#dwpc

“We can technically run through some more flashcards on the way,” Perrie chimes in, scrolling through her phone and most likely searching for a place. “Emma told me about this new place on Fourth that’s apparently really good.”

“No, really it’s fine, go on without me,” Louis stresses, pulling his textbook out of Liam’s reach when he tries to pick it up. “I think I need to do some independent revising anyway.”

“Are you sure, Lou?” Liam asks.

“If you’re really worried about the test, we can meet up again tomorrow,” Perrie says, clearly assuming that Louis is overwhelmed. Well, he is, but not because of that.

“I just really need to study by myself,” he insists. He should have come up with a better excuse for not going out with them and then come back to the library discreetly, he thinks frustratedly. But it’s too late now to backtrack. “Seriously, go on!”

“Just tell them the truth,” Zayn murmurs in a low voice, coughing right after. Louis shoots him a warning glance.

Unfortunately for Louis, Liam and Perrie both caught the exchange. “What?” they both ask in unison.

“Nothing,” Louis squeaks, cheeks turning even more red.

Perrie narrows her eyes, looking from his flustered face to Zayn’s exasperated one. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing. Zayn is stupid,” Louis says. He gestures to emphasize but ends up knocking over his pencil box, sending pencils and highlighters and other random crumpled up pieces of paper spilling onto the floor. He groans, chair dragging against the carpet as he drops to his knees to pick them up.

“It sounds like something,” Perrie continues to needle, crouching down to help him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Louis deflects, shoving a handful of pens back into the pink pouch. “It’s genuinely nothing, actually. There’s nothing to be told, just -”

“Louis is pining over some alpha that sometimes hangs out at the library when his friend is working as an aid,” Zayn blurts.

Louis sighs. “I hate you.”

“An alpha?” Liam exclaims, sounding confused.

“Your future alpha?” Perrie says, perking up immediately. “Lou, you need to tell me everything. Like, now!”

He groans. “There’s nothing to tell,” he grumbles. “He’s just… really cute. And he smells so good. And he doesn’t even know I exist.” He groans again.

“Yet,” Perrie says loudly, getting the attention of a beta from another table that glares at them. “He doesn’t know you exist yet,” she whispers, lips curling up into what Louis has dubbed her ‘scheming’ smile in the past.

“Oh, no,” he says, recognizing the look she sends Zayn. He shakes his head wildly. “No, no, no way. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s a big no.”

“C’mon, Lou, you’ve been fawning over this alpha for a month,” Zayn says and Louis makes an indignant noise, crossing his arms with a pout. “You need to just get it over with and talk to him.”

“Why can’t he talk to me?” Louis whines, tipping his head back with a sigh. “I’ve tried everything. Sitting attractively, looking for books in the aisle next to the one he’s standing in, wearing those low-neck tops that usually work like catnip.”

“Yeah, except every time he even gets close to looking at you, you hide behind a book!” Zayn accuses, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t deny it, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes!”

“That’s not true,” he insists anyway. “Alphas are dumb!”

“Well, that’s true,” Perrie snorts.

“Hey,” Liam complains, brows furrowing. He grimaces, considering. “Actually, that’s fair.”

“Alphas are dumb so you need to make it easy for him,” Perrie says seriously. “Go up to him. Let him get a whiff of your scent and see that pretty neck and he’ll be hooked, I’d bet a million dollars on it.”

Louis turns to Zayn. “I hate you,” he repeats.

“Perrie’s the one making a plan,” he complains, offended.

“I despise you.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Perrie says, clapping her hands together. “So obviously none of us are going to the cafe.” Both Louis and Liam groan, but for two entirely different reasons. “Quiet! This is important.” She turns to Louis with a solemn expression on her face. “What time does he normally show up?”

“Six thirty,” he answers reluctantly.

They all turn to look at the clock at the same time, right as the minute hand joins the hour hand at the big six. It’s six thirty.

“I hate all of you,” Louis decides, dropping his head into his hands.

“Okay, let’s practice what’s going to happen when he walks in,” Perrie rushes, eyes wide. “Lou, what does he look like?”

“What does who look like? What are we talking about again?” he asks, heart pounding in his chest. Any minute now, Harry Styles is going to walk through that door and his friends are going to embarrass him and ruin any chance of him ever being interested in Louis.

“He’s tall. Curly hair. Green eyes,” Zayn offers, and Louis throws the damn pencil case at him. “Dimples too.”

“Liam, pretend to be the alpha,” Perrie commands.

“Hi, I’m the alpha,” Liam says, voice monotone and face blank. Zayn masks his laugh with a cough.

Perrie is not impressed. “Give me something to work with,” she says. “We only have a few minutes and we need a plan.”

“Are we going to watch?” Zayn asks, sounding eager.

“No,” Louis says, right as Perrie and Liam say, “Yes.” He glares at all of them. “Don’t you dare! Harry’s going to think I’m so -”

“So his name is Harry,” Perrie grins. “Louis and Harry sittin’ in a tree -”

“Guys, I’m still hungry,” Liam says woefully, eyeing the clock.

“You know what? Let’s go, Liam,” Louis says, standing up abruptly. “I’m not doing this.”

Perrie and Zayn both protest but he brushes them off, shaking his head. He’ll just stick to his sensual reading tactics and hope it one day works. There’s no way he’s approaching Harry today, especially with his nosy friends in close vicinity.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he repeats his words from earlier. He grabs his jacket and shrugs it on, pulling his books up and hugging them to his chest. “Liam, let’s -”

He freezes as the library door swings open and Harry steps in. “Shit.”

Harry frowns. “No tests?” he checks.

He gets giggles in returns. “Silly hero,” Hespera coos. “The test has already been passed.” She gestured to the trees filled with golden apples. “You have not eaten an apple.”

A weight lifts from his chest and he sighs. For once his paranoia has worked out in his favor. “They are said to grant immortality,” he says, unable to help himself. “If I had eaten it…”

The sisters exchange looks. “It is better not to dwell on things past,” Hestia says. Out of all her sisters, she is the most known. Goddess of the hearth, of family and warmth. Even just looking at her makes Harry’s heart ache, longing for his mother and the comfort of his home filling his lungs.

“You have come here to collect gifts from the heavens,” Erythea says softly, “and we will give them to you.”

Exhaling in relief, he clasps his hands together. “Thank you.” For once, something comes easily. He stays knelt as Hespera approaches him, placing a hand on his shoulder that coaxes him to look up and meet her kind gaze.

“First, a gift from us,” she says. Her hand raises into the air, palm up, and a moment later a cloth bag appears in it. It’s not a common rucksack, Harry can tell, eyes lingering on the almost translucent white material, threads of something shimmery running through it. “A kibisis,” she says. “No blade, no flame, nothing can break or tear this bag. It will hold the head of the monster you seek on your return journey, keeping it safe.”

She hands it to him and Harry bows his head again in respect.

“From Athena,” Hesperusa says next, taking her sister’s place. She conjures a polished shield. “To guard you from the strongest foe. It can only be carried by one with great courage in their soul.”

Harry doesn’t hesitate to take it from her, feeling the courage deep in his bones. He is going to survive this journey and he is going to slay the beast. He believes he can and he will.

Arethusa smiles at him, taking Hesperusa’s space. “Next is from Hermes,” she says and Harry blinks in surprise. He didn’t expect the god of thievery, luck, trade, travel, and more to willingly assist him, but he supposes they are half-siblings.

Once again, the thought of being so closely related to immortal beings while he himself is so vulnerable makes him grimace. But he turns his attention back to Arethusa as a pair of leather sandals appear in her hands. However, they are not just useless footwear - Harry studies the wings that protrude from the heels, fluttering and twitching as if they are living limbs. “These will help you soar above any enemy. They will be of great help in reaching the gorgon’s resting place which lies deep within the mountains.”

Harry nods, taking the sandals gingerly. He is already eager to try them on but he tamps it down, looking to Hespereia as she approaches.

“The last two gifts come from your father,” she says gently, but Harry’s heart stutters. His father. Zeus sent him gifts? As if the shock is painted across his face, she softens. “Young hero, you know your father watches over you from Olympus.”

“One hopes,” Harry says quietly, throat dry, “but one can never know for sure.”

“You can now,” Aegle says.

Hespereia first conjures an adamantine sword: a harpe. Harry nearly gasps when he sees it, taking in the smooth glowing diamond blade. His hands tremble when the nymph passes it on to him, memorizing the texture and weight of it in his grip.

“This is… most generous,” he says, voice hoarse. His father sent him one of the most powerful weapons that exists. His father is watching over him, essentially blessing his quest.

“It is not all,” Hespereia reminds, holding out her hand to conjure the final gift. A helmet made of solid obsidian that gleams dark under the fading sun. “This is also a gift from your father’s brother, Hades, and it must be returned after your quest. It is his helm of darkness.”

“Helm of darkness,” Harry echoes, marvelling at the craftsmanship and how the metal feels shockingly cool to the touch. He realizes it’s from the underworld and he shivers at the thought. “What does it do?” he asks when the nymph doesn’t offer an explanation.

“It will mask you from the monster,” Hespereia says, dipping her head. “It pulls the shadows around you until you are hidden from view. It will be of great assist.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, before tipping his head back to the heavens to repeat his gratitude to his father and half-siblings. Thank you for believing in me.

I will not let you down.

All his life, he’s been the hunter. Swift and steady, always alert and aware, always having the upper hand. But for a second down there on Nevarro, he had been the prey, a piece of meat surrounded by a pack of starving wolves. And he had tried to hold his ground, but it had been too much for him. If the others hadn’t arrived, he wouldn’t be here right now. The realization is grim, and what’s even more unsettling is that he’s lost his number one source of jobs and money.

The only things he has are the things on his person and whatever’s lingering on his ship, all other belongings back on Nevarro with no hopes of getting to them in the near future. There was no time for preparations or planning things out, and now he’s cruising through the galaxy with no idea where he’s going next.

Harry’s always preferred being alone, but this is something else entirely. His fellow Mandalorians can’t help him and he can’t go back to the planet he calls his home. He is running from the wolves, and whether he regrets his choices or not, he must now deal with the consequences.

“Got any idea where we’re going, kid?” he asks aloud, glancing back at the creature who tilts its head in confusion. He sighs, figuring he’ll get used to the silence eventually.

He doesn’t expect the kid to turn and reach for the side panel, pressing down on a button that activates the sensory lights.

Frowning, Harry turns it off from the matching control on his arm panel, but the creature just presses another button, one for another set of lights, before shuffling closer.

“Stop touching things,” Harry scolds, turning it off with a huff.

The kid blinks at him, face impassive and expressionless. But then its small hand inches out and presses yet another button, this one for the engine.

Eyes widening, Harry scrambles to deactivate it as the ship jerks, sighing in frustration as he picks the kid up and sets it on his lap so he can prevent it from messing around with the controls.

He pulls up the map again, focusing on a planet lurking far in the outskirts of the rim. “Let’s see... Sorgan... Looks like there’s no star port, no industrial centers, no population density… Real backwater skughole, which means it’s perfect for us.” He glances down at the kid. “You need to lay low and stretch your legs out for a couple months. How does that sound, you little womp rat?”

It blinks at him, confused.

“No one’s going to find us here,” Harry says decidedly, setting the coordinates and doing the calculations so he can put the ship on autopilot. He needs to do an appraisal of his resources, taking stock of what he has and what he doesn’t.

He leaves the kid on a seat, belt strapped on so it won’t mess with anything while Harry’s away. Maybe if he’s lucky it’ll fall asleep, but he’s not taking any chances.

A quick run through of the cargo hold tells him he doesn’t have much food on board, but he’s not too worried since Sorgan is less than four hours away and he’s feeling fine. He’s reaching for the rungs for the ladder, ready to go back up and check the upper levels, when it happens.

Harry stills, the skin on the back of his neck prickling with awareness as his ears catch it.  

A sound.

Not a creak or a drone or anything mechanical - an inhale. An inhale from a living creature. Harry doesn’t make any sudden movements, fingers curling around the ladder as he waits for another noise. Even though his hearing is unusually precise, there’s still a possibility he imagined it, still off-centered after the events of the day, but his instincts are telling him he’s not. He keeps his body language relaxed and unguarded, stepping up onto the ladder and beginning to climb really slowly.

Something shifts, and he hears a sigh. A sigh of relief that drifts in from the weapons storage which he hadn’t checked on his run-through.

He jumps down from the ladder without making a sound, striding to the storage compartment with quick, silent steps. An intruder, his mind is repeating. There’s an intruder on his ship. His hand reaches down for a gun as he peers into the cramped space.

There’s not really much room to hide in here so Harry sees him immediately. A boy crouched close to the ground, back pressed to the wall and eyes shut. They flicker open when Harry clicks the safety off the weapon.

Blue eyes, Harry notes. Blue eyes lined with dark, exhausted lines, and now layered in distinct fear. Pink lips pursed into a grimace. He’s young, Harry realizes. Around his age or a year or two less. He’s dressed in inconspicuous beige and white clothing that doesn’t fit quite right, baggy on his small frame. He’s also seemingly unarmed, but Harry raises his own gun nonetheless.

Inhaling sharply, the boy holds his hands up in surrender, shrinking away from it. “Wait,” he says hurriedly, eyes widening. “Don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot. I just have a proposition.”

“You’re on my ship,” Harry says. It comes out more surprised rather than accusing like he intended, mind still catching up with him, reeling from this new development. There’s an actual person on his ship. How had he missed this?

The boy shakes his head. “Listen, please don’t do anything.” He stands up on shaky feet, hands still held out in front of him in a plea. “I needed to escape so I hid away on your ship. I just need passage, alright? Passage to Tatooine.”

Harry stares at him in disbelief. “No.”

“I can pay you,” the boy says, fumbling for the small leather bag strapped around his middle. “I have money -”

“No,” Harry repeats, more firm. He’s angry, angry at himself for slipping up and not noticing sooner. This boy could be anyone - another bounty hunter even. He looks frightened and harmless, all soft edges and delicate features, but Harry knows better than to take appearances to heart. He presses the gun closer to the boy, watching him suck in a breath, face paling. “Give me one reason I should believe you’re not some sort of spy.”

“How do you even know that?” Harry frowns. “Marla said the others barely got to explain anything to you before you chased them off.”

Louis scoffs. “I’m not dumb. I learned the basic stuff about the system ages ago.”

“The demons taught you about our systems?” Harry frowns, the distaste dripping from his voice undeniable.

“Yeah, they do,” Louis says dryly. “Hierarchies, habits, hundreds of methods of murdering angels…”

He said it in hopes of eliciting a reaction, and he gets exactly what he wants. Harry goes rigid, eyes flashing. “Don’t joke about things like death and murder,” he says darkly. “Not here.”

“Death is inevitable,” Louis dismisses. “Even for you and me. The demons taught me that too.”

Harry sighs. “This would be so much easier if you just listened,” he says flatly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Louis asks sweetly, smirking. He swings his legs from where he’s perched in a chair, Harry stood across the room from him.

“If you listen, you can learn,” Harry insists. “Learn how to be an angel and how to maintain goodness.”

“Well, that sounds boring,” Louis says, feeling satisfaction flicker inside him when Harry has to squeeze his eyes shut in exasperation.

“You have to listen,” Harry says firmly. “Those are the conditions. You have to try.”

“But I don’t want to,” Louis says, shrugging.

“How do you know you don’t want to when you haven’t tried once?” Harry asks. “When you haven’t even tried to learn about angels and how -”

“I can’t be what you and Gabriel and the others want me to be,” Louis interrupts flatly, “and I’m sure you’ll see that for yourself eventually. I can’t be an angel or believe in any of the bullshit you’re preaching about me being able to learn something that cannot be taught. I’m not like you and I never will be.” He lets out a harsh, bitter laugh. “None of your lessons in goodness will ever change that.”

For emphasis, he stands up and plants his hands on his hips, letting his wings unfold in proof. Harry’s eyes track them, a grimace curling his lips. He doesn’t even bother to hide his discomfort and it just makes Louis even more mad.

“This unnerves you, doesn’t it?” he says, blood boiling at the sight. “My existence unnerves you because it proves everything you know to be true as wrong.” He ruffles his feathers, blood boiling when Harry averts his gaze. “You can’t even look at them.”

Unlike Harry’s pure white feathers, Louis’ wings are a stark shade of slate, lighter than charcoal and darker than ivory. The perfect shade of gray. And it’s really only fitting, he supposes. He’s the mix of both worlds - half-angel and half-demon. He’s not good or evil - he’s in between.

And that’s what drives both angels and demons completely mad.

Neither side knows what to do with him, knows what to do with the boy who crossed the bridge between both kinds that had for so long been unbridgeable and changed the game forever. He is the product of a forbidden match and the source of chaos that neither demons nor angels know how to deal with but seem to think they have a claim over him anyway. He is a source of conflict.

He tracks the movement of Harry’s jaw as he grits his teeth, frustration radiating from his figure. If Louis weren’t so pissed at him, he’d find the whole irritated facade attractive. He’d find Harry attractive. He is objectively handsome, Louis can admit. All angels are to some extent, but Harry’s looks exceed even that bar - all sharp angles and classically beautiful features. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t notice it, or if he said his eyes didn’t linger on the angel’s biceps and how nice they look with his arms crossed like that.

But beyond that enticing exterior, Harry is no different than the other angels Louis has met - perhaps, even worse. He doesn’t get it, is the thing. He thinks he can teach Louis about goodness and that eventually his wings will turn white and any remnants of his demon DNA will drain out of him like sweat off his skin. That he can just choose a side even though his blood is woven with strings of both.

That’s what they all think - what the demons thought too when it was their turn to try and convert Louis. Because that had been the decision made when Louis’ parentage had been confirmed two years ago. Two years with the demons. Two years with the angels. And then, on his twenty-fourth birthday, he’ll choose a side.

Louis had been raised on Earth - raised with the humans. He grew up in the system, passed from foster home to foster home until he turned eighteen and was let loose on his own. That’s also when his divinity became too strong to conceal. It hadn’t even been a week since his birthday when he woke up with a searing pain between his shoulder blades - the exact spot where eventually his wings sprouted, tilting his world on its axis and sending him reeling. He remembers the day like it was yesterday, the memory making him feel almost nauseous.

“It doesn’t matter if I can look at them not,” Harry says shortly, breaking him out of his thoughts. “It’s my responsibility to mentor you - to teach you goodness. And that’s what I’m going to do whether you cooperate or not. Because I believe there’s potential in you: potential that you can learn the way of the light as you’ve learned the way of the demons in the last two years. You have a decision to make at the end of all of this, Louis.”

“Like I don’t already know,” Louis snaps, annoyed. Harry’s speaking as if he hasn’t been reminded of his impending choice every day since he grew his wings and was taken by the divine beings, poked and prodded at by demons and angels alike, studied and talked over like an object on auction. He’s well aware of what they decided for his destiny - what was decided for him since never once did either side ask his input. He spent his time with the humans being passed from home to home only to end up with the same fate here.

After two long years with the demons and these tumultuous last couple months with the angels, Louis is tired. He’s tired and he’s weary and he’s angry. He doesn’t give a shit about either side - if anything, he thinks he’s better off with the humans. Earth is a mess, he knows, but it’s also completely gray.

Humans are just like him, a mix of good and evil. They exist in the in-between and it’s allowed. Louis has spent his entire life feeling lonely, but at least in the human world, he hadn’t actually been alone. He hadn’t been the odd one out - he was just one in a sea filled with a million shades of gray.

“You can argue or fight it all you want,” Harry says slowly, brows dipping in the middle. Louis can see the way he tamps down any feelings of annoyance and frustration, determined to be peaceful and saintly like all other angels. All traces of potential anger that Louis had been thriving on have vanished from his tone along with any hopes on Louis’ side that he could truly get to him. He’s truly just the same as everyone else - angel or demon alike. “But you’re here for almost two years before you make your decision. You may think you can’t be one or the other, but you can and you will be whether you like it or not. Neither side will allow any other alternative. It’s my duty to show you our way of life and that’s what I’m going to do whether you let me or not. It’d be much easier, however, if you were cooperative and actually tried to fit in here.”

Louis scoffs. “I can’t fit in. In case you missed it the first thousand times, I’m not an angel.”

“But you could be,” Harry says easily, fixing him an intense stare. “You may think it’s impossible because of your blood, but I know you can. And I intend to prove it.”

“What makes you think you have any chance?” Louis asks, tone bored. “What makes you think you have a chance when the four other angels assigned to teach me couldn’t last longer than a week. It’s only been one day and I’ve gotten to you too, you can’t deny it. How much longer will you endure it?”

“I’m a Paragon,” Harry says calmly, still trying to be peaceful even as Louis tries to goad him. “I’ve worked my entire life helping humans choose the right path and guiding them to happiness and contentment and I’ve surpassed all other angels in my class. I was blessed with this title along with only nine other individuals, because I represent the supreme ideal of goodness. And on the day I ascended, I made a promise that I’d do everything in power to help as many people as I can choose good, including you. And you will not be the black mark on my perfect record.”

Louis’ lips curl, fingers clenching the fabric of his white tunic. “You forget my mother was a Paragon,” he says coldly. When Harry flinches this time, he doesn’t feel an ounce of satisfaction. Riling the angel up these past few days might have been entertaining, but it doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t and will never understand Louis - will never even try. He tries to keep his tone even as he continues, “She ascended like you - was just as good and noble as you to be given that title and yet she still ran off with a demon. She fell in love with and then chose to be with a demon, to reproduce with one and create me - an abomination in your eyes and the eyes of everyone else. Would you call that good? Would you call that ‘perfect’?”

Harry doesn’t respond, rendered silent.

His eyes drift to the lanterns hung from the stone walls in intervals down the long corridor, flickering weakly. The pale glow from their candles do little to illuminate the hallway but Harry’s sight has long adapted to the darkness after years of training deep in the night.

Every hour, a patrol of four knights will pass across the corridor at the end of the hall, one of the many precautions taken by the king to ensure the safety of the castle and of the royal family. Harry is feeling the familiar stiffness in his neck and legs when they finally appear, symbolizing one hour completed of their five hour watch.

It’s also a sign for something else.

The telltale sound of a bolt sliding echoes in his ears and he tenses, biting his lip to suppress a small smile as the door creaks open.

Prince Louis peeks his head out of the door, immediately directing his gaze to Liam. Even so, Harry can see the flush coloring his cheeks and it ignites a familiar warmth inside him, fingers twitching around the hilt of his pollaxe and the urge to reach over and cup Louis’ chin so he can see those glorious blue eyes getting more difficult to resist.

“Sir Liam,” Louis murmurs in greeting. Liam breaks his rigid focus to bow to him, always the picture of perfect etiquette.

“Your Royal Highness,” Liam says, voice crisp and coated with respect.

Louis nods to acknowledge him, before finally turning to Harry. He moves slowly, lips quirked up at the side as he drags his gaze over Harry’s face and armor. “Sir Harry,” he says, voice soft and fond.

He has to bite his lip this time to tamp away the smile, struggling to maintain his cool. “Your Royal Highness,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t bow. Louis doesn’t want him to anyway.

They stare at each other for a minute and Harry memorizes the softness in Louis’ sparkling eyes, storing it in a safe of a thousand other glimpses that he can draw strength from in his most trying times. But mostly, he just admires.

The prince snaps out of it first, clearing his throat before saying the same words he always says. “I’m going to bed soon, and I’d like to request the presence of one of you gentlemen to keep watch until I fall asleep.”

Liam wouldn’t dare offer, so Harry proceeds with his usual, “I’d be honored, your highness,” and Louis smiles his usual pleased smile.

Instead of protesting or alerting one of their superiors, Liam just rolls his eyes and stays quiet, letting Harry leave without conflict like he’s been doing for the entire six months they’ve been seeing each other. He hasn’t said a word about it to anyone else either, allowing them to keep their secret. It’s why despite the lack of companionship in their rounds, Harry considers Liam to be someone kind and trustworthy.

The man doesn’t even falter when Harry breaks the number one rule that’s been instilled in him since he’s been knighted, and abandons his post.

He breaks away from the wall as Louis opens the door wider, making enough room for him to slip inside. Then he breaks the second most important rule that’s been instilled in him: he steps foot inside the prince’s private rooms.

Even though the prince gave him explicit permission to do so, it’s considered consequential. Knights aren’t meant to interact with the prince - aren’t meant to be the recipient of the prince’s affections either. But Harry cannot find it in himself to feel ashamed.

What he and Louis have, while forbidden, is something tender and honest. It doesn’t matter that he’s just a knight and Louis is the heir to the throne - none of it matters because they are in love.

So, he enters the room without hesitation, propping his pollaxe against the wall as Louis gently shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt back into place. Harry settles his hands on his hip, making him jump before sighing out and slumping back into Harry’s chest. They stand like that for a bit, and Harry inhales the sweet smell of berries in Louis’ soft hair, letting it relax him like it has every day.

It had been difficult abandoning his post the first few times when Louis suggested it, even when he reasoned with himself that it really is true that Louis is much safer in his arms than anywhere else. But half a year past, Harry has forgotten any of his grievances, content to savor every moment he has with the prince because their time is always finite.

One hour. One hour every night and a sprinkling of minutes between Harry’s jousting practice and Louis’ daily garden stroll is all they have, but Harry wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Louis eventually breaks away from his hold, humming to himself as he turns and tilts his head up to appraise Harry with a frown. “You look tired,” he notes.

“You know it’s rare that I get much sleep,” Harry says. Especially when you aren’t laying against my chest, hand pressed to my heart.

Huffing, Louis rolls his eyes. “They need to stop making you patrol for so long. You’d think Father would be wise enough to realize that he needs his men well-rested in case of an attack rather than half-dead.” He reaches up and thumbs at Harry’s dark under eyes and Harry catches his hand, sliding it up to circle Louis’ wrist and squeeze before letting go.

“Your father just wants to keep you safe,” Harry says, “and I want that too. If that means I have to stand guard outside your door for five hours every night, I’m glad to do it.”

“Four,” Louis corrects, “only four.”

Harry smiles because he’s right. The fifth hour - or rather, the second - belongs to them. Harry remembers when he resented the system in place that meant younger and less-senior knights were given the most brunt work - the monotonous jobs of keeping watch and patrolling. But now he’s grateful for them, because it’s what finally brought him Louis.

Like many knights in the kingdom, Harry spent all seven years of his apprenticeship from fourteen to twenty-one at the castle as a squire, assisting and learning and training. Though it was only when he received his official title as a knight that he’s been honored a place inside its walls, freed from the cramped apprenticeship dwellings far out on the grounds and given a bigger, though still gloomy, room alongside the rest of the garrison and personal guard.

It’s also the first time he had the pleasure of laying his eyes on the crown prince, but it wouldn’t be until he was tasked with the first rotation of guards for Louis’ quarters that Louis would lay his eyes on him in return.

Louis smiles softly at him now, flattening his small hands against the chest plate of his armor. He doesn’t have to wear his full set when he’s patrolling but the chest plate and leg plates remain, a layer of chain mail underneath them. He doesn’t have to wear his mask either though, which means he’s free to lean down and press his lips to the crown of Louis’ head.

Harry intertwines their fingers when Louis’ hand curls into his, squeezing. “I love you,” Louis whispers then, and Harry’s heart swells with the declaration.

“And I love you. My little prince,” he murmurs back, before ducking down to seal the words with a kiss.