Who's Joking? (Stylinson)

24: Journals of a Jester

This chapter is giving fan favourite. I can just tell ;)

Enjoy! <3

20/200 xx

The table was a mess—papers everywhere, Gotham's underbelly spread out in fine print and photographs under the sharp glow of a single overhead lamp. Harry hadn't moved for hours, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the lines of his face lit in sharp relief. His pencil scratched lazily against the margin of an open file, but his words came first—calm and casual, breaking the silence the moment Louis walked in.

"Get me a drink."

Louis froze mid-step, brows shooting up. "Are you kidding me?"

Harry didn't even glance up, flipping a page between long, deliberate fingers. "Did it sound like I was kidding?"

Louis scoffed, an incredulous look on his face. "Is that why you brought me here? To wait on you?"

Harry was still fixated on the litter of files. "Am I hearing complaints, sweetheart?"

Louis tilted his head, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realise I'd been promoted to personal servant."

At that, Harry finally lifted his gaze. "Well," he said, his green eyes gleamed as they met Louis', half-lazy and half-lethal. "I could think of a hundred other ways to put you to work. Not sure you'd like them though."

Louis shifted, his chin raised stubbornly. "Try me."

Harry tilted his head like he was considering it. A beat passed—long enough for Louis to feel unsettled—and then Harry's eyes glinted. "You couldn't handle it."

Louis frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry just smirked at him, eyes trailing up and down, taking in every detail of Louis.

Louis recoiled, catching on. "Ew," his heart skipped a beat. "Pass."

"Shame," Harry hummed, dropping his attention back to the files in front of him. "You'd like it eventually. Might just need some adjusting."

Louis exhaled sharply, more exasperated than he cared to admit. "Unbelievable." He turned on his heel toward the kitchen. "I'll just stick to waiting on you."

"That's the spirit, sweetheart," Harry called after him. "What would I do without you?"

When Louis returned a moment later with a cold glass. "Here. Don't say I never did anything for you," he held it out to Harry.

Harry didn't take the drink. Instead, with disarming ease, he reached up and caught Louis' wrist in his hand. Before Louis could process it, he was tugged gently but insistently to stand between Harry's legs, uncomfortably close.

"Hey—"

"Calm down," Harry murmured.

Louis could feel every nerve in his body scream at the proximity, his pulse stuttering as he tried not to focus on how close Harry's face was to his. "What, you expect me to feed it to you as well?" he bit out.

Harry smirked, thumb brushing just once against Louis' pulse as if he could feel its frantic beat. "Not a bad idea, darling."

Harry used his free hand to take the drink from Louis, bringing the glass to his lips and drinking in long sips. Louis tore his eyes away from Harry's lips, from his throat, looking down at his feet instead. Louis swallowed, the space between them thick and unbearable.

Harry placed the glass on the table, his attention going back to Louis. For one drawn-out moment, Harry just looked up at him—studied him, like he was piecing together the puzzle that was Louis' rapidly unravelling composure.