.”
“Oh. Of course we do. We have festivals for the season changes. There’s lots of wine and dancing,
then.”
A snort is heard from Harry.
“This isn’t a fancy occasion. We’re talking liquor, Louis, do you do that kind of thing? Drinks that
are so alcoholic they burn your throat and set your insides on fire?”
Louis frowns, wrinkling his nose. “Why would I want to? That sounds unbelievably shitty.”
“You’re sweet, Louis, you’re so sweet,” Harry shakes his head, right corner of his mouth twitching.
“It’s because it gets you drunk.”
And, well—surely Louis’ had creatures in his surroundings who drink just a little too much. Who
empties entire bottles during grape harvest season and then they get all buzzed for hours—the
summer festival they have each year is the most prominent one. Louis remembers the elves and the
fairies and other embodied spirits gathering to eat and drink, taking on bottle after bottle of the
finest red wine they have, reminisces how their cheeks go a little redder and their eyes a little
glossier and their voices a little louder for every glass they consume.
He doesn’t really do it much, though. Either he’s been too young, or too restless to ever stay put
with the older creatures around the table and get to that point.
“Maybe that’s why you do it,” he allows. “But I don’t.”
“You’ve never been drunk?” Harry stares at him, eyes blown wide.
Louis feels inferior. He feels unexperienced and small and naïve because it’s obvious that all four
of the other boys find this unbelievable. Even Liam. Even Liam has been irresponsible and drunk
at least once.
“So what? It’s not like I need to have been, is it?”
“No, but—”
“Then I don’t see an issue!”
“Okay!” Liam cuts in emphatically. His eyes travel between Harry and Louis sternly, as if daring
them to let that escalate any further. “Looks like we’re clubbing tonight, right?”
Louis’ purses his mouth in frustration for a slight second, but determinedly shakes off the itch
rather quickly. His excitement may be a tad dampened from being the only one inexperienced
within a subject, but not enough to ruin this for everyone.
“Right.” he claps his hands together. “What are we waiting for? Are there preparations? Since
you’re obviously the experts.”
Zayn opens his mouth again, having pulled back a little as soon as Harry and Louis started their
jabbing but seeming more than willing to let it slide.
“You need ID’s, first off, or you won’t even be able to get in. Then we should all probably get a
night’s sleep because, no offense, but judging by the bags under all of your eyes it’s been a while
and it’s starting to get late. During the day we’ll find something to do to pass time, and then we’ll
go at it tomorrow night.”
“Right.” Louis really doesn’t want to ask what an ID is, so he hopes someone will catch on and
explain by themselves.
Harry catches on. Of all people.
“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the term,” he says, not only directed towards Louis but also
Liam, “but an ID is a card with your personal information on and it’s used in clubs to verify you’re
of legal age.”
“Are we of legal age, then?” Louis frowns. He’s not too crazy about breaking the law.
“Is there an age for drinking?” Liam mumbles in disbelief next to him.
“That’s not going to be a problem regardless,” Zayn cuts in. “My flat mate, right, he’s an expert at
faking these kinds of things. Birth certificates, ID’s, driver’s licenses, the lot. You’ll be fine. I’ll
talk to him in the morning about making you some.”
“I already have one,” Niall announces, satisfied, “and I’m guessing Harry can get in on his own.”
Harry nods. “I don’t think Louis needs one, either. He can transport with me, it’s worked before.
Less work, you know?”
Louis feels like this might be a moment where he’d want to disagree, but he’s already pushed his
boundaries and he’s quite frankly not in the mood. So when the others agree, he stays quiet. Harry
seems content.
“So do we all just crash at your place now or what?” he then continues, raising an eyebrow as he
looks at Zayn. It’s reluctant, the interaction, Louis notices. He understands it must still be hard for
Harry, this whole Zayn thing. Louis needs to find a way to make that vanish very soon.
“Platonically huddle together in your bed while listening to your roommate having an orgy next
door?”
Louis wants to kick Harry for being so insanely rude, but he stops himself when he watches Zayn’s
face and realizes he’s not appearing to be very offended. On the contrary, his symmetrical lips are
pulled into an appreciative smile.
“Oh, you don’t have to listen if you don’t want to, I’m sure he’d let you join,” he answers lightly.
It’s bizarrely beautiful, how Harry’s tense brow loosens up in tentative amusement at Zayn’s retort.
Louis sort of wants to wipe at his eyes and clutch his heart.
“No, I was more thinking along the lines of having our own thing. I’m competitive,” Harry replies,
testing the waters hopefully.
That manages to even lure out a snort of laughter from Zayn. Louis has never been happier about
being right regarding something, and he promises himself he’ll use this to further encourage a
friendship between the two of them.
(Somewhere far back in his mind there’s a tiny voice asking when exactly he started wanting
people to befriend Harry, as if it’s a good thing for anyone involved. He doesn’t think of it further.)
“I’m flattered by the offer, but I respectfully decline. I was thinking I could fit two people into my
bed, and then two on a mattress, and then one on the couch for tonight, and then in the morning I’ll
just ask my mate to sleep somewhere else for a couple of days.”
Louis widens his eyes in concern. “Oh no, you shouldn’t kick your friend out because of—we’ll be
just fine, I promise—”
“I should, though.” Zayn cuts him off nicely but firmly. “It’s no big deal, we do that shit all the
time. He’s got numerous places to stay if he wants. It’s only temporary, right?”
Earth people are so bloody weird.
Niall looks delighted by it all, though, and he excitedly claps his hands.
“Well, then, lads. Let’s have a sleepover.”
Zayn’s flat isn’t spacious, and it’s overall quite messy. Clothes lie astray in various places, the
furniture is mismatched in both style and age and the living room smells of marijuana—now plants
Louis does know, all of them—and paint, which makes sense when Louis spots the numerous
canvases with abstract, colorful themes leaning against the walls, waiting to be hung somewhere.
The kitchen is small and dishes staple unwashed in the sink and there are takeaway boxes waiting
to be thrown away on the kitchen counter.
But Louis can’t help but like it a little, because despite the messiness, it feels a lot like a home. It’s
so evident that people live here, that people wake up and live and talk and breathe and go on with
their day and enjoy free time and eat and sleep here, and it’s comforting.
Louis hasn’t seen a proper home in what feels like ages.
“Right,” Zayn says slowly, pursing his lips somewhat nervously. “I know it’s not the fanciest
place, but—”
“It’s great,” Liam cuts him off instantly. Louis isn’t sure whether Liam likes it because he likes the
place itself or because he likes everything that has to do with Zayn, but he’s supporting it
regardless. Liam walks further into the living room, kneeling in front of a painting.
“Do… Do you make these?” he wonders, amazement swooping over his soft features.
“Um.” Zayn scratches his neck and looks away when he understands what Liam is referring to.
“Yeah. It’s just—art feels good. It’s expressive. You know?”
If those were words coming out of Louis’ mouth, they’d be a lot less clumsy, the fairy remarks.
He’d wax poetic for minutes. He’d bend and twist words until they were exactly what he’d want
them to be, he’d make it sounds breath taking and beautiful. He’d make sure everyone understands.
But as he watches Liam turn around, dark eyes hazy and bright with bewilderment, Louis thinks
that maybe Zayn wouldn’t have to do that to make him understand.
There’s so much mutual understanding between them he almost feels sick.
“They’re beautiful,” Liam tells him, wide eyed and sincere.

Zayn wipes at his mouth and looks down on his feet, trying to stop his lips from stretching.
“Thank you,” is all he manages.
There’s a tense silence for a few seconds, and Louis’ starting to get slightly uncomfortable. He
looks to Niall, whose grin is insanely satisfied in every way possible, and then to Harry, who
catches his gaze and rolls his eyes.
“I think,” Niall starts merrily, “that since I am the smallest, I take the couch. And then Zayn should
obviously sleep in his own bed, so he and Liam could share because the bed is the biggest and you
are both quite big. And then Louis and Harry can use the mattress. Makes sense, yes?”
Liam and Zayn nod at the same time as Louis and Harry—unsurprisingly—start voicing their
discontent loudly.
Turns out, though, that Niall really isn’t having it tonight. He stares at the pair, the unimpressed
indifference so clear you can probably taste it, before shutting them down immediately.
“You two need to stop acting like you didn’t have your tongues down each other’s throats a couple
of hours ago. You’re sharing the mattress and that’s that.”
This silence lasts longer, and it’s definitely on a completely new level of unbearable. Liam looks
like he’s in pain at the memory, Niall has nonchalantly taken a seat on the couch, and Zayn’s got
something new and comprehending in his eyes, like he’s just tied together all the knots. There are
no knots to be tied, Louis wants to say. There’s nothing to make sense of.
He doesn’t say any of that, but rather takes a final deep breath and claps his hands together.
“Right, then,” he says. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
It seems to wake everyone up from their momentary freeze, and they get moving quickly to help
Zayn prepare for bed, even though it’s quite evident it’s not their forte. Louis has no idea what he’s
doing, but he’s got a very clear picture of how he wants it to look when they’re done. By the time
they get there he’s bickered with Harry over different arrangements of bed sheets at least three
times.
Needless to say, he’s exhausted. And the rest seem to feel the same.
So they all part ways to finally, finally get some rest and when Louis lies down on the mattress,
creeping in under the blanket, he makes sure to spread out his entire body to the very tips of his
fingers and toes. A content sigh escapes him—t’s been far too long, and nothing has ever felt nicer
than this rough little mattress does in this very moment. Louis is happy.
That is, until Harry Styles has the nerve to lightly but incredibly rudely poke Louis’ side with his
shameful foot and ask him to move over.
Louis furrows his eyebrows and gives him a disapproving glare.
“I’m just fine where I am, thank you very much.”
“Don’t be a dick, Louis, we’re supposed to share.”
“Do you even need sleep, anyway?” Louis huffs. Slowly, he folds his limbs back in, but only in
favor of pulling the covers tighter around his body. He vaguely suspects he’s starting to resemble a
cocoon, only his ruffled little head poking out, but it feels way too nice for him to truly care.
“Not really, no,” Harry replies lightly. “Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it. Scoot.”
He doesn’t like a single second of it, but Louis complies at last, rolling slightly to the side of the
mattress, pulling his legs to his stomach until he’s nestled up in the corner. Harry lies down next to
him, grabbing his own blanket. It’s silent, then, just darkness and their soft breaths, and Louis’s
eyes flutter close. He’s feeling it in every inch of his body, now, the way it craves rest, craves
sleep. It’ll only be minutes until he’s dead to the world.
“Thank you,” Harry suddenly speaks into the dark space between them. It’s uncharacteristically
gentle.
Louis opens one eye incredulously.
“It’s just some bed space, Harold,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”
“If you ever find it in you to call me Harold again I will destroy you.”
“It’s not right for Harold to die so soon if Pixie still gets to live.”
“God, shut up.” Harry pauses for a moment, before inhaling once again. “I wasn’t thanking you for
the bed.”
“Of course you weren’t.” Louis tries to remain indifferent, but he can’t help the small, shy but very
comfortable warm prickling in his chest, rising tentatively to soothe his skin. Harry’s doing this
again, sincerely, quietly, unassumingly. In front of him. To him.
“Zayn seems really nice,” the spirit almost whispers. “So thank you.”
The last remains of the intense irritation Harry’s mere presence usually causes him runs off of him
like pouring rain. Just like that. Louis can’t be an asshole about this. Not when he’s sleepy and
exhausted and Harry’s trying so genuinely. He doesn’t feel a want to be an asshole about it.
So he turns over from his back so he’s facing Harry to give him a smile that tiredly crinkles his
eyes instead, settling for a gentle:
“No problem.”
Harry gives him a nod, lips pursed. “Good night, Louis.”
“Good night, Harry.”
He just barely makes out the gentle curve of Harry’s upper lip when the spirit’s face smoothens out
again, soft and clean with sleep. Neither of them bothers turning away.
“Rise and shine, fellas!”
Niall’s unnecessarily loud voice pierces through Louis’ wonderful state of sleep, and he groans
loudly against the firm, warm, welcoming mattress to state his disapproval.
This doesn’t seem to faze the cupid even the tiniest bit, though, as it doesn’t deter him from neither
speaking again, nor lowering his voice the second time around.
“It’s a beautiful day, boys. Birds are chirping, the sun is shining—which is a miracle, because this
is London—and I got plenty of cash we can spend on clothes and shitty food and burning liquor
just to get that one hundred percent Earthly feeling. Stop making out and start moving.” He pauses,
realizing what he just said with an amused hum. “That sentence was certainly a first.”
Louis frowns and shakes his head, inhaling the comforting scent beneath him—earthy, clean,
wonderfully homey—before unwillingly opening his eyes to take a look around.
That’s when he realizes his body is, in fact, not on a mattress. It is literally, entirely, resting on top
of Harry.
Louis lets out a choked shriek and rolls off the spirit immediately, facing away from him and
hiding his face in his palms to stop anyone else from seeing how it’s burning hotter than a
summer’s day.
He hears Harry snicker behind him. “Oh, don’t do that. You seemed like you were comfortable.”
“Fuck you, I was asleep. I move around.”
Louis doesn’t even have to look at Harry to know he’s not buying it.
“Right,” he agrees, but every phoneme is dripping with amused condescension. Louis clenches his
fists.
“I hate you so much.”
“Me too, pixie.” Harry doesn’t sound upset at all, and Louis breathes deeply in through his nose
and out through his mouth.
Twenty-four hours after swearing to never even graze shoulders with Harry ever again, Louis ends
up with their legs tangled together on a shared mattress. The universe is obviously not playing a
fair game.
“Where are you getting money from, Niall?” he asks in an attempt to change and bury the previous
subject forever, rubbing sleep away from his eyes slowly. He still feels Harry’s eyes on him,
steadily, and he refuses to meet it.
(He can’t, however, help but run his hands through his hair a couple of times, self-consciously. He
knows it must be all over the place, all wispy and messy the way it gets. He’s quite sure he has
creases on his cheek from Harry’s t-shirt, too. God. He’s too sleep-dazed for this.)
“Oh. I have that stuff set up for me for when I need to work among the humans on Earth. You
can’t really function at all here without money.”
That sounds awfully sad, Louis thinks. He never has to worry about money. He guesses Grimm is
still exactly the same if only not as technically developed, so he shouldn’t be so unfamiliar with it,
but regardless.
Louis quickly gets out of bed, sliding into his old clothes and combing his hands through his hair
an additional couple of times, trying to distract himself from the way his skin can’t stop feeling a
little warm and tingly. Harry himself seems to do just about the same (save for the skin part, Louis
presumes), and he’s in the kitchen before Louis is, joining Zayn, Liam and the other unknown man
—Zayn’s flat mate, most likely—at the small kitchen table.
“We’re going through the details for the ID,” Zayn updates to them quickly. “We need Liam’s full
name.”
“Oh right, of course,” Harry says confidently, but then his eyes quickly move over to Liam, and
Louis catches a glimpse of uncertainty, and he realizes that, oh. They don’t really have a full name
for Liam.
The flat mate raises an eyebrow expectantly, and Harry clears his throat.
“It’s Liam, uh,” he makes a gesture to Liam’s wide-eyed figure, “…Payne.”
Louis isn’t sure if he wants to face palm himself or Harry.
He stands there quietly, physically pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep himself
from talking as the guy he doesn’t know the name of and doesn’t care to learn writes it all down,
asks a couple of more questions which Harry handles smoothly, and as a last thing they take Liam
aside to snap some photos suitable for an ID. When they’re finally done, Zayn thanks his friend
with a heartfelt hug Liam can’t help but fond over from afar, and then finally mentions for them all
to leave.
As soon as they’re out of the door, Louis stops Harry to give him the most incredulous look he can
muster.
“You named him Liam Pain,” he states slowly, dragging it out to make Harry realize just how
ridiculous he thinks Harry is.
“It’s spelled P-a-y-n-e,” Harry deadpans instantly.
“Liam Pain.”
“I panicked, okay?”
“Liam Pain.”
“Shut up.”
Harry gives him a light shove out of the way as they start walking, taking long, defiantly prominent
steps forward. Louis looks after him for a heartbeat, trying to wipe the tickling of a smile from his
face and the swallow the bubbling of laughter in his throat.
He skips up to the rest, throwing himself into the discussion loudly and abruptly, and he bickers
with Harry back and forth as he, in the back of his mind, tries to remember why other creatures
genuinely see something scary there.
This thing with collecting things into one single place, that’s a concept that humans seem to like a
lot, Louis figures. There was the grocery store yesterday, and now there’s the clothing store.
Louis hasn’t seen so many different items of clothing in one place ever before. It’s all extremely
impressive, and while he has a little trouble locating himself and understanding the separations of
the clothes (“what do you mean ‘man and woman’?), he’d quite like to see some of these things in
Grimm, and he promises himself once again that he needs to start leaving the forests and visit the
town more often during his future time at home. Grimm must have some sort of similar
arrangement.
“Okay,” he muses, looking through a bunch of colorful jeans. Harry’s right behind him, seemingly
having trouble leaving his side no matter how much Louis tries to keep his distance, and he kind of
wants to start a fight about it, but he also feels like maybe it would be rude in a public place like
this. Besides, though he hates to admit it, Harry knows this environment better. He’ll probably be
useful. “How do I know which pair will fit me?”
Harry hums thoughtfully.
“Try finding things in size small and you should be good to go.”
Louis gives him a glare and a disapproving huff, and Harry sighs.
“I’m serious. I wasn’t trying to offend you; I think small is your size.”
He sounds genuine. Louis kind of wants to lie down on the ground for a moment. Reflect over this.
Reevaluate his positive reevaluation of this place. He’s grown a good five inches at least as an
inhabitant of Earth, and yet. Humiliation after humiliation.
He apparently takes too long, because Harry rolls his eyes and starts digging through the pile.
“Here are two pairs of jeans, one red pair, one black, hopefully your size. Over there we have one
of those get the third item for free sales on shirts. Pick out three, size small. Possibly medium, if
you want them to be a little loose-fit. Go to a changing room, try them on. Done.”
Louis huffs, but accepts the jeans and does what Harry tells him. He’s not going to oppose him
here, about this. This is something Harry knows about and Louis doesn’t, and Louis would without
a doubt only make himself look stupid. He isn’t about to enter a battle he can’t win.
He chooses three quite simple shirts; one with navy stripes, one black, and one moss green button
down. He’s quite happy with his choice, and when he tries everything on in the changing room, he
can contently state that they fit very nicely as well. The jeans work, too—they’re a little tighter, a
little more constricting than the clothes he’s used to, but they hug his curves nicely; he might as
well embrace it. He decides to buy all of it—he needs clothes, after all.
He’s just put on his own shirt and cuffed shorts and feels ready to leave the shop with his new
wardrobe when suddenly, two long straps of fabric is flung over the door of the booth. Cold metal
clasps nearly hit Louis in the face, and he flinches, terrified for about three seconds before he
realizes who’s behind it.
“Before we go, I want you to try these as well. I think they’d fit you,” he hears Harry’s voice from
outside, and it’s not taunting. Expectant maybe, possibly, absolutely, but it doesn’t sound like a
joke, so Louis picks them up and identifies what exact item of clothing they are.
“You want me to wear suspenders?” he clarifies, raising his eyebrows in skepticism when he
succeeds.
“I really do,” Harry promises.
Louis rolls his eyes and groans. This is so unnecessary.
Still, he guesses that he has no actual reason to oppose it because it’s not like he hates the idea of
them, so with little trouble he attaches them to his jeans and turns to look in the mirror again.
He finds to his surprise that he quite likes it. They frame his torso nicely, he notes as he turns a
little to watch it from a different angle. He can definitely work with this.
The only problem would be the fact that the braces are quite long—and despite being taller than he
usually is, Louis is still not exactly to be associated with the word. Hence, they keep threatening to
fall down his small shoulders, and he has to hike them up again every three seconds. Which might
not be the most practical thing.
“Are they anything you might consider?” Harry asks from outside.
“Yeah, they’re—fine!” Louis calls back. “They need some adjustment, though, because, uh—they
keep falling down my shoulders.”
He can hear Harry snicker from outside the booth, and he pouts to himself. It’s not his fault he has
a slightly smaller frame than the average person. Even without the body of a fairy. It’s really not.
Harry should be over it by now.
“You know,” Harry continues and Louis can hear his smile before the door is pulled back to reveal
it. “It’s funny how even in your human size you’re still so very—”
The spirit goes abruptly quiet the second he lays eyes on Louis, and his stare is so blank and wide
Louis can’t help but blush. He feels seen again, in that peculiar way Harry’s only managed to make
him feel.
“Um,” he starts awkwardly. “Do you know how to fix it? Because if not I’ll just— I’ll find
someone else to—”
“No!” Harry says, voice a little too high to be casual, quickly taking a step forward and clears his
throat. “No, let me help, it’s just…”
He takes another few slightly uneven steps up to Louis, door falling shut behind him as he slowly
lifts his hands to start tugging at one of the braces, adjusting the clasp accordingly. Louis swallows
once and twice, noting the way the spirit refuses to meet his eyes, focusing all his attention on
fitting the braces against Louis’ shoulders. The dressing room is too small to fit two people, and
even though Louis’ practically backed up against the wall, he finds himself inches from Harry’s
collarbones. His skin looks smooth and inviting, and it’s taunting, how perfectly it’s aligned with
Louis’ lips.
So close. They’re so close. Neither of them speak, as if any words would stick to the thick air
between their bodies—it’s insane, provocative, even, how quickly the atmosphere goes from
playful to insufferably loaded in microseconds, just from the proximity of their skin. Louis can’t
breathe.
“Um,” he mumbles again, fighting to keep his eyelids from fluttering shut. He focuses on the dip
between Harry’s collar bones and tries to refrain from tasting them. “So should I go with the
suspenders, then?”
Everything’s moving so fast Louis has trouble keeping up, and he bites his lip to refrain from doing
something stupid about it.
Harry’s fingers haven’t let go from where they just accustomed the size of the suspenders,
thumbing the soft, thin fabric of Louis’ shirt under, and Louis shivers. The layer of cotton
separating their skin from grazing feels unbearably thin, and it’s making his entire body hot and his
pulse pound in his ears.
“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, breath tickling Louis’ cupid’s bow. “You should go with the suspenders.”
No one or both make the decision. Louis isn’t sure at all. Maybe it isn’t even a decision.
Regardless, the final, small distance between them close, warm lips on warm lips again. Like
magnets, the way they keep coming around to this.
Louis sighs breathily into the kiss, and he knows it should taste like defeat and weakness because
he’s promised himself at least fifty times in these last couple of hours that this would never ever
happen again. He’s been solemnly swearing that he would never even look at Harry with objective
admiration of physical beauty anymore, and he barely even managed to hold out for a day.
It doesn’t taste like defeat and weakness. It tastes like a fuzzy purple and feels like a starry sky and
Louis can’t help but want every piece of it he can grasp, so he goes with it and just disconnects the
rational part of him again.
Who needs rationality anyway, when Harry’s sliding his hands down your suspenders and tugs to
pull you closer.
No one, Louis decides, and pushes up on his toes to try and make them the same height, inhaling
Harry’s scent and he’s surprised to find it smelling like earth after a night’s rain—just like this
morning, familiar and comfortable and safe, like Louis belongs.
Louis experimentally sticks his tongue out to lick into Harry’s plush mouth, and he earns a groan of
approval from the spirit as Harry presses his big hands to the small of Louis’ back, grinding into
him once. The growing tightness in Louis’ pants quickly go from tentative to unbearable.
“Have you ever done this before?” Harry mumbles, stroking the soft skin on Louis’ hips where his
shirt has rid up a little.
Louis just shakes his head in return, and Harry’s eyes go a little bit wider.
“Nothing? Not even—”
“No, nothing,” Louis snaps impatiently. “Nothing except kissing. We’re told we don’t need that
stuff to feel satisfaction, as long as we’re young. Nothing feels better than waking up spring, is
what they always said.”
His shorts are so, so tight and he can’t think any further than to the point where that tightness will
finally be released, and he wants less talking.
Harry is still for a moment, only rubbing his fingers softly into Louis’ spine, a disbelieving but
amazed smile on his lips.
“I’m very sorry,” he says, sounding the least sorry Louis has ever heard someone sound in his life.
“But I think you’ve been tremendously lied to.”
And then he reattaches their mouths, as easily as if their default mode is to be locked together like
this. It doesn’t at all feel like only the second time and it doesn’t at all feel like a simple physical
action—it feels like a tale with a thousand written chapters of experience, like a tale with a
thousand more chapters in progress, like Harry is pressing dialogues and descriptions onto Louis’
mouth with his own, like he’s telling Louis story after story and Louis gasping, grasping, clasping
around the endings.
Louis can’t help but let out an embarrassing whine, and he can feel Harry’s menacing grin against
his mouth. The taller boy parts them a little, reaching a hand up to stroke along Louis’ jaw,
stopping to press light fingertips against the fairy’s lips, pale meeting bright red and bruised.
“Be quiet, yeah?” he murmurs. “Stay quiet for me.”
Louis just nods fervently, at loss for actual words—the usual defiance he makes sure to meet Harry
with forgotten and swept away. At this point, he’s just desperate for some kind of friction.
Harry nods back, a smirk nipping at the corners of his mouth, as he slides his hand down Louis’
body until he reaches the waist, undoes Louis’ zip, and slips a hand down his pants, swiftly,
effortlessly. He palms Louis’ growing erection and Louis hisses at the sudden contact.
“I’m figuring,” he whispers into the corner of Louis’ mouth, “since you’re being so— generous,
and all, helping me becoming a better being—“ featherlight fingers play with the hem of Louis’
briefs, softly tickling the soft skin of Louis’ stomach before he finally wraps them around Louis
cock, a new firmness to the hold so deliciously relieving Louis’ legs nearly fold and he almost bites
Harry’s lip instead of his own, letting out a breathy, hitched sigh as Harry starts moving his hand
up and down, thumbing the slit gently every time he reaches the head. Louis is on fire.
Harry moves them one step, lining Louis’ back up properly against the wall. “How about I teach
you a few things in return, hm?”
Louis can’t even reply, too overwhelmed by the heat and the adrenaline and Harry’s engulfing
hand touching him just the way he wants it to scan his brain for words. There’s not a single part of
his body grazed by Harry’s touch that’s not burning, and it should be uncomfortable but not, it’s
maddening, it’s dizzying, and Louis can’t help but run his hands up Harry’s stomach and ribcage
and shoulders, finding something to grip a hold of, to get rid of some of that awfully overproduced
energy Harry’s causing.
“Please,” is all he comes up with. His hands finally find the curls by the nap of Harry’s neck, and
he tangles them together. The stuttered little breath that leaves Harry when he tugs a little harder
nearly makes him see stars.
He starts thrusting into Harry’s fist, feeling how his stomach ties and unties and warmth starts
pooling in his abdomen. Harry seems to understand as he keeps going, using the slick precome
leaking from Louis’ tip to make his movements faster, meeting the base every time Louis shoots
his hips forward. Flushed whimpers are leaving Louis’ swollen lips as he starts going quicker and
harsher, chasing a release at the same time as he doesn’t want to stop feeling Harry's hands on him
ever again.
Harry parts their mouths for a couple of seconds, using his free hand to wander up and he locks
their eyes as he strokes along Louis’ wet lower lip. There’s a moment of absolute silence, as they
just stare right at each other and Harry’s eyes are so deep and attentive, dark, like Louis’ somehow
affecting him just as profoundly, and Louis feels the pressure in his stomach tighten even more.
When he comes, it’s in long shudders right into his pants.
Niall is feeling the energy. He’s feeling the energy so much.

He knows exactly, one hundred percent, what’s going on in that changing room, and he doesn’t
know whether to laugh because they’re so predictable, or cry his eyes out because if they don’t
come out soon he’s going to have to break these news to Liam and Zayn, and Liam has already
suffered enough. Going from thinking your two friends hate each other to knowing your same two
friends are fucking in a cramped clothing store changing booth within the time span of a day would
certainly be a breaking point for the shape shifter.
Speaking of whom, Liam has been pacing back and forth through the store very impatiently for an
alarming while.
“How long can it possibly take to try on some new clothes?” he asks, looking from Zayn to Niall a
couple of times, expecting some kind of answer. “We’ve been waiting for a good twenty minutes!”
“I’m sure Louis just has a hard time accustoming to his Earth body,” Niall answers lowly, trying to
convey as much calmness as possible. “Harry’s probably helping out. We need to give them a little
time.”
“What kind of help could Louis possibly want to accept from Harry?” Liam demands, clueless.
Oh, you’d be surprised, Niall wants to quip. He doesn’t.
“I’ve already told you—their bond is special and it needs to develop,” he settles for with an
impressively casual shrug. “Shock is the last thing you should feel when they end up spending
time together.”
Liam huffs, but doesn’t push it further, and Niall is grateful. The energy is still sparking and
shooting and vibrating all over the place, but he thinks it should be over in not too long, and then
they can finally get out of here.
He’s right—the tension holds for maximum another minute, before slowly starting to die down,
and Niall drags a sigh of relief. He hears two pairs of feet walking their way. It’s over. No damage
done.
He guesses.
Harry is looking smugger than Niall’s ever seen a creature look in his entire existence. Which is
very understandable, when Niall lets his eyes wander over to the shorter boy emerging from behind
him. Louis is clearly trying to cover up the worst of his state by being loud and demanding again,
but his cheeks are rosy and his lips are awfully pink and wetted and he reaches up to adjust his
messy hair every three seconds. He’s also walking like he’s finding it just a little bit
uncomfortable, and Niall kind of wishes he didn’t have to know.
“Okay,” Louis calls a little too loudly, “are we all ready to go?”
“What took you so long?” Liam asks instantly, ignoring the question.
It’s kind of worth it when Niall gets to watch Louis’ entire face go from a little flushed to frankly
beet red. He determinedly tries to act like it’s not happening, though, as he rolls his eyes in a
desperate attempt to look nonchalant.
“I can’t help that I’m picky, alright, let me live, Liam. God.”
Harry snorts beside him, and Louis subtly kicks him in the shin.
“Let’s go,” he says blankly. It’s not a question. Everyone starts moving towards the cashier.
There is no possibility of them going all the way in there, Niall is positive, so he understands
soreness is not why Louis is having such trouble walking like a normal person. Which means
there’s pretty much only one other option. Which judging by Harry’s extremely satisfied twinkle of
his eyes, will definitely happen again.
Niall sighs deeply, and he tiredly grabs another pack of boxers before wandering off to pay.
Chapter End Notes
look!! who's not dead!! it's me!! wow!!
i owe you a huge apology for the wait. the thing is, my mental health is pretty season
bound, and during this past month i haven't been feeling very well (and chances are
pretty big these things might happen again during these autumn/winter times). hence, i
haven't had motivation or inspiration to write at all and i've had to wait for that
motivation to slowly come back. and now it's here again, i guess. and hey, we've
entered the official smut area in the story so that's quite nice :)
i also hope this chapter was okay bc i don't know how to feel about it?? but yes. thank
you a thousand times for keeping up with me and waiting. it genuinely means the
world to me.
as always, if you ever want to speak to me about literally anything (which i will be
unbelievably happy and ridiculously excited about) my tumblr is @tequiladimples.
xxxxxx
chapter 13; earth
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
there's a slight warning for light sexual harassment. be safe xx
It’s nighttime. They’re walking down the lit-up streets of London, having just gotten out of a taxi;
Louis’ amazed by the mere concept of that activity, and he wouldn’t stop whispering excitedly
about how much he loves car rides for the entire trip.
So he’s excited. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s wearing his suspenders, his new black jeans, and his
very nicely fitting button down. He knows Harry is watching his back. He feels a little invincible.
Sue him.
“So, where exactly are you taking us? Are there rules we need to follow?” he asks Zayn, skipping
along the concrete on his tip toes, trying to avoid stepping on the sidewalk cracks.
Zayn laughs. “I mean… Honestly, this is probably like, the rowdiest club in London. No one gives
a shit about what you do in there. Just don’t get in a fist fight and you should be good.”
Louis considers this for a bit. Of course, he is a little concerned. The rowdiest club in London
doesn’t exactly sound like a place where he can be in control of things, and he likes to be. It’s
enough as it is that he has no experience with this situation to begin with.
Harry and Niall, on the other hand, seem pleased with this, praising Zayn’s choice.
“Fantastic, Zayn,” Niall compliments. “Great taste. Just how it’s supposed to be.”
The building they’re approaching’s pretty shabby on the outside, only half of the neon letters above
the door still glowing.
After another couple seconds of walking, Harry steps in next to Louis, and he starts waving and
saying goodbye to the other three. Louis is visibly confused, but Zayn immediately plays along as
Harry pulls Louis away to the closest street corner, waving and telling them that they’ll be waiting
by the bar.
“What are you doing?” Louis hisses, ripping his arm out of Harry’s grip. “Why aren’t we going
in?”
Harry rolls his eyes and places his hand right back on Louis bicep. Louis has to tense all of his
muscles to not lean into the warmth of that touch, and he despises his own irrational weakness.
“We are, remember? Stay relaxed and shut up,” Harry commands, before they’re both dissolving
into the air, once again floating through the weird in-between Louis still doesn’t entirely know
how to feel about.
He barely has the time to react before Harry lets go again and this time, they’re somewhere
completely different, Louis landing with both his hands pressed up against the dirty, scrabbled on
walls of a bathroom stall to not lose balance.
Harry straightens out the hem of his shirt and takes a deep breath.
“Right, that was that,” he concludes, reaching for the door, but Louis instantly catches his fingers
to pry them away.
“What if there are people outside?” he protests. “We can’t just come out two people from a
bathroom, no one does that!”
“Relax.” Harry rolls his eyes. “If anyone’s out there they’ll just think we hooked up. It’s no big
deal.”
“Wh—yeah, it is!”
Harry, unsurprisingly, doesn’t listen, just ruffles his hair a little and opens the door like it doesn’t
faze him even the tiniest bit. Which, Louis supposes it wouldn’t. But still.
Louis resorts to a huff of exasperation, but follows him out of the restrooms and into the club.
As soon as he steps outside, a deep bass line hits against him with force, drumming in his chest and
ringing in his ears, and that’s the first thing he feels. Then comes the lively, colorful lights, the
heat clinging to his skin, the smell of sweat, perfume and alcohol, and then Harry’s arm grazing his
own.
It feels just as alien and intimidating and exciting as Louis’ hoped.
He follows Harry, probably much like a lost puppy, keeping his eyes on the broad shoulders before
him and not anything else until Harry stops in front of a long, polished but definitely not entirely
clean, desk.
Niall, Liam and Zayn are already standing there waiting patiently for them, Liam looking just as
starry eyed as Louis feels.
“So,” Zayn grins with an arm around Liam. “How are you finding it, Louis?”
“It’s…” Louis wrinkles his noise in thought, searching through his vocabulary. “… It’s a lot.”
Nailed it.
Harry snorts beside him. “How about we get something to drink? It’ll be even more ‘a lot’ of
everything then.”
“Will it taste good?”

The reply he gets is another bark of laughter.
“Probably not,” Harry grins.
Niall is already one step ahead, loudly ordering three rounds of shots and then throwing suggestive
looks at Louis. Louis swallows.
The bartender has the order ready in a matter of bare minutes. The liquid is clear and the glasses
are weirdly small, Louis thinks. Why would you want such small glasses? They barely fit one
chug.
“So, uh… Do you sip this?” he wonders. “Or… Or why is there so little to drink?”
Louis needs to start counting the times he makes Harry laugh tonight, because if the spirit is going
to keep this up, it’s going to be a lot.
“You sip wine,” Harry says, and Louis appreciates that he’s at least trying to hold the grin off his
face. Even if it’s infuriating, how amused he is. “This, you throw back. All at once.”
He demonstrates by taking his own shot glass in his hand, raising it a little as he catches Louis’
eyes to make sure he’s paying attention, and then downs the whole thing in one go, slamming the
glass down on the bar desk again.
“Your turn,” he says, nodding against the glasses and then raising his eyebrows in anticipation.
It’s literally one mouthful, Louis thinks. It can’t be that bad. He can handle this.
He keeps that mindset as he takes the shot glass into his hand and brings it to his lips, and he
imitates Harry flawlessly and when he swallows it, he’s feeling pleasant and proud of himself.
The burn in his throat as the alcohol slides down is anything but pleasant, though, he soon realizes,
and Louis’ whole face scrunches up in disgust right before he’s thrown into a coughing fit.
A shiver runs through his entire body, and when he looks up the first thing he sees is Harry
laughing at him to the point where he needs to support himself on the chair beside him. Wow.
Louis’ too exasperated to feel properly embarrassed.
“How can anyone enjoy this? Are you out of your minds? Is this a joke?”
Behind Harry, Niall downs his second one.
“Don’t think so much,” he tells Louis with a wide grin. “Come on. You can do a couple more.”
Louis looks at the remaining shots before him with a wrinkled nose, contemplating whether it’s
really worth it or not.
“Look.” This time it’s Harry speaking, Louis notes. How nice he’s finally calmed down enough to
form full sentences again. “We’re not going to force you to do anything. Don’t feel like you have
to.”
He’s being sincere, but there are still shadows of the same delight in Louis’ inexperience on his
face, and that’s why Louis can’t take the gesture as genuinely good willed or assuring.
“Don’t coddle me,” he spits, slamming one fist onto the table and clenching the other around the
next glass in front of him, tilting his head back to swallow everything with determination. It’s just
as bad this time, but he’s prepared for the sensation and manages to keep an almost entirely straight
face.
Harry smirks and Niall seems satisfied, reaching out to pat Louis on the back.
“It’s refreshing, huh?”
“It tastes like murder,” Louis deadpans, giving his best fake smile, and Harry chokes on his own
spit to suffocate the laughter that evidently wants to erupt from him.
(Louis feels incredibly satisfied with that reaction this time, though, because this time he was
actually trying to be funny, and there’s nothing mocking about Harry’s amusement. He looks like a
joyous toddler again, bright and dimpled and utterly harmless.)
A nice warmth is starting to set in Louis’ stomach now, though, and the scorching in his throat is
slightly more manageable. There are also one more shot in front of him and he takes it as a very
serious challenge.
“I want to do more,” he enlightens the others.
Niall raises a fist and exclaims a “get in!” before he reaches for another glass.
They do their last one together, all five, and by the time it’s landed in Louis’ tummy, his head is
lighter than it was when he arrived and he wants to move around, his body filled with a pleasant
buzz just beneath his skin.
“Are you feeling that, too?” he asks Harry who’s standing right next to him, and when he turns to
the spirit, he sees that Harry’s already looking back at him.
“Feeling what?” Harry asks, smile stretching his face into something soft.
“The,” Louis gestures wildly with his hands, trying to find a good word. “The light. Ness. You
know?”
He giggles a little at his failed attempt at a coherent sentence.
“You’re a lightweight, huh?” Harry grins, leaning against the bar. “Makes sense, I guess, if this is
your first time drinking.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about but you’re wrong.”
Louis turns away from Harry completely to put his attention on Liam and Zayn who are standing
on the other side of Niall, speaking and laughing in a relaxed—but still somewhat shy on Liam’s
part—manner, like they’re feeling each other out, testing, assessing, and soon both Niall and Harry
are watching as well. Louis’ a little afraid one of them will look over and be met by three pairs of
wide eyes staring intensively at them with no shame whatsoever and be shaken out of whatever
little bubble the pair’s created for themselves, but they’re seemingly too caught up in each other. At
last, Zayn gives Liam a playful smirk, and then he takes him by both hands to drag him into the
crowd of people on the dance floor.
Niall looks like he was just given the most outstanding gift he’s ever received as he watches them
disappear.
“This is going to be easy,” he beams. “I love it when love is easy.”

Louis wants to ask, “when is it not,” because he’d still really like to know, but he doesn’t. He’ll
have a long discussion with Niall about his job some time, but tonight is not it.
With light feet and a smile on his lips, Niall excuses himself and disappears to get a better view of
his work in progress. He’s leaving Harry and Louis alone in the process, but Louis doesn’t
particularly mind. Louis thinks, he loves his own profession, he really does, but he still hopes to
one day love it just as passionately as Niall seems to love his.
When the cupid’s out of sight, Harry turns to him fully.
“So, Louis,” he says, lights casting dim shadows over his features, defining his sharp jaw and
illuminating a newfound mischief in his eyes. “Do you dance a lot?”
This sounds like another challenge. Maybe everything Harry says has just come to sound like a
invitation to competition to Louis, but he feels like there’s something more behind his question
than mere curiosity.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he answers, straightening his back to hide his slight sense of inferiority
with a healthy dose of self-confidence. It’s not even a lie. He does dance. “There’s lots of dancing
in the Forest, you should see the elves—”
“No.” Harry cuts him off, his left dimple playing around as the smirk on his lips grows. He grabs
Louis by the shoulders to firmly but still surprisingly gently turn him to face the middle of the
dance floor, making Louis really look. Louis gulps as his eyes follow the challenging movements
of the humans out there, as he watches them grind against each other, skin against skin and hands
dipping low and breaths against mouths.
“I mean, do you dance, a lot?” Harry repeats in his ear.
For once, Louis doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t, quite obviously, dance—not that this looks
a lot like dancing. This appears more as some sort of mating ritual, he thinks. Dancing
and dancing are obviously two different things. The only kind of creatures he knows from own
experience would dedicate their time to this new kind of dancing with implied emphasis, would be
the pixies. And Louis has already made his stance on the pixies quite clear, so it’s safe to say he
wouldn’t engage in these kinds of acts. He wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t. No matter how many images fleet by his eyes when his eyelids flutter, images of
Harry’s hands of him, memories of the intoxicating smell of his skin. No matter how much his
traitorous body seems to want it again and again, no matter how many times he’s had it, no matter
how many times he’s sworn it off afterwards.
He wants to say something snarky as a reply. Something sarcastic about what a pity it is that he
doesn’t dance. What a shame it is.
“Uh,” is what tumbles out. “No.”
Harry hums, low and rumbly. “I figured.”
And then he reaches down to grab Louis’s hand, starting to tug him forwards.
Louis, though, mainly as a reflex, immediately snatches his own hand back defiantly and gives the
spirit a look.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands.

Harry rolls his eyes and purses his lips to stop a smile.
“What does it look like?”
“I haven’t consented to this.”
“Right. How stupid of me.” Harry proceeds to make a ridiculous turn and bows before Louis, and
though the lights in the club are dim and faint, laughter is still evident in his face.
“May I have your consent to share this dance with you?” he asks, overly theatrically, extending a
hopeful hand.
Louis glares at him.
“I hate you,” he enlightens the spirit. He takes his hand.
The way Harry looks like a giddy five-year-old as he pulls them further into the club to melt
together with the crowd kind of makes Louis unable to regret it.
“Just follow my movements,” Harry leans down do speak into Louis’ ear once they’ve stopped.
Louis just nods for an answer.
Carefully, Harry lets his hands slide down Louis’ sides to rest easily on his hips, and he starts to
gently sway both of them along to the allusive music blaring from the speakers. Louis isn’t sure
exactly what to do, so at first he just kind of tries to swing along in a weak attempt at making it
look and feel as smooth as Harry’s own movements.
“Don’t overthink,” Harry suggests, and Louis can feel a heat creep up his neck. “Relax, please. It’s
just me.”
Yeah. It’s just Harry, isn’t it?
So Louis tries again, and this time he closes his eyes and concentrates on his own skin, how it dips
in where Harry’s thumbing his waist, how the soft fabric of his shirt clings onto his shoulders, how
Harry’s radiating heat makes his face red, and how his stomach feels warm and fuzzy from the
alcohol, and maybe, maybe, something different and unidentifiable, too. He concentrates on tiny
details like his hair standing up on his arms and detaches the bigger picture and hopes it’ll do.
It does.
Slowly, he raises his own hands to lock them around Harry’s neck, threading his fingers into the
small strands of hair there and tugging slightly because he’s got a budding little theory that Harry
likes it when he does that. He gets a reaction out of him this time just like the last, Harry grinding
his hips into Louis’, making the smaller boy shiver and push back into it, chasing the dizzying
pressure against his body. He wants to be enclosed in it.
Gradually, Louis opens his eyes again as Harry pulls him closer and closer, until their bodies are
practically completely aligned with each other’s and Louis can see that despite ever-changing
lights, Harry’s eyes have specks of gold in them.
“Sure you haven’t danced before?” Harry lowers himself a little to ask Louis.
All Louis can make himself do right now except whine or moan pathetically is to just nod, and
Harry hums.
“I never would’ve guessed, honestly.”
Louis’ insides go mushy and bright with pride at that, and he can’t even be angry at himself for
letting Harry affect him like this. He can’t put his fingers on exactly why a compliment from Harry
always seems to mean so much, but it does and when something makes Louis feel this good about
himself, he’s often selfish enough not to question it.
He moves to rest his head against Harry’s shoulder because all of a sudden it feels heavy, like a
burden that he can’t carry right now, and Harry’s firm and warm and right there—but as he does
so, something in the back by the bar, falling into his line of vision, catches his immediate attention.
There’s a couple right there. Being very affectionate as publicly as they possibly can. Right in front
of him.
He stares with a comically wide gaze as the woman lies right on the bar desk with her tank top
hiked up and the guy hovering over her, licking her neck before moving to her mouth and sucking
the green fruit she has between her lips into his own mouth.
Harry has stopped now as well, clearly noticing Louis’ distraction and following his gaze, and
Louis can tell when he connects the dots because he starts chuckling. Louis doesn’t think this is a
laughing matter. He feels a little faint.
“What are they doing?” he presses, not able to take his eyes off the obscene activity before him.
Harry snickers.
“They’re doing body shots. It’s great.”
"Have you... Done that?"
Harry laughs at the nearly animatedly blown away tone in Louis’ voice.
“Yes,” he replies simply, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Louis just makes a humming sound, trying to appear nonchalant about the whole thing as he keeps
looking. They’re taking turns now, licking up each other’s bodies and messily making out, and it
looks like nothing Louis has ever seen before. They look incredibly relaxed and giddy, and Louis
wonders what it feels like. Objectively. Out of plain curiosity.
“Do you want to do it?”
Louis flinches out of his trance, and he’s happy the place is so dark you could never catch the
blush on his face, because his fluster is quite obvious as it is. He swiftly moves his stare over to
meet Harry’s, and his lip curls at the sight of how smug the spirit is looking.
“Do what?” Louis insists. He’s going to take the oblivious road. He knows exactly what Harry is
asking, but he’d be caught dead before he admits to being fascinated by all this.
Harry rolls his eyes faintly.
“Do you want to do body shots?” he clarifies.
“Oh.” Louis snaps his head away, stubbornly looking straight forward. “Absolutely not. It looks
disgusting. Revolting. Abominable. Why the fuck would I want to do that?”
Green eyes are burning into his temple.

“Right,” Harry says, dragging the word out to emphasize just how well he knows Louis is full of
shit. “Come on.”
And without further argumentation, he engulfs Louis’ small hand in his own and pulls him with
him up to the bar.
Louis lets himself be dragged along, but he makes sure to exclaim a few vague protests to—well,
honestly, he doesn’t really know. To let Harry know he doesn’t have the power to decide,
probably. To stress that this isn’t Harry’s to choose. That he can’t just order Louis around always
just because he seems to become a puddle of mush whenever Harry touches him.
What’s amazing is that Harry seems to take the hint, because when they reach the bar once again,
he stops to look at Louis, his head slightly tilted to the side.
“Look, if you really don’t want to I won’t force you into anything,” Harry says, and it’s frustrating
because it sounds genuine. It’s not some kind of reversed psychology, he’s genuinely just—being a
good person.
God dammit.
That’s all Louis needs to know, though. To make him okay with it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to,
is the thing, or that he’s trying to be difficult on purpose. It’s never that. He just needs things to be
his own choice. He needs people to take him seriously.
“No,” he insists. “No, let’s do it.”
He watches Harry widen his eyes a little in surprise as he jumps up to sit on the bar counter. It’s a
pretty high one, and he dangles his feet back and forth as he awaits Harry’s next reaction.
“Well?” he urges, tilting his head impatiently. “You’re the expert here.”
The spirit blinks a couple of times, before taking a deep breath.
“Right.” He walks closer, biting his lip to contain the smile that’s still screaming in the hollowness
of his dimples and Louis’ toes curl a little. “Lie down, then.”
Louis obliges, slowly lowering himself until his head is fully supported by the hard, cool desk
under him, his feet and hands resting against it as well. Harry’s calling out for the necessary
ingredients to the barista, and the fairy isn’t really listening. He feels the music vibrate under him
and throughout his body, and he feels his own heavy breathing, and things are fuzzy. But not like, a
weird kind of fuzzy. A fun kind of fuzzy. A funzy.
He giggles at himself and makes an attempt at sitting up again to tell Harry about his wording
skills because he bets Harry would appreciate it, but he stops when he realizes the spirit’s already
standing by him, watching him with an amused expression.
“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, putting the glass of tequila down by Louis’ head to get himself
ready.
Louis shakes his head and giggles again. “I feel funzy.”
“You feel what?” Harry raises his eyebrows, distinctly torn between unimpressed and amused.
“Funzy,” Louis repeats, letting Harry reach down to start unbuttoning his shirt without even
blinking. “You know, like fun and fuzzy, but like, at the same time?”
“There’s already a word for that, love. It’s called tipsy,” Harry grins, pulling away the soft fabric to
reveal Louis’ tummy.
Love. Love.
Love.
If Louis had time, he would overanalyze and overthink and over-everything at Harry calling him a
term of endearment, but fortunately, he doesn’t have that time.
See, Louis is a tiny bit drunk, but he’s still conscious enough to be washed over by a sudden kind of
insecurity upon having his stomach, his puffy little stomach, so out there all of a sudden. It’s not
usually a problem, since he has after all spent most of his life without anything shielding it, but this
is the first time Harry sees it. And Louis knows for a fact that Harry is generally quite muscular
and lean, and he doesn’t see why the spirit’s stomach would avert from that fact.
And then there’s Louis. Always so soft and pudgy and small. Maybe not exactly who you’d prefer
doing body shots off of.
So, purely as a reflex, Louis’ hands sneak up in an attempt to hide his torso, to make him feel less
exposed.
Harry stops what he’s doing, furrows his eyebrows, and then gently locks his fingers around Louis’
wrists to put them away.
“Kind of hard to pour liquor into your belly button if you’re covering it,” he explains, giving Louis
a slightly questioning look. Louis gulps.
“Yes, right. Of course.” He waves a hand dismissively, hoping Harry won’t comment on it.
He doesn’t comment on it. Which Louis was pretty certain he would, he’s actually a little
confused, but he’s not going to complain.
Harry merely furrows his brow a little tighter for a couple seconds, eyes fleeting over Louis’ body,
before letting it go and rolling his shoulders back once, grabbing the salt with a smirk.
“So where do you want it?” he asks, tilting his head devilishly.
“I don’t know,” Louis says, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. “You’re the one who’s done this
before.”
Harry is quiet for four seconds, Louis counts, before announcing;
“I think I want it here.”
He traces the skin just above Louis’ belly button in a straight line upwards with his finger, and
Louis shudders.
“Right here,” the spirit mumbles. “On that pretty stomach.”
There’s a distinct burn on Louis’ cheeks and neck at that, and he turns his head away before Harry
catches how flushed he makes him. Pretty. Harry thinks he’s pretty.
Thinks his stomach is pretty, Louis remarks in particular. He thinks that Harry is definitely more
observant than he announces himself to be.
Harry’s also still waiting for a green light regarding his wish, and Louis gives him a quick nod and
a shaky exhale.
“Sure,” he breathes. “Whatever.”
The smile that tugs on Harry’s lips is slightly too gentle and Louis wants to kiss him a little. Or a
lot. Probably a lot. Which doesn’t have to mean he likes him, he reminds himself. It means Harry
is objectively very attractive and also the only one who’s ever touched Louis’ dick.
Harry puts his hands on the bar desk, on each side of Louis’ stomach. “Stay still, pixie.”
Louis’ eyes roll so far back into his head his eye sockets ache at the nickname, and he groans;
“Out of all situations you could possibly insist on calling me pixie, this is the worst—“ but then
Harry’s pressing his lips to Louis’s stomach, dipping his tongue again the warm, soft skin, and
Louis suddenly wants to groan for a completely different reason.
Harry slides his lips and tongue in a line upwards, containing a smirk, and Louis is torn between
watching and throwing his head back, trying to keep his breathing steady. A shudder runs through
his body.
When Harry raises again, he snickers a little, and Louis rolls his eyes. Here we go.
“You’re so responsive,” Harry remarks delightedly, grabbing after the salt without taking his eyes
off of Louis.
“Shut up,” Louis claps back weakly. It’s not even his fault. This is a completely new experience for
him, in every meaning of the word. He’s allowed to be a little bit overwhelmed with things.
“It’s not a complaint.” Salt is being gently sprinkled into the wet line on Louis’ stomach, and the
slight burn has Louis biting the inside of his cheek to not let another embarrassing sound escape.
“Far from complaining.”
Louis’ hands find their way around the bar desk’s rounded edges, clawing his nails into the
polished wood. I am calm, he declares to himself.
He does manage to not move, and he can’t help but let a little smile slip as Harry leans over him to
lightly place a lime between his teeth. Louis holds it in place, as good as he can, not wanting to
mess this up.
“Alright,” Harry says at last. Louis can’t watch him anymore because he’s focusing too intensely
on not moving, so he watches the dark ceiling as Harry speaks in a calming tone. “I’m going to
pour tequila into your belly button now. It’s going to be cold, but I need you to stay as still as you
can, alright?”
Louis just nods, wishing Harry would get on with it.
(He is a little moved, though, by the way Harry seems to so sincerely try to make this as good and
comfortable as possible for him. It makes his stomach tingle with something that has nothing to do
with the wetted salt along his tummy.)
Fortunately, Harry does get on with it, and only a few seconds after a wet, icy pressure is applied to
Louis’ sensitive belly button. The spirit doesn’t waste time as he bends down, pressing his tongue
against the skin just by the concave by Louis’ ribcage, licking a warm stripe downwards along the
salt. Louis lets out a small whimper, clutching the sides of the bar tightly and just feels as Harry
drinks up the liquor from his belly button and gets closer to his face. He bites down on the lime
with ease, sucking the sourness down, and Louis is absolutely mesmerized by the way he looks
almost painted, all shadows and shifting edges and sharp bones. His gaze is caught on the shiny
wetness of lips mouth that the citrus left behind—Louis wants to taste it.
Harry seems to be on just the same path. He spits out the lime, and fumbles his hand in under the
short of Louis’ back to push the smaller boy into a sitting position, not hesitating even a second
before bringing their panting mouths together, hotly, fervently, like it’s air to him, letting Louis
taste the sour bitterness on his tongue.
The kiss is almost more intoxicating than the alcohol, and Louis sighs softly into the warmth of
Harry’s skilled mouth, letting his legs lock around Harry’s waist to pull himself as close as he
physically can, needs him against him, needs him everywhere. Harry bites down on his lower lip,
sending shivers through Louis’ body as his thumbs press into his hipbones, holding him in place.
Maybe Louis should stop caring altogether.
“Are they going to fuck in public?” Zayn asks, thoroughly concerned. “I think they’re going to fuck
in public.”
They’ve thus far been way too caught up in each other to notice anything else, Zayn and Liam, but
one has to admit it’s kind of very hard to miss a couple shamelessly and messily making out right
on the fucking bar desk. Not even by the bar desk. On. On the bar desk.
Hence, their momentary spying. When something like this happens, you have got to stop what
you’re doing for some healthy analyzation. It’s the only right thing to do.
“Don’t you think Louis is above fucking in public?” Liam asks, shaking his head. “It doesn’t feel
like something he’d do.”
Right as he finishes that sentence, Louis bucks his hips upwards in search for friction, and both
boys have to look away in pure secondhand embarrassment.
“Oh,” a third voice lets out with dripping emphasis. “Oh, Louis is definitely not above fucking in
public.”
Niall doesn't turn his gaze away. Rather, he narrows his eyes to concentrate even harder on the
fairy and the spirit across the room, completely ignoring Liam and Zayn’s surprised and
disbelieving looks.
“This is…” he watches for another two seconds, before his face completely drops and he groans.
“I am so fucking done with them,” he cusses, turning around swiftly to storm away into the mass of
people again. “So, so done.”
Liam and Zayn watch him in bewilderment as he takes off, and then look back to the orally
attached pair. Not a single thing has changed since they last looked; they’re still just as caught up in
each other as they were a couple of seconds ago.
Zayn shakes his head.
“What kind of creature is Niall?” he asks, turning to Liam with big eyes.
“An odd one,” Liam answers quickly and blankly, and probably pretty revealingly. He’s never
been much of a liar. Or a hold-back-truther, for that matter.
Zayn watches him closely, but lets it go.
Louis can feel every inch on Harry’s skin pressed against his own burn, leaving traces of flames
and light along his arms, his back, his shoulders, and considering how suffocatingly warm it
already is in this club, it should be uneasy and sweaty, but Louis doesn’t find it uncomfortable at
all. Harry is so gentle is the thing, even when he’s so thorough he makes Louis’ limbs go numb,
always so uncharacteristically gentle and careful, stroking his fingertips along the nape of Louis
neck and coaxing his mouth open time and time again.
“Did so good,” he breathes onto Louis’ tongue, “did so, so good, you’re so good—“, repeating the
words until Louis can not only hear them, but feel them sweep onto the roof of his mouth and settle
in the back of his own throat. They make him feverish.
He slides his hands downwards to the hem of Harry’s shirt and aims for stroking upwards against
the toned skin of the spirits back, warm like sunlight under his palms, which are still a little cold
from being pressed against the bar desk.
Harry freezes, then.
Then he takes his hands off Louis. And then he backs away.
“Right,” he says, looking with glossy eyes at a confused Louis. He pulls his t-shirt down. “Right,
I’ll… I’m going to go.”
And without another word, he does.
Louis stares after him, eyebrows forcefully furrowed and swollen lips parted in puzzlement and
offense. How dare Harry leave him like this? Did Louis do anything wrong? He didn’t. He can’t
have. Harry told him repeatedly that he did well. Is this Harry just playing around with him again?
Trying to keep him on some sort of leash? Reeling him in, pushing him away as he pleases?
It’s just that Louis hoped those stupid games would be kind of over by now. At least a little. At
least in situations where Harry actually has the upper hand, where Louis is inexperienced and easy
to be made a fool out of. Situations like these.
It’s unbelievable how Louis genuinely seems to subconsciously trust Harry with that. Stupid.
Stupid, stupid. Just because he’s a fantastic kisser doesn’t mean he’s a good person. Louis needs to
remember this.
With that, Louis slips down from the bar counter to stand on the floor with his elbows on the desk,
and he just continues standing there for a bit, scolding himself through spiral-like, messy thought
patterns he can’t quite keep track off. He doesn’t know for quite how long, but he doesn’t move for
a while, still a bit dumbfounded and a bit embarrassed and a lot hurt.
What finally breaks him out of his state, is a sudden voice he’s never heard before addressing him.
It’s definitely not Harry’s, that’s for sure. It’s way too sleazy and a tad too high.
“Hi there, gorgeous,” it husks out, and Louis looks up to meet a curious pair of eyes and lips pulled
into a confident smirk. The stranger is quite attractive, no doubt, but Louis’ spine is still stiff and
he’s a tad wary. He also doesn’t quite want anyone except Harry, really, even though he knows that
that particular thing must be the post-kiss haze still talking.
“Hi,” he replies warily, feeling clumsy and clueless and out of his element. The stranger moves a
little closer.
“Looking a bit lonely, are we?” Stranger crouches down to mumble in Louis’ ear. His breath reeks
of alcohol, and Louis has no idea what’s happening, but he’s never wanted away more than he does
now. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
What?
“What boyfriend,” Louis says flatly, scooting father away as an uneasy pressure starts pounding in
his ribcage.
Stranger lifts an eyebrow, but his eyes light up remarkably, which is not exactly the reaction Louis
was hoping for. “The one licking salt off of your stomach five minutes ago?”
“Oh,” Louis cringes, wrinkling his nose. “Harry? Oh no. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Really?”
Louis wants to shudder at the mere idea. “Yeah.”
Stranger’s playful smirk widens into a full-blown grin.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all night.”
And then there’s a sudden hand on Louis’ ass, and his eyes widen in shock. He opts for promptly
turning around and slapping this awful excuse of a person around the face, but then there’s another
hand around his waist holding him firmly put in his place, and Stranger’s breath is heavy on the
nape of his neck, and unfortunately that stops the motion from happen as smoothly—or violently—
as Louis had planned.
“Wow, now,” he stresses, wiggling out of the firm grip, throwing a glare at the Stranger, who’s
company is now even less desirable than it was to begin with. “Just because I don’t have a partner
doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”
Stranger makes a contemplating sound.
“Are you sure?” he muses, sneaking a hand around the smaller boy’s waist again. “You do seem
like you could use someone to, ah—put you in your place.”
He… He did not.
Louis gasps sharply, slapping at the intrusive hand as hard as he can. His face must be absolutely
beet red, he knows because it feels like it’s on fire, pounding with heat, and he can’t even tell if it’s
from embarrassment or fury. Louis needs no one to ‘put him in his place’. In absolutely no
definition of the phrase does he need anyone to ever push him around or tell him what to do.
And he knows that these words, this whole approach that this repulsive stranger is making, is yet
another response to his fucking size. He’s a pretty, small boy and this is a new and far nastier way
of people belittling him because of it and he wants to scream.
Stranger who absolutely does not know how to take anything even close to a hint, continues to step
all into Louis’ space, rough, uncaring hands trying to keep Louis’ hips in place. Louis is about to
throw an absolute temper tantrum, to scream or stomp on the stranger’s foot or elbow him in the
stomach—but a very urgent and deep voice cuts through the thumping base right before he has the
chance, startling both him and Stranger, and this one, Louis recognizes. Stranger’s grip loosens up
a little, and Louis slides away as quickly as he can.
“What the fuck?”
He looks up properly and sees none other than Harry Styles just a few steps away, fixed eyes and
clenched jaw, and Louis has never and will never admit to this out loud, but he is so, so happy to
see him.
Stranger has a sluggish and infuriatingly cocky smile on his lips, taunting, and he’s just about to
open his mouth to address the boy, but before he gets a chance to let the first syllable roll off of his
tongue, he abruptly stops. His face goes pale white and his eyes are blown wide, and he lets out a
pathetic but very pained whimper as his arms fly out to grip around his own stomach.
Oh.
Louis’ lips part in realization as Harry stops before them. Stranger is still whimpering in pain as
he’s bent over, clutching his stomach convulsively. Louis just stares at first, torn between relief
and alarm—and worry, that someone in the club will notice.
Harry, on the other hand, does not at all seem conflicted about what feeling he should give in to.
He’s visibly all anger, narrowing his darkened eyes into hostile slits. Stranger lets out a yelp,
partially drowned out by the loud music.
Harry is seething.
“Do we have a fucking problem, mate?” he asks, and though his entire body language bears witness
to a fire, his voice is so furiously cold Louis almost starts freezing.
Stranger only shakes his head, whimpering. The colorful lights play on his pained face, and
Louis… No. Louis is not okay with this, he finds. He’s not okay with Harry doing this—not this
way. He thought he’d be more than okay to see this stranger in pain no matter what context it’d be
in, but he’s… He’s not. He’s getting deeply, awfully uncomfortable about it.
Harry doesn’t pay attention to Louis at the moment, though. He just takes another few, slow steps
forward to watch Stranger more closely. His head tilts menacingly—sadistically, like this is
nothing to him—and for the first time, Louis sees why creatures avoid his gaze and whisper his
name and crouch away when he comes near.
“Does this feel good to you?” Stranger shakes his head again, violently. “No? Wow. It’s almost like
it’s a physical harassment you didn’t ask for.”
“Harry,” Louis tries once, but it comes out way too quietly, way too carefully and Louis barely
recognizes his own voice like this. Harry’s way too caught up in making the stranger pay for his
actions to realize anything Louis is doing, as well, just looking down on the cramped-up human in
front of him.
“So I swear to fucking Hades, that if I catch you even looking at him ever again—”
Stranger’s eyes almost roll back into his head, and no, no, Louis’ had enough now.
“Harry!” He storms up to Harry’s side, gripping his tense arm to crave his attention. “Stop it!”
The urgent tone of his voice seems to finally get through to Harry, and he breaks his gaze away
from the man to look at Louis incredulously. Anger is still fuming in his strained breathing, and his
jaw is so set Louis sort of fears it’ll break any minute.
Something in Louis’ wide eyes does make a difference, though, because after a few seconds of
intense eye contact, Harry purses his lips and looks back to Stranger, still on the floor in agony. He
just watches him, quietly, for a moment, and then his upper lip curls in repulsion.
“Get out of my sight,” he orders curtly.
Louis can tell the exact moment Harry pulls his powers away, because Stranger’s entire body goes
slack for a moment, and at first, he just breaths heavily for a couple of heartbeats. Then, he’s
sprinting towards the exit, stumbling and running into people on his way. Louis watches him
disappear, his jaw slack and his hands trembling.
Harry sighs next to him, catching Louis’ attention. The fire is gone from him now, and he leans
back and runs a hand through his hair like all of that was nothing to him.
And just like that, something starts bubbling in Louis’ chest, hotly and intensely.
He feels angry. He feels furious.
Harry doesn’t get to do this. First of all, because if anyone was going to punch that asshole across
the face, it was Louis. But secondly, and maybe most importantly--though he’d never let Harry
know-- because Harry almost scared him, there. Louis flinched away for a second. He didn’t dare
to speak loudly for the shortest moment, his words got caught on his breath as Harry felt utterly,
maliciously unpredictable—and that’s unacceptable. It’s humiliating enough to him already, this
whole situation, first Stranger belittling him and invading his space and making him feel small and
gross, and then Harry coming along and, not only acting like Louis needs some knight in shining
armor, but additionally, making it a big deal. He’s humiliated, and he’s shaken up, and to his
horror, he feels his eyes burn suspiciously and he has to clench his jaw to keep his lip from
quivering. It’s too much, now. Too much, too much, too much. It’s too much all at once.
Louis is tired of being treated like property. He’s so fucking sick of the way people act and look
and talk to him, and Louis doesn’t like to think about it, but so far Harry’s been the only one to
truly never treat him like he’s a fragile piece of glass. He may talk and tease and push Louis’
buttons, but he’s never held back because he doesn’t think Louis could handle it, and he’s never
followed through on any of his accusations or sneers. He can’t start now. He can’t. Louis won’t
fucking have it.
So his mind just kind of goes into overdrive.
Harry is about to open his mouth, face evidently softer now, but Louis is there way ahead of him,
and soft is the last word on his mind.
“What the fuck was that?” he demands feverishly.

Harry immediately snaps his mouth shut again, a skeptical wrinkle setting between his eyebrows.
“A thank you would’ve done.”
“Thank you?” Louis clenches his fists so hard his knuckles turn white. “I was doing fine!”
He wasn’t doing fine. Louis had never been more at loss in a situation before. But he’ll die sooner
than he’ll tell Harry so. He’s not feeding into the sting of helplessness the stranger left lingering
with him.
There’s a moment of complete silence between them as Harry stares at Louis, eyes wandering up
and down his hostile body as if he can’t believe Louis is serious.
“Your inferiority complex is going to get you killed one day,” he states, coldly now, and then turns
on his heel to leave.
Fuck, no. Louis isn’t done.
“Hey!” he immediately hurries after Harry, gripping his arm roughly to turn him around. Harry
does, and he eyes Louis with an expectantly raised eyebrow.
“What?”
And Louis can’t tell him the whole truth. He can’t say, you almost scared me, he can’t say, you
can’t start treating me like everyone else does.
So he decides to take an easier path. A far more irrational and doubtlessly stupid one, because
honestly, he couldn’t care less about that man’s wellbeing at the end of the day. But it’s the only
thing left that won’t risk him exposing his emotions to Harry, it’s the only road he can take to not
make himself look even more vulnerable than he already is, the only thing he can do to not
sound afraid.
“I thought you were trying to change,” he spits out. “How the fuck does what you just did go
together with that statement?”
It’s painfully evident Harry didn’t expect this reaction at all. His face flashes between confused,
angry, and hurt, and he’s quiet for a little too long.
“Are you… Are you serious?” he settles for in the end, and Louis can detect some frustration trying
to claw its way into his words. He’s getting upset, too. Not that Louis minds. He wants to scream a
little. Needs it.
“Dead serious,” he assures the spirit sharply. “I can’t believe you told me you were going to change
just to—just to fall for the temptation the first chance you get again! Were you even telling me the
truth to begin with?”
Harry inhales jaggedly, and Louis can tell there’s no confusion left. All there is now is
exasperation, and a teeny tiny bit of that hurt that just further eggs it on.
“That petty excuse for a human being completely deserved what was coming to him,” he scowls.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t want to do the same.”
“That doesn’t matter! I could’ve handled it myself; you didn’t have to burst in just looking for an
excuse to use your powers even though you’re not supposed to.”
“I wasn’t looking for an opportunity. This just happened to be one that required it!”
“No situation requires violence!”
“I know you hate to hear it, Louis, but some people just deserve to get hurt.”
The knife-point sting of Harry’s tone makes Louis visibly flinch, staring at the spirit with his lips
apart.
“Yeah, I can imagine why you’d tell yourself that,” he answers, just as sternly.
Harry lets out an obnoxiously exaggerated laugh.
“Louis, I did what I did for you! Not for myself. For you.”
Perhaps Louis should realize just how much it must take for Harry to admit such a thing, but he
doesn’t. He doesn’t have time to think anything through. He doesn’t have time to care about Harry,
not when his blood still rushes uncomfortably and his ears ring, not when he’s still this mad and
hurt and humiliated. When he’s still scared.
A tiny, vulnerable part of him just wants a hug. He just wants a hug. But he lost too much control
at once and he couldn’t give up even more of it, can’t give up more still, and he can’t backtrack on
anything now.
He blinks a couple of time to rid the dangerous stinging in his eyes, and finally settles for a huff
and crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head. Closed off. Folded away.
“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” he mutters before storming off, leaving Harry to stare after
him.
Minutes pass as Louis tries to find a place to cool off as far away from Harry as possible. It’s
difficult and stressful, because he won’t go back to the bar in fear of something similar happening
again, and he doesn’t exactly feel like dancing right now, and everywhere he goes there’s just a lot
of people and no space, and Louis can’t find a single familiar face in the entire club. Panic sits
dangerously in his throat, threatening to heave its way up at any moment now, hands trembling and
legs growing weaker and weaker as he squeezes past sweaty, tangled-up bodies.
This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. They were supposed to have fun. Louis was supposed to
not fight with Harry for once. He was supposed to have a good time and bring out the very best in
Harry, might even to the point where he’d finally enjoy his company.
(The way he feels lost now, a little cramped in the spot in his ribcage where his heart is, makes him
subconsciously wonder if he doesn’t enjoy Harry’s company more than a little bit already. Which
he doesn’t really want to think about, especially not right now. The spirit’s look of shocked hurt
still clings onto the inside of Louis’ eyelids.)
Louis kind of knows deep down that this isn’t really Harry’s fault. Not entirely. Louis did after all
only react like he did primarily for the sake of having a reason to lash out. Good or not.
His thoughts are messy and distressed and so confusing they’re pulling him further and further into
his own head, and he only snaps out of it when he crashes into another body, only barely managing
to regain his balance in time not to bring them both to the floor.
“Fuck!” he cusses, jumping away. “I didn’t mean to—”
But when he moves closer again and gets a proper look at whoever he nearly knocked over, he
realizes he quite knows this person.
"Shit, it’s—I totally didn’t watch where I was going, don’t—Louis?"
“Niall,” Louis breathes, and without getting to think enough to stop himself, he turns to the cupid
and throws his arms around his neck.
Niall stumbles half a step backwards, startled by the sudden embrace, but regains his balance soon
enough and hugs Louis back.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he wonders, voice soft and concerned.
“I hate Harry so much,” Louis sighs into Niall’s neck. It’s a little weird, being taller than someone
else for once. “So, so much.”
He can feel Niall’s ribcage expand and sink exaggeratedly in an exasperated sigh.
“I know,” the cupid replies, rubbing Louis’ back comfortingly. “What’s he done this time?”
“He’s so fucking—” Louis sniffles. “He used his powers. And he obviously enjoyed it, and I
thought he’d changed but apparently not a damn thing has and I’m—”
“That’s not your problem, though, is it?” Niall interrupts lightly.
Louis stops, frowning in confusion and displeasure, letting go of Niall. “What?”
“You’d hurt that guy too, Louis, you were right on your way—”
“You saw it?”
“Honestly, Harry had been a worse person if he didn’t step in to defend you—”
“Niall!” Louis hisses. “You’re supposed to have my back here. Tell me I’m right.”
Niall bites his lip loosely, throwing a look behind Louis’ back.
“Look,” he says, pulling Louis closer to speak into his ear. “I understand that it was scary for you,
back there, but you’re not being fair. Don’t be so hard on him.”
Louis snaps his body back to give Niall his most expressive stare.
“What—I’m not in the wrong here! I have to be hard on him, or he’s never going to change, and
like, he, he handled the whole thing wrong and blew it up and made me look weak and dumb and
then I handled things wrong but only because he did first and—”
“Oh, honestly, Louis. Don’t act like if you possessed Harry’s powers you wouldn’t have used them
to get rid of that asshole,” Niall sighs. “I don’t think that’s actually what your problem is.”
“No,” Louis agrees. “My general problem is the fact that Harry’s an insufferable, awful, arrogant
—”
“No.” Niall cuts him off before he has a chance to finish, and he wants to protest but the thoroughly
displeased look on Niall’s face shuts Louis up quite quickly. “It’s so evident he’s been doing well
for longer than you want to admit. He’s been trying since this whole thing started, remember? He
helped you with Gothel, he helped with Wonderland—”
“What?” Louis stops in his tracks, frowning in perplexity. “How do you know these things?”
“—And, should I mention, he used powers in Wonderland, too, and I don’t recall you being this
upset, and then Sleeping Beauty, do we even have to go there—“
Louis’ confused but ashamed pout swiftly turns into puzzled skepticism in a microsecond.
“What? Harry didn’t do shit for Jesy.”
Niall glares at him.
“Have you seriously forgotten that he offered to get the cure for her illness?”
Louis’ mind is completely blank. What is Niall even talking about? There’s no ‘cure’ for black
magic.
Apparently, Louis’ oblivion really gets Niall heated, as he groans loudly and starts ranting once
again.
“You’re smart, Louis. You know that since Harry was the only one there who knew that there
could be a possible treatment for Sleeping Beauty’s illness, he could’ve just stayed silent and let
her suffer. That’d be expected from his character, even! But no, Louis, he went back, and he talked
to her, and he offered her his genuine and good-hearted help and—oh my god, you had no idea, did
you?”
No. No, Louis didn’t exactly have an idea.
He can’t even gain enough control over his muscles to shut his jaw close in shock as his head
slowly starts spinning again, picking up speed madly. He remembers Harry running away just in
time for cutting Taylor’s hair, remembers thinking of those actions with disdain, remembers not
thinking more of it than Harry trying to get away with not helping.
Did he actually leave to help a total stranger? With no ulterior motives at all?
This is way, way too many things for Louis to process during a mere timespan of thirty minutes.
His head is reduced to a disoriented and confused haze, but he tries to break through the chaos and
the loudly pumping music of the club for long enough to establish following three statements.
This means that Harry cared about a stranger enough to go against his own calling.
This means that since Harry didn’t tell even anyone about this, he can’t even have done it to make
himself look better, or otherwise personal gain.
This means that Harry’s been a tolerable person for a lot longer than Louis has known.
Suddenly, once again, Louis is fuming.
“How…” he breathes, voice shaky with suppressed anger. “Where is he?”
Niall widens his eyes, looking at Louis with poorly concealed alarm. “Louis, are you sure you want
to…”
“Since you already seem to know everything else, I mean.”
“Lou—”
“I know you know where he is.”
There is a moment of intense eye contact, before Niall sighs deeply and scratches his neck.
“Fine,” he gives in. “I think he’s off to the restrooms.”
He barely gets time to finish before Louis is off in bolt-like speed.
Chapter End Notes
so like. wow. i'm really sorry.
turns out my writing abilities has not been On Top this winter. i've been surviving on
about 2 hours of sunshine a day and i Need sun and warmth to function properly and
i've had neither. i also feel like shit when i can't write and that results in me being even
more unable to write which is a vicious circle. i hope this will make up for the long
wait a lil tho so here is roughly 8k of harry and louis centered partying and fighting.
what's actually quite nice tho is that i originally wrote over 11k in this chapter, but in
the end i split it up bc i thought it'd be a bit too much all at once, bUT that means a
good part of the next chapter is already written so?? nice?? i hope this is fairly
enjoyable.
alsO some more nice music that inspires this fic as i am complete music trash are;
both ways - quietdrive
only love can hurt like this - paloma faith
she is the sunlight - trading yesterday for louis
the good, the bad and the dirty - panic! at the disco for harry (honestLY HOW GOOD
IS THEIR NEW ALBUM I NEED TO LIE DOWN)
thanks to every single one of you who waited and commented and gave kudos and
came to talk to me on my tumblr (@tequiladimples *wink, wink* *nudge, nudge*) i
honestly am not worthy this treatment i love you so so so much. thank you for
providing me with motivation to keep writing and for being overall beautiful humans
xxxx
chapter 14; earth
Chapter Summary

be easier.)
Chapter Notes
warning for some sexual content in the beginning of the chapter. be safe lil cloud xxx
The restroom is surprisingly empty, Louis notes as a bypassing thought when he storms in, breath
heavy and fists clenched. Only two or three stalls are locked and the space outside is completely
void of people.
Well. Except for one person currently standing completely still in front of a mirror, staring
profusely into his own eyes.
Louis’ rage blossoms like the color of autumn leaves. Harry is going to pay. For what more
exactly, Louis isn’t completely sure of yet, but he’s going to fucking pay for it.
“Harry Styles,” he grits out through his tightly shut jaw.
Harry flinches and snaps his gaze away from his own reflection, falling on Louis. He’s clearly
startled, as he almost stumbles backwards, pulling a stressed hand through his hair. Louis hates it
when he does that. Louis hates how good Harry’s hair looks.
“Louis,” he greets him. “Always a pleasure?”
Louis doesn’t have time for polite greetings with ironic undertones at the moment. He’s on a
mission.
“Fuck you, Harry,” he exclaims, diving straight into it.
Harry’s face drops rather comically from puzzlement to fatigue. He sighs deeply.
“What have I done this time? Did the thought of breathing the same air as me disrespect you?”
As a matter of fact, yeah. The thought of that does disrespect Louis a lot right now.
“You don’t get to do this.” He focuses his attention on his finger, poking it roughly into the point
where Harry’s heart should be. He’s warm, in that spot, the fairy notices. Just like himself. Just like
any other living, breathing creature. Just like any other being with feelings. With compassion. A
rush of gentleness cuts through the anger in Louis’ body for a brief second.
This cannot possibly end well.
Harry’s visibly beyond over all of this. He looks at Louis tightly with a pursed mouth and just
about stops an eye roll from reaching his face.
“I don’t get to do what?” he asks. Tired. So tired.
Louis does not have time for his patronization. He narrows his eyes in unadulterated disgust and
digs his finger more forcefully into Harry’s chest.
“This is so disrespectful. This is so disrespectful.”
His accusations don’t exactly have the desired effect on the spirit, who just sighs and blinks
rapidly, as if Louis is just so difficult to deal with. Louis is not difficult to deal with. Harry is. Harry
and his confusing, out of character motives. Louis wouldn’t be difficult if Harry didn’t start it.
“Look, I’m not sure why you’re still so hung up on this, but I still withstand that the guy deserved
—”
A nearly animalistic groan erupts from Louis’ aggravated ribcage, cutting Harry off mid-sentence.
“Not that, you insufferable tank of fuckvermin,” he fumes. “You. Helping Jesy. With her curse.
How dare you humiliate me like this?”
It’s clear Harry’s conflicted as to where he should put his attention by now. Let him be stressed,
Louis thinks. That makes two of them.
“Wait, what? Who told you?”
“Niall!” Louis flings his arms out from his body. “Niall told me, and I have no idea how he knows,
but that’s not important! What’s important here is that you’re making me look stupid!”
There’s a loaded silence from Harry. One of the taps in the bathroom drips calmly, as if counting
seconds, anticipating a reply, and it’s making Louis’ palms itch even more than they already do.
At last, the taller boy settles for another series of disoriented blinks and a:
“...What?”
Okay, then. Louis will gladly clarify.
“Here I’ve gone,” he spits. “Completely and utterly convinced that you were practically beyond
saving up until just recently, like—from the moment we met you’ve consistently given me reasons
to hate you. I should hate you! You made my college experience awful! You were nothing but
heartless, and dumb, and infuriating, and mean to me,” he pokes his finger a little harder into
Harry’s chest with every adjective. “And then what do you do? You go and do good things? On
your own? Behind my back? No. Fuck you. Fuck you. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this. I can’t
believe you let me be a snarky and horrible person for so long when I could’ve been a snarky but
slightly supportive person. This is an offense upon my entire character.”
He finishes his rant with collecting all the hot red boiling through his body into one single,
devastating look and then impatiently awaits the, hopefully extremely good, explanation.
Harry looks blankly at him for a couple of minutes, opening and closing his mouth numerous times
in search for a good reply. Every time he presses his mouth shut again, his lips plump out in a way
that makes them look so unbelievably soft Louis almost loses his concentration. They look like silk
cushions. If Louis would be an actual pixie, he would quite like to sleep on them. Nuzzle his small
head into Harry’s cupid’s bow, fit himself into the small dip in the middle of his lower lip.
Louis is getting very, very off the subject. He’s angry with Harry. Incredibly so, as well. It’s time to
focus.
Harry’s been quiet for quite a while, still clearly lost on how to navigate this situation. In the end of
it, though, he does finally make a sound, and his voice is raspy with startlement.
“What, per definition, is ‘fuckvermin’?”
Louis wants to shove a foot down his own throat in frustration.
"I hate you so much,” he shakes his head, “I hate you so much.”
“And like, an entire tank? An entire tank of fuckvermin, that’s a lot and I don’t even know what it
is, I’m actually so intrigued here could you please go into detail about—”
“Are you—” Louis stops to stare in what would’ve been amazement if he hadn’t been so goddamn
angry. “—rambling? Right now?”
Harry goes a shade of pink and Louis is not charmed.
“Why are you so torn up about this?” he just asks, ignoring Louis’ question. Not that Louis minds.
“Because I hate being wrong, Harry! Contrary to belief, I don’t actually love to be angry all the
time.”
"Could’ve fooled me," Harry mutters, and Louis can’t even comment on it without probably also
murdering him in the process.
“Look. If I’d known that you’d done something selfless and, you know, kind so early on, perhaps I
wouldn’t have gone and been quite as mean and hard on you as I have! I thought I had a purpose
with it. And now, suddenly, it’s proven that whoops, maybe I didn’t! Maybe he had a fucking
conscience all along! And if that’s true then it’s like—what am I even really hating you for?”
And then he stops himself abruptly. Panic starts to fizzle and fret in his veins because he’s
revealing way too much, he’s coming too close to the actual vulnerable truth, and Harry seems to
be able to tell, too, because his eyes have widened more and more with every word. He looks
animated, he looks honest, he looks beautiful, he looks—
Louis doesn’t know how to dig himself out of this hole.
So at loss for anything else, he forcefully launches his body forward and kisses Harry.
Again.
And he’s not sure why this keeps happening so frequently considering that Harry enrages him so
much, he really, truly does. Especially now. It’s like, once Louis’ anger grows so large it has
nowhere else to go, this is all he’s left with. He should be embarrassed.
However, it’s easy not to be when Harry goes along with it as easily as he does, hands pressing
Louis’ body closer, drawing them both backwards into the room. Louis isn’t actually sure what his
target is, until there’s the sound of a door opening and closing, and he opens his eyes to see they’re
in one of the stalls.
He’s immediately pushed against a wall, and he makes sure to use it to his advantage, to push his
back into it so he can push his hips out with as much force as he can, rolling them against Harry’s.
Harry’s breath hitches a little, before he makes a disgruntled sound as he to avoid hitting the toilet
seat on his way to push them closer.
“This is even less space than last time,” he mutters, and Louis sort of wants to laugh because, yeah,
something’s about to happen again, and it wasn’t even Harry who started this time. His hands in
Harry’s hair pull him back in to silence the part of Louis’ mind wondering how many times he’ll
have to keep promising to never touch Harry again and then break it until he complies.
Or gives it up completely, maybe.
“Hate you,” he says again against cherry warmth and a bated breath, for good measure, as he lets
his hands keep running, through Harry’s hair and down his neck and back, leaving invisible trails
of himself along Harry’s smooth skin. In case his willingness would make Harry momentarily
forget.
They’re now grinding their hips against each other, breathy moans and whimpers against open
mouths and buzzing skin, and Louis can’t stand this much longer. As he flutter his eyes open for a
couple of seconds, gets a glimpse of Harry’s delicately flushed face, he realizes that he doesn’t just
want this to be like last time. He doesn’t just want to let Harry do all the work. He wants render
Harry as speechless as Harry has gotten him. He needs to.
“What—” he pronounces, syllables a little blurred in the edges. “What you did to me last time, I
want to do that. To you.”
He revels in the way Harry’s breath catches, and the spirit parts them a little to make it possible to
fully lock Louis’ wide gaze with his own.
“Lou, you don’t have to—”
Lou.
A nickname. A nice nickname. A small, unassuming nickname, undeliberate in the way it’s
breathed out so softly, like it’s a familiarity and not something handcrafted to annoy the living hell
out of him.
It drives a little Louis insane, and he bucks his hips up against Harry again, tightening his grip on
his curls.
“I want to,” he almost pleads. “Really, really want to.”
He’s possibly going to be mortified, thinking back on this later. Right now, he doesn’t care at all.
Harry is completely still for a moment, watching him with surprise and something remarkably
alike amazement. Then, a sharp breath as he comes back to life, nodding and flicking his fringe
away from his face.
“Of course,” he breathes, making Louis light up. “Yeah.”
Louis nods a little too eagerly, and then reaches down with as much confidence he can muster to
unbutton Harry’s frustratingly tight jeans.
Despite the pants looking like they’ve been painted on, he does manage to somewhat effortlessly
push them down mid-thigh, one finger hooked in the hem of the black boxers underneath as he just
observes the outline of Harry’s cock pressing against the thin fabric. He does hesitate a little then—
because no matter how sure of himself he’s trying to act, he has, after all, no real idea what he’s
doing.
This isn’t the time for an internal crisis, but Louis can’t stop one from threatening to creep up on
him anyway. He wants this. He wants to be able to do this. He wants to do this for Harry.
The thing is, Harry is experienced. Louis doesn’t know how many people has done this and more
to Harry before him, but he has no doubt that they’re many and that all of them were probably very
experienced, too.
And then there’s Louis—Louis, whose peak of intimacy before all this has been kisses by the
spring stream. And now, here he is, and he’s supposed to compare to all the other people Harry has
done this with? He doesn’t want to be a disappointment. He wants so, so badly to be good.
Harry’s breath is heavy, but he still has time to frown concernedly when he notices Louis’
hesitance.
“You don’t have to—” he starts, voice rough and a tad deeper than usual, but still so very soft.
Louis thinks of torn silk or thorny roses.
And Louis could cry, a little, because this gentleness isn’t supposed to be here, nestled into the
cracks and corners of the Harry he’s thought himself to know but it does, and he’s scared he may
not have him at his fingertips like this again, and it makes him even more determined that he wants
to try and do this.
“No, it’s not—” he bites his lip, trying to explain. “I want to. I’ve just—I might not be very good.”
“Hey, none of that.” Harry frowns, raising one hand to stroke a featherlight finger along Louis’
jaw. “Out of all things you should worry about that’s not—I’ll—guide you through it. It’s okay.”
There it is again. He’s so insufferably caring—as soon as they get close like this, in the situations
Louis’ the most vulnerable, that’s when Harry’s eye rolls and mocking suddenly stops in favor of
making sure Louis is alright and comfortable, complimenting his insecurities, so very carefully
making sure that the fairy never feels obligated to do anything he doesn’t want to.
It doesn’t make sense. And it also makes it extremely hard for Louis to not look at him with a sort
of tentative appreciation. He’s just confused, is all. Because this is the same creature that called
him nothing at the beginning of the school year and riles him up more than anyone he’s ever met,
and simultaneously, somehow, the same person Louis trusts enough to let in this closely upon
himself.
One day Louis will understand his actions, but today is not that day.
He breathes deeply, trying to keep the sunshine that’s expanding inside his body from Harry’s
reassurance under control. Then he nods.
“Right,” he mumbles, as the hand he has on Harry’s boxers unfreezes and he tugs them down
slowly.
Harry’s cock is hard and leaking already, and Louis’ breath catches a little, something hot and
tingling stirring in his abdomen. Without really thinking, he lifts his hand a little and runs his
thumb along a vein on the underside, just because he has to touch, and Harry lets out a shuddery
breath and leans his head back against the bathroom wall.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Okay.”
“Where do I put my hands?” Louis purses his lips, refusing to look at Harry, a shot of
embarrassment through his ribcage at even having to ask.
“You, uh—here.” Harry takes Louis’ hand, wrapping their entwined fingers around his cock. “And
then just—move. Remember how I did?”
Yeah, Louis does quite remember. With still slightly unsure hands he starts moving his fist up and
down slowly to test the waters, daring to look up at Harry’s face to see whether the response is
positive or not.
When Louis goes up to stroke his thumb lightly against the slit, Harry’s eyelids flutter, and Louis
takes that as a good sign. He looks down again to hide the proud smile that’s threatening to take
over his features.
“You’re—doing so good,” Harry promises, nudging his hips forward into Louis’ hand. “Move a
little faster.”
So Louis does, fueled by the praise, keeps pumping his hand up and down and memorizes
everything he does that makes Harry’s breath slightly more uneven or his jaw go slack, making
sure to thumb at the head and stroke all the way down to the base. The image of his hand wrapped
around flushed, slick velvet skin, the awareness that it’s the reason for the slight tremble in Harry’s
voice makes his head spin a little.
When he starts twisting his grip as he strokes down Harry’s dick is when Harry actually lets out a
soft moan, and it makes Louis’ vision blurry with pride, and he keeps doing it every time,
quickening the pace on Harry’s demand.
“Come here,” Harry murmurs. “Don’t stop.”
He brings Louis’ head in by the chin to attach their lips again, licking into Louis’ mouth until Louis
is so weak in the knees he can barely stand straight and his own dick presses desperately against
the strained fabric of his jeans. He doesn’t stop, though, and soon Harry’s pulling away so that
their mouths just barely touch, voiceless chants of Louis’ name dropping onto Louis’ lips and
Louis feels just warmth and wetness and pink haziness and his stomach is hot and his heart pounds.
“’M close,” Harry utters next, and it urges Louis on even more to do his very best, and he can’t
help but buck his own hips into Harry’s thigh for some friction of his own, too lost to even be
embarrassed as he rubs against the bare, smooth skin until he’s close to coming, as well.
Harry finishes first with a suppressed moan, and Louis is not far behind as he—once again—
comes, in sensitive pushes of his hips against Harry, into his pants. He’s slightly embarrassed, but
not enough to regret anything.
Nothing is said for the first couple of seconds as they both catch their breath. Louis doesn’t know
what to say, and Harry obviously doesn’t either, as he slowly reaches for some tissues.
That’s when the door to the booth is thrown open violently, revealing Niall on the other side. Both
Harry and Louis yelp in surprise and Louis is pretty sure he flinches into another dimension.
They both stare at Niall, horrified, and Louis thinks, why the fuck didn’t they lock the door.
He also thinks a never-ending stream of curse words as his thoughts collide and whirl inside his
head, frantically wondering what the hell they’re supposed to do now. No one was supposed
to know—it’s bad enough already that it’s even happening. And if there’s one person out of the
three others Harry and Louis have come to know during this journey that Louis would prefer to
know, the cupid is pretty much the last person.
He’s ready for Niall to make it a big deal. He’s preparing for the positively massive lash out that
Niall’s going to throw himself into, for the infuriating mix of cockiness and exasperation that
Louis’ only ever seen Niall pull of in his life.
Niall, however, doesn’t move at all. He doesn’t even widen his eyes a little. He just throws them an
urgent look that has nothing to do with the situation at hand, and he opens his mouth to speak
hastily.
“We need to get out of here.”
“What?” Harry and Louis just stare, not sure if they’re referring to Niall literally not reacting at all
to the situation, or his statement. “Why?”
“As heroic and kickass as your treatment of that dick in the bar was, Harry, it wasn’t exactly subtle.
People are talking and speculating, and they’re confused—some are looking for you. It’s just bad.
We need to get out of here. Finish up and then hurry.”
And with those words, he just shuts the stall door again, and Louis and Harry hear rapid steps
fading away.
Everything’s drop dead quiet for several seconds, the two boys just staring blankly before
themselves trying to make sense of what just happened.
“He didn’t even blink,” Harry states breathlessly.
“Nothing,” Louis agrees, wide-eyed, slowly shaking his head. “The things he must’ve seen.”
Harry makes an almost choking noise of laughter, before properly zipping his pants and moving
forward to open the stall door. When Louis starts walking, he can properly feel the cold stickiness
that’s now once more apparent in his pants, and he groans.
“I can’t believe I’m going to have to walk around like this again,” he complains accusingly.
Harry’s smile is a little too smug for Louis’ liking, and the spirit’s answer is effortless and light.
“Well. If you take off a few layers next time as well, we won’t have that problem.”
Louis sputters, the words next time exploding into tiny, confused screams of distress in his head
and he stays completely still in his spot for a short amount of time, until Harry pulls him along by
his arm. Judging by the apprehensive shift on his face, the moment has passed.
“Fuck, I hope it’s not too bad,” the spirit mutters as they approach the bathroom door. “If enough
people saw, then—”
As soon as they close the door behind them, entering the dancefloor again, the people close enough
to notice them immediately react. Whispers, head nods and backing away follow them through the
room now and Louis thinks, gossip must spread very fast. He’s used to that, it does in the forest as
well, but he’s usually on the gossiping side, then.
It’s kind of terrifying, considering humans are under no circumstances supposed to know about any
of their existences, and Harry put that on the line for Louis. As Harry grips around Louis’ wrist and
pulls him through the thick wall of people that’s increasingly building as the humans realize that
this is the person they saw, the one who brought another man to the ground in pain by looking at
him, the one who made said man flee for his life. Harry doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, just
heads straight for the exit with Louis tagging along slightly startled and a little out of it.
They do manage to get out of there, though, the cold, sharp air hitting Louis’ face immediately as a
violent, but not entirely unwelcome contrast to the hot, steamy club. Niall is already standing out
there with Liam and Zayn, and Louis immediately understands that the two must be way more
intoxicated than he is. Or was, as the pleasant buzz has kind of worn off, his mind reduced to
something slow and a tiny bit hazy.
The way Zayn and Liam are clinging to each other, giggling and sharing body heat, swaying back
and forth as if they haven’t understood the seriousness of the situation at all, bugs Louis just a
little, and it clearly makes Niall look at them with a single raised eyebrow.
“If they hadn’t been grinding on each other all night I’d be so annoyed with them,” he sighs. “This
is great progress. I can’t help but love it when job is easy.”
The love drunk pair isn’t even listening, hissing with laughter about something probably no one but
them would find funny.
“So, I’m going to call a cab for these two,” Niall states. “And you can just make your own way
home and I’ll come as soon as I’ve paid. Sounds good?”
Louis and Harry nod in unison. It does sound good. They don’t even reflect over the fact that they
usually at least give a sour frown or a deprecating sigh whenever they have to spend time alone
with each other. Niall smirks, barely noticeably.
“See you at home.”
As Harry and Louis dissolve in front of Niall, the cupid can’t help but to laugh to himself in
victory. He’s making progress. Things aren’t hopeless and he’s good at his job again. All is well.
~
The first thing Louis does when they get to the apartment is toimmediately switch into a new pair
of underwear, sighing in relief as the icky feeling goes away. Next thing on his bucket list is to go
to the kitchen to get himself a tall glass of water, emptying it all in a matter of seconds. It’s cold
and fresh and not quite like home but then again, that’s hard to find. It tastes a lot better than
liquor.
He’s so caught up in how delicious water is he doesn’t even hear Harry standing in the doorway
until the spirit coughs quietly to make his presence known.
Louis puts his glass down in the sink and turns to Harry, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“I… I need to get the medicine.” Harry is stammering, and Louis is… amazed. “For, uh. Jesy. I
need.” His feet poke inwards, and though there’s an embedded determination in his little frown, the
rest of him tells a completely different story. Harry’s evidently so not used to these situations, but
he’s trying, now, and it makes Louis want to shed a few tears because it’s… It’s such a lovely look
on him.
Louis’ quiet for a moment, something slowly sparking up in his belly, and then he nods quickly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you do. How do we get it?”
Harry looks up again at the ‘we’, immediately looking a little surer, his back a little straighter.
“We’d need—god, I don’t know, we need a doctor. We need a prescription or something.”
“Okay,” Louis nods. “And how do we get a doctor to write us a prescription?”
We. We. We.
“Unless you’re ill, I’m pretty sure they will not do a single thing.”
Louis frowns as he sinks into thought, trying to figure out how exactly this is going to work. They
need to do this, is the only thing he knows, not just for Jesy’s sake, but also for Harry’s. Louis will
be damned if Harry’s first own initiative at doing a good thing washes down the drain.
As it is, he only sees one option, really. And though it perhaps isn’t very ethically correct, he’s very
ready to go through with it.
“Well,” Louis says. “I guess one of us will have to have narcolepsy for the day.”
Harry looks up in surprise at Louis’ out of character reply, and when he sees that the smaller boy is
smirking, he mimics the expression.
(It’s not that this is completely unfamiliar—this is the Louis who fake cried his way out of Mother
Hulda’s pitch. Judging by Harry’s face, it seems he might appreciate this side of him.)
“Would you like the honor?”
Louis puts a hand on his chest, chin lifted dramatically. He loves a bit of acting.
“I would love to.”

~
It’s morning. Or. Afternoon. It’s 1pm and Louis hasn’t ever slept this long, but he’s now sitting at
the kitchen table in Zayn’s apartment with Harry in the chair opposite him and Liam next to him,
discussing how the anticipated doctor’s visit should go down. Liam’s filled them in on every
aspect of Jesy’s condition he knows, so that Louis would have the answer to—hopefully—every
question the doctor will ask, to get the right medication. It’s a risky thing to do, but they’ve all
agreed that they’re willing to try. Liam will also speak to Zayn about fixing Louis up with a fake
ID as well, as they’re going to need it when they go to the pharmacy later.
Louis knows they could probably get in trouble if anyone found out about this. Lying usually gets
you into very uncomfortable positions and don’t ever get him wrong, Louis isn’t a liar. Except for a
tiny emergency here and there, maybe, to save himself from unnecessary discomfort, of course.
Like any other breathing creature.
But still, pretty understandably, he is a little wary about doing this. It’s his idea, he knows, and he
doesn’t regret it at all, but it doesn’t mean he’s not a little nervous. He’s feeling a little faint,
actually, if he actually starts thinking about the fact that he’ll have to pretend to have an illness he
doesn’t really know a single thing about.
So when Harry starts talking about them not having to worry about time, because he’ll just take
them both there in a second, Louis has to put his foot down. If there’s any chance that he’s actually
going to do this, he’s going to need some serious fresh air to prepare. It’s what he always needs to
calm down, he needs some sort of outside environment, an open sky, some sense of comfort and
home. He needs to surround himself with it, not be an abstract part of it.
“No,” Louis protests quickly. “I’m on Earth. I’ve dreamed about exploring since I knew it was a
thing. Unless the nearest hospital is half a day’s journey away, we will walk.”
Harry groans a little, tipping his head back a tad too dramatically. Louis doesn’t care. He knows
Harry doesn’t have a problem with walking—doesn’t get out of breath—so he’s not going to let
him take this away. Louis will see London. Louis will get his calming stroll. He will.
“This isn’t negotiable,” he enlightens the spirit, just so that there are no mistakes to be made.
“I figured,” Harry muttered. “Hold on then and I’ll find the hospital. We might have to take the
tube for a bit, though. I wouldn’t bet a hospital is the easiest to find in these quarters.”
Said and done, Harry does disappear for a few short seconds, and when he’s back he ruffles his
hair a little to push it away from his eyes and does a quick nod as if to confirm he knows where to
go.
“Let’s go, then,” he states.
Louis is curious.
It’s just who he is in general, but he looks over to Harry now, silence falling comfortably on their
shoulders after a couple moments of fun bickering—not that he’d ever admit it as fun out loud—
and it’s gnawing on him, the need to know more. He’s understood by now that Harry’s upbringing
is a touchy subject, which is understandable, considering he’s been raised by the goddess of chaos.
But he just wants to know. So, so badly. And he has no idea how to bring it up casually, doesn’t
even think there’s actually a way now that he ponders it, and that makes it really hard for him.
He just wants to understand. With every single growingly humane thing Harry does, Louis wants to
understand more and more, because if Harry’s going to make a habit of proving him wrong like
this, Louis would desperately like to make a habit of not being wrong in the first place. And for
that to work, he needs to know the spirit.
Louis is so lost in thought, that when Harry breaks the silence, he’s startled, and when he actually
realizes what the taller boy has asked, he sweats a little.
“Do you honestly hate me?” Harry looks genuine.
Louis shuts his eyes close, and he very quickly and nonchalantly says “yes, I do,” but the words lay
weirdly in his mouth.
Harry hums quietly and everything goes silent once again. Louis doesn’t quite know why his entire
body tells him wrong.
“Well, that’s just too bad,” Harry sighs, finally. “Because I don’t hate you.”
Something twists uncomfortably in Louis’ stomach at that. He can’t even tell what emotion it is, if
it’s surprise or guilt or embarrassment, but it’s not light and lively enough to be butterflies.
(Which wouldn’t make sense, anyway.)
Louis scoffs incredulously, and it’s more to convince himself rather than Harry that the spirit’s
words are untrue.
“That’s a huge lie.”
“I wish it was,” Harry mumbles flatly. “You’re still the most annoying breathing creature I’ve ever
met. But I’ve known a lot of hate, and I don’t hate you.”
Well. Louis kicks away a stray pebble. Way to make him feel like a major dick. It’s only fun to be
rude to someone if they’re rude back—and Harry just decided that apparently, he’s not going to be
right now. Louis’ quite frankly a little offended that he’s putting him on the line like this. He’d still
prefer not to face any positive emotions regarding Harry head-on for simplicity’s sake, thank you
very much. Even if he has to. Even if they’re there.
“I…” he tries hesitantly. “Alright. I might not completely loathe you. Maybe.”
That does conjure a short laughter from Harry, and he looks down on the fairy with twinkling
amusement, which. Well. Louis doesn’t know if he should be content or sad that ‘I might not
completely loath you’ is enough to make Harry this happy.
“Please don’t ever start being afraid of me,” he says, laughter still embedded in the crinkles by his
eyes.
“What is there to be afraid of,” Louis deadpans. He’s very proud of how emotionless the statement,
rather than question, sounded, considering he does feel a little like his head is swimming in syrup
from the way Harry looks at him.
It’s supposed to be insulting—a week ago it probably would’ve been—but now, it makes Harry
turn his head away to hide a grin, and even though that hadn’t been the reaction Louis was going
for, he isn’t exactly displeased with it.
Louis doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to ask any of the questions he wants to ask now because
Harry is visibly in a good mood, or bad because said questions might ruin that for him.
Ultimately, his curiosity wins, and he decides on the first option.
“Can I ask you something now?” Louis looks down, following the edges of his shadow with his
eyes to avoid eye contact.
“Sure,” Harry shrugs, still seemingly relaxed. Louis hopes it stays that way, as he inhales to speak.
He figures he’ll start with a question that’s not very personal, to test the waters a little, warm Harry
up to it.
“You don’t—you don’t have to answer, I guess,” he says slowly. “But, uh… Well, I feel like
maybe you know more about this whole ordeal than you’re telling me. Us. And since we kind of
know what it is now and no one else seems to have figured it out yet, it’d help if we know as much
as possible. All of us, that is. So I guess my question is… Do you know what’s going on with the
portals?”
Silence. Shoes against concrete. Silence.
“I don’t know anything of use,” Harry finally says, shortly and factually, but he doesn’t sound
upset so Louis exhales, shoulders sinking.
“Then would it hurt to tell?” he presses carefully.
Harry shrugs again.
“I know that mother’s been trying to do this for a while,” he admits, biting his lip. “Looking for
ways that could break the connection between the worlds and stuff, you know. But she couldn’t do
it on her own, so this… This can’t be all her work. I have no idea how, but if she’s involved, she
had someone else do this for her.”
That would explain quite a lot. Louis’ always kind of figured that Harry knew something—ever
since those smug looks in the cafeteria back at UoT when the malfunction was first confirmed.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone earlier?” he wonders.
“What help would it have been? Who was there to tell who would listen and then be able to do
something about it?”
Niall, Louis wants to say. Niall most definitely has contacts in high places and if Harry had told
them when they were in Pantheon, he could’ve made sure Jupiter found out.
“I’m sure we could’ve done something,” Louis just says.
Harry shakes his head. “Listen, it doesn’t matter who I tell—not even Zeus or Hades could fix the
portals on their own, because they still wouldn’t know what the actual problem is, and they would
all need to communicate between the worlds to get this right and check everything, but now that’s
impossible. She’s quite brilliant, my mother, if you think about it.”
Louis doesn’t exactly love the thought, but—well, Harry is unfortunately quite right. It feels very
wrong, though, frustrating, that they’re the only ones that they know of that seem to have a theory
about what’s wrong, and they can’t do anything. Louis wants to do something.
“Maybe we should… Maybe we should try and get to Tartaros?” Louis suggests lightly. “Maybe
we could—”
“No,” Harry cuts Louis off immediately, and his voice is so determined Louis flinches at the power
of it. “Seriously, don’t even finish that thought. You don’t want to do that.”
It’s not an intimidating reaction as much as it’s surprising, because why wouldn’t Harry want to go
home? He’d certainly expressed a will to get to Tartaros when they started this whole excursion.
Louis can’t exactly pinpoint a moment where it would’ve made sense for that will to vanish.
And definitely not a moment when he himself would be somewhat okay with the idea.
Louis makes a face, shrugging lightly. “Thought you wanted that, though.”
Harry doesn’t say anything.
They’re quiet the rest of the way, Louis not sure how to strike up a conversation again after that,
and Harry not seeming very keen on one, either. It’s fine, though. Louis’ other questions can wait.
He doesn’t mind the silence, as it gives him time to properly inspect London. It’s midday and
sunny this particular Saturday, the prime time for humans to go out for lunch or run errands, it
seems—the streets are currently quite packed, and every restaurant or coffee shop they pass on the
way is crowded and filled with life.
Louis likes it. It’s a different kind of rush and a different kind of calm, watching people scurry
around on sidewalks carrying expensive looking bags, or take a seat among their friends at a café to
throw themselves headfirst into a conversation, wide eyed and gesticulating for emphasis.
It does take them quite a while to walk, probably an hour give or take, but Louis doesn’t mind at
all, and Harry isn’t complaining either. It gives them both a little extra time to think and sort
through the information they’ve gotten, and how to do this, too—which is very well needed,
because no matter how much strolling through London’s busy streets calms Louis down, it doesn’t
make the small, anxious pounding in his chest disappear completely.
When they finally reach the sleep center, Louis lets Harry do the talking. He stands on the side,
mentally preparing and smiling weakly at the lady in the reception as Harry checks them in,
charming as whenever he wants to be.
It all goes pretty quickly from there—there’s the hushed bickering in the waiting room, there’s both
of them trying to pretend it doesn’t amuse them, and then Louis’ called in to see sleep specialist
Doctor Johnson. His heart feels a little tight in his chest as he, Harry right behind him, walks
through the hall and in through a door.
The doctor for them is tall, a red-haired woman with a sympathetic face, and Louis calms down a
little. As Louis starts explaining his problem, he also finds her very easy to talk to, eyes trusting
and nonjudgmental, and he relaxes fully, slipping into his character.
“And what does this paralysis feel like?”
“I don’t know, it’s like—” Louis gestures, as if trying to get a hold on the words he wants out of
thin air. “Sometimes it’s just weird things like, I slur a lot. And my facial muscles go all limp and
weird sometimes and… Sometimes, not a lot, thank god, but sometimes I’ll just collapse. And
sometimes when I wake up or if I get really emotional or after—after sex—I just, I can’t move. I
can see and hear and everything, but I can’t move.”
Doctor Johnson nods and her ballpoint pen swoops across the notebook she’s writing in.
“Okay. Only a couple more questions left. You don’t take any medicine that might cause daytime
sleepiness or drowsiness?”
“No,” Louis shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Right. How long have you been suffering from these problems?”
“I was… In a coma. After a car accident, a couple of years back. And I guess ever since I woke up
it’s been an issue,” Louis says, hoping the insecurity in his voice can pass for nervousness.
Dr. Johnson hums and nods understandingly.
“Well, to me it sound like narcolepsy is a pretty good theory,” she states. “Though it does surprise
me you haven’t come to us earlier. I’ll send you on for a polysomnogram.”
The sound of glass shattering erupts suddenly and loudly in Louis’ head, and his entire body goes
stiff at the unfamiliar term.
“What’s… A polysomnogram?” he asks, trying to sound as calm as possible, and not at all like his
heart is suddenly pounding halfway up his throat.
Doctor Johnson smiles, ever so kindly. “It’s a measuring test to determine what kind of medicine
you need. All you have to do is spend a night at the sleep center and then let the staff do their job.
It’s all going to be happening while you’re asleep.”
Louis nods, taking deep breaths and desperately hoping they come off as relief.
Relief is the last thing on Louis’ mind right now, though. Suppressed panic runs up and down his
nerves and he has to bite down on his cheek a couple of times to not show it. They’re going to do a
test on him. They’re going to measure his sleeping pattern. And then they’re going to find nothing
wrong, and they’re going to understand that Louis is lying, and—
“Great,” Louis beams at his doctor. “Perfect. Let’s do this.”
Johnson smiles and turns to her desk, sitting down by her computer.
Shit.
Harry and Louis leave the hospital with a new appointment for a sleep specialist in five hours and a
rising dread within both of them.
“Oh my god,” Louis just keeps repeating, “oh my god.”
The doctor is going to be able to tell he’s been lying. Louis’ going to go under that machine, and
they will find absolutely nothing wrong, and he will be a confirmed fraud. Does that kind of thing
come with consequences? Can he be imprisoned for this?
You never know. Louis is sweating.
“What the fuck do we do?” he demands in a strained whisper, causing Harry to immediately glare.
“I don’t bloody know! Maybe there’s a way to fake a prescription. I could use my powers, I could
make someone—”
“What the fuck, Harry,” Louis just interrupts, severely unimpressed. He doesn’t continue, just lets
that statement speak for itself.
It does its job, because Harry rolls his eyes and sighs.
“I know, I get it. I panicked.”
Louis gives him a satisfied nod, and then dives straight back into being worried for his life,
because he knows how to prioritize and right now, he’s a little more worried about being thrown in
human prison.
“So what do we do?” he asks. “What would a human do? Will I go to jail for this?”
Harry huffs, frustration clearly seeping through no matter how much he tries to keep it at bay.
“No, you won’t—look, if the doctors find out that you’ve been lying, they won’t do anything
to you. They’ll let it go. You’ll be fine. We just… Won’t get the medicine.” he sighs deeply, his
chest rising and falling irregularly, and a tragic laugh tumbles out. “We won’t get the medicine.
And this wouldn’t be a fucking problem if the portals had worked so Jesy could go with us herself
without potentially risking her life, but they don’t. So I just made her an empty promise. And
honestly? The portals won’t start working anytime soon. No one important is willing to do what
we’re doing and risk getting stuck somewhere they don’t belong, and it’s extremely unlikely they’ll
find a solution on their own and I just—fuck, I shouldn’t even have offered Jesy my help in the
first place.”
Harry’s getting really worked up, Louis’ clearly noticing, but where the end of that rant headed is
not at all a place he’ll tolerate. Quick as lightning he snaps his head in Harry’s direction to give
him the most disapproving look he can muster.
“I repeat,” he says slowly. “What the fuck, Harry.”
Harry just groans, stopping in his tracks and running one hand through his hair in distress as he
looks helplessly at Louis.
“You don’t understand. I do this one thing, Louis, just to be selfless and like, righteous and overall
to make another creature happy, yeah? And right now, it looks like that’s going to go to shit. And I
mean, I tried to help you yesterday, too, in the club, and you got furious with me. I don’t—what if
it’s literally impossible for me? To do good things?”
Louis frowns, tilting his head, slightly disconcerted. Where is this coming from?
“I can’t believe I’m the one saying this but you’re being kind of… Overdramatic,” he says
carefully. “It’s not that big of a deal. Jesy will understand. Your intentions were good. And
besides, we still have five hours to figure something out.”
“No.” Harry’s shaking his head violently, and when Louis looks down on the spirit’s hands, he
sees they’re shaking. An icing kind of itch washes into his pores and takes root in his ribcage when
he realizes Harry is starting to panic. “No. Stop. I can’t keep failing. I can’t go out of my way to
contradict my calling and my—fuck, my family, if it’s all going to be in vain. I can’t afford doing
this in vain, it needs to be worth something, I need—I need to know that I’m not risking my life like
this just to find that it’s not making anything better, it has to be—”
This is so out of place. Louis has seen many sides to Harry by now that he wouldn’t have thought
existed at first, he’s seen him happy and hurt and quiet and gentle.
But not once has Harry been on the verge of a breakdown like this, pale face and trembling limbs
and teeth chewing on too red lips—not even close, and it makes Louis feel all kinds of unbearable
things. This isn’t something Louis ever thought he’d get to see, but it’s so painfully real, and Louis
wants to wrap Harry up in a blanket, or fold him carefully and put him away somewhere safe.
Louis still isn’t entirely sure where all of this is even coming from, so even though he’s more than
a little confused, there’s still an icy hand squeezing his heart and veins together at the sound of
Harry’s voice breaking, so he does all he knows how to in a situation like this.
He walks closer, not giving himself time to hesitate or think, and he flings his arms around Harry’s
body, locking them around his middle. He holds himself there, completely still, resting his head
under Harry’s chin.
It’s probably something he’s going to regret later, but it does have the desired effect, as Harry
completely freezes in his tracks, not even breathing at first. Time stops. The world pauses.
And then, with a shudder and a hitched exhale, he lifts his arms to reciprocate the embrace,
heavily, as if the anxiety had been trying to separate him from gravity. Louis feels Harry’s chest
rise and fall in small trembles, and he furrows his eyebrows and dares stroking slowly with his
thumbs over the small patches of cotton clad skin he can reach on Harry’s back.
“What are you so scared of?” he asks into Harry’s shoulder.
It’s quiet for so long Louis’ starting to want to take the question back, afraid he might’ve made
things worse.
But then Harry breathes, and then he speaks, and then things… make sort of sense.
“Do you… Do you know what my mother will do to me,” he mumbles, “if she finds out what I’m
doing? Or. When,” he corrects himself with a miserable, throaty laugh. “When she finds out.”
Louis merely shakes his head, letting Harry do the talking.
“As I’ve mentioned before, she could disown me,” Harry continues. “If I’m lucky. Or she could rip
me to pieces. Lock me up. Throw me to the lost souls. I could—she could kill me. She could do
that.”
Louis doesn’t know what to say. He feels a bit ill.
“Harry, she’s—she’s your mother, she wouldn’t—”
“—She could do that.” Harry interruption is firm and final, and Louis stomach twists.
And he understands. He does, now. It finally clicks, a little.
Louis always kind of assumed that Harry has a hard time breaking his hurtful habits because it’s
simply not in his nature. That he’s been finding it hard because he just thinks it’s hard to be nice.
He hasn’t even given any proper thought to the fact that Harry may be sacrificing things when he’s
trying to change. Important things. Like his life.
A small memory makes itself known in the back of Louis head as he realizes Harry actually has
expressed this once before. In Wonderland, when Louis’ quips and harshness had become a little
too much and Harry had been tired.
I’ve done things my mother would literally disown me for, Louis.
Louis hadn’t really put much focus on that part, too angry about just about everything to sit down
and make a thorough analysis.
He doesn’t exactly regret what he’d said that time, because he withstands that he was right. But he
does wish he would’ve looked a little closer and realized that yeah, it’s probably really frustrating
to constantly make lethal choices and not ever get recognition. Louis is the one who prides himself
on being kind, after all.
“Let’s not do this,” he says softly, trying to sound stable and reliable, even though his stomach is
starting to twist with guilt. “You’re not incapable of anything. We can figure this out—we have this
far, and we will now, too. Because honestly? We’re both so damn smart. Brilliant. And we’re
going to find a way.”
Harry just inhales and exhales, inhales and exhales, but when he talks again, Louis can hear a faint
smile in his voice.
“Did you just call me brilliant? We need to start celebrating this moment as a holiday.”
“Well, I’m quite obviously fucking fantastic and I can’t help I rub off on people. Don't let it get to
your head.”
Harry’s grips tightens a little, and Louis widens his eyes but welcomes it. His mind is pressing all
red emergency buttons it can possibly find as he realizes how incredibly emotional Harry probably
actually is, when he gets the chance to show it freely.
When people are emotional, that’s when Louis’ walls crumble, because it’s the most precious trait
he can ever find in another creature. It’s genuine.
They stand there a long time, wrapped up in each other and pushing away any kind of thoughts
about the fact that this should be feeling wrong. Because it doesn’t feel wrong, is the thing. It’s
quite nice—not just the comfortable body heat, but the understanding and empathy, too. It’s all just
very cozy in the middle of this awful dilemma, and it’s bittersweet but lovely.
“We… We might have a bit of hope,” Harry states slowly, suddenly, and Louis’ closed eyes shoot
open. “Maybe. If, possibly… By a chance…”
The fairy finally lets go, backing away to look at Harry properly, urging the spirit on.
“What, Harold?”
Harry is quiet for a while, furrowing his eyebrows and thinking things through.
“There are… spirits,” he tries. “In Greek we call them the oneiori, but I’m sure they have some
simplified boring name in the Roman empires. They’re a little like—like my kind, I guess.
Wonderland produces a universe where dreams can be made, The Gods of Asgard keep the place in
check, and then Hypnos and Somnus send out spirits to assign the dreams to humans. There are
spirits of dreams. If we go and ask Niall, maybe he knows a way to reach one. That way… They
could make you fall asleep and wake up on command. Match symptoms. So if we got one of those
to help us… We could do this.”
Louis is quiet for a moment, sucking up the information like a dried sponge. This sounds kind of
promising.
“Okay. Are we sure there’s someone close enough for us to get in contact with?”
“Even if no one’s in our direct surroundings, both Niall and I can go wherever we want as fast as
we want. If there’s a lonely spirit in Alaska right now, one of us could get them. But we probably
won’t have to go that far.”
“No?” Not that Louis understands what Alaska is. He just knows Earth is big, and that things could
be harder to accomplish because of it.
“No. There are billions of spirits,” Harry says shortly. “Of all kinds. Someone is bound to get stuck
here. I’ve recognized the presence of my siblings in a couple of places already.”
It sounds good enough. Louis dares to be positive about this, he does. They can make it.
(They make kind of a good team, he thinks. Kind of.)
“So billions of siblings and you managed to become the parent favorite,” he figures as they start
walking again, picking up speed at new hope fuels their motivation. “Does your mother have really
low standards or something?”
Harry laughs loudly. “No, I just really wanted her affections so I became the most excessive
workaholic you’ve ever seen. She doesn’t exactly give approval away for free.”
There’s a lot behind that statement, Louis understands. Harry says it with a self-deprecating smirk
like it’s a funny joke, but Louis figures that if that’s the light sort of stuff you have to make fun of
yourself for, there can’t be a lot of happy memories underneath. And that makes him a little sad
and a little lost, and a little up for giving Harry another hug.
He doesn’t, because it would be weird and sentimental—it’s not Harry’s fault Louis’ just now
having an unexpectedly emotional epiphany—so he snorts lightly and keeps quiet.
The silence is a little too thick and a tiny bit too strained to be normal for a while, and when Harry
breaks it relief washes over Louis, because he’d have no idea how to start up a conversation again
without it sounding forced.
“Okay. The plan. We need to speak to Liam again and get even more information out of him. And
then we need to ask Niall if he can fetch a dream spirit for us. And then we need to talk that dream
spirit into doing us a favor. If all these things work out accordingly and within a reasonable amount
of time, we could just make this work.”
Louis breathes deeply, shaking some life into his body. Harry’s never looked more determined in
his life, jaw clenched and eyes firmly dark, and Louis needs to focus because what’s important here
is that Harry is this dedicated to a good thing, and not how admittedly fucking hot that dedication
makes him.
(Louis’ kind of done pretending Harry isn’t attractive at this point. It’s just a fact. Water is wet,
Earth is round, and Harry Styles is hot. Physical attraction doesn’t have to equal emotional
attraction, anyway. Even if Louis does find Harry’s company fun. Challenging. Enjoyable at times.
Maybe.
He’s getting off the subject.)
“Okay. Alright. Let’s do this.”
Harry nods excitedly.
“I’m going to take your hand now,” he informs, “because we need to get to Zayn’s apartment as
fast as possible and as nice as walking was, it’s awfully ineffective. Okay?”
Louis just nods, and then a solid warmth is pressuring his hand for a few seconds before he’s
turning into air.
(Despite enjoying the feeling of floating, for a split second he does feel a slight disappointment that
the lingering of skin against skin didn’t last longer.
If Harry catches that thought, he doesn’t comment on it.)
Chapter End Notes
I AM BACK I MADE IT LISTEN THIS IS SUCH AN ACCOMPLISHMENT FOR

ME HERE U GO ALMOST 9K NEW N FRESH MATERIAL OH MY GOD
ok. so hi. i am, after a couple of humble centuries back from my slumber. and i think i
need to kinda underline with these kind of long spaces inbetween updates recently
that.....,,, i will literally Never abandon this fic. ever. it's not gonna happen. under no
circumstances will i put down all this Work and Time into something just to leave it
unfinished. that is a Line i do not cross because i was raised in a good home with a
decent amount of self respect. so if you're ever worrying that that's the case, it's not.
writing is Hard and takes a lot of energy i don't always have. ok. nice. i just wanted to
make that clear bc i feel bad xxxx
alsO as a disclaimer, i have no idea how healthcare in britain works ??? so sorry ???
two nice lil songs that i listened to a lot are "flashback" by icona pop and "bittersweet"
by ARCHIS.
and once again, thank u soosososos much for waiting and for talking to me on tumblr
(@tequiladimples pLS TALK TO ME) and being overall lovely u are the most
precious pastries and i Lov U !!! xxxx
chapter 15; earth
Chapter Summary

be easier.)
Chapter Notes
Louis is so determined when they get back to Zayn’s apartment. He dives straight into business as
soon as they walk through the door, and Harry thinks, he knows he found this annoying once, how
Louis will act first and think later, completely ruled by emotions and stubbornness—still does, he
swears—but right now, he allows himself to be grateful.
“Niall!” Louis yells at the top of his lungs, startling the whole neighborhood, most probably.
Niall comes rushing to the door, a slightly hysteric glint in his eyes as if he’s just been anticipating
something going horribly wrong, but seems to calm down when he realizes that both Harry and
Louis are standing there in one piece.
He’s about to be proven so wrong, Harry thinks. He almost feels a little bad.
“Did you get any medicine?” he asks curiously, and Louis shakes his head.
“No,” he says, smiling stiffly. “We got an appointment for a ‘polysomnogram’ where they’ll
measure my sleeping pattern and determine what kind of medicine I need.”
Niall, bless his heart, immediately understands and morphs his face into something concerned and
he just lets out a small “oh”, before falling into silence. Harry sees this as his opportunity to chime
in.
“Which is why,” he starts, making his voice as smooth and pleasant as possible, “we would kind of
need your help.”
“Of course,” Niall nods seriously. “Anything.”
Harry tries his best to look the Louis kind of sincere. “Could you possibly get a hold of a dream
spirit by any chance?”
Niall’s genuine look falls flat, turning into a frown, and Harry must say, his continuous change of
facial expressions is quite a journey. Harry would snicker quietly if he weren’t on a mission.
“You want me to… What?” the cupid asks slowly, staring at them with narrowed eyes and
worriedly furrowed brows, as if he isn’t quite sure he heard what they said.
“We just want to know if you know where you can get a hold of a dream spirit,” Harry repeats
slowly and sweetly, widening his eyes a bit for good measure.
He feels Louis watching him and it weirdly makes him want to succeed even more. He can never
put his finger on why, but he always desperately wants Louis to feel… Well. Proud of him. Then
again, he always wants someone to feel proud of him. His mother never really did, not truly, but
Louis has, and once Harry got that warm, fuzzy approval he can’t help but want it all the time.
Call him self-absorbed, but someone treating him like he’s worth anything at all just kind of does it
for him.
Niall looks away with an exasperated stare.
“And why,” he sighs, “would you need a dream spirit’s help?”
“Because a dream spirit could come along with Louis to the doctors and make him pass the
polysomnogram with genuine results?”
“I mean,” Niall walks around a little back and forth until he sits down in one of the chairs, looking
incredibly torn. “I guess that does makes sense. But I wish we didn’t have to get one involved. I
hate to say this, but they can be a real fucking pain. They’re emotional, they’re fickle, and they’re
lacking any sense of logic. They barely even think when they’re distressed.”
“I don’t mean to be that person, but I’ve dealt with that kind of company since Louis and I fell into
the first portal. We’ll be fine.”
Louis gasps sharply, elbowing Harry’s side to make sure Harry knows his dig didn’t go unnoticed.
Harry holds back a grin.
“That’s going to burn on your final niceness grade,” Louis mutters.
“Oh no,” Harry deadpans right back. “How will I live.”
Speaking of grades, the thought of his final university grade randomly hits him. Considering how
much time they’re spending away, that one’s really going to sting when they get back. Not that he
himself cares an exaggerated amount—he just wanted to go to uni because it’d be fun to fuck with
other creatures, really—but if he knows Louis as well as he likes to think, the fairy will probably
not take bad grades as lightly as Harry.
He makes a mental note to mention this to Louis some time, just to see his reaction. The fairy tends
to purse his lips and widen his eyes in such a delightfully excessive way. He’ll look like a tiny
cartoon character, all wound up and rambling. It’s sweet. Louis is sweet. Harry doesn’t hate Louis.
(At first Harry was extremely ashamed over the fact that he couldn’t seem to keep his dislike up,
but as time goes along he can’t help but wonder, doesn’t everyone fall in love with Louis just a
little bit? Like, a tiny fragment. He wonders if something doesn’t happen, when you meet Louis the
first time, that just makes you want to give away the very best pieces of yourself to him. Harry
wonders if Louis keeps all those pieces of other people’s goodness locked up and close to his heart,
if that’s how Louis always stays so pure, if that’s how he manages to still be so adamant that
there’s good in everyone. Even in Harry.
Not that Harry’s fallen in love with Louis a little bit or anything, though. Surely the tug of
breathlessness when the boy smiles at him or compliments him is about Louis being the first
person to genuinely show him kindness, and nothing else. Of course that’ll feel good. Of course
Harry will want more of it. Of course Harry’s going to think Louis’ eyes are beautiful, if they look
at him like that.)
Niall purses his lips in thought, obviously having some kind of light internal battle with himself,
before he finally sighs, shoulders sinking with defeat.
“Fine. Let’s do it,” he nods. “Shouldn’t be that hard to find one. I’ll try to convince one to talk to
you.”
Harry subtly raises his fist as trumpets play victoriously in his head, and Louis sighs in relief next
to him.
“Thank you,” the fairy says earnestly. “I love you, Niall. You are an important creature and you
should be appreciated more.”
“Damn straight I should,” Niall mutters.
Their spirit is called Danielle Campbell, and she looks like summer and bubbly giggles.
Her beauty is the first thing Harry notices. Her dark hair is thick and seems to always be moving or
whirling around and tugged along by wind, just the tiniest bit, even as she walks in through the
door of the mildly crowded Starbucks where they’re supposed to meet, immediately spotting Harry
and Louis with a knowing smile. She’s all pastel colors—icy blue eyes and cotton candy pink lips
that stands in blatant but pleasant contrast to the darkness of her hair and long, black eyelashes. She
moves like she floats through life, with gracious steps and her back straight. She reminds Harry a
little bit of Eleanor, only less tense and, despite her being, probably a little more tolerable.
She looks like a dream. Which would be very suiting given who she is.
She sits—drifts, really—down in her chair opposite Harry and Louis, and as a silence settles in-
between them for a couple of seconds, she raises an expectant eyebrow.
“So your cupid friend is really convincing,” she starts off with a small smile. “I hope he didn’t put
that much effort into something for you to not talk.”
Harry hears Louis come to life beside him, coughing and clearing his throat a little. When the spirit
sneaks a peek at him, he notices that Louis’ cheeks are flushed and his eyes a little wider, and
Harry thinks that Louis must’ve noted Danielle’s stunning appearance as duly as himself. That
makes Harry’s stomach knot a little. He’d quite like to be the only one to make Louis look like that.
As irrational as it is.
“Right, no,” Louis assures her, “no, it wasn’t in vain. We just, uh, yeah. There’s important stuff
happening.”
Danielle fires of a dazzling grin, but her eyes are still not entirely open, guarded, watching.
“Figured as much.”
“I’m Harry. I’m from the Greek,” Harry tries. “Louis here is from the Norse. We don’t want any
harm.”
He’s answered with a twitch of Danielle’s left eyebrow, and she casually inspects her long nails
while doing so.
“Looking for good company?” she muses, smirking menacingly but not in the vicious way Harry’s
used to, and it’s a tad confusing because he doesn’t quite know where to place her, can’t figure out
what her angle is. He and Louis make eye contact for a few brief seconds, deciding through a
couple of eyebrow raises and a finalizing, barely existent nod that Louis will do the talking on this
one.
After all, if Niall’s right about dream spirits’ nature, Louis should be the obvious choice as he’s
exactly the same. He should know what to say, Harry figures.
“Partly,” the fairy starts as an answer to Danielle’s question. “But, well, I think you’d appreciate it
as much as me if there were no hidden motives here, right, so I’m going to go straight to the point
and say there is also something we would like you to help us with.”
Danielle drops her smile immediately to instead narrow her eyes in thought, raising her chin and
eyeing Louis up and down. Harry catches a small glint in her eye, a glint revealing that she likes
him, and his jaw clenches a little.
“You’re adorable,” she says, as if that’s the defining factor to allow this conversation to continue.
Harry would lie if he said that he hadn’t been there a few times as well. “What do you want from
me?”
Louis starts explaining, very calmly and carefully that they have a friend in another world who’s ill
and needs their help. All Danielle has to do is to follow Louis to a hospital and for one single night
make him match the symptoms of narcolepsy, as close to Jesy’s own symptoms as possible.
“And why would I help you?” Danielle giggles, grazing the back of Louis’ hand currently resting
on the table with her smooth fingertips as she talks, and Louis draws it back instantly, rolling his
eyes.
“Let’s not make this a game,” he says matter-of-factly. “In a faraway universe, a girl has been
woken from a sleeping curse and found that she’s left with a kind of chronic illness she doesn’t
have a cure for, and she’s tormented by this every single day. This is her only hope to at least get it
under control and understand her condition. Do you want to take away someone’s happily ever
after?”
It’s like flipping a switch. From having been quirked into a teasing smile, Danielle’s lower lip now
quivers. Wobbles. Trembles. She raises a hand to wipe at the corners of her eyes, and Harry can see
Louis recoils a little in shock because oh god, he hadn’t meant to make her cry—just to understand
the seriousness of the situation.
“I don’t, no,” she at last hiccups. “When you put it that way.”
“Hey,” Louis rushes, reaching out to put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. We just want
you to help us with this. I’m sorry I was harsh. I just.”
Louis isn’t scary, Harry thinks. He’s small and happy and likes bright colors, and he’s too
innocently faithful for his own good.
But he does have his way with words, he does know how to express himself, and he’s certainly not
defenseless. Every time Harry’s reminded of how savage Louis can be when he wants to, there’s a
warmth in his chest, almost pride-like in its golden seams. It’s what makes Louis able to stay good
without ending up a pushover. He knows when he’s being taken advantage of and he knows how
to get work done—and even though Harry likes to point out how fantastically irritating it is, he
respects it. He underestimated Louis only once, and he’ll never do it again.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it,” Danielle confirms, wiping at her nose and giving Louis a beautiful smile.
“I’ll help your friend to be happy.”
And Louis lights up like sunshine, like constellations of stars, like moonlight, and Harry has to look
away because he’s afraid he might go blind from looking for too long, like maybe his eyes will
start stinging and colorful spots will blur his vision if he comes too near.
The fairy rises swiftly from his seat to walk—dance—the remaining step up to Danielle, bending
down just a little to give her a big hug. Harry doesn’t know whether to be moved by the sentiment
of the situation, or to scream because Louis is very rarely this easily happy about things Harry do.
He doesn’t know how to handle it, and he knows it’s silly and he will get over it eventually – but
he just needs Louis’ approval. Ever since Louis started giving it away, Harry’s been sucking it up
and soaking himself with it like flowers waiting for rain in a draught every chance he got. And it’s
not like he expects Louis to like him the most, because that’s unrealistic, but he just—it’s just that
tiny, vexing thing again, where Louis walks around like every single person in all of the worlds are
breathing miracles, except for Harry.
It’s needy, that way of thinking, though, and needy is something Harry absolutely is not. He’s
indifferent and unapproachable, and despite enjoying the feeling of making others smile a bit more
than he should, he must at least hold onto his pride. He likes it when people watch him with respect
and awe, he likes to make people wait and he likes to see people try to please him. And that
probably sounds terrible. He knows it does.
But before Louis, that was the only way he knew to receive a sense of importance. Harry hadn’t
been presented with alternatives to it, he hadn’t been presented with options before, and that’s the
whole reason he’s even here, changing and trying and not abandoning Louis in the first place. Isn’t
it?
Harry also thinks that he thinks too much. All the time.
He tries to not think all the way to the hospital, Danielle and Louis chatting happily beside him.
The polysomnogram works out wonderfully.
Louis gets to spend the night at the sleep center. Harry gets to watch as the staff attaches sensors to
Louis face, to his temples, to his scalp, under his nose, he sees how they clutch elastic belts around
his stomach, looks on as they bestow sensor after sensor until there are so many tubes and wires
attached to the small boy he looks like his life is on the line. Harry feels a little uncomfortable,
seeing Louis like this; he looks even smaller than before—which, Harry must say he did doubt the
possibility of—and it’s also clear that he’s nervous. He doesn’t make up for his lack of size in
words or stamina like he usually would. He just lies there, dainty and docile and quiet, waiting
patiently for all the fuss around him to calm down.
It’s required for Louis to spend the night alone, meaning Harry has to leave when the setup
procedure is finished.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks Louis. “Can you move with all those wires?”
“It’s actually not that bad,” Louis assures with a small smile. “Can move just fine. ‘M barely
feeling them. Is Danielle here?”
Harry just nods, the presence of a spirit apparent to him in his bones, and he’s relieved Danielle’s
sticking to her mission. He hopes with all his might they can trust her to stay the whole night.
“Okay,” Louis breathes, nodding back. “Off you go. Got to work my magic uninterrupted, don’t I?”
Harry snorts. “Don’t erase Danielle like this. You’re literally just going to sleep.”
“Then let Danielle work her magic and me do my just as important part.”
A laugh slips out of Harry at Louis’ sour tone. Back again with his desperate need to be heroic.
Harry lets him have it this time; if only because he looks rather cute with his nose all exasperatedly
scrunched up like it is.
“Good night, Lou,” he smirks, slowly turning to walk out of there. “See you in the morning.”
“I’ll enjoy every second we’re apart!” Louis calls after him, and Harry doesn’t even bother to
contain his grin as he leaves. Louis can’t see him anyway. It doesn’t hurt anyone.
“I’ll be here again as soon as I can, then,” he lets out before stepping out of the room.
In short, when Harry arrives the next morning—after a surprisingly uncomfortable and lonely night
without bickering or subconscious cuddling—to pick Louis up and hear the verdict, Danielle’s
waiting by the entrance already, assuring him that she did everything she’s supposed to do and that
Louis’ definitely going to be diagnosed. She’s not lying, the doctor will confirm just a few
moments later, and Harry can’t help but feel a light sort of flutter in his chest when he realizes that
yeah, maybe they didn’t do this in vain, after all. He’s not doing this for nothing. They’re not going
to fail.
When Harry and Louis leave the hospital together this time, their steps are a lot lighter and quicker,
pace brisk with relief and success.
“So… How did it go?” Harry asks to make light conversation.
Louis shrugs and sighs. “I feel extremely bad for Jesy. Worst night of sleep I’ve had in my life, I’m
pretty sure.”
“Well.” Harry looks down on the ground, his stomach tingling a little with the achievement of their
project. “If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have gotten the medicine prescription. And now you’ll
never have to experience it again.”
Harry takes a few deep breaths, then, debating on whether or not to go there. Whether he should
butt in with a “so this was our first night without each other in a while and that felt a little weird” or
“did you also feel strangely uncomfortable to not hear my soft breathing next to you” or “I think I
might love you a little bit”.
(Not the last part. Not the last part.)
The corners of Louis’ mouth pull upwards. “You are very right. I’m kind of a hero, aren’t I?”
(Maybe the last part. Maybe the last part.)
And so, the moment is considered gone—for the best, Harry figures—and he smirks at the ground.
“Getting there, Lou.”
All that remains to do now is to find a pharmacy and get the medicine. Harry pats Louis’ fake ID
that’s currently lying safe and sound in his jean pocket, a feeling of satisfaction washing over him
so strong he almost completely forgets the obnoxious part of his brain constantly yelling about all
the things that would go wrong. They’re doing this.
It doesn’t take that long getting from the hospital to a pharmacy, considering the hospital is located
fairly centrally, their nimble feet making it even easier. A small bell jingles when they enter the
store, and Harry narrows his eyes a little to get used to all the clinical white in there, making the
place seem big and spacious even though it’s all cramped aisles and low ceiling.
Behind the counter the pair is approaching stands a boy, and he is freckled, tall, and painfully new
at work. His anxiety’s thickening the air around him, hitting against Harry like waves against
shore, and his own palms nearly go clammy from just looking at him. It’s awful, and Harry
promptly feels bad for him at the same time as he hopes sincerely that it won’t cause him and
Louis any trouble.
Freckles seems to be perfectly capable of handling their prescription, though, reading through it
carefully and then wandering off to get what the creatures have come for.
Louis and Harry can’t help but exchange delighted smiles. This is working out unrealistically well.
And if, despite everything, this medicine doesn’t work for Jesy, they can always help her visit
Earth herself in the future, and at least they tried. They’ve done the most they can to help a friend,
and even if the notion that it technically could all be in vain if Jesy doesn’t respond well to the
medication still tries to make its way into Harry’s conscience, Harry’s not going to let it stick with
him. It’ll be worth it. Regardless of what happens, it’s going to be worth it.
Just as Freckles’ putting the medication on the desk for Harry and Louis to take, an older woman
asks from behind him if he’s checked identification. The boy snaps his head up with a slightly
terrified expression engraved in his features.
“N—no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—fuck—I mean, shoot. I—”
He pauses for a moment to breathe. Harry kind of wants to calm him down. Tell him that it’s okay,
to take his time, everything’s good.
(He files those thoughts as reason #425 his mother will never want to see him again.)
“Could I, um. Do you have identification with you?” the boy asks, and Harry and Louis nod in
unison, Harry giving him the fake ID. Hopefully the boy won’t be able to recognize a fake ID, or if
anything, he’ll be too nervous to check it for too long and return it before he can discover any tells.
It’s looking like that’s going to be the case as well, the boy’s drifty stare sweeping over the card a
little too quickly, and Harry’s already raising his hand again to take the ID back and put it away.
But.
But, but, but, but.
But as the boy gets ready to return the ID, the older woman goes up to him to inspect it with him,
and Harry goes stiff in a matter of microseconds. She looks like she has experience with this. She
could probably find flaws soon enough; this is different than in smoky clubs or small liquor stores.
This place actually cares. This is thorough.
And soon enough, she does push her glasses farther up on her nose to get a closer look, she does
bring it up near her face to be sure, she gets this insanely panic inducing wrinkle between her
eyebrows, and Harry knows.
And everything is kind of shattering, then. Harry hears the sound of screaming crowds and fire
alarms and broken glass in his head as the woman takes the ID aside to investigate it further,
eyebrows furrowed skeptically together. She looks back at the pair by the desk, and back to the
legitimation, to Harry and Louis, and back to the legitimation. Then she asks for a phone. Harry
already knows what kind of phone call she’ll be making.
And to his right, is Louis, and his face is pale and his eyes are blown wide as he realizes, too, that
yeah, they’re definitely going to get caught if they keep standing there. He meets Harry’s gaze, and
the small glimpse of fear he catches in them shakes some action back into his body.
So Harry does the only thing that comes to mind. It’s reckless, and stupid, and filled with risks, but
it’s the only thing he can do because oh my god, they’re fucked anyway.
He grips a hold of Louis’ hand with one of his own, snatches the medicine off the counter with the
other, and then he busts out the door.
Chapter End Notes
this 2 month pace really shouldn't become a thing. i'm not gonna make it a thing. i'm
Not Gonna Make It A Thing.
anyways.
i sincerely apologize for the wait, and also for exposing myself and my giant crush on
danielle campbell so shamelessly through my writing (i'm gay, let me live), and i also
hope you enjoyed this glimpse of harry's mind. i don't personally like this chapter that
much as..,, like nothing happens and everything feels rushed and slow at the same
time.. but it was Necessary and honestly ????? i Finished it. i Did That. so that's always
something. also i hope reading through endless paragraphs of harry's philosophical
thoughts was somewhat entertaining.
i'll be traveling a lot this summer, especially in july, but i'll try to write as much as
possible anyways !!!
as always thank you sososo much forbyour patience and i lov u and hope you all are
having wonderful days xxxx
oh aND friendly reminder that you can always come and say hi on tumblr
@tequiladimples (pl e a se,,) and i also saw someone in the comments mentioning
instagram !! which i do have !! it's @emiilia_idk hit me up i will lvoe u
unconditionally (as if i don't already)
chapter 16; earth
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Louis’ breath is caught in his throat and the brisk London air whooshes in his ear as he’s aimlessly
dragged behind Harry’s tall and sprinting figure. The woman’s shrieks are still ringing in his ears
even though they must be too far away to hear her by now.
That doesn’t stop Harry from running, though.
“What the—“ Louis tries breathily before coughing one and two and three times. “What the fuck,
Harry?”
Louis is yelling, and Harry is clearly not giving a single solitary fuck about it. Not even looking
back to make sure Louis isn’t dying, he keeps going until he’s rounded at least eight corners and
they’re on a slightly less crowded street.
Then he finally stops, lets go of Louis’ hand, and leans against the brick wall he evidently finds
good enough to hide behind.
“We got… the medicine,” he says slowly, raising his left fist which is still tightly gripping the
prescription. “We got the medicine.”
“Oh no,” Louis opposes. “We stole the medicine.”
Harry throws his head back and lets out a short laugh. It’s a tiny bit strained and a bigger bit out of
place, but he’s smiling and Louis’ mind suggests blooming gardens and woolen blankets.
“We did,” he agrees. “We stole the medicine.”
He stops laughing, whipping his head around to lock his stare with Louis’.
“And now we have to get out of here before they put up the wanted posters.”
“Would they actually do that?” Louis asks, wide-eyed and slightly horrified and the pair once
again start moving, however this time much slower and less panicked.
Harry snorts in amusement. “No.”
“Oh.”
“But the store will no doubt file a report which is the modern day equivalent, so…”
“Got it. We have to leave.”
“We do. Like, leave leave.”
“We have to leave so hard.”
“We’re going to leave so violently no one will even know what happened.”
Louis bites down around a smile and looks to the ground. He lets out a wistful sigh.
“I’m going to miss Earth, though,” he says. “It’s been fun. Quite amazing, actually.”
Harry shrugs, bumping Louis’ side slightly and the playful—not to mention comfortable—gesture
is unfamiliar for the two of them, but it doesn’t feel entirely wrong.
“We’ll sneak back sometime once the portals are fixed,” he promises, a shadow of mischief
shaping his features. “It’d be a crime not to; you haven’t even gone to an amusement park yet.”
It’s casual, effortless, the way he says that, like he doesn’t think much of it.
Louis thinks more of it, evidently. The fact that there’s a “we” for Harry, the fact that that “we” is
stretching beyond the end of this adventure, that’s…
Warm. Fuzzy. Louis wants to giggle or jump around to get rid of the giddiness. He wants to touch
Harry’s skin, a little. He needs to do something to handle the deep, rich warmth spreading like
blossoming flowers and spring streams in his chest all the way out to his fingertips.
The fact that this feeling is irrational is something Louis sets aside to ponder at another time. Right
now he’s just content knowing that maybe he’s allowed to enjoy Harry’s company sometimes.
That maybe that’s not so bad.
He can live with that.
They meet up with Zayn, Liam and Niall in this lovely park, and Louis feels a little more like
home. There’s just always a sense of comfort as soon as there are trees and flowers and green grass
around. It’s peaceful and pure, and it’s uninterrupted and unfazed by everything happening in its
surroundings. Louis loves nature a lot. He’s missed it.
The three boys also look wonderfully tranquil; Zayn is lying with his head in Liam’s lap and Niall
is looking extremely happy about this fact. Louis feels him.
“So the good news is,” Harry starts slowly, “we got the medicine.”
Niall high fives him and Liam lights up like stars, obviously thrilled by the possibility to finally
help his friend.
The only one still keeping calm, only a slight smirk playing on his lips, is Zayn, and he asks
calmly:
“And the bad news?”
Well, then. Louis had hoped they’d get a few more minutes of celebration, but he supposes this
will do, too.
“The bad news is we stole it,” Harry finishes. “And the store staff is probably filing a report at this
very minute.”
As expected, that dampens the mood immediately, Liam’s face going from delighted to mildly
horrified, and Niall groaning out an “oh for fucks sake”.
“Why does absolutely everything become a big deal when the two of you are involved?” he
continues exasperatedly. “Oh my God.”
“Harry is his mom’s son,” Louis deadpans, but he immediately throws a glance at Harry to make
sure the spirit doesn’t take offense (which. Irrational. Not like Louis should care).
He doesn’t really seem to as the only response it gets is a snort and a faint eye roll.
“Thank you, Harry, for being so dedicated to our case and doing what needed to be done,” Harry
suggests. “Thank you for not being completely blinded by morals like myself, Harry.”
Louis mimics Harry’s snort, waving his hand glibly in front of Harry’s face. “Whatever.”
“Anyway…” Harry keeps going, determined not to pay more attention to Louis right now (rude).
His tone is softly merging into something more apologetic and quiet and his eyes darts over to
Zayn and Liam one time too many. “I’m—really sorry, but it looks like we’re going to have to
leave. Now. Like, today. We didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Louis’ heart breaks when he sees the golden light in Liam’s eyes fade the very second the word
leave rolls off of Harry’s tongue, dejected stare slowly traveling to meet Zayn’s.
It’s completely quiet between the five of them for a horrible minute, all of them letting this sink in.
Louis closes his eyes and listens to the wind tugging at the grass, at defiant branches. He listens to
people’s feet pressuring the ground and birds chirping.
“Right,” Niall speaks at last. “Guess we can’t afford wasting any time, huh?”
They guess not.
It’s a dull and dejected travel back to Zayn’s apartment to pack their newly purchased things. Zayn
and Liam walk very closely together all the time, sides lined up on the subway and Louis thinks it’s
hard to look at as it is, but when he looks over to Harry, it gets even worse. The spirit is also
watching the pair attentively, but with a painfully present frown and horribly slouching figure, and
Louis understands that this is hard for him, too. Maybe he feels guilty. Maybe he’s losing hope.
He can’t. And Louis doesn’t know why his conscience thought it to be a good idea, but he moves
his hand to place it over Harry’s, intertwining their fingers to convey some sort of comfort.
Like most times when faced with physical contact, Harry flinches and freezes at first, before
looking down at Louis’ hand on his own, and he lets out a long breath. They don’t make eye
contact even once.
(Louis wishes he’d stop flinching.)
Niall is the only one who actually speaks lowly now and then, as someone has to fill Louis and
Liam in on the portal system on Earth and how to go about it.
On Earth, they have to sneak around with their world traveling. They can’t very well put them in
public places like you can in the Gods’ kingdoms. So instead, they have special portal buildings
that the Gods made receptive to magic a long time ago. There are several portals in there for all
worlds that may need one—only available to and seen by people who hold magic, like all portals
are, even in in Grimm Louis notes—planted along the countryside roads and fields, disguised as
abandoned, dilapidated houses and barns. It’s quite a concept, Louis thinks. He likes the
mysteriousness.
They manage to get back to Zayn’s apartment, a quiet bunch but still, a little more productive and
maybe a little more ready to face their fate. While taking off his jacket, Louis sees Zayn’s book on
mythology resting lonelily on a stool in the hallway, and he has an idea. A really good one, he
reckons. If Zayn will agree to it.
When Niall, Harry and Liam walk into the living room and bedroom to collect their clothes, Louis
instead sneaks into the kitchen where Zayn is standing by the counter.
“Louis!” he exclaims when he notices the pigeon toed fairy in the doorway. “Tea?”
“Oh,” Louis blinks, “thank you, but you don’t have to.”
“Was going to make some for myself anyway.”
“Oh, well. Okay, sure. Thanks again.”
Zayn nods and smiles to himself, filling the water boiler up and turning it on. Louis would take
Zayn for a coffee person, most humans he knows are. He’s always loved tea himself, though, so
it’s a pleasant surprise.
But, he digresses. He’s on a mission.
“Hey, Zayn,” he starts timidly. “Do you think we could… Borrow your book? Your mythology
book, I mean. It might come in handy along the trip. Just see how much it already helped us.”
“Well.” The water boiler goes off with a small tick, and Zayn starts pouring water into two teacups.
”Am I going to get it back?”
“Well,” Louis mimics his tone. “Are you planning to see Liam again?”
It’s not completely certain, but Louis is pretty sure there’s a blush on Zayn’s cheeks. “I’d hope so.”
Louis flashes him a grin. “You’ll get it back.”
Zayn can’t stop himself from mirroring the bright smile and looks down for a moment, collecting
thoughts or maybe just savoring this experience altogether. Louis can’t imagine how much this
whole thing must mean to Zayn, the confirmation of the world system, meeting them all, meeting
Liam.
They’re a few seconds away from entering the slightly awkward silence state when Zayn’s head
snaps up again, his eyes big and the first thought that crosses Louis mind is god, it’s a beautiful
thing of fate that Zayn and Liam are the two most doe eyed people he knows. They fit each other
perfectly.
“You know what?” he says. “I should like. Pack you a bag or something. Of stuff that might come
in handy, yeah? It sounds like you have quite the trip ahead of you, what with saving the universes
and all.”
Louis’ back automatically straightens at the words ‘saving the universes’, even though he doesn’t
know how true the statement is. He’d like it to be, he’s always liked it to be. He enjoys being
associated with the phrase. Sue him.
“Just stuff, you know, some clothes, my book, food, maybe,” Zayn rambles on when he doesn’t get
an immediate response from the fairy. “Alcohol is definitely going to come in handy, trust me. I’ll
even pack some Nutella. First aid kit, maybe. Do creatures like you need that? Well, you can never
be too sure so I suggest that too, and—“
“Zayn,” Louis interrupts. He shoots him a kind smile. “That’s very nice of you. Thanks.”
Zayn breathes out and smiles back. He dips a teabag into Louis’ cup and hands it to him. As a
bypassing thought, he asks if Louis wants any sugar or milk, and Louis politely declines. He likes
his tea just as it is, thanks. As one should.
(He bet Harry takes his tea with milk. No, wait, he bets Harry is a coffee person. He bets Harry
takes his coffee black. That’s even worse than taking tea with milk.
Not that he’s sure why Harry is relevant right now in any way.)
As Louis drinks his tea, now happy to have an excuse to just sit down and take it easy after such a
hectic few days, he aims to make small conversation with Zayn as the boy starts looking through
his pantry for edible things.
“So. What’s your favorite fairytale?” is what he comes up with.
Zayn doesn’t stop looking, but Louis can hear the faint smile in his voice.
“Um, I think Red Riding Hood was a favorite when I was younger. Little Briar Rose…
Rumpelstiltskin… I loved them all, really.”
“Rumpelstiltskin?” Louis wrinkles his nose. “Why Rumpelstiltskin?”
Zayn shrugs, scratching his neck. “I don’t know, I just like the happy ending. Like, especially
there. When it’s about a mother and her child, that whole ordeal. I love that concept, probably
because I never— “ he stops himself and the pause tears at Louis heart, the human boy just settling
for a headshake. “I don’t know. I just like that she figured out the name. That she got to keep the
baby.”
“Got to keep the— “ Louis frowns. If there’s anything he does know a thing or two about, it’s his
Grimm stories. He grew up around them, around the people they revolved around, he’s gotten all
the inside information and has gotten to see things play out and gossip about the newest adventure
or wedding with his friends in the Forest. And he’s pretty sure that’s not how the story ends. “Hm.
That’s how the story goes?”
“Spill.”
Louis lets a quick smile slip at how quick Zayn notices something’s up.
“Nothing, it’s just. I think they sugarcoated it a little for you, love.”
“I’m all ears.”
Louis shakes his head, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth.
“I don’t want to ruin the happy ending for you. If that’s what you like about it.”
“I can take it,” Zayn insists. “If you give away part A you’ve got to say part B.”
“Well. It’s not like—bad, bad. No one dies or anything,” Louis shrugs. “It’s just… She didn’t
figure out his name. He came back, and she didn’t figure out his name but she loved her baby so
much that she couldn’t just give it away and so she just like, took off. Bolt like speed, through the
forest. Didn’t care one bit about the lilies my people had planted along the way, squished them
well, she did. And then, since Rumpelstiltskin had made her a magical being what with her ability
to make gold out of straws, she could see the portals. And she reached one and in the end she just
—a panicked action, quite obviously, she threw herself at the portal, aiming to disappear into it
with her child, but Rumpelstiltskin grabbed her by the foot, and she fell, and her baby just flew,
whoosh—into the portal on its own. And that’s when Rumpelstiltskin got so furious that he threw a
proper tantrum, revealed his own name, and proceeded to rip himself in two. Which, don’t tell
anyone I said this, but the guy was like weeds I’m told, annoying and all over the place. He hated
everyone and no one was very fond of him either. Not exactly the greatest loss the Forest has ever
suffered.” Louis ends his story when he realizes he’s starting to ramble, going for a pensive
expression and a tilt of his head, instead. “No one knows what happened to the baby, but I do know
they’re still waiting for it, hoping for its return.”
Zayn contemplates this. Long and hard, but he doesn’t look like all his childhood dreams have been
shattered, so Louis counts it as a win.
“Why didn’t she go with her child?” the human asks, at last. “If she loved them so much, why
didn’t she?”
“Oh, she wasn’t allowed,” Louis sighs. “By then they had gathered quite the crowd, and a couple
of other nature creatures held her back and led her away. They moved the portal after that. But she
would’ve, you know? She would’ve left her entire life behind for her child. And I think that’s
pretty admirable.”
He doesn’t receive an answer this time, Zayn all of a sudden very busy with scanning through his
pantry again. With a shrug to himself Louis decides that if Zayn wants to let the topic go, then
that’s fine, and he goes back to folding his clothes.
But Zayn does speak again, if a couple of minutes later, but regardless, and the words are tentative
but pronounced around a small smile.
“I think I like that story better, in a way,” he says. “Is that like, cruel?”
No, Louis supposes not. Not in Zayn’s case, who’s been without a real family his entire life and
maybe would’ve found some kind of comfort in this ending of the story when he was younger,
entertained the idea that maybe he himself is a lost prince who belongs to a fairytale village far
away from here.
(Louis isn’t supposed to know all of this though, so he doesn’t mention it.)
“No,” Louis assures him softly. “Sometimes not even fairytales have fairytale endings. That’s just
how things are.”
They don’t get to continue the conversation because then the other three boys come stumbling in,
apparently all ready to go. Harry has a backpack on, holding the straps determinedly, and he looks
like such a child Louis can’t help but to start giggling.
Harry’s eyes narrow immediately, and the contrast between his hostile face and his toddler like
posture has Louis snorting into his palm.
“Let me in on the joke?” he inquires, raising his eyebrows.
Louis just zips his own backpack and pats Harry’s shoulder in the doorway on his way out.
“You look like a child on his first day of school with that backpack,” he titters. “Very cute.”
He can hear the sound of Harry’s shoes against the floor when he turns around, horribly offended.
“You’re a fucking child,” he sputters, throwing Louis into another fit of giggles.
“Don’t worry, you’ll make plenty of friends today love,” he quips back.
“You’ve never been less amusing.”
“Hold tight to that backpack, son!”
Zayn doesn’t have a driver’s license—not that Louis would know what exactly that entails—so
they have to rely on Harry’s own way of transport to get there. Niall is fine on his own, flying so
fast no human eye could catch a glimpse of him once he starts going, but the remaining three can’t
do that.
Or, well, Louis supposes he could’ve, if he still had his wings. Could probably outfly Niall. He’s
not bitter or anything.
Harry is at first extremely reluctant to the idea of taking anyone but Louis with him into his spirit
state, not at all sure he could do it. However after a good fifteen minutes of Harry and Louis
bickering, and then arguing, and then more or less screaming back and forth, Harry finally gives in
with an unsatisfied huff and a “don’t blame me if shit goes wrong”. Louis tells him he absolutely
will blame Harry, so he better not let shit go wrong. He also nudges Harry’s arm with his shoulder
and tells him that Harry got this.
(He knows Harry can do it. He wouldn’t go through the trouble if he didn’t have that faith in Harry.
Maybe Harry would’ve agreed a lot sooner if Louis had said that instead, but there’s nothing they
can do about it now. Regardless, Louis got his way.
Besides, he’s right because Harry does absolutely fine.)
So here they are now, standing inside an old barn looking practically ready to fall over from a gust
of wind. There are about six portals in there, shining brightly and blue and welcomingly. They look
safe. Louis knows they’re not, but he lets them fool him, just a little.
When I go through that portal, I’ll have my wings back, he thinks. He sticks to that thought.
“So…” Liam starts. Reluctantly. Unwillingly. Hesitantly. Dejectedly. Louis is going to tear up. “I
guess this is where we’re leaving, yeah?”
The three other soon-to-be-gone boys nod in unison, but Liam is only looking at Zayn. He takes
his bottom lip between this teeth and it looks like he’s making an effort to not hang his head.
“Or…” Zayn starts, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. He doesn’t at all look devastated, as
one would expect him to. Which, good for him, Louis figures. A quite abrupt change, but. Who is
Louis to judge.
But then Zayn keeps talking and his frown makes a whole lot of sense.
“Or I could maybe… Walk right into one of the portals standing right there? With you? The
portals I’m currently seeing?”
Four heads whip around to penetrate Zayn with disbelieving stares.
“Mate,” Niall starts. “I love you, I really do, but this isn’t the time to joke around.”
“I’m not, though,” Zayn insists. “I can see the portals, they’re blue, they’re shiny, they’re right
there.”
“You’re a human.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re an Earth human.”
“Presumably.”
Zayn is clearly quite uncomfortable being pierced by the others’ eyes like this, and he scratches his
neck and avoids looking up from his shoes.
“You shouldn’t be able to walk through the portal! You shouldn’t even be able to see it in the first
place! You don’t hold magic!” Niall is still the one speaking—borderline yelling at this point,
really— the others too perplexed to even know what to butt in with if they’d want to.
“I quite got that, thank you.”
Zayn sighs and shakes his head before finally meeting the other boys’ eyes with newfound
determination.
“Now, are you going to let me come along or not?”
“It’s—we’re not—“ Niall massages his temples. Louis understands his stress. “It’s not guaranteed
that it’s going to work. You’re a human.”
“It’s worth a try. I want to come with you.”
“That’s not—fuck.” The cupid sighs loudly and heavily before continuing, visibly apologetic when
he starts again. “Believe me, if we could take you with us, we would. But we can’t risk it. The
punishment we’d face when—not if, but when—we get caught is too harsh. Not just for us, but for
you as well.”
“Oh.” Zayn falters, shoulders slacking with disappointment.
Louis’ attention falls on Liam, though, who’s biting his thumbnail and staring profusely at his feet.
It’s kind of heartbreaking, really. Liam doesn’t deserve this. Zayn doesn’t either. Louis kind of
wants to scream because all he wants is for them to be happy together. They’re quite the epitome of
what he’s always pictured love to be like, what he’s always experienced love to be like, and it’s
amazing. They’re like, well. Like a fairytale.
Except now, they’re not. Even though Louis has no doubt they’ll meet again, definitely, they’ll find
each other, it still stands that they have no idea when that will happen. It could be days. It could be
years.
He wants to cry a little for them.
Next to him, Harry’s looking at him, Louis knows this because he can feel the spirit’s eyes bore
into his temple. Louis doesn’t look back, but rather straight forward with a determined frown on his
face, trying his very best to not let his lower lip wobble. He sniffs pathetically.
“Oh, fuck it.”
Everyone flinches out of the quiet state Harry just put an end to, puzzled stares falling on the curly
boy.
Harry rolls his eyes. “Just bring him already. He’s right, it’s worth a try.”
Louis wants to side with Harry on this, he wants to so, so badly. But even though it hurts to admit,
no matter how much he hates it, Niall has a very valid point.
“Harry,” he says lowly. “The consequences are too serious.”
“Not if I take the whole blame.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that.”
“Please,” Harry snorts. “What was it you were afraid of again? Being sent to the Underworld?
Being hurt?”
Their silence confirms it, and Harry nods knowingly.
“Been there, done that,” he says lightly. “Whatever they throw my way, I’ve probably been
through worse.”
“I mean,” Niall agrees tentatively. “If you’re sure you want to do that.”
“I am.” There are no signs of hesitation on Harry’s face when he answers, and sunshine is seeping
into Louis’ heart suddenly, lighting up his entire chest.
Niall is holding back a smile as well. Louis isn’t sure if it’s because of Zayn and Liam or if it’s
because of Louis and Harry, judging by the fact that the cupid’s smirky stare seems to be traveling
more between the latter pair. It’s fine for this time, Louis thinks. He can lecture Niall later, when he
doesn’t feel like the sun is shining out through his fingertips from looking at Harry.
The cupid at last breathes deeply and turns back to Zayn.
“Come on, then.”
Zayn lights up, features chiseled and grazed by starlight, and he walks in beside Liam to take his
hand in a steady grip. No one says anything about how red Liam’s face turns. (Though Louis is
going to remember it to bring up later maybe, if he ever feels like teasing a little.)
So they go, all five together, and there’s a strange sense of safety and wholeness as they enter the
cerulean shimmering barrier. There’s no anxiety or hostility, but a sense of anticipating calmness
and it’s nice, it’s pure, like this is how it should be, like they should be in this together.
Louis actually feels good about stepping into the portal, this time.
A cold stone floor gives them a rough welcome, and Louis yelps when his knees hit against the
hard foundation with force.
They’re inside a building, that’s for sure. It’s big and pompous in a medieval kind of way, lit up by
torches and lit candles on chandeliers, and it’s not as pretty as the Queen of Heart’s castle had been,
but there’s a sense of mystic and baroque beauty over it. Louis likes it, he does. Not exactly his
taste, but he can appreciate it. He feels like Harry would like this.
Zayn is a tiny step from hyperventilating, still cramped up on the floor with Liam lightly squeezing
his shoulders. Comforting and encouraging words are falling out of the werewolf’s mouth in a
rapid but soft pace, so much fond and concern in his eyes Louis feels like he’s intruding by
watching them.
Harry groans beside him, murmuring about ‘no powers again, great, just fantastic, refreshing’ and
it’s amusing, Louis wants to tease him about it, but he has a more urgent matter to deal with.
Louis’ wings, his beloved, beautiful wings are very much present again, steadily etched into his
back, fluttering eagerly, and Louis feels whole again.
“So… Anyone wants to take a guess at where we are?” Harry mutters.
“Well.” Niall tilts his head in contemplation. “You don’t have your powers, so it’s not Greek
territory. And… And I don’t have mine either, so it’s not Roman.” A hint of bitterness seeps into
the last sentence, Niall obviously being unhappy about this fact. “And it’s not Wonderland. My
guess would be somewhere on Norse territory.”
Louis’ eyes blows wide as a starstruck kind of realization dawns upon him. This isn’t the Forest,
and as far as he knows, there are no castles like this one in Grimm. It’s not Hel either, because his
wings would be able to feel that kind of overwhelming negative energy.
He knows exactly where they are, as a Norse creature he’s dreamed of this place all his life, and he
lifts from the ground from the way his wings flutter in excitement.
Chapter End Notes
I FINISHED THE CHAPTER !!!! I DID THAT !!!!
no ok i wanna profusely apologize for once again taking so long to update. i genuinely
thought i would update at least once more during the summer but truth is i ended up
being a lot busier than i though (it was a good busy tho :') i had a v v nice summer :')).
and this is, wlel. a filler chapter. a necessary chapter, but not the most eventful and
Riveting and it was just,, boring to write it at times. which is why i'm so PUMPED
about having it done !!!!!!!
as always, thank you so so sososo much for waiting and reading and giving kudos and
commenting (i read every single comment. they're the only thing keeping me warm in
this chilly october weather) i love you so much ,, SO much ,
you can always come and talk to me on tumblr @tequiladimples i always have a whole
lot of love to give so pleas ! xxx :')
chapter 17; asgard
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
”Asgard.”
The name rolls smoothly off Louis’ tongue, seeps through his teeth and falls out his mouth with a
childlike kind of admiration. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought this would happen. He’s
dreamed, fantasized, imagined this moment so many times, and the fact that he’s now here, in
person, is unbelievable to him. He remembers playing around during his childhood in the forest,
swinging around fallen branches like lethal swords and stealing hammers from the dwarves to
imitate Thor’s Mjolnir, pretending the apples they hoarded during early September mornings were
golden and holding eternal youth. Louis has grown up wanting to be a God, wanting to be his
Gods.
And now here he is, on Asgardian ground, and Louis thinks he just might faint from pure ecstasy.
“Boys,” he nearly squeals, looking around the room once again to truly savor the moment. “I don’t
want to be overly dramatic but I’m pretty sure my entire life has led up to this moment.”
He turns around to face his companions with the widest smile on his face to see if any of them are
matching his own ecstasy. Liam does, in fact, look quite awestruck, Zayn is visibly still recovering
from being violently sent through space, Niall’s mostly looking at the aforementioned pair, and
Harry is looking severely unimpressed.
“Great,” he mutters. “More pompous gods who despise my whole being. Was starting to get too
comfortable without that.”
Louis is not going to let Harry shit all over his happiness. Not here.
“Not everything is about you,” he reminds the spirit assertively. “Quit whining.”
He starts looking around for the door, a big and evidently heavy one, made from thick and rough
wood with big, iron handles.
“We can’t waste any time,” he urges. “Come on, let’s see where we are!”
He’s already on his way to the door and he can hear at least two pairs of feet following him, when
he’s roughly taken aback by a terrified scream from behind him.
He stops immediately in his tracks and swiftly turns around to see what danger they are in this
time.
Zayn is standing up, an absolutely horrified look in his eyes and limbs trembling as he looks to the
werewolf next to him. It takes a moment for Louis to even realize what’s going on, but when he
does, his blood freezes cold and his eyes blow so wide he’s scared they’re going to pop out.
Next to Zayn stands Liam, lapidified in a crunched stance with one hand reaching out towards the
floor, and he’s completely made of gold.
He’s made of gold.
It takes a good couple of seconds before Louis is even physically capable of tearing his gaze away
from his now lifeless friend to stare at Zayn.
Zayn has his hands tightly balled up into fists pressed to his chest, taking a few stumbling steps
away from Liam’s golden figure.
“I don’t know what happened,” he utters, “he just took my hand to help me up and then he—what
the fuck is going on?”
That’s a splendid fucking question. Louis doesn’t have an answer, just lets his stare wander rapidly
between Zayn and Liam, Zayn, Liam, Zayn, Liam, as if doing it a certain amount of times will
make him understand.
“Did I do that?” Zayn asks frantically. “Did I do this to him or was it just a really cruel coincidence
that he turned into a statue right when I touched him?”
It doesn’t sound like a coincidence, it really doesn’t. Hence everyone’s complete and utter horror
and confusion. Zayn is, as far as they all know, an Earth human. An Earth human doesn’t possess
powers like these.
“Did I—“ Zayn’s flat out whimpering at this point, “fuck, did I—kill—?”
He can’t even bring himself to finish the sentence, and he shakes his head furiously. “No. No I did
not. We need to make this right, fuck, we’ve got to—“
And just like that he’s rushing right past the remaining three boys to the giant door and Louis can
practically hear the whooshing sound from how fast he’s going, frantically pressing both his palms
against the cold wood to push the door open.
The door turns into a block of shiny, rich gold. Zayn flinches away so hard Louis is scared the boy
is going to break something.
“Oh my god,” Zayn whispers breathily. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—“
He turns around and slides down against the door, fists clenched and knees supporting his
forehead.
“Zayn.” Louis is the first one to speak, lowly and carefully. He crouches down to pat him on the
shoulder, but just as he’s doing so he remembers the gold turning factor and though he’s pretty sure
that it’s just Zayn’s hands that he should avoid—if Zayn’s whole body would be affected his
clothes would logically turn golden as well—he’s rather safe than sorry.
So instead he just sinks down next to Zayn, trying his best to make his whole being radiate
comfort.
“Zayn,” he tries again. “So I understand that this is—hard, for you, god, I do. But we’re going to
fix this, alright? Sif, Thor’s wife—not that you wouldn’t already know—has golden hands as well.
And if she doesn’t know anything, which I doubt, we’ll go look for Idun because she has it too. It’ll
be okay. I don’t know why or how you have these powers but you’re not alone. Zayn, look at me.”
Zayn obliges, staring into Louis determined eyes with his own exasperated ones.
“We will fix this,” Louis states slowly. “We will fix this.”
It does take a couple of seconds for Zayn to process it seems, but when he does he nods slowly,
increasing in fervor as he—fists still clenched—stands up again.
“Yeah,” he says, confidently. “We’ll fix this. Let’s go.”
“Maybe—“ Louis interjects when Zayn starts going for the gleaming, polished door handle.
“Maybe not through that exact door, though.”
“What?” Zayn gives him an incredulous look. “What’s wrong with the door?”
“Nothing, nothing, it’s just. Since it’s now a huge block of gold it’s most likely going to be too
heavy to push open.”
“…Right. Fuck. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Louis assures, turning swiftly to Harry with an innocent expression.
“Harry. Darling,” he tries with the prettiest smile he can muster. “Light of my life. Yin to my yang.
Pen to my paper, honey to my comb. The stars to my sky.”
“You disgust me,” Harry deadpans, but as he does so he walks right up to Louis and grabs his hand,
fully aware of what Louis is asking of him.
“Um. No. Start with Zayn,” Louis protests with furrowed eyebrows, prying his hand away from
Harry’s grip.
It doesn’t really matter, though, because Harry just takes his hand again determinedly.
“No. I’ll start with you. I need you on the other side of that door so you can’t distract me when I
need to concentrate.”
As if on cue the fairy starts sputtering and protesting to loudly emphasize his offense, but Harry
doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. He asks Louis politely and kindly to concentrate on the
issue at hand so that his mind won’t wander off during their air transport, which Louis doesn’t
exactly oppose, and as soon as he’s dropped Louis off on the other side he vanishes again to get the
remaining two of their friends. It goes smoothly and quickly, and Louis allows himself to feel just a
ting of pride of how greatly Harry handles it, not an ounce of insecurity this time.
“Right,” Niall is the one to take the first initiative. “Let’s figure out what fancy god lives in this
place, yeah?”
Louis’ limbs are tingling with excitement as the four boys walk down a set of stairs, made of heavy
and uneven stone, and Louis is kind of happy that they bought shoes on Earth—surely his bare feet
would’ve been both cold and sore from the ground of this castle. Not to mention Vans are
extremely comfortable.
The stairs lead them all down to a gloomy hallway, shadow dancing across the walls from the
flames that keeps it lit up. It’s giving the place quite a spooky vibe. Not that Louis is scared or
anything.
“Who’s there?”
A frantic and rough voice coming from the end of the corridor makes all the boys jump, Louis
instinctively flying a couple of feet above the ground (fuck how he’d missed that).
No one says anything, they just stand completely still waiting for the stranger to make the next
move, narrowing their eyes to try to see who’s approaching them. The person’s steps are hazy and
kind of hesitant and his figure is hunched, but even then, it’s apparent that he’s both tall and hefty.
Or well, he probably could be hefty, if he didn’t seem so tentative and drained just now.
The closer the man gets, the easier it becomes to make out a face, and Louis reacts when he sees
how old it is. Cheeks are hanging, eyelids are droopy, his lips are chapped and creasy.
That’s the only reason Louis doesn’t recognize him right away, because god if he hasn’t seen this
face before, except younger and more headstrong, the main character of so many stories and
history books he’s read.
“Thor,” he breathes.
The lightning god doesn’t stop moving until they’re only a few steps apart, eyeing them with
hostility and suspicion.
“Give me your names and three reasons why I shouldn’t throw all of you out immediately,” he grits
out between his teeth.
Louis is too shaken up to answer, too taken aback by the presence of one of the most powerful and
influential gods of his universe to make another sound.
Harry is the one to step in, stiff and clearly feeling uneasy by Louis’ side, but Louis is grateful he
still takes the initiative.
“I’m Harry,” he introduces himself. “This is Louis, Niall, and Zayn. We all fell through a portal,
we wish no harm, and we’re also… Kind of in need of a favor.”
Thor is quiet for the longest time, narrowed eyes traveling slowly between the four strangers,
seemingly deciding if they’re worth his time or not.
“We also want to, um,” Harry continues in another attempt at convincing him. “Fix the portals.
And we might have an idea on how to do that.”
Okay, so them having an idea on how to fix the portals might be a little farfetched, but it does seem
to make a difference. Thor’s tired eyes widen a little, and he then starts moving towards a door on
his right. He opens it and gestures for the group to enter, which they oblige to immediately.
A huge leather sofa stands in one corner, and Thor approaches it to sit down, the others in a nice
line behind him. Louis takes a seat in-between Niall and Harry, breathing deeply as he finally
meets the god’s stare.
“Very well,” Thor finally speaks, voice strained and old. “The first thing I would like you all to be
very clear on when it comes to favors, is that we never do them if you have nothing to provide us
with back.”
“That’s—that’s not how favors work,” Zayn mutters, most likely not for Thor to hear, but the God
instantly snaps his head up to look the raven haired boy straight in the eye, a daring darkness in
them.
“Is something about our methods bothering you, human?” he asks, and Louis thinks he can feel an
underlying threat.
So can Zayn. He gulps.
“No. Not at all.” He looks down on his hands, shoulders tense up by his ears.
Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t seem frightened by this at all, and Louis looks on with terror how
the spirit opens his mouth, a cocky eyebrow lifted, and no, he’s not letting Harry Styles get into a
twist with a lightning god. That’s not happening.
“We don’t have a lot to offer,” Louis therefore cuts in before Harry has the chance, trying to lead
the conversation back on the right track.
Thor lets the Zayn situation go quickly, going back to being strict and factual.
“That’s okay,” he says. “I already have it picked out for you, so this is what’s going to happen: I
tell you what we need from you, and then you are free to decide whether you think it’s an arguable
exchange.”
The boys just nod, and Louis already knows they’re going to agree to whatever it is that Thor
wants. If it means getting Liam back, then they’ll do it.
“We need our apples,” Thor states simply. “Idun was on a trip to Olympus when the portals
malfunctioned and she didn’t make it back in time, and now we don’t know what to do. A couple
of us did try, of course, to take the apples by ourselves while we still had the strength and stamina,
but to no avail, and we age too quickly. There was this rhyme, this clue we couldn’t solve by the
tree that prevented us from picking them…”
He looks up into the air, grasping inside his head for information.
“My memory fails me. My condolences. If I’d only had those apples now, it would be healthy as
ever, but just like my joints… They also fall prey for time.”
“How long will it take?” Louis asks, hoping to any and every god within a ten-mile radius that it
won’t take too long.
“Surely not more than a couple of days, back and forth,” Thor promises eagerly (well. As eagerly
as he can without having heart palpitations, Louis assumes). “And you will of course be well
equipped for your journey! I have everything you may need—food, shelter, weapons, whatever you
want.”
Harry can’t seem to stop a faint groan from escaping to express his exhaustion.
“This is stupid,” he exclaims. “This isn’t why we came! We came here because we have news
about the portals, not to do some pompous God’s work—”
“If getting these literally fatally important gods their apples so that they don’t die and creates chaos
in all of our universes is what we need to do to get Liam back, I don’t see why we can’t tell them
about the portals and help them,” Louis snaps and the stare he gives Harry should have the spirit in
death cramps on the floor. “Right, Harry?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Right.”
Louis decides that will do, and he turns back to Thor.
“We think we have a clue on what’s wrong with the portals, and well. Funny that, that you’re the
god of lightning, because that’s what the problem is. We think someone has messed with the
lighting energy in the Powerhouses. Do you know anything about that? Could it be true?”
Thor raises his eyebrows.
“Yes,” he says, “that’s what we’ve been suspecting, too. But I had nothing to do with it, if that’s
what you’re implying. I couldn’t just take back all my electricity from all the portals at once. That
is only something a Leader could do. Zeus. Or Jupiter.”
“You think Zeus or Jupiter has done this?” Louis knits his eyebrows. “But why?”
“I have no idea what their motives could be. It’s just the only thing we can think of that makes
sense.”
It is, Louis figures—but he also couldn’t for his life imagine why a Leader would do something
like this. That would have to mean one of them has treacherous characteristics of the worst sort,
bad intentions like no other. How would that just suddenly happen out of nowhere? Did they not all
drink from Mimir’s Well all those centuries ago? It shouldn’t be possible for them to be traitors
like this.
And it still doesn’t make sense because there isn’t a motive. With Eris, there doesn’t have to be
one. She creates chaos for the hell of it, because it’s simply what she does. But if only a Leader
could fuck with the portals like this, then… How does anything make sense anymore?
Louis’ head hurts by now, so he decides to not look further into it yet. It can wait.
So instead, he looks to Zayn, who’s been standing quietly next to him, fists still convulsively
clenched, and then back to Thor.
“So,” he says. “Our favor has to do with your wife. Sif. We have a friend who’s—well, dead if she
can’t find a way to undo it. It has to do with her golden hands.”
Thor blinks. “Of course. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help.”
Louis lets out a breath of relief and turns to Zayn again to give him a reassuring smile. Zayn gives
him a slight upturn of his mouth back, still looking insecure, but Louis sees it as an improvement.
Sif is tired, and old, and beautiful. Her skin is dry and littered with soft creases by her eyes and
forehead and her hands are veiny and pale. The only thing that doesn’t quite fit is the long, golden
hair falling graciously down her shoulders and onto her pillow where she’s lying in her bed,
surrounded by pastel silk covers and soft pillows. When the boys step into her room, fidgety and
quietly, she meets their gazes with kind eyes.
“Visitors,” she muses. “What a pleasant surprise. Haven’t had that for a while now.”
Niall steps forward from behind Harry, taking the lead.
“Sif!” he greets cheerily. “Looking beautiful as always.”
Sif lights up immediately at the sight of the cupid.
“Niall,” she greets back. “It’s so lovely to see you!”
“Wait…” Louis interrupts, brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of their light chatter. “You
know each other?”
“Yeah! Sif is the goddess of marriage—among other things. Naturally, we’ve met a couple of
times.” Niall gives his apparent coworker a bright smile, which Sif reciprocates.
“It’s been too long since last time,” she says warmly.
Her gaze then leaves him for a moment, flying over the other three boys rapidly. She seems to
notice that there is one missing, as she frowns in confusion and looks back to Niall, question
obvious in her eyes. It hits Louis that she must also know about Liam and Zayn.
“He’s here, too,” Niall promises instantly. “But, uh. That’s where kind of need your help. Zayn?”
Zayn looks up from the floor for the first time when his name is called, and he looks between the
goddess and the cupid carefully.
“Right. Uh. Hi. I’m. It’s lovely to meet you. Your—your highness? Is—is that—“
Sif gives him a gentle smile. “Just Sif is alright, my love.”
Zayn nods and flashes her a nervous grin back, a little forced, a little endearing.
“Sif. I, uh—“ he takes a deep breath, and then rushes through the following sentence like he’s
ripping off a band aid. “I can apparently turn things into gold with my bare hands and I turned my
friend—Liam—into a statue by accident when he just wanted to help me and I was wondering if
you please know a way to fix that?”
Uncertain silence. Sif narrows her eyes, puzzled, and nods slowly.
“But you’re a—human, aren’t you? You’re from Earth?”
“Yes. Can you turn him back?”
Silence again. They’re becoming slightly more unbearable every time they occur, Louis thinks and
clenches his jaw.
“Yes, I can.”
Every single boy in the room lets out a collective sigh of endless relief. It’s going to be okay.
“However,” Sif continues warily. “Not in this state. I’m too weak, too old.”
“We’re getting the apples,” Zayn assures her quickly. “It’s going to be okay.”
Well, seems like that is all that Louis needed for Zayn to go from reluctant to ecstatic about
running that errand. At least one of the boys now wholeheartedly has his back, Louis thinks.
Sif gives him a soft smile.
“You have kindness in your hearts. Therefore I’m also more than happy to help you control your
golden hands. When I’m stronger. But for now… I want you to touch something in this room,” Sif
tells him. “The nightstand, perhaps.”
“…Okay.”
Zayn swallow, unclenching his right hand for the first time since he’d turned Liam, slowly and
carefully reaching it out to graze the polished marble nightstand with his fingertips. When nothing
happens, he presses his whole hand down.
Nothing happens this time either. Zayn’s eyes widen frantically in confusion.
“I—I swear I did it before! I don’t know why I can’t all of a sudden I swear—“
“No, it’s okay. I believe you,” Sif assures him. “This is good. This means it’s not a curse. You can
control it.”
“Sounds good,” Zayn says reluctantly. “Just how do I do that?”
Sif tilts her head in contemplation.
“Have you turned anything else into gold while you’ve been here?”
“Yeah,” Zayn nods. “I was going to get Liam help, and when I pushed the door open it… Kind of
backfired.”
“Right. So the first two times you turned something into gold was when you touched Liam, and
when you attempted to get Liam help, correct?”
“Yeah,” Zayn wrinkles his forehead, “I guess.”
“Most powers like yours and mine are ruled by something, may it be moods or weather or
something else. It always has a center. It sounds to me like your center would be strong emotion.
Love, most probably.”
Louis can’t help but to gasp quietly, being as dramatic as he is. That’s almost… Kind of romantic.
Zayn doesn’t agree.
“Love?” he immediately sputters, eyes wide and incredulous. “I’ve only known Liam for a few
days!”
“And that makes it impossible to care for him?”
”No, not—not care for him, of course I care for him, it’s just. Isn’t it a little early to throw that
word around just yet?” Zayn lets out a nervous laugh and bites his lip. His eyes are constantly
skipping from one point to another.
“If you’re confident enough that it’ll happen in the future to say ‘yet’ right now, I don’t see why we
cannot just take a shortcut.”
Zayn opens his mouth but no words leave it, at loss for words at that statement.
“As I was saying,” Sif continues with a small smile, “that is most probably what controls your
powers. Which means that in the beginning, it’s going to be hard to control, it always is. So to bring
it out you’d have to think about something, or someone that you love deeply. A happy memory,
maybe. Or a sad one, but distress is usually harder to control so I don’t recommend it. It will feel
more and more natural as you go along and practice, and after a while you won’t have to give it
any thought at all.”
“Sounds like a weird version of a patronus,” Zayn mutters.
He’s met by four pairs of blank stares. Zayn frowns.
“In Harry Potter? You know? It’s like a defensive spell. Where you need to think of your happiest
memory and stuff. To. To cast it—no? None of you? Harry? Niall?”
“Sorry, man,” Niall says with a shrug.
“Fucking unbelievable.” Zayn shakes his head. “If I’d known that I’m dealing with a group this
culturally uneducated I would’ve brought the series with me.”
“Anyway,” Sif says pointedly. “I also hope you understand what your golden hands entail, about
yourself and your background. The fact that you possess a magical power like this one, and that it
works here, means that you most likely originate from Grimm. Not Earth.”
Zayn’s eyes are blown so wide they could probably pop out if he overdid it a little more, and he
starts looking around, breathing out that he needs to sit down. He at last sinks down in a chair at
the foot of Sif’s bed, staring blankly in front of him. A small smile is starting to overtake his
features as the shock slowly but surely seeps away, and Louis is suddenly warm inside. He thinks
back to the conversation they’d had in Zayn’s kitchen, thinks back on how this is probably all
Zayn’s ever dreamed of, and he can’t help but smile along with his friend.
“Wait so this is… Oh shit!” Niall wheezes out of nowhere, tugging on the hem of Louis’ sleeve.
“This is why Liam and Zayn were paired up,” he continues, lowly so Zayn won’t hear, but the
intensity in his voice is clear. “Despite living in two different universes. Oh my god. Because Zayn
is supposed to live in Grim, too.”
Niall evidently needs to sit down, too. Louis pats him on the shoulder for some emotional support.
It is quite a concept, though, Louis must admit. A greater love story than he’s ever known. It’s
beautiful, he thinks, that love is that strong, that even though they are from different parts of the
universe—and still somehow not—there is no one more perfect for Liam than Zayn, and no one
more perfect for Zayn than Liam. Even though they’ve been so separated they might as well never
meet, they’re still meant for each other.
Louis wants that someday.
~
Thor didn’t lie when he said they’d offer both food and shelter.
After the biggest and best meal Louis has had in, well, probably his life, they all decide that it’s
most definitely time for bed. In the morning they’re throwing themselves into yet another potential
adventure and while a part of Louis still stubbornly yells that they must all have a death wish, he’s
still come to terms with the fact that he’s out there doing things he’s only dreamed of before in his
life. He’s out there seeing the worlds and fighting evil. You may even call him a hero.
“So, Zayn and I will take this room,” Niall says determinedly when they stand in the hallways in
front of two doors that supposedly lead them to the two rooms they’ve been promised. “And you
two take the other.”
Surprise.
Louis doesn’t really have anything against it at this point, Niall always finding ways to pair Harry
and Louis up for some reason, but he does find the pattern quite peculiar.
“Why is it that every time we’re splitting up, Harry and I always end up together?” he asks Niall.
“It’s not like we can’t stand each other anymore. You don’t have to force us.”
“Aw, doesn’t he?” Harry says gleefully behind him. “Louis, I’m all teared up.”
“Never mind,” Louis backtracks.
Niall gives them a light shrug.
“It’s just kind of happened that way so far. And now I figured you might want some, ah. One-on-
one time. Also, Zayn is my favorite. He can make gold with his bare hands.”
Ah. Louis, like struck by lightning, remembers that one awful incident in that one bathroom stall
where Niall flung the door open on him and Harry post orgasm. He guesses it makes sense for a
cupid to urge that sort of activity on.
Doesn’t stop him from going red to his ears, and it doesn’t stop Harry from having a sudden
coughing fit.
Niall just grins. “Sleep tight, boys.”
The thing is, there’s only one bed. A rather big one, at that.
Quite huge, really. Could probably fit at least seven people. And the bed sheets are remarkably
soft. The pillows are plush. So it’s not like Louis can complain. That’d just be rude, if he’s quite
honest. Ungrateful. Besides, with this kind of size, Harry could easily share bed space without their
skins having to graze even once.
This is going to be fine.
Louis kicks off his shoes and throws himself onto it, sinking into the mattress and the feathery
duvet with a euphoric sigh. He stretches out his arms and legs, taking up as much space as he
possibly can.
Which isn’t a lot because not only is the bed enormous, but Louis is also tiny. So.
“So this is quite a nice bed,” Harry states as he follows Louis’ example and lays down beside him,
inching closer and closer until their sides are almost lined up. His body radiates warmth and Louis
gulps, suddenly finding the air in there a little stuffed.
“Should we take advantage of it?”
Harry’s breath is tickling the skin on Louis’ neck, and the fairy’s first instinct is yes, they should,
absolutely, undoubtedly.
But as he feels Harry’s soft fingertips burn traces onto his arms, he’s also overwhelmed by
something completely different, and that’s fear.
Because there it is again, that fluttering feeling that bubbles up from the very pit of his stomach to
the back of his throat as soon as Harry is within touching distance of him, and only Harry. It’s not
just that he wants someone close to him, he wants Harry close to him, Louis wants Harry’s firm but
gentle hands and Harry’s plush lips and Harry’s eyes on him, so green and deep they could be their
own forest. (Maybe that’s why his eyes are starting to feel more and more like home to Louis.)
And that terrifies him.
“…No,” he just breathes instead. Shakes his head for emphasis. Sits up to distance himself.
Harry instantly removes his hand from Louis’ skin, and leans away.
“Oh. Okay. Of course. That’s fine too. Sorry.”
He’s sincere, and Louis just nods as an answer, taking a few deep breaths. He doesn’t quite know
what to do now, how to start up a conversation. Maybe he should just go to sleep. Try to not
overanalyze things until he ruins them for once.
“Don’t apologize,” he just mumbles, looking down on his crossed legs and folding his hands in his
lap, unsure of what to do.
It feels a bit like a waste, this—having Harry this close and not taking advantage of it. But Louis
can’t do that now, not when he’s this confused, not when he’s just now realizing how much he
actually cares about this creature, this self-involved, morally ambiguous, spoiled boy.
Things were easier when he hated him, Louis thinks.
He keeps running through his thoughts, clawing at the corners of his mind trying to make sense of
things, sinks so deeply into his thoughts he almost forgets Harry is actually in there with him for a
minute.
Then he feels a hand trace the outline of his left wing, and Louis is snapped out of it, and he recoils
with a glare.
One, because it took him very much by surprise, especially with him being so lost in thought, and
two, his wings are his business.
“Don’t you dare.” He narrows his eyes at Harry, voice stern. “First off, invasion of privacy, and
second, if you would ever even think about doing and intentional or unintentional damage to my
wings—“
“What? I wasn’t going to,” Harry snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away as he
mutters, barely audibly, “Would it hurt to have some trust for once?”
Louis inhales sharply, fixing Harry with a disbelieving stare. His reaction might be a little harsh, he
admits, but honestly? He’s allowed to be paranoid when he just got his wings back, he also can’t
help to be snappy when his head is this much of a jumbled mess.
Also the way Harry put that makes him quite, well, angry.
“Have some trust for once? Find me one person in your surroundings who’s trusted you more than
I’ve done during this trip, Harry.”
“Fuck off,” Harry spits, but Louis knows it’s because the fairy is right. “I’m sorry, I just—I like
them, alright? I was just admiring them. They’re… They’re really pretty.”
The hostility on Louis’ features washes away to be replaced with confused surprise. His shoulder
fall as his body relaxes, air slowly seeping out of his nose from releasing his breath.
That’s not to say he’s not a little bit suspicious of his statement. It’s such an out of the blue thing,
pretty un-Harry to do, and most of all? That’s a compliment. And Louis didn’t force it out.
“Really?”
Harry slides his arms closer around himself, his hands gripping his firm shoulders and he looks
down on his knees. Louis has about ten different scenarios playing out in his head, ten different
ways he would expect Harry to try and explain, support or push away his first statement.
What the spirit says is not a single one of them.
“I had wings once, too, you know.”
…Well. Shit.
Louis is quiet for a moment, processing this. He searches deeply for an answer to Harry’s
confession, but he can’t seem to come up with one that justifies his feelings. Had, he just thinks.
Harry had wings once. Louis is desperately trying to hold back the sudden urge to hold him for
days or maybe kiss him on the mouth a little, and he can’t pity Harry, because, well. It’s Harry.
God, he really has had a very hard time keeping that in mind recently. The thought doesn’t stick
with him this time either, because Harry’s looking like dejection and rain and Louis just doesn’t
want him to.
“Had?” Louis settles for at last, slowly and watching Harry’s every reaction.
Harry bites his full lower lip. His hands are moving up and down his arms, as if trying to soothe
himself. He’s done that before, as if he’s attempting to hug his own body, keep himself warm, give
himself comfort. Louis thinks he mustn’t really have had anyone else to do that for him in his life,
and his stomach sinks even more.
“We were all born with them.” Harry scratches his neck. “When the souls of algos and algea reach
a certain age, there’s a ceremony in Tartaros where our wings are ripped from our bodies.”
Louis swallows. “What, just…” he makes a snatching motion with his hand, “ripped? Just like
that?”
“Just like that,” Harry nods.
Louis’ back is stinging from the mere thought.
“Why?” he wonders quietly.
Harry smiles, sadness pooling in his left dimple. “Because you can’t truly understand pain until
you’ve felt it.”
Silence falls after his statement. Louis just watches the sulking individual next to him, tries to
imagine him with a set of wings on his back. He wonders what they looked like, if they’d been like
a sweeping crow’s, or a swift dragonfly’s. If they’d been thick like smoke or threaded like spider
web.
“Were they beautiful?” he can’t help but ask.
“Huh?”
“The wings,” Louis clarifies and swallows. “Were they beautiful?”
A light and wistful sigh leaves Harry’s lips, but it’s not a painful one. He kind of looks… At peace.
“You should’ve seen them,” he says. “They were black—soft like rainclouds. Big and majestic and
reliable. The lost souls used to whisper stories about the open sky. I couldn’t wait to fly along the
horizon one day, see and feel all the things the humans could never see and feel but always wanted
to do. Of course, I didn’t exactly get the chance. My wings were never supposed to stay—they
were purposely put on me to be ripped off. I’m a spirit, I can already transfer through air. What
would I need wings for, really?”
He lies down with his head sinking into the soft pillows, crossing his legs and supporting the back
of his head with his hands. “Wings are always wings, though, aren’t they? Necessary or not,” he
philosophizes, more to himself now than to Louis. Louis listens. “They always mean a lot to you,
regardless. They hold so many things. It’s like losing a part of your mind, you know? It’s not
like… a leg or a hand. It’s rather your—spirit, I guess. Your drive. Your innocence. Your dreams.”
He closes his eyes. “I haven’t had a single dream since I lost my wings.”
Gravity is itching in Louis’ fingertips, pulling and clawing under his skin to reach out to Harry like
he’s the center of mass, like in that very moment, he balances Louis’ entire world. It doesn’t make
sense, least of all to Louis, but if he doesn’t at least try to make Harry smile a little more genuinely,
his heart is never going to stop screaming.
Cautiously but determinedly, it’s Louis’ turn to inch closer to Harry until they’re shoulder to
shoulder on the bed, and he turns to his side so he can drape an arm around Harry’s middle and rest
his head delicately on Harry’s chest.
Harry is definitely not breathing, and Louis wonders briefly if maybe this was a bad idea.
He doesn’t think it is, though. It feels like the right thing to do.
“What are you doing?” Harry asks, breathless voice further confirming the fact that his unmoving
ribcage already suggested.
“I’m cuddling you,” Louis answers simply. “What does it look like?”
“Why are you cuddling me?”

“Because I think you need it.”
“I don’t.”
“I can move if you want.”
Silence. Then,
“No.”
Louis smiles against Harry’s shirt. He feels the exact moment Harry relaxes, and he considers his
work done. For someone who’s not actually made of flesh and bone, Harry’s always surprisingly
warm and solid, even soft in places and the way he feels so real makes Louis’ throat dry and his
insides a little wobbly.
(He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t want to question it. Doesn’t dare to.)
“Well,” he says at last. “I’m going to sleep. If you make me have nightmares or something I will
punch you in the face.”
“I can’t make you have anything, my powers are invalid here,” Harry snorts. “Besides, that would
be Phobetor’s job anyway.”
The corners of Louis’ mouth almost twitches. Almost. “Well, then. Nevertheless, I’ll find a reason
to punch you.”
“Can you even reach my face, pixie?” Harry sounds way too amused for Louis’ liking.
“We’re lying down, genius. I could kick you in the face if I wanted to.”
“Your language is so violent for someone who enjoys cuddling this much.”
“Go to sleep.”
“You go to sleep.”
(Louis doesn’t go to sleep. He pretends to, nuzzling his face into the nape of Harry’s neck with
heavy and soft breaths, eyes closed against the smoothness of his skin. He feels Harry slowly
intertwine their hands when the spirit is sure Louis is asleep, and the kind of stardust hurricane
swirling in Louis’ stomach from the small gesture, when Harry’s palm is pressed up against his
own small one, is concerning. His lips are tingling from being so close to Harry’s skin, close
enough to taste it, if he’d want to. His toes going numb and his head light, and the way his nerves
quiver every time Harry breathes, rising and sinking both their ribcages in sync. It’s all so very
concerning.
It’s concerning and new and deep down Louis knows what it means but he doesn’t want to, and it’s
a problem now.
He knows he can’t suppress it for a lot longer. He doesn’t sleep.)
Chapter End Notes

guess who DID !! THAT !!
aaa i'm not too fond of this chapter at all it feels messy n rushed and it's literally
nothing but dialogue i'm ridiculous i need help but HEY !! it's an update !! can u
belieb !!
i hope yall had a nice winter break/holiday/new years :') i was gna update then as a gift
but then i got sick n it got delayed even further i'm a Mess
BUT as always thank u sososososo much to all of u who give kudos and comment and
read u make my day i'm grateful every second i read all comments and they make my
heart warm and cozy ilu :'))))))))
if u feel like talking i'm always ready to love u unconditionally at my tumblr

@tequiladimples xxxxx
chapter 18; asgard
Chapter Summary

be easier.
Chapter Notes
Needless to say, Zayn doesn’t sleep a lot that night.
It’s a lot to take in. Travel through a world portal, turning the target for your insufferable crush into
a golden statue, meeting Thor and Sif, and to top it off be presented with the information that
you’re in fact from a fairy-tale world you’ve only ever dreamed about for your whole life? It’s kind
of extremely overwhelming to get to know all of this within the timespan of a day. Hell,
experiencing one of those things would’ve been enough to make him question everything he’s ever
known.
So it doesn’t come as a surprise that he spends the whole night, tossing and turning while Niall
sleeps blissfully in the other bed. None of this is keeping the blond boy restless, that’s evident, and
Zayn envies him as he turns his pillow over to the cool side once more, closing his eyes shut and
trying to loosen his puzzled frown.
It doesn’t really work, and by the time light start peeking through the tiny gap between the rugged
curtains, the only sleep Zayn’s gotten are a few minutes here and there. His bones ache with
exhaustion, but every time he’s on the verge of falling asleep the image of Liam, lifeless and
petrified in a supporting stance creeps onto his closed eyelids, etching itself into his cornea and
rooting inside his head, and he always has to open his eyes again, rapidly and with a sharp inhale.
He tries to push those thoughts away, but he can’t. Not when he has this much time and room, such
a golden opportunity to dwell.
It will be fine, he reminds himself repeatedly throughout the night and until dawn, whispering to
himself like a broken record. It will be fine. It will be fine. He will be fine. We will be fine.
The sunrise has only been going on for a couple of minutes when Niall’s bed finally start creaking,
signalizing the movement that means the boy is waking up. Zayn doesn’t look his way, but
continues staring up at the ceiling, tracing the bumps and dents in the rock tiles above him with his
eyes.
“Good morning,” Niall chirps finally and stretches his torso, joyful as ever. “Did you sleep well?”
“Sure,” Zayn says, not breaking his thorough examination. “As one does, after turning someone
into a lifeless statue.”
Niall sighs, and the bed creaks again followed by the soft sound of bare feet against stone, and the
blond boy makes his way over to Zayn’s bed.
“You know, it wasn’t your fault,” he says, sitting down at Zayn’s bedside, and he’s serious now.
Sincere. “No one blames you. Liam is going to be okay, and when he comes back I’m one hundred
percent sure he won’t blame you either.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Zayn mumbles. “I’d be pretty pissed.”
“If Liam did that to you, on accident, would you be pissed at him?”
Zayn doesn’t answer right away.
“No,” he finally admits. “But I have some kind of ridiculous school girl crush on him, so he could
probably chop my leg off and I’d thank him.”
Niall chuckles. “And you honestly don’t think he maybe feels the exact same way? The guy could
barely stand up straight around you for the first couple of hours you knew each other and he’s a
fucking shapeshifter. Have you ever heard of a naturally clumsy wolf?”
Something stirs in Zayn’s stomach at the way Niall so surely and convincedly forms his words, and
he finally shifts his gaze to look at him. The boy is wearing a small smile and his eyebrows are
raised, waiting for Zayn’s response.
“I guess not,” Zayn replies and allows himself to smile a little, too.
Then again, he hasn’t met anyone quite like Liam before, in any meaning of the shapeshifter’s
being. He hasn’t met someone as humble or purely well-meaning in his life, who speaks with more
humbleness or acts with more kindness. Liam is something new, to Zayn who’s lived all his life
around humans, selfish, arrogant humans. Liam is pure.
Niall nods, satisfied, and pats Zayn’s arm lightly.
“It’ll be alright!”
“I mean there’s still the chance that we, you know… Won’t make it. Given that we don’t know
what that ‘clue’ Thor spoke of is. It could be something that prevents us from picking it too.
Couldn’t it?” the dark eyed boy asks carefully, not wanting to ruin Niall’s good mood but he
figures that it’s important to be realistic here, mood killing or not.
Maybe he should’ve understood by now that it takes nothing less than a world changing disaster to
make Niall’s mood drop, but his smile doesn’t even falter a little at Zayn’s statement. On the
contrary, it grows a little bigger and the boy tilts his head curiously.
“You… Don’t know what the clue is?”
Zayn frowns immediately. Is he missing something?
“You do?”
“We all do. It’s no secret, the gods here are just senile.” Niall grins and starts reciting it. “’Only
those with hands of gold apples from the tree will hold’. There is a reason why Idun and Sif are the
only ones in this world having golden hands. No ill willing Gods can have access to that tree. Louis
is also a little spontaneous when it comes to big decisions, but if we didn’t know for sure that it
was in fact one hundred percent possible for us to actually get the apples, Harry would’ve stopped
him. Is there seriously nothing on that in that universe bible of yours?”
“No,” Zayn shakes his head, a little taken aback. “No, they… That’s not in there. It doesn’t say a
lot about Idun at all, actually.”
Niall mutters something about how typically Earth that is, to ignore one of the most important
women in history, and then sighs.
“Well. Now you know,” he states. “Let’s get up. See if the lovebirds are awake yet. Go for some
breakfast. Pick some apples.”
He staggers away from Zayn’s bed to the bag where their clothes are safely and carefully packed
and starts digging for something to wear. He manages to pick out a pair of shorts and a tank top for
himself and also throws a similar outfit at Zayn, before he stops in his tracks as he looks down into
the bag again.
”Fuck!” He exclaims, reaching into it to pick something up.
He turns around, thrusting a bottle in the air with a stressed expression etched into his features.
Lube. He’s holding a bottle of lube.
Zayn is confused.
“What, um. What exactly…”
Niall doesn’t pay attention to him, just groans and slaps his free hand over his face.
“This was supposed to be in the other bag! God, I’m so stupid, I can’t believe I forgot to put it
there.”
Zayn is… Not any less confounded. He narrows his eyes and raises his eyebrows, trying to figure
out why exactly Niall feels like it’s his personal task to provide Harry and Louis with lube.
“Are… Are you usually this invested in other peoples’ sex lives?” he asks slowly.
Niall licks his lips and stifles a laugh, shaking his head as if the question is infinitely amusing to
him.
“You have no idea, my pal.” He sighs deeply and puts the bottle down, settling on just getting
dressed, rambling away as he does so. “Oh, well. I guess there’s one more night here, right?
Besides, they need to bond, too. A relationship isn’t all sex. Doesn’t have to be at all, necessarily.
It’s fine. They could do good with some mutual blowjobs at most and a heart to heart, too, really,
this isn’t a catastrophe or anything, just a minor inconvenience, I know that, it’s just, you know, I
had one job—“
Maybe all of this should make Zayn understand something, or clear this whole situation up, but it
really doesn’t. If anything, he’s just slightly creeped out by how emotionally invested Niall is in
Louis and Harry’s relationship. Or whatever it is they have.
“Mate. What are you?” Zayn can’t help but let out, staring at his friend.
It doesn’t even faze Niall a little bit, as he just sighs.
“Why do people keep asking this? A failure, Zayn. I’m a failure. Let’s just go see how our not-
penetrative-sex-having friends are doing.”
He pulls on his shoes and is out the door within seconds. Zayn is left behind for a bit, just staring
at the door Niall just disappeared out of with furrowed eyebrows and a slack jaw. He blinks once,
twice, three times, and then he just breathes deeply before quickly getting dressed and following
suit.
The door to Louis and Harry’s room is already ajar, and Zayn slides it open fully to see why it’s
still so quiet in there. Niall isn’t exactly the gentlest alarm clock, from what he’s seen.
But Niall isn’t making any sounds now. No, he’s just standing there, dead in his tracks, eyes firmly
trained on the huge bed in front of him.
Harry is lying on his back with Louis wrapped around his whole body, both boys still fast asleep.
Their legs are tangled together and Louis’ face is nestled into the crook of Harry’s neck. Harry has
his nose in Louis’ wispy fringe. Their hands are loosely interlocked.
Neither of them has even bothered to strip out of their clothes, or slip under the fluffy covers. It’s
all endlessly tender and pure, sleep softening their faces and syncing their breathing, washing away
the jagged wall of bickering and insecure hostility that’s usually standing tall between them.
Zayn slowly takes his eyes off the couple, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable and intruding
seeing them like this, and lets his gaze wander to Niall.
The blond boy has the widest smile he’s ever seen on his face, eyes sparkling with delight.
“Well. They made that work perfectly fine on their own,” he breathes, standing absolutely still for
another couple of seconds, cherishing the moment.
Then he snaps out of it, clapping his hands together and taking a few steps forward until he’s right
by the bed.
“Right, lovebirds, as cozy and lovely as this looks there is a new day ahead of us! Time to wake
up! The sun is—“ he throws a quick look at the window, “—well, it could be a bit more radiant,
but it’s up and out there and so should we be!”
Louis groans, his eyes only fluttering open for a few seconds before closing determinedly again, a
hand fisting in Harry’s t-shirt. The spirit under him seems to grow aware of his surroundings
slightly quicker as he darts his eyes around the room, and when they fall on Niall and Zayn
watching the pair closely, he clears his throat and subtly lets go of his grip on Louis’ hand.
Niall’s foot is tapping impatiently against the floor.
“We don’t have any time to lose, boys! I say we all meet in the dining room in 15. No exceptions.
Chop, chop!”
Niall claps his hands to enunciate his words, and then he turns around and drags Zayn out of there.
“I would’ve been more headstrong but one, Louis looked so comfortable I didn’t have the heart to
force him and two, I’ll be honest, we’re lucky if we manage to find our way through this maze of a
house to the dining room in under 15 minutes.”
Zayn stares down the hallway they’re currently making their way through, observing how many
possible turns and doors there are, and he thinks that Niall’s probably right.
~
He is right.
When they descend from the—right set of—stairs and finally into the dining room, more than 15
minutes has indeed most likely passed, and Thor and Sif are already sitting opposite each other by
the table, digging in on the biggest breakfast Zayn has ever seen in his entire life.
Harry and Louis are also already sitting there, side by side, happily loading oatmeal and rich fruits
onto their plates.
“How the—“ Zayn starts, bringing four pairs of eyes to him and Niall in the doorway.
“Zayn!” Louis greets cheerily. “We were wondering when you’d come. Place is a maze, isn’t it?
Would’ve taken us ages too if Harry didn’t have his convenient spirit transportation.”
He pats Harry’s shoulder delicately and Harry tries to look unbothered.
Zayn blinks.
“Are all magical creatures just natural early risers?” he can’t help but ask.
“Absolutely not,” Harry deadpans around a mouthful of lingonberry bread. “We just had the
misfortune to be stuck with two.”
Louis looks like he wants to interfere, oppose Harry’s statement, but Thor clears his throat before
he has the opportunity to. Probably for the best too, Zayn thinks. He hasn’t spent that much time
around the two yet, up until now mostly being focused only on Liam, but you’d probably have to
be all sorts of ignorant to be able to miss the pair’s endless bickering.
“Most possible preparation for your journey has been made. You are provided with a map, food
and beverage, and you will also be armed. Not that we think there’s a guarantee that you’ll need
that kind of defense,” Thor’s quick to add when he catches Louis’ widened stare. “But because this
is a place where wicked creatures who might usually be hiding away now has surfaced because us
Gods are too weak and old too keep them away.”
Zayn swallows, a strange mix of excitement and fear stirring in his stomach. They’re really doing
this. He’s really doing this. It’s slowly dawning upon him what he’s gotten himself into here.
It’s not like he couldn’t guess that it’d be dangerous. He was well aware of that when he followed
here. He just didn’t care, the want and need of staying with these boys overweighing any potential
danger. It still overweighs it. He would by no means go home given the chance.
But. You know. It’s not like he’s not a little bit scared at the thought of going out there and face
potential lethal monsters. It’s basic survival’s instinct to be slightly skeptical towards the idea.
He’ll still go with. He won’t voice his concerns, and he will try to be an asset to their team instead
of a disadvantage. But that doesn’t mean his palms aren’t getting a tiny bit sweaty at the thought of
what can happen, if they’re extremely unlucky.
He’ll still do it, though. If standing face to face with death is what he must do to get Liam back, to
see him smile and talk and look at Zayn like he’s the best person alive—then he’ll do that.
(He bites into a pear and almost beats a tooth out, realizing that the fruit in his hand is now golden.
He sighs dejectedly.)
“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” Louis suddenly starts, earning everyone’s eyes on him, and a few
raised eyebrows as well. “And we’re going about this whole excursion all wrong.”
A tentative silence falls over the table, no one really sure what he means by this. Praying with all
his heart that the fairy isn’t for some reason trying to get them into trouble and fuck up Sif’s part of
the deal, Zayn says:
“Would you… Mind elaborating?”
Louis straightens his back confidently.
“We’re getting ready to travel by foot or wings to the golden apples,” he starts, “when we have a
person among us already who can search this whole world in five minutes flat and can teleport
people with him. Or well, one person. But we only really need to get one person over there, don’t
we?”
He finishes with clapping his hands together and throwing a meaning look first at Zayn and then
around the table.
It does make sense, Zayn thinks. It does. Only two of them going lessens the number of people to
possibly get hurt, it takes a lot less time than walking—enough to have Liam back today—and it
would overall be a lot more efficient. He can’t argue on that.
The only thing that he can come up with is that from what he’s gathered so far… Harry doesn’t
seem to like him that much. They’ve exchanged a couple of jokes, some appreciative smiles, but
other than that the spirit hasn’t really been the warmest around Zayn. Not that Harry seems like an
extremely smiley and extroverted person in general, but. He gets along just fine with both Niall and
Liam, and, well—Louis is just on another level, isn’t he? Zayn shouldn’t compare anyone to Louis.
But him, Harry isn’t too fond of, and though Zayn could only guess why (maybe it’s draining for
him to be around Zayn, who has such a history of suffering), he doesn’t want to do this trip if it’s
going to make Harry uncomfortable.
To confirm his conspiracies, Harry doesn’t look keen on the idea at all. His eyes have gone wide
and posture rigid, a small wrinkle creasing between his brows.
“I—don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he tries.
“It’s literally a perfect idea,” Louis counters immediately, and Harry looks… strangely pained.
“I don’t think it’ll work. If we do encounter trouble none of us will be able to fend for ourselves.”
“Honestly, Harry? Niall and I can’t help you with that, either. Thor already said, they’ll arm you if
you want.”
“Yeah, but it’s—it’s very draining. For me, to take someone with me into that other form. It’s
going to tire me out.”
“Bullshit. I never tire you out.”
“Yeah, but you’re—you.” Harry is silent for a bit, seemingly hesitating on whether he should
elaborate. “I know you. It works with you. It’s different.”
Louis is very evidently trying to not get flustered, eyelashes fluttering a little and he seems at loss
for words for a few seconds, but somehow the admission from Harry only makes him more
determined to send Harry and Zayn out there on their own.
“Then maybe you just have to get to know Zayn too to make it work!” he states in a sweetly stern
way Zayn has only ever heard Louis pull off in his life. “You can do this, you know it and I know
it. It’s going to be a piece of cake for you. Or do you have any other objections I need to dismiss
first?”
Harry purses his lips and narrows his eyes at Louis really quickly, apparently too nice to just get it
out in the open that his problem is with Zayn himself. Zayn respects that. Harry’s pretty decent for
a pain spirit, actually. They’re supposed to be vicious things with seductive exterior and malicious
minds, not grumpy beings with crushes on fairies.
Zayn finds himself less and less opposed to the idea of getting Harry alone. Maybe if there’s only
the two of them, he could actually figure out 1. why Harry’s guard is so high when it comes to him
and 2. how much Harry knows about him so that Zayn could maybe feel safe disintegrating his
own wall.
Niall and Zayn watches Harry and Louis as they stare at each other intently, clearly having some
kind of silent argument, until Harry finally breaks it and looks down on his hands, sighing.
“Fine. Yeah. Sure, yeah, we’ll go. If that’s alright with you, Zayn?” he lets his gaze meet Zayn’s
hesitantly.
Zayn nods.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
It’s quiet for a bit, everyone at the table exchanging looks as the new plan settles.
“Very well,” Sif says at last. “Niall and Louis, you are of course very welcome to stay here in the
meantime.”
Said and done, after breakfast Zayn and Harry get a bag big enough to have room for both all the
apples and some other necessities, and they’re good to go. Thor and Sif shakes their hands, thank
them once again and wish them good luck by the door and Zayn smiles and tries to appear his
calmest. Louis and Harry are having some kind of half assed argument slash weird flirting session
(“It’ll be fine, Harry. I know I’ve raised the standards for everything in your life but that’s
something you have to deal with.” “Can’t. Standards are just too high, Lou. You’ve ruined my
life.” “You ruined mine too. Next argument.” “You think I’m fantastic, though.” “I do not.” “You
literally said that.” “I do not recall.”) and Zayn just rolls his eyes faintly. It’s sort of cute, but he’ll
deny it until his dying day.
So finally, Harry walks up beside Zayn and grabs his hand.
“Just don’t let your thoughts wander away, yeah?” he says. “Do exactly what you did last time and
we’ll be fine.”
Zayn just nods, and then they’re pulled into that kind of fleeting unconsciousness he can’t decide if
he likes or not.
Harry is being very efficient—a lot quicker than when they travelled to the barn. Their
surroundings pass by and change so quickly Zayn just sees them as a blur of green and brown and
ocher, and he does have a hard time focusing his thoughts but he still manages to, and soon enough
they land again, safe and sound and Zayn only being a little weak in the knees.
He lets out a gasp, still focusing his gaze on the ground as he tries to regulate his breathing a little.
“That was a ride,” he says.
Harry doesn’t answer, and at first Zayn thinks okay, is that how it’s going to be, they’re not even
going to talk?
But then he notices Harry’s stiff stance and wide eyes, and Zayn’s dark eyes turn to the golden tree
for the first time.
And, well. Shit.
It seems they’re not… Alone.
There’s a giant wolf strapped to the foot of the tree, held back by a thick chain. It watches the
newly arrived pair with hunger and aggression, a growl escaping from the very pits of its stomach.
Zayn’s heart is suddenly in his throat, and all he can think is fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,
because he knows. He knows who this is.
Fenrir.
Zayn knows about Fenrir, used to dream nightmares about Fenrir as a child. He knows the story so
clearly, the story about the huge, aggressive wolf who in the end the Gods deemed too dangerous
and vicious to do anything else with but chain him to a boulder until the end of time.
His mind recites the chapter from his Mythology bible, words ringing and bouncing around in his
head.
For their third attempt at fettering the beast, the Gods had the dwarves make them the strongest
chain they could ever build. When they tried tricking Fenrir into thinking this was just another test
of strength, Fenrir got suspicious when he saw the unusually aesthetic and smooth appearance of
his fetter and demanded one of the Gods put their hand in his mouth for good faith. At last Tyr
volunteered, and knowing he’d soon be one hand short, the Gods fettered the enormous wolf.
And sure enough, when Fenrir found himself unable to break away from his bonds, he violently
ripped Tyr’s hand off from his arm. He was at last chained to a boulder and a sword was placed in
his mouth to keep it open. There he was to remain, until the day of Ragnarok.
“Ah!” a voice suddenly calls out behind them, ripping Zayn out of his venting thoughts. “I knew
they’d send someone again sooner or later.”
Both Harry and Zayn turn on their heel rapidly, taking in the—also incredibly old—god standing in
front of them. His skin is floppy and his hair is silver, but he’s got a menacing glint in his eye that
leaves Zayn not doubting even for a second, that this must be Loki.
Loki has kind of always been a favorite of Zayn’s, always the one bending morals and creating
chaos, but right now he’s a little too shaken up to feel starstruck. Besides, if freeing Fenrir is Loki’s
doing, Zayn might just have to rethink his previous opinion on him.
The god saunters over to them, eyeing the black swirls on Harry’s arms and raising an eyebrow.
“Greek, huh?” he asks.
“Tartaros,” Harry deadpans right back, eyes stern and Zayn knows it’s supposed to be a threat. Stay
the fuck away.
Loki clicks with his tongue, nodding with a pout. “Impressive. Too bad you’re powerless here, isn’t
it?”
Harry falters, but only the tiniest fragment and only for half a second, and he makes sure to not
break their eye contact.
“I won’t need that.”
Loki smiles ominously.
“Look, I’m not here to fight,” he says. “I just want you to pick the apples. And then give them all
to me.”
Harry barks out an incredulous laugh.
“Nice try, not happening. Now, remove your fucking beast from the tree or you’re not getting any
apples at all.”
That’s when Zayn’s voice finally comes back to him, strained and breathy, but nonetheless there.
Fenrir being away from the boulder he’s usually chained to is a disaster in itself. Zayn thinks of all
the legends he’s read, he thinks of Ragnarok, he thinks of how that’s when Fenrir finally breaks
free.
“Oh my god. Oh my god you can’t do this,” Zayn says, panic visible in his eyes. “Setting Fenrir
free is a contributing factor to your apocalypse.”
“It is,” Loki agrees like it’s no big deal at all, hungry eyes still trained on the apples behind them.
“But he’s not free yet, is he? So let me just tell you what’s going to happen here.”
He lets his eyes wander nonchalantly from Zayn to Harry and back as he calmly explains.
“I’m going to untie Fenrir from the tree, and you’re going to pick every single apple you can find.
When you have done so, you will give them to me, and I will become young again. I will then take
the apples and give them out to the Gods—but it’s not free, of course. They’d have to trade a favor
for an apple. Or something else in their possession I might want. They’ll do anything to get their
youth back. It’s a fantastic opportunity for me.”
Fenrir growls so threateningly and deeply the hairs on Zayn’s arms stand up and he flinches back.
His mind is screaming uncontrollably, absolutely positive he’s going to pass out from a heart attack
anytime now.
Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t seem very scared. Just careful, guarded. Zayn thinks that he must
of course already have experience with people like this, and he’s, to be frank, extremely happy it’s
Harry here with him, and not someone else.
“And if we don’t?” Harry asks calmly. “If we refuse?”

Loki shrugs.
“Then I’ll send Fenrir on you. Since all Gods here will die anyway eventually if they don’t get the
apples, and you won’t pick them because you don’t want people to receive them on my
conditions… I see no reason as to why I shouldn’t release him and make it all move a little
quicker.”
Fuck, he does have a point. He does. Zayn knows he does, and he knows that Harry knows he does,
too.
“So as I see it,” Loki concludes, “your choice is between letting everyone, including yourselves,
live, or letting everyone, including yourselves, die. What’s it going to be?”
Zayn turns to Harry to try and see what he’s thinking, to discuss it maybe, see if there are other
options, but Harry doesn’t move in the slightest as he just utters:
“Fine. Untie your monster.”
Loki hums appreciatively and waltzes up to Fenrir, loosening the chain from the tree with steady
hands and leads the wolf away from the tree, giving Harry and Zayn entrance to start picking the
apples. He makes sure to keep Fenrir just a few inches away from them, though, big and hostile,
breathing down their necks as a reminder that he’s close enough to hear any kind of words they
might exchange with each other.
Zayn raises a shaky hand to wrap his fingers around one of the shiny fruits, slowly but easily
detaching it from its branch. The apple is smooth and heavy in his hand as he lowers himself to the
ground and puts it down by his feet before repeating the process again and again, as slowly as he
can to give both him and the curly haired spirit some time to think this through. Think of a way out.
Harry doesn’t say anything, just watches as it happens with an empty sort of haze on his features,
and Zayn hopes to every single god there ever was that that’s what he looks like when he’s coming
up with a masterplan to solve all their problems. Not a single word is said as Zayn keep draining
the tree of its fruit, and several minutes must have passed when he finally puts down the last one
on the ground.
The next couple of seconds go by so quickly that if you’d blink, you’d might just miss it all.
Harry reaches down, shoving all the apples into their bag, and then grabs Zayn by the shoulder.
Loki, immediately realizing the spirit’s intentions, lets out a furious cry and lets go of Fenrir’s
chain.
It all happens within a matter of microseconds, the way Fenrir roars and leaps at them, but Zayn’s
world kind of stops. A thousand thoughts are flowing through his mind at once, colliding with each
other, burying themselves in the back of his mind, banging on his cranium, seeping out through his
ears, replacing themselves with new ones.
He’s going to die. This is it for him. His reckless adventure lasted for a couple of days and now his
time is here, and he’s never going to see any of his new-made friends again. Never going to see
Liam again. Liam, who they are here to save, Liam who may now have to remain a golden statue
forever as the gods of Asgard withers away around him—
As one last reflex, he raises his hands to shield his face, holding them out in front of him as the
final thing he sees before closing his eyes is a massive jaw, open wide and hungrily.
His palm meets a wet nose. And then it meets a rock-hard surface.
And then nothing more happens.
At first, Zayn thinks that he’s dead. He’s entirely convinced for a good twenty seconds, that he’s
dead and gone, and he thinks that wow, at least it was painless. He’s sort of grateful.
Then he realizes that his eyes are still closed, so he slowly and carefully opens them, ready to
comprehend and embrace whatever afterworld he’s now fallen into.
And he’s met by a giant wolf’s open jaw.
It’s golden. Petrified in its place.
Zayn releases a sharp exhale and stumbles backwards as reality and the realization that he’s still
alive washes over him like an ice cold ocean, sending shivers down his spine and tingles through
his veins.
Everything’s completely silent for the longest of time as Zayn and Harry just stands there
completely floored, staring at the enormous lifeless wolf in front of them.
And Loki? Loki looks like he’s about to go into cardiac arrest, jaw slack and eyes blown, snapping
back and forth from Zayn to Harry to Fenrir at a disturbingly rapid pace, trying to make sense of
the situation.
And then he speaks. Or screams, rather.
“What!? How did this happen!?”
He nails Zayn to his spot with an enraged glare.
“How dare you,” he fumes and staggers towards Zayn, hands out as if he’s just waiting to choke
him, “how dare—“
Zayn panics at the frankly murderous fire in Loki’s eyes, and when the god is close enough, Zayn
lets his hands lock around Loki’s wrists and—
And then there are two golden statures. One just as furious—and lifeless—as the other.
Zayn can’t do anything but stare at his creation, if it’s in complete terror or amazement he can’t
tell.
He just transformed an Asgardian and one of their most dangerous beasts… Into statues.
He just turned Loki and Fenrir into statues. With his bare hands.
Beside him, Harry makes his first sound since the apple picking started, and it’s an exasperated and
incredulous—but relieved, nonetheless—laughter.
“Oh my god,” he whimpers in-between snickers. “Oh my god, Zayn.”
He stumbles backwards until his back is against the tree, sinking down against it with a hand on his
stomach.
“That was so fucking awesome.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
Zayn, still holding out his hands in front of his body like they’re some sort of ticking bombs,
allows himself to breathe out a laughter, as well.
They almost died. They almost died. And Zayn?
Zayn just saved them both.
“We’re alive,” he can’t help but grin distractedly. He slouches down on the ground as well, his
hands fisted just in case, but right now he can’t bother to feel bad or worried about his feelings
being out of control.
It’s a kind of shaken up, bitter euphoria that must only be able to stem from surviving a near death
experience. They’re both sitting there, laughing and giggling between heavy breaths, exchanging
amazed looks, settling down into reality again. Things are okay. They’ve got the apples. They’re
going travel back, make the gods young, and they’re going to get Liam back. Zayn’s going to get
Liam back.
They do manage to calm down after a while, finding a steady pace for their breathing and a more
tranquil state of mind, and for a bit they just sit there, staring up into the sky, appreciating being
alive.
Harry is clearly in a good mood right now, Zayn notes, a bit more approachable than usual. So, he
figures that maybe this is his shot at finding out a thing or two about what the spirit thinks of him.
“Not to step on any toes,” he starts reluctantly. “But can I ask you something?”
Harry quirks an eyebrow and looks down with a shrug. “Sure.”
It’s quiet for a bit as Zayn tries to come up with the best way to form his sentence. He doesn’t want
to sound accusing, but he also doesn’t want to sound like a pushover. Or desperate for approval, or
whatever.
“You don’t like me very much,” he lightly states at last, eyes steady on Harry’s face to await the
spirit’s reaction.
The left corner of Harry’s mouth twitches, sporting a dimple.
“That wasn’t a question.”
“I’m just curious, is all.”
Harry sighs.
“I don’t dislike you personally. You’re definitely the most tolerable human I’ve met, it’s not that.
It’s your…”
Harry gestures with his hands into the air as if Zayn will understand what he can’t get into words
from that.
He kind of does, though, and nods.
“My pain?”
“I hurt people on a daily basis. It’s what I do,” Harry continues. “But I never have to… I never
have to see it. The consequences. The bigger picture. I hurt them and I leave. I don’t ever—ever—
get acquainted with them.”
“So hurting people does make you feel guilty,” Zayn says slowly, pieces falling together. “Doesn’t
it?”
“Not if I stay away, it doesn’t,” Harry says quickly.
“I thought spirits of algo—you know. Were programmed not to. Or whatever.”
A breathy laugh slips out of the curly haired boy.
“We might be generally ill willed, but that’s because it’s our job. We’re still souls, Zayn, just like
you. Or Louis. Or Niall, or any of the Gods here. Of course we can feel empathy. Though they try
their best to erase it.”
Zayn doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just nods and lets silence settle in the space between
them. It’s okay, he thinks. Harry’s okay. Zayn likes him.
“You weren’t exactly ecstatic about my presence either,” Harry speaks after a while. “Were you?”
“Well.” Zayn drags out the word, makes it long and contemplating. “It’s not all that fun to know
that a stranger knows your entire tragic backstory by looking at you and you can’t do anything
about it.”
“Yeah. I get that,” Harry hums. “So you weren’t, you know. Scared I’d hurt you or something?”
“No… Not really,” Zayn’s forehead wrinkles. “You seemed too comfortable with the others and
they seemed too comfortable with you. And then I figured that no one with a crush on a fairy can
be truly frightening at heart.”
That rips a sudden reaction out of Harry if anything.
“A cr—“ he sputters. “A crush—I don’t have a crush on Louis! Where the fuck would you get that
from?”
Zayn snorts.
“’Oh no, Louis, you’re you. You’re different’,” he mocks in a deep, drawly voice. “Let me drink
tequila from your belly button and cuddle you all night to prove how much we hate each other.”
“Hey,” Harry reaches over and swats his arm. “First off that sounds nothing like me, and second
—“
There doesn’t really appear to be a second, because Harry just keeps opening and closing his mouth
like he’s at loss for a sensible explanation.
“I just like having someone around who doesn’t treat me like I’m scary,” he tries at last.
“Harry,” Zayn says slowly. “Louis isn’t the only one who does that. I don’t do that, and not Niall
or Liam, either. So unless you feel the same way about us as you do about Louis, it’s probably safe
to say that’s not it.”
Harry doesn’t answer, just looks down on his hands.
“It is okay, you know,” Zayn continues carefully then. “To like him? It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, it is,” Harry deadpans bitterly. “Mother would punish me, and then she would punish him,
and after that I would probably be disowned and Louis would be so traumatized he wouldn’t even
be able to look at me ever again.”
There’s no denial, Zayn notes. Harry is clearly more in touch with his feelings than he cares to
admit.
“So that’s why you’re trying to fight it?”
Zayn waits patiently as Harry struggles with the words, knowing that the spirit must need this.
Must’ve kept a lot inside for a while. With every vulnerable sentence that leaves Harry’s lips
Zayn’s perspective on him changes a little more, too, changes into something more… Human.
“Yes. No.” Harry sighs and pulls his knees up to his torso to rest his elbows on. “I don’t fucking
know what Louis’ position in all this is,” he finally admits. “He’s so. He’s so difficult. Infuriating.
Not only does he always oppose me and deliberately bug me but it’s also… I’ve told him things
about myself that I’ve never told anyone else—and he’s always so amazing about it—but… He
doesn’t really tell me anything. I know him, but I don’t ever really know what he’s thinking
because he doesn’t seem to trust me with that. And I can’t help feeling like this whole ordeal
means more to me than it does to him. And I don’t do that kind of thing.”
It’s kind of blowing Zayn’s mind, how layered and genuine the spirit is. How he admits these
things so delicately, like he knows exactly what he’s saying, has thought it over again and again.
It’s a kind of vulnerability Zayn wouldn’t ever expect to see in him, and he can’t help but feel very
happy Louis so demandingly sent them off so they could have a talk like this. He can’t help but
smile a little as he realizes that Harry isn’t shallow nor suffering a terrible superiority complex, nor
is he as overly confident as he so doubtlessly plays out to be.
Most of Harry’s exterior personality traits are derived from other’s biased perception of him, and
Zayn is all kinds of thankful he gets to see Harry as a creature of depth, of versatility. Someone
who’s both cynical and sensible, proud and eloquent.
“Have you ever asked him anything about himself, then?” he asks slowly.
Harry furrows his brow, deep in thought.
“I… No,” he finally allows. “I guess not.”
“Well. Maybe he’s willing to open up to you too, he just needs a push, you know? It wouldn’t hurt
to just. Ask him what you want to know.”
Harry nods slowly as he considers his. At last he looks up at Zayn and gives him a crooked smile.
“Why am I telling you all of this again?”
Zayn shrugs. “Hey, you’re sitting here perfectly aware of every single painful experience and
weakness I’ve ever had. It’s not more than fair to try and even it out a bit.”
Harry snickers quietly.
“You’re cool, Zayn.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
Zayn feels like maybe they’re supposed to be friends. Like they understand each other on a
different level, like there’s no judgment between them. Now that Harry no longer is a stranger, now
that he’s a person, Zayn feels kind of good about having this person who knows his deepest,
darkest fears, and who faces that with no judgment at all. Just understanding. Just a pair of ears.
Maybe Zayn needs that a whole lot more than he’s imagined.
Maybe Harry feels like that, too.
“So,” the aforementioned starts. “How about we get these apples to Thor so we can get our
beloved werewolf back, huh?”
“Sounds good,” Zayn says, eagerly standing up. “And, uh… Get this guy back, too. Maybe.”
He carefully nudges Loki’s golden shin with his toe. Harry hums seriously.
“Maybe. But let’s leave that to the Gods to decide.”
“Let’s.”
Chapter End Notes
yall: zarry is dead

me: ....... anyways.
SO what's this ????? an update ??,??? that took UNDER A MONTH to produce
????????? WOW !!! (i'm also ignoring abt 3 school assignments due tomorrow while
writing this so @ me congrats)
i hope u like this chapter bc i love u and care for u and want u to enjoy things in life
:')))) also friendly reminder that comments and kudos clear my pores and make my
crumpled soul glow and shine i adore all of u thank u for reading xxxxxxx
as always, u can always talk to me on tumblr @tequiladimples i will 100% shower u

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chapter 19; asgard
Chapter Notes
um ?????? what's THIS ?????? AN UPDATE AFTER 2 DAYS ????????
well. it's a really short chapter bc i feel like this needed to be a chapter on its own,
instead of being lumped together with the rest. but as u can see i'm v much writing and
i'm feeling good abt this and :')))) i hope u enjoy this
Harry and Zayn are gone, and Louis has some business to take care of.
Come on. His plan may be logical and brilliant, but it’s not a complete coincidence that he came up
with a way to get Harry out of the house while he stays behind with Niall. Louis is smarter than
that, more layered than that, thank you very much, and while it is very nice to send Zayn and Harry
away together as a push towards their hopefully blossoming friendship… He has an underlying
motive with this arrangement.
He’s going to talk today. A sleepless night later with his messy, intruding thoughts filling his
defiant head, thoughts he can no longer control, thoughts about Harry and his soft hair and his
plush mouth, it’s clear to Louis that something must be done.
And since he so fortunately holds the company of a cupid, it’s not more than right of him to take
advantage of that. Niall will know what to do. Niall will know what to say to make Louis calm
down. Maybe to make the thoughts go away, even. Niall has seen a lot of love, and Louis is sure
he’ll be able to put out the hot worry in Louis’ stomach, sure he can confirm that no, Louis, you’re
just being silly.
For that talk to happen, though, Harry must be absent, partly because Louis and Harry seem to be
attached at the hip nowadays whether they like it or not, and partly because it’d look a little weird
for Louis to just out of nowhere lock himself somewhere private with Niall for no apparent reason.
He’s going to deal with his Harry problem today. He’s tired of walking around in a constant state of
confusion. It’s time to make sense of things.
So that’s why, as soon as they’ve said goodbye to Harry and Zayn and they’re all inside again,
Louis grabs onto Niall’s arm and pulls him aside.
“We need to talk. Right now. In private.”
Niall raises an eyebrow, but shrugs complyingly.
“Alright. Sure.”
That’s all the confirmation Louis needs, before he drags the cupid up the stairs and into the closest
empty room he can find. (He’s too lazy to search the whole castle for their bedrooms, okay. He’s
just not feeling that kind of treasure hunt right now.)
“You think we’re allowed to be in here?” Niall asks when Louis shuts the door behind them.
They’re in some kind of salon this time, with big, red curtains cladding the walls and spacious,
plush couches to match, and bookshelves reaching all the way up to the ceiling. A common room,
Louis assumes. A nice one at that, comfortable and cozy, very compatible with his whole deep-
love-talk mood.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says dismissively and sits down in one of the two seat couches,
gesturing for Niall to do the same. “This shouldn’t take… Too long. I hope.”
“Okay,” Niall hums, taking a seat beside Louis. “The suspense is killing me. What’s on your
mind?”
Louis just looks at Niall’s earnest face for a moment, not sure where he should start.
“It’s… It’s Harry,” he allows at last. “I’m confused.”
“Ah,” Niall drags out the word, tone nothing but understanding and not even a hint of surprise, and
his position shifts into something more eager. As if he’s waited for this to happen for a long time.
“Of course. What’s confusing you?”
“Well.” Louis scratches his neck. “As you might know… We’ve gotten kind of close lately. And
like, I don’t know why that keeps happening in the first place because—I hate him, right? Or like.
Well. I don’t like him like that, at least.”
Niall’s face manages to stay completely neutral, nodding encouragingly for Louis to continue, so he
does.
“Right. But recently I’ve kind of had these… Feelings? You know, not. No big deal, really but
they’re still there. Like, I just get urges to kiss him or hold him and when he’s sad I just feel—I feel
like something is going to burst. So I’m a bit—lost, if you will. About what those feelings mean.”
“Right.” Niall mimics, ever so calm, only the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. “What does it sound
like they mean, Louis?”
Louis feels his cheeks burning and he’s sure his whole face is sporting a nice pink tint right now,
and he breaks their eye contact.
“I know it sounds like… Like—you know. But it can’t be. It can’t be that, so. I’m not sure what to
make of it.”
“And why can’t it be that?” So soft, so empathetic.
”Because—because it’s not right,” Louis asserts, looking almost pleadingly at the cupid in front of
him. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!”
“How what is supposed to be?”
“Love!” Louis is slowly getting worked up, both because this doesn’t seem like a big deal at all to
Niall, and also because the cupid puts his questions in a light that makes them sound…
Ridiculously easy. And they’re not. They’re not easy for him. “Love is… Love is soft. Love is
pure. Love is kind and warm and nice. Like Liam and Zayn! That’s love, isn’t it? Me and Harry,
we’re… That couldn’t ever be love.”
“But Louis,” Niall smacks his lips and shakes his head. “Louis, Louis. Love comes in many forms.
There’s no strict bucket list for how you’re supposed to experience it. I know it’s easy and
uncomplicated to reduce it to what Liam and Zayn have. Make it a fairytale kind of thing, a clichéd
bliss. But that’s not all there is to the feeling. Love isn’t a fairytale, Louis. We’re too faceted and
complex for it to be.”
What is this. What is this.
Not to be dramatic, but Louis feels… lied to. Louis feels like his entire life is a lie. One thing that
he’s always been certain of, is that love is the antidote for all the bad, for all negativity. That it’s
sweet and innocent and beautiful, the fresh and passionate breeze to come and whisk him away
from grey concretes. He fists his hands in his hair, trying to make sense of it all.
“Then what is it?” he asks.
“It’s unfair,” Niall shrugs. “It’s fickle. It’s shaded. Just like every other emotion, because that’s
what it is, Louis, it’s an emotion. Not some sort of salvation. And it’s very rarely what you want it
to be. People are exposed to unhappy kinds of love all the time—unrequited love, manipulative
love, falling out of love. It’s not always pleasant, Louis. I would even say love is the greatest pain
of all. And if you asked Harry, I’m sure he would agree, too.”
Oh my god. Oh my god.
Every single word Niall speaks makes sense. It makes sense, sounds so painfully reasonable and it
terrifies Louis.
“But it can’t be,” he tries hopelessly, clinging onto the last bit of safety he has. “I—we fight! We
fight all the time! And we bicker, and we yell, and we hurt…”
“… And you are exactly what both of you need,” Niall finishes. “Don’t you see that?”
“We hate each other,” Louis almost whispers. “How can that be something we both need?”
“You don’t hate him, Louis,” Niall tilts his head knowingly. “You know you don’t. You like
having someone who keeps up with you. You enjoy the bickering, you enjoy the challenge. You
like that he opens up to you. You see good in him, Louis, more than any of us, and you don’t hate
him.”
Louis is quiet.
“You are exactly what the other needs,” Niall continues. “Because you need someone to push you.
Harry needs someone who’s not scared of him. He needs someone who’s not afraid to defy him,
who doesn’t suck up to him and does anything he wants to just because they could risk being hurt.
And you, Louis, you need someone who doesn’t treat you like you’re breakable. You need
someone who doesn’t look at you and is immediately afraid to harm you.”
“That’s not true,” Louis mumbles. “Harry’s called me weak numerous times.”
Niall sighs deeply, and Louis knows he’s being difficult. He knows. He just. It’s a lot to take in.
It’s not like he can just go oh yeah, seems like I’m in love with the only creature I’ve ever thought
myself to hate. Big deal. It’s too overwhelming.
“Sure, he might’ve in the past, but you’re completely missing the point. When he says stuff like
that, it’s to press your buttons. It’s because he knows that that’s your weak spot. Not because he
believes it to be true. Just like you’ve made quips about his powers and his origins. And besides,
there’s a difference between calling someone breakable and treating someone like they’re
breakable. When has Harry ever tried to stop you from doing something because he thinks you’re
weak? When has he laughed at your determination or not listened to your plans because he thinks
you’re naïve? Give me one time.”
Louis doesn’t have an answer once again. He bites his thumbnail uncomfortably and closes his
eyes, because he feels something wet burn in the corners of them and he can’t do this now.
“I figured,” Niall nods, taking the fairy’s silence as confirmation. “It’s what you need. You need
someone to show you the bad, just like Harry needs someone to show him the good, because
without the other, neither can exist.”
The fairy feels extremely small in his seat. Thoughts are whirling and twirling inside his head,
making him dizzy and nauseous. This isn’t at all what he’s planned, his plan was to get some kind
of confirmation that he wasn’t actually catching feelings for Harry so he could finally move on
with his life and stop being so confused, but this… This is the blatant opposite, and he can’t even
help it.
He thinks of Harry, he thinks of how the spirit tells him things he doesn’t tell anyone else, he
thinks of soft touches and patient words, he thinks of how he made that earth human cry and gasp
for air because he disrespected Louis, he thinks of how he’s slowly started to hand out tiny
compliments and give Zayn a chance because Louis wants him to acknowledge the good in
people.
And Louis thinks of himself, his want to know more about Harry, his determination to help him,
his cuddling and his handholding and his stupid fucking kissing, how he trusts Harry with
everything and how safe he feels, and. And. And.
“You know,” Niall says carefully. “I have actually never seen two creatures so obviously being
two halves of a whole before.”
And god, Louis is so royally fucked.
“Niall,” he whimpers, fighting back tears because this has been so much to push away, to hold
back, suppress, suppress, suppress, and it’s all been building up for what feels like forever and fuck.
“Niall, what do I do?”
Niall, clearly noticing how distressed this is making his friend, inches closer and puts his arms
around Louis. Holds him there, holds him still, and Louis lets himself be held because he feels like
without the warm pressure of another comforting body keeping him grounded he might just fall
apart altogether.
“You accept it,” the cupid says, stroking a hand comfortably up and down Louis’ back. “You just
accept it.”
Chapter End Notes
:D
i cannot belieb things are Happening
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chapter 20; asgard
Chapter Summary

be easier.)
Chapter Notes
there's some sexual content towards the end of this chapter. u have been warned xx
It’s a little weird, now. Louis has calmed down to the point where he just feels a little empty, a little
disoriented and kind of oddly light.
He’s glad it takes Harry and Zayn a little longer than expected to get back—of course there is the
worry that something might’ve happened to them, he’s not stupid and he’s not completely careless
—but regardless, because it gives him some time to recompose himself, let this new concept settle
in, and if he’s going to be quite honest?
He’s a little bit scared to face Harry now. Will it be different for him, will he feel different things?
Louis doesn’t know, but he hopes so intensely that it’ll be fine. He’d hate to lose their whole
effortless teasing dynamics just because he had to go and fall in love.
Or, not fall in love, maybe. It’s too soon for those kind of words, isn’t it? It must be.
But then again, he also thinks of the words Sif said to Zayn last night, remembers thinking very
highly of them. “If you’re confident enough that it’ll happen in the future to say ‘yet’ right now, I
don’t see why we cannot just take a shortcut.”
Louis can see it, is the thing. In some version of time, where he’s sure Harry actually likes him
back and they both don’t fight their feelings into exhaustion, he can see it happen. And he’s scared
fucking shitless.
It’s cruel, really, that this is giving him so much stress when he’s been longing for that pink tinted
butterfly feeling of falling in love all his life. It’s the one thing, except attending UoT (which—that
went really well too, didn’t it?), that he’s truly been yearning for in his existence.
He’s been so naïve karma had to take him down a notch.
According to Niall, Harry is supposed to feel the same, they’re supposed to be it for each other, but
not even that Louis can have complete faith in, once the doubts and overthinking make their
entrance.
Niall sat with him for a long time, hugging him and telling him that it’s okay for as long as Louis
needed it, and then left to give Louis some time on his own to process. Louis isn’t sure how good
of an idea that last part was. Leaving Louis alone to process things usually make matters worse.
Which is why, when Niall finally shows up again in the doorway, Louis is relieved at the thought
of some company.
That’s not what Niall’s having in mind though, eyes wide with joy as he only peaks his head in to
utter a single statement.
“They’re back!”
Something cold twists in Louis chest at the same time as a wave of ecstasy washes over him.
They’re back. They’re back, they’re not dead, but they’re back. Which is to say, Harry is back.
Which is to say, Louis’ time to let things sink in is over.
“They’re okay?” he asks immediately.
“Yeah, yeah, it looks like it, come on!”
They both hurry on light feet out of the common room, down the stairs and out into the massive
hallway, where, as promised, Harry and Zayn are standing with giddy smiles and tired eyes.
Louis forgets for a second, that things are supposed to be different now, and he dives in with the
intention of pulling them both in for a hug.
But then his eyes fall on Harry, really fall on him, and he has to stop in his tracks. He settles a few
feet away from the pair, toes pointing inwards and pursing his mouth to the side. Will a hug make
something erupt in him now? Should things be different, should Louis feel changed looking at
Harry now, now that there’s no doubt anymore?
There’s so much stopping Louis, and the fairy absolutely hates it. If this whole liking Harry thing
is also going to ruin whatever thing they’ve managed to build up, then Louis is one hundred
percent sure that it’s definitely not worth it.
But he doesn’t get more time to think it over because then Harry approaches him instead. He stops
to stand unnecessarily closely to the fairy, and Louis’ breath hitches. It’s not noticeable, he doesn’t
think, because Harry doesn’t seem to pay any attention to it and gives Louis a crooked smile.
The minute he actually gets to take a proper look at the fairy, though, that smile drops off of his
face immediately, morphing into something concerned. Louis realizes with mortification that he
must still be a bit red and puffy from his previous crying. He tries to look unbothered.
Harry doesn’t.
“Have you been crying?” he asks, brows furrowing and he looks so endlessly genuine Louis wants
to cry again.
“No,” he lies, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He’s certainly not just going to admit it.
Of course it doesn’t work, because Harry doesn’t look even the tiniest bit convinced, and Louis
also figures that if there’s one single person who definitely recognizes a person who’s recently
been crying, it’s probably Harry. So rather than calming down, the spirit’s eyes harden
momentarily, narrowing a little.
“Did someone do something? If someone hurt you I swear to fucking—“
“No one hurt me,” Louis snaps. “God, I’m not even crying, I told you.”
Harry quietens as his face softens again, and he tilts his head, bringing a hand up to Louis’ cheek to
lightly trace the puffiness under his eyes. Louis’ heart makes a series of flips.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong, though, right?” he murmurs, so sincere, and it tears at
Louis’ chest. He wants to cry, definitely, desperately wants to cry. He doesn’t.
“Yeah, sure,” he breathes.
It’s not silent for more than two seconds, before Louis opens his mouth again in eager search for a
subject change.
“But hey, look at you,” he states lightly. “You made it.”
“We did,” Harry agrees, smile growing again as he seemingly chooses to go along with it, and
Louis is thankful. “Zayn’s cool.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
Harry bites his lip and eyes Louis pensively for a moment.
“It’s been three minutes since I walked through the door and I haven’t heard an insult yet. I’m
impressed.”
Louis scoffs.
“I needed to know you’re in one piece first. I have standards, I’m not going to kick you if you’re
already down.”
That pulls a laugh out of Harry, short and sweet, his eyebrows twitching competitively.
“That kind of moral is what’ll have you losing your battles,” he says with feigned wistfulness.
And something comes loose in Louis then. The tight ice squeezing at his lungs melts away and his
shoulders sink down to their usual level. Nothing’s changed. Louis might have come to terms with
big things, and he might be shaken up, but this is still Harry. Caring, sincere, sensible. Teasing,
menacing, challenging.
And Louis is fine.
He puffs his chest out and pats Harry’s shoulder.
“No, Harold. That kind of moral is what’s keeping you alive,” he states amiably, before moving his
attention to the two other boys who are now approaching them, too.
“Man, we have quite the story to tell,” Zayn exclaims, slapping a hand onto Harry’s back, and
Harry grins at him.
“Zayn is officially the coolest,” he states.

Niall and Louis exchange surprised but amused looks at how friendly the two boys suddenly have
become. If a tiny needle pinches Louis heart at Harry calling Zayn the coolest and not Louis, then
that’s completely insignificant and irrational.
Then heavy but hurried steps are heard from the dining room, and Thor emerges with a fervent
expression on his aged face.
“The apples? Do you have them?” he asks instantly as he comes closer, not even welcoming them
back in his hurry.
Zayn hauls his backpack off him to zip it open and show Thor what can be nothing but the golden
fruit he craves so desperately. It’s filled to the brim with them, shiny and mesmerizing and glowing
from the lights of the torches on the wall.
Thor almost bursts into tears from pure joy and enthusiasm, enveloping Zayn into a bone crushing
hug that leaves the human kind of pale and out of breath, before taking the backpack with shaky
hands.
“Thank you,” he says in the most heartfelt tone, to all four of them. “You’ve saved our lives and
we’ll be delighted to return this favour. And you’re of course staying for dinner.”
No one really has any objections.
Louis isn’t a jealous person. He really isn’t. He’s always perceived jealousy as a vile emotion that
only affects the spiteful and insecure, and he’s confident and loves himself plenty enough to not
feel worry or possessiveness like that.
But Harry and Zayn are being such buddies, laughing and eagerly finishing each other’s sentences
as they tell Louis and Niall all about what they’ve missed out on when they stayed here in the
mansion. It’s like they’ve been friends forever, and with Harry’s suddenly being so comfortable
and—well, glowing, around the human now, it’s rubbing Louis the wrong way. It’s gnawing on his
bones, sending an itchy feeling through his fingers.
“So Fenrir takes a leap at us, and I really do think it's all over at that point, but then—Zayn shoots
his hands forwards, and just when Fenrir is about to bite our heads off, he fucking turns him into
gold,” Harry tells with much fervor and enthusiastic hand motions. “Just like that.”
Zayn beams, and Louis can see that he’s proud, and Louis loves that, is so happy he did that, but
his blood still won’t run quite unimpededly, tiny teeth still biting into his veins.
“I didn’t even mean for it to happen,” he says. “I was just—I really thought we were going to die,
too. And then when I opened my eyes I had Fenrir’s golden jaw one inch from my face.”
“Loki certainly didn't take it well,” Harry sniggers. “He just went ballistic.”
“Yeah, god. He was… so angry,” Zayn shakes his head.
“So what did you do, Zayn?”

“I turned him into gold, too.”
Harry gives him a high five and a laugh, and Louis’ stomach is dropping by the minute.
“You turned—“ Niall cuts in, eyes blown proportionally wide. “You turned Loki, into gold? The
god?”
Thor lets out a roaring laughter from his end of the table, and Zayn bites the inside of his cheek.
“To be fair, he had just released a giant wolf to kill us and I was kind of emotionally unbalanced.”
“It was amazing,” Harry sighs dreamily. “Honestly, if it weren’t for Zayn… We probably wouldn’t
have made it back.”
Louis looks down on his lap and he feels a bit like throwing up, partly of course because he was
that close to losing them both and he was the one who sent them out there and he didn’t even know,
and partly—fuck, he feels so ashamed, he feels horrendous because the face that his emotions are
even making this a priority right now is inexcusable—but partly because Zayn saved Harry. Zayn is
now the object for Harry’s sparkly gaze, he’s the one who gets to sit next to the spirit and tell a
wild story with him and throw an arm around his neck.
And Louis can’t help but feel it, that ugly, disgusting feeling of that should be me.
It’s not a love thing—he’s well aware of how head over heels Zayn is for Liam, and Harry knows
that too. It’s an I’m usually the one who jokes around with you and makes you laugh and I’d like to
think I get to see sides of you that others don’t but now you’re shining around someone else and he
can make gold with a touch of his hand and I can't and I don’t know how to feel about this.
He just feels like maybe now Harry will start preferring Zayn’s company over Louis’, is all.
Because after all, he doesn’t know what Harry’s exact feelings for him are, and he hates being this
unsure, this clueless. This inferior.
And Zayn is amazing, isn’t he? Cool and laidback and intellectual in a very humble and not-
obnoxious way, doesn’t have a temper fickler than a stormy sky or an insufferable pride complex,
and he’s not constantly picking fights with Harry, either. Unlike himself. And Louis knows Harry’s
said that he likes the bickering in a way, that he likes the way Louis dares to, but surely he must
grow tired of that eventually? The small, nagging fear he always has that Harry will one day stop
finding his everpresent defiance stimulating and give all of it up scrapes at the corners of his chest
now.
“I can’t believe you turned Loki into gold.” Niall shakes his head.
“Eh,” Thor waves a hand dismissingly. “The bastard got what’s coming to him.”
"I don’t actually think Loki’s bad, though," Zayn says, a thoughtful wrinkle between his eyebrows.
"I mean, he’s made out to be evil. But he’s not. He doesn’t do things to cause others true harm—
he’s just self-preserving.”
“He threatened to kill you. And you don’t think he’s bad?” Louis can’t help but to blurt out, highly
sceptical as he tries to make sense of that reasoning.
“No, Zayn’s… Kind of right,” Harry interferes, and it’s so bad, so childish, but Louis veins tighten
at the spirit agreeing with Zayn instead of with Louis. “He did have a point with it all. He wasn’t
actually out to kill anyone. He wanted everyone to have the apples as much as we did—he just also
wanted something out of it himself. If he now is the god of mischief, who would he be if his
morals weren't slightly blurred? Besides, from what I know, he always repairs the damage he
makes if he can. He’s not evil. He’s fucking annoying, though, regardless."
“He’s a menace, is what he is,” Sif says, a depreciating curl of her lip. “When trouble comes
arround, Loki is always behind it.”
"Hm," Louis is silent for a while as he lets that sink in. "So he’s not a villain, just an
inconvenience?" He gives the spirit opposite him a meaning look. "Harry, I think you have a lot in
common with this guy."
Harry snorts and rolls his eyes, and Louis had hoped insulting him would make himself feel a little
better, and while it was quite a good insult, it doesn’t quite do the trick.
He looks up again just in time for Niall to catch his eyes for a quick moment, pursing his mouth to
the side and tilting his head a little and Louis is so exposed he honestly just wants to get up and
leave.
The dinner continues under light chattering that Louis doesn’t really participate in. He can feel
Harry’s eyes on him, careful and apprehensive, and he refuses to meet them for the remainder of
their time at the table.
Sif fulfills her end of the bargain.
All the boys follow her up to the room they landed in only yesterday—accompanied by one more
servant whose job seems to be to just follow Sif around—where the Liam statue is still standing
painfully lifeless and tragically beautiful. There’s an prickling in Louis’ chest from looking at him,
and he chooses to focus his attention on Zayn for a bit instead, to make sure he’s okay.
The human looks hopelessly aggrieved, but there’s a hopeful glint in his eyes and straightness in
his posture as he follows Sif with his gaze when she approaches Liam. When he abruptly lets out a
shaky exhale, Louis understands that Sif must have started her reversing, and he turns his head
back to watch.s
Sif has enveloped Liam’s petrified hand in both of her own, her eyes closed and concentrating.
Slowly but surely, the skin on Liam’s arms starts shifting, moving like a gradual wave from his
hand to his elbows to his shoulder to his chest, spreading and coloring and restoring.
The last thing to be unpetrified is his face, and the moment it does, Liam sinks down on the floor
like his shoulders are weighing thousands of tons, like his body isn’t quite used to being human
again yet.
Zayn takes a breath so erratic and sharp it sounds like he’s about to break into tiny fragments, and
in two seconds flat he’s by Liam’s side, hands tightly fisted as they press against Liam’s back, but
nonetheless—he’s holding the werewolf for dear life, as if his entire wellbeing is dependent on
Liam’s body warmth.
Liam is evidently perplexed as he blinks rapidly numerous times to get used to his surroundings,
but he locks his arms around Zayn too without even thinking. Like it’s his natural reflex. As if
they’re supposed to be attached like this.
Louis has to look away after only a little while, intensely feeling like he’s intruding on something
that’s not for him to see.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Zayn speaks into Liam’s neck, “oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
“What… What happened?” Liam mumbles. He doesn’t let go.
Zayn just shakes his head, not even able to speak the words out loud.
“Zayn, uh,” Niall instead starts in his place. “Zayn has a power. That we didn’t know about. Turns
out he has golden hands.”
Liam frowns. “Zayn’s an Earth Human.”
“Not… Exactly,” Niall says slowly. “He’s actually from Grimm, we’ve figured out. Which is why
his powers work here, but of course it’s all new and Zayn didn’t know, so then when you took his
hand to help him he… He turned you into gold.”
Zayn whimpers and his grip on Liam tightens.
“I’m really sorry,” he stresses.
Liam doesn’t looks upset in the slightest. A little dazed, yeah, confused, edges softened with
exhaustion, but not a single part of his facial expression expresses any sort of discontentment.
“Zayn’s from Grimm?” he just whispers, and Louis hears nothing but wonderment.
Niall’s smile goes gentle.
“Yeah.”
And Liam looks like he’s about to pass out at any moment, but that confirmation makes him smile
so genuinely Louis almost tears up.
“I swear I’m never going to let that happen again,” Zayn declares. “God, I promise.”
“You’ll learn how to control it eventually,” Sif adds as a sort of consolation. “And when you do,
when you know your powers like the back of your hand, it’ll only be to your biggest advantage.”
Zayn nods in swift motions, finally letting go off Liam a little to face the goddess easier.
“But,” Sif continues. “That could very well take a while. And you do not deserve to live a life
completely shut off from any sort of physical contact while you work it out. So I had these made
for you.”
She wiggles her finger for her servant to approach her and he does, handing her a pair of shiny
golden gloves.
“I had these sewn from strands of my hair,” she explains. “Since it’s already made from gold, it
will suppress your powers, should you ever need it. Only until you’ve learned to control it. I could
even start giving you lessons, if you like. If you’d like to stay here for a little longer you’re all very
welcome.”
“Perhaps… One more night?” Liam requests weakly, and the rest of them nod, too.
“We’d love to stay until Liam’s recovered,” Louis confirms, and Sif nods heartily.
Zayn and Liam try to stand up, and Louis immediately springs forward to help them up, slipping an
arm around Liam’s waist and squeezing to signify that he’s happy to have him back.
“I missed you, Liam,” he says brightly, and Liam gives him a frail upturn of his mouth.
They start to exit the room to try and get Liam to a bed where he can finally get some proper rest.
Niall and Harry follow closely behind, both also welcoming Liam back warmly, rubbing his back
and mumbling comforting words. Sif watches them fondly.
“You are very brave,” she says. “To travel like this, trying to make things right. It’s a very
admirable deed.”
Louis’ heart swells with the pride from getting complimented by an Asgardian god, but Niall just
purses his mouth.
“I don’t know if we’ve maybe just started taking for granted that we’ll be okay by now. We’ve had
such incredible flow with what worlds we’ve gotten into so far I’m starting to think someone’s
sending us places on purpose,” he mutters.
Since they’re now one person more in need of a bedroom, Niall insists that Liam takes his former
bed and the cupid takes a new room. No one is surprised.
Which, of course, still leave Harry and Louis with their huge single bed. Louis doesn’t know
whether to laugh or cry.
He’s currently lying horizontally on said bed, nervously stroking the sheets underneath him and
watching Harry’s back move under the thin fabric of his shirt where he stands across the room,
crouched over their backpack in search for something fit for sleeping in. He has quite a nice back,
Louis notes. Truly very nice.
Harry suddenly stops in his tracks, though, shaking Louis out of his trance, and then starts
laughing.
“What?” Louis sits up, peeking at Harry, intrigued at what pulled that reaction out.
Harry turns around and holds a bottle in the air. Louis hasn’t seen it before, and his forehead
wrinkles.
“Niall’s funny,” Harry snickers.
“What’s that?”
There’s a playful twinkle in the spirit’s eyes.
“It’s lube.”
“Oh.” Louis can feel his skin go hot and he just knows he’s all different kinds of red right now. He
looks down on his hands as Harry puts the bottle back down in the bag again with a low chuckle.
“Niall can’t help himself, can he?” he muses. “I mean, his job is to get Liam and Zayn together. I
think he’s kind of going beyond his assignments with this. ”
Louis clenches his jaw at Harry’s words, the spirit obviously still so unaware of the fact that Liam
and Zayn aren’t at all the only ones Niall’s been waiting to help get together. Louis wishes he
himself didn’t have to know, either. It’s terribly draining to be knowing all alone.
Not that he’s very keen on the idea of letting Harry in on the information, either. He knows that
according to Niall it’s supposed to be mutual and he knows that based on Harry’s actions around
Louis it probably is, too.
But there’s still that tiny, trembling part of him, sitting in the back of his head and whispers into his
psyche about rejection, rejection, he could reject you. And because of that, he doesn’t say
anything. Not yet, at least.
An even tinier, but infinitely more hopeful part of him doesn’t say anything because if Harry’s
going to fall for him, Louis doesn’t want it to be because he knows Niall thinks they belong
together.
If Harry’s going to like Louis, he’s going to like him because he just does.
“Yeah,” Louis says instead and forces out a quiet laugh, but it sounds a little nervous and out of
place.
Harry clearly notices, giving Louis a raised eyebrow before sauntering over to the bed and
dropping down next to Louis on his back. It’s quiet for a bit but Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on
him, trying to figure out what exactly has Louis so quiet and caught up in his own head all of a
sudden.
“We… You know we don’t have to use it, right?” Harry starts lowly, and when Louis turns his
head to look at him the spirit’s eyes are soft, hazy forests. So much like home.
“Hm?”
“The lube,” Harry clarifies. “I wasn’t—suggesting anything. I just thought it was funny. And just
because Niall planted it there doesn’t mean you should feel obligated, or anything. If. If that’s
what you’re thinking about.”
“Oh.” That’s not actually what Louis has been thinking about, but the reassuring and patience that
Harry once again provides him with, not once acting like their massive gap in experience is a
burden to him, has Louis’ stomach bright like a summer morning, anyway. (He wouldn’t mind,
actually, he doesn’t think. Using the lube, that is. Not at all, really, if he thinks about it.) “Yeah, I
know.”
Harry nods slowly, eyes narrowed just slightly and Louis pretends not to see it as he drags his knees
up to his chest, running clammy hands over his bare calves.
“But, um,” he starts timidly, partly searching for a subject to break the silence, and partly because
he can’t hold it in. “I’m glad you’re such good friends with Zayn now, though.”
He means it, he does. This is something he’s wanted for them since they met Zayn, and he is happy
they’ve found such comfort in each other. It’s just. He’d quite like to keep being special and he has
to fight really hard to not let any petty bitterness seep through when he utters the words.
Harry intertwines his hands behind his head and crosses his legs.
“Me, too,” he speaks around a smile. “It’s actually—it’s nice. I’ve never actually had a genuine
friend like that, I think? He just. He gets it.”
The sentiment is lovely, but Louis can’t help the ugly, pointed ice tips of hurt jabbing at his heart
at the confession.
“You have me,” he can’t stop himself from voicing, very quietly. He doesn’t dare look at the spirit,
because he doesn’t have control over his facial features right now and if Harry actually sees him
he’ll get to see how bothered Louis actually is by the revelation.
“Yeah I know, I just,” Harry pauses and Louis closes his eyes, hoping to god what he says next
won’t sting as much as he anticipates it to. “It’s… You’re different. It’s like. I don’t know.”
“Different how?” Louis questions, knows he should let it go, knows he should stop this now and
go back to acting like he doesn’t care at all, but he can’t find it within himself to. Not after this
emotional mess of a day. He’s too exhausted to put on some kind of indifferent show.
“Well, I—I haven’t gotten Zayn off in a changing room, for one.”
“So it’s the sex,” Louis states.
“No, no, it’s not just that, you know that’s not what I mean at all. Why are you even so—?”
And then Harry cuts himself off abruptly and the room goes quiet for quite a while. Louis gets both
uncomfortable and puzzled because he’s lowkey dying for an argument to let off some steam, and
at last he must turn his head to look at Harry and see what made him stop.
When he meets the spirit’s gaze, Harry’s already watching him with a growing smirk on his lips.
He slowly raises an eyebrow.
“You’re jealous,” he states, and it’s with the exact same sort of convinced, smug delight as he had
that time they first met. I know you.
Louis flushes.
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“You totally are jealous, though,” Harry insists, smirk progressively sliding into a grin, and he
props himself up on his elbows. “I can’t believe you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
Harry chuckles and shuffles closer.
“You’re jealous of Zayn.”
“Objectively, who isn’t of that face, but it has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me. That’s why you’re blushing so hard right now.”
“I’m not blushing!” Louis exclaims, throwing Harry a pointed glare, and it doesn’t affect the spirit
at all. His expression continues to be amused, cocky and—fond, almost, and his tongue darts out to
wet his upper lip, leaning in closer. It doesn’t make Louis shift to shake off the hotness pooling in
the pit of his stomach. Not at all.
“I’m flattered, Lou, I really am, but you should also know it’s unnecessary.”
His breath is hot on Louis ear and Louis shudders, closing his eyes and shaking his head in small,
swift motions. The nickname and the smile in Harry’s deep voice is a little too much for him, and
he’s painfully aware of how his pants has grown just a bit tighter in the crotch area.
God. When exactly his ability to control himself worsened this much, he doesn’t know.
Harry lets out another warm chuckle, and then he plants a small kiss on Louis’ cheekbone, before
leaning back again.
“You’re cute,” he grins, lying down in the same position as he had before, looking infinitely
pleased with himself.
Louis skin is burning now, tickling where Harry’s soft lips had just been, endlessly gentle and
barely grazing before they’re gone again, and though the gesture was so sweet it makes Louis
quiver, his reaction to it isn’t entirely as pure.
Louis may have not been in the mood for this yesterday, but now his yearning to have those lips
back on his mouth and his skin and between his teeth is overwhelming.
Barely realizing himself what he’s doing, he turns around swiftly, swinging a leg over Harry’s
waist to straddle him and pushing his hands down on Harry’s shoulders to support himself. Harry’s
tongue-in-cheek smile drops right off his face, his lips parting and his eyes darkening and once
again, Louis really does appreciate how easily he keeps up. They just breathe for a second, Louis
trying to figure out for a panicked moment where to go from here. It’s not like he does this often.
It’s first when Harry’s slack jaw slowly recovers, corners of his mouth pulling back into an awed
sneer that Louis remembers why he’s doing this, thinks of I know you, thinks of you’re jealous.
Harry infuriates him to no end. Harry doesn’t get to know shit like this.
“I’m not jealous,” he all but growls, before leaning down and locking their lips.
Harry responds immediately, sighing into Louis’ mouth and letting his hands travel down Louis
torso to settle on his hips, pulling him down harder. Louis almost trembles from how much he
craves this, and he reaches to hold onto Harry’s hair, tugging at the curls and earning a beautiful
groan from Harry, vibrating all the way into his bones.
He needs to be close, needs to feel Harry’s hair and his skin burn under his fingertips and he needs
Harry’s lips pulling moans from his mouth, needs to kiss him until he can’t breathe anymore.
So when Harry finally rolls his hips up to meet the growing bulge in Louis jeans, Louis eyes almost
roll all the way back into his head.
“This is a really nice bed,” he manages to breathe out between kisses, echoing Harry’s words from
the day before. “Should we take advantage of it?”
Harry huffs out a shaky laugh and catches Louis’ lower lip between his teeth.
“Would be a shame otherwise,” he smirks, reaching down to palm Louis through his jeans.
The pressure has Louis hissing and he can’t stop himself from grinding up searching for more
friction. He should maybe be embarrassed, for being this needy this quickly, but Harry just looks at
him like Louis hung the stars so he can’t really bring himself to.
“What do you want?” Harry asks against Louis’ parted lips.

Louis finds himself at loss at first, because he wants everything. He wants Harry to keep thrusting
his hips forward, he wants Harry’s hands on him, he—kind of wants to put that lube to use.
But most of all, in that moment, a tinge of bitterness and craving for validation still hanging over
him, he wants to make Harry feel good. He still remembers the blinding satisfaction and pride from
making moans slip from that plush mouth, and he’s kind of been longing to do that again ever
since. Especially now, he wants—he needs—to be Harry’s favorite, to make him writhe and groan,
and most of all—praise Louis.
“I want.” He hesitates first, tasting the unfamiliar words on his tongue. “I want to suck you off.”
He certainly does not for a second miss the way Harry’s breath hitches, the “shit” that tumbles out
under his breath.
“You sure? I don’t want you to feel like—”
“I’m sure,” Louis interrupts firmly.
They look at each other for a long time, Harry evidently searching for some kind of sign of
pressure or reluctance in Louis’ face. He doesn’t find anything, presumably because Louis is
feeling neither pressured nor reluctant, and at last he just nods, eyelids fluttering.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Fuck.”
The corners of Louis’ mouth twitch at the approval and he reaches to unzip Harry’s jeans, pushing
them down all the way to ankles where Harry proceeds to kick them off, and the fairy hovers over
the bulge in Harry’s boxers for a moment before pulling them down, too.
Harry shudders a little when his erection is finally released, hard and leaking against his stomach,
and Louis wets his lips.
“Just. Tell me if I’m doing something wrong,” he utters lowly. It’s not like he’s suddenly forgotten
about the fact that he’s literally never done this before, neither has anyone done this to him, while
Harry is most likely more than experienced. It does make Louis’ stomach shift a little, but it also
really makes him want to do it well. He needs to be the fucking best at things, even if he’s never
taken them on before.
It can’t be that hard. Just try to do what you’d want in his position.
So with those words, he leans down and grabs the base of Harry’s cock, giving it a couple of
pumps that has Harry’s breathing slightly more erratic, before taking the tip into his mouth and
letting his tongue lick around it.
Harry immediately slips his hands down to tangle in Louis’ hair, and it spurs Louis on even more.
He pops off for a moment to lick a wet strip along the underside and definitely notes how Harry’s
grip tightens, and then starts going further down on him again, careful to not let any teeth graze
Harry’s dick has he works on bobbing his head up and down until he finds a steady rhythm. When
he hollows his cheeks to suck even more fervently, Harry lets out a groan and it’s evident he’s
keeping himself from bucking up into Louis’ mouth.
“So good,” he hums and loosens one of his hands from Louis’ locks to softly stroke his fingers
along Louis’ defined cheekbone. “Doing so well.”
Louis’ chest swells with satisfaction at that, and with sparklers around his heart and fireworks
shooting through his veins he relaxes his throat, determined to be even better.
He sinks further and further down, careful and slow to prohibit himself from choking. Harry’s big,
and he doesn’t make it all the way to the base but a good way there and when he swallows around
Harry’s pulsating cock the spirit gives out the most delicious moan Louis’ ever heard in his life,
causing his head fade into a blissful blur as he keeps going, swirling and massaging and caressing
with his tongue to lure out more sounds and reactions from Harry.
“Look at me,” Harry demands tenderly, letting his fingers wander to Louis’ fringe to brush it out of
his face. It’s such a sweet gesture, so delicate and careful and Louis thinks that in this moment, in
this moment he would do anything Harry asked him to.
He does raise his gaze to find Harry already watching him, eyes glossy and lips bitten blood red.
It’s such a lovely look on him, and Louis doesn’t break their eye contact as he continues to go up
and down, stopping to lick the sensitive spot right under the head, and Harry lets out a string of
cuss words that makes Louis so close to bursting with light and heat. He feels like he should be
visibly glowing right now, sunshine saturating his entire being with every heavy breath Harry
takes.
Louis can see when Harry’s starting to get close, because his eyelids start fluttering more rapidly
and his stomach tenses up to suppress thrusts.
“Close,” he breathes, confirming Louis’ suspicions, and Louis take his mouth off of him, instead
concentrating on speeding up his hand motions, twisting around the base the way he learned last
time they’d done this.
With a final groan, Harry comes over Louis’ hand. A little squirts up and lands across the corner of
Louis’ mouth and he sticks his tongue out to taste it. It’s salty and bitter and apparently really doing
it for Harry, because the spirit lets out a ‘fucking hell’ and pulls Louis up to kiss him, a hand on
each side of Louis’ face and Louis thinks it feels like what moonrise looks like.
Louis himself is still painfully hard in his own pants, almost desperate for release, which is why he
nearly hisses when Harry lowers his hands to undo Louis’ pants and tug them down.
“Want to try something,” Harry mumbles into Louis mouth, fiddling with the hem of Louis’ boxer
briefs suggestively. “Do you trust me?”
Louis’ eyes flutter open, and Harry’s deep green eyes are so close, so gentle, so fond, so lustful,
and Louis trusts him with his life. He just breathes out a “yes” onto Harry’s raspberry lips, and he
can feel them stretch momentarily before Harry pulls away.
“On your knees,” he asks lowly. “Face into the pillow. Can you do that?”
Louis swallows, the roughness in Harry’s voice as he speaks going straight to his dick. He just
nods, well aware that if he’ll try talking now he’ll surely not get more than a whimper out, anyway.
The pillow is soft and soothing against his face as he lays it down. He’s quite happy Harry can’t
really see his face like this, because he’s definitely sporting a deep blush at the position. He feels
very exposed, endlessly vulnerable in a way he can’t ever see himself getting used to.
It’s not in a bad way, though. He knows he’s safe. He trusts Harry.
Harry slowly pulls Louis’ jeans and boxers completely off of him, putting them in a neat pile at the
foot of the bed, before focusing all his attention back on Louis.
Louis can hear him shift, coming closer, and the curly haired boy groans at the sight in front of
him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, roaming his hands over Louis’ ass, and Louis buries his
face even more into the pillow to try and cool down the heat burning from his neck to his ears and
onto his cheeks.
Then Harry licks a stripe from Louis’ perineum to his rim, and Louis inhales sharply, a jolt going
through his entire body.
“Fuck,” he splutters, trying to regain control over himself through the hazy, pastel cloud of pleasure
seeping into his thoughts.
“You okay?” Harry asks, still very sincerely but Louis can practically hear the smug smile taking
over his face.
“Yeah,” Louis nods. “Yeah. Fantastic.”
So Harry spreads Louis’ cheeks and does it again, starts swirling his tongue up and down and
around the rim, and Louis’ toes are curling from the sensation. He has to bite down hard on his
lower lip to stop any embarrassing moans from slipping out, only letting small whimpers fall from
his tongue and into the silk fabric of his pillow.
Harry seems to notice his efforts though, and stops for a second. Louis almost whines with
disapproval when the tingling pressure stops.
“Don’t hold back,” Harry murmurs. “Want to hear you.”
So Louis doesn’t hold back.
Harry dives right back in, starting to thrust his tongue in and out of Louis’ sensitive hole,
alternating between that and rubbing circles around Louis’ rim in a way that makes Louis
positively delirious, and the smaller boy lets out particularly high pitched moan. His voice cracks
halfway through and he can’t even care, too caught up in the stimulation and the way his cock
practically aches between his legs now, leaking onto the sheets, and even though Harry hasn’t even
touched him yet Louis knows his climax isn’t far away by now.
“Harry,” he sobs into the pillow, trying to grind down to get some kind of friction. “Harry,
please…”
“You close, baby?”
Harry’s voice is hoarse and so very deep, like velvet and lavender and moonlight, and Louis
trembles just from the sound of it. He nods fervently.
“Please,” he just repeats, like he’s forgotten all other words except that one.
Harry gets the message, and reaches an arm around to grab Louis’ dick, and Louis feels his eyes go
wet as Harry starts moving his hand up and down, stroking him all the way from the base and
rounding off at the tip and it doesn’t take long at all until the pit of Louis’ stomach ties up.
Whimpering brokenly, Louis thrusts faintly into Harry’s hand as he finally comes all over his
stomach and the white sheets under him, jaw going completely slack. He collapses into the
mattress not long after, breath strained and eyes closed, only aware of the exhaustion and Harry’s
soft hands caressing his hips, his sides, his chest, making their way to his face, and Harry’s hushed
voice telling him how good he was, how beautiful, always so pretty, so good for me.
The kind of words Louis saves and storages safely in the deepest creases of his mind, only picking
out and marvelling over on the most special occasions when he’s sure no one else notices.
Soon enough Harry’s lying next to him, pulling Louis’ pliant body onto his own and bringing his
arms up to gently stroke Louis’ back. His fingerprints burn into Louis’ skin in the gentlest way.
“What… was that?” Louis breathes out, still overwhelmed and warm all the way out to the tips of
his fingers and toes.
“That, dear Louis, is called rimming.”
“It’s amazing.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
Harry smiles into Louis’ hair and plants a light kiss to the top of his head, and it makes Louis’ eyes
flutter and his heart skip a beat. They’re quiet for a moment, recovering, settling, breathing in tune
with each other.
“Harry Styles, the infamous and mighty, the callous and cruel,” Louis mumbles into his chest after
a while. “A cuddler.”
“Who, me?” Louis can hear the grin in his voice as firm arms tighten around him. “Don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
Louis hums and nods nonchalantly.
“I’m going to rat you out to everyone. Ruin your reputation forever.”
“You’re going to take this to the grave.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“Fine. I’m sure Zayn’s up for cuddles instead, if I asked.”
Louis wishes nothing more than to stay unaffected, but he tangles his legs together with Harry’s in
a resolute way. “You’re stupid and I hate you.”
“If that was your way of convincing me to not leave, I think your persuasive skills might need
some polishing.”
“You’re still here, so evidently not.” Louis sighs around a smile, closing his eyes when he feels
Harry’s ribcage vibrate from silent laughter.
“Evidently not,” is all he says back. Louis’ stomach is light and his veins are unfrozen.
Silence settles again after that, but it’s a tranquil and comfortable one. Louis thinks about how nice
it would be, if he could stop time right here and now, perched on Harry’s warm and solid chest in
the biggest and most comfortable bed he’s ever been in, breathing in the earthy scent of Harry’s
skin. He wishes he could savour it forever, let it etch into his heart and mind and lungs and bones.
He doesn’t ever want to leave.
Maybe he’s being overly emotional, but he also just had the best orgasm of his life and he’s come
to terms with really liking Harry, so. It’s a lot. Let him live.
“Lou?”
Harry’s voice is tentative when it suddenly breaks their quiet state.
“Mhm?”
“Do you like your job?”
Louis raises an eyebrow. The question is definitely coming out of nowhere, but he guesses he’s not
exactly opposed to answer it, either.
“In the forest? Yeah,” he nods, smiling. “I love it.”
Harry nods, too, bringing a hand up to absent-mindedly play with Louis’ hair.
“Tell me about it?”
“Well. What do you want to know?”
“Anything you’re willing to tell me.”
So Louis does.
He tells Harry about being a summer assigned fairy in the Forest, where the birds always sing and
the grass is always the liveliest of green. He tells him about early sunrise tinting the morning dew
a vibrant gold and violet dusk putting the sounds of daylight to sleep. He tells Harry about the
melancholy of turning Grimm’s forests into autumn colors, burning extra bright before the winter
assigned fairies take care of their work. He tells him about his favorite part of the year, spring,
about how snow melting away to make room for pastel colors and midnight suns, somehow makes
his soul feel reborn, too.
He tells Harry about his mother, and his friends, and about that one time he made a troll cry
because it had the audacity to underestimate him. He tells him about wanting to attend UoT from
the moment he heard of it.
Not once does Harry make any attempts at implying that Louis’ job or life is lame or inferior, like
he’s done in the past to strike a nerve. Not once does he interrupt Louis’ rambling, only interposing
with encouragements whenever it fits. Not once does he ask Louis to stop talking.
So Louis lies there, on top of Harry for the rest of the night, talking in a hushed tone until Harry’s
breath starts turning soft and even and heavy. He traces the black marks on the spirit’s arms with
his fingers like they’re all intertwined tracks and crooked paths leading him somewhere safe, and
tentatively allows himself to feel happy.
There’s still something stuffy in his throat at the thought of not having this forever. But he also
figures that right now, Harry is asleep under him with soft features and an arm draped over Louis’
back, and having him in this moment is enough for now.
Chapter End Notes
i love writing smut especially because i seem to be literally incapable of doin it

without squishing a bunch of feelings in there.
anyways i worked really hard to get this done for today as i'm going away for a couple
of days and won't be able to write. and i hope this update is okay. i personally rly
enjoyed writing it and i hope u enjoy reading it too :')
as always, kudos and comments make my soul feel alive and well there's nothing i
love more than hearing ur thoughts and to appreciate u in return i love u all so much
:'(((((( u can also of course always come n talk to me on tumblr @tequiladimples i will
100% consider u the dearest of friends from the get go xxxxxxxx thank u for reading
!!
chapter 21; the forest
Chapter Summary

be easier.)
Chapter Notes
It takes Liam three days to get better. The boys don’t really mind staying.
It’s quite nice, to be honest. It’s a happy time to be there, Thor and Sif young and alive and healthy
and beautiful and always so, so very grateful—soon joined by the other gods too, even Loki after a
while (though things are slightly stiff between him and Harry and Zayn). They all throw a big
celebration the second night, inviting all of the now recovered gods and goddesses, and Louis has
positively never been more starstruck than he is during that dinner. His self-esteem has probably
never skyrocketed more than it does right then, either—because that’s what being heartfeltly
thanked by god after important god will do to you.
Louis also ends up spending a lot of time with Harry—it just kind of happens that way with them
sharing rooms and everything. They talk about everything and nothing until the early hours of the
morning, they shower together—an amazing concept that Louis is not opposed to at all—and they
go exploring the castle and end up getting horribly lost. Which, of course, is Louis’ idea, and also
something Harry will not stop pestering him about for the remainder of their stay.
It’s overall both the most amazing thing ever because Louis is constantly overwhelmed by how
well they actually fit together after spending so much time thinking they would never be able to
agree on even the smallest of things, and it’s also the worst thing ever because. Well. Louis kind of
constantly wants to scream out how gone he is for this boy, and he can’t. He’s never been one to
keep any sort of feelings to himself, and it’s extremely draining to do it now, especially with how
strong they are.
In general, they all have a great time, and it’s with slight dejection and some urging on from Thor,
they finally leave on that third day to spread their newfound information about the portals along.
When the boys finally have their stuff packed and are entering Thor and Sif’s portal, Louis sighs
wistfully, because he thinks this has most definitely been the high point of this adventure and he’s
pretty sure it won’t really get better than these three past days have been.
~
As it turns out, Louis is wrong. And he’s... Never been happier to admit so in his life.
He feels it in the air before he even opens his eyes. There’s only one place he knows where the air
is this crisp and the scent of nature this sweet.
He puts his hands down in the grass, feeling flowers break through the earth and blossom in the
spaces between his fingers, and a massive, bright smile is making its way onto his face as he
flutters his eyes open. Leaves from the big oak tree where his mother used to tell him stories every
sunset are rustling quietly above his head, and it sounds like a “welcome back”.
The meadow is sparkling and bubbling with life and colors, the sun is in their eyes, the sky is the
brightest of blues, and Louis?
Louis is home.
He knows this place better than he knows anything else and he feels like crying from pure joy, the
weight of traveling and risking his life and being away from everything he’s known so far finally
making itself known. He hasn’t even realized how heavy that weight has been until it’s now lifted
from him, ascending somewhere else, leaving Louis so light and feather-like he feels like he could
just catch the sun in his palm.
“Is this…” Liam starts somewhere next to him. “Is this the Forest?”
Louis is pretty sure a genuine tear actually slips through.
“Yeah,” he confirms. “Yeah, it is. I’m home.”
A laugh slips out of him, and he turns to look at the other boys, checking if any of them are also
feeling the immense euphoria he’s feeling.
They don’t really seem to. Niall just looks relieved, Zayn is still spaced out, glove clad hand
clutching Liam’s really tight—evidently not quite used to the whole portal travelling thing yet—
Liam just looks kind of awed, and Harry—well. Harry is looking at Louis with a small smile. So
small you barely notice it if it weren’t for the slight deepening of his dimples and even smaller
glint in his eyes, but by now Louis feels like he can tell exactly what signifies Harry’s happiness.
And it’s there.
“You’re home,” the spirit confirms.
“I’m home.” Unable to keep the ecstasy down any longer, Louis springs up from his spot. He
reaches out to feel the rough oak bark under his hands, pulling at its lowest hanging branches,
skipping along to circle the whole meadow just to really get a feel of it, and also ends up spinning
Harry around a couple of times just for the hell of it, before stopping to just digest the situation for
a moment.
(Harry doesn’t really come off as the type to appreciate being spun around in a thrill of happiness,
but he lets it happen and Louis is happy he’s letting him have this.)
I—fuck, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he exclaims, shoulders shaking with
disbelieving laughter.
He is not even being dramatic. Not even s’mores or orgasms can measure with the comforting
feeling of coming home after being shoved from one dangerous place to the other for so long.
“Yeah. We can tell,” Harry states with an eyebrow raise and a meaning look behind Louis.
Louis follows the spirit’s gaze and realizes that proud, shining yellow sunflowers have bloomed up
around his feet and back in a trail where he’s been stepping, and he bites his lip loosely.
“Ah. Well, yeah. That tends to happen,” he shrugs.
He realizes he hasn’t really been able to showcase his powers properly until now. Mostly they’ve
been in places that don’t have any connections to Grimm, Wonderland was too confusing and in
Asgard he spent most of his time inside a castle made of stone and, well, it’s not like the plants
inside Thor and Sif’s home aren’t already magical.
It’s a bit unfair, really, because Harry’s or Niall’s powers function in more places than Louis’ do.
But Louis has his now, and that’s what matters, so he figures he’s fine.
“You just. Bloom sometimes?” Harry clarifies, and Louis rolls his eyes.
“I’m a nature fairy. Does that seem like a weird thing for me to do to you?”
“I guess not,” Harry allows and shakes his head. “It’s cute, though.”
Louis struggles greatly with keeping down a blush, and looks away defiantly. He could choose to
take offense to the term, but Harry doesn’t seem to mean it offensively, his deep voice a tad too
soft and sincere.
“Yeah, well,” Louis instead says and dusts off some grass from his pants. “I’m known to be
gorgeous.”
And that’s all he says before taking off.
He doesn’t wait around to see if the rest are making any attempts at following him, but just flies
away into the forest, wings fluttering swiftly with excitement. They others are just going to have to
catch up. Louis isn’t usually the patient type, but he’s especially not very keen on waiting when
he’s just arrived here.
The other boys do catch up with him, luckily, and when they do Harry grabs Louis’ hand and
yanks him to the ground, forcing the smaller boy to slow down.
Which. What the fuck. He’s not allowed to do that. Under no circumstances should Harry Styles
ever feel like he has the audacity.
Louis yells a series of profanities revealing just how rude he thinks Harry is, which Harry just rolls
his eyes at.
“Lou, slowing down a little isn’t going to kill you.”
Louis inhales sharply.
“I am so sorry for being excited, Harry, I promise I’ll never be happy in your immediate vicinity
ever again.”
“I’m fucking—“ Harry looks up to the sky momentarily, as if to gather strength for this
conversation. “You’re such a brat. I’m just asking you to wait for us.”
“Ah, no, you’re not. You’re forcing me to.”
“I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re holding my hand.”
“Didn’t realize hand holding was your kryptonite.”
Louis does not have time to deal with Harry’s sassery right now.
“Shut up and let me go.”
“Let go yourself.”
“Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”
“…Well. I’m not letting go, anyway.”
“I’m not either.”
“Looks like we’re stuck here, then.”
“Yeah,” Louis just gives Harry a defiant glare. “Looks like it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Zayn mutters behind them.
So they keep walking, hands determinedly laced together and this is positively the most bizarre
fight Louis’ ever had with someone. He’s not going to budge, though, he has no problem at all with
hand holding, could get used to it any day any time, if Harry’s not going to let go then Louis isn’t
going to stop him. Harry’s so fucking exasperating. Louis hates him and wants to hold his hand
until the end of time.
“Where are we even going?” Harry mutters at last to break the tense silence, looking around and
Louis can imagine him feeling a little out of place here with his black spirit marks and his dark
powers. Like this place is supposed to be too bright and lively for someone like him.
Louis doesn’t really think he looks out of place, though. His curls are soft and his free hand is
fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and Louis decides in that very moment that he’s going to make
Harry feel like he belongs here. That he’s worth a life in a place where the sun always shines and
magic is beautiful.
(Harry’s still insufferable, though.)
(Stupid. Harry is stupid.)
(Louis’ emotions might not be entirely intact.)
“We’re going to find my mother,” he answers lightly, only trying a little to stifle his enthusiasm.
Harry doesn’t seem to share it, as he chokes on his own breath and aims a wide-eyed stare at Louis.
“I can’t meet your mother,” he protests.
“Yeah, you can,” Louis cuts off before Harry has time to elaborate his argument. “She’s lovely and
she can help and I’ve missed her.”
Harry doesn’t argue back but Louis knows he still isn’t all too comfortable with the concept.
And yeah, maybe it does make Louis a little jittery as well that Harry’s meeting his mother. It’s not
like it’s a dating thing, a boyfriend meeting parents thing. Because that’s one hundred percent not
what Harry and Louis are. But still… Louis just really wants his mother to like Harry. He wants her
to, well. To see what he sees. Even though Harry’s sarcastic and self-important and stubborn.
Harry has been met with too much hostility from outsiders throughout his life, Louis decides. And
now that he’s made it his unofficial mission to make Harry feel welcome here, a cold attitude from
the inhabitants isn’t exactly a great way to start that off.
“Good day, Mrs. Louis’ mom,” Harry mutters. “I’m the underworld spirit who’s been boning your
son.”
Louis makes a distressed sound borderline screech and elbows the spirit’s side. He checks behind
him to see if the other boys heard anything, but it seems not because Liam and Zayn are too caught
up in walking shyly next to each other and Niall is too focused on Liam and Zayn.
“Come on,” he scolds. “You’re not going to say that. We both know you can make excellent first
impressions if you want to, what’s the big deal?”
“It’s just. It feels weird. It’s your mom.”
“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “It’s my mom. Who loves me and trusts me.”
Harry doesn’t answer, just looks down on his feet and keeps walking, and Louis worries he
might’ve struck a nerve with that.
“Hey,” he says, milder now. “It’s going to be fine. Really.”
It works a little, Harry looking up at him with a small smile, but he still looks hesitant and his
posture is still hunched, and Louis is still not used to seeing Harry with his guard this far down,
seeing him this visibly insecure.
Louis is going to make this a place where Harry feels safe. He just is.
He finds his mother where he knows she would be—by the stream, just where it debouches into a
crystal-clear lake holding the life of thousands of fish and underwater creatures and plants. It’s
currently empty, everyone else most probably off to work or to eat.
But Louis knows his mother, and he knows that this time of day, she usually sits right here and
contemplates and ponders. Louis liked to join her sometimes when he was younger, because even
though his own mind was always all over the place and he found the silence hard to deal with, he
always looked up to his mom. And she always said that to a sensible mind, moments of silence are
crucial.
And Louis, of course, considered and considers himself a sensible mind. Somewhat fiery, but
sensible nonetheless. So he would sit by her side, quietly, and watch the water striders slide across
the calm surface of the lake, practicing his ability to endure silence.
He’s not silent today, though. As soon as he sees her, he feels an electric shock move throughout
his entire body and he can’t even contain himself from crying out a “mother!” and flying all the
way up to her in about half a second.
His mother turns with the speed of light at the very first audible syllable of Louis’ voice, eyes
widened and arms open.
Louis crashes into her and locks both his arms so tightly around her his muscles are straining. She
reciprocates the hug with every bit as much fervor, and Louis could honestly cry, sob, wheeze at
how happy he is to be back.
“Louis, love,” his mom exclaims, pulling away to look at him and stroking his fringe away from
his face. “How did you get here?”
Louis gives out a wet laugh.
“It’s kind of a long story, mother, and I will tell it all to you eventually, I swear. Given that you
won’t scold me for it.”
“I cannot promise anything,” his mother replies seriously, but her eyes are beaming so Louis keeps
grinning, too.
She then slowly takes her gaze off of her son to look behind him, tilting her head with a curious
raise of the eyebrows. Louis looks back at his friends, too, and his back straightens as he opens his
mouth to proudly introduce them all to her.
(It’s quite funny, that. How attached he’s grown to the four boys within this short time span. Louis
feels like maybe they’re meant to be friends, with how nicely they all fit with each other. Fit so
well to the point where Louis is almost bursting with pride and exhilaration from finally having his
mother see them.)
His mom is the one who speaks first, though, inquiring Louis to tell her what he’s already going to
say.
“Who are your three friends?”
Louis is on his way to explain, but he stops abruptly as the number leaves his mother’s lips.
Three friends?
She doesn’t look at Harry, Louis notices then, just gives Niall, Liam and Zayn a gentle smile each.
Louis frowns, the blinding euphoria missing a beat. Is she… Deliberately ignoring Harry? What
the fuck is that supposed to mean?
“These are Niall, Liam, Zayn and Harry,” he introduces them, careful to give her an emphasizing
look as he speaks Harry’s name. “That’s four people.”
“Of course,” his mother agrees, “there are. I asked about your friends, is all, and I just assumed you
wouldn’t be friendly with an Underworld spirit.”
Her voice is rigidly nonchalant in a way Louis has always admired. His mother is kind and giving
and one of the most caring people he knows, but she has a passive aggressive way of shutting
people down that can shake you to the core.
Louis whips his head around for the shortest of moments just to get a glimpse of how Harry’s
whole figure slumps immediately, and something boiling and blood red is suddenly building up in
the pit of his stomach.
“Harry,” he says slowly with dripping significance, “has offered his life and proven his loyalty
numerous times during this trip and is very much deserving of your recognition, mother.”
Seconds tick by as Louis and his mother only engage in the most intense eye contact, Louis
determined to barely even blink until he’s gotten his point across. What makes it a bit more of a
challenge is that he has after all inherited all his stubbornness from his mom, and it shows.
“I do not want to have a conversation like this one in front of other people,” Louis utters again
when both has yet to budge. “So I suggest that you trust my opinion and judgment, like you always
have up until this point, and make my friend Harry Styles feel just as welcome as you would
anyone else. Please.”
It’s not like Louis to do this, Louis knows. He usually doesn’t so ardently defy his mom like this,
usually agrees with her, usually trusts her to know better than himself. She’s always been the
person he looks up to the most, throughout all his life. And he knows his mom knows that, too.
Which is most likely why there’s a clear flash of bewilderment in her stare now. Louis must feel
strongly about this if he’s prepared to confront her like this.
Another four, five, six seconds of quiet, before his mother finally nods, taking a breath and
averting her gaze.
“Forgive me,” she says, giving Harry a polite smile. “Perhaps I am too quick to judge. I don’t have
too much experience with the underworld inhabitants.”
Louis nods, pleased with himself, and looks to Harry again, and the spirit looks so dazed, eyes
glossy and lips parted as he shakes his head in small, swift motions. As if he can’t believe he’s just
been defended.
“It’s okay,” he rasps out. “I didn’t take offense.”
He even manages to push out a tentative smile, and he looks like he could never ever hurt even the
tiniest of flies.
To Louis’ relief, his mom reciprocates it kindly.
“Louis,” she then says. “You are to show these lovely men to the bungalows. Make sure they all
have places to sleep. And possibly unwind, as I can imagine your journey has been long and
draining for you.”
Louis releases a breath he didn’t even realize he’s been holding, and he mouth a soundless ‘thank
you’ to her.
“Of course,” he then says out loud, turning with a wide grin. “Let’s go, boys.”
The forest has a lot of beautiful places, open meadows and gloomy thickets, glowing rivers and
rocky mountain tops. But Louis must say, one of his absolute favorite places is the bungalows.
It’s not only the fact that it’s beautiful—because it is. It’s right in a meadow surrounded by the
tallest of birches, and when the sun rises and sets the branches always cast the most beautiful
shadows across the area, intertwining and falling into each other like a spider web or a delicate
maze dancing across honeysuckle-clad cottages and jasmine bushes. It’s colourful, lively, and
because it has more different kinds of flowers in one place than any other part of the forest, it’s got
a lovely scent that always makes Louis feel safe.
But, as aforementioned. This isn’t the only reason as to why Louis loves the places so much.
It’s the creatures living there. This is an enchanted forest, so naturally everything is always alive,
but this place—this place is living and breathing and singing and dancing and laughing and
running. It’s where all the fairies live, in blissful harmony and the atmosphere is always so filled
with love and music and warmth. Louis thanks the universes every day for having the privilege to
grow up in an environment like this.
“Isn’t it amazing?” he sighs blissfully, looking to his friends for confirmation of the obvious.
None of them has time to answer, though, because that’s the moment that the other fairies currently
residing around the bungalows notice that Louis is there, which results in an entire choir of cries
and shocked shrieks.
“Louis!” exclaims in a high pitched tone as she attacks Louis with a bone crushing hug, and Louis
instantly reciprocates it, locking his arms around her steadily.
“Lottie,” he nearly sobs out into her neck, and it doesn’t take long until he’s surrounded by warm,
trembling embraces from the rest of his siblings too, and he feels like his heart is going to shoot out
of his chest with how much he’s missed them.
“What are you doing home?” His second oldest, Fizzy, asks as soon as they’ve all pulled away just
slightly to be able to breathe.
“Long story,” Louis repeats, too overwhelmed to get into the entire plot. There are more important
things at hand right now. Like finally being around and talking to and hugging his sisters and his
brother.
“So much has happened while you’ve been gone,” Fizzy gushes, still clinging to his left arm.
“Doris and Ernest learned to fly without dwindling! Isn’t that amazing?”
“That is amazing,” Louis glows and bends down to pick the twins up, supporting them on each of
his hips. “You’re growing so fast!”
The twins give out gleeful gurgles as they start talking in unison about every little thing that Louis
has missed in his absence, and though it’s impossible to keep up with them talking over each other
and still not quite mastering the ability of articulation, Louis tries his very best. It’s going quite
well, until his gaze catches on Harry on the way from Doris to Ernest, and he’s met with a pair of
eyes looking at him like he’s made of stars, and with a smile softer than clouds in June.
Harry’s watching him like he can’t really believe that Louis is real and there and he’s watching like
he thinks Louis is fantastic, and Louis can feel his ears burning all the way to their tips. He curses
having such pointy, long ears, knows they’re a dead giveaway every time he blushes, but Harry
doesn’t seem to care, so Louis tries to ignore it, too.
He focuses his attention back on the twins, fighting through the peach colored giddiness that
Harry’s attention is filling him with, and smiles crookedly.
“I kind of have to leave for a bit, my loves,” he starts calmly. “But I would love to hear about all of
this over dinner tonight. Okay?”
The twins don’t seem too keen on that idea, and neither do his other sisters, as they immediately
start crowding tighter around him again, asking with worried eyes, “you’re not—leaving again, are
you?” and Louis laughs warmly and ruffles Phoebe’s hair.
“Of course not. I’ve just got to show these lads to their bungalow, alright? And show them around
this place.” He flashes them all an excited grin. “But we’ll be joining for dinner tonight, me and the
boys.” He gestures towards the boys behind him. “I promise.”
“Oh, yeah. Who are they?” Lottie looks at them with big, curious eyes.
“They’re my friends and they’ve come from very far away.”
“Oh.” She contemplates this for a few seconds and then she smiles widely at the four boys. “I hope
you enjoy your stay!”
Well. That’s certainly more pleasant than it was with his mother.
With a last hug for them each, Louis leaves his siblings to show the boys to their collective
sleeping space. He leads them to the biggest bungalow of them all, the exterior garnished with
white climbing rose, and he lets the welcoming scent embrace them as he steps inside to fully
reveal the large space. There are several beds in there, only a couple of them already taken as it’s in
the middle of the day and most forest creatures are already up before sunrise.
“So this bungalow,” Louis starts, “is the open bungalow. People just kind of come and go here. It’s
where lots of creatures from the other side of the forest here on special work and stuff crash, so just
grab a bed whenever you feel like using one and it’s yours until you leave it, yeah?”
“Great,” Niall says and slumps right down on one bed. “I’m feeling a nap.”
Louis raises an eyebrow, but he’s not complaining. It’s nice that the cupid is comfortable.
He purses his mouth to the side and looks back between the three boys who are still standing.
“So you guys just settle down. I’m going to go and take our bags into my bungalow,” he says.
“Lots of nosy people in here, can’t tell you how many things I’ve lost throughout the years.”
He hauls the backpacks over his shoulders and turns to departure.
“I’ll go with you,” Harry says quickly. “I’m not really that tired.”
Louis tries to not show any external signs of how much his heart flutters at Harry choosing to go
with him. Like there’s some kind of underlying motive to it other than Harry just simply not being
tired. Because there obviously isn’t. Right. That’d be stupid.
“Yeah, okay,” he states lightly, and so they walk away together in silence, hands comfortably
brushing against each other’s every now and then. The physical contact still makes Louis’ skin
tickle.
The bungalow Louis’ got to call his own is quite small, but colourful, and he especially likes it
because it’s pretty much like nature’s followed him inside. There are tons of plants and flowers in
all corners and on all shelves and on his old, wooden nightstand, and it’s just how he likes it.
He puts the bags down at the foot of his bed and sits down on it, turning to watch Harry. The spirit
is slowly letting his gaze meander around the space, from the braided daisy garlands decorating the
walls, to the carved, squiggly patterns on the bed headboard, to the small piano squeezed into the
corner right opposite the door.
“It’s lovely,” he hums. “Very you.”
“I would hope so, since it’s my room,” Louis quips back, and Harry rolls his eyes faintly.
He moves over to the piano, lets his fingers slowly travel along the ivory keys, barely grazing them
with his fingertips.
“You play?” he asks with a surprised upturn of his mouth sent Louis’ way.
Louis just nods. “Sometimes. I like the way the way it feels against my fingers.”
Harry nods, too, like this is valid and noteworthy information to him, and pushes down on a G
tryingly.
“I always wish I could. Will you play for me sometime?”
If Harry doesn’t stop this whole tranquil and discerning act soon Louis’ hands are never going to
stop trembling.
“Yeah, sure,” the fairy breathes, because he’s pretty sure he couldn’t deny Harry a single thing
when he’s like this. So genuinely and gratuitously showing interest for Louis and his life and his
mind and reasoning.
Harry’s small smile grows into a satisfied grin and he sits down next to Louis on the bed. He opens
his mouth and closes it a few times, clearly signalizing that he wants to say something, and Louis
just looks down on his hands, waiting patiently for him to find the right words.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry murmurs at last. “The thing with your mom? You didn’t have
to.”
Louis snaps his head up to give him an incredulous look. It’s really starting to tear at his heart, how
Harry continuously feels the need to essentially apologize to Louis every time the fairy does
something remotely to Harry’s advantage. It’s a pattern that he in the beginning appreciated but as
time’s gone on he now resents.
Well. He guesses he has himself to blame for a part of it. He still painfully remembers them at the
start of this whole trip—how Louis constantly insulted and quipped and gave Harry a hard time. If
this had been a couple of weeks ago, Louis would never do something nice for Harry if there
wasn’t a bigger picture behind it not including the curly haired boy.
Not that it wasn’t justified, back then. Harry didn’t exactly use to be the most charming either,
Louis knows he was just as bad if not worse. He’s well aware, and he knows that Harry is, too, or
he wouldn’t have been able to make the changes he’s made. But the fact that Harry has yet to
accept decency from other creatures, that he constantly needs to assure Louis that Louis doesn’t
have to, like Louis is for some reason doing this against his will, is what has the short boy bothered
and concerned. Sad.
He doesn’t voice any of this, because he feels like that’s not a conversation to be had in the haste of
showing Harry his sleeping place.
So instead he makes sure to look as convincing and serious as possible as he deadpans;
“Yeah. I did.”
Harry purses his mouth and keep his stare fixed on his lap.
“It’s not like I can’t handle people disliking me. I don’t want you to feel like—obligated to go out
of your way to make things easy for me.”
“What?” Louis’s eyes narrow. “That’s so not what that was. When have I ever made things easier
for you because I felt obligated to?”
Harry is silent, so Louis nods and continues.
“You’re good, Harry. And doing nice things for you isn’t ever a burden to me.”
It’s a simple and honest statement, but Harry lets out an almost panicked laugh like it’s making him
question his entire existence, and Louis just wants to explain it to him, calmly lay out all the facts
and secrets hidden in the dents of life in front of Harry and make him always feel alright.
“God,” he says, running a rushed hand through his hair. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Stuff like what?”
“Stuff. Like. Stuff that makes me—“
Harry doesn’t finish, but rather just lets his hand fall back to his side and shakes his head, but his
dimples are prominent, so it must be a positive unspoken ending. Louis’ mind runs through
options. Makes me what? Makes me feel important? Makes me happy?
Makes me love you?
Louis kind of wouldn’t mind every single option.
“…So,” Harry starts again instantly, jumping up from the bed and heading straight for the door,
and that’s clearly him saying that the topic is very dropped. That unfinished sentence will probably
haunt Louis’ conscience for the rest of his life, but you know. Louis is fine. “How about you show
us around, hm? I’m warming up to this whole cutesy forest concept.”
A grin breaks out on Louis’ face at that.
“I’m really glad, because you have so much left to see.”
They happily exit his room and move back to the open bungalow, but Louis stops abruptly in the
doorway when they reach it, causing Harry to almost barge into him from behind.
Niall is already fast asleep, and Liam and Zayn are sitting closely about three beds away, knees
knocking together as they converse lowly. They haven’t realized that they’re being watched, and
Louis feels like maybe he shouldn’t intrude on this.
He cautiously looks back at Niall and nearly jumps out of his skin when he finds the cupid’s eyes
now wide open and glaring at him with an intensity of a thousand angry suns. He shakes his head
subtly and makes swift waving motions with his hands to make Louis leave, and if he were able to
speak Louis is sure it would sound something like “if you interrupt those two right now I will fuck
you up”.
Louis takes the hint with a small nod, before turning on his heel and pulling Harry along with him.
“Um,” Harry tries briefly, but he lets himself be dragged away.

“Looks like we’ll have to wait with that whole tour thing,” Louis says. “True love haltered that
plan a bit. But I guess since you and I are stuck together we got to figure something out, yeah?”
They’re far enough away from the bungalows by now, and Louis realizes he still hasn’t let go of
Harry’s arm. He immediately does, making sure to put a bit of distance between the two. They’re
out in public now, at home, Louis’ home where creatures really love to gossip, and he kind of
doesn’t want that just yet. Maybe one day. But not yet.
“Right,” Harry agrees. The corners of his mouth are twitching.
They continue walking for a bit, and Louis kind of just lavishes in the feeling of being back.
Moving his fingers along bushes and trees on the way, enjoying the tingling feeling in his hands
and feet as he finally gets to feel one with nature and sunlight and growth again. He hasn’t realized
just how intensely he’s missed this until now, but he’s so glad he got the chance to.
”I haven’t noticed before,” Harry suddenly voices, and Louis is so caught up in the green, fuzzy
feeling of comfort that it kind of startles him. “How nature seems to come a little more alive around
you.”
“Hm?”
Louis looks away from the willow tree they just passed, dragging his hand behind to linger on the
dangling branches, to Harry who’s watching him with a meditative tilt of his head and a tentative
raise of his brow.
“You know. The grass grows a little greener. Flowers blooms a little faster.”
Louis can’t help but blush from the statement, a blatant admission to Harry watching him carefully
once again, really, truly observing.
“I’m a nature fairy, Harry. It’s my job.”
“Yeah, I know, but.” The spirit cuts himself off to think for a moment. “But it’s still really nice. It
suits you.”
“Suits me?” Louis swallows and tries to sound as nonchalant as Harry is sounding, even though his
heart is pounding and pulsating in his ears.
Harry hums in confirmation.
“That’s always you, isn’t it? Making everything bloom brighter.”
He says it so effortlessly, like it’s the humblest truth, and Louis’ heartstrings wobble all over the
place. There isn’t a moment he can pinpoint where Harry went from ‘you have nice ears’ to
casually dropping compliments like ‘you make everything bloom brighter’, but it has happened
somehow and Louis wants to cry and lie down and run around and kiss Harry for days and nights.
It also manages to make Louis’ cheeks blossom redder than any of the roses they’re passing, which
isn’t quite as amazing. Louis isn’t at loss for words a lot.
“You can’t just say stuff like that,” he settles for, echoing Harry’s words from before.
Harry’s eyes are twinkling back.
Stuff that makes me happy. Stuff that makes me love you.

Chapter End Notes
this is just disgusting. tooth-rotting. almost 6k of fluff. but let me live they're slowly
entering their honeymoon phase after all the fighting so it's COOL
also sorry for the wait, i've had tons of schoolwork lately but at least it doesn't take 3
months between updates anymore djfdhj i truly don't deserve any of u
BUT as always, despite of my unowrthiness i'm still so happy ur here and reading and
liking and commenting i see n read everything and i smile so wide i pass out every
time xxxxxxx and if u ever wanna talk hmu on tumblr @tequiladimples i will 137%
love u FOREVER
chapter 22; the forest
Chapter Notes
i wanna apologize for taking over a month to update, BUT i'm making up for it bc this
chapter is roughly 13k long. i hope u enjoy and i love u so much
What with Liam and Zayn bonding, Louis and Harry are once again left with each other to make
time pass.
Not that Harry complains at all at this point. If he’s quite honest, he thinks he could probably
spend endless days and nights in Louis’ presence. Especially here, in the Forest, where small
bunches of daisies follow his steps and his smile shines brighter and livelier than ever before.
Something that makes Harry want to kiss him and touch him and maybe wreck him a little more
than usual, hold him up against a tree and make him whimper into Harry’s mouth and beg for
friction.
But Harry digresses.
Louis had directly started walking again, seeming awfully determined about where they’re going,
and Harry’d just followed him through the greens and the sun, only really making one half-hearted
attempt at finding out where Louis’ taking them.
“Would you mind telling me where we’re going?” he’d asked lightly, raising one eyebrow.
“Well, dear Harold, wouldn’t that ruin the whole surprise?”
“I wasn’t aware this was a surprise.”
“You are now, aren’t you?”
So that’s how they now stand in front of a huge, loud, crystal clear waterfall.
Harry has seen many things throughout his existence, mountain top views and deep jungles, but he
hasn’t seen a waterfall this up-close until now, and he finds that he quite likes how small and
insignificant it makes him feel. He looks over to Louis and in that moment, they’re both small and
their problems are small and the reasons why Harry shouldn’t allow himself to feel exactly what
he’s feeling for Louis are so very small.
Louis has a wide, glowing grin on his face as he looks over at Harry to see his reaction. The honey
tinted skin on his cheeks grow increasingly pink when he realizes Harry’s already looking at him,
and the fairy quickly looks back in front of them, presumably to hide the flusterment.
“Listen, Haz, I know I’m pretty but you have the most beautiful oasis in all the worlds in front of
you right now. You might want to pay attention.”
Harry might, yeah. But he also might want to keep observing the flutter of Louis’ eyelids and the
swoop of his eyelashes for a little while longer.
God. Imagine if his mom would see him now.
That thought has been decreasing violently in importance to him the more time has passed. By now
it just kind of feels like an aimless mantra he needs to have bouncing around in his head, but
doesn’t actually matter anymore. Because how can it matter what his mother thinks, really, when
Louis is right next to him looking like he holds summer in his palms?
(Harry doesn’t quite know when his infatuation with Louis also turned him into a poet, but he
figures they go hand in hand.)
“It’s beautiful,” he confirms with a crooked smile, and Louis nods enthusiastically.
“I come here all the time when I’m visiting home,” he says. “It’s soothing, isn’t it? Even when it’s
full of people it has a sort of harmonic atmosphere.”
Harry raises his eyebrows, but agrees. The place is practically empty for the moment, spare for a
few other fairies playing around in the water on the other side of the lake, and the sound of water
always did have a calming effect on Harry.
“So what exactly is your plan?” he asks. “Because, don’t get me wrong, I would love to keep
standing here, but—“
Louis snorts.
“Don’t be silly.”
And then he takes off towards the wall of rushing water, the sun reflecting on his wings and
casting small specks of light around the meadow as they move in heavy flutters, lifting him higher
and higher until he’s reached the top of the waterfall. He turns to sit down on a protruding rock,
dangling his legs and resting his chin in his palm while giving Harry an expectant look.
“Come on, then!” he calls out, tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth in a very daring
manner, and Harry blinks a couple of times. His teeth sink into his lower lip.
So like, here’s the thing. Harry is not overly fond of heights.
It’s not like he’s scared or anything. He spends a majority of his work time flying over cities and
oceans, for gods’ sake. It’s just, well. That’s a completely different situation because he doesn’t
have to worry about a single thing in that form. He feels invincible when he’s transferring through
air.
Not that he isn’t invincible in his physical form. Not that he can’t transform into his spiritual form
whenever he wants to.
Fuck, it’s irrational. He knows it is. There’s no real and valid excuse as to why heights would ever
make him uncomfortable in his physical form. Perhaps it has to do with the loss of his wings--the
way it rubbed his balance, made him feel unsteady on his feet, made him lose trust--but that was a
long time ago, now. He's had plenty of time to refind his foothold. It’s the most irrational thing in
all of the worlds, and Harry detests how it always manages to make him light-headed and paranoid.
He especially hates the way his stomach turns as he looks up the probably twenty feet to where
Louis’ effortlessly perched right now. The rock looks unreliable and Harry is not about to trust it.
“What is your motive?” he replies suspiciously, and the fairy rolls his eyes.
“Come up here, you coward.”

And, well. No one calls Harry Styles a coward. He’s not a fucking coward. He’ll show Louis
coward, he’ll show him—
So with a huff, Harry dissolves to reappear right at Louis’ side on the rock just a second later.
“I’m not a fucking coward,” he says resolutely, causing Louis to yelp and jump slightly, losing his
balance for a moment. He clings to Harry’s arm to not fall down and proceeds to give him a
pointed glare.
“Oh my god, Harold, warn a guy before you appear out of thin air.”
An embarrassingly soft giggle tumbles out of Harry before he can stop it—it’s really not his fault
that Louis has this effect on him—and he gives the fairy an innocent smile as Louis slowly lets go
of Harry’s arm again, his hand slipping down to lie flat against the rock right next to Harry’s own.
It’d be very easy to slip his hand into Louis’ just about now, Harry notes. But he looks between
their bodies, and he looks to the fairies laughing and swimming around below, and he doesn’t.
So he’s still too scared to fully act on his feelings. He still doesn’t dare initiate anything when
they’re not alone or horny, and he still hasn’t mentioned a thing about how he really feels, despite
Zayn’s pep talk giving him a bit more confidence and clarity.
He hopes to maybe gain the last bit he needs now. He hopes that maybe Louis will give him the
last piece of confirmation he needs to take that step. Because honestly, while he loves every tender
moment spent with Louis, this weird tip toeing between being a couple and being—whatever it is
they are—is tiring him out.
Then he realizes he’s getting lost in thought—again—and dives straight back into business.
“I’m still suspicious of your motive,” he enlightens Louis, causing the fairy to turn to him with a
smug grin.
“Oh, that,” he shrugs. “We’re going to jump from here,” and Harry nearly chokes on his own spit.
He’s not scared. He’s not—they’re not even that far up, it could’ve been a lot worse, really, and
Harry knows there’s no way he’s going to hurt himself. He’s a pain spirit, for gods’ sake. This is a
piece of cake for him.
That doesn’t make him unable to severely question Louis’ plan, though. And it doesn’t stop him
from sweating at the idea of throwing himself from a cliff when he’s still in a body fully capable of
receiving pain.
“Um. Why?”
Harry hopes that Louis won’t notice the way his voice is a little strained and breathless, but the
smaller boy immediately snaps his head up to watch Harry with a confused frown.
Harry tries his best to look unbothered and casual as his eyes flick between Louis’ face and the
tranquil surface below, but it’s evidently not working. It doesn’t even take Louis a full three
seconds until his confusion melts into amused disbelief, and he has to bite back a grin.
“Are you… Actually scared?” he asks, eyebrows raised so high they should be touching his
hairline.
“I’m not scared,” Harry snaps, a tiny bit too quickly and a bigger bit too aggressively. “You’re
fucking scared. Shut up.”
But Louis is Louis and Louis is literally sent from the deepest pits of Harry’s worst nightmares to
make his life miserable, so the fairy just whistles and purses his mouth like this is the best news
he’s ever heard.
“You’re scared of heights. Holy shit.”
“Louis.”
“You spend probably more time in the air than I do and you’re scared of heights.”
“Shut the fuck up!”
Harry gives Louis a pointed shove and then crosses his arms grumpily, well aware he’s acting like
a child but so is Louis, so, like. No one can blame him.
“How does that even work?”
Harry breathes deeply and sends away about fifty different prayers to different gods to please give
him strength in this moment to stay calm and not throw Louis off this damn cliff.
“It works,” he states, “because I’m not fucking scared of heights, Louis.”
He refuses to meet the blue gaze he can feel so intently on him, instead staring straight forward
(and not down, good god). Louis is quiet now, though, he’s quiet for quite a while, and when he
answers again he doesn’t sound as amused.
“You know you are allowed to be scared of things,” he says slowly. “Right?”
“Of course,” Harry huffs. “But I’m not scared of heights. I just… Find them a tiny bit
uncomfortable when I’m in my physical form.”
“… Okay.” Louis nods, but Harry can hear in his voice that he doesn’t genuinely buy that, he’s just
deciding to take the easy road. Somehow, to Harry, that’s even worse.
“Don’t patronize me,” he snarls.
“I’m not.” There’s a hint of a growing grin in Louis’ voice again. “It’s cute.”
Harry hates him. He hates Louis and his entire pretty, smug face and anything Harry’s ever said or
thought that’s contradicting that statement has been a feverish delusion.
“It’s not cute.”
“It’s endearing.”
“You’re really trying it today, aren’t you?”
Louis beams brighter than the sun, and he stands up, careful not to slip.
Not that that would matter to Louis, Harry thinks sourly. He has wings to save him. Harry, on the
other hand, would fall to his demise.
(Harry would most likely turn to air before hitting the surface. His fear is still irrational.)
“Come on,” Louis says, reaching out a hand. “We’re still doing this.”
Harry stares at Louis’ hand as if it’s going to choke him.
“No,” he protests firmly. “We’re not.”
“Yeah, we are.” Louis’ voice is just as determined, and Harry mentally curses at Louis’ always
way too stubborn personality.
He’s not going to budge this time, though. He feels exposed, his pride is severely hurt, Louis’
laughed at him, he’s sitting on a very unreliable rock twenty feet above the ground, and this is not
the kind of moment when he’d give in to Louis’ ridiculous ideas. It’s not, and he’s making sure to
convey that with all his might as he defiantly meets Louis’ sky blue stare.
Surprisingly, Louis is the one to sigh and give up, and Harry feels a pang of victory shoot through
him. He truly didn’t think it was possible, but here he stands today. A winner.
Louis opens his mouth to speak and Harry is looking forward to hearing the admitted defeat. It’s
going to soothe his ears for months and months to come.
“Spiders,” is what Louis says, and Harry’s face drops immediately.
“Um.” He blinks, puzzled. “Okay.”
“I’m scared of them,” Louis clarifies. “I really, really don’t like spiders. They have hairy legs and
too many eyes for my mental health to handle. For years I hated working during night time because
spiders thrive in this forest during the night and if one would emerge I wouldn’t be able to see it.”
Louis is looking completely sincere and Harry’s brow furrows.
“You’re a nature fairy,” he states.
“Yes, Harry, nice observation. I’m a nature fairy who’s scared of spiders.”
Harry can’t help but break into a small smile.
“But they’re so small.”
“Don’t say that. They know that’s how you think. They know you’ll underestimate their lethality
because of their size and then they’ll fucking kill you.”
Harry hums in amusement, the bitterness in his chest slowly washing away.
“Is that some kind of metaphor?”
“Actually, yes, Harold. I know how small beings think. And one day they’re going to come for
me.”
A laugh bubbles out of Harry, against his will but still very much genuine, and he ignores the flash
of what he swears is pride in Louis’ eyes at the reaction.
“Yeah, okay, that’s pretty ironic,” he remarks, and Louis nods.
“Yeah. Kind of like a spirit being scared of heights, no?”
And Harry rolls his eyes but he does get Louis’ point and his insides feel warm because instead of
keeping Harry grumpy and mortified, Louis decided to tell Harry about something equally lame
about himself, turning the mockery into sympathizing in one swift moment. It’s the subtlest way to
make Harry feel better but it’s also the most efficient and perhaps exactly what Harry needs, and,
yeah. Harry really doesn’t hate Louis.
“Whatever,” he says finally, slowly standing up next to Louis. “Let’s get this fucking over with.”
The bright smile on Louis’ face crinkles his eyes and scrunches his nose, and Harry thinks just that
image alone is probably worth jumping to his death for.
“It’s fun, Harry,” the fairy proclaims, taking a steady grip on Harry’s hand. “My friends and I do
this all the time.”
“Right.” Harry isn’t fully believing him, but he guesses there’s no turning back now, anyway.
It’ll be over in seconds, he tells himself. He’ll fall, and he’ll land, and that’ll be it. Easy peasy.
“Ready?” Louis gives Harry’s hand a squeeze and looks up at him for confirmation.
No, not really.
“Yeah,” Harry says with a wistful sigh. “Goodbye, cruel world.”
Louis snorts.
“I think I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Sadly no, it’s been a while, but if you're offering?”
“Fuck you. I’m going to count to three now.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“And then we’re going to jump.”
“Got it.”
“One…”
Harry can’t help but tighten his grip on Louis’ hand and he can see Louis smile from the corner of
his eye.
“Two…”
Harry takes one last breath and concentrates on not looking down.
“Three!”
Three, and they’re throwing themselves out from the rock, their bodies cutting through the serene
air. Blurred blues and greens whooshes past Harry’s vision, before he’s slammed into the lake and
the cold water engulfs all his senses.
He loses grip on Louis’ hand as they hit the surface, and Harry is quick to shoot up again, gasping
for air, adrenaline still rushing in his veins.
His clothes are sticking uncomfortably to his skin and the water is just a bit too cold to be
considered nice, but it’s oddly refreshing and the rush he got from the fall makes the colors around
him a bit more vibrant and he has to grin to himself.
Louis’ head emerges from underwater just a moment later, and he’s already laughing and yelling
and clapping his hands together.
“Isn’t it great?” he exclaims, leaning back so he’s floating with his face peering up at the baby
blue sky above him. “We’ll totally do that again in a bit.”
Harry can’t take his eyes off of him. Louis has already told him about all of these places and just
how much he loves it, has depicted it so vibrantly and beautifully Harry’d felt like he was there,
but it’s still nothing compared to seeing Louis here physically, in action, in his true element.
They’re slowly starting to move towards the shore where the lake is a lot shallower. The water
reaches to right under Harry’s shoulder while Louis has to fight with all he has to keep his face
above the water and touch the ground with his toes at the same time. Harry laughs about it, and
Louis splashes water in Harry’s face repeatedly, which sends them into a raging water fight.
They’re progressively moving closer to each other as they go along, their mixed laughter filling the
meadow, and when Harry is so close he can see the droplets of water on Louis’ lips gleam, he
makes his decision very quickly.
Something just clicks for him, in that moment, with Louis this close to him, looking like nothing in
the world has ever hurt him and particularly, looking at Harry like Harry’s never hurt anyone.
Harry doesn’t know if those other fairies are still around, but he also finds himself not caring even
the slightest.
So Harry puts down his feet on the soggy ground and snakes a hand around Louis’ waist, and he
brings the boy in for a kiss. Louis’ lips are wet and cold and plump from the water, as is his skin,
but his mouth and his stuttered breath when Harry leans in is warming Harry all the way into the
deepest parts of his soul.
It takes a second before Louis reciprocates it, his chest completely still against Harry’s for the
shortest of time. It’s enough for Harry to almost regret it and start to pull back, but soon enough
Louis hangs his arms around Harry’s neck with a widening smile and pushes himself up so he can
wrap his legs around Harry’s waist, and Harry hums in appreciation.
Harry has kissed a lot of people in his life. More than the average person, definitely. Probably
more than the average god, too. He’s slept with humans and spirits and creatures of all kinds, he’s
by no means a stranger to the physical touch.
But he thinks that with Louis he might as well be. It’s just so overwhelmingly different, holding
Louis close and feeling his breath become uneven and feeling his fingers twirl his curls. Harry’s
done this enough times to know that he no longer finds it very exciting, that it’s always been more
a way to pass time and to momentarily quench his need for validation, but with Louis… It’s just not
like that. With Louis he just feels, he feels and feels and feels and it doesn’t cease. He wants to
touch Louis all the time, he wants to keep kissing him until his jaw is slack and his chest moves in
uneven hitches, and it’s not just a simple activity for him.
There’s just a different taste on Louis’ lips than on those other creatures. Louis’ lips taste like
possibilities and understanding and up until now Harry’s only ever had misfortune on his tongue.
~
Harry decides to try his very best at that dinner.
After this entire morning and afternoon with Louis, he’s one hundred percent sure that he wants to
keep boy around for as long as possible, and a very obvious way to help that happen is to get on
Louis’ family’s and friends’ good side. It’s extremely important to Harry to make a good
impression on all of these people, and he will not stop until he has every single creature at this table
swept off of their feet.
He knows how to work his charm. He always has. He used to love manipulating people with it—
trick gullible humans into trusting him and liking him and feel safe with him. He knows how to
make other creatures do whatever he wants, and he knows just how to make that loyalty backfire
and snap them like a twig. His entire being is a tool and he’s polished his functions to excellence.
Of course he’s not going to do that now, though. Not just because he particularly is going for a
good, wholesome impression this time, because he wants to do this for Louis, but also because he’s
found that playing around with people like that doesn’t really… Do it for him anymore.
It used to bring him a wicked sense of comfort, probably brought on by the placebo effect feeling
of a little bit his own pain being lifted off his shoulders and onto someone else.
That kind of satisfaction has only ever worked for the moment, though, the emptiness coming right
back and right down on him as soon as he gets a minute to himself. Hence why Harry has always,
when it comes down to it, been sincerely and irrevocably unhappy.
That is, until Louis looks like crying as Jesy tells them about her condition, and Harry feels a small
twinge of something uneasy and wrong at the sight of another creature’s sadness. A will to make
him smile.
That is, until Taylor throws her arms around Harry’s neck and thanks him like he is the best thing
in her world, and Harry thinks for the first time that, this. This illuminating warmth in his chest
right there and now, that’s what he’s been desperately been searching for his whole life.
That is, until he sees Zayn with adoration in his eyes as he and Liam slowly fall for each other and
Harry sees that despite his awful life so far, he’s happy now, and that maybe the same is possible
for Harry.
He knows he’s going to pay for this. He knows his mother is going to find out and punish him. He
knows he could be disowned, imprisoned or killed. But he’s still the happiest he’s ever been.
“Harry,” an elf next to him starts as soon as they’re all seated at the giant dining table, filled to the
brink with all kinds of delicious food and wine. They’re eyeing him up and down as if to decide
what to make of him. “How do you know our Louis?”
Louis, who’s sitting opposite him, looks up at the mention of his name. He’s next to his mom—
Johanna, Harry’s learned—and they’ve been eagerly chatting and laughing and smiling so brightly
as they work through the food on their plates. It’s so obvious they’re close, that they think the
world of each other, love positively glowing in their eyes.
(Once when Harry was still very young, he told his mother that he loved her.
It was a trying thing—he’d gotten to go with Eris to Olympus at a party because he was beautiful
and charismatic and Eris likes to show things off. And when up there, he heard Eleanor conversate
quietly with her mother, Ourania. Harry knew that she was the muse of astronomy, and he quite
liked that. He’d always been longing to see the stars the lost souls would whimper about in their
sleep.
As the conversation between mother and daughter unfolded, Eleanor suddenly threw her arms
around her mother and exclaimed a heartfelt “I love you, mother!” and Ourania’s eyes glowed with
light and admiration, pressing back into the hug.
Harry wanted that. Wondered if maybe that’s why he never got any hugs himself, because he never
told his mom he loved her. Thought that even though he’s never ever heard anyone from Tartaros
use the L word in his life, he figured it might be worth a try.
So when they were settled in Tartaros again after the party, right before going to bed, he stopped in
the doorway and said “I love you,” toes pointed inwards and a thumbnail between his teeth.
His mother had just looked at him, a sudden cutting kind of frost in her dark eyes, and then she’d
sent him to bed without another word.
Three days later during the wing ceremony, Harry was the first one to get his wings ripped off. Eris
told the lost souls to take twice as much time with his as with the others.)
“Well,” Harry starts, giving Louis a small smile. Louis desperately wants to grin, he can tell,
because the fairy has to look down on his lap to regain control of his face. “We crossed paths on
UoT a couple of times.”
Harry can’t pinpoint when exactly their first encounter became funny to the pair, funny to him.
Because at the time he had certainly found them the least funny things to ever occur in his entire
existence. Not that he’s complaining, now.
The elf nods fervently, eyes intent on him.
“I went to the university, too! The friends you make there are invaluable, they inform him kindly,
turning to Liam, Zayn and Niall. “Are you also school mates?”
“Um,” Niall scratches his neck. “No, actually. I’m from Pantheon, Liam is from Grimm, and—
well, Zayn is also from Grimm, I guess.”
“You guess?”
“We just recently found out he is.”
Niall’s clarification seems to confirm something for the fairy and they get a pointed twinkle in their
eye, and eye Zayn’s face extra hard. Harry doesn’t think much of it—surely they’re just admiring
his amazing physical beauty. Harry’s been there, several years ago. When he was paired with Zayn
to be his haunting spirit, his ghost of subtle, empty pain that seemed to follow him wherever he
went, Harry remembers thinking that it’s a pity. A pity, that such a pretty face has such dark
thoughts.
Of course he didn’t mean it genuinely then—or maybe he did, deep down, but it was so supressed
Harry can’t recognize any sincerity in the memory. There had been malice in the way he thought
about it then. Oh how divine pain looked in a pair of eyes that deep. What a pretty exterior he gave
torment.
“It’s a stunning set of friends you’ve made, Louis, I must say,” the elf compliments, still ogling
Zayn especially. Harry catches Liam frown and looking down on his plate, and he smiles just
slightly.
He kinds of wishes he could transfer some of his own confidence onto Liam at times. The
werewolf is undoubtedly one of the most goodhearted people he’s met and he certainly deserves to
take on the world with pride more than Harry does. Maybe it’d also finally make Liam get his act
together and shag Zayn once and for all. You never know.
Johanna agrees with a hum, following the elf’s gaze onto Zayn.
“Doesn’t he look familiar?” she ponders, pursing her mouth to the side in thought.
“He does,” the elf nods. “Something about those clean features…”
“Is he not a dazzling image of Queen Patricia?”
“That’s it!” the elf exclaims with their eyes blown wide. “Oh my god, he looks just like her!”
This doesn’t really tell Harry anything, but he can see how Louis’ stare widens across the table and
the boy leans forward to get a better look of Zayn.
Harry, quite obviously, doesn’t know what this Queen Patricia looks like, so he wouldn’t know
how much truth there is to that statement. But judging by Louis’ reaction, his dropped jaw and
huge eyes just staring at Zayn, he kind of understands that there must in fact be a lot of it.
“I’ll say,” Louis just breathes in wonder, tilting his head as he watches the dark boy even more
intently.
Zayn looks like a deer caught in headlights with how flustered he seems. He looks between Louis,
and the elf, and Johanna, and back at Louis.
“Who’s,” he swallows, “who’s Queen Patricia?”
Yeah, Harry’s curious about that, too. Who is Queen Patricia and why is this a big deal?
“Queen Patricia has golden hands,” Louis explains quietly. “She’s. She’s the one who defeated
Rumpelstiltskin.”
And Harry is pretty sure Zayn isn’t breathing. Rigid in his chair, he just stares emptily at Louis as
if the fairy’s words are just impossible to process.
“Oh,” he utters. It’s far too high-pitched to be casual and he clears his throat. “Um. Uh. Right. I’m.
Okay.”
Harry isn’t too familiar with the exact details of the Grimm fairy-tales, but he does know how to
put two and two together. Zayn being from Grimm, Zayn looking like Patricia, Patricia having
golden hands…
Of course the theory isn’t set in stone, but it’s not that far off to guess that Queen Patricia is Zayn’s
mother. Which means, that if that’s true…
If that’s true, Zayn just found his family.
Harry is suddenly overwhelmed by a massive wave of relief and indescribable joy. Because this…
This could ensure a happy ending for Zayn. Zayn, who’s gone through life thinking he’s all alone,
Zayn, who’s been pushed around from foster home to foster home, Zayn, who’s been so afraid to
get attached to anyone because of how he’s had to leave them every single time.
Zayn. Who’s been hurting all his life but Harry gets to see make it through that.
Louis’ words from that day at the beach ring in his ears, it might help to see him get a happy
ending despite all that, Harry remembers the bitter feeling of scepticism because this is Earth and
no happy endings are real, but he still went with it because it’s Louis, and he tried, and he tried, and
he tried, and he made friends with Zayn.
Which only makes this realization that much sweeter because now he can be unselfishly happy for
Zayn, too. Something very out of place and unfamiliar for him, but not unwelcome at all. It’s the
purest sort of happiness he’s ever felt, and Harry feels his face break into a glowing smile as he
watches Zayn’s shocked expression beside him.
The dinner keeps going, Harry making sure to engage in every conversation and to laugh in all the
right places, and he feels a surge of accomplishment when at the end of it even Johanna’s eyes
twinkle happily when she looks at him. Louis also looks delighted beyond all wits that Harry’s
being this agreeable, and Harry thinks that might be his favorite part.
As the night goes on, the five boys together with some other elves and fairies, remove themselves
from the table to sit on the soft grass. Some of Louis’ other friends are starting to talk about
dancing and music, but Harry’s very content right where he is. Which is to say, lying on his back
with his head resting comfortably in Louis’ lap.
Louis caught on very quickly that Harry likes having his hair played with. It’s just a thing, it’s
always been a thing, really, and Harry just completely melts into the touch every time. It was Louis
idea, too, this time, as he’d disappeared for a minute and come back with his hands full of daisies,
demanding that Harry let him put them in his hair.
(“They’d compliment your angelic face very nicely, Harold, I don’t make the rules.”
“I’m pretty sure my angelic face looks plenty angelic even without flowers, though?”
“No. No, I don’t think it does, actually.)
And hence, here they are now. Harry guesses this should be… Well, beneath him, in a way. To lie
with his head in a pretty fairy’s lap, slightly buzzed on red wine and let dainty hands nestle flowers
into his curls. It’s affectionate and close and very innocent, in a way the Harry Styles is not ever.
But it feels better than anything he’s ever felt. Harry’s body is relaxed and his chest is light and he
feels like the sun is shining out from Louis’ fingertips and into his mind, making everything vivid
and beautiful.
So truly, fuck the Harry Styles.
Just right by them, Louis’ fairy and elf friends are now getting up to dance, having gone to grab
flutes and violins and ukuleles and they clap along to the rhythm, carefree melody slowly filling
the air.
Louis hums appreciatingly when he hears it, clearly recognizing the song, and he quietly starts
singing along. His voice is soft and high and like the gentlest velvet blanket to Harry’s ear. Not a
single note is out of place, and Harry’s eyes, who’s been closed for quite a while, snaps open
immediately to look at Louis with wonder.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” he says, quietly, because while he wants to let Louis know how his
singing might be Harry’s new favorite sound, he doesn’t want Louis to stop singing, either.
He does, though, of course he does, because even though Harry’s slowly started to learn how to
give out compliments in a somewhat blasé way, Louis doesn’t quite know how to receive them
with the same ease. His ears go red and his lower lips wobble a little as he tries to appear
unbothered, but Harry always knows it affects him so much.
“Well,” the fairy speaks, just as lightly. “I’m not like the music fairies or anything, you should hear
them, their harmonies sound like—“
“I’m sure they sound lovely,” Harry cuts him off, smile nipping at the corners of his mouth. “But
I’m pretty sure I’d still prefer your singing.”
The rose tint on Louis’ cheeks is addicting and Harry never wants to stop being the reason for it.
They fall into a comfortable silence once again as Louis finishes his decorating of Harry’s hair
under hushed humming, pretending like he doesn’t notice Harry’s eyes on him the entire time.
When he’s done, he still doesn’t take his hands off Harry’s curls, keeping on twining strands
between his delicate fingers and rubbing his fingertips lightly into Harry’s scalp, and Harry is
relaxed and he’s happy and he’s so very infatuated.
“Hey,” Louis nudges Harry’s shoulder suddenly, bringing the green-eyed boy out of his trance, and
points out to the dancing mass of people. “Would you look at that.”
Harry looks in the pointed direction and his eyes widen with joy when he sees Zayn and Liam
among all the forest creatures. They’ve been swirling around in rugged circles and giggling
relentlessly, clearly having the time of their lives ever since the music first started playing, but now
—
They’re kissing. Right there, out in the open, catching and chasing each other’s mouths like they’re
playing the world’s loveliest game. And while it’s totally lovesick and disgusting, Harry is so
happy for them he thinks his insides might just burst.
“It’s about time they got their shit together,” is what he chooses to comment, not taking his eyes off
his elated friends. “It’s kind of gross how they’ve tip toed around each other.”
Louis gives out an agreeing sound, grinning madly.
“Yeah. Only kind of, though. It’s also kind of cute. Delicate.”
“I guess,” Harry allows, the corners of his mouth perking upwards. “They’re really gone for each
other, aren’t they?”
“They really are.”
Louis doesn’t say anything more after that, and Harry lets himself briefly wonder if they’d actually
been talking about Liam and Zayn or if there had been some kind of underlying message. He kind
of hopes there was. He needs there to be.
“So, Harry,” a high, raspy voice speaks from above him, and when Harry turns his head Louis is
smiling mischievously. “Do you, ah—dance?”
Harry can’t help but let out a snort of surprised laughter. Endeared. He is so endeared.
“Original,” he remarks.
Louis just raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to answer the question. His eyes are twinkling like
an ocean during sunrise and Harry just shakes his head with a quiet laugh.
“No,” he offers at last. “I don’t dance. Like them.”
This seems to be exactly the answer Louis wants, because his smirk spreads into a beam and he
grabs Harry by the hand and drags him determinedly into the middle of the meadow to join the
crowd.
It’s nothing like the last time they danced together—Harry still has the memory of Louis grinding
against him in sweaty club painfully and wonderfully clear in his mind, the proximity and the heat
and the shamelessness of it all. Don’t get Harry wrong—it’s an amazing memory. Top five ever,
for sure.
This is just different, because there’s nothing sexy about it. Nothing filthy or suggestive or flirty,
but only the blatant and undisguised joy of twirling around in circles as fast as they can, crashing
into other creatures just to be annoying (especially Liam and Zayn to get their attention, and a
chance to give them suggestive looks and make the pair blush), feet light and skipping over the
lawn.
Louis is just glowing, is the thing. Harry is positive rays of light are radiating from his hands and
chest and eyes, almost blinding the spirit but also making him completely uncapable of tearing his
awestruck gaze away. He looks happier than Harry’s seen him so far, probably on the brink of
euphoric, and Harry wants to pull him close and hold him and kiss him until he can’t breathe ever
again.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t even realize Louis’ watching him right back. He
doesn’t see the change in Louis’ face when he makes a decision, and he at first doesn’t even notice
Louis slowing the pace. When he does, though, he raises a questioning eyebrow, and Louis is
evidently struggling to hold back a giddy smile.
“Do you—want to go back to my cabin?” he asks, and the unclothed desire in his eyes makes Harry
understand precisely what he’s asking.
Harry smiles so widely he think something might break, and pulls Louis into himself, slipping an
arm around his waist as they start moving away from the people and the music.
Harry has Louis against the wall the minute they’re inside Louis’ bungalow, lips attacking Louis’
mouth and hands reaching down to Louis’ thighs to hitch him up on his hips. Louis complies so
surely and immediately and it has Harry’s entire body buzzing and glowing like the brightest
fireflies. When Louis opens his mouth for air, Harry slips his tongue into his mouth because he
needs this, needs to taste and feel and needs to be closer, needs Louis so much he thinks he might
go out of his mind. His pants are already tight.
“Pretty,” he can’t help but mumble against Louis’ lips. “Always so fucking pretty.”
Louis whines and pulls Harry tighter against him, digging his nails into the thin fabric of Harry’s
shirt and pushing his abdomen forward to line up their bodies so impossibly close Harry barely
feels like his own person anymore.
“Bed,” the fairy manages to get out, and Harry complies immediately, steady hands under his
thighs carrying Louis across the room and gently putting him down on the petal soft duvet.
Louis is sliding his hands under Harry’s shirt as soon as the spirit is on top of him again, wandering
upwards and feeling the warm skin on his stomach and chest. Harry shivers under his touch, but as
they start traveling along his waist and over to his back, he feels his spine momentarily tense up.
It’s not that he doesn’t want this, not at all—he’s just excruciatingly aware of the two massive,
stretched out and flaming scars he has on his back, very apparent to the touch. He knows that Louis
can maybe probably figure out that getting your wings ripped off do leave marks, but Harry still
worries that Louis is going to feel the damaged tissue under his fingertips and it’s all going to
become too close and too real for him. That he’s going to pull away.
“I have. I have scars—there,” Harry therefore murmurs, and he hates how vulnerable he sounds.
“From my wings.”
Louis stops to give him a vigilant look. Harry can practically see his mind work, putting pieces
together, and he holds his breath as Louis slowly lowers his hands.
“Okay.” He nods, attentive and assuring. “Do you—not want me to—?”
“No, it’s fine, I just. Didn’t want to scare you away with it.”
And Harry’s cautiousness is justified, it’s so justified because his scars are nasty and Louis isn’t
used to that kind of stuff after all, but Louis just lets out a small giggle and pushes back Harry’s
fringe from his face.
“You haven’t scared me away yet, so I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed for good.”
He surges back up to reattach their lips and Harry wonders if Louis’ powers work on people too,
because he’s pretty sure Louis’ light fingerprints are making Harry’s veins blossom and flowers
erupt in his lungs.
They spend seconds and minutes just making out, and Harry thinks Louis is the one person in the
worlds he could spend forever just kissing. That’s not the plan tonight, though, because Harry can
feel Louis harden against his leg and buck his hips up in search for friction, and the spirit beams
against Louis’ lips before he pulls away, sitting on his knees between Louis’ thighs.
His hand travels along Louis’ smooth stomach and down to palm his growing erection, and Louis’
breath hitches. Harry can’t help but lean down, letting his breath ghost over the delicate trail of
hair disappearing in under Louis’ trousers.
“What do you want?” he mumbles against soft skin and smiles almost unnoticeably at the way the
muscles in Louis’ abdomen clenches. He steadily unzips Louis’ pants and sneaks a hand into his
boxers as he waits for the answer, starting to stroke Louis steadily and the fairy’s breath stutters as
his hips helplessly buck up into his fist.
“Want—“ Louis whimpers, evidently trying hard to concentrate through the effect Harry has on
him, and how incredibly receptive he always is to Harry’s touch has the curly boy painfully hard in
his jeans. “Want you to fuck me.”
Harry’s world kind of stops for a couple of seconds. The hand on Louis’ dick freezes immediately
and another gorgeous—but unhappy—whine escapes Louis’ lips at the sudden lack of friction.
Louis’ eyes are still fixed on the ceiling, so Harry just keeps on staring until he finally lowers his
gaze to lock it with Harry’s. Harry, trying to put aside the fact that this is more or less a dream
come true, a miracle and a blessing upon his humble character, bites the inside of his cheek loosely
as he searches for an answer.
“Are you sure?” he settles for at last, because god, he always has to ask. Louis hasn’t done any of
this before and it’s infinitely important to Harry that everything is done on Louis’ terms.
“Harry,” Louis says with exasperation detectable on his features. “Do I, after all this time, still
strike you as a type of person who has a hard time saying no?”
Harry licks his slowly stretching lips before biting down on a smile. No, Louis doesn’t, not at all.
But Harry still has to ask. One of the most essential things he’s learned about Louis from all the
time they’ve spent together, is that Louis needs everything to deliberately be his choice. All the
moments where Louis has protested against Harry’s initiatives just to become flustered and
compliant as soon as Harry asked him what he wanted is sacred content that Harry has safely
tucked away in his mind, a loudly speaking sign of how crucial that control is to Louis. The spirit
supposes it comes from him being a fairy, that it’s born out of defiance towards other creatures’
tendencies to try and push him around and treat him like he’s fragile.
And Louis isn’t fragile, Harry’s always known he isn’t. So he’ll keep asking.
“Just got to be sure,” he mumbles.
He lets go of Louis to get up and reach for the backpack where he distinctly remembers the lube
being, and finds it smoothly along with some condoms. Not that they really need them, he figures,
because Harry is clean and Louis hasn’t done this before so presumably so is he, but if this is
Louis’ first time, then Harry’s going to do this exemplary and as safely as he possibly can.
When he turns back to the bed, Louis has kicked off his all of his clothes. He’s brought a hand to
his erection, stroking himself lazily and while the sight almost makes Harry come on the spot, he
also wants to take his time with this.
So when he gets into the bed again, smoothly slipping out of his own clothes on the way, he softly
but determinedly locks his fingers around Louis’ wrist to remove his hand.
“Don’t,” he murmurs softly but firmly. “Don’t want you to come too early.”
Louis knits his eyebrows together briefly, but he does comply and a surge of affection runs through
Harry’s veins. He wants to make Louis feel good. He wants to make this perfect for him.
“Will it hurt a lot?” Louis asks after a moment of hesitation, and Harry narrows his eyes a little as
he tries to find any sort of fear or reluctance behind the statement. He doesn’t want to do this if
Louis doesn’t feel one hundred percent ready, and if he sees the slightest sign that Louis is in fact
not—then he’s not going to do it. No matter how much he wants to. No matter how much Louis
tries to convince him the opposite.
“Usually not a lot,” he answers. “But it will probably hurt in the beginning.”
Louis exhales around a small smile and nods.
“Figured,” he mumbles, letting his hand lightly trace the black marks on Harry’s forearm.
“Is that alright?”
Louis puffs out a short laughter and he looks like stars and rippling streams, and he raises his hands
to sink into Harry’s hair and pull him down.
“Yes, it’s alright,” he assures and connects their lips again. Harry doesn’t protest.
He fits himself immediately in the space between Louis’ thighs, grinding down on him once to feel
Louis gasp against his tongue, before leaning back and propping Louis’ legs up, and gripping the
lube to pop it open and put some on his fingers.
“You’ll tell me if you want to stop, yeah?” he utters lowly, catching Louis’ glossy gaze for
confirmation.
Louis nods fiercely.
“Of course,” he says breathily, “of course, just. Get on with it.”
With a small smile, Harry nods affirmingly and then brings one lube coated finger inside Louis.
Louis inhales shakily at the coolness and the unknown sensation, and Harry takes his time sinking
the finger all the way in to his knuckle. Louis huffs out a breath and squirms a little, and Harry
stops for a bit.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Yeah, I’m good. Keep going.”
So Harry does, thrusting in and out with his finger a couple of times to get Louis used to the
feeling, checking again that Louis is alright before adding a second one. Louis assures him again
that he’s fine with a huff and an eyeroll, but Harry doesn’t miss the faint upturn of the corners of
his mouth every time he asks, and that’s what truly matters to him.
He leans down to connect their lips as he keeps thrusting his fingers, slowly and sensually. Louis is
tight around him, and Harry has to hold back a moan at just the thought of sinking into that heat.
He’s been thinking about this since the first time he saw Louis.
Of course, by then it hadn’t meant anything. They’d been heated fantasies only ruled by lust, a
want to bend Louis over and turn him into a whimpering mess, it’d been rough and unemotional
and nothing at all like this right now. Now Harry just wants Louis to feel good. He wants to be
gentle, he wants to be slow, he wants to take his time making Louis come apart underneath him,
and he wants to kiss him everywhere, wants to touch, wants to linger.
He keeps going for a bit until he figures Louis is used to the feeling, and then starts curling his
fingers tryingly.
The delicious moan escaping Louis’ lips a few seconds later and the way he tips his head back a bit
tells Harry all he needs to know.
“Good?” he mumbles as his face slowly melts into a smirk.
Louis shakes out a breath and nods violently.
“Yes,” he hisses, “yes. Please.” He pushes down onto Harry’s fingers again, like he just can’t
control himself and Harry has to breathe slowly for a good five seconds to not bring a hand to his
own dick and jack off just from the way Louis’ lips are shiny and bitten raw.
“Needy,” he hums. “Can take a third one?”
Louis just nods jerkily and Harry runs a thumb across his plumped lower lip.
“I want to hear you,” he demands softly, and Louis is quick to obey.
“Another one,” he all but wails. “Please.”
And well. Since he asks so prettily.
Harry takes Louis’ lip between his teeth as he eases a third and final finger in, and he keeps
fingering the writhing fairy underneath him, curling and scissoring with every careful jerk until
Louis is bucking his hips up against Harry’s stomach for friction on his hard cock.
Harry could do this all night, is the thing. Watch Louis come apart under him, snark turning into
slurred pleading and pointed eye rolls turning into fluttering eyelashes, observe the emotion and
hazy pleasure dance around in the crinkles and muscles of Louis’ face and it’s enough just to know
that he’s behind it. Harry never thought himself to be a foreplay kind of guy, but he supposes Louis
just can’t leave a single aspect of his being untouched and unchanged.
His own cock is so hard it’s almost unbearable, but the exquisite moans now tumbling out of
Louis’ slack mouth are too intoxicating for Harry to give anything else too much thought. So he
keeps going, sinking all three fingers into Louis’ heat knuckle-deep every time, until Louis starts
talking again.
“Harry,” he rasps, “want to—“
“What do you want, baby?” Harry asks softly.
“Want your cock,” the fairy gets out and the words go like an electric jolt through Harry’s body
and straight to his dick, and he curses lowly. “Now. I’m good, I’m ready.”
Harry nods, pulling his fingers out, and Louis flinches a little at the sudden emptiness.
“Of course you are,” Harry says, a soft hand tracing the soft skin of Louis’ inner thigh. “My
gorgeous boy. Always good.”
It’s endearing, how affected Louis is by praise. No matter when or in what context, it always has
the fairy’s ears a slightly redder shade and his eyes a bit brighter with satisfaction, and it’s a look
Harry loves on him. That one time, back in Wonderland when Louis had first brought up the
effectiveness with compliments, Harry had admittedly been very reluctant, but the way Louis turns
to a blissed-out mush underneath him now makes Harry want to shower him with admiration every
day for the rest of his life.
After rolling the condom on and lubing himself up generously, Harry positions himself and starts
to slowly and so carefully ease his cock into Louis, watching his face closely to be sure to catch
even the smallest sign of discomfort. A low groan escapes from his mouth at the feeling of Louis’
tight heat finally around him.
Halfway in, Louis grimaces and his breath hitches, and Harry stops to let him get adjusted.
“Okay?” be breathes, holding Louis’ gaze.
“Just need a second,” Louis says, nodding. He clenches around Harry experimentally and Harry has
to bite his cheek really hard to prevent an embarrassingly loud moan.
“Okay,” Louis says after a little while. “Keep going.”
Harry is just as slow this time, pushing more and more until his hips are finally flush against Louis.
“You’re doing so well,” Harry murmurs, a thumb stroking Louis’ jawline. “So good, you’re so
good, baby.”
It’s so worth it, seeing the blush creep up on Louis’ face, preening under the praise. The corners of
Harry’s lips perk up a little and he bends down to catch Louis’ mouth in a messy kiss and Louis
reciprocates immediately, bringing his hands up to tangle in the soft hair by Harry’s neck.
The tight, hot friction on Harry’s cock is overwhelming, magnifying all his senses, and he bites
down on his lower lip as he starts rocking into Louis, trying to get him accustomed to the
sensation. He lets his lips ghost over Louis’ the entire time, nipping and gently pressing down on
Louis’ panting mouth every other second like a lifeline, to provide reassurance and serenity, and
Louis’ grip in Harry’s curls only tightens.
Harry decides then to change his angle a bit, trying to find the same spot that made Louis’ toes curl
and his breathing pause just a few moments ago. It takes a couple of tries, but when Louis’ back
arches and he lets out the sweetest moan yet, Harry’s heart skips a beat with victory and he aims at
that spot again as he quickens his pace a little.
“So pretty,” he praises, hitting Louis’ prostate with every thrust now, “love how responsive you
are, baby, it’s such a lovely look on you.”
Louis starts pressing down to meet Harry while clawing desperately down the spirit’s back. His
eyes are fluttering and Harry reaches down to wrap a hand around Louis’ cock.
“Talk to me,” Harry urges, starting to feel that familiar heat build in the pit of his stomach. “Don’t
hold back, Lou, want to hear you.”
“God, don’t stop” Louis moans as Harry starts pumping him slowly. “Please, I’m—you feel so
good, fuck.“
Harry’s hand on Louis’ dick starts moving faster while he hits his prostate with every snap of his
hips, concentrating fully on making Louis reach his high. The blue-eyed boy is a practically
incoherent mess by now, hands fisting in the sheets under him and his ankles locked together
behind Harry’s back to pull him in closer.
It doesn’t take many more twists of Harry’s hand until Louis’ comes, white stripes splattering onto
his stomach and Harry’s hand as his hips leave the matters, stuttering through his orgasm and
clenching so deliciously around Harry, and the completely blissed out look on his face is the most
beautiful thing Harry has ever seen.
He’s painfully close now, knowing he’ll only last a couple of thrusts more, so he keeps slipping his
aching cock in and out of Louis’ sensitive hole. Louis just watches him with a dreamy look, eyelids
fluttering slightly.
“Makes me feel so good all the time,” Louis slurs between breaths. “Always feel safe with you.”
With those words blurring his senses and a final thrust, Harry comes hard, burying himself deep in
Louis one last time. He pulls out slowly, and when Louis winces and grimaces at the feeling of it
Harry brings a hand down to reassuringly intertwine with Louis’ smaller one. Louis’ face softens
again instantly, sending a surge of affection through Harry’s body as he reaches down to the
backpack again and pulls out some tissues (he’s got to hand it to Niall, honestly. The boy is
thorough) and wipes Louis down gently, before lying down next to the fairy and pulling him close.
They catch their breath together, and the way Louis seems so infinitely satisfied and tranquil has
small doses of moonlight swirling through Harry’s nerves. Even though Harry does like Louis’
feistiness and stamina, his biting remarks and sharp looks, he has to admit having Louis like this is
something very special and precious to him, too. He figures a very small amount of people in
Louis’ life ever gets to see him with his guard this totally demolished, and he likes that concept, of
holding a part of Louis that no one else holds.
“This really got me thinking,” Louis speaks up after a little while, his voice still soft and drawly.
“Like. When people on Earth have sex and it hurts in the beginning, is it ever like… Awkward for
you? To have to be the one in that room making that happen?”
A surprised burst of laughter escapes from Harry and he slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle it.
“Um. It was in the beginning? But you get used to it.”
“Poor Earth humans. Completely unaware of that third presence watching them in their most
vulnerable moments.”
Harry hums in agreement and lets his fingers lightly start playing with Louis’ hair.
“I once had a human who got a sex toy stuck up their ass. They had to go to the hospital to take it
out.”
Louis gasps. “No.”
“Yes. Like watching a car crash, it was.”
“Oh my god.”
“You know something horrific is about to happen but you’re just too far gone to look away.”
Louis turns his face to laugh into Harry’s skin, and the tingly warmth on Harry’s collarbone keeps
him grounded.
They lie in silence after that. Louis is pretty sure he can’t feel his toes anymore and he’s lying with
his head in the crook of Harry’s neck breathing in his earthy, calm scent and he feels endlessly
content.
Once again, he tilts his head up to let his eyes wander along Harry’s jawline and soft cheek and
black eyelashes, and he can’t help but wonder how this boy got to where he is. For his life, Louis
cannot comprehend how Harry went from being the worst and meanest person Louis’ ever met, to
being the caring boy Louis’ ended up falling for.
There’s still something Louis doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, about Harry’s character. There is
one important aspect he’s yet to learn about for Harry’s entire persona to make sense.
He wants to figure it all out. He wants to know Harry like the back of his hand, he wants to ask and
ask and ask and he wants Harry to talk and talk and talk, until the fog in Louis’ head has lifted
completely.
“Hey,” he says carefully. “I have a question.”
He’s met with a soft snort.
“You have a question for me?” Harry muses. “I’m in shock.”
“Haha.”
“Let me just. This has never happened before. I need a second to process.”
“You’re so funny.”
“What’s next—you’re going to tell me I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to, too? That’d just be
too many new experiences for me to handle.”
“Harry.” Louis swats his chest in an attempt to underline his disapproval, but Harry just snickers.
“What deep, dark secret do you want to unveil this time, Lou?” he asks calmly, eyes still twinkling
humorously.
Louis sighs, face heating up only so slightly at the way Harry pokes fun at him, but he doesn’t
seem to be upset or iffy about it in the slightest, so Louis sees that as an okay sign.
“Well.” He pauses, trying to figure out the best way to formulate the question. “The thing with you
was that you always enjoyed causing pain, right? And I sort of need to—want to—know… How.
Because you’ve changed so drastically and so quickly it just seems unrealistic that you were born
with a natural will to hurt other creatures. You know? What made you like it?”
Harry is quiet for so long, smile dropped off of his face now. He’s contemplating, and biting his
lip, and scratching his neck, and avoiding Louis’ gaze, and Louis is just a tiny bit from taking it
back and changing the subject, when he finally answers.
“It’s very… Vital for understanding that question, to know how we’re raised in Tartaros,” he tries
slowly. “We don’t get. We don’t get much love, if you will. You need to earn Mother’s respect
and care, and you can’t do that until you’re mature enough to start working, and by then the
damage is already done.”
Louis wants to cut in fiercely with how no child should have to earn his own parent’s love, but
Harry is evidently not done, so he keeps quiet and lets him continue.
“I don’t think you truly can comprehend what growing up in Tartaros is like unless you’ve done it.
We have to hang around the lost souls all day and all night, we have to constantly breathe in that
desperation and sorrow and fury, we have to collect pieces of their negative energy to learn what
defines pain. Then there’s—there’s the wing ceremony, which causes us a great deal of pain on our
own. We’re shoved around and crumbled and crushed again and again, and while exposing us to all
of this, they engrave into our brains that if we ever want to feel better, we need to transfer our pain
onto other living creatures. The only way to rid ourselves of our misery is to put it on others, and
the more pain we cause, the less pain we’ll feel. It’s sick, and it’s manipulative, and not true, and I
know that now, but. But it made perfect sense at the time. And you don’t understand what you’d
do to relieve all that pent-up agony when you finally get a chance to.”
Louis is slowly starting to regret that he asked.

Or, well, not really, because Harry trusting him with this information means more to Louis than
any discomfort can make him fully regret. But the violent twisting of his stomach at the realization
of what wicked, vicious powers exist out there, that’s what’s screaming throughout his entire body
right now.
He opens his mouth to say something, anything to make it more bearable, as if there were words
out there that could possibly erase Harry’s hurt.
“But I don’t want that to be me,” Harry says quickly before Louis gets any further. “That’s just
how I was meant to be. That’s how they prepared me for being able to do my job without feeling
bad. If I genuinely believe that with every human I work with, I will be a little more healed, I’m
going to let the selfishness in me speak louder than any shred of empathy I have left. Because that’s
how unbearable that pain is.”
Louis feels sick to his stomach. He wants to throw up, and cry, and pull his hair and bloody punch
someone at the mere thought of Harry having to enduring this.
He can’t bring himself to do anything but watch Harry’s face with a pained frown and stroke a curl
away from the spirit’s forehead.
“That’s fucked up,” he manages to get out, and he means for it to have some kind of pressure and
determination behind it, but it comes out small and low. “That’s—you shouldn’t have had to go
through that. No one should’ve put you through that.”
Harry just shrugs. He’s calm and pensive like this isn’t a big deal at all to him and Louis’ world is
on fire.
“It’s a dead end, though,” Harry says. “If they’d raise us with kindness and comfort and teach us
how to love, we wouldn’t survive our job. If someone threw you completely unprepared onto Earth
tomorrow saying ‘you’re to only cause people discomfort, pain and torture, you’ll live among
death and crying and abuse from this moment on, and it’s going to be like this for the rest of your
life’. Wouldn’t it kill you?”
It would, it would, it would, it would and Louis could cry into Harry’s neck because he kind of
wishes he didn’t have to know but he’s also infinitely happy and moved that Harry trusts him
enough to open up and tell him and share his thoughts and reasoning and god.
Louis wants to hold him forever until nothing ever hurts anymore.
“It would,” he just breathes. He doesn’t stop looking at Harry’s face. Harry’s bizarrely peaceful,
steady, low-tempered face.
Harry nods.
“It’d be a stream of never-ending torture to live with what we do every day with a well-functioning
conscience. We wouldn’t make it. So they just try their best to erase it from the beginning.”
This is a lot to take in.
“That’s not fair.” Louis can feel something wet pooling in the corners of his eyes and he tries so
fiercely to hold it down, to keep his voice steady, but it fails him and his voice breaks on the last
syllable. “That’s fucking terrible. I hate—I hate that so much.”
Something changes in Harry’s eyes then, for the first time, a sudden wrinkle between his eyebrows
and worried greens shifting rapidly across Louis’ face as he watches him more carefully.
“Louis,” he says, lowly now, distraught, and Louis finds it unbearable that he’s been completely
composed talking about his horrible background, but the tiniest sign that Louis is upset is what has
him reacting.
Louis promised himself once upon a time that he’d never cry in front of Harry. He’d sworn with all
his heart that Harry would never get to see him that vulnerable, as especially not if the spirit
himself is the reason for Louis’ tears. And here he is now, well on his way to set free the
waterworks.
Of course, when he made that promise he didn’t exactly expect the crying to be out of empathy, out
of caring for Harry’s well-being.
“And what made you realize it wasn’t true?” he asks. “How did you know?”
Harry smiles fondly as he answers with precision and earnestness, like he’s thought about this over
and over and has had the answer for forever.
“Because I quickly realized that being the reason for someone’s happiness made me feel so much
better than I tricked myself into thinking being the reason for someone’s pain ever did. And when
that was clear to me… I couldn’t just not give in to that. I couldn’t keep being miserable.”
Yeah, they’re spilling. Louis is crying. His tears are out there.
And Harry looks mildly horrified as he rapidly runs a thumb across Louis’ cheek to make it
disappear.
“Why are you crying? Louis. I’m okay,” he says, so convincingly and surely, and Louis huffs out a
wet laughter.
“Are you?” It’s a genuine question and Louis hopes he manages to convey that, that Harry doesn’t
mistake it as incredulous or pitying or something else that’s undesirable and wrong for the
situation.
Louis just really needs to know that Harry is alright.
“Yeah,” Harry nods in small motions, hands not leaving Louis’ face. “More okay than I’ve ever
been, Lou, are you okay?”
Is Louis okay?
Is Louis okay?
Louis is at loss for words, so rather than replying anything at all, he just stares at Harry for several
seconds, before wrapping his arms so tightly around Harry’s middle he can feel his knuckles go
white.
He’s honestly feeling like he could get an aneurysm any moment by now, and he presses his lips
onto the skin separating Harry’s heart from the cold, harsh air. His own chest is stained the tiniest
with regret and those small blotches keeps asking him if he hadn’t been better off not knowing all
of this.
But he knows deep down he wouldn’t, first of all because Harry not sugar coating things for him is
still his favorite concept, still has him so eternally grateful. Harry isn’t scared of showing Louis the
ugly parts of reality, the first one who isn’t trying to shield him from it all, and him not keeping
Louis in the dark like every other creature in his life means more than words.
And secondly, because the last pieces of his Harry puzzle is finally in place, and he gets
everything. He understands, he knows, he gets it. Why he used to be so terrible, why his mother is
such a sensitive subject, why he was so provoked by Louis, why once he started making good
deeds everything happened so quickly, because Harry was never bad, he was lost and he was
hurting and he was traumatized and he was never bad.
And Louis thinks the absolute world of him. God, let it be too soon and too fast and too intense, but
Louis’ never been one for taking his time or reject strong feelings and he loves Harry so, so much.
He loves him. He drives Louis up the wall, and he’s proud, and cynical, and stubborn, and
inflammatory, and Louis loves him. He’s gentle and careful and sensitive and honest and regardful,
and Louis loves him.
…So there’s that.
“What are you thinking?” Harry mumbles, his cautious tone ripping Louis out of his deep thoughts.
Louis wonders if maybe he’s regretting telling Louis. If Harry’s uncomfortable, if he’s taken aback
by Louis’ overwhelming emotions.
He really hopes that he’s not, and Louis closes his eyes.
“I’m thinking… That I’m really happy you’re not as big of a twat as I thought you were.”
He earns a snort from the spirit.
“Likewise.” There’s a smile in the way he forms his words and Louis is content. He gradually feels
himself starting to drift off, the weight of the day’s events making itself known, and it would be
quite nice to sleep. Really nice. So he resolutely crawls entirely on top of Harry, and he closes his
eyes.
”Louis? Louis, wake up. Louis!”
“What?” Louis’ eyelids flutter as he stirs awake.
“Louis, wake up!”
“What?”
Louis raises his head and chest from where he’s still perched atop of Harry, reacting on the urgent
tone in the boy’s voice. His sleepy eyes meet Harry’s with confusion. He’d just barely fallen into
his slumber, and he’s quite eager to make it last longer than like a minute.
“What’s going on?” Louis mumbles, starting to look around the room for any potential danger. “Is
something wrong?”
“Louis,” Harry repeats. “I’m a horrible person.”
Louis’ brow furrows and he nails Harry to the pillow with his eyes.
“What?” he says for the third time in about thirty seconds. “Where did that come from?”
Harry looks pained, eyes ramming over Louis’ face and his mouth pursed.
“You know that day when we fell through the portal the first time?”
Louis rolls his eyes.
“No, completely slipped my mind,” he says and lies back down on Harry’s chest, pressing his
cheek against his heart.
“Don’t bloody go back asleep!” Harry swats his arm. “This is important to me.”
“God, I wasn’t going to,” Louis locks his fingers together over Harry’s chest and props his chin up
on them to be able to see Harry properly.
Of course he remembers that day. It feels so distant now, like it happened in a different time or
space. He remembers thinking he’s never hated anyone more than he hates Harry Styles,
remembers completely lashing out, remembers a malevolent Harry with cold in his eyes,
remembers only ugliness and anger and not even a hint of this soft, distraught boy in bed with him
right now.
“Louis, do you remember what I said to you that day?”
“Yeah.”
Harry whimpers like this is the worst thing he’s ever heard.
“I told you that you were never going to amount to anything,” he says, dread evident, and Louis
grimaces. “I told you that you were nothing.”
“Jeez, Harry, not to rip open any old wounds or anything.”
“This isn’t the time for joking!”
Louis is quiet for a moment, watching the spirit underneath him and realizing how steady those
green eyes are being, filled to the brink with sincerity.
“You’re… Actually torn up about that?” he questions tentatively.
“’Actually torn up’—of course I am! I didn’t mean that. Please tell me you know I didn’t mean
that.”
“I mean.” Louis scrunches up his nose and licks his lips. “I’m sure you did at the time. But I—“
“No, you don’t understand. I didn’t mean that.”
“Harry—“
“I literally cannot stress this enough.”
“Honestly, we both said awful things that day. If I still held a grudge about that, believe me when I
tell you that you would be aware. Can we not agree to put that behind us?”
“No. It’s important to me that you know this.” Harry’s voice is so urging, and he suddenly sits up,
causing Louis to yelp and cling onto Harry’s shoulders to keep himself upright, too. He scoots back
a bit so that they can face each other while Harry’s talking.
“I didn’t ever mean any of that,” Harry says once again. “Not even then. I said it only because I
knew that it’d trigger your worst insecurities—which is probably even worse—but it just hit me
and I cannot go on with my day knowing that the possibility of you still thinking I thought that
there is any form of truth behind those words exists.”
“I don’t—“ Louis bites the inside of his cheek meditatively. “I know you said it to hurt me. Didn’t
have to mean you didn’t see it as truth, though.”
“I didn’t.”
“I quite got that.” Louis lets a small smile slip through in an attempt to soothe Harry a bit. “But as I
said. That’s not you now. And let’s not forget how mean I was, either. We were both in the
wrong.”
“But all you said was true,” Harry stresses. “That’s the thing. It was the harshest truth, but it was
still the truth. I just spewed whatever bullshit I could come up with. Unprovoked.”
“Harry,” Louis tries again. He’s said it so many times since he woke up it starts feeling like an
emotion rather than a name. “I’m a big boy. I could take it.”
“God, I know.” Harry bites his lip. “But I. Our conversation last night got me thinking back on that
and then I couldn’t stop because I was that horrible for such a long time and I always thought you
were really hard on me just to be a pain but fuck, Louis, you had every right to be because my kind
of behavior was inexcusable and if it weren’t for you I’d probably still be caught in that. You’ve
just. You’ve helped me so much and I owe you so many things and and it’s very, very vital to me
that you know that I think you could conquer the world, if you’d want to. And I always did.”
Louis’ skin is burning up. He’s pretty sure that his heart is about to jump right up his throat and out
of his body from how warm and explosive his ribcage is feeling from Harry’s words and Harry’s
pleading stare on him, and he wants to laugh and cry and kiss Harry until his mouth is bruised and
tiny fragments of Louis rest in the creases of his lips and Louis’ tongue knows the taste of Harry by
heart.
He doesn’t do any of that—extremely surprisingly, because control of his body feels like a very
foreign concept right now. He rather just sits there, watches and watches and watches as Harry
looks down on his lap and purses his mouth in a way that Louis could bet is nervousness, and
Louis holds entire galaxies inside his lungs.
What Louis does, is to smile a small smile. He lifts a hand to lightly trace Harry’s defined jaw and
it’s amazing, really, how completely enamored he is with this boy.
“I don’t think you need me to teach you how to be nice anymore,” he states.
“I’m not—“ Harry’s eyes are a bit more serene from Louis’ touch, but he still looks all too
disgruntled for the fairy’s liking, so Louis quickly keeps going before Harry has the chance.
“I really want you to remember this moment right here the next time you feel like getting down on
yourself, alright. Because when you realized your shitty behaviour you woke me up in the middle
of the night to apologize, and when I realized my shitty behaviour I attacked you in a club
bathroom and called you a tank of fuckvermin. That’s a thing I did.”
Harry snorts, but he doesn’t protest and really—he doesn’t have a reason to. That was an
admittedly bad move on Louis’ behalf.
“Also,” he continues, averting his gaze now. “I… didn’t have every right to. I could’ve—I could’ve
been more understanding. I didn’t know how much was on the line for you.”
“No, you didn’t,” Harry agrees. “So how could you’ve been more understanding?”
When Louis doesn’t answer, Harry just nods.
“So I just. Um, yeah. That was. That was what I wanted to say. Good talk.”
He looks down on his hands. Now that his anxiety is wearing off he seems embarrassed by the
whole ordeal, and Louis frowns at the mere thought, intertwining their fingers slowly.
(Somewhere along the line it’s become a natural thing to do. Louis isn’t complaining at all because
Harry definitely has the nicest hands Louis’ ever known. His fingertips are always a bit cold
against Louis’ knuckles and they’re so soft Louis feels like he’s holding silk.)
“I forgave you for that a long time ago,” Louis speaks quietly. “But it’s still really nice to hear you
say it.”
Harry’s breathing is slowing down, going back to being deep and calming, and his shoulders slump
in relief.
“Good. I—“ he nods to himself, “yeah. Good.”
He squeezes Louis’ hand back with a small smile, and Louis wants to jump and laugh and kiss him
senseless and do anything to get rid of all this euphoric excess of energy he’s gotten from Harry’s
words, but judging by how the sun is so soft and subtle from outside, it’s evidently still in the
middle of the night. He can hear the faint playing of violins and the stomping of feet still, but that’s
not too telling. Most nights the party goes on until the early hours of the morning.
He doesn’t feel like partying, though. He’d much rather stay here and have Harry all to himself.
So instead he climbs into Harry’s lap and pushes him down until he’s lying down again and Louis
has his ear pressed to his heart.
“Thank you very much for professing your undying admiration for me, you know how it gets me
going,” he states lightly, “but I was also quite enjoying that sleep and I think you should, too.”
Harry snorts, but he drapes an arm around Louis’ middle and nods.
“And for the record,” Louis adds as he closes his eyes. “I think you’re pretty lovely too, you loser.”
It feels like the start of something.
“I’m just saying,” Louis declares, looking up from the huge book currently opened in his lap to
give the other boys a meaning look, “that everything supports the theory of Zayn being Queen
Patricia’s lost son.”
It’s another sunny afternoon, and the five boys are sitting under the big oak. The boys had mutually
agreed to stay here as long as possible after that first night, the mission to help fixing the portals all
but forgotten in the daydream-y joy of being and existing in the Forest. The sun is warm and solid
on Louis’ legs and it’s comfortable and there’s no place he’d rather be than right here.
Niall bites his lip and nods in reply to Louis’ statement.
“It would explain a hell of a lot of things.”
“Exactly.” Louis nods. “Why Zayn is originally from Grimm, why he has golden hands, how he
ended up on Earth, why he’s so extremely attractive…”
“What? Why would attractiveness have anything to do with this?” Zayn cuts in with a puzzled
frown.
“All royalty in Grimm is stunningly beautiful. It’s just a fact, Zayn, keep up.”
Zayn raises an eyebrow and looks over to Harry.
“Should I question this?”
“I’d advise against it,” Harry says with a shrug. “This is a fairy-tale world, after all. Earth logic
won’t fit no matter how much you want it to.”
Louis rolls his eyes.
“Have any of you ever read about an ugly prince or princess in Grimm stories?”
“I—“ Zayn starts, but stops to actually ponder this. “I don’t know, actually.”
It’s because there are none. Louis knows his Grimm royalty. He nods resolutely, and Harry groans.
“Honestly?” he says. “This world is shaped to please Earth human values, so why is this a surprise
to anyone? Earth humans are the vainest creatures in all the universes, including Venus and
Aphrodite—no offense, Niall.”
“None taken,” Niall says around an apple.
“Okay, but is it really, though?” Louis counters, tilting his head and pursing his mouth in thought.
“Was Grimm created for Earth humans to believe in? Or were Earth humans created to believe in
Grimm?”
“Grimm must’ve been created for Earth humans.” Harry states it like it’s a crystal-clear fact.
“Earth humans needed to believe in magic, and Grimm was made to produce reason to believe.”
“But Grimm needs Earth humans to believe in their magic so why can’t Earth humans have been a
product to fill that function?”
“I’m going to have an existential crisis and blame you both,” Liam deadpans.
Louis is about to quip something back at him, but at that exact moment something happens to
petrify him in his tracks.
Something emerges from the oak’s portal. Someone.
The creatures is flung out on the ground before them on all four, but she quickly stands up and
dusts off her elbows and knees. Her back straightens up to eye all of the boys, and Louis just keeps
standing where he is, pretty sure he couldn’t even move if he wanted to.
The girl is infinitely beautiful, with the brightest eyes and softest hair and the most delicate hands,
and Harry and she’s got a matching set of dimples and black coiling tattoos and—they’ve actually
got a matching set of a lot of features.
Louis’ eyes narrow and his head whips to look at the spirit beside him as the realization slowly
builds up inside him.
The, mildly put, shock on Harry’s face confirms Louis’ theory, marking it in stone when he further
opens his mouth.
“Gemma?”
Gemma swiftly looks around to get a proper grip of her surroundings before giving Harry a smirk.
“Long time no see, brother.”
Brother.
The fact that Harry has siblings is a given that Louis’ been very aware of ever since he first got to
know about Harry’s existence. It probably shouldn’t feel as bizarre as it does, to let his eyes scan
this oh so beautiful, so alluring, so familiar face. But it does. It does feel bizarre, to finally see such
a blatant part of Harry’s world and Harry’s history physically standing in front of him. It gets even
more apparent when Harry subconsciously shuffles a little further away from Louis to make sure
not to touch him in his sister’s presence, and Louis swallows.
All five boys are just gawking at the newly arrived. Harry looks like he’s about to pass out.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, forehead deeply wrinkled and eyes narrowing, and Gemma
smiles sadly.
“I’m really, really sorry about this.”
Within the next two seconds, this happens:
Gemma grabs Louis by the arm and throws herself at the portal. Louis lets out a startled cry as
Harry bolts forward and attaches himself to Louis’ other side. He tries to haul Louis back, but
Louis is already dragged halfway into the portal and instead of Harry ending up winning the tug of
war, he falls helplessly into it as well, into deceptive darkness and suffocating heat. The horrified
shouts of Niall, Liam and Zayn ring in Louis’ ears way after they land.
Chapter End Notes
harry: talk dirty to me

louis: i care for u and feel safe around u.
harry: nuts
that's it that's the smut
this chapter is like. lowkey gross but they're in LOVE and all that CHARACTER
DEVELOPMENT amirite ??????
i listened a lot to 'bloom - the paper kites', 'sweet creature - harry styles' (he kicked my
ass with this one), 'someone to stay - vancouver sleep clinic' and 'i want you anyway -
jon mclaughlin' while writing so if u want some nice music there u go ;)
thank u SO MUCH for reading and for sticking with me and for commenting and
giving kudos my heart grows twice its size every time it's the reason i sleep soundly at
night xxxxxx as always u can find me on tumblr @tequiladimples and u can talk to me
any time!! in any way!! bc i will shower u with love!! bc i love you!!
chapter 23; tartaros
Chapter Notes
WARNING: fairly violent scene towards the end. there's no gore or anything, but it's
still quite intense so if you are sensitive to that stuff be careful x
”Oh no.”
Harry’s voice is like a muffled white nose ringing in Louis’ ears. The kind of sticky, thick air
surrounding them has him feeling faint and confused, and he rubs the back of his head with a
grimace.
Gemma is completely vanished from the scene, Zayn’s book is lying beside him, and Harry is up
on his feet, looking frantically around.
“No,” he keeps repeating. “No, no, no, nononononono—”
He turns back to Louis again, watching the fairy with complete, undisguised terror, and Louis
stomach turns violently at seeing Harry, Harry, this distressed.
“Where are we?” he mumbles, even though he already has an idea.
“You can’t be here,” Harry just breathes erratically, ignoring Louis’ question. “You can’t be here,
shit.”
Despite Louis still being visibly weak and dazed, Harry takes him by the forearm and pulls him up
from the ground. He keeps Louis closely tucked to his side as he starts walking with hurried steps,
and Louis doesn’t quite know what to do except stumble along to wherever they’re going, droopy
gaze following the dark wall on their left that whooshes by with every surge forward Harry takes.
It’s hauntingly dented and dripping with a viscidity, like it’s crying from all the painful memories it
holds, and Louis feels like it whispers to him, pleading for him to go back, to disappear and to save
himself.
Tartaros. He knows it’s Tartaros. It’s evident in the dreadful humidity of the air, it’s evident in the
rush of Harry’s steps knowing their exact way around the place—it’s evident in Harry’s fear. His
jagged breathing and his desperate attempt at shielding Louis from all the thing capable of hurting
him here.
Louis knows they’re in Tartaros and he knows he should probably be scared, too, but his head is
too muffled and hazy to feel anything but confusion.
Harry finally stops when they reach a marble temple, the smooth stone tinted slightly from red
shadows fleeing across its walls. They make something anxious stir in Louis’ belly when Harry
tugs him inside, not stopping until they’re finally in a secluded, closed off area behind a solid door.
Louis sits down on a silky smooth bed, trying to get his head to clear up.
“Lou,” Harry crouches down so that they’re at the same level, his eyes scanning Louis’ face
rapidly. “We’re in Tartaros, which means you’re going to have to be really, really careful. As in,
you’re going to have to stay right here, while I look for a way for us to get out of here as quickly as
possible. Can you do that?”
Louis frowns.
“I don’t—I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to be alone.”
Harry looks like someone’s twisting a knife in his stomach, and he shakes his head.
“You can’t come with me. If the wrong creature sees you, they’ll—you can’t come with me.”
“But.” Louis shakes his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. “But you made it sound like I’d be
okay here. Back in Grimm, you said—”
“You won’t be okay here.”
“But I thought this place wouldn’t be dangerous if I was here with you.”
“That’s because I lied, Louis.” Harry’s voice is too harsh and blunt, and Louis flinches. “I wanted
to leave Grimm and I said what needed to be said to convince you. You shine too bright, Louis.
Your presence is too innocent. The lost souls will sense that, and there’s no way they won’t want to
destroy it.”
Harry isn’t soft, now. He’s all stress and lips bitten raw and bloodshot eyes, and Louis hates it. He
doesn’t know how he ever handled Harry like this.
“But…”
“Listen to me.” Harry raises his hands to cup Louis’ face, making the fairy look him straight in the
eye, and his fingertips are so warm against Louis’ cheekbones. “I’m going to do my best to keep
you safe so we can get out of here, I swear I’ll get you out of here. But you’re going to have to do
exactly as I say, yeah?”
Harry’s intense greens stand in contrast to the blacks and the reds and the threatening greys
surrounding them, and they feel like a lifeline to Louis. He nods slowly, not even blinking, scared
that if he breaks that eye contact, he’s going to disappear into his own head.
“You’re going to have to stay here,” Harry continues. “I’ll be looking around to see which portal is
the most easily accessible one. I’ll come right back to get you when I’ve found that out, okay? Can
you stay here for me?”
He’s going to be honest—Louis doesn’t want to stay. The mere thought of being here by himself,
without Harry to make him feel safe and to keep him awake, is making his blood run cold and his
throat tighten hopelessly. He brings shaking hands up to lock around Harry’s wrists, holding them
there in an attempt to convey how much he wants Harry to remain here with him, how much he
needs Harry’s presence, hopes to whatever benevolent gods who might be listening that Harry will
see how uneasy and heavy the dim, creeping light in here is making him.
When Harry’s expression shifts into something pained and a thumb starts stroking the soft skin
under Louis’ eye soothingly, Louis think Harry probably already knows. He knows, he knows, and
he has to go, anyway.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “This wasn’t meant to happen. I don’t know why it did, I don’t—”
“Thank you,” Louis interrupts lowly, because he doesn’t know what else to say to make Harry stop
talking and realize he shouldn’t be apologizing. “For coming here with me.”
It makes Harry’s features soften the tiniest bit, but his brow is still distressingly furrowed and
there’s an ache embedded in his bottomless irises.
“I’m going to make this right,” he promises. “We’re going to be okay. I just… There’s a big risk
I’m going to have to face my mother. She definitely already knows I’m here, what with Gemma
and everything and—she just can’t see you, Louis. She can’t.”
Louis understands, he gets it, and so he just moves his hands from Harry’s wrists to rest them on
Harry’s own hands, and squeezes for the longest of seconds.
“I’ll be here,” he says weakly, pushing a frail smile onto his face.
Harry lets his anxious gaze ghost over Louis’ face for a moment, and then leans in to press a soft
kiss to his lips. It doesn’t last for longer than a couple of seconds, but it’s reassuring, it’s as steady
as anything can be to Louis right now, and though he wishes it would last longer it still evens out
his pulse just the tiniest.
And then Harry leaves, and Louis is left with the eerie silence.
Harry leaves, and Louis looks up just in time to see the shadows of approaching life playing on the
walls.
Harry leaves, and someone else enters in his place.
Harry knows there’s a severely overweighing risk that he’s fucked.
This whole situation is still so endlessly confusing to him—how Gemma had even found them,
how she’d dragged them right here without fail despite the broken portals, how she’d aimed for
Louis and not for Harry—and he wishes he had time to stop and get an answer. But he doesn’t,
right now. What he has time for, is to figure out a way to get himself, and more importantly Louis,
out of here as quickly and efficiently as possible.
He can’t help but feel like the universe is taunting him. Laughing, snickering at him in the most
condescending way. Tilting its head, saying ‘baby boy, you thought you could avoid this?’
And he had, hadn’t he? Walking around holding Louis’ hand and running fingers through Louis’
hair and tasting Louis’ lips like they were things he could just have without direct consequences.
Like they’re natural experiences he deserves. He’s been stupid and ignorant, and knowingly so. He
just didn’t think finally being met with the proximity of whatever consequences he’ll face would
feel this filled with panic.
It’s too real now, he thinks as he smoothly makes his way to his mother’s temple, where he knows
he’ll have the easiest access to a portal. The portals for workers of Tartaros are placed elsewhere,
but they're surely guarded and crowded and there's no way he'd be able to slip past without drawing
everyone's attention to him, to them, to Louis. It’s too close, the risk of Harry getting punished and
Louis getting hurt, it’s all so tip toeingly near. It’s breathing down his neck and Harry wants to get
as far away from it as he possibly can.
When he finally reaches the majestic, beautiful and towering building, he lightly sneaks in through
the ornate door and prays so intensely that his mother will not be in there at this moment, just so
he’ll have an excuse to not go through with their impending conversation.
“Harry,” he hears his mother’s velvety voice call out before he’s even finished the thought, and he
closes his eyes and grimaces. “Long time no see, darling.”
Fuck dammit.
But he knows there’s nothing he can do about it now, so he decides to go with it and try his best to
get out of it quickly. She doesn’t know, he reminds himself. There’s no way she can know. He’s
safe as long as he can keep his old act up and she doesn’t find Louis.
“Mother,” he greets, sauntering up to her, giving her a small nod of courtesy.
Not a lot has changed in there—to his left Harry sees her giant world map where she’d pin out the
places for the most misfortune-ridden humans, to his right are the bars which the lost souls are
trapped behind, reaching their hands out and mewling apocalyptically, and right in front of him is
his mother perched upon her throne, smile menacing and insincere. She eyes him up and down for
the longest time, and Harry notes that he isn’t happy to see her. He hasn’t missed her even a little
bit. The overwhelming need to please her, to get appreciation from her doesn’t seem quite as
important anymore, and it startles him a bit, but it’s not unwelcome.
The silence between them is slowly eating away at Harry’s nerves, and he has to clench his jaw
and fists to remain seemingly unbothered.
“How do you like my work? It’s good, wouldn’t you say?” Eris asks at last, and the wicked pride
in her eyes has always been a thing Harry longed for and admired, but now it makes his stomach
turn.
“Excellent,” he utters quietly. “Chaos is everywhere.”
“So according to plan, then.” Eris nods, satisfied with herself, and leans back in her chair.
Harry is silent for a beat. This is his chance, he realizes, to find out exactly how his mother
succeeded with all of this. It’s been a dream, an aspiration, a plan of hers for years, Harry’s known
for a very long time, but it was a plan filled with obstacles. No matter how much and intensely Eris
searched, she couldn’t affect their powerhouse in any way at all. If Harry needs to converse with
his mother before getting the fuck out of this place, he can at least try to get something out of it.
“How did you do it?” he asks, hoping his breathlessness comes off as eager admiration.
Eris’ head perks up just the slightest, a new sort of light in her face now, as if excited to tell him
just how genius she’s been. Because Harry doesn’t doubt that she’s been genius. She is a genius,
his mother. Cunning and scheming and always a slight step ahead of everyone else.
“They key, is the electricity bonds,” she starts slowly, confirming their theory in one swift second.
“Those were what I wanted to be able to put my hands on. And you’re aware I tried.” She pauses
and shakes her head. “For years and years, I searched for a way to put them out of balance, but to
no avail. No one but the Gods of lightning can touch it—the Leaders made sure of that when they
created this system, and there are no exceptions or loopholes at all. Which only left me with one
choice, really. I had to get a Leader under my command.”
A Leader. Just like Thor said, there must’ve been a Leader involved—
Harry whistles lowly and forces out an impressed smirk, ignoring the churning of his stomach.
“And you managed that? All by yourself?”
Eris’ dark eyes just glimmer with satisfaction.
“Not all by myself. I had a little help.”
She makes a dramatic pause and Harry just gives her a raised eyebrow to urge her on. She’s really
taking her sweet time with this, he thinks. But he also supposes that if she has in fact managed to
make a Leader—Zeus, presumably—her inferior? Then this is most definitely her biggest
achievement since the Trojan war. Harry guesses it’d make sense for her to want to build the
suspense.
“As it turns out... Aphrodite hates Zeus almost as much as I do.”
She finally speaks, and it comes out as a purr seeping through her grin.
“Aphrodite?” Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “But she’s a goddess of Olympus.”
“She is,” Eris agrees. “She’s the most beautiful goddess of Olympus who Zeus condemned to an
unhappy, unsatisfying marriage with an unattractive man around for the rest of her existence, and,
well. Do you blame her when she says she’d do anything to get back at him?”
Harry supposes he doesn’t. It makes sense that Aphrodite would see it as the biggest possible
destruction of her character to be first of all tied down to one person, and secondly tied down to a
person she resents.
“So, when I visited her and told her about my plan, about my way to get Zeus under my control, to
make him inferior… She was more than willing to help me,” Eris continues. “She supplied me
with the strongest love potion she had. All I had to do was talk Zeus into having a meeting with me
on my grounds and slip it into his wine, and so that’s what I did—for being a Leader he really is
pathetically easy to fool. He’s stayed with me here ever since. If it makes me happy, he obeys my
every last wish. It’s quite nice, really. To have that loyalty even if it’s artificial.”
Harry has to admit—she’s good. Like, genuinely seriously good. He understands just why it’s
always been so easy for him to have such respect for her. Not just anyone makes bewitching a
Leader sound like a piece of cake.
“So you made Zeus retract his electricity bond and now you hold him hostage here?”
Eris shrugs.
“If you want to put it that way, yes. That was the intention. But do you know what I realized, then,
when I finally had Zeus? That was even better than merely having the power to break the portals?”
She raises her eyebrows expectantly like she wants Harry to answer, and Harry only shakes his
head in small motions. Eris’ smirk widens.
“I have the power to control the portals. I can connect portals to whatever places I want to. I can
purposely make creatures travel to the worst imaginable places, and since he’s also all seeing, I can
keep an eye on exactly what results my work has, in whatever world I want to. I can relish in every
piece of chaos I cause. I don’t just have the power over Zeus—I have the power over everything he
has power over. I have access to everything.”
Hold on.
Something carefully clicks in Harry’s head at that revelation, and his eyes narrow slowly. Eris just
looks at him, endlessly satisfied with herself.
“You’ve been on quite the trip, haven’t you? What world did you find the most enjoyable? I reckon
my personal favorite was Wonderland. You were very inventive.”
Yeah, there it is, and Harry can’t help a shaky, low gasp as he connects the dots.
“You—you’re the one who’s been sending us places?” he clarifies, and a cold kind of thrill starts
pressing down on his head as he slowly realizes what this could mean.
“So smart,” Eris smacks her lips appreciatively. “I was waiting for you, right here, all along. But
you didn’t seem to have any intentions to move from that hideous forest, so I had to take things into
my own hands.”
It makes perfect sense, is the worst thing of all. Really, how foolish has it been of the boys to
believe that they just magically kept ending up in the exact place they needed to end up in every
time they used a portal? That they never ended up in the same universe twice? That they managed
to pick up Liam, Niall and Zayn along the way, in that precise, convenient order? Did she even go
as far as making sure Zayn got back to Earth from Wonderland, then?
No one has that much luck. Eris has been playing with them this entire time, and Harry is gradually
feeling more and more like throwing up.
“But…” he struggles. “Why?”
He earns yet another nonchalant shrug back.
“I wanted to see for how long you and that obnoxious fairy could stand each other before you
snapped and, well. Finished him. It was a fun experiment, if you will. After all, you’re my most
ruthless offspring. Who was I to deny myself a show like that?” She looks up from her nails to fix
Harry with a look, and there’s something hardening in her black eyes now. It chills Harry to the
core. “Ended up getting a whole different kind of show, didn’t I?”
So she knows.
Harry can’t do anything but stand petrified in his place as the realization of this settles deep in his
bones, knots around his heart and crowds his lungs. His mother knows, she’s known this whole
time. She’s aware of what Harry’s been doing with Louis, what he’s been doing for Louis, what
he’s been feeling and every single betrayal he’s executed, she knows all of it.
Harry has known quite a bit of fear in his life, but the intense, throat-clogging kind of horror he’s
feeling in this moment is a definite and agonizing first. His hands are tingling and he opens and
closes his mouth over and over, desperately searching for something, anything to say, but can there
possibly be words suitable for a situation like this?
“I—Mother,” he tries, chuckling weakly. “It’s all been an act, surely you can’t think I’d actually
—”
“Oh, please. Do you not think I see how you’re glowing?” she snarls, upper lip curled in disgust.
“Do you not think I can recognize it when my own son is starting to drift to the weak?”
Harry can’t even answer, his lips parted around a thousand empty breaths as his thoughts crash and
scream and pounce inside his head. Eris’ face is so rigid he can feel the hairs on his arms stand up,
and he’s positive he’s never felt more lost in his life.
“Out of all my children, I never thought you’d be the one standing in front of me, bitten raw by
benevolence. It’s repulsive, Harry. It’s sickening.”
With his fists clenched so tightly his nails are digging into the flesh of his palms, Harry tries to
keep his breathing from going erratic and panicked.
“Mother,” he just tries again, and it’s supposed to sound reproachful, but it comes out more as a
plea.
“You don’t know how much I hoped that it would be a scheme, Harry.” Eris doesn’t even react in
the slightest to Harry’s anxiety, eyes still etched onto him like two threatening abysses waiting to
take him down. “I hoped it would be a plan of yours to rip him apart. It would’ve been genius,
really. But alas, I should’ve known that despite everything I’ve done to lead you onto the right
path, you still weren’t smart enough not to fall into the trap. I should’ve given up on you already
when you were a little kid and talked about flying among the clouds and love like they were things
to desire.”
The worst thing is that Harry can’t even defend himself. He has no words, he desperately wishes
he had, but he doesn’t. There’s nothing he can think of to say that could possibly get him out of this
figurative chokehold his mother has him in right now.
And when he looks into Eris’ eyes, it’s clear that she knows this, too.
“Still, I hoped. I’ve always hoped for you. When you were young and wouldn’t shut up about your
dreams, I hoped. When you took twice as long as everyone else to mend after the Ceremony, I
hoped. Because at the end of it, you delivered, didn’t you? You became my best worker. I’ve given
you the benefit of the doubt countless times, and I’ve been right to. I think you just need a reminder
of where you belong, wouldn’t you agree?”
No, Harry wouldn’t. Not even close, not ever, under any circumstances. He’s never going to agree
with anything his mother says ever again as long as he exists.
He doesn’t get a chance to tell her.
Suddenly rock-solid hands grip tightly on Harry’s forearms and holds him in his place, and when
he furiously tries to wrench out of the grip, he finds himself helpless and all too weak. He knows
it’s his older siblings holding him there, he can feel the density of their fingers against his skin and
he knows he can’t escape that, but that’s not why he suddenly has his heart in his throat.
It’s because if he needs to be forcibly held back, only one thing can follow.
And then the door to the temple is being thrown open, and another group of his ominous siblings
enter. The sight of them approaching him hasn’t ever made Harry scared in his life, because he’s
always known he’s above them, has always known he’s safe from their endless quarrels.
But the thing is, that before this, Louis hasn’t ever been in the center of their harsh hands, looking
way to small and shining way too bright in comparison to the smoky, suffocating auras of the other
spirits.
He is now.
He is now, and Harry has never feared his siblings, but in this moment he fears them so
overwhelmingly he feels like he’s going to be ripped in half.
“Mother. What are you doing?”
He wants to sound demanding, but his throat is suddenly dry as a desert and the words just barely
squeeze their way out. Louis looks disoriented and breakable , and Harry’s arteries are cramping.
“Did you genuinely think you could hide him? Here?” Eris’ tone is bordering on mocking by now.
“You can sense his light from miles away, Harry. Such a pretty thing, though, he is, I’ll give you
that. I wonder if he’ll be as pretty after the souls have him.”
One mention of the souls, and the breath is punched out of Harry’s lungs.
She can’t.
She can’t.
“Mother. You can’t do this.” Iciness is sloshing through his body from his toes and up to his
stomach up to his chest up to his throat up to his tongue up to his head and it’s petrifying his heart
and it’s aching his brain and all Harry can do is plead. “Mother, you need to let him go. You need
to let him go right now, you have to let him leave, you can’t—”
His mother just watches his anxiety, pursing her mouth and shaking her head grimly.
“Desperation doesn’t become you, Harry,” is all she says, but her voice is colder than it’s ever been
and her back is more rigid than before.
Harry knows he fucked up even more by begging her for mercy, by begging at all. He knows he
shouldn’t have done that. He knows that this was supposed to be a test of loyalty, that this is Eris
giving him the benefit of the doubt once again by offering him a chance to choose her instead of
Louis.
Maybe if he didn’t know his mother as well as he does, he’d try and pretend to choose her. To
make her release Louis. But he does know his mother well, and he knows that she’s just as prone to
hurting Louis if Harry plays along as she is if Harry doesn’t. He knows that there’s nothing that’ll
truly work to make her release the fairy.
So he begs, and he begs, and he begs. Because it’s all he has the power to do. Because putting on an
act wouldn’t mean shit. Because he’s sure in this moment he doesn’t even have the ability to put on
an act anymore.
“Listen to me, this isn’t—you can’t just—I’m the one who’s in the wrong here, mother. Why aren’t
you punishing me?”
“Oh, honey.” Eris smiles at him, but it’s hard and wicked and it only makes Harry’s hands tremble.
“I am punishing you.”
And then she turns away from him and to his siblings still holding Louis in place.
Time doesn’t pass for an eternity.
“Release them,” she just utters, and Harry’s knees buckle right as the giant bars fall, leaving the
way free for the lamenting creatures to do the worst possible damage they can.
They’re emerging, hazy and dark and terrifying and all at once, their desperate wailing like a
haunting anthem. The strong grip on Harry’s arms is fast and steady no matter how hard he tries to
twist his way out of it, and he’s left being able to do nothing but watch as they close in on Louis’
bright, small figure like an eclipse closing in on the all too brightly shining moon.
See, the thing with the lost souls is that they’re always deprived—deprived of life, of happiness, of
light and love and spirit and dreams. They whine and cry all night through about the lives they’ve
lived and ruthlessly lost, and their nostalgia is starving them. They’re always starving.
The starving makes them feverish. Erratic. Hysterical, desperate, inhumane.
Destructive.
Harry catches a glimpse of Louis’ panicked face before the wretched darkness envelops him, and
after that he can only see the souls’ arms in grabbing, harsh motions and their backs arching and
their frantic hissing bouncing against the temple walls like demon-clad arrows. Harry can’t help
the anguished cry leaving his lips at the sight, and no matter how hard he tries, how violently he
yanks his limbs or how intensively he tries using his powers, he can’t move. Forced into his spot,
he can’t do anything but watch with rapidly blurring vision and plead until he can’t even tell words
apart anymore.
Harry knows they aren’t killing him. The souls’ purpose isn’t to kill, it’s always to take, to steal,
but Harry knows, he knows that when they do, you’d rather they aim for murder. Death is
preferable to feeling their nails bore into your skin and their fingerprints squeeze into your pores
and their gasps sucking the air out of your lungs.
And they claw. They claw, they scratch, they tug and yank and they rip, rip, rip, and Harry can’t
see what they’re clawing, what they’re ripping, what they’re ruining, until he notices the
dishevelled pieces of thin, spun silver singling down onto the rough ground.
His heart wrenches into a crumpled piece of lifeless flesh as it drops down to his stomach when he
realizes where it's coming from.
Louis’ screams echo throughout the temple, the most excruciating soundtrack to every single one
of Harry’s future nightmares, as the souls continue to dull his light. Their mouths are wide open
and heaving, swallowing pieces of Louis’ spirit with every sharp, hacky inhale.
“Please,” Harry gasps, his whole body trembling. He has no pride or fear for his mother left now,
the only thing he wants is for them to let Louis go, to stop hurting him, to stop tearing at him, to
stop, stop, stop. “Please, mother, tell them to stop. Please tell them to go, please make them leave
him alone—do this one thing for me and I’ll never ask you for anything ever again. I’m asking you
as your son, I’ll do whatever you want, just—mom.”
Eris’ face is stern with icy indifference, and she doesn’t dignify him with a single look as she
pointedly, slowly, leans back in her chair.
“You are no son of mine.”
Louis doesn’t stop screaming, and Harry’s life crumbles.
Chapter End Notes

this uh. yikes. i'm really, really sorry.
things were goin too great my friends n we just can't have nice things today i'm sorry
this update took a lil while bc 1. i've been absolutely DROWNING in school work and
2. this is a kinda important chapter and i've been very picky with how to write it. but
it's here now!!! even though it's a terrible one!!! AND i'm on summer break with
basically nothing to do outside from a couple of weeks of work, so i'm dead set on
Finishing This Thing. (even tho i will cry when i do bc this fic has been my baby for
YEARS)
as always, kudos and comments make me the happiest most grateful and moved
person in the entire world and you can always come and talk or yell at me on my
tumblr @tequiladimples. thank you so, so much for reading and for sticking with the
story i love you forever xxxxxxxxxx
chapter 24; the darkness
Chapter Notes
warning for mentions of blood and descriptive treatment of wounds. it's all in the first
half of the chapter if you wanna skim or skip xx
Louis doesn’t feel.
The whole thing goes by as a red blur. It’s a never-ending stream of I’m going to die I’m going to
die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die and then all
of a sudden they’re dragging him out of there and away and away, Harry’s trembling body right
behind him and Louis doesn’t know if he’s not in pain anymore or if he’s just finally become numb
to it but then it’s I didn’t die I didn’t die I didn’t die I didn’t die I didn’t die I didn’t die I didn’t die
and at last they stop by a portal in the darkest, smallest room in the deepest part of Eris’ temple,
and they just throw Louis in there and Louis doesn’t even do anything as he falls, falls, falls.
(He’ll always fall from now on, he thinks.)
And then finally, he hits the ground. The place is lit up only by the faint light from the portal,
perched several feet up in the air, all too far out of reach. Everything around him is black—it’s like
he’s fallen into an endless pit of shapeless darkness. It doesn’t even terrify him.
And now it’s why didn’t I die? Why didn’t I die? Why didn’t I die?
Harry lands right after him, a soft whimper escaping his lips as he hits the ground, and Louis thinks
that in some way he should be able to find peace knowing Harry hasn’t left, hasn’t been taken
away, that Louis isn’t all alone. But there’s still a swelling burn etched into his back like a
thousand needles being pressed into his pores, and there’s still a hot wetness running down his
back and slicking his shirt to his skin, and there’s still the blurred sting stretching in an empty V on
his back so stubbornly reminding him of what used to be there, what should be there, what
ultimately isn’t there, and it’s too overpowering. It’s all he can focus on.
Louis is not alone, but in this moment, he thinks he might as well be.
He slowly pulls his knees up to his chin as his eyes set on a spot of nothingness a few inches before
him, and he can hear Harry move behind him, can see him in the corner of his eye when the spirit
drags his body closer to Louis’.
Harry’s not touching him, hands tightly fisted and tucked against his body like he’s scared
reaching out and brushing fingertips against Louis’ skin would make Louis worse. Louis is glad he
doesn’t. He wouldn’t want Harry touching him now, when his skin is still crawling with toxicity
and loss, when the anguish of it is still sloshing through his veins.
“Louis.” Harry’s voice is thin but urgent, and it sounds like he’s speaking through a tunnel. “Louis,
can you—do you—Can you listen to me? Listen to me. You can’t give up now. You can’t do that.
You’re not doing this, you’re hurting, and I know, god, I know, but you can’t give into it. I know
how much this feels like the end of the world, but it’s not, Louis, I won’t let it, you can’t give up on
me now. We can’t make all of this to be in vain, and it’s going to be in vain if you don’t—oh my
god, you need to get up again. I know you need time to grieve, I know, I understand, but you can’t
do it here because once you let go this place is never going to let you come back up. It’s going to
consume you. Lou.”
Louis doesn’t feel.
He knows he should speak, knows he should reach out and calm Harry down, knows that hearing
Harry sound as agonizingly pleading as he does now, hearing the wobble of tears in his throat
should send ice cold, stabbing shivers throughout Louis’ entire body and fill him with an impulse
to make it go away immediately.
But it doesn’t.
Because Louis’ body still doesn’t feel like a body. His whole being is an open wound and he’s
scared that taking words into his mouth might cut into him deeper, like moving might infect him
further. Every breath he’s taking twists his chest and wrenches his lungs and he’s bleeding onto the
ground and down his pants and his shirt is rubbing against his ripped flesh in a way that makes him
feel unreal. He can’t react. Harry wants him to, but he can’t. Not right now.
There’s no point to it. Harry says that this place might never let him come back up, but with the
way Louis is feeling right now he’s going to be drowning no matter where he is.
So he keeps being unresponsive, and at last, Harry gives up, too. He shifts from where he’s been
kneeling in front of Louis, and sits down next to him, putting his hands down behind him to
support his torso and pulling his knees up against his chest. And they sit there. In complete and
dejected silence, they just sit.
Louis doesn’t feel, and times doesn’t pass, and he doesn’t move.
Harry would give anything, anything, to not have Louis know what this feels like.
Because Harry knows, is the thing. He’s known for a long time. He knows the exact way your skin
crawls and your heart sinks and your body aches, he knows about the stripping of self-worth, the
slipping of reality, he knows all about the pain and the misery and silent kind of panic that follows.
But if there’s anyone—anyone—in the world, that he’d want to save from this at all costs, it’d be
Louis. The astounding light this boy always carried is the one thing Harry would never want
harmed.
And he’d failed. He’d failed, and it kills him to know that the way Louis is now, dulled edges and
empty eyes, is essentially his fault. He’s been stupid to think that his own infatuation wouldn’t end
up affecting Louis just as fatally as himself. He’s been selfish. He’s been ignorant.
Louis hasn’t uttered a single word since they got here. The only real interaction they’ve had so far
was when Harry took off and ripped up his own t-shirt to bind around Louis’ torso in an attempt at
dampening the bleeding on his back. At first Louis had refused that too, somehow closing in on
himself even more at the idea of Harry being that close, and that alone had almost sent Harry into
hysterics again as he tried to convey just how important it was to treat his wounds in the
moderation they can (“I know you don’t care right now, but I care, I care about you and I care
about whether you live or die, so please may I try to stop you from losing more blood?”). Louis
still didn’t speak, but he did let Harry touch him then, weakly lifting his arms above his head to
signify that it’s okay.
Overall, it’s a fucking disaster and Harry knows he needs to try and keep his hope because Louis is
understandably not in the place to do that right now, but it’s—it’s so hard. They’re thrown into
some kind of lifeless prison, his mother has disowned him and hurt Louis in the worst way
possible, Louis is barely responsive at all and Harry has no idea how to make him be that or how to
get out of here, and if they against all odds manage to get back to Tartaros, how in the world are
they going to escape Eris again?
Neither of them knows how much time passes—it could be an hour, a day, a week—the only thing
reminding Harry that time is still in fact passing, is his increasing hunger.
Which. They don’t have food. They don’t even have water.
And Harry is so, so tired. He’s allowed to feel a little hopeless right now.
For the first time allowing himself to try to relax and give Louis space, he lowers himself to ground
level in the hopes of at least, at least, getting some rest.
That exact moment is when suddenly, a soft, whooshing sound is heard from the portal, and he
snaps his head up before he’s even had the chance to properly lie down, just in time to see a tightly
wrapped package cut through the air and land with a heavy thud a few feet away.
A few seconds pass, as neither Harry nor Louis moves. Harry doesn’t even think Louis reacted at
all on the out of context gift, and he himself is a bit scared. It could be from his mother, holding
something meant to cause them even more harm. It could be dangerous.
But it could also be something that can help them. It could be, and Harry’s lost enough of his
survival instinct to feel like it’s worth it to open it. So in the end he lets out a sharp and jagged
exhale, and stumbles up to grip the package, praying so intensely it’s somehow going to contain
something that’s to their benefit.
He rips it open and just turns it upside down, and a few seemingly harmless items fall out.
Firstly, there’s food. There are a couple of apples and some cut up watermelon safely tucked into
plastic boxes, as well as sandwiches and two bottles of water. Harry’s mouth is watering, not until
now fully realizing just how gut-twistingly hungry he actually is.
Secondly, there’s Zayn’s book. Harry runs his fingers lightly over the cover, tracing the golden,
capital letters of the title. Mythology of the Universes – a Complete Guide. A spark of something
he’s too afraid to call hope but feels might be very close to it flickers in his bones as he realizes
maybe this book could at least tell him their location.
Thirdly, there’s a first aid box.
And lastly, there’s a note. It’s folded neatly and delicately, and when Harry opens it with shaky
fingers, he immediately recognizes the elegant, swoopy handwriting.
Dear Harry,
I hope you accept these gifts as a sort of apology. You know by now that mother sent me to lure
you and your fairy here, and though I did figure she would want to give some sort of punishment, I
could never in my wildest dreams imagine that she would go this far. You were always her favorite,
after all. I was sure she’d spare you.
I also had no idea how much the fairy meant to you. If I had I would’ve helped you immediately.
The moment I realized this made you suffer to the point it did, I cannot describe how wrong the
whole thing felt. Something I at first felt proud to have been chosen by mother to do now makes me
sick with guilt just by thinking of. Everything I’ve ever wished for you is happiness, and if anyone
deserves to reclaim it, it’s you. I cannot believe I helped standing in the way of it once you finally
appeared to have found it.
I sadly have no idea how you escape the place mother banished you to, but I sent along that handy
book of yours in the hopes that it can help you clear things up. I also sent along some food, and I
will continue to do so as often as I can, and the first aid is for the fairy as I can imagine his wounds
to be quite nasty. If I can’t physically help you get out of there, the least I can do is to help you stay
alive until you figure something out for yourselves. It also said in the book that fairies from the
Forest mainly feed on fruits and greens, so I tried to include some. I hope he can find it in himself
to eat.
I guess the bottom line is, you’re my baby brother and I’ll always look after you. I’m so sorry from
the very depths of my heart that this happened and it pains me that I had a vital part in it. I wish I
could tell you this in person. I hope I’ll be able to eventually, and I hope you’ll be able to forgive
me.
Gemma.
Gemma.
Harry’s almost feeling his eyes water again—a mixed result from the restlessness and the
hopelessness, and a quivering sort of gratefulness for his sister.
They’d always been particularly close, him and Gemma. She belongs to the first group of pain
spirits which makes her older, and she’d always taken care of him throughout his rocky, to say the
least, childhood. She’d made sure he’d be okay through all the vicious treatment, and apart from
Eris, she’d always been the one person Harry thought himself to trust. That factor had made the
betrayal of bringing him and Louis here sting so much more—he’d lost both his mother and his
sister.
But as he reads the letter a second time, a third time, he gets her, and he knows that he’s going to
forgive her. There’s not a lot Gemma can do for him when he’s here and she’s up there, but she’s
doing all she can.
That’s enough. It’s enough for now.
A few shaky breaths later to pull himself together, he looks over to Louis. The fairy’s still sitting in
the same spot he claimed when he got here, and Harry’s pretty sure he’s not about to move
anytime soon, so he picks up the stuff and scoots over to him.
“Lou,” he tries gently. “Look what Gemma sent us.”
He places the book carefully in front of the still unmoving boy, pushing it so close that it nudges
Louis’ toes. Louis throws a swift glance at it, but he doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t make any
attempts at picking the book up.
“I think it tells us where we are. Right—” Harry reaches forward to open the book on the page
Gemma’s folded in the corner. “Right here. Do you want to read it? You could read it to me if you
want, I know how you… How you love this stuff. Knowing things. Telling things. Would you feel
like doing that?”
Harry tilts his head and crouches down closer to the spot on the ground that currently occupies
Louis’ attention in an attempt at catching his eye, but Louis sits still right where he is. His knuckles
are white from gripping around his knees. His stare is blank and hooded. It takes Harry absolutely
everything in him to maintain a composed exterior, because his mind is on the verge of frenetic
every passing second the boy keeps being unresponsive like this.
“It’s okay,” he breathes, mentally shaking himself, and he takes the book into his own lap. “I can
read to you, if that’s better. I’ll read it.”
And so he sits down cross-legged in front of Louis, and starts to read from the marked page.
Tenebra / Σκοτος / Mörker
In the deepest parts of every Underworld universe, all ends meet in an especially secluded place
built up essentially of a dark nothing. Its name differs depending on what world you’re in, but they
all mean the same—commonly, it’s called the Darkness.
To call the Darkness a universe on its own is contradicting. It is a completely separate place—it’s
not a part of something else, and you need a portal to get there, so by definition it is its own world.
But the place isn’t alive. It does not contain its own eco system, and this is why it’s simultaneously
questionable to call it a world, since the whole purpose of the place is to be dead and void of
everything that would make it one. This is instead where you send your most fatal sinners. As the
place is lacking anything alive except the creatures deliberately sent there, most will sooner or
later wither away from dehydration and starvation. Simply put, it serves as a subtle but cruel death
sentence.
Once an item is sent there, it’s nearly completely irretrievable. This is because, most easily
explained, the Darkness’ portals are like a slightly limited version of your average two-way portal.
The portal to the Darkness is always available, but transferring yourself back from there is a
completely different story. The portal must be activated from the other side by a source of new life.
And considering what we’ve just established about growth and life within the Darkness, somehow
producing a new creature and getting it to come in contact with the portal is without a doubt
complicated.
Well. Fuck.
Harry closes the book, biting the inside of his cheek, his eyes returning to Louis’ face. His heart
skips faintly when he notices that the fairy has moved a little—just the tiniest bit—to face him, his
eyes flicking between Harry’s and the ground for a bit.
“So,” Harry says weakly. “I presume neither of us has a womb.”
Louis just purses his mouth and shakes his head slightly. It was a really bad attempt at being light,
Harry knows, but he doesn’t quite know how else to deal with the fact that they now know where
they are, but they also practically got it confirmed that there’s no way they can actually get out of
here.
The thought makes Harry’s lungs tighten, so he swallows several times, and he suppresses
whatever this means. Gemma will help them stay alive. They’re not going to die from starvation.
That’s at least something, he figures, so it’s what he chooses to focus on. Desperately blocking out
every piece of dreadful hopelessness threatening to find its way into his heavy bones, he clears his
throat to speak again.
“She also sent, um.” He scrambles for the first aid box, undoing the caps and opening it to find
gauze pads, bandages, cleansing wipes and water, a couple of tweezers, gloves, needles, and some
thread. Gemma’s done this before, and she’s visibly been as thorough as she could. “For your
wound. It’s—it’s very important that we treat it.”
Louis does reacts to that, just like last time the suggestion of Harry touching him in any way was
brought up, and he snaps his head up to properly look at Harry, and Harry can directly see that he’s
not at all open to that concept.
He gets it, though. Harry was the same when he went through this. Gemma was the one who’d
made sure his wounds mended correctly, and though she couldn’t help him in giving him the
time and space he needed to heal because he was forced out to work so immediately after, she’d
been trying her hardest to soften the blow and was the one thing making Harry able to somewhat
get back on his feet after his particularly rough wing ripping. Harry wants nothing more than to be
for Louis what Gemma was for him and more. He wants to give Louis that time.
“I know,” he says, biting his lip loosely but maintaining sincere eye contact. “I know. But I’ll be
really, really careful. No more touching than necessary. It’s just—you need it cleaned up, Lou.
Gemma’s going to help us stay alive here, she’s promised, and a vital part to keeping you alive is
to treat your wounds. And it would mean so much to me if you would let me do that? Will you
please let me do that?”
Seconds pass as Louis just looks at him, hooded blues conflicted, and Harry breathes through his
nose to not become impatient. Louis needs time. He needs time, and Harry will give him time. With
everything.
It does the trick, too, as Louis finally releases a tiny sigh and nods.
“Thank you,” Harry mumbles, settling down behind him and slowly starting to undo his previous
bandage. He’s as gentle and mild as he possibly can, making his fingertips fleeting.
He grimaces as soon as the torn, soaked t-shirt falls to the ground and Louis’ wounds are revealed
to him again. The most excessive bleeding has stopped by now, but the V on his back is still
gaping and glaring red, and even though Harry’s seen far worse in his life, his stomach still flips
uncomfortably. He determines that he’s going to need to suture them instead of just bandaging.
“Okay,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady and calm while he snaps on a pair of gloves. “I’m
going to clean it up first. I can’t see any dirt or anything I have to remove separately from your
wounds, which is really good, so I’m just first going to use the cleaning wipes and then I’ll wash it
with water.”
While speaking, he picks up the pack of wipes, tearing one out and starting to move it in careful,
swift motions around the wounds. There’s quite a bit of dried blood smeared onto Louis’ back, and
he focuses on getting all of that off before fully focusing on the actual injury. He makes sure to put
the used tissues behind him and not within Louis’ sight, too, as the number of used wipes grow.
Louis doesn’t need to see the actual impact of the attack on him. Not yet.
Louis doesn’t say a word during the process either, barely even moves or fidgets at all as he lets
Harry work. When Harry asks him to lay on his stomach for a moment, he complies without a
single word or other form of protest. He lets Harry pour the lukewarm water over his back even
though it must sting unbelievably, until Harry considers the wound completely clean from any
possible impurities.
“Now, if you could sit up again, please,” Harry speaks again. “This is going to hurt a bit. Your
wounds are quite deep, so I’m going to have to stitch them together. If it hurts more than you can
take, please yell at me or pinch me really hard or whatever you want, okay?”
The way Louis’ spine stiffens at Harry’s words tells Harry what he needs to know, and he brings
his hand up to infinitely mildly stroke the smooth skin right where Louis’ neck and shoulder meet.
“It’s okay, Lou,” he mumbles. “I’ll be careful. It’ll be over soon. Just try to relax, please?”
It takes a while to get him to fully do so, but soon enough, Harry’s able to start stitching the
wounds together. He breathes profoundly as he forces his hands not to shake, impaling Louis’ skin
with the small, provided needle. He does this best not to think of it as skin, to imagine it being just
a rare piece of fabric or something else not attached to another living creature, distancing himself
from the context of the whole situation to avoid feeling sick with guilt knowing that inevitably, he
put Louis here.
Louis does hiss at a number of occasions, for which Harry apologizes profusely every time, but
other than that, the fairy’s being pliant and silent and patient. Harry would feel better about that if
he didn’t know that if Louis were himself, he’d complain and lament and throw insults at him
every two seconds.
“Now,” Harry starts when he finally finishes up the stitches, pushing his fringe back with the back
of his hands in relief. “That should do it. Be careful with it, yeah? Don’t put your shirt back on, it’s
—it’s dirty and I want to be on the safe side. Are the wounds feeling manageable?”
He receives another nod from Louis, and Harry knows it’s all he’s going to get, so he settles for
that. He’ll check up on the wound from time to time, to make sure nothing is looking sketchy. He
has this under control.
“Now that that’s done,” he says, “are you hungry? Gemma sent food, too.”
Louis purses his mouth, and shakes his head in small, swift motions. Harry didn’t expect anything
else, really, but he needs to ask. Louis needs to have the choice.
So he places the container with watermelons and a sandwich together with a bottle of water by
Louis’ side anyway.
“In case you change your mind. You should at least try to drink some water, yeah?”
Louis nods, and then slowly lies down—endlessly carefully, and on his stomach—with his head
turned away from Harry. Harry just gives out a dejected sigh, but decides to leave it. Give him
time, he repeats to himself. Give him time.
(Louis does drink water later after tossing and turning for a bit, emptying almost the entire bottle in
one go. Harry considers that a win for today.)
Time passes. They don’t know how fast, but it must pass somehow.
Gemma keeps her promise, and what Harry would guess is once a day, there are new packs of
necessities falling through the portal—one time she sends them clean clothes which is greatly
appreciated—even Louis startles a little then to cover his until now bare skin with a soft sweater
and Harry considers it a good moment. She sends full meals, meats and potatoes and rice and soups
and even a pastry or two, she sends water and milk and wine, and she sends fruits and vegetables.
Always so much fruits and vegetables, and Harry understands that that’s her way of caring for
Louis and supporting Harry’s relation to him. It never fails to leave Harry’s ribcage a little warm,
despite the underlying hopelessness of their situation.
Harry always eats and drinks, and he always prepares portions for Louis. He makes sure the fairy
always has a water bottle and he even arranges the food to look as aesthetically pleasing as possible,
because he thinks that might be something Louis would like, and he always tells the fairy what
exactly it is that he’s being given in an as gentle and inviting way as he possibly can.
It never works. Apart from a bit of water here and there, a bite now and again, an apple on a good
day, Louis barely even looks at the food. The pile of leftovers slowly going bad by his side just
grows, but Harry’s determined not to touch any of it. He never stops offering more, either. No
matter what Louis does or doesn’t do, he must always be aware that the option is there for him.
That Harry is there for him.
Because Louis is suffering—it’s so blatantly obvious in every way, from his continuous silence, to
the flinching when Harry comes to close, from his nightmares that wake them both up with their
hearts in their throats, to the way he’s always scratching at the small wounds on his arms and legs
as if he’s trying to peel them off. From his non-existent appetite to his empty gaze. There’s no
doubt in Harry’s mind that Louis is experiencing a tremendous amount of pain, and if there’s
anything Harry can do to relieve it just the tiniest bit, he’s going to do it.
The thing worrying Harry the most, though, always ugly and large and etched into his chest, is that
Louis hasn’t cried yet.
One of the most prominent traits of Louis’ is how in touch with his emotions he is—how strongly
he shows them. If he’s angry, he shouts, if he’s happy, there’s a skip in his steps, and if he’s sad, he
cries. That’s how things go.
But he hasn’t let a single tear slip. And in a situation like this one, crying for days on end would be
the most understandable reaction. Harry knows he did.
It never happens. It’s like someone screwed on a tap and drained him of all emotion, and it’s the
most un-Louis behavior Harry’s ever seen, and it terrifies him. Harry wishes he would just cry.
That he would let it out. Harry can handle crying, he thinks. He can handle outbursts and harsh
words and screaming and yelling and all that it entails, but he doesn’t know how to deal with this.
It’s funny, really, because for someone who’s spent his entire life around pain, he knows
excruciatingly little about mending it. So Louis keeps suffering in silence, and Harry keeps sitting
next to him and having one-sided conversations with him in hopes that his presence will have some
kind of positive effect in the long run. That it at least feels a little comforting for Louis not to be
alone. And Harry hopes he manages to convey that if Louis ever feels like crying, he’ll be safe to
do so with Harry there ready to do all he can for him.
Harry can’t be there for him like he wants to but he’s there in a way he knows Louis needs. If
Harry never loses hope, if Harry keeps this thing up, maybe he can keep the darkness and
bleakness at bay.
He just really hopes that it’s enough.
“Are those raspberries?”
Harry snaps his head up so quickly he almost gets a whiplash.
Louis’ voice cuts through the devastating silence like a refined knife’s edge, for the very first time
since they were thrown into the Darkness. It’s rough, broken and thin after so long, but it rings like
the sweetest melody Harry’s ever heard in his life. Harry’s evidently startled by it, but Louis’ just
watching him with blank but earnest eyes, and Harry could honestly cry from relief. The affection
he feels for this boy is so strong he feels like he’s going to pass out.
It’s the first time Gemma’s managed to send any form of berries. Harry had just popped one of
them into his mouth, tasting the comforting sweet and pink freshness on his tongue before putting
the container down to, as always, prepare the food he’s going to give to Louis. So far today,
nothing has given Harry any reason to hope that Louis would talk to him.
But here he is now, only a foot or two separating their knees from knocking together, inquiring
about raspberries, and Harry almost doesn’t know how to handle it.
Louis raises his eyebrows a bit, and Harry remembers he’s been asked a question.
“Yeah,” he just answers faintly. Tentatively, he extends his arm to offer Louis the container.
Louis takes it into his small, thin hands. He looks awfully frail, like one wrong blow could snap
him like a twig and it still tears at Harry’s heart, but he also dips one hand into the container and
brings a raspberry to his mouth. The way he eats it painfully slowly, in drawn out and thorough
chews and a deliberate swallow is unlike him but he’s eating, steadily emptying the container and
Harry just lets him. He’d let Louis have anything he has to offer.
When Louis is done, he looks back up at Harry. His gaze is still too dark, too gloomy, too dull to
belong to the boy Harry knows, but he doesn’t look quite as deprived of energy anymore as he
carefully puts down the container.
“Did you—did you have milk, as well?” he says, and Harry immediately fumbles after the bottle,
screwing off the cap as swiftly as he can and handing it to Louis. He spends the next thirty seconds
just watching Louis down almost the entire thing, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows mouthful
after mouthful, and Harry thinks he could probably hug him and kiss him all over his face and hold
him close for forever because it feels like a lifetime since he even got the smallest sign of genuine
living from him and Harry just—relieved. He’s missed him.
Louis softly puts the bottle down and gives Harry a tentative smile. It’s tiny, only the slightest
upturn of the right corner of his mouth, but Harry catches it immediately and he swears his heart is
blooming.
“What else did she send?” Louis asks, moving closer, and Harry immediately reaches for the rest
of what this time’s package contains.
“Um, she sent some sort of fish again, I think,” he starts. “She wrote once that she does it because
she imagines that you catch a lot of fish if you live in a forest with lakes and stuff, so that you
might like it more. Do you?”
Louis nods, something softening in his eyes. Harry gives him a smile.
“Right. So, fish. And potatoes with that. And she sent along a salad, too, and some bananas. Oh,
and a while ago she snuck some chocolate cake in there! I saved it because I thought we could
share it if you felt like it sometime?”
At the time they’d received it, chocolate cake didn’t exactly seem to be on Louis’ agenda. It was a
particularly unresponsive day, and the fairy hadn’t moved from his lying position at all for hours
and hours on end.
But today, Louis is all of a sudden showing interest in food. Today, there’s a chance he might want
it.
And Louis does, apparently, because he nods, and licks his lips tentatively.
“I could go for some cake for dessert. But fish first, should we?”
Harry could cry. He could really cry. A trembling puff of laughter slips out of him, and he mimics
Louis’ nod fervently and instantly goes for the two containers where Gemma’s packed a portion
each for them. He hands Louis one together with a fork and a knife, and opens the other for
himself.
They eat in silence, Harry’s heart fluttering as Louis cuts up his food in small pieces, taking his
time, but still downing it with determination. There isn’t really a need for a conversation, and a
conversation would probably feel stilted right now, anyway. After all, what is there to talk about?
Making small talk feels insignificant and out of place, and Harry doesn’t want to ask Louis
questions he’s not ready to answer yet, venture into topics that might send him back into his lifeless
state. Louis might be communicating and eating, but his voice is weak, and his hands shake just the
slightest around the fork he’s holding, and Harry knows not to push the boundaries.
They manage to finish their meals eventually, rounding it up by sharing Harry’s water bottle
between them. Louis’ cheeks are a little rosier, his eyes a little clearer after finally getting some
real nutrition into him, and when Harry suggests they dig into the chocolate cake, he even claps his
hands weakly in an attempt at showing excitement. It’s not wholly sincere, but it’s something, and
Harry takes it without any protests or complaints.
“God,” Louis says when he takes his first bite of the cake, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “This
is really good. I’d almost forgotten just how good chocolate is.”
Harry swallows a piece of his own. It’s rich and flavorous, and though standing for a while has
made it a little drier than it was when it arrived, in this moment he could swear it’s still among the
best things he’s tasted.
“That’d be a tragedy,” he supplies.
“I thought maybe it wouldn’t be,” Louis continues. “As good, I mean. Just feels… Feels like this
place takes away the pleasure in everything, you know? Like you must be reduced to something
dark and dreary, too, to function here. Thought it’d be impossible to enjoy anything here at all.”
Harry swallows.
“But the chocolate is still the same?”
“Yeah.” There’s that almost-smile again. He looks gentle. “It’s just the same.”
He cuts up another piece of it and brings it to his mouth, savoring every chew, and Harry feels like
things might genuinely be looking up.
So he hums in agreement and enjoys it with him.
“Could change the world, chocolate,” he states.
“It could.”
It’s quiet for another couple of moments as they finish their cake, and it’s nice, given the
circumstances. It’s more peaceful than it’s been for a long time. Louis has something unreadable in
his eyes, though, and though Harry does try to figure out more exactly what it means, he can’t.
His confusion isn’t extinguished anytime soon.
Next thing that happens, Louis immediately rises from where he’s been sitting as soon as he
finishes his piece of cake, walking over to his pile of—by now mostly outdated—food, sitting
down right by that instead. He then starts… Sorting through the pile. Harry edges closer to watch,
and quickly realizes that he’s separating the fruit from the other food, delicate fingers working
quickly until there are two separate masses of edibles. The next step is seemingly to grab after his
knife, and cutting into the fruit. Harry hopes to god that he’s not planning to eat it now all of a
sudden, and is on his way to say that if Louis wants apples there are some perfectly fresh ones to
consume, but soon it becomes apparent that Louis has no intention to eat them, either.
He starts to pick out the seeds and pits from every fruit. Apples, oranges, watermelon, peaches and
plums and even the half papaya that Gemma sent once in the beginning of their stay here, he’s
hollowing and putting the contents in yet another neat little heap. The rest of the fruit he throws
back into the slowly rotting mountain of meats and carbohydrates, positioning himself
determinedly in front of it.
“Here goes nothing,” he mumbles, before letting his bare hands sink into the moldy food.
Harry wrinkles his nose momentarily, eyes moving up to Louis’ face as he tries to figure out what
exactly the fairy is doing.
“Don’t look at me,” Louis mutters. “I’m trying to concentrate. Look at the food.”
So Harry complies, and when he does, his eyes are quick to go from perplexed to awed.
The leftovers currently burying Louis’ hands are… Decomposing. Slowly but surely, they’re
broken down into particles, turning into an even and strong soil, and Harry exhales shakily. Once
all the food is gone, Louis lifts his hands and lightly lets his palms smoothen the surface, his head
moving in a small nod to himself.
Harry watches with his eyes blown wide how Louis delicately reaches for one of the biggest
containers they have and starts transferring all the soil into it, planting all the seeds he collected
before. The spirit’s slowly starting to catch on, but he doesn’t move a single limb. When Louis
considers his work done, he opens his own still half full water bottle and pours some over his
crops.
He sits back on his knees for a second, inhaling, exhaling, before bringing his hands down and
burying them once again, in the fresh dirt this time.
On cue, green, thick stalks start sprouting out of the soil, shooting upwards like they’re gasping for
air. The way they move is enthralling, intertwining with each other and thickening into something
strong, unbreakable, determined.
Harry is frozen in his spot, mesmerized by the sight. He tears his gaze away for only a moment to
look at Louis, who’s sucking his lower lip in between his teeth in concentration and curling his
tense fingers to make the giant plant tower even more, and Harry’s known Louis has an effect on
nature, but he’s never understood just exactly what he’s capable of until this very moment. Shivers
of affection and admiration run up and down his spine, and his heart starts beating so fast it flutters
when it finally dawns on him just what Louis is doing.
New life. Louis is creating new life.
The huge plant continues to stretch all the way up to the softly radiant portal, slithering and
blossoming in a way that’s strangely beautiful and most definitely intimidating, until it finally
penetrates the portal with a last surge forward. Louis stares breathlessly and intently as a stuttering,
electric noise emerges from the portal, and the dimmed blue light it’s previously cast finally flames
up to become the strongly vibrant cerulean they’re used to seeing.
Once that finally happens, Louis lets out a huge sigh of relief, whole body slumping together.
He’s planned this, Harry thinks. He must’ve. Louis hasn’t been solely rejecting the food—he’s
been saving it. And despite his trauma, despite how obviously terribly it’s hurt him and how much
of a struggle it’s been for him to cope with the aftermath—despite all of that, he still managed to
elaborately plot a way to escape and gather the strength to fulfil it. Harry swallows roughly as he
realizes that Louis has known exactly how to get them out of here all along. And the thought never
even hit Harry in the slightest.
Harry can’t rip his stunned gaze away from Louis as the fairy finally sits back, brushing his fringe
away from his face and catching his breath.
Then he looks over at Harry, gesturing towards the giant stalk, and Harry can swear there’s a
shadow of a satisfied smirk teasing the corner of his mouth.
“After you,” he says lightly.
Chapter End Notes
wow?????? what's happening???? no one knows

(i know ;))
ANYWAY i'm not the happiest with this chapter??? but it's out there and it was,,..
oddly nice to write. kinda therapeutic??? idk it was nice. in the least sadistic sounding
way possible.
as always, kudos and comments make my heart feel warm and bright and it makes me
smile the widest u have no idea. i am also available at @tequiladimples on tumblr,
ready to love u and talk to u and befriend u if u ever feel up for that xxx thank you so,
so, sososososooso much for reading and for sticking to this messy story. i love you so
much <33333
chapter 25; tartaros
Chapter Notes
warning for fairly some explicit violence mid-chapter xx
Considering the fact that Louis’ entire body is still hurting and his heart is still casting its shadow
down by his feet, he’d say he’s doing pretty good.
His hands are trembling like shaky leaves as his fingers grasp the twigs of his giant creation on his
way up, heaving his body further and further towards the bright blue soon within reach. Harry’s
already facing the portal, stopping to sit and wait for Louis to get up there. There’s a light in his
features that hasn’t stopped radiating in Louis’ direction ever since Louis made the first sprouts of
the stalk emerge from the ground, something a lot like awe, like admiration, like everything Louis’
ever wanted but really doesn’t need right now.
There’s no self-indulgence about his plan. Louis doubts he can even feel like that anymore. At this
point he’s not sure he can feel anything that isn’t fabricated in its core, shallow displays of emotion
for the sake of making a conversation flow or the corners of Harry’s mouth perk up a little.
This is about surviving. It’s about getting him and Harry out of here so Harry can start over far
away from his mother and Louis can finally settle somewhere that doesn’t remind him of the way
his soul’s been broken into tiny, fleeing fragments or the way his back is bare and feet too heavy.
Because this place does. It’s roaring with its blandness, darkness reducing Louis’ vision to
greyscales and it keeps pouring into him, biting into his flesh, and the chances of Louis ever
enjoying things again feel slim and insignificant as it is, but if he doesn’t get to feel rays of sun
play of his face for the rest of his existence, he knows those chances will be completely non-
existent.
He’s doing it for that tiny shred of light. He’s doing it for the last, whispering piece of hope he’s
somehow still managed to keep inside him.
So he pushes the pain and the realness of the situation back just like he’s tried to do this whole
time, despite it pressuring his walls, threatening to spill through any possible crack that might
appear in Louis’ façade if he allows himself a moment of real consideration.
As soon as Louis reaches the top of the plant, Harry takes his hand and his grip is soft and careful
as they step through the portal together. Louis immediately feels the shift in the air when they enter
Tartaros again, from grey melancholy to prickling unease, but this time, he lets out a sigh of relief.
The feeling of accomplishment soothes his senses for just a moment.
Being in Tartaros doesn’t quite cloud his senses as much as it did when he arrived here the first
time, and he wonders if that’s because he’s on the same wavelength in terms of happiness as most
creatures living here are now.
“You okay?” he asks Harry, and the disbelief on Harry’s face is obvious as he nods slowly.
“Yeah, of course,” he raises his eyebrows and watches Louis carefully. “Are you?”
Louis smiles hollowly.
“If you asked Gemma to help to get us out of here now, do you think she would help us?” he
moves on, disregarding Harry’s question.
“Yeah.” Harry swallows. “Yeah, she would.”
“Good. We need to find her. Now.”
Louis makes a move towards the heavy, wooden doors separating this room from the rest of the
temple, but Harry puts an arm out to stop him immediately.
“We can’t leave this room, Louis,” he says in a hushed tone. “We can’t get out of the temple
without walking past Mo—Eris.”
Harry grimaces at the slip-up, and Louis feels a small ping of pain in his chest.
“We can’t get out without walking past Eris,” he repeats, and even though he does a good job of
steadying his voice, Louis can detect the slight tremble underneath. “If we’re going to escape, we
need to do it from here. Gemma will most likely come down here in a while, so let’s just wait,
yeah?”
Undeniably, he’s right. Louis may just be going on autopilot right now, but even he can admit that
he’s rushing into this. So he nods slowly, backing away from Harry, and sits down against the
wall. Harry does the same, and so they’re stuck with waiting.
And they do, for quite a while, and Louis is slowly becoming restless. The more time they have
alone in silence, the more time he gets alone in his head with his thoughts and his memories,
pressuring and clawing to be let out of their locked cages to run freely through his mind. That
cannot happen. Louis cannot come to terms with what’s happened to him, because he’s already
hurting enough to know that when—he knows it’s a ‘when’, too, no matter how terrifying that is—
he does, it’s going to hit him like a tidal wave, and he also knows that the longer he holds back, the
more violently will it wash over him and throw him up against the pointy, rough rocks on the
shore.
He knows he can’t hold it back forever. But he cannot risk the whiplash right now, right here, so he
has to settle for slowly drowning for now, and he sinks a little deeper every minute he spends in his
own undistracted company.
Currently, to make matters even worse, he can also feel Harry watching him in the corner of his
eye. He holds back a frustrated sigh and tightens his grip on his knees, trying his damn best to not
let it get to him, but it’s like Harry’s gaze is boring a hole through him, like it can see under his
skin and into his blackened veins. He’s too exposed, and it’s itching his skin like fucking crazy,
and it’s suddenly too hard to stop himself from the exasperation that’s slowly prickling his chest.
“I don’t need to be supervised, Harry,” he says, and he has to make a real effort to not snap.
“I’m not supervising you.” Louis turns to face Harry then, only to catch him in a slight frown that
only riles Louis up even more. Through gritted teeth, he continues;
“I won’t break if you look elsewhere. It’s cool.”
“It’s not cool, Louis.” Harry’s voice is strained and it eats at Louis’ lungs. “You know it’s
justified for me to be a little worried right now.”
“You haven’t babysat me before so don’t start.”
“Babysat—this is different than ‘before’, Louis! Before, you hadn’t gotten your—”
Harry quickly cuts himself off then, biting down on his tongue. It makes Louis feel sick.
“I hadn’t gotten my what, Harry?” he just asks coldly.
“Let’s not do this until we’re somewhere safer.”
“I hadn’t gotten my what, Harry?”
“Oh my god, you were—you were just attacked, Louis!” Harry exclaims, running a distraught hand
through his locks. “You were—you could’ve died! I had to patch you up so you wouldn’t bleed to
death! You didn’t speak for days! You’re really badly hurt and I know you’d love to pretend that
that isn’t the case but you are. Let me be concerned. Just this once, let someone care about your
wellbeing without directly connecting it to your inferiority complex.”
Oh, god, Louis is angry. He wants to yell and scream and he wants to break things and he doesn’t
even know why, but Harry isn’t getting it and Louis doesn’t want to explain it to him. He doesn’t
want to have to explain. He wants to relieve all this frustration in some type of way, and right now
he can’t think of any other but to argue. He yearns for a fight.
He doesn’t get the chance to go through with it, because right as he opens his mouth, there’s a
sharp gasp from the doorway, and both Harry and he freeze in their spots, petrified for a second
before they both turn their heads to see who’s walked in on them.
Gemma stands before them, a neatly wrapped package in hand, and she’s just staring like she can’t
believe her eyes—which she probably can’t, to be fair.
“Harry,” she chokes out. “Harry, how did you do it?”
Harry gives her a light smile. There are no hugs or anything, not even a squeeze of a shoulder or a
hand on a back. It looks stilted to Louis, who’s well used to showing his friends and family
physical affection, but to Harry and Gemma this seems to be perfectly normal, and Louis guesses
that makes sense. He thinks of how taken aback Harry’s been every time Louis’ given him a hug.
“It was all Louis,” he says, gesturing towards Louis and bringing Gemma’s attention onto him.
“He figured it out.”
And just like that, the fight-to-be is dropped. Louis’ really not willing to—he was looking forward
to letting off some steam, but as easily as Harry switched from arguing to painting Louis as a hero,
it becomes painfully apparent that Louis was the only one actually angry.
He doesn’t know if whatever’s overcoming him at that is even more irritation or a dejected kind of
shame, but he knows that now when Gemma’s here, they need to figure out how to survive again
and that whatever disputes he’s longing to have will have to wait.
“Figured out how to create new life?” Gemma’s eyes widen as she fixes them upon Louis.
Louis shrugs.
“Plants are alive, too. So I grew one.”
“From what?”
“From the food you sent. Thank you so much for that, by the way.”
He even gives her a small smile to express his genuine gratitude then, and Gemma mirrors it
tentatively.
“Louis…” she begins then, pausing for a moment as if trying to sort her thoughts out. “I know no
words can justify what’s happened to you, but I am so, so sorry. If I’d known more about what I
was getting into I wouldn’t have done it. And—and I know it’s too late now, but—just know I’m
not only helping to make it up to Harry. It’s just as much for your sake.”
Louis just nods numbly, not sure what to answer. He thinks to himself that he’s glad Harry’s at
least had someone around him throughout his life who’s not completely and viciously soulless.
“Where’s the portal to the University?” he asks, deciding to move on to what’s really important.
“And how hard will it be to get to it?”
“All our portals are positioned by our Powerhouse, so finding them aren’t hard at all,” Harry says.
“Is Zeus held captive there, too, or is he in the temple?”
“He’s by the powerhouse,” Gemma snorts. “Mother doesn’t want him in her home—he’s way too
lovesick and gross to deal with more often than necessary.”
Harry curses lowly.
“What does that mean?” Louis asks with a frown.
“On the bright side, it means Zeus is close to the portals since we probably need him. On the
bad… Eris is the only one who can release creatures from the Powerhouse cages.”
Ah. Yeah, that’s bad. Louis’ brow remains furrowed as he begins to work on figuring it out.
“And we’re sure the portal isn’t activated without him? It’s not like she could be expecting us to
come back.”
“I wouldn’t take that risk. She might not exactly expect it, but mother isn’t stupid, either,” Gemma
shakes her head. “She turns off and on and switches portals practically after mood nowadays. And
if there’s one portal she’s going to have shut off completely for as long as she can possibly manage
from now on, it’s the one to the University. She’s going to take all safety precautions necessary to
avoid you escaping, even if the chances of you doing so have been slim to none. And she’s
evidently been right to, as well,” Gemma finishes off with a meaning look at both of them.
Louis feels a small rush of triumph at that, despite the situation looking as difficult as it does.
Damn straight she’s been right to.
“Well, even though I’d preferred it if she hadn’t, it’s nice to not be underestimated,” he mutters.
“Oh, no, she’s definitely underestimating you.” Gemma’s blunt and Louis winces a little. “She has
no respect for or faith in good creatures. She just knows better than to underestimate Harry.”
Honestly, the words do sting a little, but Louis figures it’s not like he’s not used to them by now.
He’ll just have to find a way to use Eris’ underestimation to their advantage—if she thinks lowly of
Louis, she’d probably easily buy it if someone told her that Louis was left behind in the Darkness.
Leaving them with him as the element of surprise. A smirk slowly creeps onto Louis’ face as the
plan forms in his head.
“So I guess we’ll just have to let her think she’s right.”
Harry and Gemma give him a blank look each, and Louis bites into his lip pensively for a moment
before turning to Harry.
“I think I have a plan, and—it might be too much for you,” he tells him cautiously. “I know that
I’ll be asking for a lot, but… I think if we could pull it off, it’d work.”
Harry is quiet for a few seconds, and then nods slowly, exhaling.
“I’m with you,” he says calmly. “I’m always with you.”
Louis might still be itching, but in that moment, he allows himself to feel thankful. He knows this
whole thing is hard on Harry, too. He knows he’s hurting, too. In this moment, he’s not angry.
They’re going to get each other home.
“Okay.” He mimics Harry’s nod, and then starts laying out his plan. “I—god, I feel terrible asking
this because I know how hard it’ll probably be for you—but I’d need you to approach Eris again.”
Louis doesn’t miss the flicker of uncertainty in Harry’s eyes at that, and he bites his lip.
“If you really don’t want to—”
“It’s okay,” Harry interrupts gently. “Keep going with your plan.”
“Right, um. Right. I’d need you to approach Eris. You’d tell her that you managed to get out of the
Darkness and that you left me behind. Say something about how you’ve had time to think, how
you’ve been foolish, whatever she’ll buy, and then say that you just want to go back to the
University. What’s the most important is that she’ll agree to let you go back there. Presumably,
she’ll go with you to the portals to ensure that you’re not going to do anything out of line or fuck
her over again, and to let Zeus out. When you’re gone, Gemma and I,” he turns to Gemma to make
sure she’s still seeming up to help them, “will release the lost souls. Because they’re automatically
drawn to the brightest thing around, yeah? Yeah, so probably, without Eris to keep them restricted
to only her temple, they should be overwhelmingly drawn to the Powerhouse. They’ll be so worked
up they’ll take Eris completely by surprise. While she has to regain control over them and make
sure they don’t cause any harm to the Powerhouse, the portal will be free to use.”
There’s a brief moment of silence as the information really settles between them, Louis’ pulse
steadily rising with the idea of actually executing it.
“She’s the goddess of chaos,” Gemma says at last. “She’ll probably be delighted at the situation.”
“I think it could work, though,” Harry ponders. Louis turns his head to him, then, and there’s a
small, amazed smirk on his face, gaze intense and dappled with a tiny but present menacing glint.
“She will be delighted. She’ll probably come up with an even more chaotic counter-attack, it’ll be
like a game to her. She can’t help herself but get caught up in those kind of things—which will take
even more of her attention off us.”
“Sounds risky as fuck,” Gemma supplies, but she doesn’t sound particularly opposing to the idea.
Harry just nods.
“It does sound risky as fuck,” he agrees, looking back over to Louis. “You sure you want to take
those risks?”
Louis almost laughs in his face. Honestly, he wants to say, he doesn’t feel like he has a lot left to
lose, at this point.
“Why, aren’t you?”
The Powerhouse of Tartaros is a huge, steaming volcano, framed at the foot by all its portals.
Dents in its gravelly grounds form cages along the way up, suited for the souls and monsters so
damaging they cannot be kept in touch with other creatures—there’s Chimaera, the fire-breathing
lion-goat-snake hybrid who’s sent up to the oceans of Earth to wreck ships. There are the cyclopes,
the one-eyed half giants thrown down into Tartaros by Zeus himself for being too threatening.
There is the Sphinx, the half woman half lion whose job was to defeat trespassers using their own
minds—and now, also for Zeus. It’s exhaling dark fumes from the top which soak the air with
silent dread and creep into your mind and fog your vision, and the way the swirls of black dance
down the rocky hill is enchanting in a way, alluring, intimidating, fickle-minded.
It’s a dark place, it’s an evil place, it’s the conceptual definition of what Tartaros and its purpose is.
But a Powerhouse cannot be defined by only one characteristic—it needs to contain everything.
Darkness and light can’t exist without the other, and the Powerhouses sustain an entire world, so it
must always be perfectly balanced. Which makes the core of the volcano the brightest you’ve ever
seen. Down there swim layers upon layers of striking gold and silver, and it’s so warm and smooth
and glowing that looking at it will positively make you go blind.
In other words; it’s going to make the lost souls desperately, uncontrollably, absolutely hysterical
with need.
Just like they need to be.
They’ve gone over the plan what Louis feels like must be a hundred times by now—really, it’s not
that detailed of a plan and Louis is starting to feel the sting in his limbs again and he just wants to
get on with things already. They’re standing behind the same door that Louis can loosely
remember being brought through on his way down to the Darkness’ portal, waiting for Harry to
collect himself and step out into the big hall.
“You’ll come right after me, yeah?” he breathes, barely audibly.
Louis just nods, even pushing out a reassuring upturn of his mouth. They know what to do.
Harry inhales shakily, and then he opens the door and disappears out to Eris. The only thing Louis
and Gemma can do now is to stand on the other side of that wall, listening intently on what’s
happening.
At first they hear nothing but soft steps, but soon Harry’s rough voice rings through the open
space.
“I believe we have some unfinished business.”
Louis counts to 4 seconds of silence before the response comes.

“Harry.”
Eris’ voice is contained, but Louis can’t imagine her expecting this. He closes his eyes and hears
only the faint sound of Harry’s feet moving further away from him and Gemma and closer to his
mother.
“Eris,” he greets. He sounds steady and calm and like he has it all figured out, and Louis is so
proud of him. “I’m sorry to disturb.”
“I’m impressed. How did you do it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Fair enough. Where’s your fairy?” Louis thrives on how her voice is gritted out through her teeth.
“I left him behind.”
Eris hums, and there’s a pleased tint to it that sickens Louis.
“No matter how hard you try you can never really abandon your roots, hm?”
Harry doesn’t answer her question, but rather moves on with the conversation.
“Look, I know I betrayed you and that I do not deserve to come back to you—so that’s not what I’ll
ask for.”
“No? What is it then that you want?”
Brief pause, and then;
“I want to go back to the University. I ask of you to make that possible for me.”
“Oh, you do? And how do I know you’re not going to tell everyone about this as soon as you get
there?”
“Because I don’t care, Eris,” Harry deadpans sharply. “I couldn’t care less about your plans
anymore. I’ve travelled so far and I’ve fended for my life so many times already and I’m tired. I
just want to go back to the University and regain some peace and quiet. I’m not going to get myself
involved in this bullshit again by telling anyone if I manage to get out of it. I’m over it.”
Silence. Silence. Silence. Louis holds his breath, and he can tell Gemma does too.
And then, at last, the sound of Eris shuffling in her seat, followed by her voice.
“Very well. I will follow you to the portals and have Zeus reactivate it for you.”
Louis clenches his fist in victory, and he can hear Gemma exhale in relief beside him. So far, Eris
is walking right into their trap.
Next thing to be heard is two pairs of feet against marble, growing more and more distant, and then
a door opening on the other side of the hall. Louis and Gemma stay completely silent until they
finally hear it close heavily and the only thing still making noise are the lost souls’ wallowing.
“How long should we wait?” Louis asks quietly. “How long would it take them to get there?”
“Well, travelling to the Powerhouse will only take them a minute or two, and then they have to let
Zeus out of his cage,” Gemma ponders. “So just wait another fifty seconds and we’ll be good to
go, I think.”
Louis just nods. He peeks his head out to watch the empty hall, darting his eyes over to the lost
souls’ cage. His stomach immediately turns violently at the sight of their long arms and dreadful
eyes, and he has to look away before he can practically feel them on him again.
“You take out the souls,” he whispers to Gemma, swallowing roughly. “I can’t—I can’t look at
them. Not that up-close, I can’t—”
“Of course,” Gemma waves her hand reassuringly. “You take care of the doors, yeah? They won’t
pay any attention to you if the proximity of what they think is freedom is that close. Now, let’s do
this.”
Louis runs up to push the doors open while Gemma scurries over to the lost souls’ cage. She pulls
down the rod beside the bars, causing the space to open up and making the souls able to run as
they please.
“You’re free now,” she calls out to them. “You shall not be trapped to this temple any longer. Go!
Go!”
And they go. They flee, they rush, they bolt, their usual dejected moaning turned into something
frantic and urgent as they flow past Gemma, past Louis, past the exit, and out into the open spaces.
Everything from that moment on seems to happen in fast-forward. It’s like the moment the souls
race out the doors, something in Louis’ entire body comes loose, and every single nerve that’s
previously been struck by fear is suddenly on fire, egging him on to go faster, push harder, be
quicker. Their time is limited, and Louis’ entire being knows it.
Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
Gemma immediately takes off, grabbing Louis by the hand in the process.
“Run, Louis! We need to be right behind them or Mother might regain control before you have a
chance to escape.”
So they run. Gemma is obviously a lot faster, practically making Louis hover a little above the
ground with how rapidly she’s dragging him along, chasing after the spirits. Louis blocks out any
thoughts about how he used to be just as fast.
They get there just in time to see Harry, Eris and Zeus at the foot of the volcano, surrounded by
fleeting, wailing bodies of the souls, by the portal that’s most likely the one able to take them away
from here and put an end to this hell.
Louis is taken aback for a moment by just how enormous the volcano is. He’s never seen one up-
close before—the Forest isn’t exactly a focal point for volcanoes—but he’s positive this is the
most intimidating one out there, burning hot and shades of flaming red and tragic greys in strong
contrast to the blue of the portals below.
“Is it activated?” he yells in a haste as he approaches, and he only receives an excessive nod back.
It’s all he needs to pick up the pace even further.
Eris, who’s just understood that she’s being tricked, crumples her face up in an enraged grimace,
head whipping violently to stare between Harry, Louis, and the lost souls making their way up the
volcano at an alarming pace.
“You fools!” she roars. “You think you can overthrow me with chaos?”
She lets out a high-pitched, strained laugh, painful with disbelief.
“You think you can attack me without repercussions?”
She goes on to raise her hands, curling her fingers ominously—and so, the bars of all the volcano
cages melt away.
And the monsters are set free.
Louis stops dead in his tracks as he watches them arise, terrifying and hostile, stretching their limbs
and their faces setting into menacing grimaces. Louis’ heart feels as though it’s going to beat right
out of his chest and into the hands of any of the creatures before him to crush in their sharp-clawed
fists. Eris just unleashed some of the Underworld’s most threatening beasts on them. Their mission
just got about one hundred percent more lethal.
And chaos, it certainly creates—because when the monsters appear, approach the lost souls with
their pointy teeth and powerful physique, the spirits get absolutely panic-stricken.
It only really takes a leap from Chimaera into the bunch of souls for them to completely lose it.
Suddenly, their mesmerized attention on the volcano itself is lost, evaporated at the horror
prickling their entire beings, and they part in screams as they start roaming around the place so
quickly and with so much fright Louis can barely see them until they’re close enough to brush past
him, their ice-cold presence sending piercing shivers through him every time. For a good few
seconds he’s only pushed back and forth and sideways by the stinging whooshes colliding with his
bare skin, and it’s such a mind-hazing iciness that it takes him just a bit too long to comprehend
what’s actually going on.
When he finally regains composure enough to at least get a grip on his surroundings again, he
throws a look at Harry, and a shaky gasp in punched out of his body as he sees the spirit on the
ground with a giant rip in his t-shirt and Chimaera above him, his hands pushing on her jaws apart
to keep her from devouring him. The image tears at all his nerves at once, and he immediately
forgets about the portal in favour of leaping over to Harry to help him.
He doesn’t get the chance to. Because right then and there, another creature steps in front of him,
out of nowhere. It’s towering over him, and it’s huge and heavy and ugly and it has one, wide eye
fixing on Louis and Louis alone, and its fists clench at the sight. It’s a cyclops, and though Louis’
read about these creatures in Greek History class, he never thought he’d ever end up face to face
with one, and he definitely didn’t think his legs would shake this much at the sight. That last bit he
probably should’ve seen coming, though, because now he, a small fairy, is forced to take on this
creature quadruple his own size.
He searches feverishly after a way to succeed with that task before the cyclops actually decides to
attack him, and he suddenly remembers what Harry told him in Pantheon once—the hideous
creatures, the scary looking creatures, are dangerous to your physical wellbeing, but they’re not
very bright. You can outsmart them.
The cyclops stares him down with his one, haunting eye, and flings one rock-hard arm down to
throw Louis out of the way. Louis just barely manages to stumble forwards enough for the monster
to miss him, scraping his knees against the concrete with a hiss. The cyclops stops for a moment,
evidently confused as to why his attempt didn’t cause anyone harm. Louis takes that moment to
bolt through the gap between the creature’s legs, and his palms sting and he can feel something
warm run down his left leg but it’s the last thing on his mind right now.
He immediately turns around so he’s facing the cyclops’ back, looking around for something that
can help him. There’s not exactly a lot of time to figure out an elaborate plan, and his mind is
racing for a brief solution. He climbs higher and higher up the volcano, feeling with his fingers for
something to defend himself with, and at last he finds it in the shape of a pointy rock. It’s only
slightly bigger than his own fist, but with sweat starting to trickle down his forehead, Louis decides
that it’ll have to do. He grips around it tightly, looking between his weak weapon and his strong
opponent, searching for a vulnerable spot.
The eye. If Louis could only reach the cyclops’ eye. If only Louis still had his—
And that’s a path he’s not going to go down right now. He doesn’t have time for painful ‘if only’s.
So instead, he keeps crawling further up the volcano to be positioned more paralleled with the
cyclops’ face—and then he takes one of the most reckless risks he’s ever taken. He starts
provoking the creature.
“Tell you what?” he yells. “Bet you can’t kill me without using your hands.”
The cyclops gives out a deeply offended roar in Louis’ direction at that, glaring at him with his
bloodshot, piercing eye, and then looks down on his two tightly fisted hands for a contemplating
moment.
His idea is, as Louis predicted, to full on dive in headfirst in an attempt at squishing Louis against
the molten rock.
Right as that happens, Louis shoots up from where he’s lying, grabbing the cyclops’ shoulder to
steady himself, and he punches the stone into the cyclops’ eye with the firmest and strongest grip
he can bring himself to. The cyclops instantly gives out a deafening roar that rings in Louis’ ears,
standing up instantly and starting to stagger backwards as Louis’ nails keep digging into the rough
calloused skin of the monster’s shoulder to stay where he is. He’s already feeling sick with the
mere idea of having to do this much damage to another living organism, but with a pained grimace
and thumping heart, he averts his head and pushes the stone in deeper and deeper, ignoring how it
just sinks through into the socket, and lets the cyclops’ screams vibrate through his entire body.
At last, it has the desired effect, as the cyclops takes one last step backwards and then falls flat.
Louis yelps and releases his grip of the stone to cling tightly to the cyclops’ neck, shutting his eyes
closed for the drop.
When the cyclops’ body hits the ground, it knocks the breath out of Louis’ lungs and he can hear
something crack at the same time as a cutting pain shoots through his knuckles. He gasps sharply
and wiggles his hands out from under the creature’s neck, practically jumping off of him. He
doesn’t dare look at the damage the hit probably made, so with his hands tightly pressed to his
chest, he takes a brief look around to focus on the next urgent issue again—that Harry is okay, that
Chimaera hasn’t hurt him.
When Louis’ gaze finally finds the spirit, Gemma is by his side and Chimaera is writhing under
their stares on the ground. Never before in Louis’ life has he felt relief wash over him at the sight
of Harry putting his powers to use, but at this moment, it does so violently he almost smiles
through all the pain and exhaustion.
He wobbles closer to the portal, knees shaky and weak as they try to carry his fatigued body
through the mess of souls and steam, until he reaches his destination and allows them to buckle.
Louis leans against the frame of the portal and profusely ignores the pulsating pain in his knuckles
as he lets his eyes land on Harry again, slightly startled to find the spirit already staring back
intently. He gives him the smallest smile but it probably comes off more as a grimace, and Harry’s
already worried face drops into a horrified frown immediately, and then he looks back at Chimaera
even more determined than before. With Gemma’s help, he manages to force the monster up the
volcano and back into her cage, and though they can’t lock her in again, Gemma sits outside to
keep her there. Harry finally looks back to Louis again, making his way over as quickly as he
possibly can. Louis keeps his eyes on him like he’s a lifeline, like he’s the sun on his light deprived
skin, and though his eyelids are droopy he does succeed to keep his stare steady on the spirit.
Getting through to Louis is not a problem to Harry—like it’s all he’s ever had to do he slides past
the erratic spirits around him, dissolves into the air at any cyclops trying to get in his way and
reappears behind them again to leave them in utter confusion, and Louis’ face morphs into a scowl
when he realizes that though Harry has no problem using that particular right now, he didn’t think
to use it during his fight with Chimaera.
“Louis,” he gasps as soon as he’s within hearing distance, and for a moment Louis loses focus
because Harry’s there again, his hands on Louis forearms and his eyes scanning Louis for damage
and his warmth radiating and sticking to Louis’ skin.
But then his eyes fall onto Harry’s stomach and the big claw mark that’s ripped through his shirt
and his skin, and his stomach twists violently when he snaps his head back up to furiously fix
Harry with his stare.
“You’re hurt. Why didn’t you use your thing, Harry, why didn’t you use your fucking spirit thing,
you shouldn’t have tried to fucking fight it—”
“I didn’t want to,” Harry interrupts and he speaks rapidly and evidently stressed out, but his hands
are moving up and down Louis’ arms in a soothing manner. “I didn’t want you to look around for
me and not be able to find me.”
“That’s—” Louis sputters. That’s actually very considerate and Louis would no doubt become
terrified in two seconds flat if he suddenly found Harry to be gone, but the mere concept makes
him feel like shit because this is a life or death situation and Harry needs to put himself first and his
feelings are already contradicting and messy as it is right now, “that’s not what you should
prioritize! The plan is to get us both out of here, not—”
“Can this wait?” Harry snaps a bit too harshly, and when Louis flinches he grimaces. “I’m sorry.”
Louis just shakes his head, because, well—yeah. This should wait, Louis supposes. He closes his
mouth shut and purses it into something begrudging, but he complies regardless.
“Now,” Harry starts again, “let’s fucking go.”
He opts for pulling Louis up in his arms, and Louis is about to let him—
But that’s the moment his eyes fall on Zeus, standing just a bit away from them. He’s looking
around himself in a daze while slowly backing—stumbling—away from the scene. He’s under a
charm and the air is thick with the lost soul’s desperation and it’s making everything into a haze so
it’s not like he’s doing a great job with erasing himself from the situation, but it does make
something ping in Louis head, and he looks back to Harry.
“Wait,” he demands. “There’s something—I’m going to ask something of you that I’ve never
asked before and probably will never ask again so this is your moment to really shine,” he says
lowly, pulling Harry closer. “I need you to use your powers.”
Harry blinks.
“What?”
“I need you,” Louis repeats deliberately, “to use your powers. I need you to use them like you never
have before, and I need you to use them on Zeus.”
He fixes Harry with the most urging look he can muster given his state just to emphasize how
serious he is about his proposition.
“I can’t—Louis, it’s Zeus.” Harry looks awfully pained, staring right back at Louis with doubtful
eyes, and Louis doesn’t have time for doubt right now. They don’t have time for anything but
action.
“You can. You need to make sure he comes within reach. If he does, we can—we can take him
with us, too. If you can make him come here, we can end this once and for all.”
It only takes Harry a second or two of contemplation before the torn crinkle between his eyebrows
loosens up and though he doesn’t look entirely comfortable with the fact, he still nods and stands
up.
Soon enough, Zeus’ piercing screams mix with the souls’ melancholic sighing and sobbing, and
Louis exhales deeply.
Several feet away, Eris looks between Harry and Louis, Zeus who’s being lured towards the pair in
pain, and the souls climbing further and further up the volcano, desperately hoping that the light
they can feel the presence of from within the Powerhouse will save them from all this madness and
terror. She can’t let Harry and Louis get away, but she also most definitely cannot let the souls fall
into the light. They’d damage it—so much darkness all at once rubbing the core of what keeps her
kingdom alive would undoubtedly have fatal consequences for her.
So instead of rushing down to capture the pair by the portal, she sends someone else to keep them
occupied until she can deal with it herself.
“Sphinx!” she calls out, pointing the animal in the right direction.
The Sphinx is so fast Louis barely has time to blink before she’s blocking their way to the portal,
and she’s completely calm and as if cut out of stone, but it only makes her appear even more
horrifying.
“Read me this riddle right or die,” she begins, voice smooth and monotone and Louis flinches
because somehow the lack of emotion is chilling him more than hostility would’ve.
“Oh my fucking god,” Harry yells in exasperation, looking around with his eyes blown wide. “Are
we really going to have to play a fucking game of Riddle Me This? Now?”
“Shut up, Harry,” Louis snaps. “It’s this or fighting her.”

“We have one guess to get her riddle right or we die.”
“I heard her, Harry. Keep quiet.”
They both know they’re in no shape to fight a lethal monster right now—Louis just barely got
away with the first one, and it drained him of all the physical strength he managed to gather for this
mission. Not that his mind is particularly clear, either, but he at least figures there’s a much bigger
chance of him guessing the Sphinx into defeat than fighting her.
He turns to her with a sigh, and he can practically feel Harry’s discomfort as he looks around and
shuffles impatiently beside him. Louis understands him. He has to try his very hardest to stay
focused himself.
“Give us your riddle,” he demands. The Sphinx doesn’t move an inch as she speaks.
“There are two sisters; one gives birth to the other, who in turn gives birth to the first. Who are
they?”
Louis can feel the blood leave his face as his mind goes completely blank. He’d foolishly hoped
it’d be easy, but it’s obvious that’s not going to happen. Fuck. He turns to Harry, hoping
desperately that maybe he is a bit less in the dark than himself, but his heart drops when he catches
the raised eyebrows on the spirit’s face, too.
“Are there some kind of goddesses in Greek that might fit that description?” he asks in an attempt
to get their minds going.
“Definitely not.” Harry shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. This must be some kind of—like, wind,
or water, or something else that’s a part of nature. Something that’s not like us.”
“Right—wait, you gender forces of nature? What the fuck, Harry? That makes no sense.”
“I’d love to discuss the Greek’s tendency to force genders onto natural phenomena with you, but
do you not think the timing is a bit inconvenient right now?”
To emphasize Harry’s point, a lost soul whizzes by right between them, making them both flinch
and their ears whoosh from its loud whines. Louis admits now is probably not the time.
“So, nature,” he nods quickly, diving back into what’s important. “I mean, there—there are plants
that like, clone themselves. But I feel like that would be too simple and even that would be it, there
are a few to choose between and we only have one guess.”
Harry’s quiet for a second, biting his cheeks and letting his gaze wander around pensively—as
pensively as one can while also fearing for their life, Louis supposes—he looks at the Sphinx, and
he looks at Louis, and he looks to the darkness above them, and he looks to Eris, who’s
progressively getting more and more control over her lost souls, which means that their time is
running out.
“I think we’re looking at it too literally,” he says finally. “I don’t think it’s something that literally
births something else. What is something that’s just never-ending and constantly reborn?”
Never-ending and constantly reborn. Louis knits his eyebrows together and narrows his eyes as he
thinks, ponders, concentrates like his life depends on it (because, well, it does). Never-ending and
constantly reborn. Never-ending and constantly reborn.
Never-ending and constantly reborn.

The words taste familiar on his tongue as he whispers them to himself. It feels like something he’d
said himself at some point—it’s a concept that he’s fascinated with, infinites. He values them.
And that’s when it hits him—he has said them before. He said them to Harry, when they’d just
landed on Earth and Harry couldn’t face Zayn, and Louis sat down next to him in the sand and they
both looked out on the golden sky.
“The sun’s always setting somewhere,” he’d said. “Nature always keeps going, no matter how
messy things get. It’s never-ending, and it’s constant.”
Time always ticks on. It doesn’t change. The sun always sets, and it always rises in the morning.
The day is constantly reborn. The night is constantly reborn. They spring to life from one another
at an endless cycle, and it’s steady and reliable and it’s the one thing Louis’ been yearning for the
most during his stay down here, the comfort and safety of feeling time pass even when it seems to
not.
And so he has the answer to the riddle.
“Night and Day,” he breathes. “It’s Night and Day, isn’t it?”
He looks up at the Sphinx, repeating his answer even louder, again and again until they barely
sound coherent, the idea of those two words being the thing to finally reunite Louis with safety
blurring all his senses uncontrollably.
The Sphinx doesn’t say a single word, but just moves slowly out of the way with a motionless face,
and Louis thinks he can hear Eris shriek somewhere further away. He looks over at where he thinks
it’s coming from, and through his suddenly smudged vision he can see the silhouette of a slim and
threatening body closing in on them.
He can’t even feel fear—it’s like the moment he cracked the riddle his subconscious allowed his
body to stop straining itself, to shut down, to rest, and he can’t find a motivation to fight through it
anymore.
It’s hard to distinguish anything through the thick haze of enervation currently rushing through
Louis’ entire being, but he does feel it when two strong arms sneak under his shaky knees and
back, lifting him up from the ground and throwing him over a shoulder.
Harry reaches out and hogs Zeus by the arm with his free hand, Zeus being far too gone to
comprehend what’s happening or show restraint, and he throws himself at the portal.
Eris’ furious roar rings in Louis ears.
Chapter End Notes
GUESS WHO'S BACK!!!!!!!!!!! it's me
i'm SO sorry for the long wait and i hope that i made it at least somewhat worthwhile
with this eventful n nearly 8k chapter :') i'm always conscious writing action scenes so
vdjskvjsjh i hope it didn't suck!!! can u believe that i now only have one chapter and an
epilogue left???? i cannot i'm in extreme denial this fic has been the only stable thing
in my life for like 3 years
anyways!!!!!!! i love u all so so much, thank u for reading, kudos and comments heals
all the cracks in my weary soul and warms my heart, and if u wanna talk to me on
tumblr u can find me @ tequiladimples <33
Chapter Notes
merry christmas!!! have a 13k update!!!!!
The day Harry Styles rushes over the big lawn of University of the Three pressing a wingless fairy
to his chest and pulling a dazed Zeus along by his arm after being gone for weeks, is a day that will
most likely place at least top 3 in the list of the most startling events the place has seen throughout
its history.
People are buzzing like streetlights with the news mere seconds after the spirit first whooshes past
them, too quickly for anyone to keep up—not that Harry wants anyone to keep up with him. The
only thing his brain can process at that moment is that he’s holding their one chance at ending this
whole mess in one hand, and a hurt Louis with his other, and he needs to hold on, and he needs
help. His heart beats so hard and hot in his chest he feels like it’s going to burn a hole through his
ribcage and burst out in front of him—he’s dizzy and his limbs ache, and he barely even notices the
high-pitched voices and wide-eyed stares fired after him as he runs, up every staircase and through
every corridor and across the big quad, all the way to the university’s hospital building.
He storms through the entrance mercilessly, probably slapping Zeus with the doors, and tightens
his grip on Louis’ unconscious body to not drop him in his hurry as he walks right up to the front
desk with more dedication than he’s had with anything else in his life.
“We need to see a doctor. Now,” he deadpans. He can see the receptionist look up, startled by the
sudden action, and her face pales the second her eyes fall on Zeus. Harry doesn’t have time for this.
“It’s urgent.”
“Right,” the receptionist reaches for the phone with a shaky hand and the second she starts talking
to someone on the other line Harry takes the opportunity to look down on Louis again. His
breathing is faint and his eyelids are shut and lightly fluttering, there’s still a layer of sweat and dirt
on his face and he looks so feeble and Harry’s head is pounding.
“Louis,” he tries, because he has to try, and he has to speak, and he has to do something. “Louis.
You’re safe. You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to be okay.”
Louis doesn’t reply, but he fists his hand loosely in the fabric of Harry’s shirt, and that’s enough
for Harry right then—it has to be.
It doesn’t take long before nurses arrive to lead them away, and if Harry snaps at them a little too
harshly when they freeze by Zeus’ presence, then that’s justified and nothing he’s not willing to
fully stand behind because yeah, Zeus is powerful and important and his presence is a bit
staggering, but Louis is hurt. It does work, anyway, and they’re taken up a set of stairs and into a
room where Louis is pulled away from him, into the arms of a couple of other nurses who start
checking blood pressure, temperature, and pulse, and Harry is taken aside to explain both Louis’
and Zeus’ states. Zeus is immediately taken to the de-charming department, and Harry’s told that
Louis’ pulse and blood pressure are both way too low, and some of the stitches on his back have
come undone and the wounds could be infected, so he’s going to have to stay here for a while.
More than that Harry doesn’t get to know before he’s asked to leave.
Harry, quite understandably, does try to protest. Every cell in his body screams at the thought of
having to leave Louis like this, but the staff is firm and determined, and Harry supposes that the
quicker he gives in, the quicker they will start to tend to Louis. And that’s what’s the most
important when it all comes down to it. So with that in mind, repeating it like a mantra to motivate
his legs towards the door, he complies.
He’s just about to throw one last look at Louis in the hospital bed and convince himself that
everything’s going to be fine so he can actually turn around without feeling like throwing up, when
a new, shrill voice rings through the room.
“Let me through! Let me through! Louis!”
He knows that voice.
Harry can’t help the loud groan of frustration that tumbles out of him as his head whips around just
in time to see Eleanor of Ourania storm into the room, hands trembling slightly and her eyes livid
when they land on Harry. It strikes Harry that as far as she knows, everything is just as it’s always
been, and the last thing she probably heard was about Harry chasing Louis through the halls and
now he’s returned and Louis needs medical attention.
Fuck.
“What are you still doing in here?” she asks hotly.
Her gaze flicks onto Louis’ semi-conscious and fragile body with a horrified expression, and it
doesn’t take long for the shock and terror to morph back into fury.
“What have you done?” she demands now, and Harry can practically feel her glare burning straight
through his skin.
He purses his lips, face nothing but passive and fatigued.
“I didn’t do anything,” he replies, and then gestures to Louis. “This one, on the other hand, just
saved out entire world system.”
Eleanor’s jaw falls open, searching for words.
If she finds any, she doesn’t get the chance to utter them out loud, because then they’re both
physically ushered out of the room.
When the doors close in Harry’s face, his stomach immediately drops and his heart wrenches with
an overthrowing kind of anxiety at having to leave Louis in such a vulnerable position, to be as
helpless as he is, and he swallows a couple of times around a growing lump in his throat. What’s
just happened is slowly but surely making its way up to the surface, but Eleanor is still standing
rigid and hostile next to him, and he can’t deal with these emotions in front of her.
So instead, he and Eleanor stand there in loaded silence for a while. Eleanor’s still sending him
daggers with her stare, albeit a tad more controlled this time around, and Harry stares defiantly
back.
“Walk with me,” Eleanor says suddenly. It’s practically an order, her otherwise so sweet voice now
stern and demanding, and Harry scoffs.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re going to explain to me exactly what’s going on.”
And with that, Eleanor turns swiftly on her heel and begins to walk through the hallway in aim for
the exit. Harry watches her confident and elegant stride for a beat, contemplating whether to
actually follow her or to just stay exactly where he is; he’s not quite in the mood for a chat right
now, and he’s definitely not in the mood to be the target for a bunch of accusations he doesn’t
deserve, which he knows Eleanor will definitely try to pin on him.
But in the end, he still decides to let her have it her way, and he forces some life into his legs to
pick up a brisk pace and catch up with her. He guesses the conversation is an inevitable one in a
way, and he also, though admitted reluctantly, probably owes her this much.
The talk doesn’t happen immediately, neither of them knowing quite where to begin. In loaded
silence they walk alongside each other, through the waiting room and to the reception and out the
doors to be met by the shining sun. The blue sky is something Harry hasn’t had time to reflect over
during the short time he’s been back, but as he watches it now, it seems to calm his nerves and
dispel his jumbled thoughts, if only for the moment. The grass around them is green and the
environment is lively, and in some ways it reminds him of his stay in the Enchanted Forest—
although that memory feels like ages ago, now.
Because Harry is so caught up in letting the sunrays dance on his skin and rest on his eyelashes,
Eleanor is the one to finally clear her throat and initiate the conversation.
“He doesn’t have his wings.”
The statement is simple and frank and roughly pulls Harry out of his serene state. There are a
thousand questions and accusations embedded in every phoneme. He doesn’t look at her.
“He doesn’t,” he confirms.
“Is that because of you in any way?”
God. The question might be a justified one, especially for Eleanor to ask, but regardless it makes
Harry itch with irritation at the implication that he would ever even think of hurting Louis like that.
“Did I personally remove them? Absolutely not.” He pauses and kicks away a few stray pebbles in
front of him. “Did the lost souls remove them on Eris’ command to get to me? Yeah.”
He swallows roughly, his throat thickening slightly at the mention.
“Why would she do that to get to you? Why would you care?”
Harry clenches his fists, focusing only on his breathing and the sharp sensation of his nails
penetrating his palms in an attempt at keeping his cool. She doesn’t know. She can’t help it. She
cares about Louis, too. In the end, it works, and Eleanor’s statement only earns her a humorless
snort and a deliberate eyeroll.
“It’s always so refreshing to spend time around you, Eleanor, you do know I love how highly you
think of me.”
“I have no reason to think highly of you and you’re deflecting from the subject.”
Yeah, this is hard. This is very hard. Harry would much rather be sitting in the waiting room and
count the seconds until he could visit Louis, or examine the perfect squares of the tile floors, or
fucking watch paint dry, or just about anything except this.
How does he explain it, is the thing? How does he find words to describe just how much Louis’
done for him in such a short amount of time, how does he explain to someone who’s known him
and seen him cause nothing but harm and menace his whole life that Louis simply just had to waltz
in and yell at him and radiate hope and laugh a bit too brightly for Harry to rethink every single
thing that’s defined his persona?
Harry doesn’t know how to tell her that. He knows it sounds ridiculous, unbelievable, laughable.
“Because as it turns out, you can’t really spend every waking hour in Louis’ vicinity for a longer
period of time without starting to like him,” he settles for in the end, still refusing to give her a
single glance. He doesn’t need to see how much she doesn’t believe him, not when he’s never
meant anything more in his entire life.
“Like, a lot,” he adds, and if he’d speak just a tiny bit lower it’d be just a soft exhale. “I care for
him a lot.”
Eleanor doesn’t immediately answer, but Harry knows that her gaze is still steady on him, lingering
under a skeptical frown, clearly trying to figure out what Harry’s angle in all of this is. Harry’s skin
itches with it.
“So… Eris ripped the wings off another creature… Because her favorite son cared about them?”
“Yeah. Why is that a surprise to you?”
Eleanor blinks.
“Your mother loves you. She wouldn’t do that.”
The sudden, horrified burst of laughter Harry squeezes out makes Eleanor flinch, and he finally
looks up at her to really underline how extraordinarily fucking absurd she’s being.
“Loves me?” he stresses, eyebrows nearly grazing his hairline in disbelief. “Loves me? Are you
serious?”
Eleanor just purses her mouth, and something new takes form in her eyes now that looks extremely
close to pity, and Harry hates it. He doesn’t want her pity. He doesn’t want anything from her
except her absence.
“Besides,” he continues bitterly, “she disowned me.”
“What?” Eleanor’s steps screech to a halt, voice high-pitched and scandalized. “Why would she do
that?”
Harry just glares at her in frustration.
“Are you not listening to me at all? Because I felt things.” He just barely contains his voice enough
not to yell, and his hands fly to grip around his elbows in an attempt to hold himself together. “I felt
affection and tenderness for a nature fairy, and Eris couldn’t stand it.”
That’s obviously the thing that’s taken Eleanor the most by surprise this whole conversation,
because for the first time all traces of incredulity are wiped off and completely replaced by genuine
shock.
“I thought—she just always gave you what you wanted. You got special treatment all the time. I
thought because you were her obvious favorite she wouldn’t do something like that to you.”
Olympians. So fucking naïve. Harry just scoffs.
“Yeah, well.”
He’s not exactly in the mood to explain his life story to her, anyway. It’s not worth it.
So he lets the quiet develop and sink in as he folds his hands and ignores Eleanor’s curious stare
boring through his temple, always observing, evaluating, analyzing. He doesn’t want to be here.
He doesn’t want to have this conversation. If this were up to him, he’d be practically hanging off
the doorknob of the operating room, ready to see Louis the second he was allowed to. He would
not, under any circumstances, be out here with Eleanor of Ourania squeezing truths he doesn’t want
to share out of him.
“You really do care about him,” she states at last, slowly. Harry can’t stop an exasperated sigh.
“Solid observation.”
“But why?”
It’s an understandable question, Harry gets that it is—after all, what would Harry see in someone
like Louis? But Eleanor hasn’t been with them, she hasn’t seen what they’ve seen and felt what
they’ve felt and relied on anyone like they’ve had to rely on each other. She hasn’t been there. She
couldn’t possibly understand, and Harry couldn’t possibly make her.
“Because how could I not?” he asks with a weak laugh and a helpless look at Eleanor.
Eleanor doesn’t reply. She seems to finally accept it, though, because she gradually starts walking
again, just giving Harry a silent nod and a twist of her lips.
“If you’re lying I’ll rip your teeth out,” she says, and not a single muscle in her face moves to
signify that she’s joking, and Harry guesses she shouldn’t be. It’s a fair warning. Eleanor doesn’t
have to trust him.
But then she seems to relax after only another short moment of contemplation, her clenched jaw
loosening up and her shoulders sinking down from where they’ve been practically by her ears, and
Harry takes that as her deciding that she’s okay with this.
When she gives Harry a look over her shoulder, all the previous repulsion has vanished. Harry
counts it as a win. They continue walking silently, an unspoken sort of truce shifting the air
between them and making it a bit more breathable.
Harry doesn’t have to like Eleanor and Eleanor doesn’t have to like him. But Harry figures he
could do with some mutual tolerance.
Zeus wants to speak to him. That’s the only information Harry gets.
Curing the Leader required a full 24-hour long session of intense and uninterrupted extraction of
the poison from where it’s coated his veins thickly, and they’re extremely lucky the university is as
prestigious and invested in as it is, because if it hadn’t been they wouldn’t have had some of the
very best healers in the universes on their territory, and all of this would’ve gone a lot slower.
As Louis still isn’t allowed visitors, Harry’s established the waiting room as his personal
occupation until he is. He doesn’t even make time for sleeping, only wandering down to the
cafeteria every now and then for food, and he knows it’s not healthy at all. But he’s got the rest of
his existence to be healthy. More pressuring matters were at stake here.
Anyhow, this is therefore also where Zeus chooses to approach him.
It’s a stilted and honestly, in Harry’s eyes, quite laughable affair; it all starts with Eleanor coming
by to practically just announce the Leader’s impending presence and already there Harry can feel
the contempt for Zeus’ high thoughts of himself starting to build.
“We can’t visit Louis just yet,” he says as soon as he sees her, thinking that that must be her motive
for coming back.
“I know. That’s not why I’m here. Zeus wishes to speak to you.”
Harry snorts, half in surprise and half mockingly, and raises an eyebrow.
“Couldn’t he just tell me that himself?”
Eleanor is clearly not finding it as amusing as he is, as she just closes her eyes and breathes deeply
for a beat.
“Just don’t be a dick, okay?” she pleads, face stern, and that’s apparently that because she then
leaves promptly, and soon enough Zeus steps in after her. Like he wants some sort of grand entrée
or something. What an asshole.
“Harry of Eris,” he greets Harry with an almighty nod, and the way Harry has to clench his jaw so
tightly he feels like it’s going to burst should probably be the peak signifier that this isn’t off to a
good start.
“Your highness,” he replies rigidly. The words are ugly and bitter in his mouth. “Refrain from
calling me that. Eris doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”
Zeus only looks startled for a second before he regains composure.
“My condolences.”
“It’s okay,” Harry waves a hand dismissively. “I don’t think I would’ve wanted to stay, anyway.
You wanted to speak to me?”
Zeus nods.
“I do not remember much of what’s been happening this past time, and the memories I do have are
hazy and incomprehensible. But I’ve gathered that you and your Forest friend were the ones to help
me escape Eris, no?”
“Yeah. I guess we did.” We almost left you behind, but. Details.
“Right. And I just want to say thank you for executing such an honorable action. You showed great
loyalty to me—you abandoned your wicked roots for this cause and helped save our universes and
restore balance and peace to us all, and as you saved my life, I am now in debt to you.”
The sharp none of what I did was for you, but sure lies right on the tip of Harry’s tongue. He keeps
it there.
Part of him wants to get on his highest horse and just reject any favors that Zeus might want to
offer—but he’s also not stupid. He knows that having Zeus feeling like he owes him help in any
way is an advantage as he could help with, well, just about anything. And that could come in
handy right now.
So in the end Harry opts for an indulging wiggle of his eyebrows for Zeus to go on.
“It’s only right that I provide you with an alternative work assignment,” the god says. “I have to say
I am impressed with you, Harry. Your perseverance and moral despite your calling is admirable,
and if it’s of your interest I think your services as my companion would benefit us both greatly. I’d
be happy to fix you a spot in Olympus.”
Oh.
Oh, wow.
Zeus’ right-hand man. Harry’s face scrunches up a little at that thought. He may have saved the
Leader’s life but to say that he is or would ever be fond of the man—or that he’s loyal to him, good
god—would still be the greatest lie. That might just be the one thing he and Eris still agree on
today. Zeus is influential and headstrong and undoubtedly an important figure, but he’s also hot-
headed and rash and incredibly self-centered, and Harry has a feeling that he in the end would end
up rather as a slave doing the God’s dirty work rather than a genuine co-worker.
Besides, Harry’s not too big on going from living under the command of one powerful figure
whose purpose he didn’t agree with, to living under the command of another powerful figure
whose values he doesn’t agree with. He’s had enough of that.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll respectfully decline,” he says finally. “However, I do have some
other requests that I’d hope you can help me with.”
He knows it’s bold, taking charge and by himself decide not one, but several favors he’d want from
a Leader—but Zeus did say that he owes Harry, so Harry can only be assertive and confident and
hope that Zeus is up for discussing how exactly he’s going to repay this debt. It’s not like Harry
will refuse a chance to take advantage of Zeus’ powers just because he doesn’t like him—if
anything, it makes him feel no guilt at all.
Zeus eyes him up and down once, an intrigued eyebrow lifting slightly. But then he nods and
gestures encouragingly.
“Very well. Name it and I’ll try my best.”
Harry thanks every force of fate and then straightens his back again to not lose any of his
credibility. If Zeus will sense any form of insecurity, surely he will try to manipulate Harry into
something else. Harry needs them to be equals. For now, at least.
“Right. First off, Gemma. My sister. She helped me and Louis to escape and I’m very afraid she’s
probably paying the price for that right now. Bring her to safety. Second, Zayn and Liam of
Grimm, and Niall of Venus. They also helped us along the way and they’re good friends of mine,
and they were left in the enchanted forest when Louis and I were brought to Tartaros. I’d like for
them to make a visit. And third—” He stops for a beat, careful to not let it be long enough to shine
through his exterior, but when he speaks again he can’t help how the words go just a hint gentler
around the edges. “I want to know if there’s a possibility of retrieving Louis’ wings.”
Zeus’ face doesn’t move an inch when he replies.
“As for your first two wishes, I’m happy to fulfil them. But as for his wings—I’m terribly sorry,
but there’s nothing I can do about that. A creature’s wings are deeply personal. It’s completely
individual and unique to every being, and therefore they aren’t designed to be recreated. As I’m
sure you know yourself, they have massive ties to your soul, not your body, and that bond is
irretrievable. A leg or an arm, we could easily replace, but nothing can reconnect the threads of
comfort and identity you find in a pair of wings. Louis is simply going to have to learn to live
without them.”
Louis is simply going to have to learn to live without them.
Harry did fear that answer, but the words still push tiny splinters into his lungs with every syllable.
Louis lost his wings, his wings which the bond he had to was so strong and personal it’s
irretrievable—and it’s essentially Harry’s fault, and Harry can’t do anything to make it better.
He swallows the spikes of anger, and dread, and the thickness building in his throat. Not now. Not
now.
“Right. Of course.” His heart trembles horribly in his chest as it sinks in, but outwardly, he doesn’t
even blink. “Then I want him to have the best and most efficient health care there is. I want his
family to be let onto campus for visits as often as he likes and needs. The best healers will tend to
him. If he’s going to learn to live without his wings, I want him to do so under best possible
circumstances.”
Zeus ponders his request for a moment, his face still refusing to reveal any of his intentions.
“You ask a lot,” he says at last. Just that. No elaboration. Harry nearly rips a handful of hair out.
“Yeah, I do,” he deadpans. “Because Louis deserves it. It’s him you have to thank for practically
everything. He got us out of the Darkness when Eris sent us there. He came up with the whole plan
to escape. And he also insisted we’d stay behind so we could take you with us. I merely just
followed his orders all along.”
Zeus is quiet for another additional couple of minutes, while Harry focuses all his energy on
standing up straight and clenching his fists and biting his tongue to prevent himself from doing
anything that might ruin his currently quite positive stance with the god.
And then, finally, finally, he nods slowly with a small, impressed smile.
“He has a good soul. He will receive all the help we can get him.”
The weight in Harry’s stomach lifts then, and he exhales through his nose. Thank god. Thank god.
“Thank you for this,” he makes sure to say, even if it still tastes sour. Even if he wishes the god
could’ve done more. Zeus puts a brief hand on his shoulder.
“The pleasure is all mine. Let’s just be glad this whole thing is over now, yeah?”
Harry just nods once more. It’s not over, not even close, when he can still hear Louis’ petrifying
screams cut through his thoughts every quiet moment, when he sees Louis’ empty eyes every time
he closes his own, when Louis is not with him, when Louis is away in a hospital room after
surgeries. It’s not over at all, and a big part of him resents Zeus so much it pains him for being able
to feel like it is.
Before Zeus leaves, he stops and eyes Harry one last time.
“And if you ever change your mind about joining Olympus, I’ll be happy to fix it for you. I mean
it, Harry—you could be a very useful resource. And your working conditions would undoubtedly
be better.”
With that, he leaves. Harry doesn’t move for another fifteen minutes.
Louis’ surgery was successful, and Harry can breathe a little easier as soon as he’s allowed by the
boy’s bedside again. He’s still not awake. Harry thinks he’s never looked smaller than he does
now.
A lot of different creatures have come by to visit, too—some only out of sheer curiosity and
towards them Harry didn’t even try to be nice, but most were people who genuinely did care about
Louis’ condition. It doesn’t surprise Harry at all that so many people are concerned—it’d make
sense for someone like Louis to have quite a bit of acquaintances and admirers. Most often of all,
Eleanor stops by, asks about any changes or whether he’s woken up yet. Harry gives her the same
answer every time, but he does make an effort not to snap at her. He remembers the one time the
topic of Eleanor had come up between him and Louis, way back in Pantheon, and how offended
Louis had been on her behalf when Harry let his own opinions on her seep through. They’re clearly
close whether Harry likes it or not, and he knows Eleanor does only mean well. This whole thing
must be hard on her, too.
Visiting hours are almost over, and the steady stream of people have finally started to decrease,
leaving Harry all alone with Louis all the more. It does hurt to see the fairy like this; unconscious
and small and with his honey-tinted hair spreading against the pillow like small strands of
sundown. It’s like the saddest piece of the most exquisite art—so delicate in its shapes and
crooked lines, and so gloomy and susceptible in its atmosphere. Harry can only look at him in ten
second intervals before something dangerous start burning behind his eyes.
He did this. He caused this. If he’d only controlled himself, if he’d only stayed away and endured
Louis’ hatred or maybe been satisfied with just tolerating each other, this wouldn’t have happened.
He shouldn’t have fallen for Eris’ game—he should’ve realized that it was one in the first place—
because if he had, Louis would not be lying here. He’d still have his wings.
God, what if Louis hates him now? What if when he wakes up to Harry sitting next to him he’s
going to be upset or angry or ask him to leave and ever come back? Undoubtedly, especially with
his reactions to everything thus far, it’s taken an incredible toll on him in every way possible, and
that on its own will be hard to handle. But how much does Louis blame Harry for what happened?
Imagining a reality where Louis hates him as fiercely as he used to, where his voice smiles towards
the whole world and only frowns when Harry appears is physically, bitingly painful at this point.
Harry’s not sure he could manage that—maybe if he hadn’t known anything else he would be fine,
but once Louis plants seeds in your hearts they never stop flourishing. The ones in Harry certainly
haven’t, and he’s too selfish to even think about trying to cut them down.
Suddenly, an “oh!” is heard from the doorway and it makes Harry flinch out of his thoughts. He
turns around swiftly to see who Louis’ visitor is this time, and when he recognizes the small person
in the doorway his lungs tense up.
It’s Camron.
Camron, the little dwarf that had ultimately led to Harry’s and Louis’ first real meeting. Camron,
who only set Harry’s teeth on edge because he was so genuinely kind, Camron, who stands just a
few feet away now with a nervously tight grip on his cane, Camron, who Harry was an absolute
dick to for no reason at all.
So Harry guesses it makes sense that the dwarf looks endlessly anxious when he realizes that Louis
not only already has a visitor, but has this visitor, and a pinch of guilt churns in Harry’s belly.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here. I can come back tomorrow!” Camron says, already
making a move to back away slowly.
Harry shakes his head immediately, looking as approachable as he can muster.
“No, it’s okay,” he assures. “Come on in, it’s fine. If anything, I can leave if you want.”
Camron stays quiet for a couple of moments, evidently not expecting Harry to be so civil and
understanding, and Harry thinks he probably has a lot of work to do on how people perceive him in
this place. But at last, the boy even dares flashing Harry a crooked smile for a second and slowly
starts making his way up to the hospital bed.
(Which is good because Harry isn’t all that keen on leaving, really. He would’ve, if Camron had
wanted, for the sake of being a good and improved person, but he wouldn’t like it.)
Harry resigns to watching Camron watch Louis, and it starts out quite nicely with the soft
expression Camron’s sporting, but then his brow slowly starts to furrow and his gaze starts to
flicker, jumping between Louis’ face and his chest and the sheets under him, and Harry knows just
what’s dawning upon him. The way he goes from calm to unmistakably distressed is stomach-
tightening.
“His wings,” he says, and he sounds choked up. “They’re—are they?”
Harry’s veins clench forcefully and he swallows twice to steady his voice.
“We—the last place we ended up at was Tartaros,” he explains quietly. “I tried to protect him, but
Eris had a plan all along. She ordered for his wings to be ripped off. I couldn’t stop it.”
He watches with dread how Cameron’s lower lip starts wobbling, shaking his head in horrified
disbelief.
“Why would they do that? Why would they do that to him?”
“Because they can,” Harry just says weakly.
Camron’s eyes are looking glossy and he’s biting his lip until it’s raw trying to make sense of it all.
Harry wishes there was something he could say to make him feel better, he really does, but there
isn’t, and he knows he probably deserves that twinge of accusation in the way Camron looks at
him.
“You swear you couldn’t have stopped it?”

“I swear.” The doubt on Camron’s face hurts. “They held me back. Eris had already made up her
mind. She set us up.”
“She set her own son up that cruelly?”
“Yeah.” It slips out through Harry’s teeth. The subject is one he’d prefer not to keep touching on—
he doesn’t know why the universe seems so determined to force him into facing that no one loves
him time and time again. He’s already had to go through his mommy issues with Louis, and again
just a day ago with Eleanor, and that’s been bad enough.
But when he processes the horrified perplexity Camron’s displaying, it becomes clear that Harry
isn’t allowed to forget quite yet.
“Why would she do that?”
Oh my god.
“Because she’s bad! She does bad things!” Harry finally cracks, unable to not let some of the
stream collecting uncomfortable inside him off, and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair.
“Why do people keep having such a strong conviction that Eris is evil only to be shocked when
they hear of her doing evil things? She’s malicious, abusive, and self-preserving—she creates chaos
and she loves it. She’s always been terrible! She doesn’t care about anyone. So can we now focus
on the issues at hand and get over this fascination with the fact that my mother doesn’t love me?”
The regret wells over him like a dull wave as soon as he quietens again, and he can’t even look at
Camron as he snaps his jaw shut. His face feels hot. Here Harry is trying to change the dwarf’s
perception of him from something bad to something at least tolerable, and then minutes into their
conversation he starts yelling at him for things Camron has no control over or involvement in.
Great.
“Okay,” Camron says carefully. The deer-like demeanor of his has flashed right back up to the
surface and he’s taking a tentative step backwards. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
Harry curses inwardly, closing his eyes shut and sighing. Buries his face in his hands for a second.
“No, I’m sorry,” he speaks when he faces the dwarf again. “That was uncalled for. It’s not your
fault.”
“I get it. It’s fine. I’d be stressed in your situation, too.”
He sounds completely earnest, and Harry truly didn’t think he could feel worse about this, but the
way Camron refuses to give him any sort of real abuse for his past actions makes it unbearable.
“You don’t have to make excuses for me. I won’t, like—do anything, if you yell or whatever.”
“I don’t want to yell.” Camron blinks sincerely. “I just want to understand.”
God. Harry’s breathing hitches just barely noticeably, and he just scratches his neck and averts his
gaze. He can’t deal with that kind of unconditional sympathy. He’d honestly probably kind of
prefer it if Camron would be angry—that, he knows how to handle. How does one respond to
unmotivated niceness from a practical stranger? Harry has no idea, and his head seems to be
swiped blank of any comprehensive thoughts or replies, and so all he comes up with in the end is a
weak “okay, well.” He’s pathetic.
Camron seems to notice the unease, however, and benevolently tries to steer the subject back to the
real issue.
“So… There’s no way to get them back?” he asks. The pleading glint in his eyes is both relatable
and infinitely painful. “His wings, I mean. None at all?”
Harry shakes his head.
“I asked Zeus to fix it, and he told me that wings are so personal to the individual they’re
impossible to recreate artificially.”
Camron frowns and nods, seems to dwell on this.
“I guess that would make sense,” he mumbles. “God, poor Louis. I cannot imagine how he must
feel.”
What luxury that must be, Harry thinks. What a gift to only be able to feel compassion without
having to deal with exact, jagged memories coloring all thoughts in a vastly different and cuttingly
raw understanding. What a privilege to wonder what something like this must feel like.
“I am kind of afraid of him waking up,” he admits quietly, making Camron turn to him with a
curious head tilt.
“Why would you be afraid?”
“Because,” Harry sighs, “I am so relieved that he’s alive. I’m so happy he is. And I fear that once it
all really dawns upon him—which it will, and which is has to—he might not be.”
Camron lets the statement sink into his slouching shoulders and creased forehead, and they both
spend the next minutes in silence. Harry lets feathery fingertips travel across Louis’ small wrist,
and Camron just watches—watches him, watches Louis, watches their hands, watches Louis’
condition. It’s not an uncomfortable silence; just contemplative. Considering. It’s calm in its
melancholy, but it’s not uncomfortable, and Harry finds that he actually hasn’t minded Camron’s
presence at all when the dwarf finally stands up to leave.
“I think I need to head out,” he says, straightening his back and cracking his knuckles as a way of
shaking life into his body again. “But thank you—for telling me about what happened, and stuff?”
He lets the final statement turn into a question, as if asking Harry’s permission, and Harry puts on
the softest smile he can muster to appear reassuring. He only gives Camron a small nod in reply,
and he figures that must do, because after that Camron starts moving quicker towards the exist and
Harry turns back to Louis.
And then it hits him; there’s one thing he should say that he hasn’t said. Something that’s probably
quite urgent and essential if he ever really want to redeem himself in Camron’s eyes, something
Camron deserves to hear, something Harry owes him.
“Camron?”
He turns rapidly to the dwarf who freezes in the doorway, and Harry’s more than learned to resent
the cautious tint in Camron’s eyes when he lets them wander back to him.
“Yeah?”
“I, uh.” Harry’s gaze flicks down to his hands uncertainly a few times, trying to figure out how to
continue from here. It’s an uncomfortable, unfamiliar position for him still, it’s evident to him in
the way his heart pounds a little harder against his ribcage and his throat is a little drier, and he
curses himself out for being so nervous about something so simple. “I really am sorry. For—you
know. Not just for snapping at you earlier, but for fucking with you in the beginning of the
semester. It was a really shitty thing to do and you didn’t deserve that at all.”
Camron just stares at him for a moment, blinking blankly one and two and three times.
“Um, it’s—yeah, it’s okay. It’s fine, I’d totally forgotten about that anyway, it’s all good.”
“You shouldn’t forget about it. I was a dick. You deserved an apology.”
This is evidently the last thing Camron expected to hear from him, and if it weren’t so tragic to
Harry to realize just how scared people are of him, it would look comical.
“You’re tougher than I could ever be,” he urges on, daring to smile a little. “You work harder than
I’ve ever had to do. And you do it every day without complaint. Is that not admirable? Who am I to
try and make you feel bad about it?”
“I suppose it is a little admirable,” Camron allows, face tinting slightly red from the praise and
mouth slowly stretching across his face as he looks down on his shoes. Harry’s chest expands
slightly. “Thanks.”
And the look they share then tells Harry that Camron really has forgiven him, every trace of alarm
gone, and the uneasiness finally disappears from Harry’s body.
“I’ll come visit again sometime when he’s woken up?” the dwarf suggests, and Harry nods.
“Yeah. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you.”
Watching Camron leave, Harry feels a smile slowly make its way onto his features—just the
smallest one, one he keeps to himself. Something kind of comes loose in him from the change in
the dwarf’s attitude towards him, and seeing it change from wary to joyous is strangely
therapeutic, in a way. Harry decides he likes it a lot.
Louis awakes in a hospital bed. Everything around him is soft and spacious and white, white,
white. A few rays of sunshine poke him in the eyes as he tiredly forces them open, and it stings just
a bit as he has to snap them shut and avert his head.
It’s the best feeling he’s ever felt.
The next thing he recognizes is that he’s not alone—someone else is sitting by his bed. Someone
with long, soft, brown hair and thin fingers anxiously sliding over the fabric of her dress as she
stares back at him, doe-eyed and breathless.
“Eleanor,” he mumbles. A dopey smile slowly spreads on his face. “Hi.”
Eleanor doesn’t reciprocate the smile at all. She looks torn between choking and crying as she just
looks at him for a full minute before she can even get any words out.
“To hell with you for doing this to me,” she says finally. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”
If Louis’ body didn’t feel like it’s buried under solid ground with how heavy it is, he would flinch
at her words. Now, he just pulls his face into an apologetic grimace.
“I’m sorry,” he only replies, and it’s weak, but he means it.
Eleanor just shakes her head, and her thin hand reaches out to squeeze Louis’.
“I just—god, Louis, I’ve been so scared. First Stan disappeared, and then you did, and you
disappeared with Harry, and I was left here with no way of contacting any of you and there’s been
so much speculation and so many rumors and—”
She cuts herself off, and Louis pours all his strength into tightening his grip on Eleanor’s hand
back in an attempt at comforting her, at apologizing, at reassuring. Eleanor seems to notice,
because the troubled wrinkle between her eyebrows slowly loosens up, and she sighs carefully.
“It’s just been hard. I didn’t know what to expect,” she finishes. “Sorry. I’m so happy you’re
okay.”
‘Okay’.
Louis’ face scrunches up in a pained expression for a second before he regains control over it,
resigning to just pursing his mouth and looking down at their entwined fingers instead. He
wouldn’t exactly call the state he’s in ‘okay’. Not when his back still stings emptily like it does and
he has to stubbornly push away every thought that comes with that sensation just to be able to keep
breathing right.
“I’m sorry,” he parrots. “Everything went so fast and it wasn’t even meant to happen in the first
place and we were both stupid and reckless.”
He pauses and their gazes lock.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, though,” he adds, and he even dares letting the corner of his
mouth perk up a little. “Than I’ve been during this trip. I don’t think I have.”
Eleanor seems to contemplate think that over, and then she buries her face in her hands with a
strained laugh.
“God. I don’t know if that makes things better or worse,” she says, muffled by her own palms.
Louis can’t help the tiny stretch of his lips widening another bit, and he looks to his fidgeting
fingers.
“I win, by the way,” he says, and though his voice is frail he manages to make it taunting.
Eleanor immediately raises an eyebrow.
“You win what?”
“Harry’s the least scary person I know.” He looks up at her again and pushes a tired grin onto his
face. “I win and you lose.”
“…Oh my god.”
“He’s like a kitten.”
“You’re in a goddamn hospital bed after being gone for weeks, and the first thing you want to do is
brag about being right about a disagreement we had months ago?”
“He’s such a grumpy baby, Eleanor. I can’t believe I let you talk me into thinking he was ever
frightening.”
“He is frightening. Did you know he’s been sitting here with you since the second he was allowed
to? I had to fight him for a good twenty minutes to let me have some alone time now. It’s like he’s
suddenly grown a heart or something. Now that’s scary.”
Something small and pink blooms within Louis and he sighs softly.
“No,” he shakes his head. “He’s just got a heart. The biggest heart.”
Eleanor just snorts and shakes her head.
“Who are you?”
“I’m right. Who are you?”
“Louis,” Eleanor states, unimpressed. “Really, though, what has happened between you two? Last
thing I heard before you disappeared was that you fought so badly he ended up trying to hunt you
down, and now you’re suddenly gushing about how lovely he is? And he’s the same way. I have
no idea how you did it, but he’s been the most agreeable I’ve ever seen him.”
Louis shrugs, ignoring the way that information spreads a warmth from his chest and all the way
out to the tips of his toes, and resorts to playing around with his fingers to not have to look up and
reveal the way his ears have gone all rosy.
“Well,” he ponders. “I—first of all, not to worry you, but I don’t think you can go through the
amount of near-death experiences we have and feel anything but respect for each other coming out
of it. So that’s a part of it, surely. But he’s also—he’s so good, El. He’s helped me, and he’s
trusted me, and he’s never tried to betray me or ridicule my plans or invalidate my feelings. He’s
been a pain in the ass from time to time, but as a companion? I don’t think I could’ve asked for
better.”
“Yeah. This sure sounds like a strict companionship.”
“Shut up.” Louis can feel his face burn hotter.
“Look,” Eleanor pauses, rolling her eyes and sighing in resignation. “I don’t get it. And I wish
you’d chosen literally anyone else. But I trust you, okay? You seem to have done something right
with him, since he’s bearable now. I don’t get it, but you don’t have to explain if you don’t want
to.”
It’s nice to hear her say it, Louis thinks. Not that he wouldn’t stand his ground if she’d been
completely and unwaveringly against it, but it’s still lovely to be reminded of what a loyal friend
she actually is. He’s missed her.
“It’s not that, really,” he tries. “It just… I don’t really know either, right now. We haven’t had time
to figure that out. So.”
Eleanor just shapes her mouth into an understanding ‘o’ and nods slowly. She doesn’t say anything
else, and Louis doesn’t either. The thought of Harry and what kind of relationship they’ll have with
one another now that they don’t have to rely on each other for literal survival worries him a bit—
while it warms his heart to no end to know that Harry’s been spending nearly all of his time in here
with him, he doesn’t know if that’s only because of guilt or closure or something, or if it’s because
Harry genuinely wants to keep up whatever they’ve been doing.
He doesn’t want to think about that now.
“I saw Stan,” he tells Eleanor next, both to break the silence, and because he realizes Eleanor
probably still doesn’t know that he’s okay. It can’t have been easy for her, wandering around here
with her two best friends going missing without a trace and without any way to tell whether they’re
even dead or alive.
Eleanor’s eyes immediately go comically wide, first in terror.
“In Tartaros?” she nearly whimpers.
“What? No! In Pantheon,” Louis is quick to clarify.
That makes all the difference, and she grips onto the sides of the hospital bed in eagerness.
“You did? Like, you met him? Is he okay?”
Louis just smiles, nodding.
“Yeah. He’s completely safe. He made it home on time.”
Eleanor’s tense body visibly deflates at the information, and a stupid smile takes over her features
for a second.
“Really?” she speaks on an exhale, and her hold on Louis’ hand tightens just the slightest.
Louis nods.
“We got to speak for a bit. I asked him if he wanted to come with us. He declined. Which was
smart of him, maybe.”
The more he speaks, the more Eleanor’s brow furrows again, clearly perplexed now.
“Come with—did you not stay in one place all of the time?”
Louis fidgets uneasily under her gaze.
“No? We sort of freelanced for a bit. Figured we could explore some of the worlds—I always
meant to settle as soon as we landed somewhere safe, but then something always happened that
made us have to keep travelling, and it looked like we were finally going to stay in the Forest, but
then Harry’s sister came along and physically dragged us to Tartaros and…” he trails off, the
twinge in his lungs alarming him that he’s getting to close to that one thing he can’t afford to think
about.
“Louis! What were you thinking? You could’ve—you could’ve died! Oh my god!”
“I know, Eleanor! I know it was stupid, but—I’ve seen so many things!” He looks at her
pleadingly, throwing his hands out with the little strength he can muster. “I’ve learned so many
things and I’ve met so many people! We made wonderful friends! I can’t regret it. I just can’t.”
Eleanor looks at him skeptically and her eyes start to drift to the empty spots of sheets by his
shoulders.
“Not even considering—?”
As soon as Louis’ brain registers where she’s about to go with that, his head whips in her direction
violently and gives her a look that can only be described as warning. Don’t go there.
Luckily, Eleanor takes that hint, and bites down on her lower lip to silence herself, watching him
with a pained expression.
Maybe Louis will tell her about all of it one day, their entire journey from start to finish. One day,
when breathing doesn’t hurt and he can throw himself into it with the same amount of enthusiasm
as he usually does when it comes to storytelling, he’ll tell Eleanor everything. But now isn’t the
time—there’s a dark, ominous cloud hanging over the end of that story in a way he doesn’t ever
want to relive or retell or revisit in any way at all. And you can’t tell a story and just leave out the
ending. No matter how much Louis would want to.
They’re both startled out of their silence by a sharp gasp coming from behind Eleanor.
Louis snaps his head up to see who the sound came from, and it feels like a slap to the face to
suddenly see Harry stand there in the doorway. The white light is bouncing off the walls,
illuminating his skin and dancing in his locks and softening his edges—he looks safe and clean and
sleepy and it’s such a sharp contrast from the sweat and pain and stress and aggressive Tartaros
shadows that Louis at first barely knows how to process it.
“You’re awake?”
Harry just breathes it out, his voice so tender Louis can see Eleanor shifting uneasily from the
corner of his eye. There’s a sort of wondrous haze in the air, those first seconds as Harry and Louis
just look at each other and trying to grasp the concept that they’re both alive.
And then Harry snaps out of it, shaking his head slightly as his eyebrows knit together and gaze
widens into something affronted and outraged.
“You’re awake?” he repeats, with much more fervor this time. He immediately targets Eleanor,
glaring at her. “You talk me into leaving one time and that time ends up being the one he wakes
up? That’s the first and last time I’ll ever listen to you.”
Eleanor rolls her eyes.
“I did you a favor.” She turns to Louis with an assuring nod. “I did. I wasn’t kidding when I said
he’s been sitting here for as long as he’s been allowed to, and that’s not counting the time he’s
spent in the waiting room. That’s nearly three full days, so I forced him to go and take a shower.
Tell me that’s not charity work right there.”
“You’ve been talking about me, Eleanor? That’s so sweet of you.”
“Only bad things.” Eleanor flashes him a sugary smile.
Harry purses his lips defiantly and just dignifies her with an eyeroll, before making his way over.
“I really missed the whole thing,” he mutters, “I cannot believe he could’ve woken up to my
glowing complexion and instead he had to immediately deal with your tragic face. This is a
travesty.”
Eleanor just exhales deeply, and Louis can’t help the small, amused smile that overcomes him.
“This is who you’re so fond of,” she states with a raised brow at Louis.
Louis can’t even answer her with anything but a dopey smile. It has Eleanor wrinkling her nose.
“Well, then,” she says, gracefully lifting from the chair and adjusting the skirt of her dress. “I’ll let
you two talk, I suppose.”
And so, Louis waving her goodbye, Eleanor waltzes out of there. Harry’s still standing in the
doorway, and even as she passes him he keeps his eyes only on Louis, and they’re alone at last.
The first thing Harry does, before starting to approach Louis, is to purse his mouth to the side and
give off a little shrug.
“So we made it out,” he states.
“We made it out,” Louis agrees, nodding in small motions. A smile is nipping on the corners of
Harry’s mouth and Louis can feel his own lips stretch just a bit.
The situation is just so bizarre. It’s calm, and it’s bright, and they’re both safe and have nowhere
important to be and nothing life-threatening to do, they were both on the verge of death just a
couple of days ago and here they are now, in the serenity of the everyday. Everything feels so, so
small.
“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, daring to flash him a smile Louis could almost swear is a tad
nervous. He instantly reciprocates it in hopes that it’ll remove whatever worries the spirit is
having.
“I mean,” he figures, “I’m alive. My knuckles hurt a bit.”
“Yeah. You broke five of them.”
An image of the enormous cyclops falling to the ground and Louis’ small hands disappearing
under its body flashes through Louis’ head.
“Hm. Makes sense,” he mumbles. He doesn’t say anything about how his back feels a warm sort of
numb and stingy at the same time, and Harry doesn’t ask. It’s the best gift he could give Louis right
now.
“And how are you?” Louis instead says.
Harry shrugs.
“No major harm done. I got you and Zeus to the hospital and after that I’ve been here most of the
time. Had to endure Eleanor, though, which is a pain in itself.”
“You know she means well.”
“That’s what I tell myself at least fifteen times a minute whenever we speak to keep civil.”
Louis hums appreciatively. “I taught you well.”
Harry’s slowly made his way over to Louis’ bedside as they spoke, and he sits down in the same
spot Eleanor was just a few minutes ago, his lower lips between his teeth and his back slumped
tiredly. Louis just lets his gaze wander over his face, over his chest and arms and hands for a while,
really processing that he’s here, right in front of him. That he’s safe and sound and that he’s been
by Louis’ side since they got back.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the fairy says lowly. It feels like an enormous confession, that tiny phrase,
and when Harry looks up at him with his eyebrows slightly furrowed Louis must look down.
“I—I’m glad you’re glad. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“There are hundreds of reasons,” Louis insists. “You could be hurt, you could be taken away by
some scary Greek authorities,”—Harry snorts— “you could choose to rather go to class or catch up
with friends, or—or anything, really. But you’re here and I’m really glad you are.”
Louis thinks he’ll probably never get tired of watching the poetic shift of Harry’s face when it goes
from incredulous to fond.
“I’ve been worried out of my mind,” the spirit says, shaking his head. “I couldn’t ever just—do
you think after all this time I wouldn’t care for you just because our lives aren’t at stake?”
Louis knows it’s not at all what he should be focusing on, but his brain totally snows in on the
‘care for you’, playing it over and over and over and over until he’s dizzy and his insides feel
wrapped in cotton.
“I mean,” he muses. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I figured maybe it’d be easy for you to just go back to
your university life and settle down and not be concerned with how I’m doing all the time. Because
that must be quite draining.”
“I don’t want to go back to my university life, are you mad?” Harry looks at him like he’s grown
three new pairs of eyes. “I don’t even really like any of the friends I have here. I don’t want
everyone to be scared of me. I couldn’t give less of a shit about this place, except for whether
you’re okay or not.”
Louis has to fight to keep his breathing from going erratic and his chest from fluttering too quickly
at the undisguised bluntness prickling Harry’s words and face. The flutters clash with having to
hear the word ‘okay’ yet again, though, and he ends up more jumbled than anything, really.
“Well. I don’t…” Louis entwines his own fingers, suddenly overly aware of every limb. “I am
alive. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”
The crease between Harry’s eyebrows tells Louis loud and clear that the spirit doesn’t agree.
“Louis, I want you to feel good. Not just alive.”
“And I’m very sorry but I don’t think that’s quite possible right now so I don’t want to disappoint
you, and now if we could please drop that subject?”
It’s as near snapping as he has the energy to go, and Harry clearly notices because he doesn’t push
it further. Louis doesn’t know if he should be thankful because he really does want the subject to be
dropped, or to be annoyed that Harry gave up because Harry always pushes him and if he’s not
right now that must mean that he thinks Louis is too weak to take it, and that’s kind of hurting his
pride.
“Apparently it was a janitor,” Harry decides to go for instead, and Louis in turn decides that he’s
definitely more beyond grateful for the change of topic than concerned with his pride. “That was in
the portal room of that door we fell through? Guess he didn’t get the memo that the place was off
limits or something. He’s fired now, I think.”
Louis makes a disapproving sound.
“They shouldn’t have done that.”
“Shouldn’t they? He did after all put student lives at risk.”

“Yeah, well, he also made me undespise you, so.”
Harry’s grin grows slowly, and that’s what Louis wants to see. It’s all he wants to see forever and
ever, it’s been way too long of seeing dimness and agony etched into Harry’s smooth features and
the way he looks like a child again now, lines on his face completely cleared from troubles, is
making it so easy for Louis to just forget, for a moment. Right now, there are only the two of them,
and they’re shiny.
“Undespise is not a word,” Harry points out. “And from my experience you seemed to quite enjoy
despising me. Seems like it relieved a lot of tensions.”
“Please,” Louis scoffs. “Firstly, I know my English, and second, I can’t be around that kind of
negativity constantly. All that despisivity was extremely bad for my complexion in the long run.”
“Despisiv—now you’re just taking the piss.”
“Don’t fight me on this or I might start despict you again.”
“Louis.”
“Really, though, is it possible to get a hold of his address? I need to write him an elaborate thank
you letter.”
It’s supposed to still be banter, but the way the crinkles by Harry’s eyes go just a little bit softer
around the edges and his dimples grow a little deeper, the playful mood fades into lovely sincerity.
Louis supposes he had that coming.
His face flushes as Harry doesn’t say anything at first, but when he only utters a small, and sincere,
“me, too,” Louis can hear his own heart beat faster. The words roll off the spirit’s tongue too
velvety to be casual, and Louis has to avert his gaze to hide how flustered he feels all of a sudden.
He wants Harry to say something more—there are so many things they still need to speak out loud,
that Louis wants to tell Harry, about them and their feelings, and now would be the perfect time.
But Harry doesn’t say anything else, rather resigns to simply looking down on his lap and biting
the inside of his cheek, and Louis tries to ignore the small ping of disappointment. He supposes he
could go first himself, but it’s like there’s a physical barrier snuggly fitted around his vocal chords
and whenever he considers just saying fuck it and clear the air, it clenches until Louis can’t breathe
with how heavy the words are.
In the end, Louis realizes they’ve both been quiet for far too long to the point where it’s probably
bordering on uncomfortable, and his head immediately bounces back to life and vigorously pushes
back all the sentimentalities in search for something, anything, to say to not let it develop into
something stiff.
“So.” He clears his throat. “What have I missed? Things still the same around this place?”
Harry shrugs.
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only been in here.”
Well, that reminder isn’t exactly helping Louis to suppress his emotions. Knowing that Harry’s
been that adamant about being near him, that he’s been sitting by Louis’ bedside and waiting for
him makes Louis feel so full of affection he kind of wants to kiss Harry right now. He doesn’t,
because they’re supposed to talk this through, they need to get used to the environment, to the
calm, to the safety before anything else. But he really, really wants to.
“How’s Zeus? Has he recovered?”
“Yeah,” Harry hums. “They took him to the de-charming department pretty much immediately.
Guess when you have a Leader himself stumbling into your hospital, that’s going to be prioritized.
He came by yesterday, though, and we spoke for a bit.”
“And you managed to be civil then, too?”
“More or less.” Harry snorts. “He offered me a new position, can you believe that? As his assistant,
or whatever. He called it a companionship but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be.”
Louis whistles lowly.
“Zeus offered you work? Did you say yes?”
“Of course I didn’t. The only good thing about being from the Underworld was to not have to deal
with Zeus. I’m not going to start doing that now just because he feels a bit inferior about needing
someone else to save his own ass.”
It’s clear Harry’s already made up his mind about it, and Louis purses his mouth to the side in
thought. While it’d make sense for Harry not to be the biggest fan of Zeus—Louis isn’t either, to be
honest, and he does wonder if anyone actually is—the fact that Zeus is willing to offer him a work
spot in Olympus is a big deal, and in the position Harry is now, just having been thrown out of his
home and family, he could probably do well with staying on someone like Zeus’ good side.
“It might do you good, though,” he suggests. “Working in Olympus.”
Harry raises an incredulous eyebrow.
“Could you honestly see me doing that? Buddying it up with Zeus?”
“Not with Zeus, maybe. But, I don’t know. With someone else up there. Eirene or something.”
“Eirene?” Harry sounds doubtful.
“Well, don’t you have any gods or goddesses who focus on balance of some kind? Like—justice,
or whatever. I think that’d probably fit you really well.”
Harry lets his fingers wander contemplating along his jaw. Louis follows them with his eyes, in
awe at how smooth the skin there is and how it moves when he clenches it.
“If it meant that Eris could be served some justice, I’d do it,” the spirit hums, and there’s a heat
buried underneath his calm demeanor when he mentions her name. “I just… I really want her to
hurt. For real.”
Louis swallows. He does, too.
“Understandable,” he just offers.
“She’s the one who made this all happen in the first place, did you know?” Harry goes on. “She
told me. She used Zeus’ powers to fuck with the portals just so we’d end up where she wanted. It
was all a game to see how long we could endure each other’s company without, well. Killing each
other.”
“Yeah,” Louis sighs heavily. “I heard her. Your siblings waited outside that door for quite a
while.”
It’s quiet for a moment, the air turning thinner in Louis’ lungs with the, once again, proximity of
the one conversation he absolutely does not want to have.
“Well,” he starts again at an attempt at lightening the mood and saving himself, frailly nudging
Harry’s arm. “Her plan backfired big time, didn’t it?”
The smallest spark of a smile flashes by in Harry’s eyes, and Louis feels nothing but victory.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re still the most infuriating person I know.”
“Asshole.” But Louis can’t even keep a straight face. “Not infuriating enough to get rid of me,
though, was I?”
“Not my fault I had you keep you around to save my ass.”
“How is that not your fault? You obviously have to be the one lacking in skills if you need to
depend on someone else to save you.”
“I don’t think it’s my fault that you’re so bloody brilliant you single-handedly saved all universes.”
Louis groans to distract himself from how much his pulse keeps quivering.
“Did you have to turn that into a compliment? Now I look like a dick.”
“You always look like a dick. You’ll manage.”
“On my very death bed, Harold, you choose to abuse me like this.”
“This is not your death bed.”
“On my very hypothetical death bed, Harold—”
“Oh my god.” Harry swats him on his arm and tips his head backwards with the biggest grin Louis’
seen on him in what feels like forever, and it’s a healing sight. “You’re so fucking annoying. Why
am I even here again?”
“Because I’m a delight and you’re a liar.”
Harry’s gentle laughter ends in a despondent sigh.
“Fuck, I was supposed to be mad at you,” he says deprecatingly. “I had a whole speech.”
Louis frowns, but it’s evident Harry is, in fact, not actually mad, so he figures it can’t be that
serious.
“Why would you be mad at me?”
“Because you risked your safety so outrageously. I mean, it was brilliant, it really was, I could’ve
never come up with the plan to fast and then grow a giant plant from the soil and then going to
fight some of the Greek’s most lethal monsters with no fuel—but you could’ve let me help.”
Louis raises an eyebrow.
“Why in the world would I’ve done that?”
“Because that way I wouldn’t have had to be as goddamn worried about your eating habits! And I
could’ve saved food, too, we could’ve both done it so it would’ve gone quicker and you wouldn’t
have had to pull that whole weight by yourself and exhaust yourself like you did.”
“Oh, please.” Louis snorts. “With the way I did it, you at least had your full strength. If we'd both
saved up food, we would also both be weak for the escape, and then we probably wouldn't have
made it. I needed you to be capable of doing what was required. And besides...”
He averts his gaze as he continues speaking, much lower this time.
“Besides, I didn't want it to go quicker.” He fidgets with his hands, and tries to stop his heart from
trembling. “I wanted—I needed—I needed more time than that. I needed time.”
Harry doesn’t answer this time, but Louis can feel his eyes and the twinge of ache they’re
expressing, and he keeps his gaze stubbornly on his own hands. When he feels the tension in the
room shift, he wishes he hadn’t said anything.
“Lou, about that.”
There’s a frightening change of tone, and Louis instantly looks up at him. Harry’s posture has
something more uncertain in it this time, cautious, careful, his eyes soft but guarded as if he’s
testing the waters to see how far he can go before Louis pulls away, and Louis doesn’t like it one
bit.
His suspicions are confirmed when he finally opens his mouth.
“I think—you should talk to someone. About what happened to you.”
Louis’ lenient expression drops instantly into something hardened, his mouth pressed into a thin
line as he can practically feel the brick walls build themselves up around him.
“That’s not necessary,” he says resolutely.
“It is, though.” Harry’s voice is so attentive, so slow, and Louis hates it. It’s like Harry’s really
thought this through, too, planned exactly how to approach Louis to get his way, which makes it
even worse. “There’s a great deal of things a creature can deal with on their own, but this is not
one of them.”
“Isn’t that my decision?”
“It is,” Harry agrees, “but I think you’re making the wrong one out of fear.”
“Wow. Maybe your next job should be as an oracle.”
Louis does absolutely nothing to hide his dry contempt and judging by how Harry just focuses his
gaze on Louis’ steadily, he isn’t impressed.
“You can’t just pretend nothing happened to you. It won’t just go away because you want it to.”
He can feel it—that goddamn itch once again running along his limbs and pooling in his fingertips
the more Harry speaks, and he clenches his fists tightly to not lash out. Harry doesn’t get to bring
this up. He doesn’t get to talk about it like he knows all about what Louis needs, he doesn’t get to
suggest ways for Louis to cope, he doesn’t get to force Louis to think about it and remember it and
face it. That’s not how this works.
“Don’t act like you know what’s good for me better than I do.”
“I’m not trying to,” Harry’s eyebrows knit together momentarily, hurt flashing by in his eyes. “I
just don’t want this to consume you.”
“It’s not going to consume me if I don’t fucking think about it.”
“Yes, it is, Louis, trust me.”
“Just because it was for you doesn’t mean it has to be for me. You don’t get to use me as some
kind of redo of your own traumas.”
That one is harsh. Louis knows it was harsh, but with the way Harry keeps talking to deliberately
and with such confidence is clogging Louis’ airways and punching at his ribcage, and Louis just
needs it to stop.
And it does, with that. Harry falls silent immediately, just observing Louis for a moment with
something new and unreadable in his expression.
“That’s what you think I’m doing?” he finally asks thinly.
No. Not necessarily. But Louis opts for a blasé shrug and a diverted gaze, relieved at having
changed the direction of the subject for at least a minute. Harry doesn’t speak again for a long time,
and Louis treasures and resents the silence.
Of course, nothing seemed to be able to permanently distract Harry from the issue at hand, because
he starts talking again after a serious moment of contemplation, and his voice is softer and more
determined at the same time. Louis feels like imploding.
“I’m not. You need to know I’m not, I promise. I just—you loved your wings. You loved them
more than I did mine, they were so obviously your favorite thing, they represented so much of your
person. And that must hurt to lose no matter how little you want it to be true right now, and for that
you need to mourn. You need to mourn.”
Louis hears every word Harry says, but he doesn’t want to listen. It’s like every sound hanging off
Harry’s tongue ignites every single nerve in his body and they’re all shouting “no! No! No!” and
covering their ears and Louis is one tiny step away from doing the same.
But he can’t do that, he knows it would prove Harry’s point. So instead he just keeps staring him
down with cold eyes.
“With all this this talk about you telling me what I need instead of listening to me you’d almost
think you were a doctor. Or someone else that’s actually qualified to do it.”
Harry tips his head back in a desperate sigh.
“Louis, I’m serious! You won’t be able to ignore it forever.”
“Try me.”
“You have to try to take my word for this. If you’re going to keep pushing it back it’s going to turn
your insides into something ugly and you’re going to be angry all the time and you’re going to want
to hurt people and it’s a miserable fucking life. It’s miserable.”
“No offense, but I’m pretty sure life is going to be fairly miserable from now on no matter how I
choose to handle it.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it?”
“Louis. I don’t ever want to tell you what to do, but this isn’t good for you.”
“Oh my god, do you not think I know that?” Louis finally hisses back, looking up to furiously meet
Harry’s aggrieved gaze with a sort of cold desperation as he feels his pulse steadily pick up speed
and force in his chest and his limbs and his ears and behind his eyes. “Do you not think I am fully
aware of what I’m doing? I am. I know I can’t suppress things forever, but I can fucking try, Harry.
I have to try. What else am I supposed to do? Come to terms with things? Accept the fact that I’m
—?” a hysterical chuckle tumbles out of him. “Just—just stand in front of a mirror and look at my
bare back and say ‘yeah, I lost the one thing I thought I wouldn’t survive losing, and that’s fine´?
It’s not fine. How could I ever be okay by accepting it as a part of my existence that they took away
the thing about life that I love the most?”
His voice breaks for just a second, a strangled sort of sound and he bites down on his lower lip so
hard he almost draws blood. There’s a burning wetness pressuring his waterlines, and Louis
doesn’t know how to prevent it, now.
“I’m afraid that if I start thinking back on that moment I’ll never stop. I’ll never stop feeling it, I’ll
never stop seeing it, I’ll never be able to stop dwelling on the past and I’ll get stuck. It’ll haunt me
every second of every single day and I can’t live like that, Harry. I won’t survive something like
that. How could anyone ever do? How could anyone ever ‘come to terms’ with the fact that
they’ve been stripped to the bone of everything they’ve ever known? How could anyone—I
thought I would die! I wanted to die! How do I shake something like that off? I can’t do that.”
Harry’s just sitting completely silent while Louis’ rant grows more and more frantic, letting him
empty all his thoughts and fears and frustration and confliction and transfer it from the corners of
his heart and into the open air until there are no more words left that aren’t being sucked into tiny
particles and turned to nothingness somewhere far, far away from where they’ve been nagging at
Louis’ insides.
“I’ll never fly again,” he finally says, and it comes out way too broken and way too low. “I’ll never
fly above the forests in springtime and watch the trees shift from grey to green. I’ll never graze tree
tops with my fingers and feel the buds form and bloom. I’ll never rise with the sun until we both
reach the clouds just because I can. I’ll never sweep across the open ocean.”
He looks right at Harry as the weight of his words really dawns upon him.
“I’ll never fly again.”
He’ll never fly again.
He’ll never fly again.
And so, Louis snaps like a frail rubber band, and a shiver runs along his entire spine once, before
he hiccups, and then splutters out a single, strained sob, and then tears start to stripe his cheeks.
They’re warm and wet and they make his dry skin sting but he can’t even reflect on it because his
heart suddenly feels like it’s breaking in a thousand different pieces all at once, and this; this is all
he’s been so scared of. This is everything he’s wanted to avoid, and how quickly he snapped is not
only embarrassing, but terrifying, because how long did he plan to live that? How long was he
going to live this close to the edge of falling apart?
He doesn’t know, and so he cries, and cries, and cries.
Harry immediately springs to action, fitting himself into the bed and wrapping Louis up in his
warmth, pressing Louis’ face into his chest before Louis even has a chance to react. He runs hands
through Louis’ hair slowly and soothingly, and he rocks them just the slightest from side to side.
Louis lets him.
Chapter End Notes
aaaAAAA look 10k into this chapter i realized that i would not be able to fit all i have
left into one svbjs so there's gna be one more chapter after this!! and then an epilogue!!
and then it's Over!!
(am i the tiniest bit relieved bc i don't have to face that this is coming to an end yet?
possibly.)
also, sorry for the late update. idk how to feel about it bc there's a lot happening pretty
quickly, but i hope it feels somewhat natural and interesting xxxx i've already started a
lil on the next chapter too, so there's that :')
anywaYS thank u so much for reading and sticking with this mess, kudos and
comments makes the sun glow brighter in this dull winter darkness, and if u want to
stop by for a chat, my tumblr is @tequiladimples xxx i love u all so much
Chapter Notes
Louis cries for hours.
He lies in a ball against Harry’s chest, and he cries until his chest aches with the hiccups and his
face is red and puffy, and it’s awful and the sobs rip through him and exhaust him and it’s hurting
his rib cage and it’s uncomfortable in every way possible, but he can’t stop it. It’s like all the
heaviness that’s been pooling in Louis’ stomach and sticking to his bones is slowly being drained
and trickling out of him, and however terrible he might be feeling, he kind of doesn’t want to stop
crying, either.
Harry just holds him. The spirit doesn’t utter a single word as Louis trembles with loss in his arms,
and part of him is embarrassed that he can’t seem to stop the tears, but there’s just—there’s so
much to cry about.
He still feels sick. He can still feel the rough traces of the souls’ fingernails on his skin. So he cries
because even when he’s safe he’s still not, even when it’s over and done with he can’t escape the
reality of it, and Harry is holding him and even though Louis never wants him to let go again, he
doesn’t want any of the shadows on his own skin to stick to Harry’s.
He completely drenches Harry’s blue t-shirt, turning it shades darker with salty tears. So he cries
because he feels gross and he feels bad for ruining Harry’s clothing.
His neck is sore, the marks on his arms are itching, his knuckles are throbbing. He can’t feel his
toes and his legs are uncomfortably tucked in under his chin. So he cries because his body is tired
and hurting, but he doesn’t want to move.
Harry rocks them both gently back and forth, kissing the top of Louis’ head and Louis can’t
understand how he hasn’t left yet. So he cries because Harry shouldn’t stay for this, he really
shouldn’t because not once before in Louis’ life has Louis shown himself to be this vulnerable and
pathetic and it must be terrible to watch, but he does stay, and Louis is glad he does. He cries
because through his wretched state he still feels a ping of pride for Harry, for Harry being this good
at comforting when Louis knows he must struggle with the mechanics of that concept.
It calms down after a while, and Harry is allowed to leave to get them some food. When the spirit
returns he’s got sandwiches from the cafeteria and a big bottle of water for Louis, because he
figures Louis’ lost so much of that this afternoon.
He’s so lovely. So Louis cries again because Harry is the loveliest person he knows.
That’s the way it continues, until the sunlight previously streaming through the window turns soft
and dull and casts a colder shade of blue on the clean surfaces of the hospital room. If the
beginning of the attack was like turning a full bucket of water upside-down, the end of it is like a
little summer stream—it ripples through greens slowly and in its own pace, never quite ebbing off
or stopping, but still managing to find peace. Louis is still heartbreakingly sad. But he’s calm.
“It’s not going to be the end of the world,” Harry begins, and his voice is soft like velvet and
chocolate when it cuts—no, caresses—through the tranquility of the room. “It can be. I know it
sure as hell feels like it. But it’s not going to be for you.”
Louis’ too tired to turn it into another argument, too tired to fight it, too tired to deal with himself
and all the messy things that could possibly go wrong. So in this moment, he believes Harry.
“I’m just tired,” he breathes.
“I know.” The grip around him tightens just a little. “That’s okay.”
Louis just nods against his chest, focusing on the steady rise-and-fall of it and allows himself to
find it safe and comforting. He’s run out of both words and tears and anger as of now, so finding a
worthy response feels hard.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs at last. “For freaking out on you.”
Harry starts shaking his head immediately.
“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry I provoked you. Even if I do think you needed to let it
out.”
Louis huffs softly.
“Maybe. But it’s still embarrassing. I would rather have done it alone.”
“Would you really, though?”
No. Louis wouldn’t. He says nothing.
“You’re not alone.” Harry brings a light hand up and down Louis’ arms, the soft warmth and tickle
of his fingertips feeling somewhat cleansing, a contrast to the previous ripping and clawing he can
still not quite push away. “You’ve had so many visitors here who took time to come and see you
and wish you well. Eleanor’s been on me like a hawk. Camron came by too, and he—god, he
admires you so much. You have a loving family who I’ve not known for that long but I’ve seen
enough to know that they’d support you through anything. You have Niall, and Liam, and Zayn.
You have me. You’ve had me for a long time.”
The words strike him quite unexpectedly, because of course Louis knows this. He knows he has
people around him who cares about him, and Harry pointing that out shouldn’t startle him as much
as it does. Louis is almost ashamed.
But he’s also spent what felt like an eternity down in the Darkness, and during that entire time, he
felt utterly, painfully alone. Harry was there for him, and he tried his best to keep Louis alive and
well, and while that was so sweet of him, the loss Louis felt had rapidly grown so big it swallowed
everything else around him. Ultimately, he felt alone in his pain. He felt alone to the point where
people empathizing with him didn’t matter, because they didn’t know exactly what he felt—not
even Harry, he was sure at the time. No one else’s sympathies mattered because no one knew how
to erase it.
Harry reminding him of the support he has now, in this calm following the storm state, makes it
start to feel like that matters again. Maybe dealing with what he’s feeling doesn’t have to mean
endless loneliness just because some people he loves need help understanding it.
“Say I were to go to a psychologist,” he mumbles. “Not saying I will. But if. If I did, what would
that entail?”
Harry smiles into his hair and Louis thinks it sinks into his mind and clears the clouds. Even if just
a little bit, just for now.
“We’ll figure that out,” he promises.
Louis hears the ‘we’, and he’s comforted.
Life, after first having rushed so much it’s been stumbling over its feet, and then having stood
absolutely still without as much as breathing, progressively starts moving at a calm, more
structured pace.
It happens as things slowly start to settle around them again—both Louis and Harry can go back to
class, catch up with the studies they’ve lost. Louis can catch up with Eleanor, talk to her about how
life on campus has been through this mess, and talking about the adventures he’s been on himself,
and he’s missed her so much. He’s missed her so, so much, and he knows she missed him, and this
whole thing seems to only bring them closer. Stan comes back, too—Zeus, Thor, Jupiter and Odin
together with some highly placed helpers have been working on fixing the portals fervently, and
they’re finally deeming it safe to travel between them again. It’s an emotional reunion, the light in
Stan’s eyes dimming when he realizes what’s happened to Louis and Louis hates that moment
more than anything else, but other than that, having Stan back brings nothing but relief, stability,
and happiness. Their little trio is back together, and they have so much to discuss. It keeps Louis’
mind occupied a lot, so for that especially, he’s very thankful.
He doesn’t know what punishment Eris is going to face for this, but speculations are shared
between students all over the university, and they don’t sound kind. He doesn’t feel the need to
dwell on that—neither does Harry, from what he’s gathered. The spirit is likely the only one who
has less of a desire than Louis to acknowledge Eris’ existence right now.
As for his own mental wellbeing… Well. He’s fine most of the time, really—his mood may be
swaying up and down and all around the place. He may have a hard time leaving his room or
having classes on the underground floor because he can’t stand seeing other winged creatures or
moving around in dark spaces without his vision going blurry and his heart speeding up until it’s
threatening to bust his eardrums. He may have a lot of trouble concentrating on things outside of
his own upset state in general (it is kind of like he feared—once he let go of the suppression he
couldn’t tuck it back in). He also has terrible nightmares which wake up both him and Stan more
often than not (there’s especially this reoccurring one of him trying to outrun an ambiguous force
but being slowed down by the sudden decomposition of his own body. There’s also one that’s
completely incoherent except for the feeling of grimy hands being shoved down his throat. Louis
honestly doesn’t know which one is worse).
Sometimes he wants to peel off or crawl out of his own skin because he doesn’t know how to
possibly avoid all the things reminding him of his loss when his own body is the most prominent
reminder of all. But other than that? He’s fine. He’s getting by.
He’s fine.
On the third day of him being out of the hospital, his mother and sisters come to visit. The gasp
that leaves his mother’s lips when she sees his wingless shape is unlike anything he’s ever heard
from her before, and the tears that brim in her eyes are just as unfamiliar—it takes Louis aback in a
completely new way, because it’s one thing that he himself is hurting, but the fact that he can’t
limit the burden of his loss to only him weighs him down even more. He loves having them all
there, though, loves having them around, even though it’s hard to look at them sometimes because
they all have their wings—thin, shimmery, reliable, sprouting out from their delicate backs. They
look so much like Louis’ had.
He doesn’t quite know how to feel, all in all. In one sense, he loves having them around, and the
concrete reminder that he has so many people caring for him and loving him through this makes
him all the more motivated to get better—seeing people cry for him, seeing that by stopping to feel
bad himself, he can stop the people he loves from feeling bad, too. (He voiced this to the therapist,
who he’s started seeing regularly—and they told him that first and foremost he needs to be
motivated to get better for himself and to not prioritize other people or rely on them for his
improvement. But Louis isn’t always in a state where he feels like he deserves to get better, so on
those days, he’ll think of Lottie’s tight embrace, or his mother’s glistening eyes, anyway. And it
helps, so he’ll continue doing it for as long as he needs to.)
In one sense, it helps. But in another, he can’t leave his dorm for four days after his family goes
back home. The wet streaks on his mother’s cheeks burn behind his eyelids every time he as much
as blinks, and in that moment his pain feels helplessly, devastatingly contagious. His skin crawls.
So it’s pretty safe to say Louis’ emotions are generally torn. Torn between crying and yelling,
between guilt and vengeance, between hopelessness and hope. It’s a constant journey and it’s
exhausting. It’s exhausting to feel so fucking much all the time—he’d thought he had strong and
shifting emotions before, but he didn’t even know. God, he didn’t even know.
So that’s Louis. That’s Louis, and Louis’ family, and Louis’ mental health. When none of this
preoccupies his mind, it usually falls on one other thing—Harry.
And how are things with Harry? Well.
It’s not like they don’t see each other—quite the opposite, really. He actually helped Louis with
approaching that aforementioned therapist. He talked to Louis about it again and again, discussed
everything Louis wanted to discuss, made it sound more and more bearable, and when Louis was
ready he came with him to the clinic and he sat in the waiting room for Louis’ entire first session,
the hopefulness visible on him when he asked how it went. And though Louis didn’t quite know
how to feel about it yet, didn’t quite know if he was comfortable, he smiled just a little and said
he’ll give it a couple more shots because, well, he figured it doesn’t hurt, and the smile that
widened across Harry’s face felt better than most things do nowadays.
So yeah, he and Harry still talk. They still spend time with each other—but they never stop to catch
up in the hallway. They don’t study together. At lunch, Louis sits with Eleanor and Stan, and Harry
sits with his usual crew, and though he always talks about how much he dislikes them when they’re
alone, and though Louis always tells him that he can sit with him instead, Harry never does. And
that’s what’s weird. Because Harry’s such a vital part in his life, still, but only in the parts still
connected to their journey together and it never strays outside of that.
Louis really wants it to stray outside of that. But he doesn’t know how to express that just yet.
Maybe when he’s feeling better.
With all this considered, it’s not weird that Louis is kind of off in his own world as he walks
through the hallway on the second floor, just coming from a study session with Stan and Eleanor.
It’s quite a busy time right now, and Louis is for once thankful for his size and the possibility it
gives him to slip through snug spaces and not having to unwillingly touch anyone passing him.
With that task and his mind being as occupied as it is combined, though, he is startled when a hand
lands on his shoulder from nowhere. His train of thought hits the brakes completely, his eyes
blowing wide as his body goes stiff, and he immediately shrugs it off. He snaps his head to the left
to see who dared just touch him so suddenly, and is met by a curious, brown pair of eyes he’s
never seen before.
The boy next to him now doesn’t really seem to realize how uncomfortable he made Louis for a
second, as when Louis slowly starts moving again, he tags along.
“Hey! Louis, right?” he says, his eyebrows twitching for confirmation.
Louis supposes the boy doesn’t seem all that bad—he’s got long, golden hair and an innocent glint
in his eyes which reminds Louis a lot of Liam.
“I’m Florian,” he introduces himself. “I’m in your Greek Mythology class?”
“Oh, right,” Louis says, even though he really hasn’t seen him before. His Greek Mythology class
is big, okay, and he never really got a chance to speak to anyone but Eleanor there.
Florian doesn’t seem to notice, though, and intertwines his hands in front of him hopefully.
“I was just wondering—do you have anyone to pair up with for that new assignment?”
“Uh, yeah, actually,” Louis answers, biting the inside of his cheek. “I’m with Eleanor.”
Florian nods, shoulders sinking slightly but he gives him an understanding smile.
“Doesn’t hurt to ask, right?” he says, and Louis agrees apologetically.
“It’s fine,” he assures. “Where are you from?”
“Oh, I’m a Roman helper. Nature assigned, just like you, I’d imagine.”
He smiles again, crookedly, and Louis reciprocates it easily. Florian has an aura about him that’s
very relaxed and unbothered, and Louis quite likes that at a time like this.
“Also,” the boy continues, “I just wanted to say that your whole—like, your whole deal? You’re so
admirable, man. I don’t think anyone’s ever been able to achieve what you did.”
“I mean, I had help along the way from other people,” Louis shrugs, a blush creeping onto his face.
“Harry did a lot—I wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for him. Have people not asked him about
it?”
“Well, yeah, some have,” Florian hesitates. “The ones who dare. But apparently he said it was all
you, so.”
The blush that thus far has been hesitant now really flares up on Louis’ cheeks at that information,
and he looks down on his feet for a moment to hide it best he can. Florian quirks an eyebrow at
him and his smile is crooked in an encouraging kind of way.
“Point is, you’re a hero. And you deserve all the acknowledgment for what you did.”
Louis’ ears are blossoming. “Well. Thank you, I suppose.”
It’s a bit weird, because he’s been longing for that heroic status all his life—he’s been waiting to
prove everyone wrong, to show his worth and capacity. He always had a dream of being meant for
something bigger, and, well. He thought when the day finally came that he’d walk through the
world a hero, he’d do it with an even straighter back, a head held even higher, gracefully accepting
every compliment and relishing in the attention and glory. He didn’t think it would make him
humble.
Maybe it has to do with the things he had to lose to get there, things he doesn’t feel are worthy of
any positivity. Maybe it just has to do with the way his journey has put his whole existence into
perspective for him, turned his simplistic, idyllic world view upside down to the point where
something like glory and fame now appears small.
He thought he’d want the attention and the validation, but truth be told, all he wants now is to have
Niall, Liam and Zayn back, have Harry back in the way he had him in the Forest, wants to
disappear into that little tight bubble the five of them lived in for what felt like ages. Louis just
wants to heal surrounded by the people he cares about. Glory be damned.
The pair is approaching the staircase steadily as they chat back and forth breezily, and when they
come close enough Florian slows down a little and gives Louis a hopeful look.
“Where’s your next class?”
“Um,” Louis fumbles to get his timetable out. He has big problems rememorizing it now, always
forgetting where and when he’s supposed to go and more often than not ending up just bemusedly
meandering about the hallways with no real aim, and so in the end he just thought the best solution
would be to always bring it with him. “I have—oh! I have lunch now, actually.”
“Ah,” Florian nods slowly, pursing his mouth to the side in a sort of regretful manner. “I have
Ancient Literature on the third floor, so…”
He pushes back his blond locks and makes a salute motion in goodbye as he starts departing, eyes
still on Louis.
“I’ll see you around, yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Louis says, giving him a bright smile. “’Course.”
Florian beams and takes off towards the stairs with skipping steps. Louis giggles a little to himself.
He wouldn’t mind seeing more of Florian in the future. With that thought, he turns around to start
walking in the right direction, only to stop right in his tracks again, overwhelmed with the next
surprise.
He finds none other than Harry standing at the other end of the corridor, staring right at him. Other
students pass him with curious—and intimidated—looks, but Harry’s eyes are glued to Louis with
an unreadable sort of clenched expression that makes Louis’ stomach tie up with questions.
Louis stays where he is as well, not sure what to make of the situation, and slowly raises both his
brows at Harry in clear enquiry. That seems to break Harry out of whatever spell he’s in, and the
spirit is suddenly striding towards him, his eyes never leaving Louis’ and his shoulders too tense to
be anything remotely casual.
When they stand face to face, Harry starts speaking directly.

“We should study together today. I’m supposed to write this essay on Grimm’s history versus how
it’s interpreted on Earth and I’m having troubles with it.”
Louis blinks bemusedly, staring at Harry’s pursed lips and tense shoulders and not knowing what
to make of it.
“Um. Yeah, okay. Sure,” he manages to get out.
“Good,” Harry nods curtly. “Back of the head building at eight.”
And that’s all Louis gets before the boy is marching off, whooshing past him and Louis can’t do
much else but stand and just frown at the floor for a while in an attempt at making sense of what
just happened.
Well. Back of the head building at eight it is, then.
Harry is in a spectacularly bad mood.
It's so ridiculously palpable Louis would laugh at him—if the spirit's grouchiness didn't annoy him
so much.
Louis hasn't been feeling his most charitable recently, okay. He's not the most patient of creatures
as it is, but what with his own head being as much of a jumble as it is most of the time, he's just lost
some of that natural empathy. Don't get him wrong, he absolutely hates it, but he truly can't help it
at times if he snaps a little too harshly when Eleanor writes too forcefully for his liking in class, or
when the person before him in the lunch line is taking just a little too long deciding what to drink.
But honestly? What makes his blood boil right now is that today isn't even a bad day. They may be
few and far inbetween, but he does have his good days, the ones where the rough touches of
soulless nails don’t linger as violently on his skin, the ones where he doesn't feel on the verge of
crying all the time, the ones where he can laugh and enjoy himself and feel a little more like things
are going to be okay eventually. Today has been a day like that. Louis woke up by the sun instead
of from a nightmare. He watched it rise from his dorm window, and it didn't give him an
overwhelming sense of despair, but rather a quiet sort of sadness—though the kind you could
probably learn to deal with, Louis supposes. The kind of sadness he figures will one day turn into
that slightly aching peace his therapist tells him about when they talk about coming to terms with
loss.
Today is a good day. Louis has enjoyed it so far. He's feeling good. So the fact that Harry's just
sitting there right now with that infuriating downturn of his mouth and slouched shoulders and
won’t speak to Louis in more than short snaps or snorts and eyerolls is, quite frankly, mean. It's
offensive and annoying and Louis will not have it.
What finally is the last straw of sorts, is when Louis tries—again—to ask if Harry’s finding
anything of interest in that book of his, and Harry just shrugs, barely even giving him the time of
day. Swiftly, Louis snaps his notebook shut a little more roughly than necessary and sighs
exasperatedly.
Is Harry really thinking he can get away with inviting Louis to study just to sit and treat him like
dirt the entire time? No. No, that’s not happening.
"So are you going to tell me what your problem is or what?" he utters with a demanding eyebrow
raise.
Harry looks up from his lap, slowly and passively, and his eyes are guarded and dark when they
meet Louis' heated gaze. They just stare at each other for a moment before Harry rolls his eyes
—again—and turns back to his books.
It makes Louis' fingers itch and his chest flare up intensely. In one swift movement, he hitches
closer to Harry and promptly rips his stuff away from his lap, closing the collection of Fairytales
from Grimm and throwing it away resolutely.
“Look. You’re the one who wanted us to study here today so if you dragged me out here just to be
a pain in my ass, I’d rather go and spend time with someone who isn’t dead set on acting like a big
baby.”
That finally seems to break through some sort of barrier of Harry’s, because when the spirit’s gaze
flicks to him this time, there’s a new sort of fire there which matches Louis’ own a lot better and
his fists clench.
“Maybe you should leave, then,” he snaps, and his eyes are dark in a way that probably would be
terrifying if this weren’t Harry and Louis didn’t know him like he does.
“What’s your deal?” he presses. “Why did you even ask me to be here?”
Harry’s mouth purses defiantly.
“Am I not allowed to just want to hang out with you?”
“You have a really funny perception of ‘hanging out’.”
“Yeah, well, if you don’t want to be with me you don’t have to. You have your own opinions and I
have mine and what you do or think isn’t the be-all end-all for me. I’m just fine on my own.”
What?
Louis’ eyes narrow as Harry shuffles a little so he’s turned away from Louis, looking down on his
hands in a manner that can only be described as outright childishly stubborn, muttering on about
things that are evidently packed with a serious deal of other underlying sentiments he’s not putting
out there.
“Okay, what the hell is your problem?” Louis asks.
“Nothing, Louis. Just forget it.”
Like hell Louis will just forget it. Harry obviously has something on his mind that’s causing this
ridiculous temper tantrum and Louis isn’t going to sit around and just let him be vague and sulky.
So he moves over until he’s sitting opposite Harry, determinedly clasping his hands to rest in his
folded lap and searches Harry’s gaze until the spirit can’t ignore it anymore.
“Speak. You obviously have some issues you need to deal with.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I have to if you decide to treat me like shit and then won’t tell me why, don’t I?”
The glare Louis receives then is akin staring into the fiery pits of hell (Louis would know by now).
Harry’s face scrunches up like he’s trying to stop the words from bubbling up to the surface, but to
no avail they punch their way out, anyway.
“I don’t have to tell you anything, Louis! It’s not like we’re close like that, are we? It’s not like I’m
obligated to tell you every single thing that’s bothering me all the time! I’m not obligated to
fucking trust you with stuff! I’ve told you things about myself over and over and over! I don’t have
to tell you shit! How about you tell me some stuff for a change?”
Louis doesn’t even know how to react at this point. He shakes his head slowly, eyebrows tightly
knitted and trying to figure out exactly where this is coming from.
“Alright,” he settles for at last. “What do you want me to tell you?”
Harry pauses abruptly, suddenly seeming at loss for words, like he didn’t think that far ahead. His
mouth hangs open for a while before he snaps it shut and swallows sourly.
“Well,” he starts. “Who’s that guy you talked to in the hallway?”
That's—certainly not where Louis thought that would go.
It takes him a good couple of moments to even get his thoughts out from the disorder Harry
managed to get them in enough to start forming any sort of answer.
“Is this…” he starts, wetting his lower lip in contemplation as his gaze narrows slightly. “Is this
about Florian? What, did that three-minute interaction trouble you or something?”
With the way Harry’s looking a bit too caught in the headlights, Louis’ mouth purses in
disapproval. He knows it’s probably in Harry’s nature to be possessive, but Louis isn’t going to
have any of it, and if they’re going to cold-bloodedly fight about that, then that’s something Louis
is willing to do.
“No,” Harry answers, but he diverts his eyes and scratches his neck. “Not—not really.”
“Because I hope you’re aware that you don’t get to police who I get to talk to and not and that I’m
perfectly allowed to make acquaintances with other souls without searching your permission,
right?”
“Oh my god, of course I do. That’s not what I meant.” Louis gets a pointed stare from him, enough
to establish that even through the anxious state Harry is obviously in, he’s severely unimpressed
with the implication that that would be a problem for him. Louis breathes out mentally, but
outwardly he just nails Harry with his stare even harder.
“Then what?”
“It just—” Harry looks up to the sky and groans. “It got me thinking, is all, because yeah, he
could’ve been asking you out or something, but what actually stresses me out is that I wouldn’t
have any idea what your answer would be. Because you haven’t told me anything, Louis! I have no
idea what to expect from you, if I’m even supposed to expect anything at all—you might not want
anything to do with me like that again, and I’d just not know why, if it’d be because—because you
don’t want me or because you think it’s a bad idea or anything, and I wouldn’t know! Maybe I
don’t even have any reason to feel like there is something to talk about at all! I wouldn’t know.”
By now Harry’s bounced up on his feet, and he keeps walking back and forth in a stressed pace,
hands running through his hair as if his fingers are trying to reach the words in his mind from the
outside.
“I’ve been completely, unconditionally candid with you this entire time. I’ve told you how much I
admire you, I’ve made it so clear how much I trust you and like you—I’ve shown a humiliating
amount of vulnerability around you because that’s just your effect on me, but you still haven’t—
you don’t say a lot of things back. You joke around, or dodge the whole question. And like, you
treat me so well, you show so much kindness and understanding, but—you do that to everyone.
You’re just a kind creature! You’re so unbearably fucking nice!”
He throws his arms out and stops his pacing to look at Louis nearly accusingly—like the fact that
Louis shows people decency offends him.
Louis goes through at least three emotional crises within a thirty-second time span.
Firstly; anger. Louis can’t lie—this is pissing him off. Has Harry forgotten that Louis had never
been more than kissed before he came along? Has he forgotten that Louis trusted him with
practically all of his firsts? Has he forgotten the tears Louis spilled, the times he stuck by his side,
the way he’d tucked himself into Harry at night? How dare Harry imply that this whole trusting
thing is one sided when Louis has never trusted another person as unconditionally or deeply?
Secondly; hesitance. The gods know Louis is one who relies on words—who loves making himself
heard, who loves talking things out in every manner one could ever talk something out. He puts a
lot of weight in other people’s stories—which is why every time Harry opened up, Louis felt it so
intensely his heart could burst right through his ribcage with how much importance and meaning it
held to him. Every time Harry would tell him something new it would mean the absolute world to
him.
So Louis understands the want, the need, for verbal confirmation. And it does strike him then, that
in that particular area, maybe he has been lacking. He’s proven his trust and affection again and
again through various actions, but he’s never made clear how different Harry actually is to every
single other creature he interacts with. He’s been so preoccupied with falling so hard for Harry, that
he’s never taken the time to stop and question if Harry really understands just to what degree Louis
adores him.
It kind of hits him like a blow to the face that even though Louis has been feeling so strongly and so
vividly, to the point where he’s thought there’s no way he can’t have been obvious with it, to the
point where he’d thought his entire body and aura had to be positively radiating it, Harry’s this
unsure of how Louis views him.
Thirdly; anger again—with the situation, with Harry not as much but with himself a lot more.
After what feels like an eternity for him but probably an even bigger eternity for Harry, he finally
cocks his head and gives Harry the hardest, most determined look he can muster.
“Ask me, then.”
Harry opens his mouth, but as he actually processes Louis’ words, he stops and just blinks, slightly
taken aback.
“What?”
“Just ask me, Harry.”

It takes the spirit a while to gather his thoughts, the fume in his demeanor slowly fading and
something tired weighing down his shoulders instead.
“What am I to you, Louis?” he finally asks on a helpless exhale.
Louis nods, barely visibly, to himself, and takes a few resolute steps forward. His jaw clenches and
unclenches. His eyes never leave Harry’s.
“You’re fucking everything to me.”
The words ring through the evening air, being spoken out loud for the first time, and Harry’s whole
being changes from exasperated to stunned faster and with more force than a punch in the stomach.
It feels freeing, finally putting it out there, and it doesn’t take long before Louis’ talking again.
“You make me want to work for it, Harry. You make me want the bad and the difficult and the
infuriating, you make me want the yelling and swearing and crying and fighting—because that’s
okay, as long as I’m fighting for you. I’ve been shielded from every bad thing this existence has to
offer my entire life, either by other creatures who thought I needed protection, or by the delicacy of
the place I live, or by sheer dumb fucking luck, and I've thought things would come to me easily.
Things were supposed to approach me like a soft, pleasant breeze, and if it didn’t, it wasn’t worth it
—but then there was you all of a sudden, who fought me and riled me up and never once treated
me like a poor little helpless fairy, and it was hard. It was hard, it is hard, it’s probably going to be
hard, and you’re worth it.”
Louis’ heart has started beating at the speed of light and with the power of thunder by now, but he
doesn’t let it show when he starts moving closer and closer to Harry, who’s now petrified in his
spot. His eyes are blown wide and his lips are bitten raw. He looks like he would when they kissed,
and it makes all sorts of shooting stars rush through Louis’ stomach, but he needs to get this out
first.
He continues when he’s so close he can hear Harry’s irregular breathing.
“I want you. I want your stupid face and your stupid temper and your stupid pride issues and your
stupid, stupid ability to make me want to tear my hair out at any given moment—I want to hold
your hand and kiss you in public and brush your hair away from your eyes in the morning when it’s
tousled from sleep and all that silly, gross stuff enamored people want. I want all the pretty and all
the ugly as long as I get to have it with you. I want to amaze you so deeply it makes your bones
ache, because you always have me completely floored. I want all of you and only you and I want
you to want all of me and only me, too.”
The way Louis’ pulse manages to both flutter and hammer at the same time is terrifying, but Louis’
isn’t scared right now. He keeps looking Harry straight in the eyes as he finishes, carefully
watching him to make sure his message is getting across. When Harry doesn’t show any signs of
discomfort with Louis being this close, he dares bringing his hands up to rest on each side of
Harry’s face, steadying them both.
“You’re everything,” he murmurs again.
Silence.
Only the distant voices of other students, and the faint chirping of birds ring softly around them as
Louis just waits for Harry’s response.
And then god, and god—a smile blossoms, brightly and vividly across Harry’s face. It grows under
Louis’ palms until it brightens the spirit’s whole appearance, and it’s more breath-taking and leaves
Louis prouder and more speechless than anything else he’s ever managed to grow in his life—
makes him value and love his own mouth and voice and words more than he’s ever appreciated his
hands—because his hands have pulled rosebuds from roots and they’ve pulled gasps out of Harry’s
mouth, but they have not made him look so filled with childlike delight and absolute stunned
wonder as his words have just managed.
“I,” Harry all but whispers. “Yeah. Okay. Or, I mean—me, too.”
Something that’s awfully close to a grossly endeared beam is tickling Louis’ lips, threatening to
break out at just the concept of having stunned Harry into ineloquence.
It’s enough to finally make Louis lean in the last few inches, capturing Harry’s lips with his own.
He can taste the hitching of Harry’s breath so sweetly, and it’s been way too long since they’ve
done this, but it makes everything all the more honeyed, the more quivering, the more vivid.
It feels like home, the way Harry relaxes against him, how his hands follow his sides and the curve
of his hips to settle there, burning his fingerprints into Louis’ tingling skin as he pulls him closer.
Louis does his best to close every possible gap between their torsos, pulling at Harry’s sides and
the fabric of his shirt and his neck and his hair, intertwining his velvety locks with his fingers and
just cherishes. Cherishes Harry’s earthy scent, cherishes the small gasps Harry drops onto his
tongue, cherishes his petal-like lips and fingertips soothing his skin, cherishes the warmth and the
safety and the end of all this longing. Of all this wondering and tip-toeing. It feels like a spell has
been broken, but in the very best way possible.
When Harry bites down on Louis’ lower lip and lets his hands slide down to his ass, and Louis
can’t help but moan and buck his hips forward in response, he must regrettably let Harry’s mouth
go for a second.
“You’re not,” he says emphatically, “going to make me come in my pants one more time.”
Harry huffs out a breathy laugh and pulls them both to the ground. Louis lands in his lap with a soft
squeal. All the previous tension, the pitch black in Harry’s eyes, his balled fists, his alarmingly
clenched jaw—it’s completely drained from his body, like his whole being has been completely
wiped clean. He looks like spring again, with his raspberry stained lips and rosy cheeks and shiny
eyes so gently flicking over Louis’ features, and Louis’s stomach is about to feel like a meteor
shower from how drunk on it he feels already.
“So you have a crush on me, huh?” Harry grins. “Gross. That’s so embarrassing for you.”
Louis gives him a pointed look and an eyeroll, but he fears his still very prominent smile takes the
edge off of it quite a bit.
“You suck,” he enlightens him.
“But you still like me.”
“Are you seriously fishing for compliments? After all of that? How thirsty are you?”
A giggle works its way out of Harry, a bubbly, quick one, like he couldn’t contain it, and his head
falls to Louis shoulder. The fact that Louis, single-handedly, got him to be this much of a fairy-tale
personified from having been as maddeningly sour as he had been, is the best feeling in the entire
world.
“You do, you know,” Harry says into his neck. “Amaze me, too. I’m so gone for you.”
Louis does nothing when he feels his smirk pull into another wide beam. It feels so, so good,
smiling this much. He doesn’t even answer, just goes for softly pushing Harry’s hair out of his
face.
“Do you feel like studying some more or what?” he asks.
Harry tilts his head to the side, and he darts his tongue to run along the corner of his mouth. His
eyes fall on Louis’ lips again and he purses his own.
“No, I don’t really feel like studying,” he mutters, and leans in again to mould their lips together a
second time. Louis is not late to straddle him and kiss back eagerly. They can do this now.
Studying can wait.
The next time Louis sees Harry, he starts out alone in his dorm. Stan has gone away to another
couple of friends to study for an impending exam, and while Louis is torn on alone time nowadays
—other people tend to exhaust him easily, but the distraction is always welcome and he’s scared to
be alone with his own thoughts for too long—he’s doing quite well. He’s shifting between reading,
studying, and rearranging his wardrobe, and is in the middle of the second activity when there’s a
knock on his door.
On Louis’ request to enter, the door is being pushed open, and Harry peaks his head inside. Louis
can already feel his mood lift—it’s been two days since their study session, and though that’s a
considerably tiny amount of time, Louis’ missed him.
“Finally learned to enter rooms the normal way, have you?” he greets him fondly.
Harry gives him a loop-sided smile.
“How are you feeling?”
“Uh, I’m okay. Just a little antsy, I think.”
“In the mood for some company?”
“Please.”
Harry chuckles and steps inside slowly.
“Hypothetically,” he says. “If that company extended not only to me, but to three other creatures,
would that still be okay?”
Louis frowns in confusion, eyes narrowing suspiciously, but he nods.
“I suppose,” he says slowly. “But that depends on what kind of creatures they’d be.”
“If they’re creatures you like who really want to see you and have promised not to create too much
of a ruckus?”
“I mean. Yeah, sure,” Louis says, still not entirely sure where this is going, but figuring that if
Harry brought people with him that he wanted Louis to see, Harry must think that Louis would
appreciate it, right? Harry’s been wonderfully understanding of his mental health so far. Louis
trusts him.
Harry’s smile widens softly, and he pushes the door wide open to let three other figures stumble
inside, squeezing themselves through the door at once in their eagerness.
It’s Liam, it’s Zayn, and it’s Niall, looking just like they did last time he saw them.
Louis doesn’t have time to do anything but drop his jaw as they, though with clumsy and jagged
movements, rush up to him and envelop him in a hug before he can even react.
“Louis! Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Niall exclaims into his neck.
“We’ve been so worried!” Liam speaks into his hair.
“Are you okay?” Zayn asks with his cheek squashed against Louis’ shoulder.
And it’s such a dear reunion, and Louis has missed them too, longed for the day he may see who’s
grown to be his close, close friends again—but it’s happening too fast for him to process his
surprise into happiness. They have him too crowded too suddenly and now he’s suffocating, and
there’s too much pressure on his skin and it’s too close and too warm and too much and there are
arms wrapping around him and gripping his waist and sneaking around his neck and there are
hands getting way too close to—
“Okay, let me go,” he gets out, but it sounds choked up and broken, his body recoiling reflexively.
“Let me go, let me go, let me go!” he starts again, repeating it faster and faster and with more force
and the boys must hear the tinge of panic his words are coated in, because they all release him
immediately, making sure to stand up from the bed at least a couple of feet’s distance from him.
Air slowly starts to seep back into Louis’ lungs.
When the slight anxiety-induced fog is slipping away from his vision and he can see clearly again,
he looks around the room to the four faces observing him. Niall and Zayn both look guilty. Liam is
looking endlessly worried. Harry’s shifting between throwing concerned glances at Louis and
strongly disapproving daggers to the back of the other boys’ heads.
Louis feels bad, then—this was supposed to be a joyous moment, filled with hugs and laughter, and
he and his post traumatic issue with sudden, unprompted intimacy just ruined the whole thing. An
awful tension is sneaking its way into the air of the dorm, and Louis wants nothing but to dissipate
it.
“Sorry,” he blurts out, shaking life into himself again. “Sorry, that was—I’m so happy to see you
guys.”
He flashes them all a smile, a little too bright but still genuine. He shuffles a little on the bed and
pats before him to encourage everyone to sit down. Exchanging hesitant looks, they do, Harry
making a point of squeezing his way to Louis’ side before anyone else can take the spot. Louis
sees Niall raise an eyebrow at it in his peripheral, but decidedly chooses to ignore it.
“Look, Louis, we’re sorry,” Zayn starts. “We should’ve thought that through.”
Liam and Niall make agreeing noises, and Louis feels small under their concerned gazes. This isn’t
how he wanted this to go at all.
“Just—just let me decide when to do the hugging, yeah?” he says on a nervous chuckle. “I love
you terribly but I’m not good with that kind of stuff right now.”
Scattered agreements are heard again, but they die down quickly and Louis would literally rather
die than let this get awkward. He bites his thumb nail frenetically, searching in his still a little too
messy mind for something to take the focus off of him.
“So, how have you been?” Harry asks swiftly instead. Louis could cry from relief. “Has everything
been alright in the Forest?”
He sneaks a hand to rest around Louis’ waist as he speaks, slowly and tentatively like he’s silently
asking Louis for permission, and Louis moves into it willingly.
“You mean when we weren’t collectively freaking the fuck out about some slightly altered version
of you pulling you both through a portal somewhere we didn’t know?” Zayn tilts his head in faux
contemplation. “Yeah, ruling that out, things have been pretty alright.”
“Of course we’ve all been worried, us and the rest of your family,” Liam assures, and Louis’ heart
squeezes at that formulation. ‘The rest of your family’. Like Liam counts this little group as a
family, too.
“They took good care of us, though,” he continues. “They helped Zayn all they could too, with the
whole—you know, Queen Patricia situation. Everyone there is more or less certain that he’s her
son.”
“Yeah?” Louis looks to Zayn, who nods. There’s a glow to his small smile that Louis loves seeing
on him. “That’s so wonderful, Zayn. I’m so happy for you.”
“He’ll be coming home with me,” Liam states next, posture straightening a little in satisfaction and
pride.
The look Zayn flutters Liam’s way is quite honestly a little disgusting, that’s how lovestruck he
appears.
“Yeah, I will. Obviously I have some stuff left to take care of on Earth, but I’m sure it’ll all work
out. Your mother assured me it would, at least, that they’d be lenient with us considering the
situation.”
Louis nods compellingly. For a beautiful, magically gifted lost prince who’d found his way back
and would need to visit Earth once more to ensure his move back to Grimm? Yeah, Louis is pretty
sure he’d be allowed practically anything he demanded.
“Now,” Niall pushes gently. “What happened with you two, really? How did you—how did you
even escape?”
Are they really going to have to have this conversation, too? Louis supposes they do, but he
desperately wishes they didn’t. Still, the other boys deserve to know. If they’ve been walking
around for so long, being as worried as they have, they deserve some answers.
“Well,” Louis starts, canine tooth biting down on the inside of his lip. “I suppose you know by
now that Eris kind of kidnapped Zeus, too?”
He gets three wordless nods in reply.
“Yeah, um. So basically, Eris held Zeus hostage and drugged up on love potion so she could
control the portals through him. She had access to everything Zeus had access to. And so… So
she’s been the one sending us places all this time. Because it all started out as an experiment to her,
to test Harry, or whatever. I’m not sure.”
“She wanted to see how long we could go before I snapped and killed you,” Harry interposes
quietly but coldly. “Or at least hurt you really badly.”
Liam winces at that, and when he returns his gaze to Louis it’s even more pained than before. Niall
and Zayn just look more and more at loss with every second.
“Yeah,” Louis nods. “That. So she’s the one who’s been sending us places. Fate didn’t do shit. And
she made Harry’s sister come and get us because she wanted to—she wanted to—”
Louis stops momentarily, tries to swallow down the lump that’s starting to form in his throat the
closer he comes to the actual description of what went down there.
“Punish us,” he grits out between his teeth, and his stomach revolts.
He doesn’t know if he can continue from there, already feeling like nails are clawing their way
through his throat and veins from trying to get this up-close with it. Luckily, Harry catches on
quickly, and the boy tugs Louis just an inch closer so their bodies are pressed against each other,
slowly starting to stroke back and forth over Louis’ hip bone under his t-shirt.
“She wanted punishment. So she did her damage, and then she imprisoned us in the Darkness for
god knows how long,” Harry continues steadily, and Louis breathes out in relief at not having to do
it himself, and also because Harry kept the Unspeakable Part of it so vague and brief. “And the
Darkness has this rule where you have the reactivate the portal from the inside by creating a source
of new life. Gemma, my sister, sent us food and other necessities to keep us alive, and that’s where
Louis came up with the idea to save the food and turn it into soil to grow this enormous plant so we
could activate the portal with it. And then we kind of just stormed the place, fought some
monsters, grabbed Zeus, and got out of there. Yeah. I think that’s the gist of it.”
Everything is quiet after that, the other three boys just staring with their jaws dropped and Louis
and Harry looking back in slight unease.
“Just casually stormed Tartaros,” Zayn breathes. “Got it.”
“Harry, wouldn’t Eris, you know—you’re her s—”
“I’m not her son anymore,” Harry interrupts Liam sternly. His whole self must radiate just how
done he is with that particular topic of conversation, because no one pushes for an elaboration.
“So—what does that mean for you?” Zayn asks carefully, instead. “Are you still going to work for
her?”
“God, no,” Harry huffs. “Never again.”
“So, what are you going to do? You’re not going to have to stray around aimlessly without a home
or cause or anything, right? That’s not fair.”
“No, it’s okay. Um, actually,” Harry starts, and his tone makes Louis perk up immediately. “I’ve,
uh—I was going to tell you this, Lou. I took up contact with Zeus again yesterday to find a
replacement duty for me. He’s invited me to spend some time in Olympus on our breaks to figure
that out.”
Niall raises an eyebrow.
“That’s—I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s really good. It is. I just—Zeus? You want Zeus to
help you? Of all people?”
“I’m not speaking to him because I want to,” Harry clarifies quickly. “I’m really not. But he feels
like he’s in debt to me, and to Louis, so I made him promise a few things to make up for that on his
part.”
The other boys instantly start showering him with support then, rubbing his back and giving him
encouraging words, and it’s an incredibly nice moment, this, because Harry looks overwhelmed
with how vocal they are about their care for his wellbeing, and Louis will genuinely stop at
nothing to make sure that stunned surprise whenever people are kind to him, will go away one day.
But Louis’ eyebrows knit as he thinks through what Harry said again, though, and the next moment
he tugs at Harry’s shirt to gain his attention, so he can give him a puzzled look.
“Things? What things?”
Harry looks down on his lap in a way Louis swears is rather—flustered.
“Well. I made him promise to bring Gemma to safety. And for these three—” he gestures towards
Niall, Zayn and Liam, “to be able to visit. And then, um.” He makes a pause, and there seems to be
a bashful blush creeping onto his face. “Well, that he was going to do everything in his power to
makes sure that everything you needed for your recovery, you’d get. You know, free pass to see
your family whenever you wanted to, prioritized care from the best healers he can get a hold of—
that kind of stuff.”
“Oh.” An entire garden is suddenly flourishing in Louis’ heart at the thought of Harry doing
something like that for him, and he makes an urgent mental note to talk to Harry about that later,
maybe show his gratitude in a number of ways.
That’s how far he gets to explore that idea then, because a sudden, small little sob catches his ear
and he snaps out of it to land his gaze on Liam. The boy is just looking at him, like he’s about to
break, and Louis swears his lower lip is trembling a little.
“It’s just—I’m so glad you’re alive,” Liam exclaims, and there’s a sentimental kind of gloss
coating his eyes. “It was terrible not knowing where you went—whether you were dead or alive—
and now knowing that you’ve been in the hospital—that you could’ve very well been dead... It’s
just so, so good to see you.”
The emotional outpour he’s starting to have tugs on Louis’ heartstrings as well, and he reaches to
put a comforting hand on the shape shifter’s shoulder.
“Aw, Liam,” he coos, smile widening. “I’m here, aren’t I? No need to dwell on the past. Let’s
make a redo of that hug, shall we?”
He gives them all a reassuring look and opens his arms.
Niall, Liam and Zayn react instantly, closing in on him once again except this time slower, more
carefully, and Louis has Harry’s warm and stabilizing presence on his right side. This time he
allows it, he’s prepared, and he gets the moment they all wanted. He buries his nose in Niall’s shirt,
and he squeezes Zayn’s shoulder, and he’s got Liam on his other side. He feels at home.
This is what he’s been wanting, he thinks. This is what’s important.

Their moment is interrupted, suddenly, by another knock on the door. Louis frowns and looks to
Harry inquisitively. Has he invited more people? If it were Stan, he wouldn’t knock. But Harry just
gives him a shrug, so it seems the only way to dissolve Louis’ confounded state is to reveal
whoever’s hoping to be let in.
“Come in,” he calls out, and the door opens to reveal a certain dwarf—a very out of breath one, at
that.
Camron looks like he’s just run a marathon with the way his breathing is hitching, and he leans
heavily on the doorframe for a few seconds before he can even say hi.
“Camron,” Louis says in confusion.
“Hello, Louis,” he manages to breathe out, even pushing a smile onto his face when he meets the
fairy’s wide gaze. “Are you—busy? I was just going to leave something. For you.”
“Um.” Louis briefly looks back on his four other guests, but he figures that if Camron’s come all
this way to give him something it’d be very rude of him to just turn him away. Besides, Louis likes
Camron. He’s sweet, he came by and visited when Louis was still unconscious, and Louis’ missed
him. They can fit one more. “Yeah, of course. Come in.”
Camron lights up even more, then. Louis just watches as he shuffles out and gathers a big, long
object wrapped up in a roll of fabric under his arm, stepping inside with a ragged breath and wipes
his forehead.
“What’s that?” Louis asks curiously, eyeing the roll.
“It’s a gift.” Camron carefully props it against the wall and gives Louis a nervous look.
“I, um,” he tries, scratching his neck. “I came to visit you in the hospital when you were
unconscious, and I meant to come back, but—I was just, I was so shaken by the state you were in
and I felt that I had to do something, you know? And I’m just me, I’m just a dwarf so there’s not a
lot I can do, but I still decided to bring you a gift of sorts and it’s not the best but—”
“Camron,” Louis interrupts kindly, mostly to get the dwarf to calm down a little. “I’m sure it’s
lovely.”
Camron exhales around a nervous smile and nods a little before continuing.
“Anyways. I just kept thinking about that time you offered to make a new cane for me in case
Harry didn’t return it?” His eyes flacks over to Harry momentarily, but Harry just grimaces a little
in shame, and it’s visibly a relief for Camron. “Well, you ended up not having to follow up on that,
and I’m quite handy with that stuff myself so I wouldn’t have expected it of you anyway, but the
sentiment still really stuck with me and... Yeah. I'll just leave this for you. I’m not good at many
things but as a dwarf I do have my way with handiwork, so.”
And with that, he starts to roll out the massive drape to finally reveal his present. Louis’
confoundedly furrowed brow loosens up as it slowly dawns upon him what’s really standing in
front of him.
It’s not one present. There are two.
There are two wings standing in front of him. Two whole, handmade wings are right there and
Louis just stares.
They’re nothing like his old wings—these are large and made of earth colored, thin materials
which he thinks will probably look lovely with sunlight filtering through them—like autumn
leaves, perhaps—and there are leather bands braided delicately along their edges. It’s far from like
the light, shimmery spun silver he’s always known.
They’re the sweetest sight Louis’ eyes have ever seen.
He can’t even bring himself to utter a single word, just stands there and eyes the creations up and
down, down and up, his jaw dropped and his fingers slightly trembling. It’s visibly making
Camron nervous, and he starts speaking at a rapid pace.
“Now, I know they're not the same and that they could never replace what you used to have, so
that’s not what I’m trying to do here, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of someone as kind as
you being deprived of something you love so much, so I—I thought you might want to give them a
try at least? They're not magical or anything, we don’t learn how to lace carpentry with magic until
next year—you strap them on and you hold onto these handles, look here—” he runs his fingers
over the leather straps, enhancing the way they loop into something akin to the straps of a
backpack and out to the shorter, easily gripable pieces further out. “So it’s like a bird's wings, kind
of? They’d be like your arms. At least for a start, I’m trying to find ways to evolve the design.
Anyways, you’d have to learn how to manoeuvre them and that might be a bit of a hassle, and I
know they're bigger than you're used to, but I tried my best to not make them feel clumsy. In time,
maybe I could develop the design into something more alike your old ones, I’m already speaking
to my professors about it, but for now, this is the closest I could get. But they work! So should you
want them, I'm sure it’d be worth it! But. But only if you do want them, that is.”
He trails off there, flicking his eyes down on his feet, and Louis has a huge lump in his throat
engulfing his vocal chords and his airway. He can’t stop staring at the wings in front of him, these
so carefully hand-made, simple yet exquisite creations that someone—someone made for him.
That Camron made for him, and him alone, out of nothing but his own genuine kind-heartedness.
And they’re not what Louis used to have, they’re not as effortless, they’re not such an obvious part
of him, he doesn’t know every edge and crook and inch by heart, they’re not yet entirely his. They
might never be. He realizes this.
They might never be, but they have the chance to become so. They’re Louis’ shot at somehow still
grace treetops and rise with the sun and follow lively rivers just to see where they lead. They’re
filled to the brink with pure, unaltered hope.
There’s nothing he can do except take a shaky step forward, open his arms wide and wrap them
around Camron in the tightest, most heartfelt and moved hug he’s ever given someone in his life.
“Thank you so much,” he breathes out against Camron’s neck. “Camron, thank you so, so much.”
Camron, who momentarily froze in surprise when Louis first enveloped him in the embrace, finds
it in him to relax then, tentatively sneaking his own arms around Louis’ middle.
“So I take it you like them, then?” he utters with a faint laugh.
Likes them. Likes them. Like Louis’ ever felt stronger about an inanimate object in his entire
existence.
“They’re perfect,” he practically sobs out, tightening his grip on the dwarf. “I love them.”
“I hope they’ll work well,” Camron manages to get out weakly. “They should, I’ve been very
thorough with what materials to use, but—if anything’s wrong with them, just take them to me and
I’ll look at it. Okay?”
Louis nods frantically against Camron’s neck, squeezing extra forcefully once before finally
pulling back. His eyes must be wet, because Camron’s face is slightly smudged, Louis’ vision a
little blurry and softened.
“I don’t know how I could ever repay you—” he starts, and he has to clench every muscle in his
face to stop his tears from streaming uncontrollably. This moment is way too important for Louis to
be a sobbing, limbless mess, and he feels that if he gives in to the tears, that’s exactly what he’ll
end up as.
“No,” Camron cuts him off, shaking his head. “This is me repaying you.”
“For what?”
“For being so kind to me. And for—no one else dared to stand up for me or anything, because it
was Harry, and no one stands up to him—” he stops himself to for the second time flick his gaze
over to Harry apologetically, but Harry just gives him a sad smile that calms his anxieties. “No one
stands up to him, but you did. You did like it was the simplest thing in the world. And I really
admire you for that. I know people talk a lot about you being a hero now, but to me you always
were.”
By now, Camron is talking to his feet rather than to Louis, and his face has grown increasingly red,
but Louis truly doesn’t feel like the dwarf should have anything to feel embarrassed about. Louis’
close to choking up again, infinitely moved by those words so much he feels like he might burst,
and he hugs Camron one more time.
“You’re so bloody wonderful, Camron. You’re so great,” he says when he pulls away. “You are
my friend, you know that, right? You’re my dear, dear friend.”
And Camron lights up like an open night sky, and he seems to barely know what to do with
himself.
“I, um, I should be going,” he says, fumbling a little with his cane.
“You’re very welcome to stay,” Louis offers, but Camron just shakes his head.
“Thank you, but I have some more work to do for my wood tech class that needs to be done. But
I’ll see you around, yeah?” he doesn’t drop his smile for a second as he starts backing towards the
door.
“Of course,” Louis promises.
“And if you ever need anything regarding the wings, let me know!”
“I will.”
“Great.” He bumps into the door and opens it quite clumsily, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it
when he throws Louis one last look. “Bye!”
And he’s out of there. Left behind stands Louis, and behind him three other boys, trying to process
what just happened. When Louis turns around slowly, Harry is right behind him already, watching
him with an expression positively giddy with joy and amazement. Louis can relate.
“You’re going to fly again,” Harry states, like he can’t believe it. Louis nods, pushing away tears
for the third time in only minutes. His broken words from the hospital bed rings in the back of his
head, the repeated ‘I’ll never fly again’s that ultimately led to his breakdown.
“I’m going to fly again,” he breathes now.
“You’re going to fly again.”
“I’m going to fly again.”
And Harry kisses him, right on the mouth, and Louis can’t even do anything but lock his arms
firmly around his neck and kiss him back because goddammit, he’s happy right now, he’s
completely over the moon for the second time within such a short timespan in a way he didn’t think
would be possible for the longest while, and he can kiss Harry now, and he wants to, so he does.
Neither of them even realizes that they haven’t exactly enlightened the other boys about why this
is not an act to be baffled over before they notice how quiet the room has gone. Hesitantly, they
break apart to acknowledge their guests.
“…So. Zayn, I believe you owe me three free beers,” Niall states, elbowing Zayn lightly in the
side.
Zayn groans and throws Harry and Louis a dirty look.
“I’m incredibly happy for you, but could you not have waited for a little while longer to do that?”
“What does Niall mean ‘you owe him three free beers’?” Louis presses, completely ignoring both
Zayn’s statement and the fact that none of them seem surprised at all.
Maybe they haven’t been as sneaky as Louis hoped.
“Well, we wanted to bet on money but it’s not like that would make a lot of sense if Zayn’s going
to live in Grimm and I live in Pantheon,” Niall shrugs. “So alcohol felt like the next best option.
Grimm’s supposed to have great beer, I’ve heard, and I’ve never tried it.”
“What did you even bet on?”
“I thought you two were going to have your shit sorted before today. Zayn thought you’d need
more time. Evidently, Zayn didn’t have as much faith in you as I did and I’m getting rewarded for
that now.”
Niall walks over to them, hanging one arm around each of Harry and Louis’ shoulders, tugging
them close in a weird half-hug.
“I love my job so much,” he sighs dreamily. “I knew I felt the energy between you had changed.
Thank you guys so much for finally making this work.”
Like a whirlwind, he releases them and throws himself onto Stan’s bed, hands behind his head.
Zayn, whose brow has only furrowed more and more since Niall started talking, finally seems to
snap, and he brings his hands down on his thighs roughly.
“I’ve had enough of this. I’ve been wondering for so long and I’ve never gotten the answer and I
will get it now so help me God. What the fuck is your job, Niall?”
Niall just laughs, blissful and carefree and he sends Zayn the broadest grin Louis’ ever seen on a
creature.
“I’m a cupid, dear Zayn. And a damn fucking good one, if I do say so myself.”
At first, realization prickles Zayn’s perfect face. Then, calculation. Then, outrage once again.
“Wait, and you let me take that bet with you? You let me bet on a relationship against a cupid?
You fucking cheater!”
“I did, Zayn! I really did,” Niall replies, completely shamelessly.
Zayn just shakes his head.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, and Louis has to stop himself from squealing with glee at Liam
scooting closer and intertwining their hands with a stupid smile on his face. He thinks a sound
actually does slip out when Zayn’s whole demeanor seems to soften from the touch, too.
If there’s one person in the room who’s even more excited, it’s Niall.
“You better start believing!” he declares. “You’re soulmates, all of you. Congratulations. You’re
welcome. I'm fucking welcome.”
Harry tugs on Louis waist to come and sit back down on the bed with him, and Louis complies
easily.
“So Niall really had it as a mission to get us together, too?” he hums. “And here I went thinking we
were rebelling against the odds or something. Who knew.”
Louis stiffens a little and scratches his neck.
“Well,” he ponders. “I knew? Since Asgard.”
“What?” Harry’s eyebrows shoot up halfway across his forehead, and he pins Louis with a stare
that’s supposed to be hurt, but he looks far too amused for Louis to take it seriously. “Seriously?
And you didn’t tell me?”
“I mean.” Louis swallows. “I didn’t—I didn’t want you to like me because you thought you had to,
or like risk you distancing yourself because of it, so. I was waiting for a better time to tell you.”
He flicks his eyes up to Harry carefully, but the spirit is just shaking his head fondly.
“There wouldn’t have been a chance of that happening.”
Louis’ insides feel coated in honey.
It’s funny, see, because the last time he and Harry were in this room together, things couldn’t have
been more different. Harry had a viciousness coating his whole aura, Louis hadn’t seen a world
outside of his own naïve premise. And now here Louis are, Harry’s hand in his, and they’re happy
and warm and safe, and their friends’ bickering turns into a surprisingly comfortable background
noise, and things are so amiable. Louis would’ve laughed in your face about it at the beginning of
the semester, but Harry’s his and he is Harry’s and he’s going to fly again, and Louis’
surroundings seem to be tinted in silver and gold.
Things aren’t perfect, he knows—Louis has post traumatic stress disorder, and his wings are
prosthetics he doesn’t know how to fly yet, and his and Harry’s relationship is just starting out. But
it’s looking up. Louis will learn how to cope, he will learn to fly his new wings, and he will learn
how to navigate through a world where Harry Styles is his boyfriend (they haven’t even used the
term officially yet, but Louis feels confident enough to allow it in his internal monologues). He
will learn, and he will grow, and he dares to think he’ll be fine one day.
He looks up to Harry again to find him already looking back. His eyes could hold a whole universe
on their own. They will never be as cold as they were the first time they stood here again. He
squeezes Louis’ hand a little tighter for a second and places their entwined fingers in his own lap
so he can cover Louis’ with both his hands. It’s a small but reassuring gesture, and it holds bunches
and bunches of promises.
Yeah, Louis thinks. He’s going to be just fine.
Chapter End Notes
~ 6 shameful months later ~
IT'S HERE!! IT'S OVER!! (or well there will be an epilogue fret not)
i'm so, so SO sorry for taking this long. the pressure of it being the last chapter,
combined with the fact that i graduated a couple of weeks ago and have been to my
elbows in schoolwork for so long really complicated things for me. i truly sincerely
hope this is at least somewhat worth the wait and that it can make u feel a lil happy
and at peace xxxxxx
as aforementioned, there will be an epilogue. this is not quite the end. but it's gonna be
a while until i can upload that bc i'm gna be crazy busy this summer and i don't want to
leave ppl thinkin the story's not finished, because it essentially is :')
i just want to thank u all an endless, infinite, never-ending amount of time for reading,
for leaving kudos, for leaving comments even though i'm absolute shit at answering
them, i read them all and i cry big tears of joy and love every time <33333 i can't
believe u rly stuck with this story, both if ur a new reader bc hello u just read a 200k
work??? and if u've been following this for a longer time bc hello it's been three
years????? ur all fucking legends for sticking with this absolute trainwreck of a story
from start to finish i owe u my entire life and consider all of u my close friends <3xxxx
ALSO! ALSO! if u want the playlists that i've made, listened to and let inspire me
during this whole journey, here u go:
- the full collision soundtrack
[https://open.spotify.com/user/1135225293/playlist/48Fmr4KT9IVqJ3RaSd95Iq?
si=ABUl4DwIQgimbu1lAQMgZw]
- songs for louis
[https://open.spotify.com/user/1135225293/playlist/7jLjTI3EGXHKZu9T243yZh?
si=GkJH3b-5TYOxs_v2uQ4ogw]
- songs for harry
[https://open.spotify.com/user/1135225293/playlist/25X9s8uAz5jPo2Pu9EhA50?
si=au8tRHnERMG1iZ2zZU0rsQ]
i still update them frequently and will likely make more of them :'))
as always, u can always find me over on @tequiladimples on tumblr, where i'm fully
ready to accept u into my virtual arms n give u some love or just talk or anything u
want. thank u so much again for giving me motivation to write this story. thank u for
being nothing but patient and lovely and understanding. i adore u <333
epilogue i; zayn
Chapter Summary
The journey is over. Things resolve. Everyone heals eventually.
Chapter Notes
hello my lovely, wonderful, fantastic, awestriking angels.
the year is 2020. i started writing this story 5 sweet, sweet years ago. i finished it--save
for this damn epilogue--2 years ago. so imagine my bewilderment when the
engagement on this fic just spikes out of nowhere. hello my loves. welcome. this is for
you. (and everyone who's ever read it. fucking love u icons)
it’s come to my attention that people are quite, um. upset about the ending and louis’
fate. i apologize for that. you deserve the closure of an epilogue. my only defense is
that it wasn’t actually supposed to end so abruptly, and it absolutely wasn't supposed
to take this long. i'm just trash. but i hope that this update will give you at least a bit of
that closure. xxx
finally, i must also say that I’m absolutely floored by the lovely, wonderful words you
have to say about my fic, through comments, and asks, and dms, and everywhere else
—i've read all of it and sucked it up like a sponge and i LOVE you so, so much.
especially since i've spent way too many nights twisting and turning sleeplessly
counting this story's flaws. there isn’t a single more dysfunctional relationship out
there than the one between me and this fic. i suppose some of it has to do with the fact
that i (surprisingly to probably no one) started writing this as a fresh-faced teen with
too vivid of an imagination and too fervent a love for both mythology AND some of
the most cliché romance tropes out there (and english that weren’t necessarily bad, but
they definitely weren’t adequate for the most quality fic writing, either). i’m finishing
it a full-on adult (well. legally, at least) who doesn’t know whether to be entirely and
unashamedly proud of the fact that I managed to produce and finish this, or curl up in a
ball and cry about how awfully insecure i am about a lot of it. i’ll probably do a bit of
both; mostly i’m just incredibly honored all you people felt things reading MY work.
i'm so happy you've read all the way to this, and it's safe to say that without the
encouragement this fic would NEVER have been completed. you're all fucking
legends. i adore you.
i’ll do this epilogue in 2 parts; one from zayn’s point of view, and one from louis’.
enjoy <333333
The last day Zayn spends as a permanent Earth resident is unexpectedly emotional.
He’s been looking forward to moving to Grimm—to meet his parents, to live closely to Liam, to
grow acquainted with a completely new place. To get to know the ins and outs of his golden hands,
enough to finally toss his gloves away. To start over, really start over, with a boy he feels so much
and so tenderly for, and perhaps even with a family he can feel like he belongs to.
Not so say he’s not nervous about things not working out with his parents—it’s been almost twenty
years, after all. They haven’t been present to help shape the person he’s become. Zayn’s already
conditioned to be independent—maybe his time to truly connect with them has passed, maybe it’ll
feel stilted and distant. Maybe they’ll look at him, his ruffled hair and inked arms and not like what
they see. Maybe they’ll stuff him into tight suits and give him a strict set of rules and lay out a
future for him that he doesn’t want. Zayn doesn’t know a lot about how royalty in Grimm differs
from royalty on Earth, but he hopes with all his heart they’ll accept him for who he is and for what
he wants to do.
(He’d like to do art. Even if he has to have a title such as prince bestowed upon him, he’d like to
keep doing art.)
Maybe they won’t even want him. Maybe it’s all an unbelievable coincidence, maybe Zayn really
just is a sad, sad orphan with a genetic defect that makes him susceptible for magic, or something.
Admittedly it sounds a bit far-fetched, but knowing his luck, he’s not ready to rule out anything.
“There you are!” suddenly rings out behind him, startling him out of his thoughts. Zayn whips
around to see Liam standing there, balancing two boxes on each other and trying to look casual
about his caution to not let them fall.
“Here I am,” Zayn confirms weakly, but a small smile nips at his mouth at the sight of his
boyfriend trying to hold onto the boxes and blow a strand of hair from his eye simultaneously. He
always tries so hard, Liam. No matter if it regards saving someone’s life or just carrying a damn
box, he always tries just as hard.
“I tried to stock your books in these the best I can—I divided them by color, because that’s how
they were in your bookshelf so I thought you might prefer it.”
As Liam talks, Zayn walks up to him and lightly brushes the stubborn hair away from Liam’s
forehead. Both of them pretend they don’t notice Liam’s voice waver just a teeny, tiny bit when
Zayn’s fingertips brush Liam’s skin, but it makes Zayn’s chest tingle pleasantly anyway.
“You’re doing great,” he promises, upturn of his lips turning just slightly teasing.
One of the most heart-warming things about Liam—of which, admittedly, there are many—is the
way his eyes light up whenever he successfully helps someone, Zayn thinks. He tries so hard
because he wants to help so badly. It’s sort of whiplash-inducing, sometimes, to be around
someone so genuinely kind.
Zayn doesn’t voice any of this out loud. Instead, he grabs the top box still verging on making an
escape from Liam’s safe hold, and together they carry the books into Zayn’s increasingly cramped
hallway. It’s coming together now, all of it.
There’s a lot to worry about, yes. But he also finds comfort knowing that even if his biological
family proves to be rocky, he’ll always have his found family in four other boys. He’ll be closer to
them.
Besides, it’s okay. If everything goes according to plan, he’ll be able to come back to Earth and
visit.
~
Zayn’s wearing his golden gloves. Liam’s holding his hand.
They stand in front of Odin’s large, intimidatingly powerful castle of an abode (Valhalla, Zayn
reminds himself trying not to feel too wonderstruck. They’re standing in front of Valhalla), waiting
for the guards to confirm with Odin that they, in fact, have an appointment. Zayn’s heart’s
practically about to vibrate out of his chest with how rapidly it’s beating, and he suspects his
squeezing of Liam’s fingers is just a bit too forceful. Liam doesn’t say anything about it, though.
“It’s going to go well,” the shape shifter says, quietly, but with determination. “Okay? We’re going
to get what we want.”
Zayn just nods, letting an inhale and exhale move slowly through his body.
The doors finally open, four guards re-emerging to safely escort them to the right place. It quickly
proves to be quite the walk, because the place is huge—Zayn had thought Thor’s abode had been a
mess, but surely it had been nothing in comparison to this. It’s beautiful, though; the halls of
Valhalla shine blindingly golden, from the polished floors to the extravagant chandeliers, and it’s
quite peculiar to Zayn how it seems to relax his bones a bit. Like his soul feels at home among it.
(Does it make him sound poetic or just materialistic beyond compare to feel soul-bound to golden
things?)
After what feels like ages, the small group at last stops in front of a marble door. A marble door
seems sort of dysfunctional, Zayn thinks briefly. Way to heavy. It must take several guards to open
and close them, always, but then again, gods are ones for the dramatic, aren’t they?
He’s proven right very shortly after, as the guards proceed to spend several sweaty minutes on
opening up into the room. Zayn purses his mouth and tries not to be a little amused by it.
Eventually, the guards succeed at their task, and Zayn and his friends are ushered inside.
Inside the room, five other creatures are already waiting. Apart from Odin, looking regal and
almighty with his velvet red cape and stern eye, Niall and Freyja sit alongside him—Zayn already
knew they’d be here, what with their involvement in this whole thing and all, but his stomach still
erupts brightly at seeing his friend. The other two, he’d no idea would be here—but Harry and
Louis are right next to the cupid, nonetheless.
Louis is seemingly about to jump out of his own skin, tiny little body full of energy and face
splitting in a huge grin when he sees them.
“Liam! Zayn! God, how have you been?” he exclaims, pulling both of them into a quick but
heartfelt hug.
“Fine, just—just fine,” Liam lets out, a bit breathless as Niall crashes into him next.
“What are you guys doing here?” Zayn asks, disentangling himself from the following hug from
Harry.
“We’re here to show support! And to testify of your love, if they need us to. And to see you all.”
Louis fires off another blinding beam towards them. “Also, I originally have a seminar today which
I’m not nearly enough prepared for, so going here meant I could reschedule to a later group. That
was a bonus.”
Zayn snorts—just because it’s so very Louis, finding a selfish explanation for a selfless action—
and squeezes the fairy’s shoulder.
Just as they’re about to sit down to begin, the doors behind them are reopened with a powerful
burst, and all four heads snap in its direction to see who’s joining them.
Zayn’s jaw drops in surprise when he realizes who it is—his hair is thicker and wilder, his muscles
more flexing, his skin less creased than when he last saw him—but it’s Thor, nonetheless, and
when he meets Zayn’s eyes his determined face breaks into a large grin.
“Ah, Zayn, Harry! Liam, Louis, Niall! You sure are a sight for sore eyes,” he exclaims boomingly,
hurrying up to give each and every one of them a bone-crushing embrace before throwing himself
down in a chair. The rest follow suit, Zayn a little disarrayed after having all the air forcibly
pushed out of him like that. It looks like other boys might feel the same.
Odin, however, raises and eyebrow at Thor, mouth pursing.
“What brings you here? We’re going to be quite busy,” he asks.
“Oh, word got around that our heroes were returning! So, naturally, I must make a visit to see my
friends.” Thor stops himself for a beat, looking around as if he’s just now noticing the formal
atmosphere of the room. “The question is rather, what brings them here?”
“It’s a negotiation,” Niall explains swiftly. “Of whether Zayn will be able to visit Earth even after
he’s joined as a permanent resident in Grimm.
“Oh, well, that’s fair! Permission granted,” Thor says, but immediately receives an ugly glare from
Odin.
“That decision is not yours to make on a whim, Thor,” he reprimands.
Thor blinks as if he’s not realizing the problem, looking around the table with bewilderment.
“But that is the decision you’re going to make, I presume?”
“I must take into account the complications of such an arrangement,” Odin says. “It is important
our secret stays safe. Zayn, what compels you not to tell everyone you know back on Earth about
your findings?”
It takes Zayn a couple of seconds to answer—being spoken to by the Leader of Asgard proves to be
just a tad dazzling, but when he finds the words again he makes sure to sound as stable and reliable
as he possibly can.
“All due respect, sir, who would believe me? I have no proof. My powers don’t work on Earth.
Everything that’s magical in Grimm loses its magic if I were to bring it. No Earth human can see
our portals—I’d only end up sounding crazy to them.”
“Why do you want to go back at all? What does Earth possibly have to offer you that you cannot
have in Grimm? Riches, a home, a family—I have trouble seeing why you would want to return to
Earth after receiving all of that.”
“Old friends. Memories. London. I have a life there, too. Not the most ideal one, but I still have—
people I care about, people who’ve helped me through things. People I can’t just cut off all contact
with forever. That, if anything, would make them suspicious, wouldn’t it? If I just disappeared off
the face of the Earth with no way to contact them again.”
That does seem to resonate with Odin, as he doesn’t counter the argument in favour of pursing his
mouth in contemplation. Zayn focuses on his breath and the pressure of Liam’s warm palm against
his thinly covered own.
“Harry Styles,” is who Odin chooses to address when he’s finally done thinking, and Zayn catches
Harry flinch in surprise across the table. That makes two of them—out of all people Odin could
want input from at this table, Harry would not at all be his top choice. But then he continues, “you
are a spirit of pain, correct?” and Zayn carefully connects where he wants to get at.
“Correct,” Harry replies.
“And you can read Zayn?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you say his time on Earth brought him joy?”
Right. Zayn clenches his jaw.
Harry’s eyes find his own for a split moment, evidently conflicted on whether to tell the truth and
possibly give Odin enough reason to decline their request, or to lie with the risk of Odin seeing
through it. Zayn wouldn’t put it past Harry to lie his way out of this, and Zayn would probably trust
him to—but considering how achingly fragile this conversation already seems to be, it appears far
too reckless of a decision. Harry must be able to detect the dejection on Zayn’s face, because he
purses his own mouth, an insecure hand reaching up to scratch at his neck.
“No,” he settles for at last, his shoulders lowering in a sort of silent sigh. “No, I’d say Earth
brought him a great deal of pain most of the time.”
Zayn closes his eyes and sends a silent prayer that Harry knows what he’s doing.
“Then would you say it is wise to allow him to travel back to a place which caused him such
misery?”
“Yeah, I would.” Harry’s voice is firm, eyes locked confidently and coolly on the Leader—defiant
but composed. “Because despite everything, he’s found reasons to stay. He put in the work to make
Earth a home, work most of us never have to put in just to belong somewhere, and he succeeded. It
would be disregardful of him as a person and all the growth he’s had to deny him access back to
Earth after working so hard to even be able to want to return.”
Air starts seeping back into Zayn’s lungs, slowly, but feather-lightly, and he almost wants to laugh
a little. Of course Harry knows what he’s doing.
“Look,” Niall cuts in carefully. “Zayn is a rare case. It’s easy for us to simply say he was always
meant for Grimm and cut all his ties with Earth—but Earth shaped him. He spent his entire life
there, grew up, learned how to live, found what he loves and what he hates—to expect him to just
forget that he’s an Earth human with a snap of our finger when he’s lived all his formative years
there is naïve.”
Again, Odin says nothing. Prominent wrinkle between his eyes, he ponders this as if no one’s
waiting for his reply at all. If it weren’t for Liam’s thumb gently stroking Zayn’s hand, Zayn
doesn’t know if he’d have the power to just sit here and wait for it.
In the end, he doesn’t have to wait for too long, because Thor—ever the master of impatience—
cracks before him.
“This is ridiculous,” he declares, voice cutting through the silence like a canon. “Just grant him
permission!”
Zayn swears Odin rolls his eyes at the other god, before he addresses him with yet another sharp
look.
“Don’t be so hasty! No human from either world has ever been granted access to wander between
the two. It could cause problems—chaos, even—if word gets around I have granted one.”
“Who would cause chaos?” Thor furrows his brow.
“Other creatures who may think that because I allowed one, they are also entitled to the same
privilege.”
“Well, then you tell them they aren’t!” A determined fist makes the table shake under them. “This
boy is a hero—he saved all of our lives! He risked his own to gather the apples when all of us and
our own golden ones were too weak to do anything! Is this not the very least we can do to show our
gratitude?”
The new silence that follows stands in nearly eerie contrast to the booming, demanding presence of
Thor’s voice, and for probably close to a minute, all people in the room just sit in it, eyes traveling
from one to the other nervously as Odin sits and glares at his son with emotions too difficult for
Zayn to read—but he likes to think there’s confliction there.
“I suppose so,” Odin allows at last, and Zayn’s heart jumps as Liam’s hand squeezes his own and
Niall lets out a quiet, triumphant hiss.
“Does that mean—?” he starts, barely even daring to utter the rest out loud in fear of jinxing it
somehow.
Odin leans back in his hair, visibly resigned.
“Yes,” he confirms. “Yes, you may have access to Earth as a Grimm inhabitant.”
Zayn’s chest feels like a balloon expanding and deflating and popping at once as a shaky laugh rips
from his throat and Liam ardently locks his arms around him from the side with his nose against
his shoulder. He doesn’t let go as they stand up, Zayn thanking Odin and Thor profusely and
repeatedly. Louis crash into them shortly after, too, Niall and Harry also rounding the table swiftly
to join the growing group hug. Zayn closes his eyes and engulfed in warmth and skin and words of
relief and ecstasy, he almost feels his eyes water a bit—not just because everything really is
looking to work out exactly the way he wants, but because he feels such unbelievable affection for
the boys around him. He feels safe, and he feels relieved, and he feels so, so loved. They’re not
feelings he’s been spoiled with throughout his existence, and it’s overwhelming.
He swears he catches a glimpse of warmth in Odin’s eye when the embrace finally disentangles,
and they bid each other brightly goodbye with the promise of a new meeting to finalize rules and
processes to make everything as safe and controlled as possible. On light feet and with flushed
cheeks, Zayn and his boys are escorted out of the room and upstairs to Odin’s personal portals.
It saddens Zayn a little that they’re to part ways so soon; they barely got to enjoy each other’s
company at all. They got some hugs, and some scattered banter on their way to the portals, and
now it’s practically over. Harry and Louis are going back to the university and Niall’s returning to
Pantheon effective immediately; had they been on Earth or in Grimm they could’ve at least gone
out for drinks or something before everyone had to leave.
They’ve just said their final goodbyes, full of promises to meet up again as soon as they possibly
can, stationed in front of their respective portals, when Louis decides to stop them in their tracks.
“Liam!” he utters hurriedly, right as the boy’s about to take his first step into the portal. “Liam,
wait. I want to tell you something.”
Liam turns around slowly, brow inquiringly lowered. “What’s up?”
They’re all still for a second, and two, and three. Louis’ foot taps restlessly against the stone tiles,
his mouth opening and closing again and again.
Then he lets all of that go, in favor of taking one single long stride to Liam and pulling him into a
hug so fierce it manages to make his breath hitch.
“I’m sorry!” he nearly shouts, cheek tightly pressed against Liam’s warm chest.
Liam automatically wraps his own arms around Louis as well, but he’s visibly completely lost on
what Louis is talking about.
“I—yeah, you’re forgiven—what for?” he asks in a daze, the fairy not letting go of his midriff.
“Everything. Sophia. Dragging you into super dangerous situations. Practically forcing you to
become a babysitter. All of it. We took you for granted so many times and we shouldn’t have.
You’re such a good friend. I’m sorry.”
It’s wonderful, Zayn thinks, how Liam goes from uncertainly rigid to just—melted into gentleness.
It tints his cheek a tiny bit pink and makes his eyes glisten and he looks like the kindest creature
alive. Zayn loves him.
“I—thank you. But Louis, it really is okay. Everything worked out, didn’t it? I’d even say that, like,
if you hadn’t done things the way you did, we wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have come, and then I
wouldn’t have found Zayn, and we all wouldn’t be friends—”
A thickness is starting to coat Liam’s words, shaking them up a little, and even if it’s not because
he’s sad, it immediately tears at Zayn’s heart.
“Guys,” Niall says, nodding in small motions and pursing his mouth resolutely. “We’re doing a
second group hug. I’m coming in.”
And like that, he attaches himself to Liam and Louis, too, locking arms around both of them. When
Zayn and Harry don’t immediately join in favor of exchanging a small—but probably a bit too fond
—eyeroll, the cupid disentangles momentarily to pull them in with him forcibly.
It’s warm, and familiar, and everything worked out okay today. Zayn closes his eyes and smiles.
~
“So—who is Jesy, really?” Zayn asks as he looks around the forest they’re walking through.
Today’s mission is getting the medication from Earth to Liam’s friend, and he’s excited—yet
somewhat nervous—to meet her, but the greenery and crispness of the air and soft pull of the
breeze all do a decent job of keeping him calm. He’s not sure how long it’s going to take for him to
really comprehend that he’s about to live in this place—in this lush, picturesque, wonderfully
vibrant place he’s dreamed of and read about since he was a child.
Liam’s eyes soften a little at the question.
“She’s my oldest friend, I suppose. Her family is royal, and her castle was close-by my childhood
home. She’d sneak out a lot, just to see if she could.” He rolls his eyes, and the fondness of it
makes Zayn feel a little syrupy. “So she’d come around a lot and help me with gardening and
stuff.”
Zayn hums appreciatively. “And she has narcolepsy?”
“Yeah. Harry thinks so at least, and when he explained it, it sounded quite believable, so. She was
hit with a sleeping curse a couple of years back, and even after she was awoken it just… Didn’t
leave completely, I guess. That’s what we thought, at least.”
“So, do you not have normal medication here?”
“No—or, well. We think we do, but I don’t know if you would think so. We don’t really get ill like
Earth people do, I think. Or at least we’ve assumed that that’s the case—everything has to do with
magic with us, which is probably why we’re not evolving like Earth. We trust magic whole-
heartedly, but we’ve sort of tried everything with Jesy and no healer was ever able to cure her.”
Liam’s brow furrows momentarily. “Kind of makes you wonder if more of our curses are curable
with human medicine.”
That sounds awfully cruel, Zayn thinks. The idea that more people here would suffer from treatable
illnesses just for the sake of magic rubs him the wrong way. Maybe that could be something to
discuss at some point—either with his parents, or with any of the gods. Thor had after all made
sure they promised to visit last time they saw each other.
He files it away for thorough future contemplation, anyway. This probably isn’t the time to get too
much into it, because in this moment, they’re stopping outside of what Zayn can only assume is
Jesy’s place.
He loves the house immediately—its pearly white walls and delicate, pastel-flowered garden says
hello, make yourself at home, and the door is a smooth mahogany which feels all too fancy and just
right to knock on at once.
Zayn hears faint footsteps down a staircase on the other side of the door, emerging at a rapid pace
before the door is thrown open violently—it nearly knocks Liam off his feet, actually. The girl
standing in front of them now is all big, unruly hair and wide, shiny eyes and jaw dropped and
figure frozen in place. She’s beautiful, Zayn notes, when Liam just gives her a small smile in
greeting.
“It’s good to see you, Jess,” he says, and it’s all that’s needed to break the curse petrifying his
friend.
With a choked laugh (which verges suspiciously on a sob), Jesy pulls Liam into an embrace so
desperately happy Liam almost starts to tremble, too, from the way her body already quivers.
God, there’s been so much hugging recently—both around him and involving him. Zayn’s not
going to complain, though; he has a lot of hugging to make up for, anyway.
Sentimentality builds and bundles between the two as they cling to each other—it’s “I missed you
so much” and it’s “I’m so glad you’re okay” and it’s “I have so much to tell you about”. It’s nice,
and Zayn only feels a little bit out of place as he stands besides them quietly, allowing them to have
their moment. He immediately likes Jesy, though. She hugs Liam like he’s everything to her, and
Zayn can see himself in that quite a bit.
When they at last separate, however, the girl’s isn’t slow to let her attention center on Zayn. Taking
a step back and letting her eyes trail up and down his body for a split second, assessing, making her
impression. The left corner of her mouth lifts a bit.
“Who’s your handsome quest?”
The way Liam’s eyes brighten makes Zayn’s chest wobble.
“This is Zayn! My—yeah, my Zayn.”
Jesy quirks an amused eyebrow at his little stutter, and Zayn’s heart stutters along with it. They
haven’t spoken about what exactly they are to call each other—boyfriends would be the correct
term, wouldn’t it? He guesses things just move at a different pace when you both know you’re
literally meant to be together.
“Your Zayn, huh? Surely Zayn is his own person,” Jesy replies teasingly, extending a hand
towards him.
Zayn shrugs, taking it. “One doesn’t entirely have to negate the other, does it?”
“I suppose not. I like your gloves.”
“Thank you.”
Zayn pretends not to see neither the suggestive look she sends Liam’s way, nor the flush on Liam’s
cheeks as a response. Not commenting on any of it out loud, they swiftly move from the hallway
and into the finely furnished kitchen for some well-needed catching up. Jesy turns to the stove to
put on some tea, and Zayn and Liam sit down in a chair each at the dining table. Liam reaches into
his pocket as they wait, slowly taking out the little pack he brought.
Jesy’s medication.
When Jesy has a kettle and three cups ready and carries them over to the table, she must notice
something sort of nervous on Liam’s face, because her eyes linger on him as she takes a seat
opposite the pair. Curiously, her gaze proceeds wander down to his hands.
“What’ve you got there?” she asks lightly.
“Oh, this little thing?” Liam raises his hand to showcase the package. His leg has started bumping,
and Zayn can’t tell if it’s because of anxiety or because of anticipation. Probably a mix of both—
regardless, he finds it quite endearing. “It’s for you, actually.”
Jesy’s brow furrows only momentarily, taking the object into her hands when Liam slides it over
the table.
“You bought me a souvenir from somewhere?” she asks lightly.
“You… Could say that.”
It’s a little bit poetic, watching the transition on Jesy’s face go from puzzled when she starts
peeling open the side to incredulously hopeful when she pulls out the first chart of pills. She
swallows visibly once before asking:
“Liam. What’s this?”
Liam’s as soft as the color of his eyes. “It’s medication for narcolepsy.”
The only sound made for the next couple of seconds comes from the clock on the wall behind
them. Tick, tick, tick, it goes, punctuating every flutter of Jesy’s eyelashes. Her lips are parted
around the beginning of a sentence she can’t seem to find, frozen in place.
“Harry did wish he could give you them himself,” Liam continues to fill the silence. “But he’s kind
of caught up in not failing his first year of university right now, so… Here we are.”
When Jesy still seems unable to speak out loud, he starts again, slightly too rambling and entirely
too lovely. (He doesn’t do too well with suspense, Zayn notes, and folds it away in the corner of
his mind reserved especially for Liam.)
“Um, what did he say—they’re stimulants? It’s what most narcolepsy patients start out with
because it’s the safest. It helps your daytime sleepiness. So take these, 250 milligrams, one every
morning for a couple of weeks or so, and see if it helps. If it doesn’t, we’ll figure out a way to get
one of us back to Earth to see if we can up or lessen your dosage, or—or add more medication, I
don’t know. Apparently some anti-depressant medication can help with cataplexy and sleep
paralysis, too, but we weren’t prescribed that yet because the doctor wanted a check-up first.”
Jesy’s eyes are suspiciously glossy as they move between the medicine and Liam and Zayn, again
and again as if doing it enough will make the situation realer to her.
“God, I—” a wet laugh interrupts her for a second, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know if
they work yet but just the aspect that they… That there are people like me. I just—thank you so
much.”
That seems to be Liam’s cue to get up and sit down in the chair next to her on the other side of the
table, engulfing her in—another—earnest hug. Jesy’s free hand grips Liam’s shirt and her eyes are
closed.
“You should really thank Harry, you know,” Liam says. “And Louis. Louis was the one who went
through all the procedures.”
“God,” Jesy murmurs. “He seemed too empathetic for his own good. Please make sure to give
them both hugs and kisses from me. Actually, make sure they come over here so I can do it myself.
I’ll bake them a fucking pie and everything. Just for going through the trouble.”
A few moments more pass as Jesy keeps observing her medication, reading the back of the little
package, eyes wide with wonder and lips drawn into the smallest, most private smile.
“He did strike me as peculiar, Harry,” she muses after a while. “Contradictory. I wasn’t sure he
was actually going to go through with it.”
Zayn can’t help a smile, either. He’s been there with the spirit, too, questioning his motives, and by
now he’s developed a certain type of fondness for Harry which he holds very sacredly. It takes a
lot to trust a stranger who knows all of your heartbreaks and fears with neither of your consent by
one look at you, but Harry earned Zayn’s, and Zayn likes to think he’s earned Harry’s, too. Both of
them know what it’s like to not trust easily, and the fact that they both chose to do it anyway feels
important.
“He and Louis went through quite a time to get them,” Liam says, calling back Zayn’s conscience
to the present. “Ran away from the police and everything.”
Jesy’s eyes glint. “Now you have to bring them over here. I have to hear that story in person.”
When Zayn finally makes it, physically and emotionally, to the King and Queen’s castle—his
parents’ castle—two solid weeks have already passed since he officially became a Grimm resident.
It’s possible he’s been stalling a bit. He’s been living with Liam in the meantime, settling into a
new sort of everyday, and above all just gathering the strength and courage to actually visit King
Yaser and Queen Patricia, imagining facing them. Liam’s been wonderful the entire way through
(not that Zayn ever expected anything else), patient and kind as he’s shown Zayn around and
taught him everything he needs to know.
His hands are trembling just a little bit as he stands eye to eye with the stone-faced guard blocking
the entrance. The fact that he’s not getting any reaction at all from him is sort of more unnerving
than if the guard had been hostile—now Zayn doesn’t quite know where to start this whole thing at
all.
“Hello,” he manages to let out, squeakily, and immediately clears his throat. “My name is Zayn. I
have come to see my parents.”
At first, the guard raises a sceptical brow.
“I sincerely doubt you’re in the right place,” he says slowly. “This is the abode of king Yaser and
queen Patricia.”
Zayn swallows. He wishes his hands would stop shaking. He clenches the fabric of his gloves.
“I’m aware,” he insists. “I’m their son. I’ve found my way back from Earth.”
The sharp inhale the guard takes isn’t lost on Zayn, and the boy watches nervously as his eyes
narrow in suspicion.
“I’ve lived on Earth for eighteen years without a family,” Zayn rushes to clarify, the silence
threatening to stretch between them too unsettling for him to handle. “I had no idea Grimm was my
home until a couple of months ago—but I’m here now. And I want to see my family.”
The guard is quiet for a while, eyeing Zayn up and down and down and up, settling on observing
the features of Zayn’s face. Zayn doesn’t even breathe.
“You have her eyes,” he allows at last, and it sparks a shiver of hope down Zayn’s spine.
With that, he’s being let inside and guided through the bright, beautiful castle. As he watches the
rose gold furniture, the white, delicately painted walls, the heavy crystal chandeliers, he tries to
convince himself this is about to—if all goes well—be his home. This fairy-tale place is Zayn’s
home.
Queen Patricia’s currently in the tower, so it’s quite the walk. The amount of spiral staircases
makes Zayn’s breathing ragged and his forehead moist, and he briefly thinks that god, leave it to
him to meet a queen looking like he’s just been through a workout. Doing his very best to even out
the rise-and-fall of his chest and simultaneously keep up with the slightly too brisk pace of the
guard, he keeps walking until the halls narrow in both size and extravagance and at last, end all
together in a humble, slightly worn-out door.
His mom is going to be on the other side of that door. Zayn’s ears are burning and his heart is
flinging itself against his chest for a way out of it.
The guard opens. Zayn can’t feel his legs when he steps inside.
There’s, in fact, a woman in there, turned away from the two of them in favor of looking out
through the window. Zayn can’t tell what the view is from here because by now he’s so far up he
sees only blue skies when he glimpses out, but he can imagine it’s a wonderful one.
He’d like to draw up here sometime, he almost thinks before he stops himself reproachfully. He
can’t raise his hopes that high yet. The queen can still turn him away with a wave of her hand, and
that’ll be that.
(But god, how Zayn hopes with every nerve she won’t.)
“Your highness has a visitor,” the guard announces.
It goes, simply, like this:
The queen’s head turns, and Zayn looks into brown, warm eyes. Like his own.
Queen Patricia’s breath hitches audibly—her gaze fleets over Zayn’s features, probably also
marvelling over their similarities, the crook of Zayn’s mouth, the accentuated chin, the high
cheekbones. Zayn stares at her right back. She looks kind, this woman, softened by her age. She
looks like someone to have tea with, to look at stars with. She looks homely. She looks like a mom.
A whole motion picture of this woman reading bed-time stories or taking him on excursions or
showing him how to mix paint into new colors flash by before his eyes, a bundle of memories from
a lost childhood he never got to have but always so whole-heartedly yearned for. Zayn’s veins are
all tangled in knots by now.
“Hello,” he settles for at last. It comes out small and a little too frail, but the Queen doesn’t seem to
pay it any mind. Her face is glowing with astonishment, as if she can barely let herself believe what
she clearly wants to believe so badly.
“Hi,” she breathes. Then nothing more. Silence stretches like a continuously spun thread in the
space between them, neither knowing what to say, where to begin, how to proceed from here.
Because how does he proceed from here? You’re my mom, your highness? How does he express
anything at all without making it sound completely, ridiculously unbelievable? He should’ve
fucking rehearsed this before going here.
But as he looks into her eyes—their eyes, their eyes—and sees the marvel, the tentative awe
dancing around in her irises, the slight shine along her waterlines, Zayn thinks that maybe she
already gets it. Maybe she already believes—wants to, anyway—maybe she’s just waiting for him
to come out and confirm it for her.
“My name’s Zayn,” he introduces himself gently. “I’ve lived my whole life on Earth.”
“Hello, Zayn. I’m Patricia. What brings you to Grimm?”
“I’m from here—have you noticed my gloves?” Zayn holds his hands up.
“I have. They’re lovely gloves.”
“Aren’t they? Sif made them for me herself. Because I—well, as it turns out, I have golden hands.”
Queen Patricia’s small, broken gasp sounds like careful encouragement to Zayn’s ears, and when
she answers it’s evident she’s making an effort to keep her voice steady.
“I have golden hands, too.”
Zayn dares quirk the corners of his mouth upwards just the slightest.
“So I’ve heard. My friend—he’s a fairy—he told me the story of, um. Of Rumplestiltskin, a while
ago. And, well. It resonated with me, because I’ve lived my whole life as an orphan on Earth. But I
am from here, which must make my parents from here, right? And… And I have golden hands.
And there’s only one other person with golden hands in Grimm, isn’t there?”
He hopes it’s enough—it feels too much, to just burst out “I’m your son,” it’s too bold, too raw, like
if he speaks those exact words out loud he’ll implode or cry or vibrate at such a frequency he’ll
shake the floors of this entire castle.
Queen Patricia, cheeks going redder by the minute, says nothing. Slowly, so slowly, she takes
another step forward, rendering them so close Zayn can see the tired creases around her eyes, her
mouth, her forehead. She raises her hands to cup Zayn’s face, gentle like she’s holding glass, just
barely even touching his skin.
“You’re my boy,” she utters, voice barely above an exhale and quivering with so much pent-up
emotion that the hair on Zayn’s arms stand up. “My boy.”
And then she pulls him into her arms, and it’s a mother’s embrace in such overwhelming ways that
Zayn’s eyes water. It’s earnest, and safe, and firm in its hold but gentle in its nature, and she smells
like lilacs. Zayn wants for nothing more but be rid of his gloves so he can feel her skin, really feel
that she’s there, right in this moment, that this is something not even his most intense dreams could
make up. She trembles in his hold, and it takes him a few dishevelled seconds to realize that she’s
crying.
“I’d allow myself to dream, sometimes, about this,” she says when she pulls back, voice barely
louder than an exhale. “That you’d find your way back and you’d walk through our doors and just
be home.”
Zayn’s allowed himself to dream of that, too, throughout his life. Of a lovely little home and a
faceless image of the two people who brought him into this world, and a different string of time
where they kept him with them and raised him with love and pancake breakfasts and whatever
things ordinary children around him always got.
“Well,” he utters, and he notices his voice is wet, too. “I found my way back.”
There’s so much sunshine in his mom’s face. She brushes a strand of hair away from his forehead.
“You’ll have to tell us all about how you did that.”
“I will,” he promises whole-heartedly.
Oh, how he will. He’ll tell them about London, and the beach he’d sit by, and the time the ocean
washed up four strange creatures onto his shore that would later prove to be the most important
people Zayn’s ever met. He’ll tell them about Asgard, and he’ll tell them about the Forest, and
he’ll tell them about Liam—he’ll tell them all about Liam.
His dad is in a meeting right now, he finds out, but they descend from the tower anyway, to wait
for him in the dining hall. It’s another person he’s about to meet for the first time; but he’s still a
little too high on how well things are going that he can’t bring himself to be nervous about that just
yet. He has no doubts it’ll blossom as soon as he lays eyes on him, but for now he lets the soft,
golden feeling radiate from where queen Patricia—his mom—holds his hand steadily. He lets it
ground him.
He’s home, now. The rest will figure itself out.
Chapter End Notes
as always, you can talk to me on tumblr @tequiladimples xxx

epilogue ii; louis
Chapter Summary
The journey is over. Things resolve. Everyone heals eventually.
Chapter Notes
Time ticks on steadily. Louis still finds that comforting.
Autumn has approached the otherwise always sunny and green university area—Louis can feel it in
his bones. He’s not meant for the chillier months, and it’s prominent to him the way he’s gradually
growing a little more tired, a little heavier and slower, in his body and in his soul. He doesn’t see a
lot of winter, usually—by the time the winter assigned fairies start appearing with their slow
withdrawal of life from trees and lawns in Grimm, he’s tired and cold and ready to reside
permanently in the evergreen Forest and get his well-deserved time off. But he can’t really do that
here—the university has all four seasons, and Louis is to live here for another four years. He’s
going to have to learn to deal with it.
Still, it doesn’t really mesh well with his PTSD symptoms, this creeping sluggishness. A lot of the
time he feels like his progress is slowing down—maybe even coming to a halt, regressing, but his
therapist makes sure to always assure him otherwise, remind him of his victories.
Because there are plenty of victories—he used to refuse walking down in the basement, and he
used to have to close his eyes and cover his ears and breathe whenever he encountered another
fairy-like creature with their wings still intact, and he used to cry when someone brushed past his
side in the hallway. He used to feel like the only place he could truly, really breathe was where he
could see the open sky and feel the sun on him, and everywhere else was a prison cell. He doesn’t
feel like that anymore. His mood swings are better, too, his triggers aren’t as many, his nightmares
not as abusive, his concentration is better.
The moments of hopelessness are still tough—he thinks maybe he’ll never truly stop having those
dips, the ones where he feels utterly lost, stripped of himself. But people around him are good at
reminding him of what he does still have by now, make sure to underline his importance, his
progress, his everything, and he dares believe them a little bit more for every time they do.
(“My wings were what made me into me,” he mumbles one night with his eyes fixed on the
twinkling stars, Harry next to him in the damp grass.
“No,” Harry says. He doesn’t make Louis look at him; just scoots a little closer and takes Louis’
hand in-between both of his. He holds it against his chest. Louis breathes to the feeling of his
heartbeat. “You were what made your wings into your wings. They were lovely because they were
part of you. And you’re still here.”)
Louis is getting better. The weather won’t ruin that for him.
Besides, his new wings help a lot. He’s decorated them, to make them feel more like his—he’s tied
lavender and forget-me-nots and daisies to them in delicate patterns, and he’s quite proud of the
result if he says so himself. They feel more like him, now, more alive.
He hasn’t learned how to maneuver them fully yet, but he’s getting there. It’s something that keeps
him motivated, always, without fail—no matter how hard it is and how many new things he has to
take into consideration that his old wings just took care of on their own. The thought of flying
again never fails to keep his spirits up. Even if it’ll be a special occasions only thing. Even if it
won’t be easy as breathing anymore—or for a while, perhaps. He likes to think it’s going to keep
improving. He makes sure to keep in close contact with Camron about it, inquiring about
technique, and maintenance of the leather, and Camron is always more than enthusiastic to help.
It’s become sort of a passion project for the dwarf now, actually. He’s made himself a new leg by
now, too, hoping to be able to disgard the cane completely soon enough, and he’s told Louis about
his hopeful vision of maybe being able to specialize in the making of prosthetics once he
graduates; it’s a severely underdeveloped technique in magical worlds, and he’s adamant to make it
a more accessible option for creatures who need it as an alternative to magic. It’s wonderful to see
him, this little, humble, insecure being Louis grew familiar with in the beginning of the year, gain
such a clear sense of purpose. Perhaps Louis will be able to get a pair of wings more alike his old
ones, one day, too. But he doesn’t dwell on that possibility too much—doesn’t feel the need to,
anymore. He knows he’ll be fine no matter what happens, by now. He’s growing to know and love
the wings he has, memorizing every inch an crook and piece of them like the back of his hand, and
he’ll fly with them soon enough. He will.
Harry’s been helping Louis with it, too, just as persistently, early mornings and late nights several
times a week.
(It shouldn’t work because Louis gets frustrated with it a lot and when Louis gets frustrated he gets
snappy and when Louis gets snappy Harry gets annoyed and when Harry gets annoyed he snaps
back and when Harry snaps back Louis gets riled up and when Louis gets riled up he turns kind of
mean and when Louis turns kind of mean Harry turns hostile and by the time Harry turns hostile
the catastrophe is pretty much a fact and it always ends up with one of them storming off to sulk
for an undetermined amount of time. But that undetermined amount of time has become
impressively short lately, and they’ll come back, and they’ll say sorry. Louis will say sorry, and
Harry will say sorry, and they’ll talk or cuddle or kiss and then get back to working on Louis’
wings with more serenity and patience than before, and Louis can’t help but think that this is
probably pretty good for him, despite it all.)
It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Louis is getting there. In the meantime, he focuses on catching up
with school, and on reconnecting with Stan and Eleanor, and seeing his family as much as he can.
And Harry. He focuses a lot on Harry, too.
“Are you familiar with Nemesis?” Harry asks one day.
They’re in Harry’s room. The moon’s risen and calmly shining in through the window, casting a
soft light on their skin as they brush against each other’s—hands and limbs and cheeks and lips,
legs tangling because they want to be close and fingers wandering under shirts just to feel the
warmth. It’s gentle tonight, it’s sweet and slow and it makes Louis’ heart flutter as Harry presses a
kiss to his collarbone, his head resting in the crook of his neck and his curls tickling Louis’ jaw.
Only I get to see you like this, Louis thinks, for probably the hundredth time this week alone—he
can’t help it, whenever Harry lets Louis curl around him at night despite their size difference, or
Louis makes him laugh so hard he can’t breathe, or Harry makes grabby hands for Louis to come
hug him. The rest of the university, even now that he’s gotten rid of his gross crowd of miscreants,
may still quieten when he walks down the hall, and he may still maintain a slightly too aloof
attitude in class—but this here, this is a behavior he’s reserved especially for Louis. It gives Louis
a rush that tingles all the way out to the tip of his toes.
He’s a bit caught up in the haze of that when Harry starts speaking, too focused on how Harry’s
cheeks feel like rose petals when he touches them, so it takes him a moment to process that
something was, in fact, asked.
“Hm?” His hand stills, a little confounded. “Nemesis? I don’t think so. Why?”
Harry rolls off Louis’ arm to lie on his back next to him instead. Their sides stay flush, but Louis
still can’t help but let out a disgruntled noise. It makes the corner of Harry’s mouth pull upwards a
little before he gets back to talking.
“She’s, um. She’s the Greek goddess of retribution, if you will. Of fortune and misfortune.”
“Okay. What does that mean?”
“Well,” Harry ponders. “Say someone’s abusive towards a loved one. And then like a month or so
down the line, that same someone gets in a car accident, or loses a huge sum of money, or gets
fired from their job? That’d be Nemesis’ work. She makes sure the balance between fortune and
misfortune is just between people by punishing the ones who commit evil acts or gets lucky on the
expense of others.”
“Oh. So like, karma?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Louis hums in thought.
“Sounds like she works pretty close by Eris.”
“They’re sisters, actually.”
Louis’ forehead wrinkles instinctively. “Right. What about her?”
“Well.” Harry fidgets a little with Louis’ fingers to have somewhere to focus his gaze. “She offered
me a position with her. Someone to help her be in charge of the punishing factor.”
Louis shoots up in a sitting position, turning now to inspect Harry closely. The spirit just watches
him right back, awaiting Louis’ reaction.
“So… You’re going back to the Underworld?” Louis asks.
Harry nods sincerely, front teeth sinking into his lower lip, and about a hundred alarms go off in
Louis’ head at once but the spirit doesn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Louis swallows, brow furrowing impossibly. This can’t be real. He’s not actually going to do that,
is he? Surely Harry’s not going back to the place and fraternize with the same circles of people
who hurt them both as badly as they did. Surely this can’t be where it’s headed.
“Harry.”
“It’s not like I’ll be going back to Tartaros,” Harry insists then, sitting up, too, catching on to the
critical tone coating his name when Louis utters it. “I’ll never go back there, and I’ll never work
for Eris again—but Louis, I’m not an Olympian. I’ve spent a decent amount of time there by now
and it still doesn’t feel like a home—it’s like I’m on some sort of field trip to a place much bigger
and fancier than I am to put me in my place, and I don’t think that’s going to change. The people
are too holy and everything is too black or white, and like. Zeus has been accommodating, as have
his relatives and every god and goddess he’s introduced me to, but I get the feeling that while they
all respect me, none of them really like me. And I don’t think they want to, either.”
“That’s—Harry, I’m so sorry you feel that way, but surely there must be another solution to it than
for you to go back to hurting people?” Louis’ sure his disapproval can be detected from miles and
miles away.
“It’s not like that. What pained me about my origin assignment was having to inflict pain on
innocent people, purposefully help make their lives worse, but—this wouldn’t be like that. It’s
about avenging the innocent and maintaining balance. It’s dispensing justice.”
“Revenge and justice aren’t synonyms, Harry!”
“Bad people deserve to face repercussions!”
“What if your job won’t be to just punish bad people? What if you have to punish good people who
made a mistake or something? How are you to know exactly how they measure what deserves
good fortune and what doesn’t?”
“That’s the thing, Lou, I’d get to have a say in that. I’d be assisting Nemesis through the whole
process of determining, not just be sent off to do her dirty work.”
“You say that now, but I’m sure it’s going to be harder than that. What if you and Nemesis
disagree about a case? You’re bound to. And Nemesis can be as inclusive of you as she wants, but
she’s still the goddess here. What she says will go.”
It’s blatant that Harry’s upset by now. His jaw is clenched and his brow furrowed deeply as he
tries to figure out why Louis is so insistent on going against his plan. The tingling rush Louis was
feelings just moments before is wiped away, drained from his system, and he can’t even mourn it
properly through the growing anger vibrating in his bones now.
“Are you serious? I’ve finally found a way to live and work that I think aligns with my values, and
you’re dead set on ruining that for me?”
Louis just huffs and looks away. “I just don’t understand what the difference will be in the long
run.”
“Well, I was wrong to expect you to,” Harry snips. “It’s not like growing flowers is very ethically
complex, is it?”
And, huh.
It stings like Harry slapped him—Louis’ ears almost ring with it, and yeah, Harry could’ve been
way harsher, Louis has undoubtedly heard worse. But along with the severely bitter taste this
whole conversation’s already coating his mouth in, it hurts just that much more that Harry would
choose this moment to try and dismiss Louis’ opinions because of his work assignment—like
Louis’ scepticism is fucking unfounded on this subject, like Harry thinks he can pin this on naivety.
Louis hates how much it hurts him.
“Yeah.” He nods to himself before slowly giving Harry one last look of resignation. “There it is,
isn’t it?”
“Louis.” The navy-blue regret already dripping from Harry’s entire aura is agonizingly evident, but
Louis’ skin is itching with hurt too much to acknowledge it.
“Great,” he nods, voice so icy he swears Harry shudders, shaking his head and standing up to
leave. “What-the fuck-ever. Do what you want.”
“Louis, I didn’t—”
Louis doesn’t hear the rest because that’s the moment he opens Harry’s door and slams it shut after
him, storming down the hallway and back to his own dorm. He blinks away moisture from his eyes
the whole way there.
Louis doesn’t speak to Harry for the rest of that day. Or the next. Or the one after that.
It’s justified.
Some may say he overreacts—after all, Harry is right, isn’t he? To a degree. Louis’ and Harry’s
assignments are miles apart. Louis doesn’t and will never completely understand what that’s like,
to have something so grim as his purpose in life.
But Harry didn’t have to say it like that. He didn’t have to be mean about it. He didn’t have to
intentionally put Louis down when his concerns were valid. It’s a shitty thing to do, and Louis
deserves an apology. He does. And until then, he’s not talking to Harry.
(It’s not just that, though. The thought of Harry going back down there, working for Eris’ sister,
makes him break out in cold sweats and he can’t indulge in the mere concept for more than a
second without feeling faint. It’s that Harry out of the blue wants to go back down to the
Underworld, and it’s that it makes Louis’ stomach cramp, and it’s that Harry doesn’t seem to
realize that it does. Harry can’t go back down there. He can’t want to go back.)
If anything, not talking to Harry proves to be very favorable for his studies—these couple of days
that the spirit isn’t around to distract him at all times, Louis actually get quite a bit of work done.
He studies for Ecology, and for Greek History, and for Earthly Literature.
The last mentioned one is what’s currently occupying him. It’s a library kind of day, the time
reaching five in the afternoon by now, and Louis’ still engrossed in The Beautiful and Damned by
F. Scott Fitzgerald—they’re doing this huge essay where he’s meant to write about human values
as shown by classical literature, and since Louis isn’t always at his best mentally to study, he’s
fallen behind. That’s why he’s sitting like he is now, verging on frantic as he switches between the
several books laid out in front of him, reading brief paragraphs and skipping back and forth to
gather some sense of grip of the plot before putting it down again. He doesn’t actually have time to
read all these books before the essay’s due, not unless he wants to miserably fail every other class
he has, so this is the best it’s going to get for him.
(He’s a little fucked. Normally he’d just have Harry brief him on what he’d need to know about
each book, but with the current circumstances he’ll die before he asks Harry for help. He would
ask Stan, but he’s not really one for reading. Maybe he’ll ask Eleanor. Or Florian—he feels like the
reading type.)
He’s still stuck on the same book when someone slumps down in the chair opposite him.
Louis has a minor idea of who it is, so he doesn’t look up.
“Have you been here since lunch?” the person asks, and it’s Harry. Of course it’s Harry.
Louis’ jaw clenches immediately, and he just lets out a distant “mhm” without letting his eyes stray
from the page before him. He’s not going to make this easy for Harry. He can’t just wander back
when he’s tired of being ignored and try to act like nothing happened.
Harry seems to understand this too, and he doesn’t say much else for the coming minute, but Louis
can feel his pondering, green eyes on him still. Harry sneaks a peak on the cover of the book
Louis’ still determined to seem captivated by, and tries a half-hearted smile.
“Reading a book about me, Lou?” he asks lightly.
Louis doesn’t raise his gaze to him for even a second.
“No. I reckon this is the one about you,” he deadpans, reaching out to grab his copy of Moby-Dick
to whip it across the table for Harry to catch the title.
“Moby-Dick,” Harry reads. “What, because of the unsubtle homoeroticism? Or because I’m a d—
yeah, that’s fair.”
“Yeah. Also because Moby-Dick’s the nemesis of the captain.”
“Naturally. Are you the captain?”
“Yeah,” Louis nods, still refusing to look up at his boyfriend. “Moby-Dick’s also a whale.”
“You calling me ugly, babe?”
Louis huffs. “No. Whales are beautiful and magnificent creatures. But the captain was hurt by one,
and so he’s angry with it despite its appeal. Rightfully.”
“Right.” Harry nods in tiny motions, and Louis flips the page of his book. Silence fills the space
again, and for a while Louis thinks Harry’s contemplating giving up and leaving him alone. Louis
doesn’t know if that would make him feel triumphant or even more hurt.
Regardless, he tells himself it’s not his problem. Louis’ angry with Harry despite his appeal.
Rightfully. And what Harry does or doesn’t do up until the point he’s made it up to Louis is none
of Louis’ concern. So he keeps reading, stopping once or twice to scribble in his notebook and
trying to ignore the pair of intent eyes staring him down.
“There’s a book missing here,” Harry says suddenly.
And then he’s up and out of the chair, striding away from the table and further into the library,
behind a bookshelf. Louis’ gaze flickers up for a brief moment, to see that Harry’s headed to the
Ancient Greek section. A small crease deepens between his eyebrows as he tries to catch a glimpse
of what exactly Harry’s doing back there. What does he mean there’s a book missing? Is he trying
to get into Louis’ good graces again by finding flaws in his work? If he thinks that’s going to work,
Louis might need to consider seriously breaking up with him because he can’t know Louis at all,
then.
It doesn’t take Harry too long to find what he’s looking for, and soon enough he’s slouching back
into a chair, this time next to Louis. Carefully, he angles the book in Louis direction and pushes it
across the table. Louis’ eyes fleet over to it as casually as he can.
The Apology, the title reads. Louis’ eyelids flutter and he lets out a small sigh.
“Who’s Plato?” he asks breezily, trying to stay unaffected.
“Greek philosopher. Difficult dude. But that’s not important.” Harry’s nails hammer uncertainly
against the wood of the table. “Louis, I didn’t mean what I said. It was hurtful and wrong, and I
was extremely unfair to you. I think you’re amazing. I think your job is amazing, and admirable,
and important, and one of the most wondrous things I’ve ever seen. You know that.”
“I know you didn’t mean it,” Louis speaks lowly, eyes still on his book. The words on the page
look like mindless clutter. “That makes it worse. You just said it to undermine me.”
Harry sighs, hanging his head for a minute before replying.
“I don’t have any excuses for that—”
“Correct.”
“It stressed me out that you were so negative and it just came out.”
“Yeah, well, it really stresses me out that you’re so positive towards working for Eris’ sister, but
you don’t see me trying to put you down personally for that, do you?”
Louis has to wait for Harry’s answer because the spirit first has to inhale and exhale, slowly, as to
remind himself not to get worked up again. Harry’s clearly not here to fight, no matter how
difficult Louis is choosing to be. Louis has a right to be difficult, he thinks.
But as if on cue, Harry starts speaking again.
“Do you know why I’m here right now?”
“Been wondering since you showed up, actually.”
“I wasn’t going to be, you know.” Harry leans over the table. “I was dead set on being angry with
you—because I was hurt, too, Louis, don’t think I wasn’t. But as I replayed the argument in my
mind, I realized there was something I was missing to take into account about your reaction.”
Louis merely quirks an eyebrow with just enough hostility. Harry tilts his head, something
indefinable but tinted in blue making its way into his gaze.
“You were scared,” he states softly.
The way Louis involuntarily stiffens must be answer enough for Harry, who dares letting a small
smile tug on his lips. It’s not a happy one by any means—just an understanding one, and it’s
frustrating. Sometimes Louis doesn’t want to be understood. He wants to frustrate Harry as much
as Harry frustrates him right now.
“What makes you say that?” he asks through his teeth.

“It’s radiating off of you, even now. It runs steadier than something hurting your pride.”
God. Honestly, the way Harry keeps his powers so lowkey nowadays makes Louis forget that he
can do that—just feel whatever hardships anyone else’s feeling—and Louis decides he hates this.
He’s too put on the spot and he hates this. Harry just sits right where he is, looking at him with
those stupid, stupid eyes.
“You were scared, and that’s understandable. You have the right to be. And I should’ve realized
that sooner before I got defensive,” he finishes.
He’s not allowed to be soft right now. Louis really doesn’t want Harry to be soft when he’s trying
to be mad—but Harry came here to make peace and it’s evident he’s sticking to that plan, no
matter how much Louis wishes he would just yell a little so Louis could yell back.
“I just really don’t like the thought of you down there,” he finally says, and his voice sounds
embarrassingly frail.
“They’re not the same person, Louis.” Harry watches him serenely and it’s clear he’s choosing his
words with care. “I wish you’d stop thinking about it that way. Nemesis is in the Olympian gods’
good graces. She works closely with Tyche, the goddess of good fortune. Her work is about
balance—like you said yourself, remember? You’re the one who suggested I’d try working with
justice, and I truly, honestly believe this is it. Besides, Nemesis punishes bad behaviour, and Eris is
bad behaviour, so I don’t know about you, but I’d say they’re actually very opposing forces.”
Louis swallows, a bit of his hostility against his will slowly but surely leaving him. Harry just
scoots closer, hands folded in his lap in a manner that could be read as insecure, but his gaze is set
firmly on Louis’.
“You know I value your opinion more than anything and your support would mean a lot to me, but
fact is, I’m doing this whether you like it or not. No matter how much I wish this specific set of
powers weren’t mine, they are. No matter how grim it is, it’s what I was created to do and what’s
designed to give me a sense of purpose, and this job is the first thing I’ve ever found that really
feels—well, purposeful, to me. Somewhere I can put my powers to as good use as I’ll probably
ever be able to. It gives me hope that maybe my core identity isn’t going to have to feel like a
useless defect or a curse for the rest of my existence. And that’s—god, that’s such a relief, Louis.
It’s been weighing me down and it doesn’t anymore. I feel good about this.”
It’s so earnest and Louis hates how he can’t stay unaffected. He doesn’t actually want to fight
anymore, really—his days are incredibly boring without Harry around to annoy him, and, well.
Harry did do a lot better with explaining his point of view this time around. So Louis doesn’t have
much of a choice except to tell him so.
“You should’ve opened with that the first time,” he mutters. He drops his gaze to his lap and keeps
it there. It’s quiet for a while then as Louis doesn’t elaborate and Harry waits patiently for him to,
and the spirit takes this chance to carefully reach his hand out and trace it along Louis’ own, fit his
fingers in the spaces between Louis’ effortlessly and comfortingly. It’s sweet, and Louis’ traitorous
heart wobbles in his chest.
“I won’t be able to visit you,” he continues to their intertwined hands. “When you live down there,
I can’t go. Even if it’s not Tartaros. I don’t think I’ll be able to go there for a very long time.”
“That’s okay.” Harry’s voice and hands are as soft as each other. “I’ll visit you. I’ll visit you so
much you’ll grow tired of me and try to send me home and your mother has to intervene and force
you to let me stay because she loves me so much.”
Louis can’t help but snort, and a hopeful glint sparks in Harry’s eyes for a palpable second.
“She tolerates you.”
“No. No, I’m pretty sure she loves me. Or else she wouldn’t tell me so many embarrassing stories
about you as a child.”
“She hasn’t.”
“How old were you again when you trapped your sister in a cage of sunflower stalks so you
wouldn’t lose her while babysitting? Nine?”
A gasp leaves Louis’ lips and he nails Harry with a scandalized stare.
“When did she tell you that?”
Harry grins and flutters his eyelids innocently. “When I very charmingly helped her clean up after
dinner last time we visited.”
“Actually, I don’t think you can put your foot in the Forest anymore.”
“I absolutely can.”
“No. You just uninvited yourself for the rest of eternity.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“No, you did. It’s settled.”
“Well, that’s a dilemma, then, isn’t it?”
“Don’t look at me like that. You put yourself in this situation.”
Harry’s eyes twinkle like a constellation of stars, and no, Louis isn’t mad anymore. When silence
falls between them this time, it’s not stiff or loaded, and Louis’ shoulders are loose and relaxed for
what feels like the first time in three days. So he squeezes Harry’s hands back, exhaling gently.
“I want you to be happy,” he says. “I always want that, and I never meant for it to mean like I
don’t. If you’re sure about this, I’ll trust you. But next time, I suggest you try to persuade me
without purposely making me feel bad.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Louis knows Harry means it.
So, he adjusts his chair so he can put his feet into Harry’s lap, resting them there unapologetically
as he picks up another book from the table to start flipping through, and that’s that on that. Harry
quirks an eyebrow at his sudden lapful, but doesn’t do anything to remove them.
“One day,” he muses, “one day you’ll start wearing socks.”
“I’ll have to die first. Now, what do you know about Jane Austen?”
Harry just hums, hand reaching down to lightly tickle Louis’ bare heel, and the fairy yelps,
immediately kicking forward to remove Harry’s arm as far away from him as possible. He earns a
gasp and a wide-eyed look.
“You kicked me!” Harry exclaims.

“Teach me about Pride and Prejudice!”
“You need no one to teach you about either of those things.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
Harry pushes Louis’ feet down and pulls him in for a kiss.
Harry tells Louis he loves him on a Monday afternoon.
It’s funny, because Louis’ been a little shit, quite frankly, all day. He’s just in one of those moods,
the ones where he must push, and pull, and tease, and test the limits of everyone around him—not
maliciously; just in a way that happens to make most people in his surroundings annoyed enough to
want him impaled. Thus far, both Eleanor and Stan have cracked in one way or another, either by
just promptly leaving their study session when he kicked the table to disrupt their writing one time
too many (Eleanor), or by simply pulling Louis along to Harry’s door, knocking, and throwing him
inside as soon as Harry opened with a swift “please deal with him” (Stan).
Some friends he has, honestly.
But he doesn’t mind spending time with Harry. He likes Harry, so, so much, so he’s fine. Even
when Harry chooses to focus on schoolwork rather than Louis himself.
Currently, they’ve both got their books spread out around them on the bed, and Louis’ disregarding
them all in favor of flicking Harry on his forearm repeatedly. The spirit is trying his absolute best
to ignore it, Louis can tell, because his eyes are glued stubbornly to his notebook but he’s not doing
any work. It’s slowly turning into a competition, to Louis, because he wants attention and Harry’s
not giving it to him and it just won’t do.
When Harry still won’t react, Louis slowly moves his fingers to flick along his arm to his shoulder,
up to his neck, once on his ear for good measure—that one does make Harry flinch, actually, so
small victories—until he reaches the warm brown curls on his head.
Normally, Harry loves it when Louis plays with his hair—which is extremely convenient because
Louis loves playing with it—but now Louis makes sure to grip just a little too hard, slowly but
thoroughly braiding strands of hair together and pulling Harry’s head to the side in small twitches.
Finally, finally, Harry lets out a rumbling sigh, loaded with prickly irritation—still with his eyes on
his schoolwork, though, because he’s so stubborn it even impresses Louis sometimes—and says;
“Louis, I love you, but if you keep this up I’m going to have to commit homicide.”
Louis’ fingers freeze immediately against Harry’s scalp.
“Lou?”
When Harry doesn’t get any response on his statement, he turns (about damn time) to face Louis,
brow slowly furrowing. The absolutely blank state Louis’ mind is suddenly in must be clearly
displayed on his face, because even though his skin is slowly starting to tingle with affection,
Harry’s looking more and more alarmed by the second.
“I didn’t, like, mean that literally or anything—please tell me you know I wouldn’t actually kill
you because if you don’t we’re having some serious issues as a couple.”
Of course Louis knows that, and if this were under other circumstances he’d tell Harry so, but. His
mind is a bit too full, too cluttered and wispy, suddenly, and he has a hard time remembering
anything that’s not the fact that Harry just told him he loves him.
“What did you say just now?” he asks on a soft exhale.
The way Harry’s eyes narrow and he shakes his head in confusion tells Louis loud and clear that he
hasn’t even realized he said anything out of the ordinary—it makes Louis’ heart flutter all the
more, that it’s something Harry apparently feels so naturally that he didn’t even realize he said it.
Like loving Louis is something as clear as a blue sky.
“Think back on it, then,” he urges.
Louis can pinpoint the exact moment it dawns upon Harry, his lowered brow loosening up and his
jaw dropping just slightly. A handful of emotions fleet across his face, replacing each other quicker
than they arrive—there’s panic, and then uncertainty, there’s bargaining, and determination, and
tentativeness, and there’s forced confidence when his eyes finally meet Louis’ again.
“I said, I love you.”
There’s forced confidence, yes, but there’s nothing forced about how deliberate he is about saying
it again, the slight purse of his mouth, the tiny waver of his voice, and god, he makes Louis so
happy. He makes Louis so, so happy.
He doesn’t even realize just how long it’s quiet and just how badly Harry’s probably wanting a
reply to the lovely, wonderful, breath-taking thing he’s just uttered, but too much time’s evidently
passing because the small, hopeful spark in Harry’s eyes is slowly burning out and his face falls a
tad more every microsecond. It doesn’t take long before his entire frame starts to shrink in
rejection.
Louis’ conscience is tugged back down to his body, then, because that will not do. Harry is not
allowed to ever think he’s being rejected.
“But, um, that's not like...” Harry starts backtracking before Louis has the chance to say anything.
“I mean, it's okay if you don't feel that. It's whatever. I’m fine with anything. What the hell do I
know about this stuff anyway, who am I to talk—”
“Harry?”
Harry grimaces towards his hands.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
The spirit obliges, biting down on his rose-colored lip and keeps his eyes steadily away from
Louis’ own. His shoulders are rising and falling with shaky breaths, and Louis feels like he holds
entire universes in his lungs, like he has landscapes and cities expanding his veins and nearly
bursting them with how much undisguised awe and adoration he’s feeling for the boy in front of
him in this very second.
Slowly, he nudges as close as he can to Harry. He brings both his hands up to press them against
Harry’s cheeks and turn his face to the side until the spirit has no choice but to look at him.
Silence, for just a moment, Harry seemingly not breathing at all. He must be able to detect the
giddy joy Louis’ radiating, though, because the embarrassed fright slowly melts into something
more wide-eyed, more encouraged. Louis lets his face break out into a beam, pressing his palms
just a little tighter against Harry’s face.
“Do you really think there’s a risk I don’t love you back?” He asks lowly, but brightly. “Do you?”
And it’s like turning on a tap, how the air starts seeping out of Harry’s mouth again, quietly and
slowly, but nevertheless in relief, and the spirit bites the inside of his cheek faintly.
“Well. I’ve learned that there’s no way I could ever take your reaction to anything for granted, so.”
Ridiculous. This boy is ridiculous. He’s absolutely absurd in the loveliest way and Louis is so
stupidly enamoured with him.
“This one you could,” he murmurs, smile turning into something soft and astounded.
Something seems to unlock then in Harry, as he empties his lungs of all the air he’s been holding
in, and he turns his whole body around to let his head just sink down into his pillow and his eyes
stare up at the ceiling. Louis follows his movement, not taking his hands away from where they’re
cupping his face even once, settling with one knee on either side of Harry’s hips.
“You made me wait so long there,” Harry exclaims, and he sounds in pain but there’s breathless
laughter bubbling out of him and softening every syllable. “That was the meanest thing you’ve
ever done. Oh my god, Louis, I thought I was going to die.”
Louis can’t help but join him, small giggles escaping from his still a little too stuffed throat, and his
fingers run along Harry’s high cheekbones and down his sharp jaw and over his seemingly
endlessly deepening dimples—feeling, looking, marvelling.
“Since the Forest,” he says lightly, hands not stilling for even a moment.
“What?” Harry’s eyelids are fluttering beautifully from the touch, all of him melting into it. If he
were a cat, he’d purr, and it delights Louis to no end. His boyfriend is the gentlest creature alive
and no one knows it but him.
“The first time we visited the Forest,” he clarifies. His thumbs stop to rest tenderly at each corner
of Harry’s mouth. “And you woke me up in the crack of dawn in a frenzy to apologize for being a
dick months prior. Since then I’ve loved you.”
It takes a second or two or three for that to sink in, but when it does, Harry’s already dazed smile
grows into an undisguised grin that pushes Louis’ thumbs apart, nudging them closer to the
deepening craters in his cheeks. Louis has to kiss him.
So he does, and it’s difficult because they’re smiling so wide so there’s a little too much teeth, but
it’s wonderful. And in this moment, his heart is full and things are dappled pink and so, so okay.
(Harry’s heart heals, too. He told Louis he loves him, despite having been punished the first time
he tried to take those words into his mouth. He told Louis he loves him, and he felt it so truly he
didn’t even realize when his subconscious finally pulled the words from where he’d buried them so
deep within him. He told Louis he loves him, and Louis gives so much love back in return, and
Harry’s heart heals. He won’t be scared of it again.)
~
The first snow is on its way—not yet fallen, but the crispness in the air and the way Louis’ nose is
red and a little stingy makes it evident. The sun is steadily setting over the grand buildings of the
university, and the auburn of falling leaves bask in the golden rays when they tumble down, one by
one.
Louis is on the roof of the hospital building. Harry’s opposite him, helping him to adjust the straps
of his wings. The wind softly pulls at the skin of Louis’ bare hands, making them quiver just the
slightest. He’s not sure how much of it’s coming from genuine cold and how much is nerves.
“Is that good?” Harry asks when he’s tightened one strap—Louis could do this on his own, really,
but it’s calming to have Harry close like this, skin always warm and chest rising methodically.
Louis nods.
“That too?” The other side adjusted. Louis nods again. “Are you okay? Not too cold?”
A shake of his head.
“Do you need an extra sweater? Or a pair of gloves? Your hands look cold—”
“Harry. Is it you or me flinging off this rooftop tonight?” Louis can’t help but smirk teasingly.
“It’s you. Which is why I’m allowed to be a bit on edge.”
“Do you have no faith in me?”
“I do!”
Harry inhales and exhales deeply, taking both of Louis’ hands in his to warm them.
“I just don’t want you to be cold,” he tries. “It might mess with your concentration.”
It earns him an eyeroll, but it does touch Louis that Harry’s this jittery.
Not that it’s necessary. Louis feels safe. He feels sure. He can do this, now. He’s worked towards
this for months, steadily and patiently enough to earn him some form of goddamn award, fleeting
inches above the ground or practicing how to land or how to start hovering with wings so much
bigger than what he’s used to—Harry’s been of good help with that part—and he’s just done
waiting. He knows these wings now. He knows them, respects them, has learned their limits and
their strengths. This is going to work.
When Harry’s done tightening the other strap, too—his hands linger gently by Louis’ collarbones,
thumbing along the collar of his sweater, so it takes a little longer than it should—he finally backs
away, leaving Louis to adjust to the wings, steady himself, breathe a bit. He walks up to the edge of
the roof, looking down, and then looking forward to the tree he’s supposed to take himself to.
It has to work. It has to work.
Harry watches him, head tilted and lower lip halfway sucked in between his teeth, and when Louis
meets his gaze again he take a deep breath, too.
“I’ll be with you, yeah?”
Louis nods one last time, giving Harry a reassuring smile. Harry reciprocates it, if a little shakily,
before he’s gone.
All that’s left for Louis to do, is to concentrate and then throw himself into it. He closes his eyes
for a minute, breathes again, slowly, in and out, focusing on the feeling of his ribcage expanding.
His muscles flexing and relaxing.
It’s just to the tree. No more than ten feet, surely. He’s flown that distance with these wings before.
Just not at this height.
Relax, baby.
Louis shakes his shoulders loose. He knows Harry’s there to catch him if he fails, and if he fails,
he’ll try again.
It just has to work—he repeats it in his head again and again, a steady mantra by now. He’s so
close now it has to work.
Slowly, slowly, he backs a few steps. His bare feet barely make any noise against the sturdy clay
tiles on the roof, as if he weighs nothing. Which, that is sort of the goal, after all, so Louis finds
comfort in the silence.
Calmly, he counts in his head. One.
He folds out his wings, gripping on tight to the handles at the tip.
Two.
He sets his stare sturdily on the few top branches of the oak in front of him.
Three.
A skipping step, and another one, and another one—and then his body flings into the evening air.
It’s cold, stinging Louis’ skin a little harsher than usual, but he stays in the air. Consistently, he
floats above the lawn, and he feels like his heart should be weighing him down with how violently
it’s pounding against his ribcage, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t, and he stays in the air until he reaches
the oak.
With hitching breath, he folds the wings down to avoid any branches or twigs damaging them and
then flings his arms around the thick, sturdy stem to regain his balance. For seconds, he just
breathes against the rough bark, waiting for the adrenaline to ebb out enough for him to process his
position. It smells like rain and soil and cold, and it’s calming him down.
You okay, Lou? comes Harry’s voice. Louis just nods first, heart fluttering, and then he laughs a
little.
“Yeah,” he breathes. His mouth stretches into a giddy grin, because he has to. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
He’s okay. He flew here. He flew by the treetops.
In his peripheral, he can glimpse Harry carefully coming back into concreteness, sitting down on a
branch next to the one Louis’ on, cheeks flushed and eyes big. Louis’s mind is too focused on what
he just did to be able to comprehend it properly, even as the spirit starts moving closer.
He flew. He flew. He flew.
“Louis—” Harry starts, sounding a bit choked up.
But Harry goes ignored as Louis already rushes past him on his branch, barely even having stopped
for five seconds before he’s going for it again, setting course across the lawn to the hospital
building, and jumps into the air—he cuts through it with a peculiar gentleness, just as he
remembers, and he can’t help the hitched but loud and unadulterated laughter that rips from his
lungs. The ground is so far beneath him and it feels like home, like him, like it’s right.
It feels effortless. So he lets go of principles and theory and lessons, and steers where his emotion
takes him. He flies to the hospital building and then he flies above it and then he flies behind it,
until the horizon is clear and untouched and the last rim of the setting sun basks him in an apricot
glow. When he looks above, the sky’s fading into a dark purple like a blooming bruise, and he can
spot the first couple of stars twinkling tenderly at him. He sets off towards them.
He can do that now.
You’re fucking amazing, comes Harry’s voice into his head, and it vibrates through Louis’ entire
system, tickles in his fingertips and shakes his stomach in the loveliest of ways.
He goes higher. And higher. And higher.
It’s all been leading up to this, he feels. The late nights and the early mornings, the tearful sessions
in therapy, the fighting with Harry and the love and affection with Harry, his family’s horrified
looks when they saw his back bare the first time, Eleanor and Stan’s tentative road to learning how
to approach the subject until Louis felt alright with talking about it, once again reminding him of
how large his support system is—the endless frustrations, and the panic, and the everything. All
the times Louis would lie in his bed and stare up at the ceiling and feel heavy with defeat led up to
this. Everything led up to this.
It feels like a new chapter, at last. Like the clear, undeniable shift he’s been waiting so long for,
and it’s like he’s not been quite able to breathe the whole time since he came back from Tartaros
until now, until the cold air pulls at his hair and the quad of the university looks like it could fit
between his thumb and index finger and Harry’s presence is a breeze prickling Louis’ skin with
goosebumps and he might as well weigh as much as a flicker of dust.
Louis has spent too long confined to the earth, wishing and longing and yearning for nothing more
but the open air. Now, he feels as though he could probably reach out towards the stars and pick
every single one off the sky and let them rest in the palms of his cold hands. Nothing confines him
anymore.
He keeps flying.
Chapter End Notes
and that's.... that's that.
(((defense speech of the decision to not give louis back his og wings despite popular
demand coming shortly. i’m sorry i love u)))
i hope your minds are somewhat at peace. my 5yo baby just officially left the nest so
i'll be processing that. once again, i cannot thank you enough for sticking with me,
whether you just read all of this, or whether you've been here for years and years
(which. if u have. i literally owe u everything i own. you have my devotion until
forever). thank you for your kudos and comments (if you've written an especially long
comment on this fic, know i've seriously and severely contemplated printing it and
putting it on my wall. i read them EVERY day) and encouragements and asks and
messages and fic recs. all of it is overwhelming and i'm sending you SO many hugs
and kisses <3333
you're my dear, dear favorite people. i'm on tumblr @tequiladimples should you want
to talk/ask/yell about anything at all. i'll love u unconditionally.
(EDIT: and if you’re not horribly tired of these boys and me yet. click on to read the
new drabble series <3)
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Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/3705365.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be

so this is a thing that i've been working on.

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to

See the end of the chapter for notes

Louis nods. His mother confirms his thoughts.

His mother is quiet for a moment, before she replies.

“There is one way.”

“Oh, please tell me! How? Where? Could I…?”

Many, in Louis opinion, are fools.

His mother laughs and ruffles his hair.

Chapter End Notes

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to

See the end of the chapter for notes

And Louis is completely in love.

He’s done waiting now.

He’s getting off topic.

Louis’ roommate is a faun. Louis is almost blacking out with relief.

This earns a little laugh to tumble from Stan’s mouth.

Louis thinks that’s admirable.

“I have wings, silly. Nothing will happen.”

“So what time is it?”

“I didn’t think fauns wore human clothes.”

Louis’ hand flies up to his mouth immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Louis tries again when she doesn’t answer.

“Great. I. Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Hey, should we go get seats?”

“Oh. I’m Ourania’s daughter. You know, the muse?”

“The muse of astronomy?” Louis clarifies, jaw going slack.

Eleanor laughs a little. “Yeah, that would be her.”

“Wow. I mean. Wow. That’s big.”

Yes. She gets it. Louis' keeping her.

“The strength and importance of marriage,” Eleanor answers simply.

Eleanor snorts and shakes her head, though, so he might be wrong.

“…No?” Louis bites his lip. “I don’t—aren’t they?”

“You’re alright, Louis. I’ll see you around, right?”

“What?” he pushes, trying to hold back a bit of his eagerness.

“Why is he bad, though?” Louis asks.

“I should ask him myself.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“Great. I’ll say hi from you.”

This is a good idea. It absolutely is.

Chapter End Notes

okay so this is the first real chapter!! yayy!!

(also friendly reminder that my tumblr is a-bit-extraordilarry and interaction with

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to

See the end of the chapter for notes

Okay, so maybe Louis hasn’t thought this through properly.

Louis cringes at the thought.

Is that a thing you can do? Would that be acceptable?

Louis doesn’t know.

It’s like ripping off a band aid, he thinks.

“Yes, it is,” Louis replies firmly. “I really need to do this, actually.”

Now. Which one is Harry?

Except that they’re gorgeous, apparently.

It doesn’t exactly go as planned.

No. No, no, no—

“So I take it you found him, then?”

Louis winces in surprise, turning his wide eyes to the faun.

“Oh.” Stan nods excessively. “I see.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Stan disregards. “Really though, what happened?”

“Okay, so… Why the fleeing?” Stan’s brow is furrowed.

“Oh, man. Oh my god. I am so sorry.”