Who's Joking? (Stylinson)

60: Videos of a Vigilante

Soldier= Louis, Poet= Zayn, King= Harry

7k chapter so pls show some love <3

Low-key didn't edit bc it was too long so mind any mistakes :)

70/777 <3

Sleeping in his own bed again should have been comforting.

After the past two nights in hotel rooms (stiff pillows, too-crisp sheets, and the low, unfamiliar hum of air conditioning), Louis should have slept better.

But he didn't

The truth of why settled somewhere low and heavy in his chest.

It wasn't the mattress, or the room, or even being back in Gotham that was the cause of his terrible sleep. It was the absence.

The lack of warmth beside him. The lack of someone.

He ignored the thought before it could sink too deep, before he could follow the shape of it to its inevitable conclusion. Instead, he pushed himself out of bed, rubbed the exhaustion from his face, and padded toward the kitchen.

The penthouse was quiet, the city still silent beyond the glass. The skyline was dusted with early morning haze, Gotham's usual filth softened by the glow of the rising sun.

Louis reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug. His movements were familiar and practised.

Without thinking, he grabbed a second mug and filled it too.

By the time he turned, Harry was already in the doorway, as if summoned by the smell of coffee.

His mask was gone, dark curls unruly, the collar of his shirt open, exposing his tattoos. He rolled his shoulders as he entered, glancing at Louis before stepping past him, flicking the TV on with a lazy press of the remote.

"Sleep well?" he murmured, voice still rough with sleep.

Louis handed him the second cup. "No."

Harry smirked, wrapping his fingers around the ceramic. "What? Back in Gotham less than twelve hours and you're already miserable."

Louis huffed, taking a sip of his coffee. "Sounds like Gotham."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. He leaned one hip against the counter, bringing the mug to his lips. "Place has a way of sucking the life out of you." He nodded toward the massive windows, where the sky outside was beginning to be smothered in thick, grey clouds, the early morning light struggling to cut through. "And the rain. Always the rain."

Louis rolled his eyes. "It's not even raining," he commented. "Besides, you'd think Gothamites would be used to it by now."

Harry hummed. "Oh, they are. Doesn't mean they don't bitch about it." He gestured vaguely. "Not enough sun. Not enough light. Too cold, too wet, too depressing—"

Louis snorted. "Alright, alright, I get it."

Harry took another slow sip, eyeing Louis over the rim of his mug. "What?"

Louis shook his head, amused. "You talk like you're not one of them."

Harry smirked, tapping a finger against the ceramic. "I'm not."

Louis tilted his head. "No?"

Harry leaned in slightly. "I'm worse."

Louis scoffed. "And don't we know it," he teased, smiling behind his mug.

He ignored it, glancing toward the TV. The usual morning drivel played in the background—traffic reports, business updates, the mayor making some half-hearted statement about Gotham's crime rates.