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Chapter Text

The unlawful homicide of at least two people carried out by the same person or persons in separate events occurring at different times.

The Encyclopedia Britannica defines “serial murder” as such.

The act or an instance of killing a number of usually helpless or unresisting human beings under circumstances of atrocity or cruelty.

Says Merriam-Webster of the word “massacre.”

However, there exists another word in the English language– Limerence.

This word, heavy within its meaning, nine-lettered, a word seemingly perfectly curated to be written in cursive– ripe with opportunity for fluid connectivity between each serif and curl. This word, though not within any list of synonyms you could find for the previous two, can still be found in a venn diagram containing the others. This word, this delicate, soft word, deceptive in how it portrays what it entails.

Collins Dictionary defines Limerence thusly:

A state of mind resulting from romantic attraction, characterized by feelings of euphoria, the desire to have one’s feelings reciprocated.

Other words associated with the term limerence include, but are not limited to, infatuation, obsession, intrusive thoughts– an overwhelming desire for another being, and the emotional dependency on their actions, regardless if the subject is aware of the affected’s feelings.

In a word, Harry Styles could only describe this condition as one thing.

Love.

Limerence and Love found themselves coiled within the twisted psyche of the man, intertwined with Massacre , Serial Murder , and Cruelty , among others .

Let it be no mistake– Harry was no stranger to such a diagnosis, and he knew the doctors hadn’t been misinformed, nor poorly educated. In all honesty, he was surprised it took this long for it to be determined, moreover surprised that all this time he’d only been evaluated to have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and no one had seemed to bother with delving further into his actions and state of mind to find the driving factor. He supposed the federally funded prison psychologists were right to have a better overview and knowledge of such afflictions, being that their job was deemed a necessity to rehabilitate those burdened with mental causes for their own horrific actions.

No, you see, Harry understood why they’d determined this word to describe his mental state. He understood what they meant when they’d use words like addictive , endangering , and, above all far more common than any other term used– obsessed . He respected the doctors, admired them, even.

Even the guards who refused to look him in the eye and burned holes in his back with their gaze when they thought he couldn’t tell, who acted with cruelty on such levels towards him that only further indicated their fear of him, Harry understood. He imagined most of them had worked a long career in prison security only having as much excitement as a few brawls and riots, but never had been presented with the task of guarding the most prolific serial killer England had seen in decades.

Or so Harry heard, from the once-daily hour he was allowed into the common room to listen to the radio, or read newspapers.

The Rose Killer , they were still calling him. A name he himself knew he couldn’t have come up with anything better than to describe his actions if he’d even wanted to. The name had been coined by the Telegraph from the horrific revelation of what the rose garden behind his nan’s cottage had contained below.

Bodies. Dozens of them. Young, old, poor, rich– he never discriminated. All were soil in the end, as death became food for new life, and roses bloomed from the mounds below. All in all, they’d confirmed twenty-three bodies to his name. The majority of which were unidentified drifters and transients, sex workers and drug addicts– those the world deemed of lower significance and had already forgotten before they’d even died.

That accounted for nineteen of the bodies, at least. The others… they were special.

Not quite as special as his Louis, his beloved, sweet Louis– no one could ever replace or even think to replicate a fraction of his beauty, his charm, his kindness and wit and resilience. No, the other four were special, but they weren’t him.

Jamie. Mason. Alexander. Lucas.

Inconsequential names that Harry often found himself struggling to recall. Not for lack of memory, but rather– he didn’t call them that while he had them.

Each had been a lesson, an experiment of sorts, all in the name of practicing for when he’d finally been united with his true love, his real prize. They’d all been other iterations of Louis , or so he referred to them. It always went the same– each boy thought he was clever to repeatedly tell him their name wasn’t Louis, that they had a family, friends, a life to return to.

But eventually, each time, the fighting turned to begging, the begging to pleading, the pleading to submission. And even when he managed to successfully break each boy after months of tireless work, it still left him feeling hollow, empty.

Because they weren’t him.

So imagine, if you will, the euphoric joy Harry felt within himself upon finally, finally bringing his baby home– only for the boy to fail him just as well, to betray him on levels he could have never imagined. He could forgive Louis, and he did, he truly couldn’t blame the boy for his confused reaction and lashing out in fear.

For Harry hadn’t had enough time.

The plan had been perfect. The villa in Italy purchased and fitted with all the necessary equipment and supplies, rows of vegetation in the garden to sustain them indefinitely, a small herd of livestock and a clean, natural well. It was paradise, and it had been ripped from Harry’s hands with cruelty, all in the name of returning his love to a vacant, gray life. He’d only wanted to make Louis happy. He’d only wanted to save him.

So no, Harry didn’t hate the doctors, didn’t hate the prison guards, not even the judge who’d sentenced him or the prosecution who’d taunted him.

Whom he truly despised in all of this, was still Liam fucking Payne.

Liam God-damned Payne, who, after everything, still got his beloved Louis in the end of all of this. The puppy-eyed jock with a heart too big for his own good, who barely managed to graduate in the midst of everything, who somehow, some fucking how , got away with it in the end, despite all of Harry’s efforts.

He’d learned– he had his sources– that Louis was now living with the man, recovering in his care, as the doctors thought it’d be easier for him in a new place than his childhood home, which was already full of ghosts. It was unclear what his intentions were, whether they were back together, simply friends, or still struggling to reconnect, but Harry was no fool. He knew it was only a matter of time before Liam laid his filthy hands upon what belonged to him rightfully.

He could picture it now– the image of Louis, his Louis, in what Harry could only imagine must have been some run-down flat Liam managed to acquire after school, sitting in the windowsill with not much of a view save for cobblestone walls and gray skies. His delicate fingers wrapped around a mug of tea, an ill-fitting sweatshirt draped over him, loose boxers where soft lace should be underneath his joggers. He’d look weak, soft.

Harry detested such an image.

Louis was not weak, not some fragile thing that needed to be wrapped and coddled– Harry had seen the fire in him, the resilience that made every other boy collapse in just weeks, but made Louis fight, and fight, and fight . That was what made him perfect. That was what made him worth everything. And now, Liam had the audacity to treat him like some broken thing that needed tending, like Harry hadn’t already proven just how strong Louis was when tested.

Like Harry hadn’t already proven how much Louis needed him.

He could almost smell the garden when he closed his eyes. The soft florals of roses, the breeze in the air, the slight tinge of copper and something sour from the blood that soaked the soil below. Louis had only gotten a taste of their utopia in that garden, only a glimpse of everything Harry wanted to give him. He spent every day in his cell mourning what had been stolen from him, the life that he so rightfully deserved after everything he’d been through to get it.

It was wrong. It was unjust. And on the one-thousand-and-thirty-fifth day, Harry had come to a conclusion–

Louis was his . And no one was going to get between them ever again.

~*~

“And so I just asked her, no plan, no big elaborate thing, I just asked her !’ Niall said with a wide grin, wrapping his arm around Amelia’s shoulder.

“And I’d be an idiot if I said no,” Amelia smiled back, proudly showcasing the ring on her manicured hand.

“Wow,” Louis breathed, a fond smile curling on his lips as he looked between the two of them. “Who’d have thought it, huh? Three years ago this twat was a helpless bachelor eating day-old pizza and drinking more pints than water.”

“Well, at least he’s not a helpless bachelor anymore,” Liam chuckled.

Niall gently shoved him from across the table at the booth they were all crammed into. “Oi!”

“‘S true and you know it!” Liam teased back.

They all laughed it off, Niall taking Amelia’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, and Liam doing the same with Louis’.

Louis was happy. Maybe not overall, but in this moment, he was happy. He had his friends, some stability, reasons to feel content most of the time. Somedays, he even managed to make it through sleep without the nightmares.

Most nights, though, the nightmares plagued him.

“Say,” Niall interrupted his thoughts, having a sip of his pint and gently putting it back down on the table, ignoring the pub’s provided coasters, “is Zayn still making it out tonight?”

Louis deflated slightly. “Can’t, he’s got a ton of projects to grade. Says he’s swimming in oil pastels and canvas.”

“Damn,” Niall sighed. “We hardly see each other anymore, y’know?”

“I mean, that happens,” Liam said gently, rubbing circles on Louis’ knuckles absentmindedly. “We’re not all in Uni anymore, we get busy, things change…”

“Yeah, but, I mean… you’d think after everything,” Niall said with a frown.

Amelia’s brow furrowed. “After what?”

Louis flicked his gaze up from where he’d been staring at the thread of his jeans, eyes wide and mouth clamped shut.

“Ni, don’t ,” Liam warned.

He sighed and took another swig of his pint before turning back to his fiance. “Just… old drama. Nothing you need to worry about, love.”

Amelia tilted her head, studying the way Louis’ fingers had gone stiff in Liam’s grasp. “Well now you’ve got me curious.”

“Best to leave it,” Liam said, his voice firmer but still soft at its edges. He pressed a kiss to Louis’ temple, his lips lingering on the skin.

Amelia opened her mouth as if to push, but something in Louis’ posture– shoulders drawn up tight, eyes glued to the table, lip caught between his teeth– made her close it again. She gave a small nod and squeezed Niall’s knee beneath the table with her free hand instead. 

The air shifted between the group tensely for a moment until Niall finally cleared his throat after downing the rest of his Guinness. “Anyway, point is– the wedding’s next Spring, and I expect you lot to be dressed proper, yeah? Louis, I know you’ll fill out a tux nicely.”

That earned a round of laughter, softening what had sharpened just moments ago. Louis played along, rolling his eyes. “Fine, but only if Liam’s just as fancily dressed. Can’t have you showing up looking like some chav,” he teased, pulling his hand free to pinch his boyfriend’s cheek.

Liam gasped in mock offense, taking Louis’ hand to playfully bite at his knuckles. “I’d do no such thing. My boyish frat days are behind me.”

“Tell that to the Vote for Pedro t-shirt you still wear,” Louis snickered, as they got into a game of poking and pulling at each other.

“Don’t you poke fun at Napoleon Dynamite , Lou. Fuckin’ cinema,” Niall said with a grin.

For a  few moments, everything felt normal. Safe. But underneath it all, behind the giggles and teasing and cheeky comments, Louis could still feel it. He felt it everywhere, anywhere, like a weight under his ribs trying to push through the bones and burst from his skin– the unspoken name no one at the table dared to say. The one locked away in a cell, far away from them, and yet never far enough from his own mind.

Harry.

Even after all these years, Louis still felt his eyes on him. Still swore he saw his face sometimes in the dark, or heard his footsteps above the ceiling.

Louis shook the thought off with a quick swallow of his pint, forcing himself to focus on Liam’s grin, on Amelia’s sparkling ring under the pub lights, on the safety of being here, now. But the truth gnawed at him, sharp, unrelenting, piercing into his sides and holding him stiff. Much as he tried to convince himself, Harry wasn’t a ghost of the past– he was still here. He never left. He was a gaping wound that never healed, despite how much Louis’ tried to bandage over it.

“Hey.” Liam’s voice was low, meant only for him, though Louis knew the others noticed the shift. His thumb brushed slow circles against the back of Louis’ hand. “You with me?”

Louis blinked up at him, his throat tight, but he managed a small nod. “Yeah. Sorry. Just drifted.”

Niall jumped in quickly, mercifully filling the silence. “Don’t blame you. It’s late and Lou’s the only one here with a job that starts at the arse-crack of dawn.”

“Yours does too, wanker,” Louis retorted, though his voice shook slightly. “You just have the liberty of showing up when you feel like it. Salaried bastard.”

Amelia swatted Niall’s arm with a grin. “Leave him alone, you bully. He’s cute when he spaces out like that.”

Louis tensed slightly, but hid it. Cute. A normal compliment most people wouldn’t be fazed by.

But Harry called him cute. Adorable. Soft. all those sweet, affectionate terms, laced within feminizing ones, or being spoken to him while he was in degrading, dehumanizing positions. On the floor, dirty and bruised, lip split from his own teeth– was when he was called cute .

Liam saw the way his body went stiff. He leaned in to whisper gently in his ear. “Lou–”

“I’m fine,” he answered. He wasn’t.  

“You wanna get going?”

Louis swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, please.”

Liam nodded and kissed his cheek. “Right then,” he said to Niall and Amelia, “I should get him home. You two lovebirds take care, yeah? Congrats again.”

Niall smiled softly, giving Louis a kind glance. “You too. Text me when you’re home, alright?”

“We’re grown men, Niall,” Louis forced a small laugh as they stood and pulled their jackets on.

“I’m serious,” he said, and he looked it.

“Alright, alright,” Louis sighed. “Love you. See you soon.”

They bid their goodbyes and Liam closed out their tab at the bar, pulling Louis in close to hold his hand as they exited into the crisp November air. It was cold– fuck, was it cold.

“You gotta start wearing more than that jean jacket, babe,” Liam sighed, pulling off his leather bomber jacket to drape it over Louis’ shoulders.

“Li–”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” he answered, strong but soft hands on his shoulders to guide him forward down the street. “Besides, I’m fine. I’m trained for the elements, remember?”

“You’re a rookie cop,” Louis giggled, “I love you, but you’re no Clint Eastwood.”

“Not yet,” he smiled. “C’mon, just a few blocks.”

Louis made a face but kept walking, pulling Liam’s jacket tighter around himself and breathing in the scent of his cologne.

They’d nearly made it there when they passed an alleyway and the sharp sound of glass shattering jolted Louis from his eased demeanor.

“It’s alright,” Liam murmured, soothing over his shoulders. “Probably just a cat knocking something over.”

But Louis was still. His legs wouldn’t move.

“Baby,” Liam tried again. He moved to stand in front of Louis. “You’re alright, you hear me? I’m right here. We’re almost home.”

Louis’ breath came short and shallow, clouding in the cold air. His eyes were locked on the dark space of the alleyway, pupils blown wide like he expected him to step out of the shadows at any moment. His ears rang with the echo of the shattering glass, louder than it should’ve been, louder than anything else.

“Lou.” Liam’s voice was calm but firm now, the one he used when talking down jittery suspects on the job. His hands cupped Louis’ face, guiding his gaze away from the darkness and back onto him. “Look at me. Not there. Me .”

Louis blinked, shivering, and finally met Liam’s steady eyes. His chest still heaved, but Liam’s warmth under his palms grounded him, kept him tethered.

“You’re safe,” Liam repeated, low enough that only Louis could hear it. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Never again. I promised, remember?”

Louis nodded faintly, though his body still trembled. He wanted to believe it– God, he wanted to– but his mind whispered Harry’s name anyway, like a curse it couldn’t rid itself of.

Liam kissed his forehead before pulling him into a firm embrace, hand smoothing over Louis’ back and just letting him breathe into his chest. “C’mon. Home. Just focus on the sound of my footsteps, yeah? One in front of the other.”

And Louis did. He let Liam turn and lead him, jacket snug around his shoulders, heartbeat frantic but slowly syncing to Liam’s steady rhythm. The alley disappeared behind them, but the phantom weight of those green eyes followed Louis all the way to their front door.

Much as he tried everything he could to burn the image out of his brain, when he closed his eyes as he brushed his teeth that night, when he blinked away tears as they got into bed, when he finally stopped shaking enough to let sleep take over him and the darkness wrap around him like a shield– those green eyes still looked back at him, every time.

Chapter Text

Of course Harry had toyed with the idea of escape.

From the very first night they took his clothes and dressed him in the regulatory jumpsuit, from the moments after the sentencing where he was dragged out of the courtroom with a grin on his face– he’d been plotting it. Besides, in maximum security, one finds themself with plenty of alone time in their own thoughts.

Harry used his wisely.

While others– even though he rarely had contact, he never bothered becoming acquainted with them– would waste away in their cells counting days or work longer hours to earn an extra pack of smokes, Harry spent his time thinking. He replayed every step of his capture, every loose thread that had led to his downfall. He considered and discarded hundreds of fantasies: digging tunnels, bribing wardens, starting riots. Each idea far too messy. Too many variables.

No, Harry would bide his time. Harry would perfect his plan.

The years were kind to his obsession. His hair grew longer, curling past his shoulders, his once clean cut jaw sprouting a beard he tended as carefully as a craftsman cares for his tools. It suited him, the new look– it made him someone else entirely. A man unrecognizable to the world that had locked him away. In truth, he hated it. The beard was rough and his mind swam with irritation from the thought of it touching his skin at all times. As a result, he did all he could to keep it clean, as everything needed to be.

He knew the guards thought he was a nutjob. Were it not for his newfound infamy, they had plenty of other reasons to go off of. He never interacted with other prisoners– they were beneath him, and he didn’t belong here, after all. He spoke poshly and politely to the staff, never belittling them or cursing. He never argued for extra portions or better amenities. It was almost as if he appreciated the captivity.

What they found most odd, however, was his obsession with being clean.

All prisoners had the option to purchase items with money earned from working jobs around the facility, or with money deposited into their account. Harry wouldn’t bother to do such dirty work, and at the time of his imprisonment, had plenty loaded in to support himself for years.

With this money, however, there was only one item he purchased, and quite often at that.

Castile soap.

Bars and bars of it. The smooth ivory delighted him each time he unwrapped a new bar, and he’d usually wear it down within a few days to a week. His body stayed pristinely clean, as did his cell.

Castile soap is widely considered to be unparalleled in its usefulness thanks to its ability to be used for so many different things. It can clean skin, floors, dishes, anything you name. Its ingredients are simple– plant based oils, water, and lye.

Lye.

A magical ingredient. The word itself derived from the root lau, literally meaning “to wash”. It had many uses of course, but what truly intrigued Harry was how it could be so clean, and yet, so deadly.

Harry rolled the word around on his tongue. Lye. To wash. To clean.

And, in high enough concentration– to kill.

The soap he adored was harmless, its own lye spent and neutralized in the process of saponification. But Harry knew the process well enough to understand that raw lye was an entirely different beast. He’d studied chemistry during his long, lonely nights– piecing together formulas from memory, recalling scraps of textbooks, even charming the prison librarian into ordering certain volumes on “organic cleaning agents.” He’d spend hours reading, never writing his ideas down, but locking them away in his memory.

So as the years went by, he continued to study. 

Over those years, Harry had gotten to know the prison staff decently enough. Most cycled through, usually only staying a few months before transferring to a different cell block or a new facility altogether. Their names were of minimal importance, their faces even less so. One might think this would be to his detriment, but they couldn’t be any more wrong. This was a benefit. You’d imagine it might be easier to get close enough to a guard to impair or disarm them if you were well acquainted, but the opposite, Harry knew, would work far better in his favor. Unknowns. Nameless. Specifically, those who looked new to the job and were doing a horrible job of concealing just how nervous they were.

Harry studied not only his chemistry texts, but also the men who worked at the facility. Their habits, their routines, their weaknesses. Most appeared to be single men without much direction in life, or those following in the footsteps of their fathers with military backgrounds.

Flies– all of them. Brainless drones who followed orders and believed their job made a difference in the world. It disgusted him to even look at them.

Harry himself became something of a fixture in the block– not by being memorable, but by being forgettable. Polite nods, never confrontational, never troublesome. He followed orders without resistance, kept his cell pristine, never once raised his voice. A model inmate. The kind of prisoner that made lazy guards relax, made them lower their guard. For that was thebrilliance of it all– they thought they had him tamed.

He memorized which guards lingered after a shift change. Which ones took smoke breaks in the courtyard despite the rules against it, or spent a few minutes too long gone on their breaks. Nervous tics, caffeine shivers, looks over their shoulders like they expected a riot to break out at any second. The young ones were always the easiest to spot– their eyes darted too much, their hands trembled when they held their batons. They wanted to be liked. They wanted the job to be easy.

Harry watched them like a spider, patiently sat in its web. Waiting. Hungry.

His fingers twitched sometimes– a phantom chill running through from so many years without stimulation. He itched to kill. His skin crawled with the need for it.

But he had to be patient. Would his Louis approve of him going the madman route and desicrating the whole building, arriving bloodied and stained? No– he wouldn’t embarrass himself so, despite how he craved it.

Three years carved away at him in there. The beard grew, the hair lengthened, and overall he became the picture of patience itself.

The final piece clicked into place when he noticed the prison barber’s supply closet while going for a trim. He was mad, but he wasn’t an imbecile, and Harry despised few things more than split ends.

But there it was– a stack of chemical relaxer tubs, barely guarded, kept for the inmates who still cared enough about their appearance to straighten their curls. Most relaxers were cheap supermarket brands, but Harry knew the active base in them: Lye. Sodium hydroxide. Caustic. Lethal, if given the right push. His heart almost sang upon landing on the sight, but he maintained his cool.

It really was almost too easy. A simple moment of distraction when a fight broke out in the hall, and Harry swiped a small tub of the substance, tucking it up the sleeve of his jumpsuit, walking back to his cell with the glee of a child who’d stolen a piece of candy from the corner store.

That night, sitting cross-legged on the cold cot, he pried the tub open and dipped a finger inside. The acrid tang of it bit at his nose. He didn’t need much. A spoonful stirred into a drink, or smeared along the rim of a mug in the guards’ break room. Of course, that could be difficult. Risky. Perhaps too risky to pull it off.

There was another method that came to him, however. Still risky, but maybe easier in execution. He knew he didn’t have time to be picky– if enough years passed, Louis might forget him, might fall victim to Liam’s idiotic charm and lose everything Harry gave him.

His eyes burned envisioning it. No. He wouldn’t allow it. He simply couldn’t.

Harry dipped his finger again into the paste, holding it under the dim bulb of his cell. The thick white cream clung to his skin, biting and stinging him after long enough. Just a touch wouldn’t kill– but a mouthful? A throatful? That would eat a man alive from the inside out. He thought once more– a spoonful in the right coffee mug, and by the time anyone realized something was wrong, the guard would already be convulsing, choking on his own blood.

Harry smiled faintly, a curl of satisfaction tugging at his lips at the image playing in his head. He could do it now. Grab the next guard who came to him and shove the substance down their throat, watch the light leave their eyes as blood and spit bubbled and foamed from their mouth.

But no. Too messy. Too loud. Too quick. Harry was not quick. He was deliberate. Precise. He would not risk discovery before his angel could be returned to him.

A quieter way, then.

The plan was complicated. But so was Harry. With the tub of relaxer, a blade slipped from the barber’s tool belt, and a few spare bars of soap stuffed into a hole he’d made in the side of his mattress, now all he needed was an opening.

~*~

The air outside was cold as it nipped away at the bits of skin exposed to its winds, turning Louis' fingertips and nose pink as he stood outside the door to his and Liam's flat. He was wrapped in a grey knit sweater, a pair of Liam's cozy black sweats with the drawstrings tied tight to stay up on his narrower hips, his feet in soft fuzzy socks with a print of snowflakes– a Christmas gift from his mum two years before that brought him more comfort than he cared to admit as a grown man.

He missed softness sometimes.

He’d been standing there for at least a good five minutes, just standing, frozen in place as it were with how the air around him seemed to freeze just as much. Every time he tried this, it felt like the first.

He’d gotten better over the years. Still couldn’t leave on his own, still couldn’t get behind a wheel– but, progress. When he’d first gotten moved in, it had been months before he could even get out the door without Liam at his side.

Liam always told him he would protect him without question, that he never minded being at his side and watching out for him. But Louis knew it had to be getting old, he must’ve been a burden at this point. And besides, Liam was moving up the rankings in the police force, and he couldn’t be home often, let alone at a predictable time– always on call or adjusting his schedule to the needs of the county for patrols. So Louis knew he needed to learn independence at some point.

Today, he was going to make it to the mailbox.

Their flat was on the second floor, with a front door going straight to the raised walkway that acted like an outdoor hallway between tenants. It was guarded by a long stip of iron gate, and it was approximately twenty-five steps down this platform to the stairs going down to the parking lot. From there, it was twelve steps, a turn, then twelve more steps, then another turn to the sidewalk. Finally, twenty steps, and there stood the large metal box with every little slot for each apartment’s mail.

On his own, Louis had only gotten as far as down the steps. Once he had no rail to cling to, it felt like he’d been pushed off a plank into a pool too deep to stay afloat in. It was terrifying.

He would try to be logical with himself. The monster was gone, sealed away in prison for life, with no chance of getting out early or even on parole. The prison itself was maximum security and located on the opposite side of the country, even, so he had nothing to worry about. Nothing, and no one, could get him.

And yet…

As his trembling fingers wrapped around the guardrail up on the platform, he felt the chill of the air wrapping around him tighter like a vice. He could do this. Piece by piece. He took in a shaky breath and put one foot forward, the grippy dots on the bottom of the socks catching on the rough concrete. Another step, then another, his feet making soft, almost pathetic sounds against the surface. He guided himself with the rail, taking breaths to steady his heart and just keep moving, like Dr. Bennett had taught him.

He made it to the stairs eventually, then worked his way down the same way. Without context, a neighbor watching might assume he had a pain disorder or difficulty walking the way his knuckles were white around the guardrail, squeezing it tight enough that the iron bit into his skin.

Before he knew it, he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, and now faced the parking lot itself. The mailbox was in sight.

Twenty steps.

“Okay,” he whispered. “It’s right there. I can get there.”

He moved his feet with unsteady, slow motions, focusing on cracks in the pavement and the exposed pebbles on one side of the sidewalk from years of rain eroding at the surface where the canopy of the apartment building didn’t cover it.

Steps later, he himself was no longer under the canopy.

He’d never gotten this far on his own. Even with Liam, getting this far was difficult, but it felt impossible to even fathom doing it alone. He allowed himself a small smile.

“Almost there,” he whispered again, as his feet moved forward.

It took what felt like ages, but he made it.

He stood in front of the mailbox, breath coming in ragged little gasps, his hand hovering uncertainly over the metal door to his slot. His chest swelled with something close to pride, something foreign and delicate, so fleeting it threatened to slip away before he could even process the feeling. He’d done it. Alone. He had proof now that he wasn’t as broken as he thought.

His trembling fingers fumbled with the keys and slid the mailbox door open. A few envelopes slid forward: junk mail, Liam’s paycheck stub, a glossy flyer from the local grocer. Normal. Ordinary. Louis smiled as he thumbed through the papers. He loved ordinary. He wanted every day of the rest of his life to have these little moments of peace and simplicity.

Just as he shut the slot and turned to make the journey back, a gush of cold air burst through the air, carrying with it the scent of something… familiar. Just down the street where the wind was cutting through, an older blond man was walking, wrapped in a thick will trench coat and a plaid scarf. His cologne was picked up by the wind and carried over, where it hit Louis at full force.

Louis’ eyes widened as the air filtered into his senses.

Cherries. Musk. Leather.

He’d know that scent anywhere, as he’d gotten so familiar with it all those years ago. It was Harry’s cologne.

The stack of mail tumbled out of his hands and scattered on the ground.

“No…” he breathed. “No, it’s… it’s not real, it’s not– it can’t–“

But he couldn’t run from it. It surrounded him, consuming every sense and slipping around him like darkness enveloping the night, draping over his shoulders and sliding down his esophagus. Around him. Inside him. Inescapable, every word he said blaring in his ears.

“My angel.”

“Do you love me, Louis?”

“Daddy’s not going to hurt you.”

He felt like his chest was collapsing in upon itself, air sucking out of his lungs, knees buckling beneath him and sending him falling down to the concrete. He cried out weakly as his palms scraped against the rough surface–

Concrete. Harsh, unforgiving, solid. Under his skin and so, so cold. Just like it was before, down in that basement, or surrounding him on every wall in that dreaded place he still had nightmares about: the bad room.

“No, fuck, please–“

“Louis?”

He jolted from his half-slumped position on the ground, looking up with wet, wide eyes to expect the worst.

“Love, are you alright?”

It was their neighbor, Mrs. Sheffield. A sweet old woman with kind eyes who still wore bright pink lipstick every day despite having been retired and widowed for well over a decade. She stood in front of him, her gloved hands folded over her front and holding her purse, staring down at him with a soft look of concern.

“I… I’m fine,” Louis said, though the shake in his voice betrayed his words. “Just, lost my footing, that’s all.”

She gave him a small smile and transferred her purse to one wrist, reaching out her hands. “Come on, then, up you get.”

He laughed and wiped his eyes. “That’s really okay, you don’t need to–“

“Nonsense,” she urged, “I may be old, but I’m not weak. Take my hands, darling.”

Louis hesitated for a long moment, but eventually let her pull him up to his feet.

He liked Mrs. Sheffield. She was his favorite neighbor– though he couldn’t say for certain if he could even name any of the others, since he never spoke to them. Mrs. Sheffield lived in the unit next to them, and she was always coming over to knock at the door with cookies or a book she wanted Louis to read.

Everyone in the building, everyone in the country, really, knew Louis, even if he didn’t know them. The trial had been a media event of the century that everyone watched– and though he had avoided them at all costs, photographers itched to get a shot of “The Rose Killer’s Muse.” He was the boy who escaped, the boy who survived when no one else did, the entire motive for much of Harry’s crimes and murders. But Mrs. Sheffield didn’t pay attention to the news. “Dreadful noise,” she’d called it when she introduced herself the day they moved Louis in. “I’ve seen enough over my years. I don’t bother with watching the telly, and I skip over the headlines in the paper to do my crossword.”

She reminded him of his mum, her sparkling blue eyes and rosy cheeks, the way she’d call him “love” and “darling” all the time. Ever since Jay passed the previous year from a sudden illness, he’d felt emptier than ever before. But having Mrs. Sheffield to talk to helped more than anything.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he said with a small chuckle once he was on his feet again. He dusted himself off and leaned over to pick up the fallen mail, hissing softly when he realized his hands had scraped enough to bleed. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Language, young man,” she teased. “Come on then, let’s get you back inside and cleaned up.”

He smiled at her and tucked the mail under his arm. “I can manage, but thank you.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you certain?”

“Certain,” he nodded, “besides, Liam should be home in about an hour anyway. I can handle putting a bandage on by myself.”

She hummed. “At least let me walk you to the door, then?”

Louis laughed and offered his arm for her to take, walking back across the parking lot, up the stairs, down the platform.

He’d made it to the mailbox. And that was something, at least.

Chapter Text

It was almost comical how easy it was to put it all together.

Harry knew he needed to be careful. That he couldn’t let any guard get too close, too trusting, or others might suspect what happened too early. He also knew that it couldn’t be a spur-of-the-moment attack. What, he’d force the lye powder down their throat and watch them choke on their own blood and spit and die and, then what? Hope to be able to bust out and make a run for it?

No. Harry was too smart for that.

He’d been trapped in here long enough to watch many other prisoners come and go, despite his heavily limited contact with them all. Some were transferred, some released on parole…

But in some cases, a prisoner with a pre-existing condition or weak immune system could get sick. Sometimes, very, very sick. In such cases, they were deemed too weak to remain in the facility, and taken to the infirmary on site.

The infirmary was a separate building adjacent to the prison blocks themselves. It still had security measures, but considerably fewer, considering that the staff weren’t too concerned about cancer patients and frail, thinning men making a break for it.

A man such as Harry prided himself on his cleanliness, his health, his bulletproof immune system, strengthened from a lifetime of careful rituals to keep his body pristine and taking supplements from an early age after reading an article about the dangers of those living in overcast weather succumbing to illness from a lack of sunlight and the vitamins it provided. Harry didn’t get sick. He despised the thought of it, it made his skin burn just to imagine the last time when he was ten and missed three days of school from a rough case of bronchitis.

He didn’t get sick. But Harry knew how to act sick.

When you view your own body as more of a vessel for your brain rather than an extension of yourself, it isn’t difficult to separate your earthly needs from your mind’s desires. He took it slow- eating less, sleeping more. At night, when the guards changed shift and he had approximately five minutes before another was in hearing range, Harry would bolt out of his bunk and quietly dash to the toilet in his cell, shoving his fingers down his throat to expel any food he’d consumed that day.

Within two months, he looked like death itself.

His eyes and cheeks were sunken in. He’d trimmed pieces of his hair with his hidden blade to make it look like it was thinning. He moved slow, tripped and fell over often. He bit his lips til they bled and cracked, and he spent his hour of common area time staring at the wall. He spent every night forcibly coughing and hacking until his throat was raw.

He knew it was working. He heard the guard’s voices at night, between shifts-

“He won’t make it another month if we don’t do something.”

“He’s a murderer and a rapist. I say let him suffer.”

“And get the rest of us sick with whatever he has? What if it’s contagious?”

Finally, the day came.

“Styles,” a gruff voice came from beyond the bars of his cell. “Get up. You’re being moved.”

He kept his back turned, making a weak noise in reply, but concealing his smirk.

“I said, up!” The guard shouted, banging on the bars. “Now, Styles. Haven’t got all day.”

He turned slowly, the raised bumps of his spine moving under the thin material of his regulated jumpsuit. He swung his boney legs over and lifting himself to his feet with a vocal wince.

“Officer,” he asked with wide eyes as he hunched over and walked to the bars, “if I’m to go spend my final days somewhere else, can I bring my soap? I’d hate to waste away in filth.”

The man recoiled in disgust. “Yeah, whatever you want, freak. Get your shit and. let’s go.”

“Blessings,” Harry murmured, shuffling back to his bunk to gather the bars- three normal, for purposes of staying clean, but two special ones indeed.

One hollowed out and filled with lye powder. One concealing the blade inside.

Harry gathered them in his arms and smiled weakly at the guard, who rolled his eyes and unlocked the gate, sliding it open with a loud clang. He stepped out and tucked the bars into the crook of his left arm, holding his wrists out and allowing the guard to cuff him.

“Move along,” the man muttered, pointing down the hall. “And don’t try anything stupid. I’ll knock your boney arse dead if you move too quickly.”

“Of course,” Harry smiled. “Just tell me which way to go, sir.”

~*~

“Do you want to cook or order in tonight, babe?”

Louis tilted his head up from where he’d had it ducked into his laptop screen, his back sore from sitting and typing for hours on end. “Can we get some takeaway from that Thai place down the road again? I’m too tired to cook tonight.”

Liam hummed from the doorway and stepped inside their spare room, which he’d happily converted into a little office for Louis when he’d gotten his copywriting job last year. “Of course, love. Your usual?”

“You know it,” Louis said with a soft smile, turning his chair to face him.

“Turn the screens off, you can finish tomorrow,” Liam said as he walked towards him, handing him a glass of water.

Louis chuckled and accepted it, taking a sip. “You always say that.”

“And you always work too hard,” he argued with a grin, pushing back a strand of hair from Louis’ face and tucking it behind his ear. “Have I ever told you just how gorgeous you are, by the way?”

“Fuck off,” Louis giggled, blushing and giving Liam’s stomach a playful shove. “How was work?”

“Oh, you know,” Liam sighed, taking Louis’ free hand and thumbing over his knuckles, “same shit as usual. Questioned some teens about drunk driving. Resolved a few parking tickets. No crazy high-speed chases today.”

“There’s never crazy high speed chases here, silly.”

“But there could be,” Liam said with a raised eyebrow. “Thrilling job, really.”

“I’m sure,” Louis laughed. He used Liam’s hand to pull himself to his feet, rising on his toes to plant a kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

“Of course,” he said as he dropped Louis’ hand to circle his arms around his waist and pull him in. “Anything you want, love.”

“No, no, you always let me pick,” Louis said with a dramatic sigh. “You choose this time. But pick something good.”

“What, you don’t trust my judgment?” Liam said with a playful nudge to Louis’ side, earning a giggle in response.

“I trust your judgment, babe. Your taste in film, however…”

“Oi, rude,” he said with a pout.

“Don’t make the puppy face at me right now, or we’ll never get around to dinner and a movie,” Louis sassed, bringing his hands up to drape around Liam’s shoulders.

“Oh yeah?” he retorted, leaning in closer. “And who says that’s a bad thing?” His fingers sprawled across Louis’ back, smoothing up and down his skin through the soft cotton shirt he wore.

Louis bit his lip and closed his eyes, sighing and relaxing into the feeling. “How’s this… you order the food, and in whatever time it takes to get here, we can have a little fun.”

“Deal,” Liam said immediately, kissing him on the nose and all but running out of the room to grab his phone. Louis laughed at him, his eyes sparkling fondly.

It had taken a long time for Louis to feel comfortable with his body being even seen by anyone else, after everything. He couldn’t even handle Liam touching him for more than a few minutes at a time for the first few months. Slowly, over time and with extensive therapy, they began to rebuild things.

Louis smiled at the memory of when they’d kissed– truly kissed– for the first time since Louis’ rescue. It was almost a year into them living together. Liam had been patient, so, so patient. He’d lit candles and everything, played Louis’ favorite love songs softly in the background, laid him down on freshly washed and dried cotton sheets. They’d moved like timid preteens learning themselves for the first time, but it was everything Louis needed. He needed that warmth, that safety, and all of the comfort that Liam could give him.

They’d worked up to more things- exploring each other again, slow, heated make out sessions with gentle caresses and touches. Even as far as finally getting up to handjobs and blowing each other. But even now, three years later, Louis still couldn’t let Liam in all the way- quite literally.

It wasn’t that he was scared. He was. But that wasn’t the only thing holding him back. It was that he still had thoughts that plagued him, memories and dreams that haunted him– all of Harry. Harry’s body, his hands, his mouth, every part of him that had touched and entered Louis. Harry had taken him apart and put him together in such a way that now Louis feared if he let Liam do the same, he might compare them. And worse– he feared Harry might be somehow better.

Liam was lovely. His body was beautiful and he knew how to use it, there was no doubt. But something about the connection– no, the things Harry had done to Louis… he still couldn’t understand how he had been able to read his body like that. How even under extreme duress and fear, even held captive and imprisoned, he had been completely at Harry’s mercy and fallen to his abilities. He’d still never achieved anywhere near as intense of an orgasm as the ones Harry brought out of him.

Few things scared Louis more than the thought that when the time came for it, his experience with Liam wouldn’t be better, or even come close. He hated himself for the thoughts. Hated himself for how sometimes, all alone in the shower with nothing but his own mind, he’d ghost his fingers over his own neck, the way Harry used to. He’d close his eyes and picture soft pink lips and dimples, forest green irises staring down at him, wide with childlike wonder. That deep, raspy voice whispering to him how pretty and perfect he was.

The sound of Liam padding back into the room shook him from his thoughts, which he shoved back into the far depths of his mind that he refused to confront.

“Should be here in thirty minutes,” said Liam with a glint in his eye.

Louis took a breath in and forced his mind to reset. “I think that’s plenty time for some messing about,” he said with a grin. He crossed the room to meet Liam in the doorway where his arms were braced on either side of the entrance, bringing his hands up to smooth over his chest. 

“C’mere, you,” Liam smiled, leaning down to capture Louis’ lips in his own. Louis melted into it as he always did, sliding his hands up Liam’s firm chest and circling them around his neck as they kissed. he sighed in content as he felt Liam’s hands hover near his waist.

“Can I touch you?” Liam asked softly between kisses.

Louis snorted. “Yes, you prude.”

“Just checking,” Liam whispered as he laid his hands on Louis’ sides, thumbs stroking over his shirt.

“I know,” Louis murmured back, inhaling deeply as Liam trailed kisses from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. “You’re too careful with me. I won’t break, you know.”

Liam hummed and kept kissing down to his neck; the feeling of his warm breath sending a chill down Louis’ back. “I know, baby, it’s just…”

“Let’s not talk about this, please,” Louis asked quietly, gently turning Liam’s head up to face him and look into his eyes. “I wanna feel you, Li. Just let me try to be normal for a bit.”

Liam searched his eyes with concern knitted tight in his brow for a good long moment, before his shoulders sagged in acceptance. “Alright. Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

“Bedroom?” Louis asked, stroking Liam’s cheek with his thumb.

“Bedroom,” he nodded, pecking his lips once more before turning and leading him by the hand to their shared room.

Chapter Text

The next month was the most outstanding performance of Harry’s entire life.

He looked every bit the picture of a sick patient wasting away in bed. His skin was ghostly pale, his features hollow and sunken in, his hands always trembling where they held the blanket up to his chin. The infirmary staff hesitated to come anywhere near him other than when strictly necessary for assisted bathroom breaks and feedings.

It was all working exquisitely in his favor.

Of course, there were still guards who came to do check-ins once a day. They often ignored him altogether, doing a quick look under his bed and through the cabinets next to him, never bothering to ask how he was doing. Which was fine, Harry had no interest in wasting time with pleasantries. There was one guard, however, who came in for the routine checking on the twelfth day of Harry’s care, who immediately caught Harry’s interest.

Tall. Lanky. Brown hair, glasses, scruffy beard. Harry was certain if he stood from his bed they'd be the same height. The guard seemed young and new to all of this, probably given the infirmary checking task as an introductory training before he could handle the rest of the inmates. Harry studied his movements, watched him closely every second he was in the room. He had a visible outline of a wallet in his back pocket, a rookie mistake, and his keys were clipped to his belt next to his baton. He wore a thin gold wedding band on his left hand that looked fairly new but not expensive, indicating him to be a newlywed but not well off. His hazel eyes stayed trained to the ground whenever he entered.

On the twenty-sixth day, Harry decided to get things moving.

Night came and with it the checking. The nurses had gone home for the day besides the few that stayed out in the hallway for any overnight emergency. Every other bed in the room had the curtain drawn tight for privacy, besides Harry’s, because he’d insisted his body couldn’t suffocate from open air like that.

Right on schedule, the door creaked open, followed by the sound of boots on the floor walking in. Harry smiled widely and slid his fingers under the covers for what he was looking for: one of the soap bars.

He listened as the boots stepped around, the sound of cabinets opening and keys jingling with movement.

“Ardenwald… check. Rutherford… check.”

The guard only had two more sleeping prisoners to check before he reached him. Harry bit his lip in concentration as he slyly fumbled with the bar under the covers, working open the little notch he’d carved to pop open the area he’d hollowed out, but careful not to spill anything.

Finally, he arrived.

“Styles… Styles? What are you still doing awake?”

Harry stared back at him with a blank expression, wide eyes illuminated from the moonlight that came through the fogged window.

“I’m sorry, officer,” he said, his voice a jagged rasp, “It’s just hard to sleep when I’m so terribly parched.”

The man looked back at him with a furrowed brow, his expression careful. Until this moment, they’d never spoken a word to each other. He wrapped his fingers tighter around the coffee mug he carried. “Parched?”

“Dreadfully so,” Harry nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “I know I don’t deserve much, but… won’t you lend a dying man a hand, just once?”

The guard seemed to spend a long moment deliberating internally as he stared back at Harry, who, with enough time to really look at him, could now see his badge: Collins.

“Please,” Harry whispered, his chest heaving with the effort. “I’ve probably got no more than a week in here anyway before I’m carted to the incinerator. I just want some water, that’s all. I’m begging you, mate.”

Finally, Collins’ shoulders sagged. “Alright,” he murmured, looking around for a free space and finding the windowsill to rest his mug atop. “Just… alright. Don’t say anything about this, please.”

“My lips are sealed,” Harry nodded. He watched as the guard’s back turned to walk to the sink in the corner of the room.

Harry knew he hadn’t much time. It would only be about fifteen paces before he reached the sink, then probably ten seconds to find a cup and fill it. With lightning reflexes, he slid out of the bed and crossed to the window in two steps, watching the guard’s turned back as he popped open the hole in the soap bar, dumped the contents into the coffee, and swirled it in with his finger. His heart raced with adrenaline he hadn’t felt in years, he fought his body’s urge to laugh and celebrate preemptively– God, he had missed this.

Quickly, he was back in bed, concealing his movements with a cough and staring up at the ceiling as through the corner of his eye he watched the guard finish filling a paper cup with water.

Collins’ boots scuffed against the tiled floor as he walked back to Harry’s bed, cup in hand.

“Here,” he said briskly, keeping his distance with his arm outstretched to offer the water.

Harry used his elbows to prop himself up in bed with a visible window. “You’re a saint,” he said with a frail sigh as he reached a shaking hand forward to accept the cup and smiled gratefully. He sipped once, twice, water dribbling down his chin like he was in too much haste to be concerned with spilling a drop.

“Yeah. I’m not a monster,” Collins muttered, shifting awkwardly and walking back to the windowsill to pick up his mug.

Harry’s eyes flicked over and watched from behind the cup as the guard lifted the mug to his lips, not a moment of hesitation detected. He stifled a giggle, covering it with another cough.

Collins finished his coffee in three large, final gulps, wrinkling his nose at the taste. “Christ, shit’s strong,” he murmured.

Harry gave him a weak smile. “Ah, coffee. Such an American thing. I much prefer tea.”

Collins raised an eyebrow. “I guess.”

“I can’t wait to have tea again,” Harry continued, watching closely as the skin of Collins’ neck tightened just slightly, obviously trying to hold in a cough. “Yorkshire, of course. My darling boy’s favorite.”

Collins finally coughed, sharp and sudden, bringing a hand up to massage at his throat. “Pardon?”

“Oh, you don’t know who I am, do you?” Harry said, finally letting his face break into a grin. “They must not have told you. Well, why would they? I’m already considered a dead man,” he laughed.

Collins’ eyes bulged as his face began to turn red, backing away until he hit a wall. His hands trembled violently, one releasing the mug with a shatter against the floor.

“Careful,” Harry whispered as he rose from the bed, every ounce of previous struggle he’d shown gone. “We can just let this end quickly, yeah? The more you struggle, the more it burns. At least that’s what I’ve read.”

“W-what– did you do?!” Collins rasped, hacking on the end of the sentence as he gripped the wall for stability.

“Circle of life, dear Collins,” Harry sighed. He ignored the man’s dry, desperate choking and coughing as he fell to the ground. “I’m sorry it had to be you, though. You seem rather nice. But I’m positive your employer will ensure the missus will be well cared for in the aftermath.”

“M-my… can’t… Abigail…” Collins choked, now lying crumpled on the ground, back arching and collapsing with heaves as foam bubbled from the corners of his lips, blood leaking from his nose.

“Is that her name? Abigail?” Harry asked calmly as he crouched over him, getting to work quickly and gingerly unbuttoning the guard’s uniform shirt. “She sounds lovely. I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

He made quick work of undressing the man like he was nothing more than a mannequin, sliding the shirt off him and unbuckling his belt to rid him of his trousers as well. Collins had stopped speaking, or rather trying to speak, his body now convulsing as more blood leaked from his tear ducts and mixed with the spit foaming from his mouth.

Once Harry was dressed, he inspected himself in the reflective glass of the window. “Not bad. Abigail can iron like no other, look at those crisp pleats!” He smiled, turning back to Collins.

“Oh, drat,” he sighed. He crouched once more to grab the man’s twitching hand, sliding his ring off and ignoring the weak, pitiful cries the man gave. “Well I can’t walk out as you and be missing that, can I? Those gossiping nurses might get the wrong idea.”

Collins gave a weak gurgle in the back of his throat in response, eyes beginning to cloud over.

“Right, before rigor mortis sets in,” Harry murmured to himself, sliding the ring onto his finger and leaning over to scoop the man up into his arms. Even after years of confinement, he still did exercises in bed every night when no one was looking to keep his muscles from atrophying.

He laid him in the bed and dressed him in his discarded hospital gown, tucking the sheets around him like a child off to bed.

“Oh, almost forgot,” Harry exclaimed softly, digging in the sheets under the man’s softy twitching body for his soaps. “Can’t be dirty on the run, of course. And now, the final piece…”

He walked over to the sink, turning the tap on and massaging one soap bar under the water until the sealed edge softened enough to pry open, the blade falling out and clattering into the sink. Harry smiled as he raised it in the air, light gleaming off its surface, and walked back.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Harry whispered to Collins, though the point was moot. He’d finally stopped moving, a trail of blood, bile, and burnt smelling spit leaking from his mouth. “It’s not for you.”

He hummed softly to himself as he raised the blade and sliced away at his hair. Soft, long ringlets and waves fell into his hands, and soon enough, his hair was the shortest it’d been in his whole adult life, resembling a normal working class man of his age.

Harry arranged the strips of hair over Collins’ head, turning his cheek to lay sideways on the pillow. He plucked the glasses off his face and shut his eyes with his fingertips.

“Sweet dreams, sir. Give Abigail my best.”

The guard’s boots were a bit of a snug fit, and the glasses blurred his vision, but it would do. Harry clipped the ID badge to his pocket and tucked the cap on, admiring himself in the window one last time.

“Oh, Louis,” he mused, feeling his blood warm under his skin with anticipation. “Daddy’s coming back for you. It won’t be long, now.”

He turned on his heel and walked out calmly, helping himself to a pump of hand sanitizer on his way out and raising his badge to the scanner by the door to open it.

The hall was empty and cold. Harry whistled to himself as he walked his way down, keys jingling softly with his movements. He slid his badge across another scanner, then another, easily making his way through the doors until he reached the reception desk.

“Headed home early, Collins?”

His skin jumped at the voice, but he didn’t show it. He turned his cheek just barely to the source, enough to stay concealed. “You know how it is, the wife wants me back before midnight.”

The woman at the desk hummed, not even glancing up from her phone where she was scrolling through videos. “I don’t know how she does it. Your schedule would drive me mad as a wife.”

“Marriage is work, love,” Harry smiled. “Evening to you.”

She gave him an uninterested wave, and pressed the button to open the door for him.

Harry walked out through the entrance, inhaling deeply at the cool night air that enveloped him suddenly. He hadn’t felt true, fresh air in ages, not unsupervised and controlled, at least.

He nodded to the guard standing outside and pulled the Toyota key fob from the ring on his belt loop, pressing it once to hear a little beep resounding from the parking lot, and made his way over without haste. Once at the car, he unlocked and opened the door, sliding into the driver's seat and pulling the soap bars from his pockets to gently lay them in the seat across his side.

“By God, you genius,” he said with a grin to himself in the rear view mirror, “Louis will be so impressed. He has to know how hard I worked to pull this off. I can’t wait to see the look on his face. Now, just to find where my little boy is hiding…”

He put the key into ignition and started the engine. He wasn’t in a rush– he knew he easily had at least six hours before the next bed checks, and even then,they might not be thorough enough and he’d get a little extra time. But by then, he’d be long gone, untraceable.

Collins’ wallet had a good thirty-five pounds and a few pence. That’d be plenty to stop at a drug store and pick up some necessities with time to spare. Harry scratched at his beard, eager to shave it off already. Soon. Patience.

Harry could be patient. He’d waited long enough already.

He turned on the radio as he waved to the parking lot guard who opened the gate for him. Adele’s voice came through, crooning about a lost love as usual.

Harry smiled to himself, tears pricking at his eyes.

“I’ll be there soon, my love. Hold tight for me.”

Chapter Text

“Fuck, Li,” Louis breathed out shakily. He reached down and tangled his fingers in his boyfriend’s hair, the soft, short brown locks smoothing through his hands.

Liam groaned in response from where he was between Louis’ legs, sucking him further down into his mouth, His lips stretched around him, pink and glistening with spit.

Their half-eaten Thai food laid in boxes on the table, the action movie Liam had put on long since abandoned and now rolling through the credits. They’d been at it for half an hour at least, kissing and nibbling at each other and slowly removing layers of clothing until they were both fully naked and grinding against each other with breathy sighs and whispers in each other's ears of admiration and love.

Now, Liam had Louis’ legs draped over his shoulders, his mouth taking his cock in and out and one hand bracing himself on the couch while the other slowly massaged at his balls, never too hard, never too softly.

“Feels so good, babe, fuck,” Louis moaned, tossing his head back over the arm of the couch and curling his toes.

Liam slowly pulled off and kept a hand on him, stroking softly. “You’re beautiful like this, you know that?”

Louis gasped out a small laugh, his hands gripping Liam’s hair a little harder. “You’re just saying things.”

“I mean it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the pink tip of his cock and licking a stripe up the length of it. “Always. You’re always beautiful, Louis.”

“Shit, Liam,” Louis moaned. “Please, fuck, ‘m so close…”

Liam smiled and ducked back down, sucking him back into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks around him. He worked gently but efficiently, having learnt well enough just which maneuvers drove his boyfriend crazy. His hand pumped in time with his mouth’s movements, and he moaned around Louis’ cock, the vibrations making Louis groan out loudly and buck his hips.

“Li, please, shit– I c-can’t…”

Liam pulled off to look up at him again, warm brown eyes dilated and hungry. “Let it go, baby. I wanna taste you.”

He dove back in and sped up his movements, sucking sloppy and wet and pushing on despite the ache in his jaw, and soon enough Louis was coming with a strained shout, heels digging into Liam’s back as the man sucked every drop out of him with a pleased groan.

“Fuck, fuck, ghhn–“ Louis whimpered, his hips twitching as Liam slid off him with a wet pop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Never gets old,” Liam said, his voice raspy and low in the way that always made Louis feral with need.

“God, you’re fucking good at that,” Louis sighed shakily. “Kiss me, please.”

Liam smiled and leaned up on his elbows to crawl over him, ducking his head to kiss Louis softly, his boyfriend letting out a soft whine and wrapping his legs around his waist, hands never leaving Liam’s hair.

They kissed slow and languid like they had all the time in the world, lips moving together with ease from years of practice.

“I love you,” Louis murmured into his lips, his tongue darting out to lick at Liam’s bottom lip. “So much. So fucking much.”

Liam groaned and rolled his hips forward involuntarily. “Fuck, I love you too. More than anything.”

“You’re so hard,” Louis said breathily, grinding his hips up to meet him and moaning at the feeling of Liam’s cock pressing into his softening one. “Let me take care of you.”

Liam whined low in the back of his throat, nipping at Louis’ lip. “Please, fuck.”

“How do you want me?” Louis asked, pressing kisses along Liam’s jaw. “You want my hands, my mouth?”

“Fuck, I…” Liam let out a ragged breath. “I want… God, I need…”

Louis cocked his head to the side, thumbing over his cheek. “What is it?”

Liam blinked his eyes open and looked down at him, eyes glazed over and brow furrowed almost forlornly. “I… I can’t…”

“You can’t what?” Louis asked, searching his eyes.

Liam sighed like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. “I… God, Lou, I wanna make love to you, so fucking bad, I know you’re not ready, I just–“

Louis felt his chest sink. “I’m sorry…” he whispered, looking away at the wall.

“Hey, no, shit, I’m sorry,” Liam rushed, stroking Louis’ cheek to turn his attention back to him. “I don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. Ever. I mean that.”

“I know, I just… I want to give you that. I do,” Louis said softly, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m just… scared. God, it’s so fucking stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Liam said gently, leaning back up and sitting on the couch, easing Louis into his arms and pulling him onto his lap. “We’ll take it day by day. You just tell me what you need.”

Louis bit his lip as Liam wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him close to his chest. “What if… what if I’m never ready?”

Liam shrugged his shoulders, kissing his temple. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“That’s not true,” Louis murmured. “I see it, you know? I can tell you want it, can tell it’s driving you crazy.”

“Lou–“

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I want it too. I really, really do, like… shit. I wanna be normal, I want to feel you inside me, I wanna have that with you so bad. But I’m scared that it’ll be… too much. That it might put me back there.”

Liam hummed and tucked his chin over Louis’ shoulder. “Yeah, I get that. Have you talked to Dr. Bennett about all of this?”

Louis shifted in his lap. “A little. I don’t know, it’s hard to get into… those parts of it. I don’t even wanna remember any of it.”

“I know, but you can’t run from it forever baby,” Liam whispered, giving him a gentle squeeze. “You’re safe. I promise you that. He’s gone, forever, you’ll never have to see him again. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Louis sucked in a sharp breath and nodded, screwing his eyes shut. “I know. But what if… I don’t know.”

“There’s no way he could ever get out, Lou,” Liam said with a reassuring smile, stroking a hand down his back. “It’s a maximum security facility. I don’t ever hear anything about prisoners getting out of there even on parole. It’s over.”

Louis twisted his lips in concern, thumbing over his own fingers in his lap. “You… you hear? They tell you what goes on in there at the station?”

Liam sighed and tilted his head a couple times. “Well, sometimes, yeah. The lads at the station know I had a… connection to all of that. Any news that comes out of Belmarsh gets sent to me automatically.”

Louis drew his knees up, his feet perched on Liam’s knee. “So, is there… anything I should know?”

Liam’s throat bobbed. He didn’t answer.

“There is,” Louis said, his voice shaking slightly. “Liam, why didn’t you tell me? What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Liam said, but Louis was already pushing his arms away and standing, snatching his joggers from the floor.

“What the fuck?” Louis said as he hastily dressed himself again. “Liam, what the fuck? You promised you’d never lie to me!”

Liam leaned back and dragged his hands over his face. “I’m not lying! I just… I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Upset me?” Louis raised his voice. He took a step back and ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Okay, so something really bad happened, didn’t it? Tell me!”

“He’s still there, he’s not getting out, you have nothing to worry about!”

“Answer the question!”

“You don’t need to know–“

“Answer the fucking question, Liam!” Louis yelled finally, his face red and eyes blurry. “I’m not a fucking child, I don’t need you to lie to me to keep me from knowing things! What, you want to control me too? Just like he did?”

“Don’t you fucking say that,” Liam said as he stood up, adjusting his sweats and pulling his shirt back down.

“But that’s what it feels like when you treat me like this,” Louis said as his lip trembled. “It… it makes me feel like you don’t trust me to even think for myself. Like you think I’m too broken to understand anything. It hurts, Liam.”

Liam breathed heavily, staring back at him for a long moment, before finally sighing and sitting back down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “He’s sick.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Louis spat angrily. “Did you forget he fucking tortured me for months? I know he’s fucking sick–“

“No, Louis, he’s sick,” Liam said firmly, looking up at him with serious eyes. “Like, he’s fucking sick. They think it’s a respiratory infection. Doctor said he doesn’t look like he’ll make it another month, so they moved him to the infirmary. He’s thin and pale and coughing up blood, and they don’t expect him to pull through. You happy?”

Louis’ breath caught in his throat. He stood frozen in the middle of the room, joggers slouching over his hips, his t-shirt clutched in his hands. For a solid few seconds, he didn’t say anything at all. His chest rose and fell sharply, like the words Liam had just said had knocked the air right out of him.

“You’re lying,” he said finally, voice trembling.

“I’m not,” Liam dragged a hand down his face, looking exhausted. “I swear. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay? I just… I knew how this was gonna go, I knew it would shake you. And you don’t deserve to have him in your head anymore, not even like this.”

Louis shook his head violently. “No. No, you don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to pick what I can or can’t handle. If he’s dying, if, if he’s…” he choked out a bitter, exasperated laugh. “You don’t think I deserve to fucking know that? You think I don’t deserve to feel something about it?”

“Lou…” Liam started, but trailed off when he saw the mix of emotions flickering across Louis’ face, tears leaking down his cheeks and face red.

Louis pulled the shirt over his head with shaking hands and wrapped his arms around himself like he was cold. “All these years, every time I pictured him… I saw him sitting with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, smug, strong, proud of himself, waiting for a chance to get out. I’ve had to live with that. It fucking haunts me. And now you’re telling me he’s– what? Weak? Dying? And you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe, that might make me feel just a little… I don’t know, safer? That it might give me some kind of peace?”

“It won’t,” Liam said gently. “And now you’re going to be up all night worrying about him.”

“Fuck you,” Louis scoffed angrily, sniffing back tears. “I’m going to bed.”

“Lou, please–”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice cracking at the end. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming their bedroom door shut and leaving Liam in the wreckage.

Chapter Text

Harry had been on the road for just twenty minutes when a brightly lit drugstore finally came into view. He hummed to himself and smiled as he pulled into a parking space, taking off the badge, cap, and nametag to let his outfit resemble more of a vague worker’s uniform than a prison guard.

He got out of the car and cracked his knuckles before locking it and tucking the keys into his pocket, strolling along into the door past the glowing neon “open late” sign.

Even late at night, places like this were teeming with life.

A group of twenty-something girls giggling in the makeup aisle. A tired-looking mother perusing the pantry section for cereal. Drifters and outcasts wandering aimlessly in search of cheap food and something to do.

Harry strolled along through the store, slowing his pace ever so slightly as he scanned through the rows. He plucked a basket from the stack by a display of sunglasses and swung it casually at his side, letting his eyes flick between the fluorescent aisles.

Deodorant, disposable razor, shaving cream.

Toothpaste, toothbrush, mouthwash.

A pack of plain white T-shirts.

A bottle of Dr. Bronner’s liquid soap– for all intensive purposes.

He tossed each item into the basket with easy precision, humming along to the faint pop song playing overhead.

“Excuse me?”

He paused his humming and turned to find a short woman standing nearby. Her hair was dyed black with her natural dirty blonde color peeking in the roots, hanging in loose, damaged strands that framed her face. She had bright blue eyes that looked bloodshot, and her thick black eyeliner didn’t do much to make her look more awake.

“Can I help you?” he asked, putting on a gentle, nonthreatening expression.

“This is really embarrassing, but,” she said with a soft smile, “I can’t quite reach. Do you mind?”

He flicked his gaze to where she was gesturing– a box of black hair dye on the top shelf.

“In need of a touch up?” He said with a grin, reaching up to grab it and hand it down to her.

“Overdue,” she laughed. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded. “Actually, could use your help, too. I haven’t been to this store before, do you know where I’d find some cough medicine? The wife’s been up all night with a nasty cold.”

Her face softened with sympathy. “Oh, dreadful. Yes, of course, I think it’s two aisles over.”

“Cheers,” he grinned. “Have a good night, love.”

Harry slipped away as smoothly as he’d approached her, the mask of an affable stranger never faltering. His basket swung at his side, steady, calm.

Just as she’d said, he reached the rows of various over-the-counter medicines just two aisles over. He perused the shelves of items, picking a few up to tilt and inspect them, eyes scanning over ingredients. He was searching for one thing in particular, another particular compound not quite as fascinating as his beloved Lye, but certainly a contender in his mental rotation of plots.

Doxylamine. A popular ingredient found in many commercially available cold and sleep aid medicines, an antihistamine used by many to treat fevers, coughs, chills, and general sickness, but a special benefit of it was its ability to ease one into sleep despite irritated lungs or a pounding head. It was also used to treat insomniacs even without any other ailments, its use as a sleeping aid prevailing and exceeding so many other medications.

The highest concentration he found was in a store-brand version of liquid Nyquil. Twelve millograms per serving. A single dose of six millograms would easily put someone to sleep already, so this extra strength version he found was quite special indeed.

He continued to hum along with the music coming from the low-quality speakers in the store as he tossed it into his bag, along with a box of Yorkshire tea he found along the way.

At the front of the store, a pair of teenage boys jostled each other in line, dropping snacks on the conveyor. Harry slid in behind them, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly as one of them dropped a soda can with a loud clink. No one bothered to look at him twice. All was going perfectly according to plan, and he still had hours to spare. When his turn came, he placed each item onto the belt with tidy precision. The cashier, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and the visibly apparent weariness of a long graveyard shift, scanned everything without so much as a second glance.

“Find everything alright, sir?” he murmured robotically as he pushed buttons on the register.

“Everything I needed,” Harry said with a smile. “Thanks for being open so late. Truly a lifesaver.”

The man nodded noncommittally. “Thirty-two seventy-six. Cash or card?”

“Cash,” Harry said simply, pulling out the wallet and handing the notes to him. The cashier bagged his items and handed back his change, motioning along the next customer in line.

“Take care,” Harry said. The man gave an uninterested grunt in agreement.

He walked out into the cool, open night air, bag in hand, the “open late” sign buzzing with life behind him. Harry resued his humming and nodded to a man smoking a cigarette outside, walking back to his car that sat patiently for him, unlocking it with the key fob. When he slid into the driver’s seat, he spared another glance at himself in the rearview mirror.

“Right,” he murmured as he turned the key in the ignition, “on we go.”

~*~

It was late. Niall really should have already gone to bed, but his mind was racing as he laid in bed. He looked down at the sight of Amelia sleeping with her head rested on his chest, soft breaths escaping her nose and tickling the spanse of chest hair he had there. Her dainty, manicured fingers draped over him, soft hair spilling over past her shoulders.

He didn’t know how in the world he’d gotten so lucky. He admired the sparkle of moonlight that reflected on her engagement ring and smiled to himself as he absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair.

Picking up his phone from the nightstand, he winced at the rush of blue light and sighed. Twenty past midnight. He certainly wasn’t getting any sleep for a while, so he unlocked the phone to scroll through his feed hoping it would bore him to sleep.

A notification- thankfully silent- interrupted the third cat video in a row that he’d landed on.

Zayn: you awake mate?

Niall’s eyebrows raised. Zayn had been so busy with his new art teaching career that they’d barely had time to catch up in weeks. Texting him in the middle of the night wasn’t out of character, but it could be cause for concern.

Niall: yeah, can’t sleep. u alright?

Zayn’s reply came just a moment later.

Zayn: yeah i’m good. just miss you and the lads. sorry i haven’t been around much :/

Niall smiled softly and typed out a response.

Niall: ur all good mate, shit happens. how’s it been teaching to the future gen of artists and shit?

Zayn: it’s good. rewarding but weird. makes me feel old. some kid called me “goated” the other day and i still have no idea what he meant

Zayn: how’ve you been? i saw the post, congrats mate!!!!! she’s way out of your league

Niall held back a laugh so as to not disturb Amelia’s sleep.

Niall: haha very funny. ur absolutely right idk how i have her fooled

Niall: but yeah been good. work is boring as usual. went out with Li and Lou the other night so that was nice

Zayn typed for a long moment before his reply finally came.

Zayn: oh that’s grand. haven’t seen them in ages. they still acting like an old married couple?

Niall: the worst. Liam made Louis take his jacket on the way out to keep him warm and everything. they’re disgustingly in love

Zayn: that’s great. it’s really nice to see Lou so happy with him

Niall: yeah

Niall bit his lip in thought. It was nice seeing Louis happy with Liam, able to cozy up to him in public and looking more relaxed than ever. Still, he could tell Louis hadn’t quite healed entirely. He was still jumpy at certain words, certain touches. Liam had told Niall over a pint one night about how Louis still didn’t feel comfortable enough to go all the way– which was fine, he’d insisted, but a bit concerning. It had been years. Would Louis ever truly heal?

As if reading his mind, Zayn texted again.

Zayn: do you really think he’s okay now? like… back to normal?

Niall sighed and his fingers hovered over the keys for a long moment before replying.

Niall: idk… Amelia called him cute at the pub and it was like he seized up or something. got that wide eyed scared kitten look he had that whole first year until Liam changed the subject

Niall: it’s like, he’s here, but not entirely. u know?

The three little dots showing that Zayn was typing appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again for a long moment.

Zayn: I hope that bastard is rotting away in there. He’s fucking lucky there’s a bunch of walls and guards around him so I don’t drive down to London myself and beat him senseless.

Niall: i know. sometimes i wish id done more when we found him. i should’ve beat the shit out of him

Zayn: hey you can’t say we didn’t try. still got that nasty scar on my arm to prove it

Niall: that’s true

Niall: god i fucking hate him

Niall: Louis should be playing footie and working a real job. not cooped up inside typing all day and too scared to leave without Liam. it makes me feel sick

Niall sighed and blinked groggily. His eyelids finally felt a bit heavy.

Niall: i gotta get to bed. don’t be a stranger yeah?

Zayn: I’ll come by soon. I’ll make time, promise.

Niall hearted the message and shut his phone off, laying it facedown on the nightstand and running his hand through Amelia’s hair again.

Louis was on his way to healing, at least. He knew that.

Chapter Text

Two hours til dawn, and Harry had finally driven all the way up to Thorne. He smiled as he drove through the once familiar streets, recalling his fond memories with Louis. He passed the park where he’d watch Louis practice football, his head filling with every sweet, tantalizing visual of his boy in those blue athletic shorts, thick, tan legs on display; the tight matching shirt across his chest that did little to conceal his firm pecs and slim waist. Harry remembered how Louis would look coming off the field- sweat dripping down his temple, cheeks flushed, hair a wild, fringey mess that stuck in every direction. He recalled how he’d sneak onto the sidelines of the field when everyone was huddled or otherwise distracted and take little souvenirs for himself. Louis’ water bottle, his phone charger– once, he even got lucky enough to snag a spare pair of compression shorts from Louis’ duffel by the goalpost. He’d slept with them in his arms every night until he finally took Louis home.

He passed by the petrol station where his baby had been so cruelly ripped from his arms. His lip curled in anger and he felt the scar of the bullet wound on his shoulder burning in his skin at the memory. It had taken him all these years, but he’d finally learned to forgive Louis for betraying him in such a way. After all, it wasn’t his fault. It was the fault of those stupid imbeciles who dared to call themselves his friends, all caught up in their own jealous want to have Louis for themselves. They simply couldn’t handle that Louis had chosen Harry, they couldn’t understand their love and never would, so in bitterness they turned Louis against him.

His poor, sweet, innocent Louis. Harry’s heart ached in his chest to think of what he’d been going through all this time without him. He knew Louis must’ve been absolutely miserable, all cooped up in a flat with that ogre who took him away. He couldn’t bear it to think for too long about what Liam might be doing to him.

“I’m on my way, baby,” he muttered with tears in his eyes. “Daddy’s coming to save you. Just hold on a little bit longer for me.”

Of course, he knew he couldn’t just hunt Louis down and storm in to grab him. That would be messy, uncalculated, and it might shock and frighten his baby boy, which he’d never want to do. Unless he had to. But this was not reason for that– no, this was opportunity for skilled performance. Harry also knew he only had a few hours til dawn before he’d need to really lay low for a bit once they discovered Collins’ body in his bed, as they’d surely also discover his car was missing.

He’d need a few things. Luckily, he’d planned for this ages ago.

When they left for Italy initially, Harry knew there was a possibility of them being stopped, and took the necessary steps to give himself some help when he finally got out.

The car pulled onto that old familiar dirt road, and a grin tugged at his lips remembering every pass through here. Particularly the most important: when he’d succeeded in getting Louis away from the party and had him in the backseat, knocked out cold.

Once Louis had fallen to the sedative, it was easy to carry him back to his own car and lay him in the seat. He wanted to take him right there– God, he wanted to. But he knew he had to be patient. Still, he allowed himself a little taste, he deserved it for all his hard work, after all.

Once the zip ties were in place around Louis’ wrists and ankles, he’d leaned over his body and shuddered in delight.

“Finally,” he’d whispered. “No one else will ever touch you, my love. You’re mine. Soon enough, you’ll know it too.”

He didn’t linger too long, knowing he didn’t have much time, but slowly, he leaned down, his breath ghosting over Louis’ parted lips. Tentatively, he stuck his tongue out and swiped it over them, moaning at the taste. He really couldn’t help himself then– he dove straight in, licking and sucking and kissing Louis’ numb lips that didn’t respond. He felt himself growing hard in his jeans and rutted down against him, kissing him harder, spit smearing across Louis’ face as he continued to moan.

“God, you taste so fucking good.”

Harry shivered at the memory and composed himself as the car finally reached its destination.

He frowned at the sight. The cottage, once beautiful and teeming with life, was desecrated now. All the windows and doors boarded up, the plants that had hung in the windowsill and spilled over the banisters all dried and rotten with decay. He supposed he couldn’t really be mad, who in their right mind would want to live in the cottage that had been famously named “The Rose Killer’s House of Horrors”? He remembered his lawyer, Archer, trying to suggest they put the place up for sale, but that it wouldn’t do well unless they completely sealed away the basement, including the bad room.

Well, that just wouldn’t do. He had too many special memories with his Louis down there to let it go. Thus, the house remained abandoned all these years.

But, he thought as he smirked to himself, parking the car, that also meant the place had sat completely undisturbed for all these years.

He killed the engine and pocketed the keys, stepping out of the car and stretching his legs. This wasn’t quite freedom, but it was better than that dreadful cell. Soon he’d have his darling boy in his arms again, and then they’d truly be free.

Whistling softly to himself, he walked down the little cobblestone path that went from the front yard to the brick wall in the back, which was now completely overgrown with vines and weeds.

“We’ll have a new garden,” he mused, stroking his hands down the rough brick. A gust of wind came past and sent a shiver through him. It was freezing outside and he just had a t-shirt, trousers, and boots on, and he was still alarmingly thin. Louis wouldn’t recognize him like this, he’d need to regain his strength.

He lifted a boot up to a ledge of the brick wall and boosted himself up, a small grunt escaping him at the effort as he pushed himself over the ledge and hopped down into the courtyard.

It was entirely overgrown and every rose bush had been uprooted, leaving piles of dirt next to the graves he’d worked so hard to dig. His chest hummed with anger. How dare they? How fucking dare they? He’d worked so hard to perfect his garden, and here laid the remnants: nothing more than rotten, dead roses and mounds of dry dirt.

No matter. He wasn’t here for the roses, anyhow. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he walked along the path until he reached the shed. That had been boarded up as well, covered in tattered and faded caution tape, but he wasn’t planning on going inside.

Just around the corner, he smiled as he found exactly what he was looking for. Behind the shed was a wild poppy plant, still managing to have survived all these years, albeit the flowers not in bloom due to the winter season.

Winter, he thought. Nearly February, he knew it was. He’d missed Louis’ birthday, but that was alright. If everything went according to plan, he’d make Louis’ 24th birthday truly unforgettable come next December.

He knelt to the ground and slipped his hands underneath the slight gap under the shed, just behind the dormant poppy, and grinned as his fingertips touched the handle of the trowel. He pulled it out and immediately stabbed it into the earth, quickly working to unearth the poppy and dig underneath it.

Finally, just half a meter underneath the surface, his trowel hit something with a loud clank. He tossed the tool aside and dug in with his hands, lifting out a locked metal box that had rusted at its hinges. He held it like a precious child, daintily setting it on the ground and lifting the padlock to inspect and check for any damage or evidence of a break-in attempt. 

He maneuvered the numbered keys on the lock until it was open– 24-12-1-2. His and Louis’ birthdays.

His own birthday was approaching, he realized. He hadn’t celebrated in any way all those years in prison, for he had nothing to be happy about from another year without his Louis.

He knew he still had to stay in hiding, but perhaps… perhaps he could allow himself a glimpse of his boy before he was ready to take him home. He deserved it, after all.

Humming to himself at the thought, he clicked open the lock and discarded it on the ground, opening the creaky hinges of the box with careful precision. His eyes sparkled upon looking inside.

A multi-tool pocket knife. A bottle of Rohypnol–  probably still in date. A silver handgun and a few cartridges of bullets. A neatly sealed envelope of notes, £10,000, to be precise. A sim card and a brand new– well, 3 years ago it was– cell phone. But most importantly… Some of the polaroids he’d managed to save.

His skin prickled with excitement. With a shaking hand, he lifted one to look at it in better light.

There he was. His darling boy, exactly where he should be: on his knees, naked, his smooth, honeyed skin on display, pert nipples showing pink and swollen from teasing and play. His eyes were wide and glassy, blurred with tears that fogged the sparkling blue irises, and his beautiful pink lips were wrapped around Harry’s cock, that was just in view from the bottom.

Harry smiled fondly, stroking over the image with his fingers. Louis was so beautiful that way. Down on his knees, where he belonged, no worries, no struggles to weigh him down– the only thing he ever had to do was make his daddy happy. And he did that just by being himself. Harry couldn’t ever complain, even when Louis misbehaved– he knew Louis loved him, he just needed a little guidance sometimes.

He thumbed over the picture once more, then tucked it behind to look at the next.

“Oh, my favorite,” he said, beaming from ear to ear. There was Louis, again, but this time, he was on the soft strawberry printed bed covers, his cheek pressed into the bedding with his hips raised in the air. His hands were bound behind his back and his mouth was stuffed with a pair of his own panties that Harry had made him wear all day, tears (of joy, surely) leaking down his pink cheeks where he stared back at the camera.

Every little inch of his skin was absolutely beautiful and perfect, but Harry was most focused on one particular part of him.

His ass was raised high in the air, the cheeks a deep red from the half-hour-long spanking he’d earned after talking back again. But there, just in the center of the two perfect, tan globes, was his beautiful little hole.

It was pink, tight, and glistening around Harry’s fingers that were inserted from behind the camera. Harry groaned remembering the feeling, how Louis’ cries had turned into pleading, breathy moans of pleasure, how he’d begged with his body for more. He’d looked breathtaking that way, taking everything Harry gave him like such a good boy.

Harry tucked the photos into his pocket for later with a fond smile, pressing the palm of his hand into his hardening cock through his pants. “Soon,” he whispered to himself, as he closed the box and filled the hole back in with dirt, before taking the box back over the wall with him, landing lightly on his feet.

He walked carefully back to the car. He knew he’d need to discard it soon, all he had to do was drive it most of the way to his hideaway he’d planned for, and from there it would be just a matter of leaving it somewhere it would be towed for parking illegally. He’d done all his research long before this and knew the only car impounds in Doncaster were far in the opposite direction of his safehouse.

He whistled to himself as he climbed back in and gingerly set the metal box on the floor of the passenger seat. Looking back up, a ray of sunlight gleamed into his eyes, making him squint.

Dawn was beginning to break. Harry smiled. It was only a matter of time, now.

Chapter Text

The most important rule of any relationship is that you should never go to bed angry. Liam and Louis had successfully managed to never break this rule in their years together, always striving to talk things out and never leave an argument hanging.

This certain night, however, they’d broken that rule for the first time.

Louis gave him the silent treatment all night. When Liam finally came to bed, Louis was already under the covers with his back turned and facing away, the lamp on his nightstand turned off with his phone facedown beside it.

He’d tried talking, and was ignored. He climbed into bed cautiously, and tried again, but Louis only pulled the covers further over himself.

“I just didn’t want to make you upset,” he whispered.

“Please,” Louis cut him off, his voice sounding rough and dry. He must have been crying before Liam came in. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Liam said, swallowing the dry lump in his throat. “Okay, Lou. I love you.”

Louis didn’t respond.

Liam inhaled and released it, swiping through his phone to set his morning work alarm– five o’clock. He ran a hand through his hair and clicked off his lamp, settling in under the covers.

He scooted in close to Louis, draping an arm over his waist, but was promptly shoved off.

“Please don’t,” Louis whispered shakily.

“Baby, it’s just me,” Liam said carefully, knowing Louis could have these flashbacks sometimes.

“I know it’s you,” he croaked. “And you hurt me. Don’t touch me right now.”

Liam’s arm hovered uncertainly over his waist, then finally pulled back with a wince. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, biting his lip to keep himself from upsetting Louis any further.

Minutes turned to hours. Every now and then he heard Louis shift under the covers, a quiet sniffle muffled into the pillowcase that pulled at Liam’s heartstrings like an iron weight. All he wanted to do was hold him, but he knew better than to set Louis off when he got this way.

The worst part of it all was that it had never been Liam’s fault that he went into this dormant, protective mode. Liam was always the one to ease him back into reality, to calm him down when he got triggered. Now, Liam had lied to him, thinking he was protecting him but only hurting him more than if he’d just told the truth.

Liam swallowed as he thought back on it. He thought he was doing the right thing, but maybe he had been a little selfish. It was just… so hard, sometimes, to know if something would trigger Louis so deeply or not. He thought sparing him from the knowledge that his abuser was dying might keep him from staying up all night in worry.

Though, Liam had to admit to himself after long enough of his mind racing in bed, perhaps it was more for selfish reasons than he’d like to say it was. If Louis had known Harry was sick, there was a possibility he might feel sad for him, that he might regress into that childlike worried state he spent months in when they first locked Harry away– asking about him constantly, trying to send him letters, begging to just make a single phone call and every attempt being squashed in the name of protecting him.

Liam despised the thought of Harry even occupying Louis’ thoughts for more than a moment too long. He hated Harry, he truly did. Hated everything he did to Louis, every taunting word his disgusting mouth had said in that courtroom, every memory of the man lingering a bit too long on campus back in Uni. He still couldn’t erase the images that had been shown in court from his mind, of Louis in those degrading positions looking up at Harry just past the lens, his eyes wide like his entire existence belonged to him. If Liam had things his way, Louis wouldn’t be allowed to even utter his name in their home.

He knew he couldn’t control Louis like that, and yet, he’d still made a failed attempt to do so.

Sighing finally, he turned around in bed, his back facing Louis’, to let sleep take him for a few hours at least. They’d deal with it in the morning.

~*~

BRRRING. BRRRING. BRRRING.

Liam jolted awake from the few hours he’d managed to sleep to his alarm blaring out in the dark bedroom.

“Fuck’s sake, too loud,” Louis whined like a child, folding his pillow over his head.

“Sorry, babes,” Liam whispered as he fumbled around until he finally grabbed his phone from the nightstand, shutting the alarm off. He leaned his head back against the pillow, taking in a slow breath. His eyelids still felt heavy.

“Get up or your snooze alarm is gonna make me right pissed,” Louis mumbled, muffled by the covers pulled over his head.

Liam blinked his eyes a few times to try and rid himself of his sleepiness. “Yeah, yeah, I’m up.”

He sat up in bed, mumbling a quick “light” to warn Louis before he turned his lamp on. Louis gave a weak, tired noise and kept the covers pulled tight over him.

Louis hated that he woke up so early for work, always insisting that crime had to be happening just as much during normal business hours and Liam shouldn’t have to wake up at such an ungodly hour to get ready.

Once he was dressed and only missing his shoes, toolbelt, and morning cuppa, Liam bent down to kiss Louis’ head through the blankets.

“Love you,” he whispered as he moved to turn the lamp off.

“‘M still mad at you.”

“I know,” he sighed. “Still love you.”

Louis hummed in acknowledgment, and Liam supposed that was the best he was going to get. He stood back up and walked out of the room, shutting the door softly on his way out and walking down the narrow hallway to the kitchen.

He tapped the button for the kettle on and rummaged through the cabinets for his morning tea. Louis preferred Yorkshire, of course, but Liam needed Earl Grey to wake up for these early morning shifts full of paperwork at the station.

He blinked the grogginess from his eyes as he plopped a teabag into his mug and tucked the box away neatly back in the cabinet, listening as the kettle began to bubble.

Supposing he could save some time, he went to the living room to grab his shoes from beside the door, slipping into his regulation police boots and lacing them tightly. Louis hated when he wore shoes in the house, but, Louis was asleep.

The kettle began to whistle and he walked back into the kitchen to lift it from its plugged-in stand and pour it over the bag, watching at the steam rose and curled into the air.

Just as he was stirring in his sugar and splash of milk, his phone rang.

Liam sighed heavily and slid the button over to answer it. “Payne.”

“We need you down at the station immediately.”

Liam’s brow knitted tight. It was his supervisor, Chief Constable Brownstone.

“I’m due there in thirty. Is everything alright?” he questioned as he leaned against the counter to lift his mug to his lips.

There was a pause on the other end. “News from Belmarsh. It’s urgent.”

Liam scoffed, taking a sip and cursing softly as the heat of it burned his tongue. “What, did the fucker die already? Calling me early to tell me the good news?”

Another pause. Longer this time. “Payne, there was a body found in Styles’ bed this morning. But… it’s not him.”

Liam froze with his mug lifted halfway to his face. “…What?”

“He’s gone. There’s a dead guard in his bed he made to look like him. Those incompetent fucks at the prison have him completely unaccounted for the past seven hours. He’s gone, Payne. Styles has escaped.”

The mug fell from his hand onto the counter, toppling over with a clink and spilling murky brown liquid all over the surface, settling into the lines between the tiles.

“Payne?”

“I’m sorry, what the fuck do you mean he escaped?!” Liam seethed, trying desperately to keep his voice lowered. Fuck, Louis was still asleep. He had no idea.

“We don’t know where he is, but you had a personal connection to this case,” Brownstone said carefully. “We need you right now. You might be able to help us track him down before…”

“Before he comes to fucking kill me and my boyfriend?” Liam cut him off, his voice shaking. “Shit. Shit, shit, motherfucking shit. How the fuck?”

“We need you down here now, Payne,” Brownstone repeated, “But you cannot tell Louis what’s going on, do you understand me? Putting him in a state of panic could endanger him. We know Styles will try to come for him first, but we don’t know how long until he can get there. We have no idea where he is.”

Liam’s heart was beating out of his chest. His eyes were blown wide, fingers trembling. “Okay, alright– fuck. I’ll call a friend to stay with him while I’m at work. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Good lad. I know this is difficult– we’ll support you however you need. I can send a unit to watch the complex while you’re here, out of sight from your window, just to make sure no one suspicious comes through.”

“Yeah,” Liam said, voice shaking. “Yeah, please. That would be helpful.”

“Sending them right now. We’ll see you soon.”

The line disconnected and Liam slid his phone back into his pocket. The room was dead silent, save for the quiet drip, drip, drip of tea spilling off the counter and onto the floor. He sat frozen for a moment, then shook his head and snatched the rag hanging on the oven handle to wipe up the mess. He tossed the wet rag over the sink faucet and ran shaking hands through his hair, forcing himself to straighten out.

His worst nightmare had come true. And Louis, his sweet, incredible Louis, was sleeping soundly, with no idea.

Liam gulped as he went to grab his badge and belt from the table by the front door. Louis was already pissed at him for lying– what would he think of this? He knew Louis didn’t like watching the news, how it stressed him out, so that wasn’t a major issue. But if he were on social media, something might pop up. The story was bound to break in just a few hours if not sooner.

He grimaced as he knew he only had one option. As he opened the door and turned to firmly lock it behind himself, he pulled his phone back out with a tremor in his fingers, dialing Niall.

The phone rang once, twice, three times before he finally answered.

“For Christ's sake, Li, someone better be dying for you to call me this bloody early.”

“I need you to call in sick to work and come over to the flat,” Liam said, his voice firm and urgent as he quickly walked down the corridor to the steps.

“Beg your fucking pardon?” Niall said groggily. Liam could hear Amelia in the background groaning at being woken up.

“Listen to me, and listen carefully,” Liam pressed as he took the steps down two at a time. “I got a call from the station. Harry escaped last night. They have no idea where he is–“

“WHAT?” Niall yelled into the phone.

“Fuck’s going on?” Amelia asked from the background.

“Just listen!” Liam continued as he finally got to his car and opened the door. “Louis doesn’t know. You cannot tell anyone. Not even Zayn. I guess… I guess Amelia can hear me, too, so bring her. The news will break in a few hours, but right now, I need you to get down here and just like… let yourself in with your spare. Stay with him. I’m begging you, Nialler.”

“Alright, fuck, okay,” Niall answered. Liam could hear shuffling around in the back. “And what am I supposed to tell him when he comes out and finds us just… sitting in his living room?”

“Keep him occupied,” Liam said back as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “Tell him Amelia needed wedding planning help or something. Keep him off his phone.”

“Alright, but he’s gonna find out eventually…”

“I know,” Liam said with a groan. “But not until I know for sure that bastard isn’t anywhere near the flat. We’re gonna send out cars to set up checkpoints everywhere around. Once I know for certain he’s safe… I’ll call and tell him myself.”

“You’re just gonna lie to him?” Niall asked, his voice heightening.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” Liam said, biting back tears. “Wake him up and tell him the man who almost strangled him to death in front of me got out and is on the loose with no known whereabouts?”

“I mean, fuck,” Niall muttered. “Yeah, I guess I don’t see that going well.”

“Just keep him occupied, please? Lock the windows if you can, shut the blinds and curtains, if he asks why you’re over, just… tell him your internet went out and you needed to use ours to look at wedding stuff or something. Okay?”

“Okay,” Niall answered. “Yeah, alright, I’ll call my boss and we’ll head over in ten. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thank you,” Liam breathed out. “Feel free to fill Amelia in on everything on the way. I can’t tell you how much this means.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m not letting that freak anywhere near him again. Don’t care what it takes.”

“Love you, Ni.”

“Love you, too, mate. Now get down there and find this bastard.”

Chapter Text

With the car discarded, and his little grocery bag carrying his new acquisitions and the metal box, Harry was on his way.

He’d planned for this ages ago, before he’d even suspected he’d need to flee with Louis to Italy. A little hideaway, a nest to recover in. Hidden far from Thorne, a tiny village just outside the Doncaster city– Sprotbrough.

It was a small town along a river, the population not even 8,000 people. Quiet. Secluded. Exactly what Harry needed right now.

He hummed to himself as he walked along the trail, keeping his head down but nodding to stray hikers and morning dog walkers passing by every now and then.

Finally, he reached it.

The houseboat.

It was modest, not a huge vessel but decent enough. There was just enough space inside for a full-sized bed and a kitchenette, and a tiny bathroom just down the hall. Above deck, there was an open space for sitting, guarded by a thin railing all around.

He beamed from ear to ear as he approached, seeing the faded paint on the side of the boat– “The Camellia”.

She was an old family heirloom, laid abandoned for years even before he’d learned of her existence. A modest temporary home, but it would do. He’d been on it a handful of times as a child, his father having made sure to instruct him on basic boat operation skills that he had stored in his head to this day. After the accident, The Camellia had been one of the specific things left to Harry in his parents’ will.

She was just what he needed to rehabilitate himself and prepare.

Taking a quick look around to ensure the area was clear, he walked briskly down the docks until he reached her port. He kept his head up to keep an eye out for anyone around as he felt around the floorboards of the deck, until his fingers caught on the notch he was looking for. With a sly smile to himself, he lifted from the ledge of the notch and the floorboard came up easily.

He reached in with ease and pulled out the keys to the vessel, twirling them in his fingers and taking the next couple steps to the door that went into the cabin.

It was small, but it was all he needed right now. He set his bag down on the floor and pulled the polaroids from his pocket, smiling as he walked to the little kitchenette and attached them to the wooden paneling above the sink with two of the thumbtacks that were stuck in the wall already. He stared intensely at the pictures, at Louis’ big, sparkling blue eyes, at his succulent tan skin, at his fingers, curling into his hands where they were tied behind his back.

“Daddy needs to get strong for you first,” he mumbled as he stroked over the glossy surface of the photos, “and then, my love… we’ll be together again very, very soon. Wait for me.”

He pressed a kiss to each picture and stepped back, turning around to survey the area.

“This won’t do… much too dusty in here.”

Harry went towards the bathroom and opened the adjacent tiny closet, pulling out all the supplies he needed: a broom, some dusting cloths, various cleaning sprays. Just tucked behind the bottles of window cleaner and antibacterial spray, though, he grinned as his fingers caught on something even more important.

“Hello, old friend…” he whispered as he pulled out the glass jar of clear liquid.

Trichloromethane. Better known as Chloroform. Harry already had a good supply of sedatives, but this… this was special.

Chloroform had a sweet, almost minty smell to it, making it hard to detect until it was too late. It had long ago been used as a medical anesthetic until a safer alternative was found, but really, it was safe enough. Unless used prolongedly. Easily, a rag soaked in the substance pressed over one’s mouth and nose could force them unconscious upon inhaling, and for quite some time, too.

“Not yet,” Harry whispered as he tucked the jar back in the closet, “but soon.”

He got to work without another moment to spare, stripping the bed of its years-old covers and sheets and replacing them with fresh ones he’d sealed in plastic packaging long ago, stored in the closet. He swept the entire cabin, dusted over every surface until he could run a finger over it and not detect a speck of dirt, sprayed the porthole windows with glass cleaner and wiped them free of dust and streaks. The kitchen was easier since it was just two burners, a little sink and a small counter, and he easily scrubbed it clean until the surface reflected back at him.

When he was finally done, he’d worked up a bit of a sweat and his weakened body protested at such sudden activity. But he paid it no mind. He neatly tucked away all the supplies back in the closet and shut the door softly, then let himself, finally, after all these years, lay down to rest.

~*~

“… and then we found him, and he was just sitting there in the car. I swear to you, he almost looked like an entirely different person.”

Amelia frowned as she listened to Niall, having tried as hard as she could to follow along with him explaining what happened three years ago when Louis was taken.

“So what did you do? Did you call the police?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, biting his lip as he recalled the event. “But they took their sweet time getting there. And we just, well… we knew we might not have much time. That Harry might come out and see us at any moment. So we went up to Louis and tried to get his attention, to get him to unlock the door.”

“And then what? Did he?”

“Eventually,” Niall sighed as he turned down the next road. “But it took a lot of convincing.”

“What? How? He didn’t recognize you?”

Niall swallowed. “Well, yeah, he did, but… Ames, I swear, he looked at us like… like he was scared. Of us. His eyes were all wide like a lost child in a market. He kept saying he couldn’t, that we were gonna… what was it? Take him to something called “the bad place” or something? It was fucked.”

Amelia let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, clutching her hand to her chest. “Christ. That’s horrible. What the hell did that monster do to him?”

“You don't wanna know,” he said solemnly. “Like, genuinely, I mean it. Don’t google the case or anything. It’s better if you just believe me that… It was bad.”

She nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she watched the streets go by in the dusky morning fog. “I won’t look it up. Promise. I don’t even know what this ‘Harry’ bloke looks like, but… I don’t want to know.”

“Yeah,” Niall mumbled. “Anyway, after that… something flashed over his face, I don’t know what, but… he finally pressed the button on the door and unlocked it. But then, right as we got the door open…”

“Shit, he saw?”

“He did,” Niall nodded. “Harry came out and saw, and it was like… fuck,” he shook his head, struggling to go through it all again. “It was like a fucking demon took over or something. He was vicious. He and Zayn got into a fight, and I thought I was gonna see my best mate’s face beaten in right in front of me. It was… God, babe, it was horrible.”

Amelia let out a soft, sympathetic noise and reached over to place her hand tenderly on his knee. “Ni, if it’s too much, you don’t have to tell me everything. I can’t imagine how terrifying that was for you all.”

He shuddered but softened at her touch. “Yeah, I… Shit. I guess I haven’t talked about it in so long, I kinda forgot how much it shook me up.”

She smiled softly and rubbed gentle circles into his knee through his jeans. “That’s alright. I think I’m caught up enough to understand.”

Niall sniffed and cleared his throat just as they pulled into Maddox Row Flats. “I love you, you know that?”

“Couldn’t forget it if I tried,” she said, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. “Love you too.”

Niall smiled warmly back at her and thumbed over her fingers. “Alright. I’ll let us in, and let’s just be quiet. I don’t wanna accidentally wake him up. That boy is a nightmare when he’s cranky in the morning.”

She nodded and let go of his hand to climb out of the car, following his lead down the pavement and up the steps to the raised platform that led to Louis and Liam’s flat.

“So we just hang around and wait for him to get up, and then…?”

“Tell him we needed to use his wifi because ours went out,” Niall explained as he pulled out his keys, flicking through until he found the one with “LiLo” written on it.

“But we’re supposed to keep him away from his own phone, too?”

“Louis doesn’t really pay attention to his phone, anyway,” Niall said as they approached the door with the “go away” doormat– a gift from Zayn that Louis adored. “He uh… deleted all his socials after the whole thing. Didn’t want anyone bothering him about it all, especially once the story went global.”

“Fuck,” Amelia mumbled, rubbing her hands together to warm them up in the frigid January air. “How the hell did I miss all of this?”

“Because you hate social media, and for that, I love you even more,” Niall said with a smile. “Alright, gotta be quiet now.”

She nodded and stuck close behind him as he gently inserted the key and turned the lock to open the door. They stepped in slowly, soft footfalls onto the carpeted interior, and Niall carefully closed the door behind them, checking several times that it was indeed locked.

They settled in on the couch once they’d cautiously removed their boots and coats, and prepared to wait, laptop at the ready to explain their visit.

Chapter Text

Liam had been at the station for two hours, but he felt like time had stopped. Voices blurred around him into white noise, ringing in his ears and reverberating through his brain as he struggled to focus. To listen, to pay attention, to not empty his stomach on his fucking desk.

Harry had escaped. He was out there, God knows where, no doubt waiting for a chance to strike the moment he got a window. He feared for his life. He feared for Louis’ life, his safety. So suddenly, everything he’d worked for to get into this field was dissipating in his hands like ash. He devoted his life to protecting others and namely Louis, and now, he might not be able to even do that.

“Payne,” a voice interrupted his spiral of thoughts. Liam jumped at it and dropped the pen he hadn’t realized he’d been anxiously clicking the entire time.

Liam looked up to find Chief Constable Brownstone looking down at him. “Yes, sir. Sorry. What were you saying?”

Brownstone sighed. “Payne, if this is too much–“

“No,” Liam rushed, straightening himself. “I’m here, I promise. I have to do this. I’ll never forgive myself if anything happens.”

His boss eyed him with a hesitant expression and hummed. “Look, kid, we have to act quick. Let’s go over what we know so far again, alright?”

“Right,” Liam nodded, rising from his desk and following Brownstone to the wall where they’d pinned every document, picture, and relevant locations, red strings connecting points to each other.

“We have security footage of Styles leaving the prison complex in Collins’ car. From there, we have a few CCTV shots of him from different stores he drove past, but we lose him for a few hours. We received communication about an hour ago that a man matching his description made a purchase at a Boots in Northampton.”

“He’s headed north,” Liam said shakily, holding his knuckle between his teeth.

“It would appear so,” Brownstone replied gravely. “The cashier reported that he purchased a pack of T-shirts, a razor, some hygiene products and… a bottle of extra-strength off-brand cough medicine.”

Liam’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear God.”

“From there, we lose him again for a few hours. We pick up the car heading east down Kirton Lane–“

“Back to the cottage?” Liam asked, trying to steady his racing heart.

“Yes,” he replied. “We suspect so. We don’t think he could still be there at this point, but… we have to take precautions. We’re going to send a unit to investigate the site and see if he left anything behind.”

“I’ll go,” Liam said firmly.

“You will not,” Brownstone said decidedly, turning to face him. “We can’t know for sure if this is a trap or not. I wouldn’t put it past Styles to risk it all just to kill you. If he’s lingering somewhere nearby and sees you, who knows what he could do? And that would indicate to him that the target is unprotected without you there.”

“The target,” Liam swallowed. He pictured it– Harry’s haunting smirk as he watched Liam investigate the cottage, running off right towards their home and bursting in like a madman. “Fuck. I can’t just sit at the station and do nothing, sir.”

“But Payne–“

“You said you needed my insight,” Liam said. “I can’t be much help sitting here all day. But I know him. Listen,” he began as he stepped to the board and pointed to the location of the cottage. “He’s not going to linger there. He’s too smart for that, and he knows that’s the first place we’ll check. But he went there for something.”

Brownstone raised an eyebrow. “And you don’t think he’d set some kind of trap to kill whoever goes to investigate?”

Liam scoffed. “Styles doesn’t kill without sticking around to see it. Every attack of his was deliberate and personal, as though he couldn’t kill if it wasn’t by his own hands. He’s not leaving fucking booby traps.”

His superior seemed to ponder his suggestion for a long moment. “Alright,” he sighed finally. “We’ll scope it out. But you will not lead this mission, you understand? You will tag along and provide another set of eyes and personal insight. That is all.”

Liam released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Understood, sir.”

~*~

Harry awoke from his short slumber with a groan, a weak ray of strained light through the overcast sky blearing into the porthole window and striking across his face. He took a deep breath and shuffled to sit up in the bed, stretching his tired limbs and yawning.

He looked to the clock beside the bed. Ten in the morning. Quite late for a rise, for him at least, but he’d needed the rest.

He swung his long legs over the bed and rose to his feet, running a hand through his hair and frowning at the memory of cutting it. No matter, though, it would grow back eventually.

Ah, the hair. He should shave, he thought, as the beard in his face was increasingly irritating. But if he went completely clean-shaven, he might be more easily recognizable once he was able to go out. He pondered his options as he padded to the hall closet and rifled through the drugstore bag until he dug out the razor and shaving cream.

With a slow smile, he made his decision. Harry walked to the tiny bathroom just beside the closet door and studied his reflection in the streaked mirror above the sink. The beard was dreadful, but just needed some shaping. He hummed to himself as he scrubbed his face with one of his trusty castile soap bars, rinsing it clean then applying the shaving cream to the area necessary.

Some clean, smooth swipes of the razor and meticulous edge-work later, he was done. He splashed his face with water and looked back up, grinning back at his reflection. Beard gone, but in place of it, a thick mustache that still skewed his appearance slightly.

It was perfect.

He was interrupted from his inner monologue by the grumbling of his own stomach. Right, food. He hadn’t really given eating much thought in a long time since he’d worked so hard to thin himself. But he’d need to bulk up, and quickly, at least enough to regain his strength in order to be presentable for his Louis. His boy might be horrified at his ghastly shape now, and he couldn’t have that.

Sweet memories of Louis filled his head as he went back to the bedroom and dug through the dresser drawers to find an appropriate change of clothes. As he pulled out a thick woolen jumper and some work pants, he smiled at thoughts of their first nights together.

He thought of Louis’ freshly waxed, smooth long legs, his golden skin that glistened in the dim light of the basement. He thought of the boy’s pink lips stretched around the ball-gag he’d had to use the first night to keep him satiated, the thin line of drool that trailed from the corners of his mouth. He pictured Louis’ eyes, bright blue and sparkling with lingering hope for rescue, as they looked up at him from the bed, pleading, begging, praying. 

He couldn’t wait to have his boy back. He wouldn’t let anyone steal him back ever again, that was for damn sure. He didn’t care what he had to do, who he had to slash his way through to get to him— Louis would come home with him and that was final.

Harry stretched his neck as he dressed himself, sure to pull a thick work jacket over his jumper and pull the hood over to conceal his face, stepping into boots that actually fit and grabbing the boat keys.

“Soon, my love,” he whispered to the polaroids tacked to the wall.

~*~

Niall and Amelia had been passing the time scrolling– doomscrolling through news, in Niall’s case–, whispering, cuddling, and just plain sitting. But finally, at around ten-thirty, they heard the noise of Louis stirring in his bedroom.

“Alright, remember the plan,” Niall whispered to her, clutching her hand.

Amelia nodded. “Don’t startle him. Don’t let him see the news. Act like we just came to use their wifi. I got it, love.”

Niall smiled softly and kissed her cheek. “They’ll catch that fucker soon and then we can go back to normal. Promise.”

He pulled his laptop from his bag and opened it to several tabs of different venue booking websites, which in all fairness, they had been looking at anyway. So it wasn’t completely a lie.

The door opened and they tensed slightly, doing their best to look relaxed on the couch as they heard soft padding of steps, until–

“The fuck?”

Louis’ groggy, sleep-ridden voice filled the dark room, and Niall took a steady breath before speaking.

“Morning, Lou!” He chirped as though normal. “Oh, Li didn’t tell you? Our wifi went out, so we came over to use yours.”

Louis stared back at them, sleepy eyes squinted and eyebrow raised.

“To look at wedding booking stuff,” Niall continued. “You know, for our wedding. We’re getting married, so we, uh, need a place to do that in. So… looking at venues. Just needed to do that. Nothing else.”

Amelia gently squeezed Niall’s thigh in comfort, but mostly to get him to stop talking before he got them into trouble. “Sorry if we spooked you, love,” she smiled at Louis gently. “Li said you had today off and would probably just be asleep all day.”

Louis seemed to relax, but huffed a small breath. “Yeah. ‘Cause Liam knows everything about me. Knows what’s best for me. Better than I do, right?”

Niall furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

Louis sighed. “Nothing. I’m gonna make some tea.”

He shuffled into the kitchen and the pair on the couch shifted awkwardly once he was out of the room.

“Think he bought it?” Niall whispered.

“If you stop over-explaining, he will,” Amelia said with a soft smile, rubbing his thigh. “I actually do want to look at venues, though. Give it here.”

He chuckled as he passed the laptop to her and watched fondly as her eyes lit up with excitement upon scrolling through the list of available gardens and halls.

The sound of the tea kettle starting up filled the kitchen across from them, along with soft movements of Louis opening cabinets and pulling out what he needed. Though, after a moment, the sound was more occupied by quiet, frustrated grunts from Louis.

“Go check on him, yeah?” Amelia whispered. “I’m locked in, anyway.”

He patted her leg and stood, walking carefully to the kitchen and making sure Louis could see him before he spoke so he didn’t scare him.

Once he knew he was visible, Niall popped his head into the kitchen. “Everything alright?”

Louis shot him back daggers and groaned. He was on his tip-toes, reaching as high as he could to the top cabinet of the pantry and failing to grab whatever it was he was searching for.

“Liam knows I can’t fucking reach this stupid shelf, and he’s supposed to keep my tea in front so I can get it down, but the stupid wanker put his own Earl Grey shit right in front of it this morning, I guess. Like he was in a rush or something. I don’t get it.”

Niall swallowed. Liam was in a rush, but obviously he couldn’t tell Louis why. “Huh, weird.”

“Look, you know I hate needing help, but would you just…?” Louis trailed off, eyes cast downward in shame.

Niall sprung to action. “Yeah, yeah of course, mate. Sorry.”

He crossed the room in a few steps and reached up, raising on his toes with a little more height than Louis and pushing aside Liam’s box of tea to grab the classic red Yorkshire box Louis so adored, handing it down to him.

“Cheers,” Louis mumbled with a small smile. “Maybe it’s good you’re here. Might’ve knocked meself out trying to climb the counter to get it.”

Niall forced out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Wouldn’t want that.”

Louis cocked his head to the side, studying him. “You alright? You sound… jumpy.”

Niall cleared his throat. “Yeah, ‘m fine. All good. Just, er… Nervous, with all the planning shit. I should get back there before Ames decides to sell my car so we can book a castle.”

Louis seemed to soften at that. “It’ll all be fine, Ni. You two could get hitched in a Tesco parking lot and she’d still adore you.”

“Hardly,” Niall laughed, “but thanks, mate. I really am a lucky bastard.”

Louis winked at him as the kettle finished boiling and turned to the counter to pluck a tea bag from the box and drop it into his mug, wrapping the string around the handle before pouring his water in.

Niall bit his lip as he turned back and carefully pulled his phone out to shoot a text to Liam as he went back to the living room.

Niall: when are u getting back?? He just woke up, everything is fine but u know he’s gonna have to find out eventually.

He pocketed the device and sat back down on the couch, wrapping an arm around his fiance and rubbing her shoulder.

“Okay, I know it’s a bit out of budget, but would you look at the size of the chandelier in this place?” Amelia beamed, turning the laptop screen to him.

Niall’s eyes bulged. “Fuck’s sake,” he mumbled.

She giggled and nudged him as she went back to scrolling. Then, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he scrambled to dig it back out.

Liam: Not sure. We just got back from the cottage. He wasn’t there, but the grounds were disturbed and something was dug up behind the shed. Ni, I’m worried. Wherever he is, he’s likely armed and dangerous.

Niall choked on his breath, struggling to compose himself and text back quickly.

Niall: fuck. just get back here soon, please? I know u wanna protect him but he’s gonna be pissed if he finds out u lied for so long. sounds like he’s already in a mood

Liam’s reply came quickly.

Liam: Yeah, we got into a bit of a spat last night. I can explain later, but he has every right to be fuming with me right now. Let me talk to my boss and see what I can do. Just keep him busy, please?

Niall sighed, but thumbs-upped the message and put his phone away just as Louis entered the room and settled into the chair across from the couch with his steaming mug of tea.

Louis yawned as he settled in, sleeves of his jumper covering up to his knuckles where his hands wrapped around the mug. “So, how’s the planning going?”

Niall nearly jumped but managed to compose himself. “Oh, it’s great. I mean, not great, but going somewhere. Stressful. Not bad, just like, a lot. I mean, not really, just–”

“It’s going well,” Amelia interjected to stop Niall from talking himself into a spiral. “We’re excited! It’s a lot of work, but I’m very hopeful.”

Louis smiled. “That’s great. You two really are picture-perfect, huh?”

She laughed softly. “You’re so sweet. Honestly, I’ll be happy no matter where we get married. I picked a good one,” Amelia grinned as she reached up to ruffle Niall’s hair.

“You really did,” Louis nodded. “Should I put the telly on or something? I don’t really watch much, but it feels quiet in here.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “No!” He said a bit too quickly.

Louis’ face scrunched. “No…?”

“I mean, uh… Why don’t we just put some music on? Too distracted to watch anything, anyway, would be a waste,” he said, trying to mask the nervousness in his voice.

Louis stared back at him. “Is something going on?”

“Niall’s just got the jitters from planning,” Amelia tried to explain calmly. “Right, love?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, in as calm a tone as he could manage. “Sorry, Amelia’s right. I’m trying to act cool, but, truthfully, this wedding planning stuff is stressing me out.”

Louis’ face softened and a little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well, in all my years. Never thought I’d see the day Niall Horan went all soft and romantic, stressing over a wedding.” He set his mug down on the coffee table and scooched in beside his friend, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall pushed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “You make fun of me now, but you’re gonna be a weeping mess at the ceremony, mark my words.”

“I don’t think there’ll be a dry eye in the whole place,” Louis giggled. He turned his attention to Amelia. “Do you know what kind of dress you want yet?”

Her eyes brightened and she grinned. “Move over, Ni,” she said as she tugged Louis to sit between them by his arm. “Okay, so I have a lot of options, but I’ve narrowed it down to either a classic A-line with a side slit, or a flared empire style. Either way, though, I want more of a pale champagne color than a stark white.”

Louis leaned over to grab his tea and got cozy in between them, scanning through the website she pulled up with different silhouettes and styles.

Niall watched on fondly. Everything was fine. They’d manage just fine, just had to wait until Liam got home.