Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.

C.S. Lewis

Chapter Text

Flying up, Harrybell lets flowers bloom along the tree post, coaxing delicate petals to unfurl as he guides vines to spiral around the wood, filling every gap with lush greenery. He hums softly to himself, his gentle tune blending with the rustling leaves and the distant chatter of his fellow fairies. With a final flourish, he crowns the post with a ring of bright blossoms, their colours vibrant against the rich bark.

Smiling at his work, he grasps the end of a freshly woven garland and flutters backward, his wings shimmering in the dappled sunlight. The garland stretches behind him, trailing between his fingers as he moves toward the next tree post. Carefully, he secures it in place, making sure it drapes just right before taking a moment to admire the scene before him. The entire clearing is nearly complete, transformed into a breathtaking display of each fairy’s talent.

The air is filled with the soft scent of blooming petals, mingling with the earthy aroma of moss and the crisp freshness of the trees. Sunlight filters through the trees above, casting golden beams that dance across the flowers and vines, making them glow as if kissed by magic.

All around him, fairies flit about, each one engaged in their own tasks. Some, like him, are adding the final touches to the decorations, weaving intricate floral patterns along the branches and tying lanterns filled with fireflies to low-hanging boughs. 

Others are busy preparing the animals, adorning baby deer and rabbits with silken ribbons or flower crowns, their hands moving with practiced ease. Doves coo contentedly as shimmering threads are braided into their feathers, while the otter seem to play a game of fetch.

Near the heart of the clearing, the cooking fairies are hard at work, their laughter ringing out like the tinkling of bells. They dart between tables laden with golden pastries, honey-drizzled fruits, and delicate sugar-dusted petals. Tiny pots of nectar simmer over gentle flames, filling the air with a warm, syrupy aroma. A group of fairies carefully arranges goblets carved from acorn shells, filling them with dewdrop wine that glistens in the fading sunlight.

Harrybell grins as he flutters down. He has spotted his best friend Niall preparing the figs. Harry makes sure to be quiet as he flies behind him and steals one of the figs already high up in the air again when Niall lets out a scolding ‘ Hey!’.

Harrybell giggles and waves at his friend, taking a bite from his favourite fruit. The sweetness explodes in his mouth, and he can't help but let out a happy sound. Niall shakes his head with an amused smile and raises his hand to wave back. 

“I’ll see you later?” 

Harrybell smiles back with a satisfied grin. 

“At the tree,” he confirms. 

Said tree is in the middle of Niall's house and the big clearing where tonight's festivities will take place. It's also the spot they usually meet up whenever they want to do something. 

Niall nods, and with that, Harrybell waves his stolen fig in his hand before turning to flutter away to finish his work. 

It’s the summer solstice, the one day of the year when the sun lingers a little longer, and time stretches like golden honey, slow and sweet. It’s the most enchanting of all celebrations for the fairies, a day they spend weeks preparing for; nurturing flowers and vegetables that seem to bloom with extra magic, perfecting dances and songs that echo through the glimmering air, and guiding the woodland creatures as they ready themselves for the grand festivities. 

Mossberry, one of the planning fairies for this year's celebration, flies towards him just as he finishes his fig, licking his sticky fingers clean. She’s holding a bulletin board in her hand, deep in thought as she taps a piece of charcoal against her pouty bottom lip.

“Harrybell, are you done?” she asks, her brow furrowed in concern. She scans the clearing, her eyes softening when she sees the flowers and garlands swaying gently in the breeze.

“I am,” he nods proudly, thinking of the beautiful displays he’s grown today.

She beams at him. “You really are the most talented with flowers.”

“Thank you,” he blushes, feeling the tips of his ears heat up as her words sink in. He knows he’s a talented flower fairy, unique among his court, where fairies were more likely to be garden fairies, growing only the necessary flowers, such as marigold, between fruits and vegetables. If a sweet pea were to bloom, they would admire it as much as the next fairy, but the pea is what they’re after. For Harrybell, the flower is the goal; petals in all shades and shapes, but alike in softness.

Mossberry’s expression shifts slightly, a hint of worry flickering in her eyes as she mutters to herself about checking in with the music fairies. She quickly shakes it off, her smile returning twice as large. “Can you do me a favor and go over the flowers leading onto the clearing on your way out? The path needs to be perfect for the guests later, and I’m worried a few of them might have fallen out of place. It’s the first thing everyone will see as they arrive, so it needs to be just right.”

Harrybell nods immediately, already picturing the flowers along the path. “I’ll make sure they’re all in order. Not one petal out of place.”

Her eyes glimmer with relief. “You’re a lifesaver. Once that’s done, you can head home and get ready. I know you were one of the first ones here this morning, and you’ve done more than your fair share.” 

Harrybell only shrugs. “It's my favourite day.” 

Mossberry smiles warmly, about to thank him again, when a loud, sudden rattling sound rings through the air. It’s followed by the distinct shatter of something like glass breaking. Mossberry’s wings flutter quickly as she rushes towards the noise, her purple wings shimmering as they catch the sunlight.

“Thank you!” she calls over her shoulder, her voice filled with both gratitude and a touch of urgency. 

Harrybell watches her go, scrunching his nose at the commotion. After a moment, he shakes his head and sighs softly. He had always loved the energy of the Solstice preparations. All the buzz, the laughter, and even the chaos. It wasn’t only because festivals were the rare opportunity for his flower talent to be seen as useful , either. He couldn’t wait to see the clearing come to life when the sun dipped low and the fairies began their dances.

Flower fairies are rare in each court, and Harrybell knows how special his gift is. Born from a garden fairy and a light fairy, he cherishes his magic and has worked tirelessly to master it. The moment he learned of his magic, he spent every waking hour outside, growing flowers and learning about them. He doesn't know any other fairies who have worked so much to improve their powers. Most of it always comes naturally to a fairy, but Harrybell went above and beyond, which is what sets him apart from other fairy flowers after all.

Already thinking up his outfit for tonight, he turns toward the path leading into the clearing. The flowers along the edge are delicate, their petals a mix of soft lavender and pale pink, with a few golden accents woven in. Harrybell carefully hovers above the path, inspecting the blooms. As he flits from flower to flower, his fingers graze the petals lightly, coaxing them back into place, ensuring that the soft glow of the evening light will reflect just right off their surfaces.

Once the flowers are perfectly aligned, Harrybell hovers back, surveying the path with satisfaction. The sun is lower now, and the fairies’ preparations are nearing their peak. The faint hum of activity in the distance dwindles behind him as he starts his way back to his home. 

Harrybell's cottage is nestled just outside the town, surrounded by a vast stretch of wildflowers and plants he’s cultivated over the years. He had chosen this spot, knowing he would need room to let his garden grow wild with colour and life. It’s the one place he feels truly at peace, a small sanctuary of his own.

As he approaches his cottage, he lets out a long breath, his wings fluttering with a lightness of contentment. The first thing he does when he gets home is walk through his flower beds, tending to each flower. He touches the petals gently, as if each one is a dear friend. Some need a little extra care, while others simply need his quiet presence to flourish. It takes time, but it’s a soothing ritual he’s never in a hurry to finish. Each flower is unique with their own temperament, but Harrybell loves them all the same. They are part of him and his magic after all.

The sunlight turning golden against the white petals of his gardenias is what tells him that he needs to hurry up and get ready. He leaves a trail of softly glowing petals on the stone path behind him toward the door. 

Honey and lavender welcome him home. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, and shelves are filled with jars of dried herbs, bottles of sparkling potions, and books on everything from plant care to ancient fairy folklore, everything from tales of romance to warning tales of deals with demons gone wrong. Flowers are growing where they please, wrapping around table legs or forming a curtain around his bed. Magic weaves itself into every fibre of his home.

He smiles and bends down when Sundrop comes hopping towards him. The happy bunny crossed his path when he’d found her curled body sheltering under a sunflower beneath a heavy storm. He’d have mistaken her tiny white fuzzball of a body for a poplar fluff if it weren’t for her beige-coloured ears. And it was no longer poplar fluff season. 

Taking her in his arms,  he tells her about his day in a hushed whisper and gentle strokes to her fur. 

“I hope you had a great day too,” he says, putting her down on his bed and kissing the top of her head before he gently sets his wings down against his back, feeling the soft ache that lingers from the day’s work. At his vanity, he takes a moment to glance at his reflection. The day’s pollen and dirt cling lightly to his skin, so he takes his time cleaning his face with a damp cloth, allowing the coolness to soothe his tiredness. His fingers trace over his skin, clearing away the remnants of the earth’s touch, before moving to his tangled hair.

His brown curls, wild and untamed, fall down his back, grazing the root of his wings. With care, Harrybell begins to brush through the tangles, each stroke careful and gentle. He pulls a few strands aside, weaving them together into intricate braids, adding in small wildflowers he’d picked himself just yesterday as well as some tiny pearls he’d acquired from some sea fairies who traded for them with mermaids for some water lilies Harry grew. While the fairy courts don’t often restrict dealings with other magical beings, they tend to advise against trade with certain creatures. Some mermaids can be conniving and goblins were usually to be avoided, whilst trade with dwarves is generally encouraged. It goes without saying that interacting with demons is strictly prohibited though. Harrybell shudders at the thought alone.

As he finishes the final touches of his Solstice outfit, he lets his finger trace around his head, leaving a trail of flowers that look like a crown of pink flowers. 

He adds a golden chain with a green gemstone that rests on his forehead as a finishing touch, smiling at how it seems to glow in the sunlight. 

Satisfied with his hair and crown, Harrybell rises from his seat, moving gracefully to his wardrobe to carefully consider his outfit: a long, billowy soft pink skirt that flows like petals in the wind, paired with a light green top that feels like a cool breath of fresh air against his skin. Around his calves, he lets tendrils of vine grow naturally, curling gently around his skin to form the illusion of shoes, like roots that might bind him to the earth. Finally, he wraps a golden cuff around his upper arm, and a chain of flowers to hang loosely around his waist and hips. 

Standing before the mirror, Harrybell admires himself. The pink flowers braided into his hair give the illusion of having fallen out of the flower crown, their softness blending effortlessly with the pearls woven throughout. The vines on his calves sway gently, and the golden cuff catches the light with every subtle movement. He feels pretty and he cannot wait to get tizzy on sweet nectar and music.

Harry turns to admire his wings, letting them flutter happily. Starting green at the root, where they are attached to his back, they fade into a soft shade of pink, looking like a flower themselves. Harry loves them more than anything else. Usually, fairies are born with wings that reflect their specialty, so it makes sense that the colour of Harrybell's wings resemble those of a flower.  

Harrybell can barely contain his excitement as he steps out of his cottage. His heart beats faster with each flutter of his wings as they stretch wide, ready to carry him away. He leaps into the air, the familiar rush of freedom amongst the cool evening breeze filling him as he soars. Behind him, a trail of delicate flowers blooms with each movement, their vibrant petals unfurling like a burst of joy. It’s a sign of his emotions spilling out into the world around him, a sure indication that he's overflowing with energy and happiness.

Unable to hold back, Harrybell twirls in the air, his wings catching the wind and lifting him higher.  He makes loops and spins around, his giggles echoing around him. Harry speeds up a bit when the tree comes into view, his grin splitting his face when he spots his best friend.

Niall meets him in the air, crashing into him in a big hug and sending them both tumbling before they catch their footing again, their wings fluttering strongly. They both giggle happily before they let go of each other again. 

Harrybell uses the time to take in Niall's outfit. He is wearing a sky blue dress that is woven with silver thread, catching the light and making it look like water almost. 

“You look stunning,” Harrybell says, his voice light and full of admiration as he hovers closer, spinning once more before settling into a relaxed hover beside Niall. The flowers continue to bloom behind him, their petals swaying softly in the breeze.

Niall chuckles, his eyes sparkling as he looks up at Harrybell. “I should say the same to you, my friend. You’re practically glowing,” he teases, reaching out to gently tug a stray flower from Harrybell’s hair, his fingers brushing lightly against his scalp. 

“I'm happy. I love this day” he says. Butterflies are chasing each other around the flowers Harry so carefully grew and the fireflies are buzzing inside their lanterns, ready to light the path and the clearing during the few hours of darkness they’ll have. 

Niall grins and grabs his hand, tugging him towards the clearing. 

They’re not the first to arrive, fairies are already eating and drinking, standing or floating in groups, resting on big leaves or sitting in the soft grass. It was quite literally magical. Without having to talk, both he and Niall fly towards the tables that are filled to the brim with food; from spinach quiches, cheeses and rolled zucchini to honeybuns and fruit pies and sugared petals. Harrybell opts for sweets, not so big on savoury food like Niall is. He grabs two honey buns and pink breads as well as some figs roasted in honey. He piles all of that on a round shaped leaf before he also grabs himself a cup filled with the warm nectar. 

Niall’s plate looks similar to his and together, they fly carefully away from the table to find a place to eat, and Harrybell is glad to see that there aren't flowers growing behind him anymore. He’d hate to ruin the pretty decorations by random blobs of flowers. They find a spot in the shade of a tree, sitting down and facing each other as they fall into easy conversation about their work, the fest, and who they hoped to dance with. 

“I hope Nerion asks me.” Niall swoons, making Harry giggle. His friend had a crush on the water fairy ever since he helped him with a kitchen debacle once. Apparently it had been quite the scene, with Niall, covered in flour and honey, standing helplessly in the middle of his kitchen while a pot of berry syrup boiled over behind him. Nerion had arrived just in time, his movements graceful as he doused the flames with a flick of his wrist, sending a shimmering wave of water through the air.

"He's so elegant," Niall sighs dreamily, twirling in place. "The way he just handled everything like it was nothing? And he didn’t even laugh at me! He just smiled, helped me clean up, and said, ‘A little chaos makes life interesting’."

Harrybell giggles again, nudging Niall playfully. "So, what you're saying is, you made a mess on purpose just to get his attention?"

Niall gasps, feigning outrage. "How dare you accuse me of such manipulation! That was a genuine kitchen disaster. Although... if I had known it would get him to visit me, maybe I would have planned it.” He winks, making Harrybell laugh harder.

“I could’ve kissed him, I swear,” Niall says, a soft wistfulness overtaking his voice. Niall’s kissed before, Harry knows, a handful of other fairies. Even offered to be Harrybell’s first kiss once. A first kiss is something far too special to be given to ‘just get it out of the way’. Harrybell doesn’t think any less of fairies who give their kisses freely, but for himself, he’s set on a fairytale for himself.

Niall leans in conspiratorially. “What about you, Harry?” He lowers his voice, though the teasing lilt remains. “I hear Prince Nyxion has set his sights on you.”

The mention of the queen’s son makes Harrybell’s cheeks flush, the warmth spreading down to his collarbones. He shakes his head, his curls bouncing gently. “I’m not made for court life.”

Niall hums. “I think you'd make a lovely queen, but you'd probably not be a happy one. I can't imagine you not being surrounded by flowers. Do you think they’d make you wear shoes?” He gulps some of his nectar down, eyes observing Harrybell closely.“I don't know, I’m not keen to find out though!” Harrybell answers, digging his toes into the grass blades and giggling when flowers grow between his toes. He hopes he never has to wear shoes. 

“But you’ll dance with him, right?” Niall questions again, now with a nectar moustache.

“I wouldn’t say no to a dance with the prince, but it'd be just that.” Being a court fairy is an honor and the possibility of being courted by the prince of fairies is exciting, but Harrybell knows he'd never be truly happy there, not with all the rules and expectations weighing him down like a ball and chain. Harrybell needs freedom , to feel the breeze in his hair and grass between his toes.

Niall opens his mouth to retort, but Harrybell just rolls his eyes and takes a small handkerchief to his friend’s mouth to wipe away the nectar. “Neither of us are made for court life, it seems.”

They eat their food and get more nectar and by the time the music starts, Harrybell and Niall are happily tipsy, giggling as they sway from where they are sitting. It is tradition for Queen Naelith to give a speech before opening the first dance, and until then, no one steps onto the floor. 

“Do you want more?” Niall asks, holding up his cup and Harrybell is about to respond when a hushed whisper falls over the crowd and the music turns slower, the notes dragged out. The court is arriving. 

The crowd stirs in quiet reverence as Queen Naelith leads the procession, her wings unfurled and shimmering with a golden hue that reflects the last rays of daylight. Her gown, crafted from fine silks, given by the mulberry butterflies as gifts of gratitude and allegiance. and adorned with intricate patterns, mirrors the sun itself. She floats effortlessly, smiling softly as she bows her head to a few lucky fairies, even waving at a child who giggles happily and hides behind their father. 

At her side is Prince Nyxion, his presence just as striking, though different from his mother’s. His wings are a soft amber, tinged with the warmth of the setting sun, and his robes are a rich tapestry of orange and yellow. His eyes are dark but gentle as they look over the clearing, and there is a happy smile on his face.

Behind them, eight fairies follow, each from a different court, their attire representing the diverse elements and energies of their respective lands. Each of them holds a delicately crafted gift for the sun, a symbol of their court’s homage to the season, a tribute to the power of light and warmth. The fairies are wearing garments that reflect the essence of their courts: earth-toned for the forest fae, icy blues for those of the north, fiery reds for the fire court, and deep purples for the twilight court. Their gifts vary, from intricately carved gemstones to crystalline flowers, shimmering liquids, and woven fabrics that catch the light in breathtaking ways.

The music shifts, becoming more ethereal as the procession moves through the crowd. There is an almost tangible sense of magic in the air, an energy that pulses through the clearing as the court lands softly onto the earth. A hush falls over the fairies in the clearing, their collective breath held in anticipation. Even the flowers around them seem to hold still, the petals trembling slightly as though they too are drawn into the ceremony.

Queen Naelith raises her hand, and the court falls into perfect silence. With a slow, graceful motion, she places her hand upon Prince Nyxion’s shoulder, the gesture both maternal and regal. The prince bows slightly, and the crowd watches in awe as he steps forward to address the gathering.

"Tonight," Nyxion begins, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying easily through the clearing, "we honor the turning of the season, the triumph of the sun, and the eternal bond we share with the earth. Let us celebrate the gift of warmth, the promise of growth, and the light that guides us all."

His words are met with a soft, collective cheer, the crowd lifting their cups in salute as the air seems to brighten around them. A wave of warmth washes over Harrybell, and for a moment, he can almost feel the sun itself surrounding him.

“Let us dance the night away!” The music swells on cue, a beautiful blend of string instruments and airy flutes that seem to capture the essence of the wind itself. The queen and prince glide across the clearing, their movements graceful, effortless. Each step they take sends ripples of golden light through the air, as if their very presence makes the earth shimmer.

Fairies from every corner of the clearing take to the sky, their wings flickering like flames in the twilight, as they join the dance. The atmosphere is electric, the kind of magic that feels ancient and timeless, woven into the very fabric of the night.

Niall and Harrybell share a glance, and without a word, they both take off, soaring toward the dance floor. Harrybell feels the familiar thrill of the air beneath his wings, the wind rushing past him as his heart beats faster. The clearing is bathed in soft lantern light now, the fireflies flickering like stars in the dusk, creating a halo around the dancers.

Niall laughs, his voice a light, musical sound as he twirls mid-air. "Catch me if you can!" he teases, his wings catching the light as he spins through the air.

Harrybell smiles at his friend’s carefree energy and follows suit. His wings flutter, sending a soft trail of petals behind him as he moves. He feels a surge of happiness because this is where he belongs, under the open sky, with the music in his heart and the earth beneath his feet. The crowd around them swirls in perfect harmony, the music lifting everyone higher, creating a beautiful rhythm that unites them all. Harrybell laughs, his movements light and carefree as he twirls through the air, caught up in the magic of the moment. Niall dances alongside him, ever the playful partner, pulling Harrybell into spins and turns that leave them both breathless with laughter.

The night stretches on, filled with joy and light, and for a while, all that matters is the rhythm of the dance, the warmth of the fireflies, and the light of the lanterns that flicker gently around them. Harrybell loses himself in the music, the moment, and the enchantment of it all. 

They take breaks only to drink nectar, getting tizzier on the sweet juice and the music with every hour that passes. Stories and folklore are shared and laughter rings through the air as Harrybell twirls around the dance floor, dancing with whoever arms he lands in. Children are running in circles and playing catch, giddy that they get to stay up all night and the elderly watch with a gleam in their eyes, joining in for the slower dances between regaling tales of Solticies past. 

As the music flows into another melody, Harrybell feels a familiar presence beside him. Prince Nyxion, regal as ever, stands before him with a graceful bow, his deep blue wings catching the firelight. His voice is soft but confident, as he extends his hand to Harrybell.

"Would you honor me with a dance, Harrybell?" Nyxion asks, his dark eyes meeting Harrybell’s. 

Harrybell hesitates for only a second before placing his hand in the prince’s. The coolness of his skin sends a strange shiver up Harrybell’s  spine. He nods, though, a small smile playing on his lips as Nyxion pulls him closer, their movements seamless as they begin to dance.

The prince's hands are steady, his touch both gentle and commanding, guiding Harrybell through the movements with ease. They sway together, effortlessly in sync, their wings fluttering lightly as they glide across the clearing. Harrybell can feel  the pull of Nyxion’s magic, strong and steady. They’ve known each other since childhood, but tonight, it feels different.

“You look beautiful, Harrybell,” Nyxion murmurs and Harrybell swallows. 

“There is a rumour going around,” Harrybell says in favour of taking the compliment. 

“Is there now?” Nyxion asks, a glint in his eyes. “About what.” 

“About you courting someone.” 

“Ahh.” He hums, twirling Harrybell before pulling him close again. Harrybell can't help but giggle at the quick movements. “Well I am not courting them yet, but I plan to. I was to ask them tonight.”

Conflicted, Harrybell steps out of the embrace. “I’ve always considered you a friend Nyxion, and because of that, it is only fair of me to speak from truth.  You're a wonderful friend, and you’ll make a brilliant king one day, but I’ll never be a queen. If you think of courting me, I have to tell you not to. I ask you to respect that.”

Nyxion’s expression shifts, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as Harrybell steps back. The music continues around them, but at this moment, it feels as if the world has slowed, leaving the two of them standing in the middle of the dance floor. The prince’s usual confidence seems to waver for just a second, and Harrybell watches as he processes the words.

“I... I understand,” Nyxion says quietly, his voice tinged with a sincerity that Harrybell doesn’t often hear from him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Harrybell. I value our friendship too.”

Harrybell offers him a small, reassuring smile, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just needed to be honest. I don’t want to mislead you.”

The prince nods slowly, the weight of Harrybell’s words sinking in. His gaze softens, and for a moment, they simply stand there, the distant sounds of laughter and music continuing as the night goes on without them.

Harrybell feels a weight lift off his chest as the tension between them begins to ease. “Thank you, Nyxion. I truly hope you find someone who is right for you. Someone who wants the same things you do, someone who can live up to all the expectations of a queen.”

The prince smiles, a genuine, warm smile that Harrybell has always found comforting in its own way. “I hope so, too,” he says, his voice full of quiet resolve. “And thank you, for being true to yourself. I think that’s what matters most.”

With a final glance, Nyxion bows slightly and steps back into the crowd, leaving Harrybell standing there, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. It feels like the right decision, like a weight has been lifted, but there’s still a tinge of sadness in the air, something bittersweet about the whole exchange. Harrybell takes a deep breath, knowing that the night isn’t over yet, and he’s ready to move forward.

As he turns back to the dance floor, Niall is waiting for him, a raised eyebrow and a curious smile on his face. Harrybell meets his gaze and offers a small shrug.

“Everything okay?” Niall asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Harrybell replies, his smile genuine but still a little distant. “Yeah, it’s berries. Let’s dance.”

They dance through the night, all the way into the morning when the sun has long risen. Some are already sleeping, some are still dancing and others are in search of food for breakfast. Niall has been talking to Nerion for hours now, so Harrybell is on his own. He smiles at the pair sitting closely together, then flies towards the food, grabbing some more honey buns before finding a spot in the shade. It's when he sits down for the first time for hours that he feels just how exhausted he is. He has been awake for over a day, dancing for hours without a break, and sleepiness is overcoming him now, wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. 

Knowing that with Nerion Niall is in safe hands, so Harrybell, with a flutter of his tired wings and one large yawn, flies out of the clearing, past the tree where he met with Niall, all the way to the path leading to his cottage. 

Except, something's not quite right. 

Harrybell’s heart sinks as he crouches down, his fingers gently brushing over the wilted petals he’d spotted from yards away. The once vibrant flowers that had lined the path, marking the way to his cottage, now look like they’ve been scorched by something unseen. They curl at the edges, their colours faded, and the delicate fragrance that had once filled the air is now a hollow memory.

His breath catches in his throat as he looks further along the path, noting that the damage seems to stretch much farther than just a few flowers. The entire stretch of the path leading to his home is affected. It’s as if life had been drained out of the plants, leaving them to wither away in the quiet night.

“What happened here?” Harrybell mutters under his breath, his worry growing with every step he takes. He carefully examines the flowers, hoping to find some sign, some explanation, but it’s as if the plants are simply fading into nothing.

His wings twitch uncomfortably, an unsettling sensation spreading through his body. This isn’t natural. Flowers, especially the ones that line his path, are resilient, thriving under his care and the magic of him and the court. Something or rather someone , must have disturbed them.

Until this very moment, Harrybell has always felt grateful for the sheltered privacy of his cottage’s distance from the village.

Harrybell stands, glancing around warily. The woods are eerily quiet, no sounds of the usual morning creatures stirring in the underbrush. The air feels heavier now, thick with an odd tension. He takes a cautious step forward, his eyes scanning the area, when a cold gust of wind suddenly sweeps through the trees. It’s sharp and biting, unlike anything he’s felt before.

His wings flutter instinctively, lifting him slightly off the ground, and he glances back down the path. In the distance, through the darkened trees, he can see the faint outline of his cottage, but it feels farther away now, as if the path itself has grown longer.

“This isn’t right,” Harrybell whispers, his instincts telling him to be careful. Something is out of place, something far more sinister than wilted flowers, and the presence of it lingers in the air like a shadow.

He hesitates for a moment, but then, determined, Harrybell continues down the path, his senses alert for any sign of what could have caused this disturbance. Every rustle of the trees, every shift in the wind, feels ominous now. He feels like he’s being watched, though when he turns, there’s no one there.

The stillness is suffocating.

Harrybell’s heart beats faster, his pulse quickening as he approaches his cottage. The familiar path seems off, like an eerie imitation of it. The flowers that usually greet him with vibrant colours and sweet fragrances are wilting, some of them drooping, others closed, as though trying to hide from something. The sight of his beloved blossoms in distress sends a sharp pang through his chest, and he instinctively reaches out to touch them. As his fingers graze their petals, they slowly begin to open again, but the worry gnaws at him, something is terribly wrong. He can feel the fright coursing through their veins, chilling their magic with fear.

He hesitates, eyeing the surrounding woods and then the darkened silhouette of his cottage against the moonlit sky. There’s an odd stillness in the air, a heaviness that presses down on him. The forest is usually alive with the soft sounds of the day, birds chirping and bees humming but now, there is only silence

Frowning, Harrybell begins walking towards his door, his steps slow and careful. His wings flutter with a slight tremor, the unease settling deeper in his bones. It is as if the forest itself is holding its breath.

With a steadying breath, he turns the knob of his front door, pushing the door open just a crack. The faint smell of dust and candle wax lingers in the air, but nothing seems out of place. However, there’s a subtle shift in the atmosphere, like the very air has thickened, and Harrybell can feel the weight of something unseen, something dark, pressing down on him.

The creaking of the floorboards underfoot as he steps in is suddenly too loud in the otherwise quiet cottage. 

“Sundrop?” He calls out carefully, when suddenly something slithers from the darkness, curling around his arms like vines, tightening with an unnatural strength. Before he can react, something cold presses against his mouth, stifling his scream.

His breath hitches in his throat as he struggles, his wings instinctively trying to unfurl, but they’re quickly caught by the same tendrils of darkness. Panic floods his senses, but he freezes when the shadows touch his wings. His pulse pounds in his ears as he twists and pulls against the shadows, but they only seem to constrict more, holding him in place. The darkness seems to grow, swirling and thickening, as if it has a life of its own. Harrybell’s breath quickens, his heart hammering in his chest as the cold sensation spreads, creeping up his arms and chest, making it harder to breathe.

He manages to wrench his head to the side and sees the shadows shifting, curling and coiling like tendrils of smoke, their form shifting in the corners of his vision. He can feel them pressing against his skin, cold and unyielding, and for a moment, he wonders if this is what it feels like to be consumed by darkness itself.

"Who…who are you?" Harrybell manages to choke out, his voice muffled by the pressure against his mouth. The words sound weak and foreign in the silence of the room, but there’s no answer. He looks around, panic surging through him as he thinks about his bunny, praying to whoever is out there that she is okay and hiding somewhere. 

The shadows shift again, and Harrybell’s chest tightens. He tries to move, but the more he struggles, the tighter their grip becomes. He feels the pressure building, his wings pinned helplessly to his back, and for a moment, he wonders if this is the end.

Then, the door behind him slams shut with a resounding thud. The sound makes him flinch, and the suddenness of it sends a spike of terror through his veins. He attempts to calm his breathing, but the pressure around his chest makes it hard to think. The shadows are in control, and he knows they won’t release him unless their master orders it.

He’s dragged further into the room, his body moving involuntarily, his heart pounding in his ears. The shadows coil and twist like living things, pulling him into the very heart of the cottage, but he can’t see the source of the sound of the footsteps following close behind. Every step feels like a death sentence.

“Show yourself, you coward!” Harrybell spits, his voice laced with defiance, though his insides churn with anxiety.

The air around him grows colder, thick with the presence of something malevolent. And then, a voice that makes goosebumps rise on his skin replies from behind him.

“I am no coward.”

Before Harrybell can react, the shadows twist again, forcing him to turn. His eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat when he finally sees the figure standing before him. The creature's features are sharp and otherworldly. Icy blue eyes, framed by long dark lashes and smudged coal, pierce through the darkness. His tousled brown hair seems messy, and his clothes are dark, almost blending with the shadows at his feet. Strange black markings snake up his arms, curling around them like a brand, and the shadows at his feet seem to come alive, writhing with a mind of their own.

For a moment, Harrybell is too stunned to move. His wings twitch in an instinctive attempt to free themselves from the cloying darkness, but they remain trapped. The creature’s smirk widens as Harrybell meets his gaze, and a chill runs down his spine.

“Like what you see, little fairy?” the creature taunts, his voice dripping with amusement.

“Can't say I do,” Harrybell hisses, his voice filled with venom, despite the fear gnawing at him. “Who, or what , are you?”

The creature steps closer, his presence almost overwhelming. He doesn’t stop until their noses are nearly touching. The air around them crackles with tension, and Harrybell can feel the heat radiating from the creature’s skin. His eyes flicker with something dark and dangerous as he leans in, his lips curling into a smug smile.

“Guess,” he purrs, his voice almost a challenge.

Before Harrybell can react, the creature blinks. And in that fleeting moment, the once-icy blue eyes shift, becoming a deep, unyielding black. Harrybell gasps, his breath caught in his throat. The transformation is so sudden, so alien, that his body stiffens in shock.

“A demon,” Harrybell breathes, realisation hitting him like a cold wave. His heart races in his chest, and his wings instinctively pull tight against his back, trapped but desperate to escape.

“Bingo,” the demon replies, his smile widening into something predatory. Harrybell’s frown deepens, his unease growing by the second. The room feels colder, darker, like the very walls are closing in.

A bitter laugh escapes the demon’s lips, the sound laced with cruel amusement. His eyes lock onto Harrybell’s, his gaze heavy and unyielding, savoring the fear he knows he’s seeing. “So, the little fairy finally figures it out,” he says, voice dripping with mockery. “I need you to do something for me.”

“I’d rather die than help a demon,” Harrybell spits out, his voice shaky but defiant. The shadows coil like serpents around him. A new shadow snakes its way around his throat, squeezing tightly, cutting off his breath. Harrybell’s pulse races as panic grips him, but he refuses to beg. Not yet. Not for this monster.

The demon watches, a glint of amusement flashing in his eyes as he tilts his head. “Careful what you wish for.” His voice is dark, laced with a warning. Then, as quickly as the pressure came, the shadows release their grip on Harrybell’s throat. He gasps for air, lungs burning as he draws in the breath he’s been denied.

The demon sighs, his form shifting slightly as if the weight of the moment finally settles on him. “Listen,” he says, the coldness in his tone softening, though not by much. “It may not seem like it, but I don’t want to hurt you. In fact, I need your help.”

Harrybell, still trembling but no longer suffocating, narrows his eyes at the demon, his lips curling into a sneer. “And you thought holding me captive and choking me was a good way to ask for it?” He growls, the taste of bitterness on his tongue.

The demon shrugs nonchalantly, his smirk never faltering. “Well, you fairies are all so fluttery and dramatic. I had to make sure you wouldn’t fly away.” His eyes flicker to Harrybell’s wings, and something dark dances in his gaze.

Harrybell’s wings twitch, instinctively drawing in closer to his body, though it does nothing to help the growing unease in his chest. He glares at the demon, still struggling against the shadows that cling to him like leeches, his heart pounding in his ears.

“And what makes you think I would ever help a demon ?” Harrybell spits, his voice low and laced with venom. The very idea of aiding this creature, the one who’s holding him captive, threatening him, manipulating him, feels like a betrayal of everything he stands for.

The demon’s expression hardens, the playful smirk falling away for a moment. “Because you don’t have a choice,” he growls, his voice now as sharp as a knife. “I’m not asking. I’m telling .”

The shadows around Harrybell shift restlessly, tightening once again around his limbs, though not as painfully as before. They’re waiting. Waiting for Harrybell to make the decision.

He feels the weight of their presence, pressing on him like a storm cloud about to burst. Despite the threat hanging over him, Harrybell can’t help but feel a flicker of defiance stirring in his chest. He might be trapped, but he won’t go down without a fight.

“Holy oak, you’ve got a short temper. What do you want from me, then?” Harrybell demands, his voice steady, though his insides tremble. The demon watches him with cold amusement, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I need you to grow something for me.” The demon searches through his pocket before he pulls out a seed that's almost as big as his pinkie. The seed is black and purple, nothing like Harrybell has ever seen, but he can feel its power. 

“What kind of seed is that?” He asks, trying to reach out but being held back by the shadows. 

“Can't tell you.” The demon, whose name is still unknown, says, as he closes his fist around the seed, hiding it from Harrybells eyes. 

“There are other fairies I can ask, you know?” The demon taunts. “Your life means nothing to me.” 

“But you came to me . You need me.” Harrybell says, smiling as he feels he gains the upper hand.  It's a dance with fire and Harrybell has to make sure he doesn't burn himself. “Because I’m the best, and you know that.”  

The demon studies Harrybell for a long moment, his icy blue eyes sharp and calculating. His fingers tighten around the seed as if he’s second-guessing this entire interaction. Harrybell doesn’t look away, refusing to be the first to break the silent battle of wills between them. He knows demons. They thrive on intimidation, on power, on control. And if this one needs him , then Harrybell has more leverage than the demon wants to admit.

Finally, the demon exhales sharply, an irritated sigh that feels more like a growl. “You are the best,” he mutters, though the words sound like they’ve been ripped from his throat against his will. “That’s why I came to you.”

Harrybell lifts his chin, satisfaction curling in his chest despite the shadows still coiled around him. “Then you’d better start talking.”

The demon hesitates, his gaze flickering toward the seed in his palm before snapping back up to Harrybell’s face. “I can’t tell you what it is,” he says, his tone firm, but there’s a slight edge to it now, like a thread of something deeper woven beneath his words. “Not yet.”

Harrybell narrows his eyes. “And why not?”

“Because if you knew , you wouldn’t grow it.”

That sends a shiver down Harrybell’s spine. His wings twitch, their delicate edges brushing against the shadows that still hold him in place. There’s something dangerous about that answer, something dark. But there’s also something… desperate. He sees it in the way the demon’s fingers twitch against the seed, in the way his jaw tightens ever so slightly.

“And I suppose that’s supposed to make me want to help you?” Harrybell asks, arching a brow.

The demon tilts his head, his smirk returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No. But I don’t need you to want to. I just need you to do it.”

Harrybell exhales through his nose, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling curling in his stomach. “How long does it take to grow?”

The demon shrugs, the motion lazy but deliberate. “Depends on you. A few days, maybe weeks. You’ll have to nurture it. Protect it.” His lips curl into something like amusement. “Make it flourish .”

Harrybell scoffs, shaking his head. “And what happens when it blooms?”

The demon’s smirk vanishes. His fingers tighten around the seed again, his entire body tensing. “That’s not your concern.”

“It is if I’m the one growing it.”

The demon’s eyes flash black for a moment, a warning. “It isn’t your concern.”

A beat of silence passes between them, thick and heavy. Harrybell holds the demon’s gaze, his mind racing. He doesn’t trust him, not even a little. But he also knows that if a demon has come specifically to him for help, there’s more at play than he realizes. And knowledge is power. If he refuses, the demon will find another way. Another fairy. Maybe one who isn’t strong enough to resist.

Maybe one who will let this seed grow into something terrible .

“You’ll let me go if I say yes?” Harrybell asks carefully.

The demon watches him for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “I’ll loosen my hold. But I’ll be watching.” His smirk returns, wicked and sharp. “And if you try to run, I’ll find you.”

Harrybell clenches his jaw. He doesn’t like it. Not one bit. But he also doesn’t see another choice. Not yet.

“Fine,” he says, voice firm. “I’ll grow your damned seed.”

The demon grins, pleased. One of the tendrils loosen around his arm and comes to curl under his chin. “Good fairy.”

And with that, the shadows recoil, feeling like a caress against his skin as they let go of Harrybell, who drops to the ground with a surprised noise. “You know you could be a bit more gentle.” He says as he lets his wings stretch a bit before using them to stand up. 

“It's not in my nature to be gentle.” 

“Right, big bad demon that needs a flower. You’re so scary.” 

The demon narrows his eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind them. “Careful, little fairy. Mocking me might make me change my mind about letting you go.”

Harrybell dusts off his clothes, ignoring the way his legs still feel shaky from the shadows’ grip. “Then I suppose I should be grateful,” he says dryly, stretching his wings fully before folding them back in. “Are you going to tell me your name, or do I just call you big bad demon from now on?”

The demon tilts his head, considering. “I have many names,” he says, “but you can call me Louis. It's the name I use in the human world.”

Harrybell huffs. “Fine. I’m Harrybell.”

Louis smirks. “Cute.”

Harrybell rolls his eyes but doesn’t push. Instead, he eyes the demon’s hand, still tightly curled around the seed. “Hand it over, then.”

Louis hums, ignoring Harry’s lack of subservience, then steps forward, holding out his palm. The seed sits in the center, dark and pulsing with something alive . The energy radiating from it makes Harrybell’s fingers tingle as he hesitantly reaches out. The moment he touches it, a sharp jolt runs up his arm, making him gasp.

Louis watches him carefully. “You feel it, don’t you?”

Harrybell swallows. “What is this?”

“I told you, that’s not your concern.”

Harrybell clenches his jaw but doesn’t argue. Instead, he curls his fingers around the seed, feeling the way it pulses against his palm like a heartbeat. A bad feeling settles deep in his chest. He’s just made a deal with a demon, and whatever grows from this seed… it’s going to change everything.

Determined to be rid of the demon’s —  Louis’ — presence as quickly as possible, Harrybell grabs a pot from one of his shelves and heads outside. The cool night air does little to ease the unease creeping up his spine. Behind him, Louis watches, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t say anything at first, but Harrybell can feel the demon’s gaze burning into him, full of expectation.

Harrybell scoops fresh, damp soil into the pot, his hands moving with practiced ease. As always, he is gentle, tender, even, cradling the seed before placing it in the earth and covering it with soft soil. He believes in the inherent goodness of all seeds, the potential of each one to grow into something beautiful. As daunting as this one feels, to him, it is not different than handling a baby, a precious promise of life in his care.

With a steadying breath, Harrybell lifts his fingers over the soil, calling on his magic. Normally, it takes mere seconds. He twirls his fingers, feels the seed awaken, its roots spreading, its stem breaking through the surface, reaching for the sky. It’s effortless, as natural as breathing.

But this time… nothing happens.

Harrybell frowns, trying again, pushing more magic into the soil. Still, the seed remains stubbornly buried, motionless.

A sharp exhale sounds behind him. “Is it supposed to take this long?” Louis asks, voice tight with irritation.

Harrybell ignores him, focusing harder. He feels the seed, it’s there, but it’s resisting him, like a locked door refusing to budge.

Louis steps closer, looming. “Well?” His patience is clearly wearing thin. “What’s the problem?”

Harrybell huffs, turning to glare up at him. “ The problem is that whatever this is, it’s not a normal seed. I don’t know what you gave me, but it’s not responding to my magic.”

Louis lets out a slow, frustrated breath, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Fix it.”

Harrybell bristles. “Oh, sure. Let me just wave my hands extra hard and hope it magically works,” he snaps. “That’s how it goes, right?”

Louis growls under his breath, his eyes flashing and shadows starting to curl around . “You’re supposed to be the best.”

“I am the best,” Harrybell retorts, his wings fluttering in irritation. He looks back down at the pot, a knot of unease curling in his stomach. 

Harrybell scowls, his wings fluttering in irritation as he looks back down at the pot. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

“Maybe my magic is just tired,” he mutters, more to himself than to Louis. “I used a lot of it yesterday, and I haven’t slept in almost two days. I need rest.”

He tries again, concentrating, pouring the last remnants of his energy into the seed. Nothing. Not even a flicker of life beneath the soil.

With a frustrated sigh, Harrybell straightens. “Come back tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll have it grown by then.”

A sharp laugh escapes Louis, low and mocking. Before Harrybell can react, the demon’s shadows curl through the air, slithering like living tendrils, and snatch the pot from his grasp.

“You don’t really think I’d just leave you to it, do you, little fairy?” Louis taunts, holding the pot in his hand, his sharp grin full of amusement. “No, this flower is far too precious. Far too important. ”

Harrybell glares at him, hands clenching into fists. “Then what do you expect me to do? I already told you, it’s not working right now.”

Louis grins, flashing sharp teeth. “I don’t care how you do it and how long it takes you but I’m not leaving until that seed sprouts. And if you’re really as good as you claim to be, it shouldn’t take long, should it?”

Harrybell scowls, wings flicking behind him in agitation. “You can’t just stay here .”

Louis steps closer, the scent of smoke and something dark wrapping around him. “I can do whatever I want.” His shadows slither over the ground, curling around Harrybell’s feet as if to remind him who has the upper hand.

“I don’t have a spare bed,” Harrybell tries, grasping at any excuse.

Louis raises a brow. “Do I look like I need one?” He gestures to the shadows around him. “I’ll make myself comfortable.”

Harrybell exhales sharply, running a hand through his curls. “Fine. But the second this thing grows, you leave .”

Louis chuckles, stepping past him and back into the cottage with an air of ownership, already making himself comfortable as his shadows circle Harrybells wrist for a moment. In the blink of an eye, they’re gone again. “Whatever you say, little fairy.”

Harrybell sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m going to sleep now. Please don’t touch anything.” His voice is firm, but there’s an edge of pleading to it. He knows better than to trust a demon, especially one who looks far too amused by his distress.

Louis raises his hands in mock surrender, flopping into the large armchair like he belongs there. Shadows curl lazily at his feet. “Go on, get your beauty sleep. I’ll be right here.” His eyes gleam with something unreadable.

Harrybell exhales sharply before retreating to his bedroom, sending a quiet prayer to the Sun Queen as he shuts the door. As soon as he turns, his heart clenches with guilt because Sundrop is curled up on his bed, ears twitching.

“Oh, my sweet baby, I’m so sorry,” Harrybell whispers, rushing over to scoop the bunny into his arms. Sundrop nuzzles against his chin, forgiving him instantly. Harrybell places her down again before he goes to get ready for bed. 

Despite the very much powerful demon that is sitting just outside of his bedroom, Harrybell is so exhausted from all the events of the day that his head barely hits his pillow before he is dead asleep, with sundrop cuddles close to him. 

A few hours later, Harrybell wakes up with a gnawing hunger. He stretches his wings, letting them flutter as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. The sun is just beginning to spill through the windows, warming the colourful walls of his home. He yawns, then carefully slips out of bed, feeling the soft touch of Sundrop’s fur against his skin as she moves.

Dressed in a simple green dress, Harrybell opens his bedroom door, fully aware of the demon still sitting somewhere in his living room. He hasn't forgotten Louis because how could he? But the sight still startles him when he sees the dark creature in the middle of his home. It’s like an invasive stain, an oil spill on a delicate painting, and Harrybell feels the familiar frustration rise in his chest. Louis is a disease, an infestation, and Harrybell has to find a way to rid himself of it.

The demon’s eyes lock with his as Harrybell steps into the living room, and he can’t help the sharp glare he throws in his direction. But Louis says nothing, just watches him in silence. Harrybell flutters his way to the kitchen, determined to ignore him. He’s starving, and it’s not like he can do anything about Louis right now.

In the kitchen, Harrybell pulls out his favorite pink bread, slathers it with butter, and drizzles honey over it. He doesn’t bother with pleasantries, doesn’t offer the demon anything, even though he could easily make a feast. Instead, he fills a cup with lavender tea, the sweet scent calming him, before turning to cut up vegetables for Sundrop, who’s sitting on the floor, sniffing at the shadows curling ominously at Louis’ feet.

“Come here, Sundrop,” Harrybell calls, and the little bunny hops over obediently, nuzzling his leg for affection.

Louis speaks, breaking the silence. “You have a pet bunny?”

Harrybell’s gaze snaps up, his eyes narrowing at the demon. “Touch her and you’re dead,” he warns, the sharpness of his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. Louis just rolls his eyes, as if Harrybell’s threat means little to him.

“I’m not touching your bunny, don’t worry. Are you ready to try again now?” Louis asks, his voice carrying an edge of impatience.

“No,” Harrybell responds curtly, without hesitation. He doesn’t owe the demon an explanation, not yet. His stomach still rumbles, reminding him that he needs to tend to his own needs before anything else.

Louis’ gaze darkens. “Don’t test my patience too much.”

Harrybell moves toward the door, ignoring the demon's warning, carrying his plate of food outside to the swinging bench. The demon follows, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, and sits down beside Harrybell, just close enough to be a constant, unnerving presence. Harrybell does his best to block him out, focusing on the feel of the warm sun on his skin, hoping it will soothe his frayed nerves.

But as his gaze shifts toward his garden, a stab of pain hits his chest. The flowers are ruined. The once-vibrant colours have faded to sickly hues, the delicate petals bent and wilting, as if they're in pain. Usually, Harrybell feels it whenever a flower he has grown is deliberately hurt. One flower feels like a papercut, it burns shortly but seeing the state of his garden, Harrybel should've been screaming in pain last night. The only explanation as to why he hasn't felt it is the summer solstice itself. Maybe the magic of the night has protected him from it. At least they're salvageable, Harrybell can feel that they are still alive, just hurt. 

“Excuse me?” Harrybell shrieks, his voice rising in surprise and indignation as a hand suddenly reaches out and snatches one of his pieces of bread from his plate. He watches in disbelief as the demon takes a bite, his eyes narrowing in irritation as the demon pulls a face of distaste.

“It’s so sickly sweet,” Louis complains, his voice dripping with disdain as he makes a show of chewing slowly, as if the taste is unbearable. He spits out a piece and shakes his head, clearly unimpressed.

Harrybell’s jaw drops. He can’t believe the nerve of this demon, taking food off his plate without permission and then complaining about it. “Well, it’s not yours!” he snaps, his wings fluttering agitatedly behind him.

“And pray tell, why would I offer any in the first place? We aren't friends, you're forcing me to do this.” Harrybell's voice trembles with barely contained fury, his wings fluttering in agitation as his body begins to shake with anger.

Louis smirks, watching Harrybell closely, enjoying the reaction. "Demons need to eat too, you know?" he says with a teasing tone, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Harrybell’s eyes narrow, his fists tightening at his sides. “That’s not my problem.” His voice is sharp, and every part of him screams to get away, to not have to deal with the demon anymore.

Louis leans back casually, licking his lips as he watches Harrybell, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, it’s your problem now. You made the deal, and I’m not going anywhere until you give me what I need.”

Getting up, Harrybell storms off to find the flowerpot with the seed of the demon. He needed to get rid of him yesterday and he will do everything it takes to be as quick about it as possible. With the pot in his hands, Harrybell sits down in the middle of his garden and places it down in front of him. He takes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes before he tries his magic on the seed again. 

He takes another deep breath, steadying his shaking hands. Focus. You can do this. He forces the magic to his core, willing it to rise. The warm, tingling sensation that usually floods him doesn’t come as easily. Instead, there's only a dark pressure pressing against him, a reminder of the demon's presence, suffocating his abilities.

The seed doesn’t respond.

Frustration bubbles up inside him. He can feel the demon watching, and it only makes the pressure in his chest worsen. Why can’t I make it work? he thinks desperately.

"Not working?" Louis' voice floats from behind him, dripping with amusement. "Maybe you’re not as powerful as you think, little fairy. Or maybe… you just don’t want to get rid of me that badly."

Ignoring the demon, Harrybell grits his teeth, feeling the strain in every inch of his body as he pushes harder, calling on the magic that has always been so familiar, so obedient. But this time, it fights back. The wall surrounding the seed is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Strong and stubborn, not wanting to yield to his magic. With every ounce of power he pours into it, he feels his own magic being pulled away, as if the very force he’s trying to bend is siphoning his energy.

The pressure intensifies, and Harrybell pushes back harder, only to be met with an overwhelming resistance. He shouts in frustration as his magic rebounds, slamming back into him with brutal force. His body is thrown backward, hitting the ground hard. His eyes snap shut, instinctively curling into himself as he feels the vines and flowers begin to sprout around him. They grow wildly, the sharp thorns lashing at his skin, digging into his flesh. He presses his wings tight to his back, shielding them from the onslaught, even though the weight of the thorns digs into his skin, sharp and unforgiving.

“Damn it,” he hisses, his breath ragged, feeling the burn of magic and pain both swirling inside him. He recoils from the seed, severing his connection to it and allowing the vines to calm. Slowly, the chaotic growth of greens around him starts to recede, its frantic energy fading. Harrybell opens his eyes, squinting against the exhaustion clouding his vision. The space around him looks like a storm had passed through. Vines tangled with flowers, thorns scattered across the ground, leaving small cuts on his skin.

He breathes in, carefully stretching his wings, checking that the delicate membrane hasn’t been torn by the vicious thorns. Thankfully, they’re intact, though sore from the tension.

A grating voice breaks his moment of focus. “Little help here.”

Harrybell’s brow furrows, and he turns toward the demon. His eyes flicker to the creature now rooted in place by the very vines he had summoned. The tendrils of greenery have wrapped tightly around the demon's legs, twisting up his arms, binding him in place. The demon struggles against them, but the vines hold firm, pulling at the shadows that try to break free.

The sight almost makes Harrybell laugh, a bitter, mocking chuckle bubbling in his chest. If he weren’t so drained, if his limbs didn’t feel like they were about to give way, he might have found humor in the irony. The demon, who had once been the one in control, now helpless.

Harrybell glances at the tangled mess, then back at the demon. Despite the exhaustion weighing down his every movement, he reaches out, his magic flickering weakly at first, but gradually gathering strength as he focuses. The vines groan in resistance but relent to his will, slowly retracting from around the demon’s limbs, giving him room to move.

The demon’s body relaxes as the vines recoil, but he doesn’t move right away. Harrybell watches him closely, his breath still coming fast from the exertion. His chest aches, and the headache that’s been building behind his eyes only intensifies.

“Well that didn't go so well, now did it?” The demon says, sarcasm swinging in his voice and Harrybell glares at him.

“I need you to take that damned seed and leave. Go away, as far as possible, and don't come back.” 

“No can do, little fairy. We struck a deal, remember?” He asks and taps the outside of his wrist while looking down at Harrybells hand. He frowns and lifts his wrists, lips parting in shock when he sees the symbol inked on the outside of his wrist that mirrors the one of the demon. On the outside of both their left wrists are three little stars, binding them together. 

Harrybell's heart thuds painfully in his chest as he stares at the symbol now burned into his wrist. The three stars on his skin match the demon's exactly, a sinister reminder of the deal he'd foolishly made. The ink feels like it’s seared into him, a constant weight, a tether he can't escape from.

“What did you do?” Harrybell's voice is barely above a whisper, full of disbelief and anger, but Louis simply shrugs, an infuriatingly casual motion.

“I didn’t do anything,” Louis says, his tone mockingly innocent. He taps the star on his own wrist, his sharp smile only widening. “This,” he gestures between their wrists, “is all you. I didn’t force you to agree to anything.”

Harrybell grits his teeth, fighting back the surge of panic rising in his chest. He hadn’t known what he was getting into when he’d made that damn pact. He’ll, he didn’t even know he was making a deal. It was supposed to be temporary, a quick favor and then he’d be free. He remembers Louis' shadows circling his wrist after they came to an agreement and Harrybell wonders if that is enough to make a deal. Apparently it is because now, this mark binds them together until the damn flower has grown.  “You tricked me,” Harrybell spits, stepping closer, his eyes blazing with fury.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Did I? Don’t you know better than to make a deal with a demon. Don’t you know not to trust us?”

Harrybell clenches his fists, feeling like the mark is burning him now that he is made aware of it. 

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” Harrybell mutters through clenched teeth. His eyes narrow as he steps back, glancing around at the chaotic mess of vines and flowers that still stretch wildly from the force of his earlier outburst.

Louis watches him, eyes glinting with a dark amusement. “Oh, I know exactly what I’ve done, little fairy. I’ve made you mine. In every way that matters.” His smile falters, just a flicker of something more sinister flashing in his eyes. “And you’re not getting away from me that easily.”

Harrybell takes a shaky breath, trying desperately to come up with a way to get out of this but the only solution he has is growing this flower and since it doesn't respond to his magic, he fears he has to do it the natural way. 

Two to three months. That’s how long it would probably take for the seed to grow fully, to bloom. And that’s how long he’s stuck with Louis, whether he wants it or not. His heart sinks, the weight of it sinking deeper into his chest with every thought. He can’t imagine being chained to the demon for that long and the sheer thought of it makes him shudder. 

The demon grins wickedly as if he can read his thoughts and Harrybell wonders if he actually might. He has to read up on demons and their deals and maybe how to get rid of them but first, he has to care for his flowers and tend to the wounds from the thorns. 

He makes a point of not talking to Louis for the rest of the day as he goes from flower to flower, using what magic is left inside of him to help them bloom again. He can feel Louis’ gaze on him the whole time from where he is perched on the swinging bench, but he doesn't indulge the demon. 

The sun is starting to set and his wings feel exhausted but he doesn't stop, not until he has mended every flower. It's dark when he is done and his garden is illuminated by fireflies. Satisfied, he makes his way inside his cottage, waiting for sundrop to follow him from where she was munching on a patch of daisies Harry has grown for her. He makes a point of letting the door fall in the demon's face. 

“Funny.” He deadpans when he opens the door himself and closes it with a loud thud. Harrybell doesn't react and instead goes on making himself something to eat. He grabs some figs and cheese and honey comb, piling it high on a plate before he goes to sit on the big armchair.

Louis watches him, his posture tense and frustrated as he sits down on the sofa. The soft light of the fireflies outside the window dances around them, but the atmosphere inside the cottage is heavy, filled with an unspoken tension. Harrybell takes his time, not rushing as he cuts a fig into pieces, methodically arranging the cheese and honeycomb. Every action is deliberate, a small act of defiance against the demon’s insistence. He doesn’t want to show how tired he is, how close to breaking he feels.

“You'll try again tomorrow, right?” The demon asks, breaking the tension filled silence. 

Harrybell chews and swallows before he looks up. “No.” Is all he says and in the blink of an eye, Louis’ shadows have curled around his wrists, holding on tightly and causing the fig he was holding to fall.

Louis' gaze is fixed on him, his impatience barely contained. “What do you mean no ?” he repeats, voice tight with urgency. "You have to try again. You can’t just-"

“Unfortunately for the both of us,” Harrybell cuts him off, his voice as calm as he can muster, "the flower has to grow naturally. I can't help it, I can only nurture it. It doesn't want my magic."

Louis’ jaw tightens at the words, clearly not satisfied with this answer. He is not used to being told no, that much is clear. His shadows tighten around Harrybells wrist. 

“It would kill me, and probably destroy your seed in the process. If that's what you want, we can do it right now, but unless you want your flower to bloom, we have to do it the natural way.” With a grumble, the shadows recoil but not without stealing a fig from his plate. “And get your own food.” 

“Could drink your blood.” Louis muses as his shadows toy with the fig. “It smells like honey, y’know. Bet it tastes like honey too.” 

“You’d like that wouldn't you?” Harrybell retorts, not sure whether the demon is just playing with him or if he's actually serious. He wouldn't put it past him. Harrybell knows about vampires, of course but demons aren't so different, are they? They are creatures of the night as well. Or rather, of the dark. They work with the devil, so who is to say they don't also live off of blood. 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” He smirks, taking a bite from the fig as his shadows reach out to stroke over Harrybell’s throat. “I like to keep you guessing.” The demon is toying with him and Harrybell allows it. Feeling stupid, he pushes away from the shadows and glares at the demon. 

This time when he goes to sleep, he makes sure to wrap some vines around his door to lock it and hope the demon that is staying with him doesn't get in. 

Chapter Text

As the first rays of dawn paint the sky in hues of honey and blush, Harrybell stands by the door of his cottage, wings twitching with barely restrained irritation. He casts a sharp glance over his shoulder, where Louis is lounging lazily on the sofa, shadows coiling idly around his fingers.

“Where are you going?” The demon’s voice is sharp, his body tensing as shadows shoot out, curling toward Harrybell as his eyes land on his satchel.

Huffing, Harrybell tightens his grip on the satchel slung over his shoulder. He isn’t in the mood for the demon’s antics. He only wants to get rid of him.

“Library,” Harrybell answers curtly, reaching for the doorknob. Before he can twist it, a shadow slams the door shut.

“And what makes you believe I’d just let you leave?” Louis hisses, suddenly way too close to him and Harrybell tenses as the demon continues. “Next thing I know, you’ll tell someone I’m here, and ruin my chance- my plans .” 

Harrybell grits his teeth, wings twitching as the creeping shadows inch higher. “And what do you expect me to do?” he spits, twisting to glare at Louis. “I have work. Responsibilities. Friends who’ll notice I’m missing.” His wings tremble against his back, an instinctive response to the feeling of being trapped. “They’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Then you better make sure they won’t.” 

“You can’t lock me up in here!” he snaps, turning to the demon and taking a little step back when he notices just how close they are standing. 

“Watch me,” Louis shoots back. “It's either that, or you’re dead. I’ve told you before, this mark,” Louis taps his wrist where the mark that mirrors Harrybells his, “makes you mine.” 

Harrybell closes his eyes, trying to calm his wildly beating heart. “I have to tell them something , or they will storm this house, I know them.” 

Louis studies him for a moment, eyes dark before they flash back, making Harrybell wince. “One wrong move, and I’ll know.” 

He warns and Harrybell nods. Black eyes turn blue and Louis steps back. 

“Bring me something to eat while you're at it,” he says, sitting back down in the armchair. 

“Get your own food.” 

And with that, Harrybell spreads his wings and shoots into the sky, leaving the demon behind.

He flies higher than usual, needing the crisp morning air to clear his mind. The audacity of that thing , asking if he could come to one of the most sacred places in fairykind. Their library is a living archive of magic, history, and wisdom, dating back to the very first fairies. A place where their ancestors' whispers still linger in the rustling of parchment and the creak of wooden shelves.

The forest stretches wide beneath him, a sea of green dappled with the morning sun, and as he nears his destination, the magic in the air thickens, humming against his skin like a familiar embrace. Soon, the great oak comes into view, old and strong, its gnarled bark adorned with intricate carvings that shimmer faintly under the light. It stands like a silent guardian, the heart of fairy knowledge hidden within its roots.

His wings flutter softly as he glided deeper into the vast expanse of the archive, weaving past towering wooden shelves that stretched impossibly high, their surfaces adorned with curling vines and delicate silver runes that pulsed gently at his presence. Books of every size and colour line the shelves, their bindings worn and cracked with age, while scrolls sit bundled in neat rows, tied together with silken threads.

The deeper he flies, the quieter the world becomes. Even the soft hum of the library’s magic grows subdued, as though the space itself recognizes the weight of the knowledge it holds. The fairy archives are sacred, a living entity of history, spells, and secrets woven together by generations of fairy scholars.

He flies past a few fairies, waving to them in greeting when they look up, though most are completely encompassed in their own research.

His fingers ghost over the spines of books as he searched, his mind set on a singular purpose. He needs real answers, not half-truths wrapped in riddles or cryptic warnings whispered through generations. He needs to understand the seed, why it resists his magic when every flower was supposed to answer to him. He needs to know how deep his bond with the demon ran and, more importantly, if it could be severed.

Desperation gnaws at him, a restless urgency driving him deeper into the library. The further he flies, the dimmer the light becomes until the glow of the enchanted lanterns above no longer reaches the shelves. He reaches for his own lantern from the wall, tapping gently against the glass to wake the firefly slumbering inside. It stirs, its tiny body pulsing with golden light, illuminating the dust-speckled air around him.

He continues downward, past shelves filled with wisdom that fairies eagerly sought, past records of ancient magic and nature’s secrets, until he reaches the lowest levels of the library, the place no one ventured unless they had no other choice.

The forbidden section.

It isn’t truly forbidden. Fairies did not believe in withholding knowledge. But the books here speak of things they would rather forget, like darkness, misfortune, and unnatural magic. The entrance is watched over by Quillie, an old script fairy who, despite his title as guardian, spends more time napping than standing watch.

Now is no exception. He is curled up in his chair, wings twitching lightly as he snores, a thick book resting open on his stomach. His glasses sit askew on the bridge of his nose, and his head tilts at an odd angle as though he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence. The sight makes Harrybell smile, a soft giggle escaping him.

Still, he has a mission. He lands lightly in front of Quillie’s desk, clearing his throat. The old fairy doesn’t stir.

Harrybell tries again. And again.

Only on the fourth attempt does Quillie startle awake with a snort, the book sliding from his stomach and thumping onto the desk. He fumbles for his glasses, pushing them up his nose as he blinks blearily at Harrybell.

“Oh, Harrybell?” His voice is thick with sleep, but his expression is warm. “What brings you down here, dear boy?”

Harrybell grins. “Just looking to do some research on flowers. Could I have a pass please?”

Quillie hums thoughtfully before turning to the mess of scrolls, loose papers, and ink pots cluttering his desk. He mumbles under his breath as he rifles through the disarray, occasionally lifting a parchment only to set it back down with a sigh.

At last, he lets out a triumphant “Ah-ha!” and holds up a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Here it is!”

He smooths it out on the desk and taps three spots with his finger. “You’ll need to sign here, here, and here.” He plucks a quill from a cup and hands it to Harrybell. “And remember, any book you want to borrow, you have to show me first.”

Harrybell nods, carefully signing his name in the designated places. Once finished, he hands the quill back and waits as Quillie inspects the document, nodding in approval.

“All set,” the old fairy declares, tucking the paper away. With a slow wave of his hand, the great ironwood doors creak open, revealing the dimly lit chamber beyond.

“Thank you,” Harrybell says, bowing his head slightly in respect before he flies past the door, making his way towards the flower section.

Harrybell lands on a wooden ledge extending from the wall, the old planks creaking softly beneath his weight. 

He lifts his lantern, letting its glow sweep over the spines of books worn with age. Dust swirls in the dim light, catching on the golden letters etched into leather bindings. He traces his fingers over the titles, careful and deliberate, knowing he couldn’t afford to miss anything important.

He pulls out a few volumes, setting his lantern on the shelf as he flicks through brittle pages, skimming faded ink for anything that resembles the mystery of the seed, or his bond with the demon.

By the time he reaches the end of the shelf, he has gathered three books. Two detailed dark and forbidden flowers, their properties, and their peculiarities. The third is older than the others, its title barely legible, but the word "demon" stands out beneath layers of dust.

Satisfied, Harrybell cradles the books against his chest and kicks off the ledge, wings carrying him upwards toward the study area. He sits down at one of the tables, placing his lamp atop of it and grabbing the first book The Language of Forbidden Flowers: A Guide. It's thick and old and heavy and Harrybell knows he’ll spend at least a few hours in the library if he wants to be thorough. 

He reads page after page, seeing paintings of seeds that look similar to the one Louis brought him but never quite matching. He reads of flowers that are said to be able to bring back humans from death. Of flowers that make you prettier and flowers that give you dark powers. The problem is, Harrybell isn't sure what he is searching for. Is he looking for a flower that allows you to talk to ghosts or one that gives you the ability to control them. He reads of Soul Blooms that can grow souls and Bloodpetal vine which can completely dry out a person, giving them a painful death. 

Harrybell sighs as he reads page after page without finding anything. Nothing seems to fit and so, after a couple hours he moves on to the next book, sighing when he sees that it has even more pages then the first one. Flowers And Their Powers: A Collection by T.K.S. 

Harrybell quickly closes the book again though, after finding it only shows the flower once it's fully bloomed and nothing of its seed or early growth stages. 

Stretching out his wings, Harrybell grabs the last book. How To Summon A Demon, Vol. 1 

He opens the book, chewing on his bottom lip as his eyes dart across the worn pages, absorbing the inked words with a mix of fascination and dread. It’s an old text, its spine creaking under his touch, filled with instructions on summoning demons. There are spells, incantations, and whispered warnings buried between the lines.

Harrybell isn’t interested in the rituals. He skips over the sigils and salt circles, the careful placement of candles, and the offerings required. What catches his attention is something far more dangerous.

Demons, as the book describes, are creatures of cunning and deception, thriving on loopholes and double meanings. They twist words like ribbons around their fingers, manipulating promises into cages. Harrybell finds himself nodding unconsciously. That tracks. Louis never takes anything seriously. At least, not when it comes to him. The demon toys with him, never revealing too much, always holding the upper hand.

His breath catches when he reaches a chapter titled:

Demon Deals and How to Get Rid of Them

His pulse quickens as he flips the page, eyes hungrily devouring the inked script.

“Deals with demons are rarely straightforward. Some demand years of your life, siphoning away time like sand through an hourglass. Others take something far more precious—your soul, your deepest desires, your darkest secrets. Whatever the cost, a demon never enters an agreement without ensuring their own gain.”

Harrybell swallows, fingers tightening around the edges of the book. He already knows this much. But what he doesn’t know is whether there’s a way out.

“Demons thrive on the binding of promises, on the weaving of fates. Once a deal is struck, both parties are ensnared, locked together in a contract that neither can easily escape. Some deals are forged out of necessity, others out of greed, desperation, or something far darker. And once made, they are near impossible to break.”

His heart pounds in his chest as he reads on.

There are deals that claim to benefit the human, but the truth is, a demon never gives without taking something in return. And the deal Harrybell is caught in? It isn’t a mere bargain, it’s a sentence. A contract sealed with power beyond his control. If he strays from their agreement, if he so much as dares to disobey, the punishment is instant and absolute. Death. Agonizing, irreversible, designed only for him.

The demon, however, remains untouched.

His hands tremble as he turns the page.

“… A contract bound by a demon’s mark is one of the most unbreakable forms of magic. But unbreakable does not mean impossible.”

His breath hitches.

“There are methods to sever a demon’s bond, though few are willing to pursue them. The most direct path is to just fulfill whatever it is you agreed to do and hope you come out alive. Another way, cruel but effective, is the destruction of the demon itself. Be warned: this cannot be done by mortal means. Only a weapon forged by a demon itself may lead to the fall of a demon. 

There’s a footnote scrawled beneath it, almost as if the writer were adding a hushed, final warning:

Even if you wield such a weapon, striking true is another matter entirely. Demons are not easily killed. And they do not forgive.

Harrybell’s stomach churns. He barely lets himself consider the option before he’s already scanning for another. He is not a murderer. Not when the entire purpose of his being is to create life. 

“There is, however, yet another way. Riskier, but more… persuasive.”

“A contract may be undone if the demon willingly chooses to release it. They always have an escape clause. Always. The trick is convincing them to use it.”

His blood runs cold.

“To sway a demon, one must earn their trust. A feat far more difficult than wielding a blade, for demons are not creatures of sentiment. But they do have desires. To uncover them is to wield power over them. To seduce a demon is to tilt the scales in your favor.”

Harrybell slams the book shut, breath unsteady. He is not going to kill Louis, but he also isn't going to seduce him. Harrybell is not a siren after all and besides, he holds too much hatred for the creature to even pretend to be nice to him. Defeated, Harrybell gathers the books and flies over to the return shelf, placing them there before he makes his way out of the library. 

Having to sort his thoughts, Harrybell doesn't immediately fly back home but instead makes his way to the bakery, hoping to find his friend there. Upon entering the bakery, Harrybell is immediately greeted by the warm smell of sweet dough and golden honey. There are other fairies, too, enjoying beverages while munching on pastries, and Harrybell waves to some of them in greeting while he looks out for Niall. He smiles when he finally finds him, standing in a corner behind the counter and kneading pink dough. 

“Harry!”

Niall’s voice is bright and familiar, cutting through the weight pressing down on Harrybell’s chest, making it feel just a little lighter. The smell of honey and cinnamon wraps around him like a warm embrace, and for the first time all day, he feels like he can breathe.

“Hi, Niall.” He smiles, resisting the urge to fling himself over the counter and bury his face in his friend’s shoulder. Instead, he curls his fingers into his sleeves, staying put.

Niall glances up from where he’s working, hands moving steadily as he folds dough over and over again, soft and pliant beneath his touch. “How are you today?”

Harrybell exhales, debating how to answer. He isn’t sure he even knows. So he settles on the truth—at least, a small part of it. “Better now.”

Niall’s hands still for half a second, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he nods. “Well, I’m glad then. Go sit, I’ll be with you in a second.” He lifts his hands, palms sticky with dough, and grins.

Harrybell giggles, the sound surprising even himself, but he nods and makes his way toward the seating area, picking a quiet corner by the window. The chair creaks as he settles in, wings shifting behind him. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for just a moment until he hears footsteps heading his way. When he looks up, Niall is heading toward him, balancing a tray piled high with food and a pitcher of lavender tea.

“All your favorites,” he says as he sets it down, and he isn’t wrong. Honeycomb, figs, warm honey buns, sugared petals, cinnamon-dusted plums are neatly arranged. Harrybell blinks down at the spread, feeling something in his chest squeeze.

“You look like you need it,” Niall adds, settling into the chair across from him.

“I do.” Harrybell sighs gratefully, grabbing a honeycomb without hesitation. He bites into it, the sweet, golden syrup bursting over his tongue. For a while, they eat in comfortable silence. The bakery hums softly around them, low conversations, the occasional clatter of a tray, the steady rhythm of Niall’s foot tapping against the wooden floor. It’s easy, safe. Harrybell wants to sink into it, let it wash over him and take everything else away.

But the quiet only lasts so long.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Harrybell stiffens. His fingers tighten around the honeycomb, breath catching in his throat.

He wants to. Oaks and hollies, he wants to. He wants to spill everything, wants to tell Niall about the contract, about the mark that feels like it’s burning through his skin, and that he has hidden behind some fabric pieces he knotted around his wrist. He wants to say that he’s trapped, that he’s playing a game he can’t win, that the thought of what he’s gotten himself into is enough to make his stomach turn.

But he can’t.

If the wrong person finds out… if the Queen finds out- No. He won’t risk it. While fairies are known for their kindness and their open hearts, their goodwill does not extend to all. There are exceptions, and creatures of the underworld sit firmly among them. It isn’t hatred, nor is it the result of some ancient war or betrayal, it is simply the way things have always been.

Fairies and underworld creatures exist in different worlds, bound by different laws of magic. Fairy magic thrives in light, growth, and harmony, while underworld magic is rooted in shadows, the unseen, full of betrayal and twisted games. They are not necessarily enemies, but they are not meant to mix.

The Queen upholds this belief as law. It is not a rule of cruelty, but of preservation. Fairy lands are sacred places, their magic delicate. To allow underworld creatures to walk freely among them would be… unnatural. A disruption. Dangerous.

And so, the rule remains. No underworld creature may step foot in fairy lands. If one does, they are to be sent away, no exceptions.

Harrybell has always accepted this rule as fact, just like every other fairy. He’s never had a reason to question it. But now, with Louis lingering in his garden, he wonders what the consequences would be. 

He doesn't intend to find out, so there is no other choice but to hide Louis, and lie about him even if everything in him is screaming to ask for help. But he can’t. Because he is bound to the demon and exposing him could cost Harrybell his life.

So he shakes his head, forcing a small, dismissive smile. “No, it’s nothing of importance. Think I’m getting sick, that’s all.”

Niall doesn’t look convinced. His brows pinch, lips parting like he might argue, but then he stops. Just sighs softly and reaches for the teapot, pouring them both a cup.

Harrybell watches the steam curl into the air, the scent of lavender filling the space between them. Niall doesn’t press. He never does, not when Harrybell isn’t ready. Instead, he slides a cup of tea toward him and takes a sip of his own, watching him carefully over the rim.

Harrybell wraps his fingers around the warm porcelain, letting the heat seep into his skin. He relishes it all and by the end of it, he feels much better. 

For good measure, he fakes a throaty cough.

“If you need anything, you come to me, okay?” Niall asks as he hands him a bundle of honey buns and some fresh pink bread. 

“I will, thank you,” he says, hugging his friend tightly before he flies off. 

His last stop of the day is the flower fairies. He knows they’ve probably already wondered where he’s been all day, and with Louis staying at his cottage, Harrybell can’t afford to be away too long. He needs to keep an eye on the demon.

He finds Rosalie first, her wings fluttering softly as she moves through the large flower fields, tending to the plants. The scent of blooming petals fills the air, but Harrybell’s stomach twists with the weight of the lie he’s about to tell. He lands next to her carefully, a frown already painting his face, his hand instinctively going to his stomach as though he’s truly sick.

“Rosalie,” he says, his voice quiet, almost strained, without a greeting. “I don’t feel too well. I’ve been out all day.”

She turns at the sound of his voice, her brow furrowing with immediate concern. “Harrybell? Oh, we were already wondering where you’ve been! You do seem palloured, lovely.” She steps closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm, her eyes scanning him for signs of distress.

And with the lie, Harrybell feels a wave of guilt wash over him. Hiis stomach churns, not from illness, but from the weight of the deception. But he forces himself to nod, his cough more convincing than he’d expected.

“Take as much time as you need,” Rosalie continues, her voice warm and kind. “We know how hard you always work. We’ve got it covered.”

Harrybell can see the sincerity in her eyes, and it only makes him feel worse. He knows she’s just looking out for him, but he can’t shake the feeling of betrayal.

“Thank you, Rosalie,” he manages to say, though the words feel hollow. “I’ll rest, I promise. Just… just need to get my strength back.”

With one last reassuring smile, she turns back to the flowers, and Harrybell takes a slow step back. His wings twitch at his sides, itching to return home, but he forces himself to linger for a moment longer, soaking in the peaceful sights and sounds of the flower fields.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The sun is warm on his skin as he flies  towards his own home. Upon a closer look, he is glad to see that the flowers seem to be happy, their faces turned towards the sun. He only lets his fingers graze over a few of them that seem to be hanging a bit but they immediately straighten up and Harrybell smiles happily at that. 

He flies all the way to his cottage, landing on the last step before he opens the door and walks inside, expecting to see his home to be a state of chaos but only finding the demon sitting in the arm chair, looking bored as he is reading a book. 

He does look up when Harrybell enters, and puts the book aside. “How was your little trip?” He asks, standing up and following Harrybell into the kitchen. 

“Good.” Harrybell smiles sweetly at him and places his bundle down. “I learned how to kill you.”

“Everyone always wants to kill me.” The demon pouts, his shadows coming up to inspect the bundle, but Harrybell shoos them away. 

“I wonder why that is?” Harrybell rolls his eyes. “Oh right, because you're insufferable.” He glares at the shadows that are now wrapping around his wrist and pulling off the fabric, freeing the dark mark. 

“I like to think I’m quite nice,” Louis says, tilting his head to the side. 

“Nice?” Harrybell scoffs. “I think you and I have very different definitions of what nice means. You forced me into this contract. I’d hardly call that nice.” 

“Oh please, little fairy. I didn't do anything. You agreed to it, if I remember correctly.” 

“You threatened to kill me or my friends. You left me no choice.” 

“Same difference.” He shrugs. “I think we are getting along splendidly. Now, did you bring anything to eat that does not consist of honey? It's making me sick.”  

“You're making me sick.” Harrybell encounters, shaking his wrist but the shadows stay.

“Feisty. Either you bring me something to eat or I’ll head into town and find something myself. Your call.” The demon grins wickedly, knowing he once again won. If Harrybell weren’t wrapped up in this mess, it wouldn’t give a fly’s whisker if Louis exposed himself to the rest of the village. He’d be ran out like an owl in daylight. But, as he can see so clearly on his and Louis’ wrists, Harrybell is indeed culpable for Louis’ presence.

“I can make spinach pastries if you don't want anything sweet. And I have cheese and bread.” He gives in and the shadows squeeze his wrist once. 

“Sounds good, little fairy. I’ll wait outside.” And with that, the demon steps out, leaving Harrybell to sort out his food. 

Harrybell watches Louis walk out, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud. He stares at the empty space for a moment, the shadows disappearing with Louis. With a frustrated sigh, he starts rummaging through his pantry, pulling out ingredients to make the spinach pastries.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he mutters to himself, feeling both irritated and defeated. It was bad enough having to deal with the demon’s presence constantly, but now he was having to feed him? It was absurd. And yet, here he was.

He sets the dough to work, rolling it out with force, each press of the rolling pin another silent protest. The thought of Louis sitting outside, waiting with his arrogant grin, makes Harrybell grit his teeth. The demon didn’t deserve any of this kindness.

The door creaks open behind him, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know Louis is standing there, leaning in the doorway. Harrybell wonders why the demon has decided to come back inside and watch him, but with Louis there doesn't seem to be any reason. He just always does how he pleases. “Are you going to stand there all day?” Harrybell snaps, not even sparing him a glance as he cuts the dough into neat squares. 

Louis chuckles, pushing himself off the doorframe. “Are you always this grumpy when you cook?”

“I’m grumpy because you’re here,” Harrybell shoots back, tossing the pastries onto the baking sheet. “It’s bad enough I have to deal with you, but now I have to feed you, too?”

Louis' eyes sparkle with mischief. “Ah, but see, that’s the beauty of it. You get to do both of those things at once. Lucky you.”

Harrybell rolls his eyes, shoving the baking sheet into the oven. “Lucky me. The definition of blessed , truly.”

“Don’t sound so bitter, little fairy,” Louis teases, settling on one of the stools at the counter. “I’m sure I can find a way to make you feel better about all this.”

Harrybell grits his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, he pours himself a glass of water, taking a long sip. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Louis simply grins, his gaze not leaving him. “I’ve been told I have that effect on people. And you keep saying it too.”

The silence stretches between them, as Louis shadows come to once again curl around his wrist, sneaking up his arm until they are almost at his elbow. The dark swirls are a stark contrast to his skin. He looks up at the demon, but he pays him no mind. 

“Pastries should be done in a few minutes,” Harrybell mutters, as if to himself.

Louis raises an eyebrow, eyes glinting with curiosity as they land on Harrybell. “Will you feed me then, too? Or do I have to beg?”

Harrybell doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, he simply opens the oven door, checking on the pastries. They’re golden brown, perfectly baked.

“Here you go,” he says, placing them on the counter. “You’re welcome.”

Louis picks up one of the pastries and takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Not bad, little fairy. I think I’ll keep you around just for your cooking skills.”

“Great,” Harrybell mutters, barely hiding his sarcasm. “Because that’s exactly why I put up with you.”

Louis only shrugs, utterly indifferent to Harrybell’s sarcasm. He takes another bite of his pastry, savoring it in a way that makes Harrybell’s frustration bubble hotter beneath his skin. He clenches his jaw, biting back the urge to snap.

Instead, he turns away, lifting the extra pastry meant for Sundrop and stepping outside. The fresh air doesn’t do much to calm him, but at least it’s better than being in the same room as that insufferable demon.

Sundrop is happily hopping around the garden, chasing butterflies with an unbothered ease that Harrybell envies. A tiny flower crown perches perfectly on her head, a result of her earlier play.

“There you go,” Harrybell murmurs, kneeling to offer the pastry. The bunny twitches her nose, sniffing it with careful consideration before finally nibbling at the edge.

The moment of peace is fleeting.

“So, like, I’ve been thinking,” Louis'  voice suddenly cuts in from behind him.

Harrybell jumps, spinning around with a glare. “Would you not sneak up on me?”

Louis, of course, ignores him, still munching idly on his own pastry. “I think you should try growing it again,” he continues, as if Harrybell hadn’t spoken. 

Harrybell folds his arms, unimpressed. “I don’t think that's a good idea.”

Louis waves him off like he’s being dramatic. “I just feel like you haven’t given it enough effort. You’ve been sulking around instead of actually focusing on it. You’ve barely looked at the seed today.” His gaze sharpens, lips quirking up. “I expected better from you, little fairy .”

That does it.

Harrybell’s patience snaps like a brittle twig. “I have been spending all day trying to find a way out of the curse you put on me!” he growls, wings twitching behind him. “And figuring out what exactly you’ve given me, so I can even try to make it grow!” His voice rises in frustration, but Louis simply sighs, long and exaggerated, as if Harrybell is the exhausting one here.

“It’s not a curse,” Louis drones, sounding almost bored.

Harrybell doesn’t think, he reacts .

With a sharp flick of his wrist, thick vines erupt from the ground, twisting violently around Louis before he can even blink. The demon is yanked back, his arms pinned to his sides, the vines squeezing in warning.

For a heartbeat, the world is silent.

Then, Louis raises a single unimpressed eyebrow.

“Bad fairy,” he murmurs.

Before Harrybell can react, shadows lash out like living creatures.

They coil around his wrists, wrapping tightly enough to make him gasp. More slither around his legs, yanking him off balance, and worst of all, the black tendrils stretch to his wings, locking them in place. 

Louis tilts his head, utterly unruffled as he watches the vines loosen their grip and, recoiling in defeat.

The shadows tighten around Harrybell’s waist, twisting him forward until he stumbles, dragged toward the demon against his will. Louis hums, tilting his head as if studying him. “You really don’t want to get on my bad side, little fairy.” His voice is softer now, almost gentle, but the weight of his words carries something sharp. Dangerous.

Harrybell glares up at him, chest rising and falling with controlled fury. “I’m not scared of you,” he hisses, yanking at the shadows restraining him. 

Louis leans in, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “You should be.”

The words are barely more than a whisper, but they send a chill down Harrybell’s spine.

Then, Louis’ hand lifts, fingers brushing against Harrybell’s jaw. It’s not quite a grip, not quite a caress. Just a simple reminder of power .

“Now,” Louis murmurs, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Be a good pet and stay here while I get the seed.”

A few moments later, Louis returns, carrying the small clay pot with the cursed seed nestled inside. He sets it down directly in front of Harrybell, dusting his hands off as if this is all just another minor inconvenience in his day.

“Grow it.”

Harrybell glares at him, teeth clenched. “I told you I can’t,” he snaps. “It’ll kill me. And probably you too, if it decides to retaliate. It’s refusing my magic.”

Louis only smirks, circling around him like a predator playing with its prey. “Then you haven’t tried hard enough,” he murmurs, voice smooth like velvet. He comes to a stop behind Harrybell, standing close. too close. “Come on, little fairy.”

His fingers trail lightly over Harrybell’s delicate wings.

A sharp whimper escapes Harrybell’s throat before he can stop it. His entire body stiffens at the sensation. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Strange and overwhelming. Intimate in a way he can't explain. His wings twitch instinctively, trying to flick away from the touch, but the shadows hold them firmly in place.

Louis lets out a low chuckle, clearly delighted by the reaction. “Sensitive, are we?”

Harrybell’s face burns, both in embarrassment and rage. “Do not touch them,” he bites out, struggling against the shadows. It’s humiliating enough to be trapped like this, but having him of all creatures touching his wings? Unacceptable.

Louis, of course, does not listen.

Instead, he drags his fingers along the fragile edges once more, slower this time, watching with keen interest as Harrybell trembles against his will. 

“Fascinating,” Louis muses, tilting his head. “I’ve never played with fairy wings before. They’re so delicate .”

Harrybell grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus, forcing himself not to give Louis the satisfaction of another reaction. He glares at the pot in front of him, trying to ignore the way his skin still burns from the demon’s touch.

“I can try ,” he mutters, voice strained. “But I can’t promise anything.”

Louis hums again, clearly amused, and withdraws his hands. “That’s all I ask, little fairy. Now, show me what you’ve got.” The shadows let him fall to the ground, and Harrybell lands on his knees in the grass. He places both hands on the pot, and with one last look at the demon, who is still surrounded by his shadows, he closes his eyes and reaches out. 

He finds the seed easily, it's his calling, after all, to be able to communicate with flowers - like it is Niall’s to bake. Strands of light slowly circling the seed, asking for entrance, but like before, the seed swallows them in its darkness and pushes back. Harrybell doesn't give up though. He tries again and again, taking a more gentle approach, trying to find the tiniest opening for his magic to push through. He is holding tightly onto the pot, and can feel beads of sweat grow on his skin and his feet digging into the ground, searching for stability. But the seed is stronger. 

It laps at his magic greedily, draining him of it until Harrybell can no longer withstand the darkness and gasps as he flies backwards. He crashes into a solid wall and before he can crumble to the ground, strong arms are wrapping around him, catching him and steadying him effortlessly. 

Dizzy, his head swimming with black spots, Harrybell barely registers the steady grip around his waist. His heart pounds as exhaustion drags him under, limbs heavy and useless. The world tilts, but the embrace holding him doesn’t waver.

“There, there, little fairy,” Louis murmurs, his voice a purr of amusement. His grip tightens, securing Harrybell against him. “That was quite the show.”

Harrybell shudders, his body still trembling from the effort, his vision swimming in and out of focus. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the haze clouding his thoughts. “It’s feeding off my magic,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggles to make sense of what just happened.

Louis hums, unbothered, almost smug.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” Harrybell hisses, his exhaustion momentarily drowned out by anger. He pushes himself away from the demon’s hold, only for his legs to give out beneath him. The ground rushes up to meet him, but before he can collapse completely, shadows slither around his waist, catching him and lifting him effortlessly into the air.

“I had a suspicion,” Louis admits, his tone maddeningly casual.

Harrybell swallows thickly, his head still spinning. “I could’ve died.”

“But you didn’t, little fairy,” Louis murmurs, tilting his head. “Besides, I was here the whole time.”

“Oh, well yeah,” Harrybell snaps, “because that is so reassuring to hear.”

Louis merely chuckles, the sound dark and rich. “I think it needs your magic to grow.”

Harrybell shakes his head violently. “No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t like it. It’s not just taking my magic, it’s draining me. It wants me gone.”

Louis sighs as if he’s already tired of the argument. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Louis, please,” Harrybell pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “I can’t do it again.”

Louis gives him a slow, cruel smirk. “Well, sucks to be you then, because you will have to. Or did you forget?” He taps his wrist, right where the inked stars mark their bond, a silent reminder of the bargain neither of them can escape.

Harrybell bites his lip hard, forcing himself to swallow his protests. He’s lost this battle, just like the last.

The shadows respond to Louis’ unspoken command, slowly easing Harrybell back to the ground. They linger for a moment, wrapping around his limbs and waiting for him to stand securely before they recoil and follow after Louis who is making his way inside of the cottage. 

Harrybell takes a few deep breaths, trying to collect himself before he follows after the demon. He walks past him, making his way into his bedroom and securing the door with vines before he slumps down in his bed and curls himself together, falling into a deep slumber. 

In the morning, he is woken up by Sundrop bumping against the door, wanting to get outside. The sun is shining already, birds chirping outside and bees humming. Harrybell still feels like a deadweight when he gets out of the soft confines of his bed and removes the vines from the doorknob. He is surprised to find his living room empty, and when he looks around and sneaks a glance outside, there is no sign of the demon either. 

A wave of relief washes over him. For a brief, fleeting moment, he allows himself to believe that the demon might not come back. That maybe, just maybe, Louis is gone for good. But as his gaze falls upon the pot, the small seed still unchanged, a knot tightens in his chest. No growth. No sign of any progress. It’s as if time itself is standing still, mocking his hopes. He knows deep down that Louis will return. It’s only a matter of time.

Harrybell sighs, pushing the thought from his mind as he moves into the kitchen. He prepares a lush breakfast, consisting of sweet berries, honey, and freshly baked bread. The simple act of eating grounds him for a moment, the warmth of the food soothing his restless heart. Sundrop, her small paws making soft padding sounds on the floor, hops around excitedly at his feet, her whiskers twitching in anticipation of the day ahead.

After he finishes eating, Harrybell heads outside, taking in the fresh air as he opens the door to the world beyond. Sundrop bounces ahead, eager for the adventure, and Harrybell takes a deep breath, stretching his wings before taking off into the sky. The wind feels cool and refreshing against his skin as he flies through the trees, Sundrop following behind, her fluffy tail bobbing with each leap she takes. The forest below is alive with movement leaves rustling, animals stirring in the bushes and for a moment, Harrybell lets the peace of the forest fill him, pushing away the thoughts of Louis and the seed.

When he reaches the river, Harrybell lands softly by the bank, the sound of the water rushing over stones a calming melody. He removes his clothes, leaving them in a small pile on the grass, and steps into the cool water. The current is refreshing, the chill of the river embracing him as it swirls around his legs. He sighs, letting the water wash over him, the coolness soothing his sore skin, which still carries the remnants of the strain from the previous day.

Harrybell closes his eyes for a moment, letting the water cleanse him, his wings tucked carefully against his back, the water swirling around them too. Eventually, he finishes washing, making sure to wet his wings last, as the water splashes over them gently. He shudders as the water runs down his skin, feeling the weight of everything melt away, if only for a little while.

Finally, he steps out of the river. The soft grass tickles his skin as he lays down in the sun, his body and wings spread out to dry. The warmth of the sun kisses his skin, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Harrybell feels a sliver of peace. His thoughts wander, drifting away on the breeze as he allows the world around him to wash over him. For this moment, there are no demons, no seeds, no looming threat. Just the soft hum of the earth and the quiet buzz of nature.

Dozing in the sun for a few hours, he feels himself slowly recharge. The exhaustion fades away and he is ready to face the demon again. It's his only option after all. He can't kill the demon, he knows he could never bring himself to do something so horrific, even if the demon may deserve it. And besides, he doesn't even have the necessary weapons. And his point stands, he won't try and seduce the demon. So, he has to make this flower grow and then he’ll be free. 

Eventually, long after noon has passed and the afternoon light begins to stretch across the land, Harrybell picks up Sundrop and makes his way back towards his cottage. As he approaches, he spots Louis lounging on the porch, sitting in the shade with a brooding expression.

“Where’ve you been?” Louis' voice cuts through the quiet when Harrybell touches down in the garden.

Harrybell folds his arms, lifting an eyebrow. “Could ask you the same thing.”

Louis smirks. “Getting food.”

“Food?” Harrybell scoffs, his gaze narrowing. “Let me guess. Raw meat? Blood?”

Louis grins, sharp and predatory. “Yes. Babies and children, naturally. What else would I feast on?” He chuckles darkly before leaning back in his chair. “Come on, little fairy, what do you really think of me?”

Harrybell opens his mouth to retort but Louis raises a hand to stop him. “Actually, don’t bother answering that,” he adds. Harrybell purses his lips.

“Are you ready to try again?” 

Harrybell shakes his head, frustration simmering beneath the surface. "My magic's drained. I can't keep pushing myself like this. And honestly, I don’t think forcing the flower is the right way. Whatever power it holds, it needs time to grow. I’m not going to rush it."

Louis watches him with calculating eyes, a flicker of something dark crossing his features but then he seems to relent. "Once a week. You’ll try to speed up the process once a week, and for the rest of the time, I’ll leave you be. But I'm staying. You’re no use to me if you're dead, but I also don't trust you not to do something stupid with what’s mine."

Harrybell feels a weight lift from his chest, as if the pressure that had been building inside him is finally easing. "Alright," he agrees, his voice steady. "Once a week. I can handle that."

It gives him time, time to find a way to rid himself of the demon without pushing the flower to grow too quickly. Harrybell is certain whatever that flower is, it holds power he doesn’t fully understand and that scares him. Whatever it is, it can't be good and Harrybell can't let it come to life. 

Instead of using his magic on the seed, he instead just gives it some water and places it in the sun before he goes to tend to his other flowers. It soothes him to spend time with them and he does his best to ignore Louis' constant gaze on him or the way his shadows are steadily curled around his left wrist.

He doesn't know whether it's a control thing or if Louis is even aware he is doing it because he never mentions it or pays attention to it. It's odd, but Harrybell doesn't dare to question the demon. 

As the days pass, the seed remains unchanged, at least on the surface. Harrybell keeps up the routine, watering it and placing it in the sun. He avoids using his own power, even to check how far along the seed is. 

Louis, however, grows restless. Harrybell notices it in the way he is always pacing, shadows ever present around his feet and his jaw set tight. 

He tries to avoid the demon, but it's hard with the way he is always lingering close to him. Just observing. They fight a lot too. Harrybell is irritated by the sheer presence of the demon and he knows Louis enjoys getting under his skin. The demon seems to take pleasure in needling him, throwing out snide remarks and mocking him whenever he can.

“God, I hate this place,” he says one evening, staring at the pot that holds the seed as Harrybell munches on some honey buns for dinner. 

“Then leave, you're not welcome here anyway.” 

“I wish I could, little fairy.” Louis snarls. “But you fail at the only thing you're supposed to be good at.” Harrybell tries to ignore the words but they sting. 

“Everything smells like fucking honey, its unbearable,” Louis continues as the shadows around him grow and become darker, making Harrybell feel at unease. 

He swallows down the lump in his throat, focusing on his honey buns instead of the darkness curling around the room. He won't give Louis the satisfaction of a reaction, not when the demon is clearly trying to provoke him.

"Then stop breathing," Harrybell mutters, taking another bite. "Or better yet, go outside and stew in your misery somewhere else."

Louis exhales sharply, an almost amused sound, but there's tension in his frame. His fingers twitch at his sides, his shadows growing restless with him. 

Louis'  eyes flash, something dark and dangerous sparking in their depths. "You’re a fool, little fairy," he says, voice dripping with scorn, though there’s a hint of something else there, something twisted that Harrybell can’t quite place.

"And you’re a menace," Harrybell snaps back, his voice sharp. There’s no humor in it, just pure irritation, a sharp edge that he knows will get under Louis’ skin.

Louis’ smirk doesn’t falter, but the shadows grow darker, thicker around him, swirling like storm clouds on the verge of breaking. Then, without a word, he stands abruptly and storms out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. The sudden silence feels suffocating, heavy in its absence.

The only thing that remains is a shadow, curling and twisting around Harrybell’s wrist like a chain, a constant reminder of the demon. 

When he finishes his meal, he slowly sets the plate down, staring at the seed in its pot on the windowsill. It’s still the same, unchanged, as if it’s mocking him for all his efforts. He hasn’t used his power on it, hasn’t checked its progress. There’s a part of him that’s terrified of what might happen if he does. He knows it won't be long until Louis will force him to do it again. 

As the shadows swirl tighter around his wrist, a thought flickers in the back of his mind. What if Louis is right? What if he is running out of time? He’s been so focused on the seed, on the ritual, on trying to prove to himself that he can do this on his own. But maybe that’s exactly the thing Louis wants, him to push himself too hard, to burn out. He knows the demon enjoys watching him struggle. And he wonders if that is what the seed needs. 

It did seem to feed off of Harrybell’s magic. Greedy and desperate, but he always stopped it before it could take too much. But maybe it needed to take everything to grow. Obviously, he could never voice these thoughts to the demon. He is sure Louis would sacrifice him without as much as second guessing it, but maybe it's worth doing some research on.

With a deep breath, Harrybell stands up, the shadow around his wrist tightening slightly in response to his movement. He brushes it off as best as he can, but the connection to Louis is still there, undeniable. 

He peeks outside and finds Louis sitting on the flower bench. He doesn't know what makes him do it, but he carefully opens the door leading outside and steps into his garden. 

The only light comes from the pale sliver of the moon hanging low in the sky, its glow soft against the shadowed corners of the space. The air is cool, the scent of the flowers heavier now, mixed with the lingering hint of honey from Harrybell’s earlier meal. There’s an almost eerie stillness to the night, the kind that always seems to stretch just a little too long when Louis is nearby.

Harrybell walks over quietly, his bare feet barely making a sound on the soft ground as he approaches the flower bench where Louis sits. The demon doesn’t acknowledge him immediately, but Harrybell can feel his shadows, wrapping around his arm. Louis is staring straight ahead, his back straight but his shoulders tight, the night around him stirring with a subtle intensity. His fingers twitch occasionally, his shadows shifting restlessly in response. 

When Harrybell sits down beside him, the silence hangs for a moment longer. The cool night air brushes past them both, the only sound the soft rustle of the flowers and the distant humming of fireflies.

“You know,” Harrybell says after a long pause, his voice quiet but steady, “maybe I could help you more if you would just tell me what kind of flower it is.”

Louis turns his head slightly, his expression unreadable, though his eyes are as sharp as ever, reflecting the moonshine. “I can't tell you, little fairy. Too much is at stake.” 

The air between them thickens, as if Louis’ words are laced with something more than just reluctance. Harrybell can feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere, the weight of secrets hanging just out of reach. The shadows grow darker around Louis and tighten around Harrybell’s wrist. 

“You expect me to help you,” Harrybell presses, his voice laced with a mix of irritation and curiosity. He leans slightly closer, the bench creaking softly under him. “How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what’s going on? What’s really at stake?”

The coldness in Louis' voice cuts through him, leaving a sting that he can't ignore. "You're nothing," Louis sneers, his words laced with disdain. "A sandcorn in the grand scheme of things. Your life is mortal and short, like a flicker of flame that will burn out before you even realize it. You're as frail as a butterfly. I meant it when I said it doesn't concern you. You're insignificant, little fairy. Trust me, you don't want to be involved in this."

Harrybells lips part as he studies the demon's face that is full of pity and amusement. He swallows and looks away, trying not to show how much the words affect him. He is not weak or frail, and his life is worth something, even if it’s not as endless as the one of a demon.

“You’re cruel,” Harrybell mutters under his breath, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet the words are sharp, like he’s trying to force them out of himself despite the doubt twisting in his stomach.

Louis' gaze sharpens for a moment, but then his expression softens, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He leans back slightly, folding his arms across his chest, his eyes dark but calculating as he watches Harrybell’s every movement. There’s a tension in the air, a pull between them that neither of them can ignore.

“See it as me protecting you, if that helps,” Louis says, his tone now coldly indifferent, but there’s a hint of something else hidden beneath. “If you knew what this flower was, you’d start asking questions. You wouldn’t understand, and I’m not in the mood to explain myself. I gave up everything for that seed, and I will let nothing get in the way of it blooming.” His voice lowers with an unsettling intensity. “This seed is worth more to me than any other thing in the world.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air like a dark cloud, and Harrybell feels the implications of them settle in his chest. He doesn’t know the full story, not yet. But he can sense the danger, the desperation that drives Louis to guard this secret so fiercely. There’s something about this flower, this seed, that holds an immense power, a power that Louis is willing to sacrifice everything for.

But Harrybell can’t let it go, not now. He leans forward slightly, despite the rising tension, despite the shadows around him tightening as if warning him to stay away. 

“Ever heard of the saying curiosity killed the cat?” Louis asks and Harry shakes his head. “It's something humans say when someone is being too curious and wants to know too much. Knowledge is power, but it's also dangerous. You’re pushing yourself too far, little fairy,” Louis continues, his voice now laced with a sharp warning, a chill that cuts through the air between them. 

“Earlier I was thinking I may be wrong about you and I wanted to give you a chance, but the tales aren't lying. Demons are soulless, cruel creatures that can only see themselves.” He stands to walk away.

Louis chuckles, and when Harrybell turns to him, he is already looking back. “You think you've got me all figured out, but you don't know anything. You don't know what real sacrifice means, you don't know how cruel a demon can really be. You live in this world full of butterflies and sunshine, where everyone is nice and everything is good. You don't know what it means to suffer or to feel pain.”

Louis' voice drips with venom, sharp and mocking, as the shadows twist and coil around him like living things. His eyes lock onto Harrybell’s with an intensity that feels like an accusation. "You think I'm just some soulless monster, don't you? That I'm nothing more than a cruel, heartless demon. But you have no clue what I've been through. You don’t know the cost of everything I’ve lost. You’re just a naive little fairy, playing at understanding things you’ll never comprehend.”

Harrybell feels the sting of those words hit him harder than he expects. His throat tightens, a mix of anger and something else, something he doesn’t want to name. But Louis isn’t done.

“You want to be involved so badly? You think you're strong enough to handle the truth? You’re dumb. You’re weak. And you have no idea how cruel and tormenting the real world is.” Louis' voice is a low growl, and the shadows around him grow darker, pressing in, as if the very night is against Harrybell.

In a rush of frustration, Harrybell’s temper flares. His fists ball, trembling at his sides, and with a sharp breath, he hisses through clenched teeth, “ I hate you .” The words feel like a heavy weight on his chest as they leave his lips. He turns, not wanting to give Louis the satisfaction of seeing his struggle. He has to get away.

Without a second thought, Harrybell storms inside, his heart pounding in his ears. The door slams shut behind him, and his steps are hurried, desperate as he stumbles into his bedroom. He lets a curtain of vines grow in front of his window to ensure Louis can't look inside, locking out the gentle light of the moon and instead turning everything dark. 

Harrybell throws himself onto his bed, the mattress dipping beneath him as he presses his face into the pillow. His breath comes in sharp, uneven bursts, and no matter how hard he tries to will the emotions away, they stick to him like thorns.

The vines at his window thicken, intertwining with a will of their own, sealing him in. He doesn’t want to see the outside, doesn’t want to risk catching even a glimpse of Louis standing out there, smug or indifferent, like none of this matters to him.

Because maybe it doesn’t.

And that thought burns.

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t care. It’s just- he thought for a moment, just a fleeting second, that they could work together. That maybe Louis wasn’t as cruel as he seemed. That whatever he was trying to grow, whatever this seed was, maybe it wasn’t something terrible. Maybe it was worth protecting.

But demons don’t do good things.

Demons don’t sacrifice unless it’s for their own gain.

And Louis is a demon, through and through.

Harrybell clenches his fists against the sheets. He should have known better. He did know better. And yet, despite everything, he had given Louis the benefit of the doubt.

It was a mistake.

Chapter Text

Harrybell hears a soft knock on his door a few days later, while they are sitting over breakfast. Louis' eyes turn dark and shadows immediately curl out to wrap around Harrybell’s body. 

“Who’s here?” he hisses and Harrybell shrugs, feeling his stomach churn. “Go look,” Louis orders, and Harrybel glares at him but stands and goes to open the door slightly.

“Harrybell, are you okay?” Rosalie’s gentle voice comes through the small gap, concern painted on her face.

“I’m still not feeling well,” Harrybell says, trying to sound as convincing as possible. His voice feels weak, strained. “Just need some more rest.”

Rosalie looks at him with concern, but she doesn’t push. “Alright, well, we’ll bring some soup later. Rest, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Harrybell says quickly, closing the door with a sense of relief. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Another knock at the door two days later. Harrybell sighs, preparing himself for another round of excuses.

“Harrybell? It’s me, Daisyrae. How are you doing?” Daisyree, a garden fairy who specialises in vegetable blossoms and has spent a lot of time training with flower fairies. Her voice is light, but Harrybell can hear the worry under it.

“I’m still not feeling great,” Harrybell says, his voice hoarse. “Just need more time.” He keeps the door half-open, enough to show his face but not enough to show the wave of shadows poised just behind him.

Louis’ shadow flickers, and his voice is barely audible, a soft hum in Harrybell’s ear. “Tell her you’ve been having strange dreams. You haven’t slept well, and it’s making you feel off. It’s not your fault.”

Harrybell swallows hard, trying to ignore the shiver that runs down his spine. He swallows, but repeats the demon's words. “I’ve been having strange dreams… and I haven’t been able to sleep much.”

Daisyrae’s expression softens. “Poor thing. Well, we’re here if you need anything. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I won’t,” Harrybell lies. He closes the door quickly, breathing out in relief before he glares at Louis who is still standing way too close to him. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Days pass, where he fights with Louis day in and out, worn down to his bones. He is so tired of the lies and the hiding. 

Harrybell hears Niall and Liam’s voices outside his door, the sound of their laughter a stark contrast to the tightness in his chest. He opens the door a fraction of an inch, just enough to see their faces.

“Harry, how’s it going?” Niall asks. “We haven’t seen you in forever, and Rosalie said you were sick.”

“I’m still sick,” Harrybell replies, a little more quickly than he means to. “I’m not feeling much better.”

Louis comes up behind him then, his shadow stretching just enough to wrap around Harrybell’s wrist. “Tell them you’ve been eating something that’s upset your stomach. You need to rest and drink plenty of water.”

Harrybell’s pulse quickens, but he nods, his voice weak as he repeats Louis’ words. “Yeah, I ate something earlier and it didn’t sit right. I just need to rest and hydrate. I don’t know what's wrong with me lately.”

Liam eyes him with a frown. “You sure you’re alright? If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask, yeah?”

“I’ll be fine,” Harrybell says, flashing a quick smile to hide his nerves. “Just need some rest.”

They exchange uncertain looks before stepping back. “Take care of yourself, Harrybell. We’ll check in later.”

“Thanks,” he says, closing the door with a quiet sigh. Louis’ presence lingers behind him, always so close, always watching.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

As the day wears on, Harrybell feels more and more suffocated by the lies he’s telling. He’s lost count of how many excuses he’s made, how many times Louis has whispered into his ear. 

“Tell them you’re too weak to walk today.”
“Say you’ve been struggling with dizziness.”
“Tell them your wings are sore from overuse.”

Every excuse feels like another layer of guilt wrapping around him and he hates it but he knows, he has no other choice.

Louis stands behind him, always there, a constant shadow, his whispers soft but unrelenting. “You’re doing well, little fairy,” he murmurs. “No one suspects a thing.”

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

One week passes, then another, and Harrybell does everything in his power to avoid the demon. He refuses to speak to him, barely even spares him a glance. The only moments they are forced together are when Louis’ shadows slither toward him, curling around his wrists, compelling him to work his magic on the seed.

Each time, Harrybell can feel its roots starting to spread and he knows it won't be long until they’ll start seeing it sprout. 

Three weeks have passed since the demon first appeared on his doorstep. The last time he poured his magic into the seed, exhaustion consumed him completely. He blacked out, only to wake up later in his bed, tucked beneath warm blankets. He doesn’t remember how he got there. But it isn’t difficult to guess. Louis must have carried him inside and tucked him in. Certainly not out of care for Harry. The demon is only ensuring he can keep exploiting Harry’s power, the same way someone might wash their porridge bowl. 

His friends have stopped showing up too, probably feeling hurt by Harrybell showing them his cold shoulder and turning down their attempts to take care of him. The guilt eats at him and so, he spends a lot of his time in the library, hidden away behind shelves, making sure no one sees him. 

Harrybell has spent endless days buried in the library, searching for anything that might give him an answer. But no matter how many books he scours, no matter how many pages he turns until his fingers are raw, it always circles back to the same two solutions.

Kill the demon.

Or seduce him into revealing his secret.

Neither is an option.

The first is unthinkable. No matter how cruel Louis has been, no matter how much he frustrates and infuriates him, Harrybell is not a murderer. He refuses to stain his hands with blood, even if it belongs to a demon. It goes against every fibre in his being that calls him to cultivate vitality.

The second is just ridiculous. The mere thought of trying to manipulate Louis in such a way makes something uneasy coil in his stomach. Besides, he doubts it would even work. Louis is sharp and guarded, and always two steps ahead. He would see right through it, and Harrybell would be left with nothing but his own shame.

So instead of overthinking, Harrybell turns to what he knows best. He tends to his flowers, pouring everything he got into the. He lingers over every petal, whispering words of encouragement to their delicate stems. He pours his love into the soil, the leaves, the blooms, finding comfort in them.

“It's time, little fairy.” Louis says one evening, his shadows curling around his waist and lifting him away from where he was tending to the sunflowers. Used to this treatment by now, Harrybell doesn't even try to fight them and instead just allows them to carry him towards the middle of the garden, placing him in front of Louis and the seed. At least they are gentle as they lower him to the ground instead of just letting him fall. 

“Time for what?” He asks, smiling innocently up at the demon. Just because he doesn't fight the shadows anymore doesn’t mean he doesn't fight the demon itself. 

Louis isn't surprised by his antics. The demon has his arms crossed in front of his chest, looking possibly bored. “You know exactly what, little fairy, so get on with it.” 

Harrybell huffs, rolling his eyes. “You could at least ask nicely, y’know?” He places his hands on the pot, already feeling the seed stir beneath his touch, its presence insatiable as it reaches for him, greedily latching onto his magic like a starving creature.

Louis sighs, though there’s no real exasperation behind it. “Don’t push your luck,” he warns, and as if to emphasize his point, the shadows around Harrybell tighten.

A shiver runs down his spine, but he ignores it. He always ignores it. Instead, he exhales slowly, closing his eyes and letting his magic unfurl like vines, soft tendrils of energy curling into the soil and wrapping around the seed. Instantly, it drinks him in, tugging at the very core of his being with a hunger that never seems satisfied.

It takes more from him now. More than before. And he lets it.

Time passes in fragments. His mind drifts between wakefulness and unconsciousness, lost in the hazy remnants of exhaustion. His body feels hollowed out, like the seed has carved pieces of him away and left only an aching emptiness behind.

When he finally stirs again, the room is still bathed in moonlight, silvery beams casting long shadows across the walls. He blinks slowly, his lashes heavy, and pushes himself up on trembling arms. The dizziness returns instantly, a sharp wave that crashes over him, making his stomach twist. He groans and presses a hand to his forehead, willing the nausea away.

Hunger gnaws at him, deep and insistent, but the thought of standing, let alone walking or flying to the kitchen, feels impossible. His limbs feel heavy, his magic drained to the very last drop.

A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he lets himself sink back into the pillows, resigning himself to rest a little longer. His fingers twitch against the blanket, and that’s when he feels it.

A shadow, curled loosely around his wrist.

It moves, shifting slightly as though acknowledging his consciousness, but it doesn’t tighten or pull. It’s simply there , coiled around him in a way that feels... grounding. Protective almost.

Harrybell exhales, his lashes fluttering as sleep tugs at him once more. He doesn't know what it means or if he's maybe just imagining it. He knows who it belongs to. But right now, he’s too tired to dwell on it. Instead, he lets his eyes slip shut, comforted by the quiet presence of the shadow at his side and Sundrop curled by his feet. 

Harrybell stays in bed for the entire day, wrapped in layers of blankets, despite the summer air outside, refusing to move. His body aches, his magic feels weak, but the exhaustion that weighs on him is deeper than just physical. He doesn’t want to get up. He doesn’t want to open the door. 

Louis tries to talk to him several times throughout the day, knocking lightly at first, then more firmly when Harrybell refuses to answer. “You can’t stay in there forever, little fairy,” he says, voice edged with something unreadable. He is impatient, like always. “At least let me know you’re still breathing.”

Harrybell doesn’t respond. His vines are wound tight around the door, thick and unyielding, keeping the demon out; it should be as good a sign as any. He hears Louis exhale, a quiet sigh of frustration, before he retreats down the hall. The only thing that remains is the shadow around his wrist.

The sky outside has darkened by the time Louis returns, his voice quieter this time, lacking the sharp edge from before.

“Little fairy, you have to eat.” There’s a pause, and then, softer, “I got you some honeycomb and figs. I’ll place them in front of your door and go outside.”

Harrybell remains still, his face half-buried in his pillow. He listens as Louis moves, the quiet clink of a tray being set down, the near-silent shift of shadows. Then, after a lingering moment of hesitation, Louis steps away. His footsteps fade down the hall, and soon, the house is silent again. It's the demon's fault that he feels the way he does right now, so bringing him food now doesn't change anything about his hatred of the demon.

For a long time, Harrybell doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to accept anything from Louis. But hunger gnaws at his insides, sharp and relentless, and after what feels like an eternity, he finally shifts.

With sluggish movements, he lets the vines untangle from the door, letting them slither away like reluctant snakes. It takes him longer than it would if he had his full magic. The door creaks slightly as he cracks it open, just wide enough to reach out and pull the tray inside. His hands tremble as he settles back onto the bed, staring down at what Louis left him.

Golden honeycomb glistens under the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through his window. The figs are ripe and plump, their scent sweet and familiar. He takes a tentative bite, and the honey melts on his tongue, warm and soothing. The first swallow makes his stomach twist painfully, but then the second bite comes easier. Slowly, he eats, feeling his body strengthen with every bite. 

When the tray is empty, he sets it back by the door, locking it once more before he slides beneath the sheets once more. The shadows around his wrist tighten momentarily, a soft reassurance that Harrybell doesn't want. He exhales sharply, turning onto his side, yanking his arm away as if he could shake them off. But Louis’ presence lingers, even when he isn’t near.

He can’t keep going like this.

With every week that passes, the seed will take more. It will drain him until there is nothing left but an empty husk, until his magic is devoured completely. And then what? What happens when there’s nothing more to give?

His fingers clutch at the blankets as his breath shudders out of him. He doesn’t know how much time he has before it’s too late, but he knows one thing with absolute certainty and that is that he has to do something about Louis.

He has to end this. But he needs to regain his full strength first.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Two days later, Louis has made it his mission to be Harrybell’s personal hell. Since the morning, Louis hasn't left Harrybell alone, and the fairy is possibly going insane. 

“So, like, you grow flowers all day,” Louis muses, hands crossed in front of his chest as he strolls lazily behind him. “Doesn’t that get a bit boring and repetitive?”

Harrybell doesn’t answer. Instead, he kneels down in the soil, coaxing a row of sunflowers to bloom, their golden faces turning toward the sky. It’s a ritual he takes his time with, because he knows the birds will come for the seeds later, and he likes watching them flit around, chirping happily.

Louis, of course, does not take the hint.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continues. “It’s cute, really. But every single day? Sunflowers? Tulips? Daisies? Don’t you get bored? ”

Harrybell’s fingers twitch, but he pointedly keeps his focus on the flowers.

Louis sighs dramatically. “Alright, fine, be stubborn. But I’m bored, and you ignoring me isn’t helping.” He crouches beside Harrybell, close enough that his shadows slither into the soil, dark tendrils brushing against the roots. The fairy immediately stiffens, eyes snapping up to glare at him.

Louis smirks, tilting his head. “Ah, there it is. Some kind of reaction. You do know how to be interesting.”

Harrybell exhales sharply through his nose, then turns back to his work only to find the flowers beginning to wilt. 

A spark of alarm shoots through Harrybell’s chest as he watches the vibrant golden petals droop, their once-strong stems bending under an unseen weight. The energy he had poured into them mere moments ago is already fading, being stolen.

His eyes snap back to Louis, whose smirk has widened ever so slightly. His shadows curl around the roots like greedy fingers, taking their life away, undoing Harrybell’s careful work.

Harrybell’s magic flares instinctively, a pulse of raw energy that rushes through the soil like a heartbeat. The sunflowers respond instantly, straightening once more, but the effort sends a wave of dizziness through his body. His limbs feel heavier than they should, exhaustion still clinging to him like damp earth.

Louis watches him with sharp, knowing eyes. "Tsk, tsk. Still not at full strength, are we, little fairy?" His voice is syrupy with amusement. 

Harrybell closes his eyes and grits his teeth, forcing himself to take a slow, steadying breath. It’s all he can do to keep himself from losing control. The fire inside him burns hot, the rage and frustration swirling, threatening to spill over. He wants to scream at the demon, wants to unleash every curse and accusation that’s been boiling inside him. He wants to tell Louis that everything he’s become - the weakness, the exhaustion, the trembling magic - is because of him. He wants to shout that Louis is the one who’s destroyed everything. He’s the one who’s twisted Harrybell’s life into something unrecognizable.

But he doesn’t.

He can’t .

Not yet.

He needs Louis to trust him. To lower his guard.

And right now, there’s no room for emotional outbursts, no room for anything that would show Louis how much he’s truly suffering. So Harrybell swallows down every biting remark, every accusation that threatens to tear through him, and instead, he focuses on his flowers.

It’s almost automatic. He reaches out, his fingers brushing the earth, pulling life from it, coaxing the plants into flourishing despite the heavy weight in his chest. His magic hums faintly beneath his skin, a pulse of energy that responds to his touch, but it’s weaker than it should be. The sunflowers bend toward him, struggling to stand straight, their yellow petals wilting just a bit under the strain.

Harrybell tightens his jaw, ignoring the nagging dizziness that threatens to pull him under. He has to keep going. He has to act like everything is fine. Harrybell stays focused, keeping his eyes fixed on the flowers, pretending they’re all that matters. 

He’s got a plan. He knows he has no chance in killing the demon, Louis is way too strong and powerful with his shadows, but he can seduce him, making him want to give up this deal they have. It's against everything Harrybell stands for but it's the only escape he sees. This, or death. And Harrybell isn't ready to just give up like that.

“You know,” Louis says as his shadows wrap around Harrybell and force him to turn his way, “You used to be much more fun when you were talking back at me. Where's your passion, little fairy? What’s going on with you now?””

“You won Louis, that's what's going on,” he says eventually. “I tried fighting back, I tried ignoring you, and I even tried to understand where you're coming from, why you need this so much, and all I got in return is you playing me like a puppet. I think I've just realised that there is no point because you’ll always have the upper hand.” 

“So you've finally come to your senses? I'm impressed.” He says, though he doesn't seem fully convinced yet. 

“I'm tired of fighting,” he says.

Louis tilts his head slightly, his shadows still curling around Harrybell, teasing him like they always do, pulling him closer, testing his resolve. There’s a sharpness to his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes, as if he can smell the lies on Harrybell's breath. “Tired of fighting, are you?” Louis purrs, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “That’s a shame, little fairy. I did enjoy our little battles.”

“Well, I’m over it,” Harrybell mutters, his voice low, almost defeated. Though, he’s still got fight left, he just can’t let it show yet. He keeps his gaze locked on the floor, refusing to meet Louis' piercing eyes. “Because no matter how hard I try, you control everything, Louis. Every move I make, every thought I have. It's all been about you from the start.”

Louis takes a step forward, his smile widening, the shadows around Harrybell shifting, wrapping tighter and pulling him upwards so that they are face to face. Harrybell clenches his fists, but he forces his body to remain still. He needs Louis to believe he’s surrendered completely, that he’s broken. He needs Louis to lower his guard. He can’t show any weakness. Not even a flicker of it.

“So what now?” Louis asks, his tone playful, though his eyes are studying Harrybell like a predator watching its prey. “Now that you’re ‘ tired of fighting ’, what’s next for you, little fairy? Are you going to sit there and accept your fate? Let me pull your strings until I get bored?”

Harrybell raises his head, locking eyes with Louis for the first time since the conversation started. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but he swallows it down. He needs Louis to think he’s lost. That’s how he’ll get close enough.

“I’m going to do what I should’ve done from the start. Accept that you’ve won, Louis. That you’re in control. That I’m just a puppet, like you said. And if I’m going to be your puppet... then maybe I should start playing the part.”

Louis' expression falters for a moment, the slightest flicker of surprise in his eyes. He doesn’t expect this kind of submission, this willingness to give in so completely. 

“And you want me to believe that?” he asks, and Harrybell shakes his head. 

“Believe what you want to believe, I don't care. Sooner or later, this flower is going to take everything from me and I’d rather just die in peace than constantly fighting you.” He shrugs. “I’m not a violent creature. Fairies are tranquil. So can we just call it a truce?” 

The demon eyes him warily. “Sure, little fairy,” he muses. “Let's call it a truce.” 

Harrybell knows Louis isn’t trusting his words yet , but he expected as much. Now, he just has to make him actually believe it. 

The days blend into one another, each action calculated, each moment spent weaving the intricate layers of his plan. Every gesture, every word, is a part of the act. He knows he must keep Louis off balance, never allowing the demon to see through his facade.

He built the demon a bed, a simple one, made of flowers and soft feathers. He knows that Louis doesn’t need rest the way fairies do, but the act of providing a space for him to relax, something that mimics comfort, feels like another piece of the puzzle. If he can make Louis feel... cared for , then perhaps he can start to chip away at the demon’s arrogance and make him feel something for him. 

Louis’ reaction to the bed is predictable. He doesn’t say a word, merely eyeing it with a slight tilt of his head, as if trying to figure out the purpose behind such an effort. Harrybell sees the wariness in his gaze, but Louis doesn’t outright reject the offer. In fact, over time, Louis begins to use it, though his presence is often fleeting, like he doesn’t quite trust it, or rather, trust Harrybell . Regardless, Harrybell makes sure to maintain the softness of the bed, adding more flowers, fluffing the feathers, and adding fresh touches every day. 

Cooking for Louis is another layer of his plan. Harrybell spends hours in the kitchen, gathering ingredients ranging from flowers, to herbs, to roots, and vegetables. No sweets, of course. The demon has expressed more than once how much he dislikes the sweet pastries Harrybell likes so much. So, he prepares savory dishes for him. He makes sure the meals are nourishing, balancing the flavors just right. Not that Louis ever asks for it, but he does know Louis appreciates it even if he asked him if Harrybell is trying to poison him the first time. 

Eventually, after a week, Harrybell can feel it, the faint crack in Louis’ walls, the smallest inkling of curiosity, the faintest interest. It’s nothing concrete, just the way Louis watches him sometimes when he’s unaware, the way he lingers over his meal for a moment longer than usual, as if considering something more than the food itself. It’s a small victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless. 

Slowly but surely, Harrybell is wrapping the demon around his little finger. Pulling him in with sweet smiles and soft words, Louis seems to soften more and more. 

It's an act, of course and at night Harrybell feels sick. His stomach churning and tears threaten to spill. He hates what Louis has made of him, resents himself for what else he has planned. Still, he tells himself it’s worth it. That this is his way out. It has to be. Because the alternative is worse. 

But the thing Harrybell focuses on the most, the one thing he invests the most effort into, is the flower. He knows it’s more than just a plant—it’s the key to everything. Louis' obsession with it runs deep, and Harrybell can feel its significance in his every action. He doesn’t fully understand it yet, but he knows one thing for certain: whatever this flower becomes, it will mean everything to Louis. It will be the way to his heart, the very thing that can change the power dynamic between them.

Every day, Harrybell tends to it with the utmost care, hands trembling slightly as he works the soil, adjusting the seeds position, making sure it receives just the right amount of sunlight.

Each day, he whispers to it, words of encouragement, as though it might understand. He is careful not to use his magic unless it's that one day of the week where Louis forces him, but he still makes sure Louis sees him. The demon’s eyes are always there, cold and calculating, but there’s something different when Harrybell works with the flower. Louis is closer, drawn in by the plant’s growth, his curiosity so palpable, Harrybell can feel it on his back like dew.

So, he takes his time, explaining each step of the process to Louis, talking about how the soil must be just right, how the sun needs to shine from a particular angle, and how patience is key. In those moments, Harrybell doesn't string any lies. He lets Louis into this small corner of his world. And to his surprise, Louis listens. His gaze softens ever so slightly, his posture changing, as if truly interested in what Harrybell is saying. It's perfect, exactly where Harrybell wants him. 

And then, one day Louis suddenly asks questions back. He wonders about the different types of soil and what flowers need sun and what needs shadow and how that works and Harrybell answers all of them patiently, smiling at the way Louis' shadow is curled around his leg. 

And he knows, when one evening Harrybell looks at the flower there is suddenly a little, black sprout peeking out from the soil, that the day has come for him to move on to the final step of his plan. 

Taking a deep breath, Harrybell stands up, the flower still in his hands, and forces a smile on his face as he flutters over to where Louis sits on the swinging bench. He doesn't want to do this. Not at all. But he has no choice. His heart pounds in his chest, scared about what he is about to do. 

Louis tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he scans Harrybell's face. His gaze flickers briefly to the pot Harrybell holds before returning to him. "Is that… Is it growing ??" Louis asks with hesitant awe.

Harrybell nods, keeping his smile in place despite the anxiety twisting in his gut. “It’s growing,” he confirms, moving closer and nudging the pot a little toward Louis.

For a moment, Louis simply stares at the plant, his expression unreadable. His gaze flickers between the sprout and Harrybell. Harrybell doesn’t know what to make of it. Finally, Louis stands, and he takes the pot gently from Harrybell’s hands.

“Look at that, little fairy,” Louis murmurs, his voice tinged with dark amusement. "I didn’t think you had it in you."

Harrybell’s stomach churns. Louis knew Harrybell is the best, it’s why they’re bound up in this together to begin with. The words sting more than he’d like to admit. He’s done nothing but prove his capabilities, with his blood, sweat, tears, and actual lifeforce gone into the seed. 

“I was starting to think I didn’t either,” he lies through his forced smile.” He steps a little closer to Louis, his heart hammering in his chest when their arms brush as they both lean in to examine the sprout more closely.

Louis' fingers hover above the plant. “Why’s it black? Isn’t it supposed to be green?” he asks with a small voice, shrouded in concern.

Harrybell hums softly, his wings fluttering nervously as he speaks. “Usually, yes. But this one... it’s different. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” Because you won’t tell me what it is, Harry adds in his head.

Louis nods slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hm. I see." Then, with a deliberate and almost predatory movement, his shadows coil around Harrybell’s waist, tightening just enough to send a shiver down his spine. The feeling is strangely comforting, but it also reminds him of just how dangerous Louis can be. Harrybell’s breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

"I don’t think I would’ve managed without you pushing me," Harrybell admits softly, trying to keep his voice steady as he gathers his courage. "So, I guess... in a way, I have to thank you."

Louis' lips curl into a smirk. "I’d call it giving you a little extra motivation, but I suppose you’re right." The shadows tighten around Harrybell’s waist again, giving a squeeze. 

Harrybell swallows. "So, have I proven myself worthy to you yet?" His wings flutter against the growing tension, and he blinks up at Louis, determined to push the game further.

Louis' gaze sharpens, and he takes a step closer. "You want me to be proud of you?" His voice is smooth, dripping with amusement, and Harrybell forces himself to hold steady. The demon’s gaze is intense, but Harrybell refuses to be intimidated by it. Too much is at stake - his pride the least of all to be concerned.

"Yes," he murmurs. "I’ve been doing this for you . Not because you forced me, but because I started to genuinely want to. I made an effort, Louis... Over these past weeks, I’ve learned a lot. And..." He hesitates, his mind racing as he carefully chooses his words. "I was wrong about you. You’re... not what I thought."

Louis' eyes narrow, his lips curling into a smirk that’s almost too knowing. "Oh?" he hums, his voice laced with a texture that makes Harrybell’s hairs stand on end. "And what exactly did you think I was?"

Harrybell holds his ground, biting his bottom lip as he steps even closer to Louis, his voice just above a whisper. "I think we both know what I thought of you, but now..." He lets the words trail off, leaning in slightly, but keeping his gaze fixed firmly on Louis. "But now, I see there’s more to you. And I’m starting to think that maybe... we’re not so different."

Louis chuckles softly, a low, dark sound that echoes in his ears. "You think we’re the same, little fairy?" He asks, still with that amused tone. It’s not a complete lie. The past week, the cracking of Louis’ walls has led to some moments where Harrybell genuinely enjoyed Louis’ company — for short moments at a time before he reminded himself of his situation, of the truth of it all.

Harrybell lets a quiet smile flicker on his lips. "Maybe not exactly the same," he says, mirroring Louis’ amusement with a playful, yet subservient smile of his own. "But we’re both... trying. Aren’t we?"

The air around them crackles with tension, the moment hanging between them, almost suffocating. Louis' gaze is locked on Harrybell. For a long moment, the only sound is the soft flutter of Harrybell’s wings.

"You’re not what I thought either," Louis says in a heavy whisper as he moves a fraction closer, his eyes flicking over Harrybell’s face with a new, almost intimate intensity. 

Harrybell feels like prey.

Harrybell’s breath hitches, his body betraying him despite his mind screaming that this is all a game, that he’s only doing this to get the information he needs. He refuses to be prey. Stepping back into his courage, Harrybell narrows the space between them to no more than a mole’s whisker. His pulse races, each thud echoing in his ears. He’s got Louis exactly where he wants him.

"Louis..." Harrybell whispers, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to be this close to him, to feel the demon’s presence pressing against him like a weight, but he has no choice. Not if he wants the answers. Not if he wants his freedom.

He forces himself to meet Louis' gaze, hoping he can play this game, hoping it will be enough. It’s not fair that his hand has been forced, but he refuses to abandon himself. 

Louis tilts his head slightly, his expression full of curiosity. "What is it, little fairy?" he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down Harrybell’s spine.

Harrybell’s heart races in his chest, and though every part of him is screaming to pull away, he forces himself to instead close the distance. He knows what he has to do. He doesn’t want to, but he has no other choice. 

His first kiss. 

For the information he needs.

To save his life. 

With a shaky breath, Harrybell closes his eyes tight and presses his lips to Louis'. It’s soft, tentative, and he feels like he’s betraying himself.

As their lips meet, Louis' shadows tighten around him.

Louis' lips press back against his. The strange sensation  feels like every part of him is on fire, yet ice cold at the same time. Shivers and sparks, and Harrybell wonders if all kisses are like this. Or is it only first kisses, given as ransom? 

Yet, his arms move to loop around Louis' neck and his legs instinctively wrap around the demon’s waist. It feels like his body is moving on its own accord. All his senses are flooded by the tingling feeling. His mind knows this is a farce, desperate strategy, but his body doesn’t. Regardless, he lets Louis lead.

Thrumming in his ears, his pulse deepens with the kiss. He can feel the demon's hand gripping his back as he pulls him closer. It’s like every inch of their bodies are touching. Louis feels surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the cool touch of his shadows. Louis’ tongue slips past Harrybells lips, licking inside his mouth and making Harrybell dizzy. It feels good, is the thing. 

And Harrybell knows it shouldn't feel good, but he forgets himself and gets lost in it. His hands find Louis’ hair, playing with the surprisingly soft strands as he slightly tilts his head to the side and allows the demon full control. It's only when Louis bites his bottom lip, making him moan , that he is brought back into the moment and realises his mistake. He shouldn’t have gotten lost in it, shouldn’t have enjoyed it and yet, he did. He feels sick and confused, not understanding why . 

Harrybell pulls away for a moment, sorting through his thoughts and reminding himself why he was kissing the demon in the first place. Why he is allowing him to hold him and touch him so intimately. With his first kiss forfeited, Harrybell can’t lose courage now.

“Inside. Bed.” He breathes the words against the demon's lips, and Louis studies him. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, his breath hot against Harrybell’s lips and the fairy nods. 

They reach the bed, and Louis finally pulls back, just enough to carefully lay Harrybell down on the soft sheets. He forces himself to breathe through the way the demon’s frenzy has his own pulse quickening to the point he can feel it prickling under his skin, something deep within.  Louis’ eyes, dark and unreadable, hover above him, and Harrybell can’t help but feel the weight of the demon’s gaze, as if every inch of him is being scrutinized.

"You're sure?" His breath warm against Harrybell’s ear, his low voice seems to course through Harry’s body in a shiver. 

“Y-yes.” Harrybell’s voice cracks slightly as he nods, trying to make his words sound more convincing, despite the dubiety gnawing at him.

Louis tilts his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but luckily he doesn't question it, and instead starts trailing kisses along his jaw and down his neck. Louis' touch is gentle, almost teasing as he pushes the strap of his dress down, his lips following the path of his fingers. Harrybell tries to focus, tries to keep his composure, but the pull of the demon’s painfully soft attention makes it hard to keep a clear head. Every kiss sends a jolt of warmth through his body, but with each passing second, the guilt grows heavier. The flower , he reminds himself desperately through the tizzying fog taking over his mind, I just need to ask about the flower.

His hands, trembling slightly, rest against Louis' chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as his mind spins with everything he needs to understand.

“Louis,” Harrybell murmurs, his voice a soft plea. Louis hums, sending ripples through his body that very nearly rob Harrybell of any lingering clarity. “The flower-”

Louis' lips pause against the curve of his neck, but he doesn’t stop entirely. He presses a soft kiss against Harrybell’s skin, then whispers against him as noses over Harry’s pulsepoint. “What about it?”

His breath is hot, his voice smooth, and Harrybell’s heart stammers. He can feel the heat between them, but he forces himself to continue, pushing aside the unnerving pliantness threatening to overtake him.

“Why… why is it important to you?” Harrybell manages to get out, barely able to contain the tremble in his voice. “What is it?”

Suddenly, the demon is laughing as he gets up, his shadows wrapping around Harrybell’s wrists to hold them down against the mattress. Harrybell gasps with a broken breath, trying to free himself, but it's a useless attempt. Looking down at him is the same demon, with the same sinister smile, that had first trapped him just a month ago. 

“I was waiting for you to finally put a stop to this charade, little fairy,” he says wickedly. Harrybell pants, trying to catch his breath, and frowns up at the demon. 

“Oh please ,” Louis sighs.   I'm not thick. I could see right through your little game from that first spinach pastry. I was wondering just how far you would allow me to go. But you were really about to let me bed you just so you could get some information out of me, weren’t you?” Louis taunts and Harrybell can no longer hold his tears back. He feels so ashamed and humiliated. If only Louis knew the true depths of precious cost he’d paid.

“I just want to be free.” His voice cracks on those words and the tears spill over.

Louis watches him for a long moment, his expression shifting from amusement to something harder, colder. The shadows tighten slightly around Harrybell's wrists, but there’s no real force in them, not enough to harm. Just enough to remind him of the demon’s hold on him, of the markings. “Naive,” Louis murmurs, his tone soft but filled with a strange, disappointed edge. “Pathetic.” His eyes glint, sharp as knives. “I should kill you for the stunt you’ve just pulled. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Harrybell closes his eyes, the weight of those words hitting him like a blow to the gut. The demon's cruelty stings, each word digging deeper into his soul, making him feel smaller and weaker with every passing second. But then, something unexpected happens. Louis' gaze softens, just a little. His grin falters for a brief moment, replaced by something like... amusement, or maybe even pity. It’s worse, somehow, than the cruelty. The cruelty he could swallow, but this… this only fed into Harrybell’s hopelessness.

“But lucky for you,” Louis continues, the edges of his lips curling into a sly but almost affectionate smile, “I do think you're quite adorable. Stupid , but cute.” His voice, once dripping with malice, has a trace of something else now. Something Harrybell can’t quite place. 

“Little fairy, the day you actually realise that you cannot work against me, is the day we’ll finally know peace. I admire your bravery, the pathetic confidence in your ability to charm me, seduce me against my desires. Not many people would go so far.” And in that moment, Harrybell realises that Louis truly finds it funny, that he thinks everything is just some silly game. 

It dawns on Harrybell that there’s a chance this entire undertaking might just be for nothing but the demon’s own grim hunger for wickedness. Harrybell should have known he’d been the demon’s true meal all along.

“Are you quite done toying with me?” Harrybell spits out, though it sounds more like a weak plea for the torture to be over.  

Louis pins Harrybell with his eyes for what feels like an eternity as the shadows thicken threefold over his body, as if to reinforce just how at Louis’ mercy Harrybell truly is. His lips are moving, though no sound escapes, as if the demon were conversing with himself, or the shadows. Perhaps the demon is contemplating the extent to which he can maim Harrybell whilst keeping the fairy’s magic just intact enough to finish growing the seed.

And then, the shadows loosen their grip. Instantly, Harrybell darts out of his cottage, and the moment he steps outside, he pushes himself up into the air, flying as far away from the cottage as his wings will carry him. 

Tears spill down Harrybell's face, the blur of his vision growing more intense with each painful blink. He wipes at his face frantically, trying to dispel the flood of emotion that he can't seem to control. Louis is right, he thinks, the self-doubt rising like a wave, suffocating him. I am naive, weak and stupid.

To think he could outwit the demon. To believe, even for a moment, that he could play him at his own game. His heart aches, not just from the sting of failure but from the bitter taste of betrayal. Louis had always had the upper hand, hadn't he? From the very beginning, the demon had been in control, manipulating him with ease. 

How could the demon be so cold, so... detached? Soulless. He had taunted him, teased him, and yet, somewhere between those moments of mockery, Harrybell had almost convinced himself that there was something more, something deeper than simple cruelty, if there were such a thing.

Oaks, how could he be so foolish?

The thoughts blur into one another as he flies farther from the cottage, past the borders of the forest, into the unknown, into a place he knows he shouldn’t be. But at that moment, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the rules, about what’s forbidden. He just wants to escape, to be away from everything, from the hurt and the confusion swirling inside him and most importantly from Louis. The worst thing of it all is that he enjoyed kissing Louis, and it made his words sting that much more. 

Eventually, his wings begin to tire, and he lowers himself into the trees. The forest around him has taken on an eerie quality. The light is fading, the canopy above blocking out the sky, casting everything in shadow. The animal noises no longer sound comforting nor distant, but haunted. He finds a thick branch, sturdy enough to hold him, and curls up against it, wrapping his wings around himself as best as he can. He sobs into the night, the sound mixing with the uncanny noises of the forest. He cries until there are no more tears left to fall, until his body is exhausted and his mind feels like it’s slipping into a dark, empty place.

He doesn't know how much time passes, but eventually he is woken up by shadows curling around his waist. He gasps and tries to fly away, but the shadows are quicker, as they curl around his wings and immobilise him. 

“ Stop it ,” he gasps in a panic, struggling to free himself as he is lifted from his branch. 

“Louis, I swear if this is you!” he hisses just as he is placed in front of the demon in question. 

“ Let me go ,” he says, trying to fly away but the shadows are stronger. 

“Promise me you won’t run- or fly off.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” he spits out, resigning with a subsequent huff as he stills his body momentarily.

Louis exhales sharply through his nose, his grip on the shadows loosening just enough for Harrybell to squirm if he really wanted to. But he doesn’t, not yet. The demon’s expression is unreadable, but there’s something different about him now, something that lacks the usual sharpness of his smirks and taunts.

“Because I need to talk to you,” Louis says, his voice lower than usual. Almost unsure in a way. “And I don’t want to chase you again. This place isn't safe, you shouldn't be so deep in the woods.” 

“And why do you care?” Harrybell spits. “Oh right, because if something happens to me, you’re out of luck.”?” 

“No! No, that's not it at all,” Louis rushes out. 

Harrybell glares at him, his chest still heaving from the panic of being caught off guard. His wings twitch against the hold of the shadows, but Louis doesn’t tighten them, doesn’t force him still. He’s giving him the option to stay. 

Harrybell’s throat burns, exhaustion pressing against his bones. “I don’t want to hear whatever excuse you have,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I’m tired of your constant humiliation.”

Louis flinches. just barely, but enough for Harrybell to see it. “It’s not an excuse,” he murmurs. “It’s an apology.”

Harrybell freezes, his breath catching. The words don’t feel real coming from Louis' mouth. He studies him in the dim light, his own face still damp with dried tears. Louis looks… different. There’s no arrogance in his stance, no challenge in his gaze.

Just something raw.

Harrybell swallows. “That doesn’t fix anything.”

Louis nods, as if he expected that answer. “I know.” He hesitates, and then, after a long breath, he says, “But will you please hear me out? Let's go home, little fairy. I mean it when I said it's not safe here. Please . I’ve spent hours searching for you.” 

Harrybell sighs. He hates to admit it, but Louis is right. They are far too deep in the forest, where darkness dwells and Harrybell is nothing more than a potential breakfast. He nods and the shadows recoil, except for the one around his wrist, though he knows if he wanted to, he could shake it off. He doesn’t know why he leaves it there. 

Once back at his little cottage, Harrybell flies past Louis.e knows the demon is about to stop him, but Harrybell raises his hand. “We can talk tomorrow.” He flies into his bedroom and  makes sure Sundrop is there before he locks the door closed with vines. 

Harrybell’s smile only appears when Sundrop curls up to him on the bed, and together, they fall asleep.

If he dreams about the demon's kiss, then that's nobody's business but his. 

In the morning, Harrybell takes his time getting up. He needs to build up the courage to face Louis with a neutral mind. He doesn't plan on forgiving him, but he will give him the respect of listening to him. Less because he thinks the demon deserves it but more because that's what any fairy would do. Fairies are good hearted and kind, and he wants to prove that to Louis. He just doesn't know why .

He opens the door and immediately one of Louis’ shadows comes and curls around his wrist. He doesn't acknowledge it, so used to the constant touch that he expects it by now. 

He walks past Louis, who is sitting in the armchair with Sundrop close on his feet, though she stops to sniff his boots before she keeps hopping over to Harrybell. As the water begins to boil, Harrybell prepares a quick breakfast for her, then turns his attention to the tea. Lavender for himself, plain black for Louis.

Once everything is ready, he picks up the two cups and hands Louis his before settling into the seat across from him.

“Alright then,” he says, meeting the demon’s gaze. “Talk.”

Louis exhales, fingers tightening slightly around the warm cup. “Thank you,” he murmurs, lifting the tea but not drinking.

Harrybell hums, waiting.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Louis starts, voice low. “But I want to apologise anyway.” He hesitates, glancing down before continuing. “Demons like games, you know. It’s how we are. I was born into it, raised in it- it’s just different for us. We thrive on being mean and cruel.” He swallows. “And you- fuck, you’re so soft, so kind. Like a flower, y’know? Which is ironic, considering everything about you.

“At first, it was just fun, riling you up. But then I couldn’t stop. I kept up with it, just to see how far you’d go, never realizing how much I was actually hurting you. Because you always pushed back.”

His voice falters, and he carefully sets his tea down, untouched but still the focus of his gaze. “I’ve never met a fairy before, and-”

“ Louis ,” Harrybell interrupts, and the demon looks up immediately, eager.

Harrybell tilts his head. “That flower. What do you need it for?”

Louis’ expression shifts. “I can’t tell you,” he says, voice quieter now. “It would put you in too much danger. But I swear, it’s not-” He hesitates, then presses on. “It’s for a good cause.”

“I want to forgive you.” Harrybell starts softly. “Because that's what fairies do. We believe in second chances, sometimes even third… or fourth ,” he says, thinking of all the times Louis has hurt him. “We believe in the good in every creature. But as long as you don't tell me what that flower does once it blooms, I cannot forgive you.” 

“I-” He swallows hard, shaking his head. “I gave up everything for that flower. I swear, it’s not-”

“You humiliated me,” Harrybell cuts in, his voice firm but not cruel. “You hurt me over and over again, put my lifeforce at risk. And I ask this one thing of you, Louis.” His wings flutter. “Just one thing.”

Louis stares at him, torn between something desperate and something stubborn and yet his eyes are full of sorrow. The silence stretches, heavy and thick like the deep forest mist before dawn.

“What. Is. It. For.”

Then, barely above a whisper, Louis pleads, “Please don’t ask me that.”

“You promise me the flower won't bring evil?” Harrybell asks and Louis nods. Harrybell's fingers tighten around his teacup, the warmth grounding him. He wants to believe Louis, wants to believe that demons can change, that this one, in particular, could prove him wrong. But his heart still aches, the wounds too fresh, the humiliation too raw.

“I'll grow the flower,” he says, voice steady. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you. And it doesn’t mean I forgive you. Because at the end of the day, I don't have another choice. Because I have this mark on me. But you chose to hurt me, over and over again, you chose to be cruel and mean.”

Louis nods, his face stricken. “Then I'll prove it,” he says. “I’ll be better. I’ll show you that I can be good-hearted.”

Harrybell licks his lips and shakes his head softly. “You said it yourself, Louis. Demons are cruel. It’s in your nature. If you want to prove something, tell me about the flower. Until then, I think it's best if we try to stay away from each other. ” 

“No, no . I’ll prove it to you.” 

Harrybell stands up, studying the demon. Louis seems serious, like he is actually sorry but Harrybell isn't sure if he can forgive everything the demon did to him. It seems like a foolish thing to do. Who is to say Louis isn't playing him? He doesn't owe Louis anything, quite the opposite really and yet, Harrybell can’t deny that the kiss made him feel something. He can't explain it and maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him but there was something in that kiss. Harrybell can't forget how it felt. 

He is confused, and he needs time. Time to decide whether he can forgive Louis. Because, at the end of the day, the apology hasn’t changed a thing. Louis still wants the flower to grow, his motives remain selfish.

Harrybell has long since accepted that he and Louis are bound together until the flower reaches full bloom. But that doesn’t mean he has to forgive him. Not yet. Not until Louis tells him the truth. Not until he proves that, for once, he’s capable of thinking about something other than himself.

With a quiet breath, Harrybell offers the demon a small, unreadable smile before turning away. He steps outside into his garden, letting the crisp air and the scent of blooming petals ground him as he tends to his flowers.

Chapter Text

The sensitive suffer more; but they love more, and dream more. - Augusto Cury

Chapter Text

“Niall, do you believe in second chances?” Harrybell asks, his voice quiet as they sit by the riverbank. It’s seven weeks from when a demon entered his life (and cottage), and flipped his world upside down. He has since convinced Louis that completely cutting off his friends would just lead to them razing his cottage down and so, the demon agreed to let Harrybell see his friends again. 

The afternoon sun warms their skin, and the gentle rush of water fills the silence between them. They had spent hours splashing around, laughing, but now, as they lay in the grass, the mood has shifted.

Niall is quiet for a long moment, staring up at the sky in thought. Briefly,Harrybell wonders if he hadn’t heard him, but then Niall finally speaks.

“Why are you asking?” Niall tilts his head, watching him. “You in trouble?”

“No….” Harrybell chews on his lip, pulling his knees to his chest as he lets the words settle. “Just… thinking, I guess.”

“Well, don’t think too hard,” Niall says with a smile, and, oaks , does Harry wish he could have Niall’s easygoing outlook. “Not everything’s black and white. Sometimes, you just have to go with your heart.”

Harrybell forces a small smile. “Yeah… Thanks.”

Niall sticks his tongue out before flopping onto his stomach, soaking in the sun. Harrybell, however, doesn’t move. He sighs, staring out at the water, wishing it were that simple. He wishes he could just forgive Louis, pretend none of it ever happened, and move forward. Wouldn’t that be easier? But he can’t. He isn’t sure if he even wants to.

Too much has been said, too much damage done. The demon has cut deep wounds that an apology alone won’t and can’t mend. He’d cut him to the very core of his being, the fragile tendon that held all fairies together - trust. If Louis truly wants forgiveness, he has to earn it. Words are easy, but actions… actions are what matter.

And that  damned flower,the reason they’re bound together in the first place. The reason Louis is still here, lingering in Harrybell’s life like a shadow that won’t disappear. Harrybell still doesn’t know what it does and what it’ll bring once it's in full bloom, and even though Louis has promised him it’s nothing nefarious, he is still afraid of the mysterious power it holds. 

But then there’s that kiss.

The memory of it lingers, no matter how hard he tries to shove it away. Guilt coils tight in his stomach, makes his breath feel shallow. He shouldn’t have liked it. He didn’t like it. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself everytime the memory of the plush warmth against his lips bubbles up in his mind. 

His life has become such a mess. A tangled, confusing, maddening mess.

Harrybell buries his face in his knees with a groan, the river continuing to rush past him, uncaring, unbothered. He wishes he could just lay down in it and float away from all of this. 

To distract himself, he interrogates Niall about Nerion, and he can’t be anything but happy for his friend when he finds out they are courting each other and have even shared kisses. 

“It's been so easy being with him. It’s like… we just fit, y’know? And I really love kissing him.” Niall says, making Harrybell giggle. “Never want to kiss anyone else ever again.”

“That's good, I’m glad you're happy,” he says. Meeting Niall’s watery blue eyes, he smiles. “You deserve it.”

Niall nudges him playfully, a grin on his lips. “So do you, y’know.”

Harrybell lets out a breathy laugh, but it feels hollow. “Yeah,” he murmurs, watching the river ripple in the sunlight. Easy would be nice. Easy love, where laughs and kisses are shared and trust propels love forward.   “Maybe.” 

“It’ll come. One day you’ll meet the right person ,and when you do, you’ll know.” Niall sounds so sure of his words.. Harrybell just has to survive his current situation, and then he can move on. Maybe he'll even move away completely, settle down in a different court and see what else life has in store for him. He could take Snowdrop with him, though he’d miss his friends terribly. 

Eventually, they decide they’ve had enough of their riverside afternoon, and Niall, as he always does, accompanies Harrybell home. He likes to see the flowers Harrybell has been working on, andHarrybell just hopes that Louis isn't loitering outside when they arrive. .The sun is still warm as it sets, shining golden light on their skin. The air is filled with the gentle hum of bumblebees and fluttering butterflies, their delicate wings shimmering as they drift from flower to flower. Harrybell and Niall glide effortlessly through the evening air, their laughter mingling with the natural sounds surrounding them. And for a moment, everything feels simple again.

As they approach Harrybell's cottage, a small cough redirects Harrybell’s worried attention to the ground back to Niall, who says, . “Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ve barely seen you these past few weeks. It’s like you’ve been swallowed up by the fog.”.

Harrybell glances at his friend, a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I won’t, I promise you.”It’s been far too long since they’ve had a moment like this, where the world feels like it’s just the two of them. 

As they land gently in the garden, Sundrop hops over eagerly, her soft fur glowing in the fading light. She’s all bounces and excitement, her large ears flopping as she scurries to Niall, who kneels down to offer a few loving pets. Sundrop nuzzles into his hand, clearly delighted by the attention of a friend she hasn’t seen in too long.

Harrybell grins as he watches the exchange. “Oh, before you leave, d’you want a bouquet?” 

Niall's eyes light up. 

“I’d love one.” 

Harrybell glances at his cottage, but Louis seems to be out of sight so he flies from flowerbed to flowerbed, gathering the prettiest flowers for his dearest friend. He weaves them together carefully, his fingers working with practiced ease. A touch of magic ensures that the bouquet will stay fresh, the flowers vibrant for days to come. Lastly, he takes some more and weaves a flower crown out of the same flowers and places it on Niall's head. 

“Here you go,” Harrybell says, a small smile on his face as he hands the bouquet over. 

“Thank you.” Niall says, stepping forward to hug Harrybell who easily melts into the embrace. 

“Thank you for today,” he mumbles, letting go of Niall with one more squeeze. 

“Anytime, mate,” Niall replies, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

With that, Niall turns and, with a final wave, takes to the air. Harrybell watches him fly off, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the garden. He stands there for a moment, the cool evening breeze ruffling his hair, and he breathes it in. 

The tranquility doesn't last for long when he feels the familiar embrace of a shadow curling around his wrist. He sighs and turns, finding Louis standing on the steps leading to his cottage. He is dressed all black like always, looking so out of place between all the vibrant colours of the flowers. 

“He was here before, who was that?” He asks curiously, taking a step forward. For a moment, Harrybell considers telling him about Niall, his friend, who’s been there for him all this time, giving him advice and listening to his frustrations. But he hesitates. No , because Louis doesn’t get to know about his life. 

“No one,” Harrybell replies, his voice quiet but not without bite. He turns around again and flies the short distance to his flowers to  regrow the ones that he picked for Niall. 

“I wouldn’t ever hurt him, if that's what you're worried about.” Louis' voice comes from behind him, still at a respectful distance, almost as if he can sense Harrybell’s need for space. “You and him… you seem close. The flowers you picked for him were beautiful.”

Harrybell lets out a sigh, not bothering to look back at Louis. “What do you want, Louis?” 

Louis stands silently for a moment before responding, his voice more hesitant this time. “I… I just want to talk. To learn more about you, I suppose. So far, I don’t know much about you, and I want to change that. I want to know what makes you tick, makes you happy. I think it could be good for u- the seed..”

Harrybell barks out a laugh. Unbelievable. “What makes you think I’d willingly share anything about my life with you, Louis?”

“I-” Louis starts, and the shadows around Harrybell’s wrist tighten to a firm hold, yet not too constricting.

“I don’t trust you, or like you, or care for attempts to pry any further into my life than you already have.”

He hears Louis let out a sigh, and the shadows loosen their grip to a mere whisper of a touch. Harrybell grimaces, focusing on his flowers, as he hears the familiar creak of his swinging bench. For the rest of the evening, Louis doesn't say anything anymore but his gaze is heavy on Harrybelly’s back as he tends to his garden. 

Once Harrybell  is satisfied with his flowers, he picks up Sundrop, who’s been happily munching on some daisies, and makes his way inside. Louis' footsteps follow him, persistent but careful not to crowd him too closely.

As they enter the warmth of the cottage, Harrybell sets Sundrop down on the counter and begins to gather a few things from the kitchen. He doesn’t immediately acknowledge Louis' presence but can feel the demon lingering behind him, shadows sprawling across the floor at his feet.

"Had your dinner?" Harrybell asks. It’s not that he’s particularly concerned whether or not the demon’s keeping himself fed, but rather,he knows it’s a surefire way to make sure the demon stays out of his kitchen.

Louis' voice comes from behind him, low and measured. “No. Why?”

“I’ve got a few things I can whip up,” Harrybell replies, moving around the kitchen, his eyes briefly meeting Louis' through the reflection in the window. “But I’m not making anything special.”

Louis chuckles, a soft unsure sound. “I’m not picky,” he says, stepping closer, though still maintaining that distance. “I’ll take whatever you make.”

“Honey?” Harrybell asks, then clears his throat. “Even honey?” 

“Yes, even honey.” . He can hear the distaste in Louis’ voice, and smiles to himself, counting it as a ‘win’ of sorts. 

Harrybell sets to work without further comment. He slices pieces of both normal bread and the soft pink bread he loves so much, arranging them neatly on wooden boards. He puts together a selection of things to go with them, leaning more toward savory for Louis and piling sweet treats onto his own plate. A cup of sweet tea is set beside each board, and he even takes the time to prepare a tiny portion for Sundrop, who has been eyeing the food with unashamed interest.

Without a word, Harrybell places Louis’ board in front of him before taking his own and settling into the chair opposite the large armchair Louis always seems to claim as his own.

Louis hesitates briefly before sitting down, glancing at the meal in front of him. “Thanks, little fairy,” he murmurs, voice quieter than usual. “You didn’t have to.”

Harrybell picks up a piece of fig and pops it into his mouth, holding eye contact with Louis. “I know.”

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

When Harrybell steps out of his room in the morning, the last thing he expects to see is Louis fast asleep on the small bed he had grudgingly put together for him. He stops in his tracks, momentarily stunned. In all the time he has known Louis, he has never once seen the demon sleep. He wasn’t even sure Louis could sleep, let alone needed to.

There had been signs, of course. The bed sometimes slightly rumpled in the mornings, the blankets folded differently than how Harrybell had left them. But he had always assumed Louis merely laid there out of boredom, trading his usual perch in the armchair for something slightly more comfortable. He had never actually pictured Louis sleeping, vulnerable and unguarded.

But now, with the soft glow of morning light spilling through the window, illuminating the demon’s relaxed features, there is no denying it. Louis is truly asleep.

His usually sharp expression is softened, his brows relaxed, lips slightly parted. His dark lashes rest against his cheeks, and his breathing is deep, steady. He’s curled on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting lightly over his stomach, looking almost… harmless. Almost peaceful.

Harrybell doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching, Louis’ shadows undulating with each of the demon’s breaths. There’s something unsettling about seeing Louis like this, not frightening, not threatening, just… strange. It tugs at something deep in his chest, something he can’t quite name.

Sundrop comes hopping out next, her tiny feet stomping against the wooden floor with surprising force for her size. The sound is enough to make Louis stir, his brows knitting together in the faintest frown before he shifts, rolling slightly onto his back. His breathing remains slow, steady, but the moment of stillness is broken.

Harrybell sighs, scooping up his little friend and pressing her against his chest, gently shushing her. “You’re too loud,” he murmurs, running his fingers over her soft fur as she lets out a small, indignant chirp.

He glances back toward the bed, watching Louis for a second longer. The demon remains asleep, his face relaxed once more. It’s still weird to see, but the sight doesn’t unsettle him as much as it should.

Shaking off the thought, Harrybell turns and makes his way to the kitchen, moving through his usual morning routine.

And despite hating to admit it, he does move more quietly than usual.

It’s not for him , he tells himself. He’s simply a decent, mindful creature—one who respects the sanctity of sleep, even when it belongs to someone as frustrating as Louis. And waking Louis would mean the sanctity of a quiet morning without the demon pestering him would be compromised.

That’s all.

So really, it’s selfish, that he catches himself hesitating before setting down a mug too harshly or guides the cupboard doors to close softly. 

It doesn’t mean anything at all.

He hates Louis. Louis has hurt him more than once. He cannot trust Louis. 

He has not let his guard down just because Louis has been amenable, because the taunts and cruel smiles have ceased for a few days.

Harrybell is not that easy.

He is stronger than that.

And yet, even with the demon asleep,  a shadow curls around Harrybells wrist. 

Screwing his breakfast plans, Harrybell abandons the half-prepared meal and steps outside, the fresh morning air hitting him as he flies across his garden. Despite the shadow tether, he pushes aside any lingering thoughts of the demon and lets his wings carry him wherever they see fit.

He ends up behind his cottage, where soft, even grass stretching out before him, undisturbed and largely ignored. He’s never paid much attention to this space; it’s not visible when he flies past his home, and so, it never felt worth the effort.

That’s not to say he’s neglected it entirely. The grass is kept in check, neatly trimmed before it can grow too wild, and he makes sure no stubborn weeds take over. But beyond that? He’s never given it much thought. No flowers bloom here, no trees growing to offer some shade from the sun. It’s empty. Untouched.

He stands there for a long moment, toes curling in the cool grass, contemplating the possibilities. He could plant something here, maybe new flowers, or even experiment with crossing them to create something entirely on its own. Or perhaps he could venture into something different, something practical.

Vegetables and fruit.

The thought sparks something in him, a new kind of excitement bubbling beneath his skin, all the way into his fingertips. He’s not a proper garden fairy - his magic has always been tied to flowers after all - but it doesn’t feel too far removed. Surely, growing figs and strawberries wouldn’t be too different? Maybe he could even plant pumpkins or sweet potatoes. 

A grin spreads across his face and his wings flutter at the prospect of trying something new - not under duress and with an obscure flower, but of learning new ways his magic can bend and craft,  of completely immersing himself in the process. His fingers itch with the urge to get started. 

But he knows there’s work to do before he can let his magic take over. The soil needs to be prepared. It needs to be dug up, loosened, and nourished. It’s the least enjoyable part of growing anything, at least in his opinion. He isn’t the biggest fan of dirt under his nails or the stubborn way it clings to his skin. That’s one of the biggest things that sets him apart from the garden fairies, who delight in plunging their hands into the earth, reveling in the feel of rich, damp soil between their fingers.

Harrybell, on the other hand, prefers the delicate touch of petals. But if he wants this space to flourish, he knows he has to do it properly. 

With a resigned sigh, he flutters to the little shed tucked in the corner of his garden, pushing the creaky wooden door open. Inside, everything is neatly arranged. There are tools hanging from hooks, pots stacked in a corner, bundles of dried herbs tied with twine. He picks out a shovel and a trowel, then grabs a garden fork and a rake for good measure. It takes him two trips to carry everything to the space behind his cottage, his wings working hard as he balances the tools in his arms.

Once everything is in place, he takes a moment to stretch, rolling his shoulders before gripping the shovel with both hands. The first plunge into the soil is always the hardest. The earth resists him at first, packed tight from years of neglect, but he pushes through, wiggling the blade deeper before lifting the chunk of dirt and turning it over.

It’s slow work. Tedious. He presses his lips into a thin line as he falls into the rhythm of digging and turning, digging and turning. The sun rises higher in the sky, warming his skin, and soon enough, he’s panting lightly, wings drooping with the effort. He pauses to wipe the sweat from his brow, smearing a bit of dirt across his temple.

He exhales sharply, stepping back to survey his work. The progress is discouraging. He only managed a small patch of loosened soil, barely enough to plant anything. There’s still so much left to do. 

For a brief moment, he considers seeking advice from the garden fairies, maybe even asking for help. But the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. No. This is his project. He wants to do it on his own.

So he keeps digging, stubbornly pushing past the ache in his arms, past the dryness in his throat and the hollow pang of hunger in his stomach. He loses track of time, focused only on the rhythmic motion of his hands and the feel of the earth beneath his fingers as he keeps digging.

But then, movement catches his eye. A new shadow slithers across the ground, curling like black smoke before wrapping around his ankle, cool and weightless. The shadow that has been on his wrist all morning deepens in shade and tightens its hold. A moment later, Louis steps around the corner, looking slightly sleep-rumpled, his hair tousled, his clothes a little askew as if he’d only just rolled out of bed. He’s carrying a tray though, the scent of something warm and sweet drifting through the air. Harrybell’s stomach coils at that. 

“Breakfast and sweet tea,” Louis says casually, stopping in front of him as if this is something normal, as if they do this every day.

Harrybell eyes him warily, his grip tightening around the handle of his shovel, but he doesn’t say anything yet. He’s still caught off guard, still trying to make sense of the sight in front of him—the demon standing there in the middle of his garden, looking slightly disheveled, carrying a tray of food like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Louis doesn’t seem deterred by his silence. He shifts the tray in his hands and continues, tone light but knowing. “I figured you didn’t eat this morning. The kitchen looked abandoned, like you just ran off in the middle of something. And judging by how long you’ve been out here, I’d say I was right.” His gaze flickers pointedly to the patch of disturbed soil, then back to Harrybell. “It’s not even breakfast anymore, it’s lunch. And you usually eat twice by now.”

Harrybell exhales through his nose, pressing his lips together. He hates that Louis noticed. Hates that he’s right.

“I lost track of time,” he mutters with a tight smile, as if that’s enough of an explanation. He definitely won't tell the demon the truth about his morning.

Louis nods, not pushing any further. His gaze drops briefly to the tray in his hands before tilting it slightly in Harrybell’s direction, wordlessly offering it.

Harrybell eyes the food on the tray. There are figs and honeycomb, fresh bread, and a cup of fresh sweet tea. His stomach clenches with hunger, and despite his reluctance to accept anything from the demon, he’s too hungry to argue right now. With a quiet sigh, he takes the tray from Louis and sits down, only then realizing how tired his legs feel from standing and working all morning.

“Maybe you should move to the shade for a bit?” Louis suggests. His tone is casual, almost careless, but there’s something in his eyes that could almost pass as worry. It’s all an act though, Harrybell is sure of it. 

Harrybell scowls at him immediately. “I’m fine.”

Louis lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Right, none of my business.” He takes a step back, though his eyes shine with curiosity. “I’ll leave you to it then. Whatever it is you’re doing.” 

Harrybell watches as Louis turns on his heel. He waits until the demon is out of sight before picking up a piece of honeycomb and biting into it, the sweet taste melting on his tongue. He sighs, closing his eyes briefly.

He doesn’t waste too much time lingering over the food, swallowing it down greedily before setting the tray aside and picking up his tools again. The soil is stubborn in places, clumping together no matter how many times he runs the rake through it. His arms ache, and sweat beads along his temples, but he pushes through. 

By the looks of it, he still has at least two more days before he’ll be finished preparing the ground, but he doesn’t mind. Despite it being hard work that he is not used to, he relishes in the distraction it offers him. It keeps him from thinking too much other than the rewarding toil. 

It’s late in the afternoon when Louis reappears, two glasses of iced lavender tea in his hands. “Break time, little fairy. Can’t have you passing out out here.”

“I don’t need a break,” Harrybell mutters, shoving the shovel back into the earth. He steps onto the handle, pushing down with force to sink it deeper before levering the soil free again.

Louis observes Harrybell’s determined movements. “Yeah, you do. You’ve been at this since when, sunrise? And you haven’t had anything since your breakfast. So, drink this, or you’ll be flat on your back before you know it.”

Harrybell scoffs, not pausing in his work. “Careful, you look like you care,” he says, his tone sharp.

Louis lets out a tired sigh, but doesn’t argue. Instead, his shadows curl around Harrybell’s shovel and waist, pulling the tools away with ease. Before Harrybell can protest, he’s lifted off the ground, his feet dangling. Louis pulls him closer, ignoring the fairy’s attempts to squirm free. “Drink it. Either that, or I’ll force you.”

Harrybell glares up at him, through a stray bit of his hair that, in his struggle, has made its way out of his neat bun to obscure his vision and tickle his forehead. And yet, it’s less annoying than the demon’s persistence.. “I thought you were trying to be nice. In what world do you think this would make me like you?”

Louis doesn’t respond right away. His shadows wrap around Harrybell’s waist more firmly, and he holds the glass of tea out for him, waiting. “You don’t need to like me, little fairy. You need to drink this.”u,” he says with a lazy grin.

Harrybell tries to flutter away, his wings buzzing furiously, but Louis’ grip holds him in place, unyielding. “You’re really starting to push it,” he grumbles.

Louis chuckles, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I’m not going to let you collapse out here, so your choices are pretty simple..”

Harrybell stares at him for a moment longer, exhaling in exasperation. Fine. He’ll drink it. But only because Louis is being insufferable enough to make him do it. He reluctantly takes the glass.

The cool lavender flavor soothes his dry throat, though it doesn’t do much for the tiredness settling deeper into his bones. After ignoring the way the shadows tilt the nearly empty glass until Harrybell has taken in every drop, he lowers the glass with a soft huff, not quite meeting Louis' gaze. “Happy now?”

The demon smiles as he takes the glass from Harrybell’s hands.. “Very much. You’re stubborn, but flowers need water too, you know.”

Harrybell raises an unimpressed brow, crossing his arms. Though he's still floating in the air, held by Louis' shadow, he can’t say he minds all that much. The exhaustion is starting to get to him. “Comparing me to a flower? Really?”

Louis shrugs casually, the shadows shifting with him. “Little flower has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Petal?”

“Or, hear me out,” Harrybell retorts. “You could just use my name instead.”

Louis grins, that mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “Where would be the fun in that? Besides, I think ‘little fairy’ has become quite dull for both of us, hm? It’s time for a change.”

“Insufferable,” Harrybell mutters under his breath. Louis lowers Harrybell gently to the ground, recoiling his shadows except for the one still wrapped snugly around his wrist. “I don’t think you mind too much.” 

Louis watches as Harrybell stretches his wings, giving them a few test flutters as he settles on the ground. “So, tell me, what exactly will this be once it's done?”

Harrybell sighs, rolling his eyes as he grabs his shovel again, but his movements are slower now, almost tired. He has spent so many hours working today, maybe he should rest. 

"None of your concern-"

“Indulge me, little flower,” Louis interrupts, his voice teasing but soft, nothing compared to the sharp tongue he’d used for weeks. “I’ve been keeping my distance all day, and I’m getting bored. Tell me what…,” he waves his hand around them, “..all of this is.”

Harrybell glowersat the new pet name, feeling the frustration bubble up before he lets it go with a deep breath. In, and out. He hesitates for a moment, his shoulders dropping in defeat, before he finally meets Louis' gaze.

“I want to try something different. Something new. I want to grow fruit and vegetables. But to do that, all of this ,” he gestures to the patch of grass, “needs to turn into a field, and that’s a little more complicated than just waving my hands. My magic doesn’t work like that. I’m not a garden fairy. Unfortunately, I hate this part.”

Louis listens carefully, his eyes narrowing as he considers Harrybell’s words. “Will it even work? Growing them, I mean,” he asks, genuine curiosity flickering beneath his usual teasing tone.

"No idea.” Harrybell shrugs, though there's an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “I want to try though. It can't be that different from growing flowers, right?"

Louis raises an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on him. "I don't know, little flower. Guess you’ll have to figure that out yourself."

“I will,” Harrybell says with quiet determination, though it’s tinged with a sigh. "But apparently not today. Not tomorrow, either, by the looks of it." He glances at the tools scattered around. “I do need a break, I think.”

Harrybell gathers some of the tools into his arms, which now feel sore and weak., and He ultimately doesn’t protest when Louis grabs the rest and helps him carry them to the shed without a word

“I’m gonna go to the river,” Harrybell says, wanting to wash away all the dirt and the grime that have collected on his body over the day.

Louis nods. “Alright, I'll be here.” 

“Stay out of trouble.” Harrybell warns before he pushes himself off the ground, his wings fluttering. 

“No promises, little flower. No promises,” Louis mumbles teasingly, making Harrybell squint at him in warning one last time before he flies off. 

As always, the river is a place where Harrybell can clear his head and let go of his worries. It’s his second favourite spot, just after his garden, and holds a special place in his heart. He’s spent countless hours along its bank, sometimes lost in thought, but more often simply letting the babbling current soothe him. The sound of water gently rushing over rocks, the soft rustle of leaves, and the smell of fresh earth are all he needs to feel grounded.

The river is sacred to Harrybell. It’s the one place where he can truly just be. Away from the presence of Louis, whose shadows seem to creep into every corner of his life, the river offers him peace. Louis has claimed Harrybell’s cottage, his garden, and even his favourite armchair. The demon is always close, always lingering, but here, at the river, Harrybell can escape the constant feeling of being watched, the distance from the cottage being too great for the shadows to stretch.

He lands on the soft grass, his wings fluttering briefly before settling. He curses under his breath as he realizes he forgot to bring a fresh dress. The one he’s wearing is smeared with dirt and sweat and he would’ve preferred stepping into a clean dress after his wash. With a sigh, he folds it carefully and stretches his limbs, the ache of the day’s work still lingering in his muscles. Untying his hair, he steps forward, feeling the soft grass underfoot, then dips his toes into the river, testing the water.

The river is always cold, but Harrybell welcomes the chill. After a long day working under the sun, his skin feels overheated. As the water rises to his ankles, the cool current wraps around him like a cocoon, refreshing him in a way he can’t quite explain. For a brief moment, he sheds the weight of the world, the exhaustion, the worry, and even the thoughts of Louis. The river washes clean his soiled hair as he dips his head under the surface, completely submerged. Here, in the river’s embrace, Harrybell feels renewed..

Savouring the solitude that has become so scarce, he lets the cool water wrap around him, and for a moment, he forgets about the world. Eventually, a shiver runs down his spine, goosebumps rising on his skin as the river's chill starts to seep into his bones. With a reluctant sigh, he steps out of the water.

Although the sun isn't as strong as earlier, it still holds enough power to warm him. Its rays kiss his damp skin, slowly drying him off and bringing a welcome heat that seeps into his tired muscles. Once he's dry enough, Harrybell grimaces as he pulls the dirty dress over his head, careful to not let his wet strands cause the dirty to turn muddy and spread the filth down his legs. 

Back in his room, he exchanges the fress for something clean and comfortable with sleeves long enough to hide his wrists, particularly the one that is marked, then he ties his wind-dried hair back up into a cosy bun, so he can prepare dinner for both himself and Louis once again. 

Louis thanks him repeatedly for the meal until the platitudes begin to make Harrybell’s beloved figs taste tart.. "It's fine," he mutters, hoping that the demon will take the hint. "Just eat."

After , Harrybell retreats to his bedroom, acquiescing to the ever-present shadows following him in exchange for Louis’ silent permission for Harrybell’s comings and goings within his own cottage. His body feels like it’s been stretched thin from the day’s work, and the thought of interacting with anyone, let alone that demon, feels like too much. He pulls the soft sheets around him, curling up into the familiar warmth of his bed. The last rays of the setting sun filter through the window and cast a soft glow over his skin as he closes his eyes and thinks of floating away on the river. 

Harrybell sleeps longer than he intends to, the exhaustion of the previous day wrapping him in its hold. When he finally stirs, the world outside his window has brightened, the sun climbing higher in the sky. He yawns and stretches, reluctantly peeling himself from the warmth and comfort of his bed.

He expects to find Louis lounging in the armchair, as he often does. But to his surprise, the cottage is eerily quiet. Louis is nowhere to be seen. 

But then, Harrybell’s eyes fall on a small tray placed carefully on the table; honeycomb, fresh fruit, and a glass of sweet tea. And beside it, a delicate flower in a tiny glass of water, its petals soft and vibrant against the simplicity of the tray.

For a moment, Harrybell just stands there, blinking in disbelief. The flower sends a strange, quiet warmth thrumming through him. Louis had left this for Harrybell, with no demands or commentary, just a simple offering. 

Harrybell walks slowly toward the table, his fingers brushing the flower’s petals as he sits down. He can't help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, even though he promised himself not to get soft for the demon. Louis has been nice to him a handful of times, and just because he made Harry food twice now, doesn’t mean he’s transformed into some good, caring creature. His cruelness is merely masked by these sporadic acts. . 

Harrybell eats the food, mostly because he knows it’s wasteful to let it sit there untouched. After finishing - and sharing a nibble or two with Sundrop - he cleans up the small tray and steps outside, taking in a deep breath of fresh air to ground himself.

Mindful of the sun’s heat, he grabs a hat from the little coat hanger by the door before closing it. It’s a lovely thing, shaped like a flower with a soft, pink hue, perfectly matching the dress he’s chosen for the day. It’s a small detail, but one that makes him feel a little more like himself, a little more at peace.

He doesn’t waste time. There’s work to be done, and Harrybell heads straight for the shed, eager to grab his tools and get started. But when he opens the rusty door, his frown deepens. They’re not where he left them. His eyes scan the space again, but it’s no use, his tools are gone.

Just as he’s about to step back and think about where else they could be, he feels that familiar sensation. The dark, swirling shadow that is always curled around his wrist, starts tugging at him, not in its usual possessive way, but a soft pull, urging him to follow.

Reluctantly, Harrybell lets himself be led. He doesn’t resist, his wings moving almost of their own accord as the shadow brings him behind the house. He can’t stop the curiosity bubbling in his chest, and when he rounds the corner, he freezes, dropping to the ground.

Before him lies a large, freshly dug-up patch of land, soil piled high and uneven. His heart races, disbelief clawing at him as he looks up at Louis, who stands there with a proud grin plastered across his face.

“What… what did you do?” Harrybell’s voice shakes, a mix of rage and shock. His gaze flickers from the chaos in front of him to Louis, who looks completely unfazed. Proud, even. The demon is covered in dirt. His clothes are stained, his hands smeared with soil, and a smudge of dirt is on his nose.

Louis shrugs casually, clearly pleased with himself but trying to hold back the smugness. “Figured I’d make myself useful.”

Harrybell is fuming on the inside. This was supposed to be his project, his space to cultivate, to shape. He had wanted the ground dug up, yes, but he was also the one wanting to do it. The thought of Louis taking control, of meddling with something that was supposed to be entirely his, sends a wave of frustration crashing over him.

“No,” he says, his voice low but firm. “No, you had no right.” His hands tighten into fists at his sides. “I was going to do this on my own time. This is my space, Louis.”

Louis’ smile falters, but he doesn’t back down. He stands there, looking at Harrybell with confusion on his face and the rake in his hand.

“You said this was your least favourite part, I just… I just wanted to help. What- what is the problem?” Louis asks, making Harrybell let out a frustrated growl. 

“Of course you wouldn't understand it. Because all you ever think about is yourself,” he spits.

Louis' brows furrow, but not in the hot-headed way he’d come to expect after weeks of tiffs and spats“That’s not fair,” he says, his voice quieter, edged with something Harrybell can’t quite place.

Harrybell lets out another sigh, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, Louis. I wanted to do this myself. It’s not about the work, it’s about-” He cuts himself off, his throat tightening. He doesn’t want to explain it. He shouldn’t have to explain it. And Louis doesn’t deserve an explanation.

Louis takes a small step forward butHarrybell immediately stiffens, wings flinching, and the demon stops. “I thought I was doing something nice, ” Louis says, and for once, there’s no teasing in his voice. No arrogance, no smugness. Just a hint of something that makes Harrybell’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Harrybell crosses his arms and  looks away. “Well, you didn’t.”

Louis doesn’t retort or retaliate. He stays where he is, his presence steady but not overbearing. “You said you hated this part,” he says, thoughtfully,rather than defensively. “The digging up. You were out here all day yesterday, and it looked like you barely made any progress.” He hesitates, as if considering his next words carefully. “You seemed excited about trying this new thing, and I thought maybe… if I did this part for you, you’d be able to focus on the parts you do love.”

Harrybell doesn’t know how to respond to that.

He expected Louis to be flippant, maybe a little annoyed. He expected some kind of arrogant remark, some reminder that he’s an all-powerful demon that doesn’t have to answer to anyone. Expected shadows shooting out and curling around his body harshly, reminding him of who is in charge. But instead, Louis just stands there, his hands loose at his sides, the smudge of dirt still on his nose making him look oddly… soft.

Harrybell’s anger surges, as if he has to make up for Louis’ lack of it. “Since the beginning, all you’ve done is try to control me,” he snaps. “You wanted me to be afraid of you. You crossed every boundary I set, pushed and prodded, and now, this is just another way you’re taking something from me. I never asked for your help, Louis. I never wanted you to do this. It was mine. My project, my choice. And like always, you took that away from me. Don’t you get that?”

Louis swallows, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I didn’t… I didn’t think of it that way—”

“Of course you didn’t.” Harrybell scoffs. 

Louis' eyes snap up at that, strikingly blue in the sunlight. There’s no fire in them, no challenge, just something quiet, something uncertain. “I truly just wanted to be nice,” he says, voice softer than Harrybell has ever heard it. “I… I didn’t think you’d be mad. I’m sorry, little flower.”

Harrybell exhales sharply, forcing himself to hold onto his frustration. “You should’ve asked,” he says firmly. “That’s what you’re supposed to do when touching something that doesn’t belong to you. You ask for permission.” He shakes his head, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress. He’s vaguely aware of the way the shadow tendril falters around his wrist. “And not that it matters, but I doubt I would’ve given it to you anyway. Not after the last time you touched my flowers and they wilted. ” He gestures toward the freshly dug-up space, his glare sharpening. “The ground’s probably dead land now, anyway. So thank you for that.”

Louis flinches, just barely, and it sends an unexpected pang through Harrybell’s chest. He doesn't know where these words are coming from, isn't even sure he actually means them. It's not like Louis doesn't deserve them— because he definitely does. But maybe Harrybell should just set an example. He doesn't have to be nice to the demon, but throwing a fit like this, lashing out with sharp words and hurtful accusations, isn’t helping either of them.

Louis shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck, smearing dirt across his skin. “I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time. “I can… I didn’t use my shadows once. It’s- I’m sure I didn’t, at least. You can check, if you want, but I know I didn’t ruin the ground.”

Harrybell exhales sharply, pressing his fingers into the soil. It’s soft and rich, untouched by shadows, perfectly healthy. That surprises him. The space is large—too large for one person to dig up in a single night without help. It’s impressive. And, frankly, a little obnoxious.

He sighs, straightening up. “Just… ask next time, will you?”

Louis nods immediately. “I will. I promise.” His smile is small, almost hesitant, but Harrybell doesn’t return it, not even when the shadow on his wrist taps so lightly it’s like a whisper

“I’d like to be alone now,” Harrybell says, his voice tapered to a quiet evenness.

Louis watches him for a second, then nods again. “Okay.” He steps back without protest, dusting his hands off on his clothes before turning away. Harry’s wrist tendril slinks away, following Louis, though it lingers closeby even as Louis’ feet disappear from Harry’s lowered gaze.

Harrybell doesn’t watch where he goes. Instead, he kneels back down, pressing his palms into the earth and trying to focus on the damp soil. He exhales slowly, reaching out with his magic, and gently coaxes a flower from the earth, creating a delicate pink lily. It blooms effortlessly beneath his touch, its petals unfurling in perfect softness.

A small smile tugs at his lips as he plucks it, setting it carefully aside. He’ll make a bouquet out of it later. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, shifting his focus to grow a pumpkin. He imagines it clearly in his mind, the vines, the broad leaves, the round, orange fruit. But as he pushes his energy into the soil, nothing happens. No sprout. No velvety leaves. It’s as if the earth is refusing to cooperate.

Harrybell tries again and again, even moving to a different spot in the garden, but nothing comes. No matter how hard he concentrates, the soil stubbornly refuses to bend to his will. After an hour of frustrated attempts, he finally gives up with a frustrated sigh. He’s no garden fairy, but he thought he could at least manage this. The small win he’d been hoping for feels just out of reach, and he can’t help but feel the sting of disappointment.

He adjusts his flower-shaped hat and, after a moment of contemplation, realizes he has no choice but to ask the garden fairies for help.

With a resigned sigh, Harrybell lifts off the ground and flies around his house, following the shadow that stayed with him like a pathway. He spots Louis in the shade of a nearby tree, sitting with Sundrop beside him, the little bunny happily munching on a daisy. Harrybell watches them for a moment, not sure when Sundrop had decided to warm up to the demon. He’s sure Louis didn’t do anything special to win her over, yet here they are, seemingly friendly.

He doesn’t move right away, just watches them, irritation bubbling in the back of his mind. Louis, of course, notices and looks up with a raised brow. Harrybell can feel his eyes lingering on him, and it takes everything in him not to feel annoyed. It’s so hard to shake the frustration that’s clinging to him.

“I have to go to the garden fairies,” Harrybell announces, his voice a little sharper than intended. His gaze flicks between Sundrop and Louis, trying his best not to show how much it irks him. It’s not even rational, the irritation, but he can’t help it. Louis just makes Harrybells blood boil by simply existing.

Louis’ response is simple, "Okay," and it almost feels like he doesn't fully understand the weight of Harrybell’s frustration.

"And I need Sundrop to come with me." Harrybell flies up to them, gently picking up the little bunny, who curls up contentedly in his arms, her soft fur providing a small comfort in the midst of his irritation.

Louis watches him, still calm, not fazed by the request. “Alright,” he says softly, glancing at the bunny in Harrybell's arms before returning his attention to Harrybell, his smile just a little too amused. “You sure you don’t need my help with that too?”

Harrybell shakes his head, not even giving him the satisfaction of a response before he flies away, holding Sundrop securely to his chest. 

“I don't like him, and that means we don’t like him.” He says to her. “So, no cuddling and no taking food from him, do you hear me?” 

Sundrop twitches her nose, entirely unimpressed with his words, and nuzzles into his chest. Harrybell sighs, knowing full well that she isn’t going to listen. She never does. The little traitor has already made up her mind about Louis, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Still, he holds her a little closer as he flies through the trees, heading toward the garden fairies’ meadow. “I mean it,” he mutters, though his voice lacks its earlier bite. “We are a team, and teams stick together. But today you were a traitor.” He scratches behind her ears before lifting her up and pressing a kiss to her head.  “Don’t worry, I’m not actually mad. At you.”  

Harrybell lands softly on a small hill overlooking the fields where the garden fairies tend to their crops and makes sure Sundrop’s fur covers the marks on his wrist, under where he holds her fuzzy body against himself. It doesn’t take long for him to spot them, moving gracefully between fruit trees and vegetable patches, their hands brushing over leaves and stems as they coax the plants to grow. He admires their work for a while, smiling at the way their wings shimmer under the golden sunlight, catching every hue of the rainbow.

But, he came here for a reason. 

Securing his grip on Sundrop, Harrybell descends, his wings beating steadily as he glides through the warm air. He moves past towering fruit trees with branches heavy with ripe apples and golden pears, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze. Rows of vibrant pumpkin patches stretch out beneath him, their vines curling along the earth in thick, twisting patterns.

“Hi, Rosemary!” Harrybell calls out with a cheerful wave, his wings fluttering slightly as he hovers above the blonde garden fairy. She’s kneeling in the dirt, her hands carefully pulling up ripe carrots from the ground and placing them into a woven basket. He grins and lowers himself, before he snatches one of the carrots from the patch, the earthy scent of it fresh and inviting.

“Oh… hi, Harrybell.” Rosemary looks up, her expression brightening when she sees him. She waves back, her hands still dirty with the soil of her work.

Harrybell’s smile is quick and fleeting before his attention shifts again, the carrot now held in front of Sundrop. The little bunny’s ears perk up, and with a happy twitch of her nose, she begins nibbling eagerly at the treat. 

Harrybell nods in greeting to the fairies he passes, his wings giving the occasional flutter as he moves swiftly through the fields. Some glance up from their work, offering him warm smiles or murmured hellos, but he doesn’t slow down. His gaze sweeps across the lush greenery, searching for one fairy in particular.

His grin stretches wide when he finally spots him, standing beneath a fig tree, his back turned, completely unaware of what’s about to happen. Harrybell quickens his pace, his excitement bubbling over as he gently places Sundrop down on the soft earth beside her carrot.

Then, without hesitation, he throws himself forward.

“Liam!” he squeals, dragging out the name as he barrels straight into him.

Liam barely has a second to react before he’s tackled, a startled yelp escaping him as Harrybell crashes into his back. The force of it sends them both tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs, laughter spilling from them as they roll through the grass.

“You absolute menace!” Liam gasps between giggles, squinting up at Harrybell as he lands sprawled across him. His curls are tousled from the fall, and a few stray leaves cling to his tunic, but he can’t bring himself to be annoyed.

Harrybell beams down at him, utterly unrepentant. “You love it.”

Liam huffs, but he doesn’t push him away. “One day, I swear, I’m going to let you fall right on your-”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harrybell waves him off before flopping down dramatically beside him, arms spread wide as he stares up at the sky. Sundrop hops closer, unimpressed, still nibbling on her carrot as if their chaos is entirely beneath her concern.

Liam sighs, shaking his head with fond exasperation. “So, to what do I owe this grand entrance?”

Harrybell turns his head and leans up on his arm, grinning. “I need your help.”

Liam squints suspiciously at him. “With what?” He asks. 

“I need seeds,” Harrybell announces, ticking them off on his fingers. “Pumpkin, fig, sweet potato… oh! And strawberries, please.”

Liam eyes him for a long moment before sighing dramatically. “That’s a lot of seeds,” he says, crossing his arms. “What exactly are you up to?”

Harrybell puts on his best innocent face, fluttering his lashes. “Just a little gardening.”

Liam snorts. “You, my friend, are not a garden fairy-”

“Yet.” Harrybell grins, sitting up straighter. “I’m a flower fairy, so growing things I can do. But when I tried to pull pumpkins from the ground earlier, it didn't work, which is odd, but whatever. So I need seeds. I want to try again.”

Liam tilts his head, studying him. “Are you growing bored of flowers? Are you feeling feverish? Should we visit the healers?”

Harrybell scoffs. “And I can’t have multiple things?” He pouts, blinking up at his friend with wide, pleading eyes. “I need this, Liam. Please? Pretty, pretty please?”

Liam groans, dragging a hand down his face before flopping dramatically onto his back. “Fine. I’ll give you some seeds. But don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work.”

Harrybell beams, wasting no time throwing himself onto Liam in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice softer, more sincere than he meant for it to be.

Liam hesitates before patting his back. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t start crying if your pumpkins don’t grow.”

Harrybell doesn’t respond, just squeezes him tighter, pressing his face into his friend’s shoulder. Because he needs this. He needs something to work in his favour. 

Harrybell lingers with Liam for a while, basking in the easy company of his friend as the midday sun filters through the trees. They settle beneath the shade of the fig tree, where Liam splits his sandwich in half and hands a piece to Harrybell without question. The gesture is familiar, comforting, just like the way Liam plucks the ripest figs from the branches, pressing them into Harrybell’s hands with a fond shake of his head.

They eat in companionable silence, enjoying the warm afternoon, with Sundrop hopping around them, wiggling her nose at the scent of fruit. Harrybell giggles when Liam pulls a fig apart for her, letting her nibble at the sweet, sticky insides. She’s clearly delighted by all the attention, her little paws patting at Liam’s fingers as he feeds her piece by piece.

They spend some time playing with her after, letting her chase after floating leaves and burrow into Liam’s discarded jacket. The garden fairy laughs when she peeks her head out with a little squeak, and Harrybell finds himself smiling, something in his chest feeling lighter than it has all day.

By the time he’s ready to leave, Liam presses a bundle of small satchels into his hands, each one filled with the seeds Harrybell had requested. “Here,” he says, holding them out. “I hope it works for you.”

Harrybell’s eyes widen with gratitude, and before Liam can react, he throws his arms around him. “Thank you,” he gushes, hugging him tight. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Liam chuckles, but he doesn’t push him away, just pats his back with a resigned sort of fondness. “Alright, alright. No need to get all dramatic on me.”

Harrybell only squeezes him tighter before pulling back, beaming. “We should meet up with Niall soon,” he insists, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “It’s been too long since we all hung out.”

Liam nods. “Yeah, I’d like that.” He smirks. “Just let me know how your little pumpkin-growing adventure turns out first.”

Harrybell huffs but grins nonetheless. With one last hug, he tucks the seeds safely into his bag, scoops up Sundrop, and takes off. 

As Harrybell touches down in his garden, he barely has time to shake the dust from his wings before he notices Louis lounging on the swinging bench. The demon is reclined against the cushions, one leg lazily tucked beneath him as he gently sways back and forth. A book rests in his hands, fingers idly toying with the edges of the pages, though his gaze lifts the second Harrybell arrives.

“Successful trip?” Louis asks, tilting his head.

Harrybell nods, grinning despite himself. “Very much so.”

He’s still buzzing with excitement, momentarily forgetting that he’s supposed to be annoyed with Louis. It’s only when he catches the amused glint in the demon’s eyes that he remembers. His expression falters for a split second before he quickly scrunches his nose, as if physically shaking the slip-up away. Clearing his throat, he carefully sets Sundrop down on the grass, watching as she immediately scurries off to explore.

“Well, I’m gonna…” He gestures vaguely toward the back of his house, already pushing himself off the ground, wings fluttering to carry him away.

Before he can disappear though, the familiar cool sensation of a shadow wrapping around his wrist appears. At first he wants to ignore it, like he always does but this time it gently holds him back. 

“Can I come?” Louis asks, his voice soft but laced with interest. “I won’t touch or say anything. I just want to watch.”

Harrybell hovers, his wings flickering uneasily at the request. He looks down at the shadow wrapped gently around his wrist, the sensation of it brushing against his skin making him pause. 

The weight of Louis' gaze settles on him, but Harrybell isn’t sure how he feels about being observed, especially since his little project could turn out to be a major failure. He doesn’t want to fail in front of the demon and give him a reason to tease him later. But, as the morning’s memory comes back into his mind, the way he treated Louis, guilt prickles at him. Maybe letting Louis watch would be some kind of atonement.

He sighs, his wings drooping slightly as he looks back at Louis, who’s watching him with a tilt of his head, eyes filled with that strange, unblinking patience.

“Fine,” Harrybell mutters, pushing away his hesitation. “But if you talk or laugh, or even look funny at me, you have to go.” He says and the demon nods. 

“Promise.” Louis jumps up from his seat and follows after him.

When they reach the back of the cottage, Harrybell lands lightly on the ground, his wings fluttering as he steadies himself. Louis stops just behind him and when Harrybell looks at him with a questioning look, he backs off and sits down, leaning against the wall of the cottage. Harrybell can live with that, he supposes. 

He grabs the satchels that Liam had given him, feeling the slight roughness of the fabric between his fingers. He kneels down, placing them in front of him with care. The weight of Louis’ gaze is heavy, Harrybell can feel it lingering on him and it makes him nervous… fidgety.

With a soft sigh, Harrybell starts sifting through the bags, his fingers moving quickly but with intention, checking each one carefully. Finally, his fingers brush over the small, round pumpkin seeds, and he smiles. He pulls out the satchel, the dark brown fabric soft in his hands as he unties the drawstring and tilts the bag over, letting the seeds fall into the palm of his hand. 

Taking a deep breath, Harrybell begins to carefully dig small holes in the soil. The seeds slip from his palm with ease, each one landing gently in the earth, and Harrybell feels a sense of calm settling over him. He pushes the soil back into place, carefully patting it down, making sure each seed is snug and secure. 

When the last pumpkin seed is planted, Harrybell stands up, dusting his hands off and glancing over at Louis. 

“I’m gonna start now,” Harrybell says, his voice carrying a hint of determination. But Louis doesn’t react. He simply tilts his head slightly to the side, his eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity. The lack of response irritates Harrybell for a split second, but then he remembers the promise he made Louis do. 

"Right," Harrybell mutters to himself, suppressing a huff of frustration. He turns away from Louis, shaking off the lingering irritation, and focuses on the task at hand. This was his moment, his magic, and he doesn’t need Louis’ approval.

He takes a slow, steadying breath, inhaling deeply before exhaling, the air filling his lungs. Closing his eyes, he allows the world around him to fade into the background, focusing on what he is about to do. His mind clears, and with a practiced motion, he dips into his magic.

A soft, comforting warmth spreads through him, as familiar as a second skin. His magic hums to life, tingling at his fingertips, and he feels the pull, the connection, like an invisible thread linking him to the seed beneath the earth. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips when he feels the first stirrings of life within the seed. 

It’s so different from when he works on Louis' flower. Where the demon’s flower drinks from him greedily, pulling at his magic like an insatiable leech, the pumpkin seed is patient, receptive. It allows itself to be nurtured, drawing only as much as Harrybell gives, never demanding more than what he is willing to offer. 

With careful concentration, he keeps tugging at the tiny spark of life within the seed, guiding it with his magic. He feels it stir beneath the soil, a small but sure pulse of energy as the shell cracks open, the first fragile roots reaching out. A sprout begins to push through the dirt, searching for the light, and when Harrybell opens his eyes, he sees it curling towards the sky.

A grin spreads across his face as excitement flutters through him, wings beating rapidly behind him. It worked. It’s working.

He doesn’t stop there. Gently, steadily, he continues feeding his magic into the plant, watching as the stem thickens, as broad leaves begin to unfurl, their surfaces catching the sunlight like tiny emerald cups. Vines slither outward, creeping across the soil, sturdy tendrils anchoring themselves into the ground. He can feel the roots stretching deeper, expanding, strengthening beneath the earth, securing the plant in place.

Then, the first blossom appears, a bright yellow flower, soft and delicate. Harrybell smiles happily. 

Focusing, he pours more of himself into it, encouraging the flower to grow larger, fuller, until its petals begin to curl inward, transforming. Slowly, steadily, the shape changes, the bloom giving way to the beginnings of a fruit. A tiny green sphere emerges, clinging to the vine, and Harrybell nearly gasps in delight.

It’s happening.

Carefully, he feeds more magic into it, watching in awe as the fruit swells, expanding inch by inch. The green deepens, then begins to shift, the colour bleeding from jade to a warm, rich orange. It gets bigger and rounder, the ridges forming along its skin, its presence solid and real beneath his fingertips.

By the time the pumpkin is fully grown, Harrybell is practically vibrating with excitement. He brushes his hands over the smooth surface, his heart soaring. He did it. He actually did it.

Turning to Louis, he beams, his entire body buzzing with triumph. “I told you I could do it,” he says, barely able to contain the giddy energy rushing through him. Then, after a beat, he adds, “You can speak now, but be nice.”

Louis, who has been sitting silently through it all, watching with an unreadable expression, finally lets a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. “It looks good,” he admits, voice low and amused. Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he adds, “I’m impressed, little flower.”

Harrybell huffs at the nickname but doesn’t bother hiding his happy grin. His heart still beats rapidly in his chest. He wants Louis to see what he can do, to understand that he is not weak, not fragile. His magic is strong, powerful even. Maybe not in the way Louis’ power is, but it's still impressive and he wants the demon to understand it.

“I think I want to try the fig tree next,” he muses, voice light with excitement. “They’re my favorite fruit, after all.” Without waiting for a response, he turns toward the bags of seeds, leaving the pumpkin behind as he crouches down to search through them. His wings flutter absentmindedly as he hums a quiet tune, fingers ruffling through the pouches Liam had prepared.

He tries to recall the instructions Liam had given him, the careful descriptions of each seed and their distinctions, but his excitement about his very own fruit and vegetable garden had made it difficult to listen to him at the time. He ends up with two small seeds resting in his palm and squints at them, trying to discern which is which. One is slightly more rounded, while the other is shaped like a raindrop. He’s fairly certain one is fig and the other is strawberry, but he is not sure which is which. 

Before he can make a final decision, Louis' voice cuts through the quiet.

“Uhm- little fairy...?”

Harrybell hums distractedly, holding the seeds closer to his eyes as if that will help. “Hmm?”

“About that pumpkin,” Louis says, his tone oddly hesitant. “How big are they supposed to get?”

Harrybell frowns, confused and slightly annoyed by the interruption. “What do you mean how big are they supposed to get? Pretty big, I suppose? Have you never seen a pumpkin before?” he says dismissively. “Now hush, I need to concentrate.”

“But—”

“I mean it, Louis!” He whips his head around to glare at the demon. “One more word and you have to go.”

Harrybell shakes his head and turns back to the seeds, sighing softly as he debates his choice once more. In the end, he picks the rounder one, placing the raindrop shaped seed back in its respective bag.

But before he can do anything else, Louis speaks again, his voice sharper this time.

“Little fairy, be mad at me or whatever, but your pumpkin is still growing. And it’s not stopping.”

Harrybell rolls his eyes. “Louis-”

“No. Look .”

Shadows move before he can protest, cool tendrils wrapping firmly around his waist and hips. In a swift, effortless motion, Louis turns him around, forcing him to face the pumpkin.

Harrybell’s mouth drops open.

The pumpkin, his pumpkin , is still growing. But not just growing. It’s expanding at an alarming rate, swelling larger and larger in quick succession. What had been a respectable sized pumpkin only moments ago is now stretching past his knees, and within seconds, it reaches his navel.

Thick vines coil outward, twisting across the ground. He watches it all unfoil in front of him, watches the pumpkin grow and over take everything as if it's gotten a life on its own. 

“I-” Harrybell stammers, his wings twitching in disbelief. The shadows around his waist drop away, but he barely notices. “It’s…It’s not supposed to do that.”

Louis crosses his arms, watching the scene unfold with sharp eyes. “I gathered as much,” he mutters dryly. “So make it stop.”

Harrybell turns to look at him, panic creeping into his expression.

“I can’t.”

Louis' brows knit together. “What do you mean you can’t ?”

“My magic isn’t doing this,” Harrybell breathes, his voice tight with unease and panic. “I- I stopped working on it. I pulled my magic away the moment it was fully grown. I'm not doing this, it’s growing on its own.”

The demon exhales sharply, glancing between Harrybell and the still growing pumpkin. “Right,” he says, voice serious. “Well, that’s probably not good.”

Harrybell swallows hard, his breath coming quicker. "No. No, it’s really not. I don’t know what to do… I-" His words are cut off as a thick vine whips through the air toward him. He barely dodges, his wings snapping open instinctively as he stumbles back. His foot catches on another vine slithering across the ground, and he nearly falls, only managing to right himself at the last moment.

“Try your magic,” Louis hisses and Harrybell nods, letting his magic shoot out and try to get a hold on the pumpkin, trying to force it down but Harry doesn't kill things, he brings them to life. “It's not working!”

Louis curses under his breath as another vine snaps toward him. He dodges and leaps over it, only to nearly collide with Harrybell. The pumpkin is nearly as large as a carriage now, its vines curling hungrily toward Harrybell’s cottage.

Harrybell’s frantic gaze darts around, searching for something- anything , that might help. His eyes land on the dark tendrils still curled around his wrist, and his heart lurches with a realisation.

"Your shadows!" he exclaims, turning to Louis.

Louis frowns. "What?"

"You made my flowers wilt just by touching them with your shadows! Maybe you can destroy it, or at least stop it!" Harrybell pleads, urgency sharp in his voice.

“Please Louis!” he pleads when the demon does not react. The desperation in his eyes is enough to push him into action. Harrybell watches as shadows curl out from beneath his feet and his arms, looking like they are one with the demon. There is not really a telling where the demon ends and the shadows start. They are quick and dark, as they shoot into the earth and wrap around the pumpkin. 

Harrybell’s body is tense as he holds his breath, hoping, praying this will work. 

He has to dodge another vine, and stumbles over another one. He crashes to the ground, hissing as his knee scrapes against the rough soil. Blood wells up, a thin crimson trail slipping down his leg. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the stinging pain that's cursing through him to look back to the demon. 

“It's working.” Harrybell gasps as he sees the growth of the pumpkin slowing down and Louis nods, not looking like this is in any way hard demanding for him. 

For a moment Harrybell wonders just how strong Louis is, what exactly he can do with his shadows beyond what Harrybell has already seen. It doesn't matter though, because right now, the pumpkin is wilting and that's all that matters. 

Harrybell gets up and tries to clean the dirt of his dress, pouting a bit at the stains. He straightens himself, turning to the pumpkin once more and frowning when it seems to fight Louis shadows. It looks like the shadows are squeezing the pumpkin and it's about to explode any second. 

"Louis?" he calls, voice trembling.

Louis’ gaze sharpens. "I see it. You need to move before this thing blows."

Harrybell hesitates. "But-"

"I mean it, little flower. The last thing we need is you getting knocked unconscious by a flying chunk of pumpkin."

And that- that is enough to make Harrybell plant his feet stubbornly. "Oh, of course. Because then I wouldn't be able to grow your precious flower anymore, right?"

Louis snarls. "Not everything is about that bloody flower! Now move -"

"No!"

Louis exhales sharply, frustration flashing across his face. "You’re so damn stubborn!"

Before Harrybell can retort, the pumpkin gives one final, violent shudder. A deep, wet crack splits through the air. Harrybell turns to flee, but a vine lashes out, curling tight around his ankle, yanking him back. He tries to pull his leg out, tries to twist his ankle and free himself, wings fluttering desperately to get away but it's to no avail.

"Louis!" he cries, struggling against the vine’s crushing grip.

"Fuck!" Louis shouts, and his shadows abandon the pumpkin, racing toward Harrybell instead. They manage to push the vine away, loosening it enough for Harrybell to slip free and then, before Harrybell can even register what’s happening, Louis’ shadows pull him forward, straight into the demon’s chest.

Louis doesn’t hesitate. He shoves them both to the ground, curling protectively over Harrybell as the pumpkin explodes .

Chunks of orange flesh rain down around them, hitting the earth with heavy thuds. The vines strike out one last time, as if they are angry and breathing their last breath. He can feel one hitting them, hitting straight across Louis' back and the demon gives a pained grunts as he keeps the impact off of Harrybell.

The silence that follows is deafening. Harrybell lies frozen beneath Louis, breath coming in shallow pants as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Pieces of pumpkin hit the soil around them and from what it sounds like, some strike Louis. 

Louis' breath is hitting Harrybell’s neck, warm and heavy. Harrybell feels angry and embarrassed, and in a way scared too. Too many emotions are running through his mind right now and he feels himself panicking but somehow, the weight of Louis on top of him, the way he shields him, it grounds him.

He doesn't know how long they lie there like that but eventually, the sounds of the pumpkin pieces falling stops and Louis' body untenses. He feels the demon shift above him and opens his eyes, watching as shadows lift the vine sprawled over them so Louis can roll off of him. 

The demon sits up, and moments later, shadows curl around Harry and gently lift him up too until he is sitting. 

“You okay?” Louis asks, and Harrybell only swallows and looks at him. Louis looks concerned, eyes darting over his body before landing back on his face and Harrybell shakes his head, sniffing. “Oh little flower...” he mumbles quietly, a hand coming out to rest on Harrybell's shoulder. 

Tears well up in his eyes and he looks away, feeling too ashamed. 

“Nothing happened, yeah?” Louis says. “If anything, it was actually pretty funny.” 

“I could have killed us and I almost destroyed my home. I- I was so naive for thinking I could do this. You were right, I’m just weak and stupid.” He buries his face in his hands as the tears that have been gathering in his eyes start to spill over. 

“None of these things happened. So what? We’ll get a bruise or two, but nothing happened. Come on,” Louis shadows wrap around his waist once more and Harrybell looks at him. Louis is smiling softly as stands. “Let's get you cleaned up.”  

The shadows pull Harry into a standing position, and he hisses when he tries to stand on his own. He must've hit his knee pretty hard. Immediately, the shadows tighten and lift him again. Harrybell looks down to his knee, seeing it still bleed. His leg is dirty and smeared with blood. Getting dizzy, he looks up, only to be hit by the view of his supposed new field. It's covered in pumpkin chunks and he knows it'll be a pain to clean up. 

“Don't worry about that, let's get your knee sorted.” 

Feeling vulnerable, Harrybell nods and sniffs, allowing Louis' shadows to carry him. Neither of them acknowledge the simple fact that Harrybell can still fly.

Louis’ shadows  gently place him onto the swinging bench, their touch so careful, as though afraid Harrybell might break apart. 

“Wait here,” Louis murmurs, and Harrybell, lost in his own head, complies without hesitation. He sways gently with the bench’s motion, hands trembling as he wipes at the endless stream of tears spilling down his cheeks. He doesn’t understand why he can’t stop crying, he just knows that the weight of his failure sits heavy in his chest, pressing down until it hurts to breathe.

Moments later, Louis returns, cradling Sundrop in the crook of his arm. The little bunny’s soft fur glows in the dimming light, and when Louis places her into Harrybell’s lap, the warmth is a comfort Harrybell didn’t realize he needed. He buries his face into Sundrop’s fur, inhaling the familiar scent of meadow flowers and home. Louis disappears again before he can say anything, and not long after, the sharp sound of shattering glass echoes from inside the cottage. Harrybell flinches, but he doesn’t move to check, doesn’t find it in himself to care. Instead, he holds Sundrop closer, pressing tiny kisses into her fur as he fights to calm the storm raging in his mind.

It’s hard to pull himself out of it. He was so excited about his project- too excited . He thought it would be easy. Foolish, really. You wouldn’t ask a summer fairy to make snow, so why did he believe, even for a moment, that a flower fairy like him could grow fruits and vegetables? The thought is humiliating. And worst of all, Louis saw it happen. Louis had to step in and fix his mistake. Louis had to see him fail.

But instead of laughing, instead of mocking him, Louis had been kind.

That, more than anything, makes Harrybell dizzy.

When Louis returns, he kneels before Harrybell, his hair looking soft in the warm light. He sets down a bowl of water, a clean strip of fabric, and a small, familiar jar of salve. Harrybell’s salve. The one he made himself, tucked neatly into his cupboard. His eyes flick to Louis' face, searching, but Louis doesn’t offer an explanation for how he found it. He simply sets some gauze aside before handing Harrybell a plate filled with honeycomb and figs.

“I’m gonna clean the wound now,” Louis says. “Might sting a bit, yeah?”

He wraps one warm hand around Harrybell’s calf and lifts it, resting his foot on his thigh. Harrybell swallows thickly and nods, unable to look away as Louis dips the fabric into the water, wrings it out, and then, with infinite care, begins to dab at the wound. The sensation stings, but it isn’t unbearable. Not like the knot tightening in his throat.

Louis is gentle. More gentle than Harrybell ever imagined he could be.

And it makes him cry even harder.

Thick tears roll down his face, as he watches Louis tend to him with a patience and tenderness he’s never seen before. This isn’t the Louis he’s used to. This isn’t the demon who teases and taunts and always seems two steps ahead. There’s nothing calculating in his movements, no smug satisfaction, no hidden agenda. Just quiet, unwavering care.

And it terrifies Harrybell.

Because he wants to trust him.

He wants to believe in the good he sees in Louis, the same way he believes in the goodness of all things. But he can’t, not yet. Not when Louis is still keeping secrets. Not when that flower is still very clearly Louis’ top priority. 

If Louis would just tell him what it was, what it did, Harrybell could forgive him. They could move forward. He could let himself believe that this kindness is real, that it means something. But until then, he can’t. 

Eventually, the wound is cleaned, the salve is applied, and his knee is wrapped snugly in gauze, secure and protected. But Louis doesn’t stop there. With a careful touch, he wipes away the remaining dirt and dried blood from Harrybell’s leg, his fingertips barely grazing his skin. There’s something reverent about the way he does it—something almost delicate, as if he’s handling something precious. It makes Harrybell feel vulnerable in a way he isn’t sure he likes.

Once he’s satisfied, Louis lowers his leg gently to the ground, as though he’s afraid of hurting him. Then, without a word, he gathers the supplies and rises to his feet.

“Eat,” he instructs, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll clean this up and bring you something to drink.”

Harrybell blinks up at him, still overwhelmed, still trying to process everything. He lowers his gaze to the plate still in his hands. The golden honeycomb glistening in the soft light, the figs perfectly ripe. It’s tempting but it’d be wrong of him to just sit here and eat.

“I can’t,” he mumbles, shifting awkwardly. “I gotta clean up the… pumpkin.” His face burns with embarrassment, his failure still fresh in his mind. He moves to stand, intent on fixing at least this part of his mistake but a shadow gently pushes him back down.

“Don’t worry about it, yeah?” Louis says, tilting his head, his tone almost coaxing.

Harrybell shakes his head immediately. “No, I don’t want you to clean it. It’s my fault- my stupidity, that caused this. So, it’s only fair I clean up the mess I made.”

Louis watches him, then, after a beat, he lets out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging just slightly. “Then let me help.” 

Harrybell glances up at him, uncertain. “You really don’t have to.”

Louis meets his gaze, unwavering. “I want to, but food first. I’m gonna get us something to drink.”

“Louis?” He asks, just before the demon disappears inside again. He stops and Harrybell turns to look at him. “Your back, does it hurt? From the- the vine?” 

“Nah, little flower, I’m all good,” he promises and Harrybell nods, glad that he at least didn't cause him any harm. Louis disappears inside then and Harrybell sits straight again, grabbing a fig and splitting it in half to share it with Sundrop. He exhales slowly, stroking Sundrop’s soft fur as he chews his piece of the fig. 

The sweetness lingers on his tongue, grounding him and for a moment, making him forget everything that happened in the past couple hours. Louis isn't mad at him, won’t scream at him or hurt him and nothing happened to either of them, or his home. Maybe, Louis is actually changing for the better and deserves a second chance. 

Harrybell mulls over his thoughts until the demon joins him on the bench, handing him a cup of sweet tea and stealing one of the figs on his plate with his shadow, making Harrybell pout at him but he doesn't say anything. He supposes Louis can have one of his figs in return for cleaning his wounds.

Chapter Text

Despite Louis’ fleeting moment of kindness during the pumpkin fiasco two weeks ago, Harrybell remains wary of him and his true intentions. He just can't bring himself to fully forgive the demon when he still forces him to grow and nurture the damn flower that leaves Harrybell drained and unconscious. He wakes up disoriented, his body aching, his magic weak to a point where even the smallest flowers won't grow beneath his touch. 

And yet, Louis never seems concerned. He watches with an unreadable expression, unmoved by Harrybell’s exhaustion, acting as if the price paid isn’t real. The contradiction gnaws at Harrybell. If Louis truly didn’t care, why had he protected him that day? Why had he thrown himself into harm’s way for him? Harrybell can’t make sense of it.

There were also the bruises on Louis' back. The demon had told him that he wasn't hurt after he had patched up Harrybell’s knee, but one morning, Louis had bent down to pick something up, causing his shirt to ride up his back and revealing dark, purple-black bruises beneath scars that Harrybell couldn’t make sense of. But he knew the bruises must've come from the vines that were whipping around them, hitting Louis more than once as he protected him.

Harrybell had felt something twist inside him. Louis hadn’t needed to do that. He could have let Harrybell take the hit, let the vines tear into his skin instead. But he hadn’t.

Still, it doesn’t change anything. It couldn’t.

Louis is still the reason Harrybell lay weak and powerless for days on end, still the one who forces him to grow that cursed flower no matter how much it drains him. A few bruises and apologies could not absolve him of that. 

And yet, as Louis straightened, tugging his shirt back into place as if nothing had happened, Harrybell found himself swallowing down something bitter. 

He hasn’t mentioned that he saw the bruises, but he has made some more of his salve, the one that Louis had also used for his knee, just in case he might need it. 

He would be lying if he said nothing had changed since then. Despite his lingering wariness, something between them has shifted. It’s subtle, but it's there. They no longer spend every waking moment at each other’s throats, and Harrybell doesn’t find everything the demon does utterly insufferable anymore.

The tension remains, though. Thick and heavy, settling over them like an ever-present storm cloud. No matter how much time passes, the mark on Harrybell’s wrist still burns like a brand, a constant reminder of why Louis is here. Some days, he can’t forget and convince himself that the space between them has softened. But then he works on the flower again, draining  him until his limbs felt like lead, until he could barely keep his eyes open, and all of that simmering resentment comes surging back. Those are the days he lashed out the most.

Louis, infuriatingly, rarely takes the bait. He watches, impassive and unreadable, as Harrybell hurls accusations and venom-laced words at him, his voice shaking with exhaustion and fury. And that only makes Harrybell push harder. He wants Louis to snap, to show his true nature, to prove that he is as cruel and ruthless as Harrybell had seen him during those first few weeks.

But Louis never does.

Sure, he throws words back, sharp and biting as a blade, but he never lets his control slip. He never lets his shadows lash out in retaliation. Not once has he wrapped them around Harrybell’s wings and threatened to destroy them, like he once did. Even when Harrybell wants him to, just to confirm what he already thought he knew.

And that- that is the most frustrating part of all. Because if Louis isn’t the monster Harrybell has built him up to be, then what is he? And what does that mean for the way Harrybell sees him now?

He has so many questions and so little answers. 

Harrybell sighs, his gaze settling on Louis, who stands before him, holding the pot that contains his flower. It is bigger now, its stem thicker, and with eaves growing. Every time it grows stronger, Harrybell feels weaker.

"It's time again," Louis says, his voice even, unreadable. Behind him, the setting sun bathes the world in hues of gold and pink, casting long shadows over the grass.

Harrybell exhales sharply before sinking down onto the soft earth. He doesn’t argue. There’s no point. The flower would take what it needed, and he would give, whether he wants to or not. Louis crouches down, placing the pot in front of him with careful precision.

"Remember to stop before it takes too much," Louis reminds him, his voice quieter now.

Harrybell lets out a short, bitter laugh. " Like you care ," he mutters, his eyes fixed firmly on the flower, refusing to acknowledge the demon hovering above him.

Louis lingers for a beat too long, his presence pressing down on Harrybell like an unseen weight. But Harrybell doesn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up, doesn’t dare meet whatever expression is on his face. He just keeps his gaze locked onto the flower, jaw clenched, until finally, Louis steps back. 

Taking a deep breath, Harrybell closes his eyes and on the exhale, pours his magic into the flower. 

As always, it is greedy.

The moment his magic touches  the flower, it latches on with a desperate, unrelenting grip, pulling, clinging and devouring every drop like it is starved, despite the fact that it has only been a week since their last session.

It is so much stronger now. Each time they do this, the process becomes more demanding, the flower greedier, the pull more intense. What had once been a slow, steady drain has transformed into something ruthless, insatiable . It yanks the magic from him faster than before, leaving him breathless, his pulse stuttering as pearls of sweat formed on his forehead. His hands tremble where they rest against the soil, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps.

With every session, it becomes harder to pull away. Harder to sever the connection before the flower takes too much . It is no longer just feeding on his magic, but holding onto him , anchoring itself inside him like roots curling around a source of water, refusing to let go. He opens his eyes, the world blurry. but he focuses on Louis. The demon watches him, body tense but his expression unreadable, and Harrybell wonders if he even realises how much this takes from him. He doubts it.

Harrybell can feel the end approaching, the moment where he should stop, where he needs to stop. But instead of pulling back, he pushes forward.

More.

If he gives just a little more, maybe it would finally be satisfied. Maybe it would stop draining him so quickly next time. Maybe- 

A sharp wave of dizziness slams into him. He whimpers as his vision blurs, colours bleeding together as the world tilts beneath him. He feels himself slipping, his body growing weightless, his mind fading into darkness.

The last thing he registers before unconsciousness takes him was the cool, familiar sensation of Louis’ shadows curling around his waist. They tighten, firm and steady, stopping him before he can be thrown backward by the sheer force it takes to wrench himself away from the flower’s grip.

Then, everything gos black.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harrybell wakes up with a sharp gasp, his body jolting upright before his head spins violently, a crushing wave of dizziness slamming into him. His vision is still blurred at the edges, and he sways, barely catching himself before collapsing back against the mattress. His entire body aches, his limbs heavy, his magic depleted, his wings weak. Tears shoot from his eyes, but a voice interrupts him from starting to panic.

“Hey, you’re fine.”

The voice is steady, calm, but it makes something in Harrybell bristle instinctively. He turns his head too fast, making the room tilt, but then finds Louis standing in the doorway, watching him carefully. He is holding a bowl and cloth. He steps inside. 

“Don’t-” Harrybell starts, but his throat feels raw, each word scraping against it like sandpaper. He swallows, wincing at the pain. “Don’t come in.”

His voice comes out weak, barely more than a croak, but it doesn’t matter because Louis ignores him anyway. The demon steps forward, crossing the room in a few slow, deliberate strides before settling on the edge of the bed.

“ Louis ,” Harrybell hisses, his irritation as thin as his strength. He watches as Louis carefully lifts the cloth from the bowl perched in his lap, wringing out the excess water with practiced ease.

He should stop him. Should push him away.

Instead, he flinches when Louis presses the cool fabric to his forehead. He is too tired to fight, but he doesn’t want to give in.

Louis must see the resistance in his expression because he exhales softly, then reaches out with his free hand, fingers curling around Harrybell’s chin. Not a forceful grip, just enough to keep him still.

“You’re burning up, little flower,” Louis murmurs, his voice quiet but firm.

The nickname makes something tighten in Harrybell’s chest, but he doesn’t have the strength to pull away. The cool cloth against his fevered skin is a relief and sends a shiver down his spine, and, before he can stop himself, his head falls forward. Louis catches it, his palm a solid presence beneath his chin and now on his cheeks as well, steadying him as he continues his gentle ministrations.

Harrybell closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the way Louis is looking at him, doesn’t want to acknowledge the way his body leans into the care despite every instinct telling him not to.

Louis hums under his breath, a quiet, soothing sound, and moves the cloth down to Harrybell’s neck. Harrybell hates how much he wants to sink into it.

The cloth glides down the curve of Harrybell’s throat, cooling the fever burning beneath his skin. Louis is slow, deliberate, never lingering too long in one place but never rushing either. His shadows curl subtly around his form, restrained, barely moving.

Harrybell swallows, his throat still dry, but he refuses to ask for water. He refuses to need anything from Louis. But his body betrays him, his breathing slows, his shoulders sag. The tension he’s been holding onto slips away with each careful press of the damp cloth.

Louis dips it back into the bowl, wrings it out again, and presses it to his cheek this time. “You need to stop pushing yourself like that.” 

A flicker of frustration sparks in his chest. He cracks his eyes open, glaring weakly at Louis. “And you need to stop making me do this.”

Louis sighs. Not in annoyance, not in amusement, just… tired. “You know I don’t have a choice.”

Harrybell scoffs, but it lacks real bite. His body is too heavy, his magic too drained. He tries to sit up straighter, but the moment he shifts, dizziness washed over him, making him sway. Instantly, Louis’ hand is there, steadying him, holding him upright with gentle but unyielding strength.

“Stop,” Harrybell whispers, his voice cracking. “Stop acting like you care.”

Louis’ hand doesn’t move. He doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens just slightly, like he is holding onto something more than just Harrybell’s fevered body.

“I do care,” he says simply.

Harrybell’s breath catches. He searches Louis’ face for a lie, for some sign that this is just another manipulation. But there is nothing cruel in the demon’s expression, nothing mocking in the way he looks at him.

And that is worse.

Because it would be easier if Louis is just a monster. If he is only ever cruel.

But he isn’t.

“I’m tired,” Harrybell says for lack of better words. He isn't ready to confront himself with these thoughts just yet. He needs time, time to think and make sense of all this. 

“Alright, go lay down and I’ll get you something to drink.” Gently, Louis pushes him back down, holding his body as he lowers him onto his soft sheets. 

Harrybell closes his eyes, exhaling slowly as his body melts into the mattress. He feels the coolness of the cloth linger on his skin, the warmth of Louis’ hands fading as the demon pulls away.

For a moment, silence settles between them. The only sounds are Harrybell’s unsteady breaths and the faint rustling of Louis standing. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t watch as Louis leaves the room, but he hears the soft click of the door closing behind him.

His thoughts are a tangled mess, too many feelings, too much confusion. He should be angry. He should still hate Louis. But then why does his presence feel less suffocating now? Why does the way he cares feel… real?

Harrybell’s fingers curl into the sheets. It’s too much. He isn't ready.

Minutes pass, or maybe longer; time feels strange in his exhaustion. Then the door creaks open again, and the mattress dips slightly.

“Here,” Louis murmurs. A hand slips beneath Harrybell’s head, lifting him just enough to press a cool glass against his lips. “Drink.”

Harrybell hesitates but relents, taking slow sips. The water soothes his dry throat, cooling him from the inside out. Louis is patient, tilting the glass just enough, waiting when Harrybell needs to pause.

When he’s had enough, Louis sets the glass aside. Instead of pulling away, his fingers linger against Harrybell’s jaw for a second too long.

“You scared me,” Louis admits quietly.

Harrybell’s eyes flutter open, and his chest tightens at the confession. He isn’t sure what to say to that. Isn’t sure if he even wants to acknowledge the weight of it.

So he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns his head slightly, hiding his face in his pillow. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, though they both know it isn’t entirely true.

Louis huffs a quiet laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “Sleep, little flower.”

He doesn’t leave.

And maybe, just maybe, Harrybell is glad for it. 

Louis stays by his side the entire time, never straying too far. Every time Harrybell stirs from restless sleep, Louis is there, cooling his forehead with a damp cloth, coaxing him to take a few more sips of water, or adjusting the blankets around him.

At first, Harrybell fights him. Mutters complaints, turns his head away when Louis presses the rim of the glass to his lips, and grumbles under his breath when Louis insists he eat. But Louis never rises to it. He stays steady, patient, never snapping back, no matter how much Harrybell tries to push him away.

The second day, Harrybell wakes to the scent of warm broth. His body aches less, his fever not as intense, though he still feels drained, like something has hollowed him out from the inside. He blinks, watching as Louis sets a bowl on the bedside table.

“Eat,” Louis says, softer than usual. “You’ll feel better.”

Harrybell sighs but doesn’t argue this time. He lets Louis help him sit up, and lets him place the warm bowl in his hands. His fingers curl weakly around it, and he slowly takes a spoonful of the soup.

It’s… good. Simple but warm, easing some of the heaviness weighing him down. He takes another, then another. Louis doesn’t move away, watching him with quiet focus, making sure he finished most of it before taking the bowl back.

“I changed your sheets while you were asleep,” Louis murmurs, almost offhandedly, as if he hadn’t just admitted to something far too gentle for a demon like him. “Didn’t want you lying in sweat-soaked ones.”

Harrybell swallows and nods, suddenly unsure of how to respond.

He turns his head, looking out the window instead. The sky outside is pale, the last remnants of dawn melting into the afternoon. He’s lost two days and it is showing from the way his flowers are hanging their heads outside. He bites his bottom lip but then looks back to the demon.

“Thank you,” he murmurs before he can think better of it.

Louis stills for a moment. Then, he chuckles, a quiet thing, almost fond.

“Get some rest, little flower.” 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The next day, Harrybell feels as good as new. Not completely, but well enough that the weight of fever and exhaustion has lessened. His limbs still ache faintly, a reminder of the toll his magic has taken, but he can breathe easily again, and the fog in his mind has lifted.

More than anything, he longs to be outside. He needs fresh air, needs to feel the earth beneath his hands and the sun on his skin. His flowers have gone days without his care, and the thought of them wilting makes his chest tight with guilt.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he pushes himself up, only to sway immediately, dizziness creeping in at the edges of his vision.

A steady hand catches his arm.

"Really?" Louis drawls from beside him, his grip firm but careful. "You’re barely upright for five seconds, and you’re already trying to fall over."

Harrybell scowls, jerking his arm free. “I’m fine.”

Louis doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. He simply steps back, crossing his arms as he watches Harrybell cautiously.

Harrybell ignores him. Determined, he makes his way to the door, pushing it open to reveal the garden bathed in golden morning light. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and blooming petals.

Relief floods him as he steps outside, his wings twitching slightly as the sunlight warms them. He didn't waste any time and kneels by his flower beds, running his fingers through the soil, inspecting each petal and leaf with quiet focus.

Louis follows, leaning against the doorway with an unreadable expression.

“You could’ve just asked,” he says after a moment.

Harrybell glances up. “Asked what?”

“For me to bring you outside.”

Harrybell frowns, turning back to his flowers. “I don’t need your help.”

 “Of course not.” Louis sighs, shaking his head.

But he doesn’t leave. Instead, he wanders closer, crouching beside one of the flower beds, careful not to disturb anything. For a long while, neither of them speak. Harrybell focuses on his flowers, trying not to exhaust his magic too much but wanting them all to be taken care of. His fingers brush over the petals, feeling their delicate pulse, and it makes him feel a bit more at ease. 

Louis never strays too far, his shadows curling around Harrybell’s waist, tightening whenever he stumbles. It seems to be like an instinct for Louis now, just as it has become second nature for Harrybell to ignore the strange, possessive way they touch him. He doesn’t mind them, not really. Not anymore.

It’s the way Louis watches him that drives him crazy. The demon’s eyes are always on him, watching him so closely like Harrybell might break any second and needing him to swoop in and help him. But Louis isn't here out of kindness, is he? No, the demon is here for his flower. 

Trying to shake his thoughts and focus on his flowers, he bends to inspect a wilting stem and Louis’ shadow tightens around him again, the pressure barely noticeable, but present. 

Harrybell closes his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. Maybe it’s guilt.

That thought follows him, taunting, as Louis' presence looms over him. It makes sense in some twisted way. Perhaps the demon is just trying to ease his conscience, playing the role of a caretaker because Harrybell had been so weak. Maybe Louis really does feel like he owes him something for the mess he’s caused.

But Harrybell knows the truth, deep down. He doesn’t trust Louis, not fully. The moment Louis gets what he wants- his flower- it would be over. All of this, the concern, the little gestures, would vanish the moment Harrybell’s power is drained. He has read enough about it. How demons make their deals, full of their promises that mean nothing. The moment the contract is fulfilled, everything will fall apart.

Harrybell has managed to tend to half of his garden before the exhaustion starts to settle in. He even checks on Louis’ flower, noticing how it already had a bud growing. It shouldn’t take too long for it to finally bloom and then, this will all be finally over. 

His hands tremble with the effort of channeling magic, and the familiar weightlessness in his limbs warning him that he is pushing himself too far. His head is starting to feel heavy, and his vision blurs at the edges as he sinks into the soft grass, the cool earth grounding him even as his body feels like jelly.

He closes his eyes, willing his senses to calm, the quiet breeze wrapping around him like a familiar touch. The wind is gentle, like it is trying to soothe him, helping to chase away the dizziness that clouds his mind. The sun warming his skin feels comforting, like he can just let go and rest there, letting the world slip by for a while.

But just as he starts to relax, the shade of something or someone , falls across his face, cutting off the warmth of the sun.

Harrybell’s eyes snap open, and he blinks in irritation. Standing before him, blocking his sunlight, is Louis. His brows furrow, his eyes narrowing as he sees the plate and cup in Louis' hands.

“You're standing in my way,” Harrybell mutters, annoyed.

Louis doesn’t flinch or back off. Instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk as he holds the plate and cup out toward Harrybell with deliberate slowness, as if daring him to refuse.

“Eat and drink this, and I’ll move. You look like you’re about to pass out right here on the spot,” Louis says. 

He rolls his eyes, but feels too weak to argue further. With a heavy sigh, he takes the plate and cup from Louis, the coldness of the cup against his hands a welcome contrast to the warmth of the sun and his heated skin.

Louis is still not moving, and so Harrybell takes a sip from the cup, relishing in the taste of the cool sweet tea and then, grabs the honeycomb Louis had placed on the plate as well, biting into it, never once breaking eye contact with Louis until the demon finally moves out of his way and instead, sits across from him, observing him closely. 

Harrybell hates feeling like this. Weak . Vulnerable . It makes his insides twist with frustration. He doesn't need Louis to take care of him and yet it's all the demon has been doing lately. Harrybell despises himself for it. It makes him feel... small. Helpless. 

Harrybell grits his teeth as he swallows another bite of the fig, the sweetness rushing over his tongue in a way he hates to admit was comforting. His stomach, long neglected and strained from days of little food, growls in protest. He hasn’t had a proper meal in far too long. Sure, Louis has been kind enough to provide soup and other light foods, but most of the time, Harrybell can’t bring himself to eat them. He barely manages to pick at the offerings, his mind too busy battling everything else.

He chews the fruit almost aggressively, each bite a way to vent his frustration. It isn’t just the hunger. It is everything; the feeling of being weak, the helplessness he couldn’t shake. And of course, Louis, who is always hovering, always watching, always providing. Harrybell hates how Louis seems to see right through him, as if he knows what’s best, as if he understands him better than Harrybell understands himself. He hates that.

With the plate finally cleared and the cup empty, Harrybell pushes himself up, not sparing a second glance at Louis. He wouldn’t ask for his help. He wouldn’t let Louis see how fragile he is right now.

Before he can even think about it, his wings snap open, and he shoots off the ground, flying into the cool air. 

He just needs a break. A moment to himself.

But as soon as he begins to soar up, he can feel it. His heart races as the shadow curls around him. He tries to push harder, but the grip tightens, halting him mid-flight. He can almost feel the weight of it, like a hand on his chest, demanding his attention.

Before Harrybell can turn and snap at Louis for this intrusion, the pressure eases up. The shadow loosens, almost apologetic, and Harrybell is free to move again. He doesn’t look back as he takes off. He doesn’t want to see that concerned look on Louis’ face again that he is confronted with so often lately.

Instead, he shoots forward, the forest blurring around him as he pushes himself further into the woods, away from the demon, away from everything. The wind whips through his hair, his heart pounding as the world around him becomes a blur of green and brown.

He just needs space. A moment where he isn’t being watched. A moment where he can feel like himself again, not this fragile thing that needs constant care. Harrybell doesn’t care if it was foolish. He doesn’t care if he was running away. Right now, all he wants is to be alone.

Harrybell flies deeper into the forest, far from the familiar paths he has grown accustomed to. The trees stretch above him, their branches tangled in a way that blocks out most of the sunlight. The air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and moss, and the soft rustling of leaves whispers around him as if the forest itself is alive, beckoning him deeper.

He has been here before, when he was running from Louis that awful night the demon had played him. Back then, it was night, the forest dark and the shadows scary, but now, by day it doesn’t seem so bad. Sure it's not like the forest Harrybell lives in, where sunlight breaks through the trees and birds chirp happily, but it's still beautiful, in a dark, eerie way. Almost like Louis. 

Harrybell clenches  his jaw and shakes his head, pushing the thought away. He hasn’t come here to think about that demon. He just needs space, a moment to breathe without feeling watched, without feeling like something fragile that needs to be protected.

With a soft flutter of his wings, he lands gracefully on the mossy ground, his bare feet sinking slightly into the damp earth. He moves cautiously, careful of his surroundings, but soon finds himself distracted by the sight of a flower he has never seen before.

It is strange, but beautiful, unlike anything he's ever seen before. A deep, velvety red with striking blue dots scattered along its petals. It almost seems to glow under the faint streams of sunlight that manage to slip past the thick canopy. Harrybell tilts his head, mesmerized. Slowly, he reaches out, fingers hovering just above its delicate petals.

The moment his fingers nearly brush the flower, a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist.

Harrybell lets out a sharp scream, instinct taking over as he yanks his hand back. He stumbles, his wings fluttering wildly in his panic, but his legs give out, and he falls backward onto the soft ground. His chest heaves, eyes wide as he clutches his wrist to his chest, his pulse thundering in his ears.

Standing before him is a figure cloaked in darkness, and for a heart-stopping moment, Harrybell thinks he has encountered another demon.

Harrybell’s breath comes in quick, shallow gasps as he scrambles to his feet, ready to flee, to put as much distance between himself and this terrifying figure as possible. But the moment he tries to move, he finds that he can’t.

His legs refuse to obey him, his muscles lock in place as if an invisible force is pressing down on him. He tries to lift his wings, desperate to take to the sky, but they feel impossibly heavy, as if they have turned to stone.

Panic surges through him like a lightning strike. His heart pounds against his ribs as he struggles, his mind racing for an escape. He darts his gaze around, searching for something that could help him. A branch, a rock, a path to slip away unnoticed. But there is nothing. Only endless, shadow-draped trees and moss. 

Last time he had wandered this deep into the woods, Louis had found him and taken him home. But that had taken hours. The demon had to walk through the thick undergrowth, following a path Harrybell could cover in minutes with his wings. And now?

Now, he has no way of knowing how long he might be stuck here.

For the first time, he wishes Louis was here.

As if sensing his helplessness, the figure before him takes a slow, deliberate step closer. Harrybell forces himself to lift his chin, to keep his expression steady despite the fear clawing at his chest. “W-what do you want?” he demands, his voice steadier than he feels. 

The figure tilts his head slightly, dark eyes sharp and assessing. And then, to Harrybell’s utter confusion, the man sighs and mutters, “Oh, darling, you really were about to touch it.”

Harrybell blinks, thrown off by the sheer casualness of his tone. “What?”

The stranger exhales through his nose, almost as if he were frustrated. “The flower.” He gestures toward the strange red and blue-petaled bloom Harrybell had nearly brushed against. “Extremely poisonous to fairies. Highly. ”

Harrybell stiffens. He looks at the flower again, something uneasy settling in his stomach. He hadn’t sensed any danger from it. If anything, it had almost seemed… inviting.

The stranger clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. “Honestly, do they not teach you forest survival anymore? Or did you just wake up today and choose recklessness?”

Harrybell frowns. “I- I didn’t know,” he admits.

The creature gives an exaggerated sigh. “ Clearly. ” He steps closer, eyeing Harrybell like a particularly dense student. “If you’d touched it, your delicate little fairy skin would have blistered within seconds, you’d be unconscious within minutes, and by nightfall…?” He gives a flippant wave of his hand. “ Tragic. ”

Harrybell swallows. “Oh.”

“And of course, you’re the pretty but foolish type. I knew it.”

“Who are you?” He asks again and the figure lifts his hands to push back the hood that is covering his face. It reveals a handsome looking man with beautiful big brown eyes and pouty lips that stretch into a smile. 

“I’m Zayn,” he says, tilting his chin up slightly, like his name alone should mean something to Harrybell. When it clearly doesn’t, Zayn sighs dramatically, placing a delicate hand over his chest. “ Zayn the Enchanting? Zayn the Magnificent? No? Ugh. You fairies have no taste.”

Harrybell blinks. “I… think I should thank you?”

Zayn flips his hood back fully, revealing perfectly styled dark hair. “Yes, darling, that would be the appropriate response. But I suppose I can’t blame you. Nearly dying tends to scramble the mind.” He waves a hand in the air, golden sparks trailing from his fingertips as if the very act of speaking requires additional flair.

Harrybell eyes the fading magic, curiously. “I wasn’t that close to touching it.”

Zayn gasps, a hand flying to his chest. “ Weren’t that close-  Oh, sweetheart, you were practically flirting with death. One more second and you’d be on the ground, looking positively unattractive with boils and blisters. I simply couldn’t allow such a tragic end.”

Harrybell huffs, slightly amused but mainly confused by the witch. “So you saved me because it would’ve been an ugly way to go?”

Zayn tilts his head, considering. “Well, that and…” He pauses, giving Harrybell a slow, appreciative once-over. “...it would be an absolute shame to let a face like yours wither away.”

Harrybell feels warmth creep up his neck and quickly clears his throat. “Right. Well. Thanks, I guess.”

Zayn beams, clearly pleased with himself. “You’re very welcome. Now, come along, little lost fairy. I need tea, and you need to sit down before you wander into something else ridiculous, like a hexed nettle patch or, gods forbid, a fashion disaster. ”

Harrybell frowns, trotting after him as Zayn turns on his heel with a dramatic flourish of his cloak. “A fashion- what does that even mean ?”

Zayn gasps as if personally offended, coming to a halt so suddenly that Harrybell nearly crashes into him. “Sweetheart,” he says gravely, reaching out to delicately lift a section of Harrybell’s dress between two fingers, “this is devastating. ”

Harrybell blinks, then looks down at himself. His dress, a simple off-white, flowy piece, is indeed wrinkled and speckled with dirt, but it’s supposed to be. It’s comfortable, light, and easy to move in. It's practical for tending to his garden, which is what he’d been doing before all of this.

“What?” he says defensively, brushing at one of the dirt smudges. “It’s fine.”

Zayn makes a deeply unamused noise in the back of his throat. “Fine? Fine ? No, no, no. Tea is fine. A lukewarm compliment is fine. This?” He gestures wildly at Harrybell’s attire. “This is a tragedy. ”

Harrybell’s life does feel like a tragedy, especially lately. He sighs and bites his bottom lip, tugging absently at the hem of his dress as he continues following the witch. Harrybell feels like he’s been pulled into some sort of fever dream, half-expecting to wake up any moment to find Louis fussing over him, demanding he drink more water or rest, like he has been doing the past few days.

They make a sharp turn down a narrow, winding path and arrive at the cottage, and Harrybell’s eyes widen in complete surprise. The house is huge , way larger than he expected, and though it’s well-worn, it’s pink . A shade of pale, bubblegum pink. It's almost ridiculous, if it weren't for the owner of the house. Somehow, it fits Zayn perfectly. 

Zayn stands at the front steps, his arms crossed, watching Harrybell’s reaction with an air of smug satisfaction. “Welcome to my humble home,” Zayn says, snapping his fingers in a dramatic manner, once again producing thOse golden sparks. With a soft creak, the front door swings open, and Zayn saunters inside without even waiting for a response.

Reluctantly, Harrybell follows, stepping gingerly over the threshold. The inside of the cottage is just as eccentric as the outside. It’s full of so much character it’s hard to know where to begin. The space is brimming with colour; deep reds, purples, and golds clash with odd combinations of vintage furniture. There are shelves stacked with books and little trinkets scattered everywhere. A collection of mirrors line one wall, each frame uniquely decorated, as though Zayn couldn't choose just one style, so he picked them all. Candles flicker from every nook, casting a warm, golden glow that fills the entire space with an almost magical ambiance. 

“Go sit, I’ll make tea.” Zayn points to a leather armchair and Harrybell nods, carefully making his way there. “And please, darling, don't touch anything. Before you know it, you’ll end up releasing a million butterflies, or worse- you’ll end up as a toad. And that’d just be so tragic with a face like yours.” 

Harry flushes as he sits down, folding his wings tightly against his back and making sure he doesn't accidentally touch anything. 

Zayn musters him for a moment. “ Oh and don’t look into the mirrors, you’ll end up somewhere far away, and I really don’t have the time to search you,” he says, and Harrybell glances in the direction of the mirrors before he nods quickly. 

Zayn watches him for a moment longer, as if making sure Harrybell truly understands the potential disaster he could cause just by existing in this space. Then, with a dramatic flick of his wrist, he turns on his heel and disappears.

Harrybell exhales slowly, glancing around the room without actually looking at anything too closely, lest he accidentally invoke some ancient magic and find himself in another dimension. The mirrors, in particular, make him uneasy. 

He shudders and quickly looks down at his hands, focusing on the feeling of the soft leather beneath his fingers. He should have just stayed home. He should have never strayed so far into the forest. Once again, it's all the demon’s fault. Louis is nothing but trouble.

Zayn strides back into the room, carrying a tray with a perfectly arranged tea set. He sets the tray down with elegance and gestures grandly. “Tea is served, darling. Please, drink up. You look like you might collapse at any moment, and I simply refuse to have you faint in my house. The aesthetic would be all wrong .”

Harrybell sighs but obediently takes the delicate teacup in his hands, its warmth soothing against his palms. He takes a cautious sip, the floral notes dancing on his tongue, and lets out an involuntary hum of appreciation.

Zayn smirks, looking far too pleased with himself. “Good, isn’t it?” He lifts his own cup and takes a graceful sip. “I only serve the best , naturally.”

“It’s perfect, thank you.” Harrybell smiles.

“Oh, aren’t you just a sweet pea ,” Zayn coos, fluttering his fingers dismissively. “Of course, darling.” He takes another sip, his pinky finger lifted just so, before setting the cup down with an air of regal importance. Then, with a sharp, assessing glance at Harrybell, he tilts his head.

“So,” he drawls, tapping a finger against his lips. “Do you want me to judge your tragic sense of fashion first, or shall we discuss what actually led you here? Because, quite frankly, it’s been centuries since I’ve seen a fairy out this far. You lot usually keep to your little sun-dappled hills, far from anything remotely interesting.”

Harrybell shifts uncomfortably, his fingers tightening around his cup. “I- I just needed some air I guess,” he mumbles vaguely, avoiding Zayn’s sharp gaze.

Zayn hums, unconvinced. “Sweetheart, I can smell the drama on you. It’s practically perfumed into your wings and written all over your face..” He leans forward, studying him. “What are you running from?”

Harrybell stiffens. He should have expected this. Witches are smart creatures, especially when it comes to reading people. The stories Harrybell has read about them even said some could read minds. 

“I’m not running,” Harrybell insists, though even he can hear how weak it sounds. He clears his throat. “I just… needed space.”

Zayn narrows his eyes before sighing, long and exaggerated. “Ugh, fine. We’ll circle back to that.” He waves a hand. “Now, onto more pressing matters. Your outfit . Darling, why is it wrinkled? Why is there dirt all over it? What have you done to deserve such injustice?”

Harrybell stares at him, bewildered. “I was gardening ?”

Zayn gasps. “Disgraceful.” He claps his hands, and in an instant, the wrinkles smooth out, the dirt vanishes, and the fabric practically glows with freshness.

Harrybell blinks. “You could do that the whole time?”

Zayn sniffs. “Of course. But I needed to make you aware of the problem first.”

Harrybell pouts. “I’m a flower fairy, I  look like this pretty much every day.” 

Zayn’s face instantly softens, his sharp expression melting into something almost fond. “Oh, precious ,” he coos. “A flower fairy. That explains so much.”

Harrybell blinks. “It does?”

Zayn gestures vaguely. “The delicate vibe. The tragic aesthetic. The whole wilting in distress thing you had going on when I found you.” He pauses, then tilts his head. “But honeybun, being a flower fairy is no excuse for looking like you just rolled around in compost.”

Harrybell isn’t sure whether to be offended or amused at the witch’s antics.

“I’ll try not to do that, then,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

Zayn nods enthusiastically. “Good. Growth, we love to see it.”

Harrybell huffs, but before he can snap back, Zayn’s expression shifts. The teasing glint in his eye fades, replaced by something more calculating. “Now, little fairy,” he says smoothly.

Harrybell flinches. It’s small, barely a twitch, but Zayn catches it. His head tilts, curiosity sharpening his features. “Interesting,” he hums.

Harrybell clenches his jaw, gripping the cup tighter. “What is?”

Zayn gestures lazily toward his wrist. “That lovely little shadow clinging to you.”

Harrybell stills, his fingers instinctively curling over the mark Louis has left behind. It’s warm beneath his touch, a constant reminder that he’s never really alone. Though he can't help but look, wondering if Louis' shadow is curled around his wrist like always, but his wrist is empty.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

Zayn laughs, throwing his head back dramatically. “Oh, darling , please.” He waves a hand, his bracelets jingling. “I saw it. I felt it the moment you stepped into my house. That’s no ordinary mark. It’s the mark of a high demon.” His lips curl into something almost wicked. “And not just any high demon. A powerful one .”

Harrybell swallows hard. “I- I’m not wearing a demon’s mark,” he tries again, but his voice lacks conviction.

Zayn gives him a look . “Sweet pea, do not insult me with bad lying. I don’t judge, I’m just curious.” He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Tell me, what were you so desperate for, that you had to make a deal with a demon?”

Harrybell sucks in a sharp breath.

Zayn’s words press against something raw inside him, something he doesn’t want to touch. He hadn’t made a deal. Not in the way Zayn is implying. He never asked Louis for anything, never sought him out, but still, Louis is there, wrapped around him like a shadow that won’t fade.

And that, somehow, is worse.

Because Harrybell doesn’t need any more prodding. The words spill from him before he can stop them, tumbling out like water from a broken dam.

“I didn’t- I didn’t make a deal with a demon,” Harrybell says, his voice shaking. “I never wanted any of this. He forced me.” 

He tells Zayn everything . The words start spilling from him before he can stop them, tumbling out like water from a broken dam. From the flower to the shadows, from the kiss all the way to how Louis took care of him over these past few days. He tells him about the good and the bad and everything in between.

And great oak , it’s too much.

By the time he’s finished, his hands are trembling around his teacup, his wings drawn tight against his back. His throat is thick, burning with unshed tears, and before he knows it, they’re falling, hot and silent down his cheeks. A broken breath shudders out of him, and he presses his knuckles to his lips, ashamed of how weak he feels.

It’s been weighing on him. Drowning him. He has felt so alone with it all, and now that it’s out, now that someone knows, he can breathe again.

Zayn clicks his tongue, setting his cup down with an elegant clink . “Oh, my sweet summer child.” His voice is warm, but there’s something sharp underneath it, something teasing. “You poor, precious little thing.”

Harrybell sniffles, glaring at him weakly. “Are you mocking me?”

Zayn leans forward, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across his sharp cheekbones. His hands find Harrybell’s, long fingers curling around his trembling ones, giving them a gentle, grounding squeeze.

“I don’t think you hate your demon, darling,” he says, voice soft, knowing . “I think you hate that you like him.”

Harrybell freezes.

His breath stutters, his chest aches . “That’s not-”

Zayn smiles, infuriatingly smug as he interrupts him. “Oh, but it is .” He gives Harrybell’s hands one last squeeze before drawing back, settling into his chair with the grace of someone who knows they’ve won. 

“You can lie to yourself all you want, love,” Zayn continues, his gaze steady and knowing. “But you can’t lie to me.” There’s a finality in his words, as if he’s peeled away the last of Harrybell’s defenses, and now the truth is naked and vulnerable between them. Harrybell swallows, his throat tight, but he doesn’t say anything. He can’t.

The room feels too small all of a sudden, the shadows heavy, like they’re closing in around him. The weight of Zayn’s gaze makes Harrybell want to shift uncomfortably, but he stays still, frozen in place as if Zayn’s words have tethered him to the spot.

“If it helps,” Zayn says, his voice soft but full of unshakable certainty, “I’m pretty sure he is also very much in love with you.” The words hit Harrybell like a physical blow, his chest tightening, his breath halting for just a moment as he processes what Zayn has said. 

“Demons don’t act like this,” Zayn continues, his voice drawing Harrybell in, each word laced with an undeniable truth. “They don’t have souls. They’re creatures of the dark. The darkness is their home. They take what they want, and leave nothing behind. No care, no attachment , no lingering.” Zayn’s eyes glint, locking onto Harrybell’s with a knowing, almost predatory gleam. “And especially one like your Louis. A born demon, high up on the food chain, has no reason to protect your fragile little body. You’re not the only flower fairy in the world, darling. He could pick any of your kind and leave you behind without a second thought.”

Harrybell feels his stomach tighten, his hands twitching in his lap as if he wants to pull them away, but Zayn’s words have him rooted to the spot. They ring too true, like they’ve pulled the curtain back on a reality Harrybell was too afraid to see. His thoughts feel scattered, his emotions swirling as Zayn’s words pierce through his doubts, making him confront the truth he’s been running from.

“There is no reason for him to deal with you,” Zayn presses on, his voice unwavering. “Except for that he likes you. He wants you, babe.” Zayn leans forward again, his dark eyes locked on Harrybell with such intensity it almost feels like he can see into Harrybell’s very soul. “And you want him just as much. The truth is, you’re just scared.”

“No, no I can't trust him.” He shakes his head. “I don't want him.”

“Live in denial all you want, but stop being so mean to your demon.”

“He is not my demon,” Harrybell snaps, his voice tight with frustration. He stands abruptly, hands balling into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t let himself explode. Not here, not now. He sighs, trying to shake off the tension in his body. “Thank you for the tea… and the dress,” he says, his tone softer but still distant. “But I should go home before it gets dark.”

Zayn watches him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable, before rising from his seat as well. He doesn’t say a word, just walks with Harrybell to the door. The air between them feels thick, the conversation hanging heavy in the room. Harrybell steps out onto the threshold, breathing in the cool evening air. His heart clenches with the thought of escaping, of finding some peace, and he looks up to see the sun still lingering above the horizon.

He’s almost out of the door when Zayn’s voice calls out to him, smooth and full of a strange sort of amusement.

“Invite me to the wedding, will you?” Zayn asks, the words playful, but his gaze intense.

Harrybell freezes for a second, his stomach twisting with irritation, before he spins around and glares at the witch. “Don’t hold your breath,” he mutters, before pushing off the ground and soaring into the sky, leaving Zayn standing there with a sly smile on his lips.

The air is chilly, the sun setting just behind him, but it does nothing to cool the fire that’s burning inside Harrybell. He wanted space, space from the demon and from everything that made him feel trapped. But as he flies, with the wind rushing through his hair, he realizes he’s only managed to achieve the exact opposite.

It’s like Louis is always there, even when he’s not. He's taken over every thought, every corner of his life. He doesn't care about what Zayn said, witch or not. He knows enough about demons and Louis, by now, to be smarter than to trust them. And as long as Louis doesn't tell him the truth, Harrybell can't trust him. If Louis truly liked him, like Zayn had claimed, he would tell him the truth. It's as simple as that. 

When he arrives back at his cottage, the sun has already set, and the moon has taken its place. Harrybell hasn't even fully landed before a shadow curls around his wrist and he bites his bottom lip, looking at Louis who is sitting in the swinging bench, Sundrop in his lap. Traitor. 

“Where were you?” he demands, sounding stressed as he gets up, placing Sundrop gently into the now vacant spot, and steps in front of Harrybell, blocking his path. 

“Nowhere.” Harrybell twists around Louis and grabs Sundrop a bit too roughly. He apologises with peppered kisses to her face.

Louis rolls his eyes. 

“It's dangerous for you out there,“ he says, making Harrybell glare at him. Of course Louis would think that. He only sees him as this weak creature. 

“It’s dangerous for me here ,” he counters coolly, letting his gaze drift over the demon in pointed accusation.

Louis’ jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to stop him as Harrybell brushes past.

For a moment, Harrybell expects to hear the demon call after him, to throw out some final quip or warning, but nothing comes. Only the sound of the swinging bench creaking as Louis sinks back down onto it, the rustle of shadows shifting in the cool night air.

Harrybell steps inside his cottage and shuts the door behind him, his wings dragging slightly as he trudges toward his bedroom.

Once inside, he secures the door, the vines twisting and knotting into a firm lock before he finally collapses onto his bed. His body feels heavy, the exhaustion from the day settling into his bones. But even as he buries his face into the soft pillows, trying to will himself into rest, his mind refuses to quiet.

The day replays itself, again and again. The way Louis took care of him and stayed by his side while he cared for his flowers, his shadows securing him. The way ran off and then, met a strange witch whose words are still haunting him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head against the intrusive memories, trying to ground himself with Sundrop’s soft fur between his fingers next to his face. But no matter what, Zayn’s words keep replaying in his head.

I don’t think you hate your demon, darling.
I think you hate that you like him.

Harrybell curls in on himself, tucking his wings tightly around his body, as if that might shield him from the truth. Sundrop squeaks once and jumps off the bed, abandoning him for the water dish in the corner of the room. 

But the words won’t leave him alone. They press into his chest, stubborn and insistent, refusing to fade no matter how hard he tries to shove them away.

He doesn’t like Louis. He knows that.

Louis is infuriating, reckless, and impossibly smug. He’s a demon, and demons don’t care about anyone but themselves. That’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been.

And yet…

Harrybell exhales sharply, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

And yet, Louis had been gentle. Had patched him up, cleaned his wounds with careful hands, and took care of him when he was sick. He has been kind these past few weeks but Harrybell has also met his other side. The one where he taunts and mocks and mutters sharp words. 

But… shouldn’t Louis deserve a second chance?

Zayn had told him to be nicer, to stop pushing Louis away at every turn. Maybe, just maybe Harrybell should make an effort. Stop rejecting every attempt Louis makes at peace.

That doesn’t mean he likes him, though.

And it definitely doesn’t mean he loves him.

Harrybell has never been in love. Sure, he’s had the occasional crush, fleeting and harmless, but love? That takes more. Love is something steady, something warm, something safe.

And Louis is not what he pictures when he thinks about love.

The demon may have been his first kiss and maybe, just maybe, he’s been getting lost in the memory of it. But that doesn’t mean anything.

It can’t mean anything.

Harrybell grips his blanket tightly, frustration bubbling beneath his skin as he wills himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Harrybell checks on the flower every day, watching as it grows slowly but surely. Each morning, he kneels beside it, brushing his fingers over the soft leaves, feeling the life thrumming beneath them. The bud has already formed, its petals still tightly closed, but he knows it won’t be long now.

He hasn’t used his magic on it again. Not since last time.

Not since the fever.

If they keep up their routine, he’ll have to do so again by tomorrow. And honestly? He isn’t sure he wants to find out what will happen this time.

Would the fever be worse? Would it take more from him? Would he be strong enough to handle it?

The thought sends a ripple of unease through him, but he shakes it off, tracing the edges of the leaves with delicate fingers.

“It’s looking good.”

Harrybell jolts slightly, his fingers twitching against the leaf as he turns, coming face to face with Louis. The demon is closer than expected. Too close. Their chests are nearly touching, and the proximity steals the breath from Harrybell’s lungs.

His gaze lifts, locking onto piercing blue eyes, and instinctively, he bites his bottom lip. Louis merely raises a brow, an amused smirk curling at the edges of his mouth. Then, as if it has a mind of its own, his shadow slithers forward, curling around Harrybell’s wrist in a lazy, possessive loop. 

Harrybell swallows, his reaction slow, his thoughts sluggish as he nods belatedly. He has been making an effort, trying to be nicer to Louis. Zayn’s words have been gnawing at him, persistent and inescapable.

“...stop being so mean to your demon”

He had scoffed at the idea at first, and rejected it outright. But the more he thought about it, the more exhausting the endless fighting became, the more his resolve wavered.

So he tried. There hasn't been any fighting or taunting from Louis' side, not that there had been for a while now, but Harrybell had held himself back, too. He had resisted the urge to snap, to push, to pick at every little thing the demon did.

And it was… nice.

To not constantly be on edge. To not feel the need to challenge Louis at every turn.

To let things be still.

There’s an ease in the silence between them now, something softer, something almost... comfortable.

Harrybell hadn’t expected that.

Their mornings have taken on a quiet rhythm. There are shared breakfasts on the swinging bench, the warmth of the rising sun spilling over them as they eat in easy silence. When Harrybell works in his garden, Louis lingers nearby, watching, offering no interference, only slipping him drinks or small snacks throughout the day, wordlessly looking after him.

It’s strange.

Not unwelcome, but strange.

They don’t talk much.

Harrybell isn’t sure what to say to the demon, aside from questions about the flower, and the few times Louis has tried to make conversation, Harrybell’s answers have been short and vague.

Louis never pushes, never pries.

And Harrybell doesn’t know what to do with that.

But still, it’s progress. A truce, even if it's tentative and fragile.

And maybe, just maybe, he isn’t quite as opposed to it as he thought.

“Yeah, it’s almost fully grown,” he says finally, breaking the silence. 

Louis hums softly, his gaze following Harrybell’s. “D’you think it’ll be fine growing on its own from now on? How dependent is it on your magic?”

Harrybell hesitates before answering, swallowing a lump in his throat. "It… likes my magic, but I’m not sure. I think it speeds up the progress, helps it grow faster, but it would also be fine on its own. Right now, it's close. It's just... a matter of days. I feel like after tomorrow, after I use my magic, it’ll be done. But-" He pauses, a bitter twist in his gut. He had the thought a few times now, but it's still hard to say them out loud. "It might take everything from me."

Louis’ eyes snap up to meet his, sharp and searching, as if trying to gauge the weight of Harrybell’s words. "D'you think it would?"

The question hangs in the air, the tension palpable. Harrybell shifts, unable to meet Louis' gaze. His voice is low, uncertain. “I think it’s a possibility.” He swallows hard, trying to ignore the flood of anxiety creeping up on him. “Every time I used my magic, it took longer for me to recover. I think... there will come a point where it takes too much. Where I won’t be able to bounce back. But that’s the deal, right?”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment. His eyes never leave Harrybell’s face, studying him with a quiet intensity. Finally, he speaks, his voice soft but firm. “No, little flower, the deal is for you to grow it. Not to kill yourself in the process.” He steps closer, his presence imposing but somehow comforting all at once. “You’re done. Just keep watering it for me, will ya? That’s all I need.”

Harrybell looks at him, torn between doubt and relief. He opens his mouth to argue, but the words catch in his throat. The idea of stopping, of letting go of the process he’s been so deeply intertwined in, feels like giving up. He wonders if the demon is tricking him, if this is just another game.

“Are you sure?” Harrybell asks, his voice barely a whisper. He doesn't know what to make of it. Maybe it’s easier to keep pushing himself, to keep giving, than it is to let go.

Louis nods, his expression intense. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to give your life for this. I just want the flower.”

Harrybell feels a wave of relief wash over him, and it hits him harder than he expected. The tension in his chest loosens, and before he can stop himself, he finds his arms wrapping around Louis, pulling him close. His face buries itself into the crook of Louis’ neck, his breath shaky as he whispers, “Thank you.”

Louis’ arms wrap around him, pulling him in gently, mindful of his wings. He holds Harrybell close, his touch soft and warm and surprisingly comforting. Harrybell falls into it, his body melting against the demon as he lets the tears fall freely. 

Louis doesn’t say anything at first, simply holding him, his fingers stroking lightly along Harrybell’s back as if to reassure him. But then, after a while, Louis' voice comes, soft but laced with something unreadable.

“You didn’t think I’d actually let you do that, did you?” he asks, sounding almost...hurt, in a way Harrybell isn’t quite sure how to process.

“I- I don’t know, yes?” Harrybell sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve as he struggles to gain some semblance of control. It feels foolish, this vulnerability, but at the same time, it’s a relief. He doesn’t know why it feels so easy to cry in Louis' arms, but for once, he isn’t fighting it.

Louis' arms tighten around him, pulling him even closer. “Oh, petal,” he murmurs softly, a sound of almost affectionate exasperation. Harrybell can’t quite understand why that single word stirs something deep in his chest, but it does. 

Harrybell closes his eyes letting the warmth of the demon’s body ground him. "I thought I had to," he admits quietly. "I thought that... maybe it was the only way." 

Louis' arms tighten for a moment, pulling him closer as he murmurs, “Never, you hear me? I’d never expected that, and that's never what I would want.”

Harrybell sniffs, his breath shaky as he lifts his head to look at the demon, searching his eyes for something, anything that could reassure him. “Maybe now, but in the beginning... it truly felt like it,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet confession. His gaze flickers down to the space between them, avoiding Louis' eyes for just a moment, unsure if he can bear the weight of what’s unsaid.

Louis' expression softens, regret flickering across his features. “I know,” he says, his voice low, filled with a sincerity that hits Harrybell harder than he expected. “And I’m so endlessly sorry about that. I wish I could make it up to you somehow.”

That somehow hits Harrybell like a punch to the gut. The unspoken truth hangs heavy between them like a storm cloud. Louis knows exactly what Harrybell needs, what he’s been aching for all this time. What he deserves . All he wants is the truth, plain and simple, no more secrets, no more lies.

Harrybell steps back, pulling away from the embrace, the distance between them suddenly feeling so painfully large. His breath catches in his throat, a lump forming as he opens his mouth to speak the words he’s been holding onto, the words that have been clawing their way out of him for so long.

But before he can find his voice, Louis shakes his head, his expression clouding with something unreadable. “I can’t,” Louis says, the words clipped and heavy with finality.

Harrybell freezes, his chest tight, the weight of the rejection sinking in. His heart races as he searches Louis' face, trying to find something, anything that says there’s more to this, something he doesn’t understand.

"Right," he says, his voice small, a little too quiet, as he wipes away the tears that have slipped down his cheeks. He forces a smile, though it feels fragile, like it could shatter at the slightest touch. "I- uhh. I have to go into town for a bit. Get some honeycomb and... pink bread." His words are awkward, a stilted attempt at normalcy. "D'you want anything?" he sniffs, the question coming out a little too quickly, his eyes avoiding Louis' gaze as if to avoid seeing something he’s not ready for.

Louis remains still, quiet, his gaze lingering on Harrybell with an intensity that makes Harrybell ache even more. "No, I'm fine," Louis says softly, his voice heavy with something Harrybell can’t quite place. Sorrow, maybe? Regret? Whatever it is, it’s something Harrybell doesn’t know how to handle. “I’ll just wait here.”

Harrybell nods quickly, forcing the words to come out as casually as he can. "Okay." 

He takes a few more steps back, unwilling to look at Louis for too long, afraid that if he does, he’ll say something he’ll regret, something that’ll make everything worse. Without another word, he turns and takes off, his wings slicing through the air, carrying him away from the tension that lingers between them.

Harrybell stops at the bakery, his heart sinking a little when he doesn't see Niall behind the counter. Instead, he finds Bramblethorn, Niall's elderly aunt, who greets him with the same warm, maternal smile that always brings him a sense of peace. Her silver hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and her round glasses rest low on her nose. As soon as she sees him, her face brightens with genuine affection.

"Harrybell, my darling," she says, her voice as sweet and comforting as ever, stretching out her weathered hands. Despite their age, her hands still carry the gentle warmth of someone who has known kindness and hard work. Harrybell steps closer, placing his hands in hers. The contrast between her calloused skin, shaped by centuries of hard work, and his own soft, delicate hands feels comforting.

"How are you, my dear?" Bramblethorn asks, a little smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes twinkle with a knowing softness, and Harrybell can't help but giggle at the familiar sight.

“I’m good, how are you?” he responds, his voice light, grateful for the opportunity to focus on something more mundane than the chaos in his heart.

“Oh, you know how it is,” she replies with a wink, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she chuckles. "Enjoy your youth while you can." It’s a phrase Harrybell’s heard from her countless times. To Bramblethorn, he’s just a young, sprightly fairy, barely begun with his long life ahead of him. He’s only twenty-one, a mere blink in the lifespan of a fairy, and still considered very much a child in the eyes of older beings like her.

He smiles softly, nodding as he watches her push her glasses back up. "Of course," he replies, a little amused. She gives his hands a loving squeeze. 

“Now, what can I do for you, honey?” she asks, her voice gentle. "I fear Niall’s not here today." She glances around, slightly concerned.

“That’s fine, I’ll just take some pink bread, please.” Harrybell says, his mood lifting a little at the familiar comfort of the bakery.

“Of course,” she muses, turning to the counter to fetch the loaf. Her movements are slow but deliberate, the kind of motions that come from years of practice. Harrybell watches her, feeling a sense of nostalgia. There’s something reassuring about the quiet rhythm of her actions, the comforting hum of the bakery that always feels like a safe place. She starts wrapping the loaf up for him, but then pauses, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“Oh, and some honey buns as well. I know how much you love those.” She adds with a wink, her voice light. Harrybell chuckles, shaking his head.

“Thank you,” he says, smiling warmly as she hands him the wrapped package. Her kindness never fails to lift his spirits, even on the hardest days.

“Of course, dear.” She replies, her voice full of affection. “Now, don’t be a stranger, alright? It’s been way too long since I’ve seen that sweet face of yours.”

“I promise,” Harrybell says, a little breathless from her kindness. “I’ll make sure to stop by more often.” He waves at her one last time before he steps out of the bakery, flying to his next destination. 

The animal fairies are in charge of the bees and the harvest of honey, living on the opposite side of town. It’s not a long flight, but Harrybell relishes the time alone, away from the chaos and the overwhelming emotions that have clouded his mind lately. The steady rhythm of his wings is almost meditative as he lets himself drift, the hum of the world around him slowing his racing thoughts.

He focuses on the ground below, where tiny flowers spring up in his wake. The joy of creating life, watching the buds bloom and grow, grounds him in a way he can’t quite explain. He whispers soft encouragements to the flowers as they bloom, his hands trailing along their petals.

Every now and then though, he notices a few wilted flowers scattered along his path. He frowns, wondering how that could’ve happened. One of the tasks of a flower fairy is to take care of the town's blooms, and he isn't the only flower fairy living here.

He tries to ignore the unease that settles in his chest. A flower should never wilt without reason, not in a place like this. They were all nurtured and tended to with love. And yet, every now and then, some would appear lifeless, their once-vibrant colours drained away as if something had taken their life.

Harrybell slows his pace, drifting lower to inspect one of the more withered flowers. He gently brushes his fingers across its petals, feeling the faint trace of magic that lingers there. There’s something… off about it, but he can’t pinpoint what. His magic should have protected it, should have kept it alive, yet here it was, faded and shriveled.

His mind flickers to the demon. Louis. The last time he has seen flowers wilt like that it was because Louis had destroyed them willingly but Louis has not once left his cottage.  Harrybell shakes his head, dispelling the thought as quickly as it appears. 

With a deep breath, Harrybell hovers above the flower, willing it to bloom again. The flower responds slowly, petals unfurling with a delicate grace, its colour returning. He hums happily once it's in full bloom before he continues his flight. 

Maybe it's just been a while since a flower fairy has been here. The animal fairies like to stay with their animals, so maybe this path has just been forgotten and it's been too long since someone took care of these flowers. 

He doesn't pay it any more attention, just lets the flowers bloom again until he finds Fawnleaf who has specialised in bees. 

“Hi Fawn.” He greets her, and she turns with a bright smile, her golden-brown wings shimmering under the sun.

"Harrybell! What a lovely surprise." Fawnleaf brushes a stray curl from her face, her fingers sticky with honey. "What brings you all the way out here?"

"I'm here for some honeycomb," he says, touching down lightly on the mossy ground. "And a bit of fresh honey, if you have any to spare."

Fawnleaf grins and gestures toward the hives. "Of course! The bees have been extra busy this season, so there's plenty to go around." She leads him toward a collection of beautifully woven hives nestled among the trees, where the soft hum of bees fills the air.

As she works, carefully cutting golden slabs of honeycomb and dripping fresh honey into a jar, she eyes him curiously. "You look like you’ve been thinking too much," she teases.

Harrybell huffs a laugh. "Maybe."

“Whatever it is, don’t bottle it all up.” She says, handing him the jar and a bundle of honeycomb with a gentle smile. 

“I won't.” He says, taking the things. “Thank you.” 

“I’ll see you around.” She says and he nods with a smile, thankful she didn't squeeze him out. 

“Bye Fawn.” 

With the honey secured in his arms, Harrybell lifts off the ground, wings catching the breeze as he rises above the treetops. The scent of wildflowers and honey lingers in the air, mingling with the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

He doesn’t rush his flight back. Instead, he lets himself drift, savoring the small moment of peace. The weight in his chest from his conversation with Louis hasn’t lifted, but here, among the rustling leaves and the hum of nature, it feels a little lighter.

He finds the odd wilted flower here and there leading all the way to his cottage. He makes sure to take care of them all until he lands in his garden, relieved to find it in its usual blooming state. The wilted flowers seem to be testament to how much Louis has been distracting him lately. 

“You’re back,” the demon murmurs from the bench, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

Harrybell nods, brushing the dirt from his hands before standing. “Yeah. Got what I needed.” He gestures to the honey and bread. “Bramblethorn, she works at the bakery, gave me some honey buns, so we can eat them if you want? I can also make you some normal bread with cheese.” Harrybell offers. 

“I’ll take a honey bun.” Louis smiles.

Harrybell smiles softly, glad for the small moment of normalcy between them. He picks up the bundle and carefully unwraps the honey buns, their golden crust glistening slightly in the sunlight. He hands one to Louis before taking a seat beside him again, pulling his own bun apart with delicate fingers. It doesn't take long for the shadow to wrap around his wrist and it reminds Harrybell of the wilted flowers. 

“Did you- like at night, ever leave the cottage?” He asks carefully, ripping a piece off his bun and chewing on it carefully. 

“No, never. Why?” Louis inquires, expression serious. 

“Nothing, just… There were so many wilted flowers today and the last time that happened was when you showed up so I thought maybe you were roaming around at night or something. But it's also been a while since I flew along the paths I did today and maybe the other flower fairies also forgot. It's nothing.” 

Louis doesn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable as he chews slowly. His eyes flick toward the garden, where the flowers sway gently in the evening breeze, vibrant and healthy under Harrybell’s care. “Where?” He asks at last. 

Harrybell shrugs. “Kind of all the way from the other side of town to here. But I already took care of them all.” He explains. 

“They were wilted?” Louis asks again and Harrybell nods, slightly confused when Louis' expression turns dark. 

“What? What is it?” He asks when Louis gets up, his shadows curling around him, dark and brooding. 

“Just- I have to check something out.” He says and turns to leave but Harrybell stops him, his hand shooting out to grip Louis arm.

Louis tenses under Harrybell’s grip, shadows curling and shifting like a living thing. His jaw clenches, and for a second, it seems like he might just push past him, but then he turns, his expression set in something sharp, something unreadable.

“Louis.” Harrybell says quietly, looking into the demon's eyes, trying to convey to him that he should, and can tell him what's going on. That Louis can trust him.

“You don’t want to know,” Louis says, voice low, almost a warning.

Harrybell tightens his hold. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you get to decide what I should or shouldn’t know. If something’s wrong, you have to tell me.”

“I can't tell you.” Louis says, voice pleading but Harrybell doesn't care. He keeps pushing. His patience wearing thin.

“You always say that and I'm tired of it, stop being such a coward. Besides, you cannot go into town, if someone sees you, hell will break loose and I'll be in so much trouble, have you ever thought about that ?” He asks sharply but Louis doesn't answer. “No, of course not. Because all you ever think about is yourself and that stupid flower.” He points to the flower that's standing on the table in front of the swinging bench. 

“I'm doing this to protect you,” Louis hisses, his shadows tightening around Harrybells wrist and pushing him off forcefully. “I told you, from the beginning, that this is bigger than you, the less you know the better. If you don't let me go now, you and your whole town could be in danger. Can you for once in your life stop being so stubborn and just trust me?” 

“No, no I can’t.” 

“What exactly is your issue right now?” Louis snaps and Harrybell lets out an annoyed groan. 

“ You are my issue. I’m trying to forgive you for the things you did, but everytime I try to move on and give you a chance, you end up doing something that proves to me that I shouldn’t. You keep hurting me and then you apologise. You keep making me feel weak and fragile and you keep lying. Tell me what you are doing!” 

“I’m trying to protect you!” Louis snaps back, his voice laced with venom and Harrybell is taken aback by it. The shadows swirl angrily around him, flickering in time with his rising fury. “I don’t owe you any explanations! You have no idea what I’ve had to do, what I’ve been forced to do that led me here. You think I’m lying to you for fun?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, Louis!” Harrybell’s voice is rough with the rawness of his frustration, his chest heaving as the words tumble out. He takes a step forward, his eyes blazing with anger. “That’s the problem! You won’t tell me anything, and when I try to get through to you, you just shut me out! You’ve already hurt me so much, and now you’re telling me you’re doing it for me ?

“All I know is that you like playing games, you've said so yourself and I think it still is all just a game to you. It’s been all an act. The apologising? The kindness?  That was fake, wasn’t it? Congratulations for once again making a fool out of me and proving how naive I am.”

Louis stands still, unmoving. The coldness in his eyes is enough to freeze the blood in Harrybell’s veins, a bitter finality there that wasn’t there before. It’s like Louis has already made up his mind, as if everything Harrybell has said is the truth and somehow that hurts more than anything else

The shadows at Louis’ feet writhe like they have a life of their own, stretching and twisting, as if feeding off the tension in the air, growing darker and heavier with each passing moment.

“Just stay here,” Louis says, his voice chillingly calm, but the command is undeniable. “Stay here, and when I’m back I’ll explain. Please, little flower. I’ll explain it all just trust me this one time.” 

“No,” Harrybell’s voice cracks, and he has to swallow to stop the tears that are threatening to spill over. “No, I can’t. Either you let me go with you now, or you can take your flower and leave because I’d rather die than help you any longer.” 

Louis drives a hair through his hair, seemingly frustrated as the shadows around him become tighter. He is looking around frantically, eyes turning darker with every second. 

“I’m sorry.” Before Harrybell can even react, the shadows snap forward with terrifying speed, curling around his waist, snaking up his arms and wings, holding him in place.

He gasps, struggling against the dark tendrils, but they don’t give. They tighten, their cold grip rendering him helpless, pulling him back when he tries to move. Panic claws at his chest, but the harder he fights, the stronger they become.

“I hate you,” Harrybell growls through clenched teeth, his words filled with venom. His body thrashes against the unbreakable hold. His wings try to spread, but the shadows are everywhere, constricting, holding him too tight. “I hate you for doing this. I hate you for playing me. And I’ll never forgive you!”

Louis doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. He just stands there, watching, his expression cold and distant, as if Harrybell’s words have no power over him anymore.

“I know you’re angry,” Louis finally says, his voice low, but it’s almost too calm, too detached. “But please, just trust that I’m trying to protect you.”

Harrybell’s eyes widen in disbelief, his breath ragged, his heart pounding. “Protect me?” he repeats. “By lying to me? By pushing me away? By hurting me? No, Louis. That’s not protection. That’s control. That’s manipulation.”

“I’ll never trust you,” Harrybell continues, his voice low, full of rage. “Not after all this. Not after everything you’ve done to me. You’re a coward, Louis.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, hanging in the air like a thick fog, and Louis finally turns away, not a word left in him. He begins to walk away, his back to Harrybell, the shadows still holding him in place, still wrapping around him like chains. The dark tendrils refuse to release him, even as Louis’ form fades into the distance.

“I’m sorry, little flower,” Louis says, his voice barely audible over the distance between them.

And with that, Louis disappears, leaving Harrybell standing there, his body trembling with fury and helplessness. The shadows that hold him are unyielding, crushing, their grip tightening around his chest as if to remind him that, even when Louis is gone, he is still trapped.

The silence left in his wake is deafening, and Harrybell is left alone,  seething with anger, pain, and a betrayal so deep that it feels like a wound that will never heal. 

The tears that run down Harrybell’s cheeks are hot, thick, and unrelenting. He wanted to believe in Louis, to see the good in him, to find the part of him that was capable of care and tenderness. But he can’t anymore.

It was all a game. A manipulation. The truth cuts deeper than anything the shadows ever could, and Harrybell feels like the ground beneath him is slipping away. If the shadows hadn't been holding him up, he'd have crumbled to the earth long ago. 

Finally, after who knows how much time has passed, the shadows loosen their grip on him. His body crumples to the grass with a shriek and he groans at the impact. He groans at the sharp sting, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t have the strength to. 

For what feels like an endless stretch of time, he lies there, unmoving, just letting the tears flow freely. He’s not sure how long it’s been, whether it's been minutes or hours, but all he knows is that everything has shifted in a way he can’t process, can’t understand. The past few weeks blur into an incoherent mess of fragmented memories and emotions that make his chest feel tight, like he can’t breathe properly.

There had been moments, moments where he thought Louis might care . Where the glances and the small gestures of kindness, had made him feel like there was a chance. A chance that maybe, just maybe, Louis wasn’t so cold, wasn’t so far gone as he believed. But now, in the wake of all this it feels impossible to find anything real.

It feels so out of character for Louis, and yet... Harrybell isn't sure what to believe in anymore. The man he thought he knew, the one he had started to trust, has become the cruel creature Harrybell always made him out to be. What was it all for? What was Louis’ game? What was he protecting him from if all he’s done is hurt him?

The questions echoed in his mind, but no answers came. He can't even think straight, not with the pain, not with the suffocating emptiness that’s settling inside of him. Was it all manipulation? Had Harrybell been just another pawn in a game he didn’t understand? The thought twists his gut into knots. 

His mind circles back to the last words Louis had said; “ I’m sorry, little flower .” The apology that sounded so sincere, meant nothing now because Louis still turned and walked away. Because he still chose the flower over him.

Harrybell was never a priority. He was never worth the truth. Louis' only priority is the flower, and he’d do anything to protect it.

He shuts his eyes tightly, his face pressed against the damp earth, as if he could will away the pain, the ache in his chest. He isn’t sure what hurts more, being lied to, or the crushing realisation that he had been so willing to believe in something that was never there.

The world feels too big, too overwhelming, and for a long time, he just lays there, lost in the dark, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to untangle the mess of emotions that’s left behind in Louis’ wake. But there’s no clarity. Only confusion, and a hollow emptiness where his trust used to be.

The darkness has settled in by the time Harrybell drags himself to his feet, his limbs sore and stiff from the weight of everything he's just gone through. As he’s about to make his way into the safety of his cottage, something catches his eye.

The flower. Louis’ flower. The one that’s been the center of all of this madness. Still standing on that same table, looking innocent. He walks over slowly, and sits on the bench, his gaze locked onto the flower, the cause of all his problems, all the tension, all the hurt.

For a brief moment, the thought crosses his mind to destroy it. To rip it apart, to crush it under his hands, just to make Louis feel a fraction of the pain he’s caused. But the thought is fleeting, quickly replaced by the reminder of the mark burned into his wrist. The little stars that bind him to the demon, and the knowledge that destroying the flower would likely end his life.

The realisation settles over him like a heavy weight. He could hurt Louis. He could make him feel this, make him regret everything, but it would cost his own life. 

He exhales a long, slow breath, leaning back on the bench. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, but there’s something stirring inside him now, an anger that refuses to be quieted. Louis’ absence doesn’t absolve him of anything. If anything, it makes the situation worse. It confirms what Harrybell has been dreading all along: Louis doesn’t care. But there’s one thing Harrybell can still hold on to, one thing he still needs.

He needs the truth. He needs to know why Louis has done all this, why he’s hurt him so badly, over and over again. He needs to hear it from Louis himself, not just the empty words that had been tossed at him earlier. He wants to know if all the pain Louis caused was at least worth it. And Louis said he’d give him the truth when he comes back so Harrybell has to hold onto that.

With a deep sigh, Harrybell pulls his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees as he rests his head against them, staring out into the darkness of the garden. He waits. The quiet is deafening, but it doesn’t make him move. He doesn’t care about the night creeping in, or the cold settling around him. He’s waiting for Louis, and he won’t back down. Not this time. Because sooner or later, the demon has to return. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harrybell thinks he may have fallen asleep, the night air growing colder around him, the steady rhythm of his breath and the weight of exhaustion lulling him into a hazy drowsiness. His body is still aching from earlier, but his mind is a jumbled mess, half-lost in the fog of sleep. Sundrop is nowhere to be seen and Harrybell knows she's probably long inside, cuddled into his bed and sleeping.

Then, the sound of footsteps breaks through the stillness, sharp against the soft ground. His eyes snap open, heart skipping a beat, and he lifts his head, rubbing his eyes groggily. The silhouette of a figure moves through the shadows, heading toward him. The figure is still too far away to make out, but its shape feels familiar, and for a moment, Harrybell lets hope flare inside him.

He squints his eyes, trying to focus, to make out the figure more clearly. He wants it to be Louis, needs it to be him. 

"Louis?" he asks hoarsely, his voice breaking through the silence, though the words feel strange, as if he’s unsure of what he wants them to be. He rubs his eyes again, still not fully awake.

The figure continues moving, and Harrybell feels the pulse of anticipation in his chest, only to be shattered as the figure steps out of the shadows.

It’s not Louis.

Harrybell gets up, his wings giving an anxious flutter. He knows it's not a fairy - their steps are far too heavy and there aren't any wings visible. The figure doesn’t speak immediately, only stands there, on the border of his garden, watching him with an unsettling stillness. 

“Who are you?” he demands, his voice sharp, the tremor of uncertainty replaced by a hardened edge. He doesn’t know why, but a sense of dread crawls up his spine, something in the air changing.

The figure doesn’t answer, its presence growing scarier as it steps closer. Harrybell’s fists tighten, the instinct to flee flaring up, but he doesn't give in to that urge. 

“Where is the flower?” The voice demands, cold and unyielding. Harrybell forces himself not to look at the flower, the only one that creature could be talking about, still sitting innocently on the table beside him. Louis’ flower. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady and nonchalant, but it comes out shakier than he’d like. He sees the creature sigh, its patience wearing thin.

“Give it to me and I won’t kill you.” The creature’s voice is casual, but there’s an underlying threat that makes Harrybell’s blood run cold. Smoke curls from its feet and hands, swirling around the air like something alive. It’s the same kind of shadowy presence that Louis often carried with him, and that realisation hits Harrybell hard. This is a demon, just like Louis.

His stomach churns as the weight of the situation sinks in. The creature before him isn’t just here to get the flower. It’s here to take something far more precious, something Harrybell won’t allow. His hands clenched tighter into fists, nails digging into his palms.

Is this who Louis was trying to protect him from?

“Where is Louis?” He asks, his voice tight, trying to distract the demon. Louis not being here is too suspicious. It could only mean something has happened to him.

“He got into an accident… ” the demon responds, its tone strangely devoid of emotion. “He told me to bring him the flower.”

Harrybell’s eyes narrow. The words don’t sit right with him. The way Louis had acted earlier, nervous and fidgety. If this is who Louis was trying to protect him from then he sure as hell wouldn't give the flower to this demon. 

“Did he now?” Harrybell asks, letting the disbelief slip into his voice. The demon’s lies are too obvious, too thin. His heart pounds in his chest, but he can’t show his fear. Not now. 

The demon steps closer, its presence suffocating as it lowers its voice, a cruel edge creeping in. “Listen here, if you don't give me the Soulbloom now, you're gonna regret you were ever alive.”

Soulbloom…

The words freeze him in place. His mind scrambles, trying to grasp onto the memory. It’s there, buried in the back of his mind, the sound of the word echoing in his thoughts. Then it clicks, and everything shifts.

Soulbloom… He’d read about them when he was trying to figure out what Louis was doing here but he quickly skipped it. They are rare, powerful, and dangerous. The flowers that could grow a soul for those who don’t have one.

Louis is a demon… a creature born without a soul.

He’s been trying to grow one himself .

The realisation is enough to knock the air out of him. It rips through him with the force of a tidal wave, and his chest feels tight with an emotion he can’t quite place. 

Louis really did want to be good. He really did want to protect me. 

Harrybell’s mind whirls as the pieces finally come together, the truth of Louis’ intentions. Louis had hinted how he had to give up everything for this seed. Harrybell feels sick with how horrible he had treated the demon, how he never believed him. 

His heart aches as he realizes the weight of what’s at stake. He has to protect the flower, he owes it to Louis after everything. If the demon takes it, if Harrybell doesn’t act, everything Louis did will have been for nothing.

No.

Harrybell’s hands tighten into fists again, but this time, it’s not out of fear. It’s out of resolve. Louis deserves this chance. He deserves a soul. No matter the cost, Harrybell won’t let this other demon have it. He won’t let everything Louis sacrificed, whatever that is, be destroyed by this creature.

His eyes narrow as he meets the demon’s gaze with a determination he didn’t know he had. He won’t back down. Not this time. He’s been trying to prove to Louis that he is not this fragile creature everyone always makes him out to be and now, he can. 

“You’re not getting it, so leave.” Harrybell’s voice is low, but it carries the weight of his promise. The demon’s expression darkens, but Harrybell doesn’t flinch. He will protect the flower. He will protect Louis. Even if it costs him everything.

The demon steps forward, stepping out of the shadows and into the moonlight, revealing blonde hair and brown eyes. He doesn't seem scary, not the way Louis did when Harrybell first encountered Louis. There aren't any blacked out eyes or shadows holding him hostage. But Harrybell knows better than to underestimate him. 

Louis is strong, a high demon if he can trust Zayn words, and this demon seemingly managed to overpower Louis. The smoke curling around him spreads heat, despite him still standing a great amount of steps away. Harrybell swallows, trying to find a way to grab the flower and get as far away as possible before the demon's smoke can grab him. 

The demon's voice is low, mocking, and carries an edge that chills Harrybell to the core. “I don’t think you’re in any place to give me orders,” he sneers, his eyes burning with malice. The demon’s figure seems almost ethereal in the moonlight, blonde hair falling around a face that could almost be handsome if not for the venom that drips from his words. "But I like a bit of a challenge. Fairies like you are usually much more pliant."

“I’m not scared of you.” Harrybell says, lifting his chin. 

The demon laughs. It’s a hollow, lifeless cackle that echoes in the stillness of the night. It’s cold, not at all like Louis’ laughter which is full of warmth. “Of course not,” the demon says, his eyes flashing black, swallowing whatever warmth had been there moments before. “But you should be.”

Before Harrybell can even react, the demon’s smoke shoots forward with alarming speed, a coil of darkness closing in around him. He grabs the flower from the table and soars upwards, wings fluttering frantically. One strand of smoke wraps around his bare ankle, and the heat that radiates from it makes his skin burn, searing through him in waves of agony. His breath catches in his throat, and with a shout, he loses control, plummeting to the ground. The flower pot slips from his grasp, its contents tumbling from his hands. He crashes hard, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

Pain shoots up his leg from the burn, but Harrybell grits his teeth, forcing himself to stay conscious. The smoke wraps tighter, pulling him toward the demon, who grins cruelly as he watches Harrybell struggle.

Harrybell’s hand shoots to the ground, and before he can think, thick vines begin to surge upward, lashing out like tendrils seeking a target. They wrap around the demon’s legs and arms, a frantic attempt to gain control over the situation. The demon’s eyes widen in surprise for a split second, but it’s enough. The smoke loosens its grip on Harrybell’s ankle just long enough for him to stumble to his feet.

But the demon isn’t done. He roars, as he slashes at the vines wildly. The vines snap under his power, but Harrybell doesn’t let up. He keeps growing them, one after the other, hoping to buy himself enough time. Each vine that shatters sends a sharp sting through Harrybell, like a thousand paper cuts. It’s painful, but he can’t stop now.

“You are going to regret this. Fucking fairy filth,” he spits, his voice laced with a growl and Harrybell swallows as he keeps growing the vines. It's no more than an inconvenience to the demon, probably only works as a catalyst to make him even angrier as he keeps burning through them, but it's enough of a distraction for Harrybell to regain his footing and look where the flower pot has fallen. Through the chaos, Harrybell catches sight of the flower pot. It’s fallen into a cluster of tulips, half-buried in the soft soil, but he can still see it.

He makes a break for it, but the demon’s smoke comes after him again, tightening around his legs like chains, pulling him down into the earth. 

He whimpers in pain and tries to shake them off, the tendrils too hot for his skin but the smoke doesn't disappear. Harrybell focuses on the vines growing around the demon and he thickens them, making them stronger and harder to break through. He lets flowers grow where the smoke curls toward his legs, the buds breaking through the smoke and destroying the connection to the demon enough for Harrybell to break through. 

Harrybell’s heart hammers in his chest, panic rising. With a breath, he flings himself forward, each movement fueled by the need to protect the flower. His knees smart as he crawls over the soil and he rips his dress on some roses but he doesn't let himself concentrate on the way everything he loves gets destroyed. He can't break down now, not with everything that's still at stake. 

His hand wraps around the flower pot, and for a moment, everything seems to slow down. He doesn’t know if it’s the exhaustion or the sheer force of will, but at that moment, the only thing that matters is the flower in his hands. The Soulbloom.

He’s about to rise, to take flight again, when a thought hits him like a bolt of lightning. Sundrop. He left her inside . His stomach twists, the urgency of the moment sharpening his focus. He can’t leave her here, not with the demon so close. 

He pushes himself up again, the fire in his veins propelling him toward the cottage. His hands are shaking, fumbling with the doorknob, but after what feels like an eternity, it opens, and he stumbles inside, his heart racing. The silence is deafening, and his panic grows when he sees that Sundrop is nowhere in her usual spot.

“Sundrop?” His voice cracks as he calls, his eyes scanning the room, heart in his throat.

A soft rustling from the wardrobe catches his attention. He rushes over and throws it open to find Sundrop curled inside, shaking. The sight of her fear strikes him like a physical blow, and his hands shake as he carefully lifts her up, cradling her to his chest.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pressing her gently against him, feeling her tiny body tremble in his arms.

He doesn’t waste another second. He needs to leave, needs to get out of here before the demon catches up to him again. His wings snap open, and he’s about to take off when he feels it again—the smoke, cold and suffocating, curling around his legs, dragging him back to the ground.

Sundrop drops from his grasp, and Harrybell doesn’t hesitate. “Run!” he urges, his voice strained, as the smoke pulls tighter. He watches her hesitate for a brief moment, her tiny body shaking with fear. “Find Louis for me,” he begs, his voice full with desperation.

And finally, Sundrop bolts. She moves as fast as she can, disappearing into the distance as Harrybell struggles to break free from the smoke that clutches at him like a vice. The demon’s grip tightens, and Harrybell can feel the heat of it on his legs, the burn searing through him.

The flowers beneath him are crushed as the smoke drags him along the ground, tearing through the soft petals like they’re nothing. He struggles, reaching for something, anything, to stop the pull, but the demon’s strength is overwhelming. His body is burning with the heat of the smoke, his wings faltering in the air.

But no matter how much it hurts, Harrybell refuses to let go of the Soulbloom. The flower remains tightly clasped in his hand, its petals a symbol of everything he’s fighting for. It's too much and Harrybell knows he doesn't stand a chance but he won't give up. He’ll fight until his last breath. 

The demon looms above him, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watches Harrybell fight against the restraints, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The smoke continues to constrict, pulling his arms behind his back as the demon steps closer, each movement slow, deliberate. Harrybell’s body trembles with exhaustion, and he can't help but watch as the demon takes the flower that has fallen to the ground.

The demon’s voice drips with malice, low and mocking. “Grow one more flower or keep fighting, and I’ll burn your wings off,” he warns, his words laced with venom.

The weight of the threat hits Harrybell like a physical blow. The world seems to stop for a heartbeat as his wings freeze, the very air around him heavy with dread. His pulse races, and his breath hitches as the tears he’s been holding back for so long finally break free. They spill down his cheeks, hot and heavy. 

His heart aches, every muscle in his body screaming for him to break free, to escape, but the fear that grips him now is different. The fear of losing what he’s fought so hard to protect, is a different kind of terror.

The demon’s laugh rings in the air, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart,” he mocks, his fingers reaching out to trace the delicate curve of Harrybell’s wings. “I wouldn’t actually burn them off. I collect wings, you know? And yours are quite pretty.” His fingers brush against the delicate surface, sending a shiver of discomfort through Harrybell’s spine. “I’d carve them out. Slowly and carefully. Make sure they don’t get any damage. It would hurt, but I’d make sure you’d survive it. I collect fairies, too.”

Harrybell’s breath catches in his throat, the sensation of the demon’s fingers against his wings sending a wave of nausea through him. His wings are the one thing he’s always taken pride in, he loves flying, loves how it feels to soar through the air and feel free. The thought of them being harmed, of being torn apart piece by piece, fills him with a terror he can barely control.

A choked whimper escapes his lips as he shakes his head, unable to put the words together to plead. “Please,” he gasps, the word coming out as a desperate plea, his voice trembling with fear. He looks up at the demon, his eyes wide with helplessness, his chest tightening with the weight of his fear. “Please don’t,” he whispers, his heart breaking with the vulnerability he can no longer hide.

The demon’s smile widens, a twisted, predatory grin that makes Harrybell’s stomach churn. He leans down closer, his grip tight and forceful as he wraps his hand around Harrybell’s jaw, fingers digging into the soft skin with a bruising pressure. Harrybell winces, but he doesn’t look away. He has to be strong, if not for himself than at least for Louis.

“We’ll see,” the demon murmurs, voice low and cruel, his breath hot against Harrybell’s ear. “Make the flower grow to its final stage and maybe I’ll spare you.” He lets go of Harrybells chin forcefully. 

Harrybell needs to think, he needs to act and that quickly. He closes his eyes and tries to come up with anything that will buy him time, anything that could give him an advantage. He takes a deep breath and looks back up to the demon.

“I can’t,” he cries and the demon lets out an annoyed sound. 

“And why is that?” He asks, voice impatient as he looms over him.

“I- I need my hands.” He whispers, looking down. The demon looks at him for a few moments, black eyes studying him.

“One wrong move, and your wings are ash.” He warns low and dangerous and Harrybell nods, panting as he slowly feels the smoke that is curled around his wrists disappear. 

He swallows and wraps his hands around the pot that is standing in front of him, closing his eyes once more as he pours his magic into it. Though, instead of actually working on the flower, he creates an illusion around it, praying it’ll be enough to fool the demon. 

The flower glows softly under Harrybell’s trembling fingers, its delicate petals seeming to stretch and unfurl in response to his magic. Or at least, that’s what he hopes the demon sees. In truth, it is nothing more than a carefully constructed illusion, a fragile deception that flickers subtly at the edges, its shimmer just barely betraying the lie.

The demon watches intently, his black eyes locked onto the flower as it blooms . His smoke curls lazily around them, pulsing with his anticipation. Harrybell doesn’t dare look up. If he does, the demon might see the panic in his eyes, the way his magic wavers and how scared he is to blow his little scheme.

“Hurry up,” the demon snaps, his patience running thin.

Harrybell swallows the lump in his throat and forces his hands to remain steady, keeping the illusion strong for just a little longer. He lets out a shuddering breath and finally lifts his gaze, looking at the demon through his damp lashes.

“It’s almost done,” he lies. “Just a few more seconds.”

The demon smirks, his sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Good,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Because if you try anything-”

Now .

Harrybell moves before the demon can finish his sentence.

With a desperate burst of strength, he yanks the flower pot off the table and throws himself backward, his wings fluttering frantically as he pushes off the ground. His feet barely touch the earth before he is airborne, his entire body screaming for him to move, fly, fly, fly.

“What-” The demon snarls, realising he’s been tricked.

The illusion shatters the moment Harrybell’s magic breaks away, the flower’s glowing petals vanishing like mist in the wind. The real Soulbloom, still clutched tightly in its pot, remains untouched in Harrybell’s grasp.

“ You little- ” The demon doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, his smoke lashes out with blinding speed, snapping around Harrybell’s ankle like a whip.

Pain erupts through Harrybell’s leg as the heat burns into his skin. He screams, the agony threatening to rip him from the air, but he forces himself to keep moving, to fight against the pull of the demon’s smoke.

His cottage is only a few feet away. He just has to- 

The smoke tightens, yanking him downward. Harrybell flaps his wings harder, his muscles straining against the force pulling him back. He can’t let it end like this. He has made it this far, he has to survive this. If only so he can apologise to Louis.

Summoning what little strength he has left, he twists his body midair and lets loose a burst of magic into the ground below. Vines explode from the soil, thick and strong, full of thorns lashing at the demon’s feet, wrapping around his legs with wild desperation and cutting into his skin. 

The demon stumbles, distracted for just a second, but a second is all Harrybell needs. He kicks hard, wrenching himself free from the smoke’s grip.

He surges forward, wings beating furiously, nearly collapsing onto his doorstep as he throws himself inside. But just as his foot crosses the threshold, another sharp tendril of smoke slashes through the air, striking him across his wing.

A white, hot pain shoots through him. He screams, stumbling forward as the impact sends him crashing to the floor. The pain is blinding and dizzying, as the flower pot slips from his grasp. 

He reaches for it, desperate to catch it, but it’s too late. It shatters upon impact, ceramic shards flying in all directions. The soil spills across the wooden floor, the delicate flower landing among the wreckage, its stem bent but not completely broken.

Harrybell gasps, clutching his wing where the demon’s attack struck. His vision swims, his breath coming in ragged bursts, but he’s inside. He made it.

Behind him, outside, the demon roars in frustration. The vines at his feet hold him back for now, but it won’t last much longer.

Harrybell forces himself up despite the pain, he pushes the door close, falling against it as the world keeps spinning before stumbling toward the flower, completely out of balance without his wing steadying him.

He scoops the flower up with shaking hands, cradling it against his chest like something sacred. His wing aches, the burn spreading like wildfire through his nerves, but he pushes through it. He has to.

Staggering into his bedroom, he throws his weight against the door and slams it shut. The moment it clicks into place, a choked sob rips from his throat, his body trembling violently as he sinks to the floor. The flower remains pressed tightly to his heart, his fingers curled protectively around its fragile stem.

Outside, the demon roars in frustration. The sound rattles the very walls of his cottage, shaking loose a few petals from the dried flowers hanging from the ceiling. Smoke seeps through the cracks of his home, curling at the edges like dark, greedy fingers searching for a way in.

Despite the searing pain and the black dots dancing in front of his vision, Harrybell summons the last dregs of his magic. With a final, desperate push, he sends vines crawling over every surface of his cottage. Layer after layer of thick, unyielding vines, the thorns sharp, laced with poison potent enough to ward off most creatures. He knows it won’t hold the demon off forever, but it’s all he has left to give.

His body gives out the moment the magic drains from him. He stumbles backward, his grip loosening. The flower slips from his grasp and falls to the floor, rolling just out of reach. He sways, knocking against the bedpost before his legs buckle, sending him crashing onto the wooden floor with a broken whimper.

The pain is unbearable now. His wing throbs, the burn spreading, deep and unrelenting. Every breath comes shallow and ragged, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him like an iron hand.

The flower is just a few inches away. Just a little more. If he could push himself forward, if he could stretch his fingertips just far enough, he could grasp it again, he could hold it close and make sure it doesn't wilt. But his limbs refuse to obey.

His vision swims, the edges of the room turning dark. Fear curls tight in his chest. Please, he begs silently to whatever gods might be listening. Please let this be enough. Let me survive this.

He tries to stay awake, knowing it could be a death sentence to lose his consciousness even though everything in him is screaming at him to give into the darkness that is curling in the corners of his eyes. 

He whimpers when he feels someone clawing at the vines he constructed around his home, destroying layer after layer and he can't do anything but lie there and cry from the pain. 

The demon outside tears through the last layers of vines, and Harrybell’s breath hitches. He can hear the deep, satisfied chuckle, the scrape of boots against the wood of his porch. The smoke slithers in under the broken door, curling across the floor like a serpent hunting its prey.

His chest tightens. He can’t move. He can’t fight. His fingers twitch weakly against the floorboards, desperate to reach for the flower that lies just out of reach, but even that small effort is too much. His body is spent, his magic drained. 

His chest tightens. He can’t move. He can’t fight. His fingers twitch weakly against the floorboards, desperate to reach for the flower that lies just out of reach, but even that small effort is too much. His body is spent, his magic drained, the burning pain in his wing spreading like fire through his veins.

Big, black boots appear in his vision, heavy and unhurried as they step closer. Harrybell’s breath stutters, his body instinctively recoiling despite his weakness. When he forces his head to lift, vision blurred with exhaustion and tears, he sees the demon standing over him. A cruel smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands drip black. Blood.

The vines. The thorns . Harrybell had hurt him. Not enough. Not nearly enough. But seeing the demon bleed brings no relief, because the look in his eyes is pure, seething fury.

“ Please ,” Harrybell whispers, voice barely audible, a fragile plea he knows will fall on deaf ears.

The demon chuckles, a hollow, soulless sound. “Look at you,” he muses, flexing his fingers, letting the blood drip onto the wooden floorboards. “You tried so hard, little fairy. But this is the end, isn’t it?”

Harrybell flinches when the demon crouches, reaching for him with blood stained fingers. His body won’t move, won’t listen. He’s too weak. Too drained. He braces for the inevitable pain, the searing heat of the demon’s touch.

But then-

A shadow curls around his wrist.

At first, Harrybell thinks he’s imagining it, his mind playing tricks on him in his final moments, but then another tendril of darkness slithers across the floor, coiling around the demon’s outstretched arm like a living thing. The demon freezes, body going rigid.

“Touch him again,” a voice growls from the darkness. 

It’s low. Dangerous. Familiar.

The demon’s head snaps up, his expression twisting into something ugly. “Louis,” he spits, like the name itself is a curse.

Louis stands in the doorway, framed by the dim light of the sun rising. Shadows coil around him, shifting and pulsing like living creatures, feeding off his rage. His normally warm blue eyes are pools of pitch-black darkness, his jaw set tight, his entire presence radiating something dark. Something deadly.

Harrybell has never seen him like this.

The room is deathly silent, thick with the weight of something inevitable.

“You should be dead,” the demon snarls, struggling against the shadows that have locked around his arm.

Louis tilts his head, considering him with an eerie sort of calm. “And yet,” he murmurs, voice like ice, “here I stand.” His fingers twitch, and the shadows tighten. The demon chokes, thrashing as the darkness slithers up his throat like it’s alive, squeezing and suffocating him.

Louis steps forward, as the demon is pulled backwards and away from Harrybell, crashing into the wall as Louis steps in front of him. A dagger appears in his hands, forming from dark shadows before its solid, gleaming in the light. Louis grips it and holds it up to the other demon’s heart. 

“You made a mistake,” Louis says softly, stepping closer, “coming after what’s mine .”

The words send a shiver down Harrybell’s spine.

Then, without hesitation, Louis plunges the dagger forward.

The demon lets out a strangled grunt, his body jerking violently. For a brief moment, his blackened eyes widen in shock but then his body goes limp. The shadows release him all at once, and he crumples to the floor, motionless.

Silence.

Then Louis moves.

In an instant, he’s kneeling beside Harrybell, his shadows retreating as his hands hover, hesitant, like he’s afraid to touch him and find him broken. His eyes are no longer black but that striking, stormy blue and they trace over Harrybell’s face, his tattered wing, the way he trembles with pain.

“ Harrybell ,” he breathes, voice raw.

Harrybell’s lips part, but no words come out. He can’t. His body is too weak, his vision too hazy. His fingers twitch feebly against the floorboards, trying to direct Louis’ attention toward the flower. 

Louis swallows hard, then gathers Harrybell against his chest with a care so gentle it nearly shatters him. Harrybell is a deadweight in his arms, a whimper leaving his lips as he keeps looking at the flower. His fingers curl around Louis' shirt, desperate for him to do something. 

Louis follows his gaze and sees the flower lying nearby, the delicate petals bent and wilting, the pot cracked.

“You’re the only flower I care about,” he murmurs, voice softer now, but still edged with something fierce, something protective.

Harrybell whimpers, his body giving out completely as his fingers slip from Louis’ shirt.

Louis’ hands tighten around him, the tremor in them betraying his fear. “You’re safe,” he promises, gathering him closer, his grip firm yet gentle. “I’ve got you, little flower. I swear, I’ve got you. You’ll be fine”

Harrybell exhales shakily, letting the last of his strength go as he finally- finally lets the darkness take him.

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, little flower," Louis murmurs, his voice barely audible as he turns away from the fairy. Each step tearing at him as his shadows hold the fairy back. He feels Harrybell’s struggle against them, but Louis knows better than to release him. Even if every instinct screams to turn around, to pull the fairy back into his arms and finally speak the truth, Louis can’t. He won’t.

He can still hear Harrybell’s voice echoing in his mind, sharp and broken, words like daggers, cutting deeper than any blade. “I’ll never trust you.” The way Harrybell had said it, so hurt, so final. It felt like the end, like something that could never be repaired. It wasn’t just anger. It was pain. The kind of pain Louis never wanted to cause, again, and yet, here he is.

Louis clenches his fists, the words sinking into his chest and clawing at him. He has to fix this. He has to mend the trust he shattered. If he can’t, if Harrybell never looks at him the same way again, then maybe he doesn’t deserve to have a soul after all. 

The past weeks have been a fragile patchwork of effort. Louis had tried. He had given Harrybell every piece of himself he could without falling apart. He had shown him that, despite being a demon, he could still feel. He could still feel empathy and compassion and love. But none of that matters now. None of it can fix what’s broken.

The moment Harrybell spoke of the wilted flowers, dread settled deep in Louis’ chest. He knew what it meant. Another demon. And it was close. Too close. Close enough to have found the cottage and send a message, a warning. The wilted flowers were not a coincidence, they were intentional. 

Louis’ feet move, even though his heart is heavier than he’s ever known. He pushes through the forest, away from the small fairy town, keeping his distance. He doesn’t want to cause more trouble than he has to. 

Louis doesn’t know what, who, he is looking for, only that he needs to find them before it finds him, or worse, Harrybell. The shadows coil around him, stretching and unfurling like searching hands, scanning the forest floor and sensing every movement.

He still feels Harrybell, the fairy’s presence buzzing faintly against his senses, but the struggling has stopped now. A pang of guilt lances through Louis, but he pushes it down. He tightens his hold just once, firm and steady that works as a warning and a reassurance all at once.

Louis' heart pounds in his chest as he searches through the forest for hours, hoping he didn't make the wrong decision by leaving the cottage. Eventually though, he steps onto a clearing and his feet freeze in place.

For the first time in a long time, Louis is paralyzed. Cold dread grips him, twisting in his stomach, making every muscle in his body lock. His mind splinters under the weight of memories, ones he tried so hard to bury. Memories of fire, of smoke, of agony so sharp it stole his breath. Of voices whispering, telling him to give in, to give up.

And at the center of it all, is Nex .

The demon looks exactly the same as Louis remembers. Pale hair, piercing brown eyes, that same, supercilious smirk. Nex stands tall in the center of the clearing, like he owns it all, his presence suffocating, unwavering.

"Hello, Louis," Nex says, his voice smooth. Louis can feel the familiar weight of that voice press against his chest like a vice, twisting and suffocating him. It’s a voice that haunts him even in his dreams, chasing him through the darkness until he wakes up gasping, his skin slick with sweat.

Louis swallows, his throat tight. His shadows react instinctively, lashing out, curling around him like an instinctive shield, but Nex doesn’t even flinch. He just watches, that same smirk pulling at his lips like this is a game. And to him, it is.

Louis knows better than to let the fear cursing through him show. He forces his body to move, his feet heavy as he steps forward. The last thing he wants to do is show weakness. He knows what happens when he does. But still, every instinct screams at him to run, to put as much distance between him and this nightmare as possible.

But he can’t. He needs to protect Harrybell.

“What do you want?” Louis manages to ask, his voice rough but steady.

Nex tilts his head, a condescending hum escaping him. “Come on now, Louis. You already know the answer to that.”

Louis’ chest tightens painfully. Of course, he knows. He just doesn't want to believe it.

“Bring the flower to me,” Nex continues, his smile widening, “and I won’t hurt your little fairy. He’s quite cute, isn’t he? And his wings? Oh, they’d look so nice in my collection.”

Louis' blood runs cold. “Touch him, and I’ll kill you,” he growls, the words rough and full of fury. His body trembles with the need to protect Harrybell, to keep him safe no matter the cost. His mind is screaming at him to ignore the demon’s words, to ignore the dread that claws at him like a tightening noose. He can’t let Nex have him. Not after everything they’ve been through. Not when Louis still owes him the truth.

Nex laughs, dark and hollow. “Oh, Louis, we’ve long established that I’m stronger than you. Now, bring me the flower.”

The venom in Nex’s voice is unmistakable.

Louis grits his teeth, his fists clenched at his sides. “It’s mine. You gave it to me. We had a deal,” he snaps, the weight of years of torment in his words. Years spent under Nex, broken over and over again, all for the promise of a soul, a way out. A chance to be something more.

Nex’s laugh cuts through him like a blade, cold and hollow. “You didn’t really think I’d just let you have it, did you?” His eyes glint with dark amusement. “ Never trust a demon, Louis. You should know better.”

Louis' breath hitches, his body tense with old, painful memories, the whips, the chains, the fire. The years of suffering and torture, each day worse than the last.

“Now, either you’re going to go back and bring me that flower,” Nex says, his voice like a death sentence, “or you’re going to watch the fairy die.”

Louis' breath comes in shallow gasps as his eyes narrow at Nex, trying to steady himself against the weight of the fear trying to claw its way into his chest. His shadows twitch around him, restless with the pull of old memories where he couldn't fight back and the urge to protect Harrybell. The tension in the air thickens as he takes a step forward, readying himself for what he knows is coming. He won't give in. Not now. Not when Harrybell is at stake.

Nex grins, the expression sharp like a knife, and raises an eyebrow. "You know, Louis, this could all be so easy. You hand me the flower, and we can both walk away. No more pain."

Louis clenches his fists so tight his nails dig into his palm. "I don’t think we’ll come to an agreement here Nex. Unfortunately, I can’t have you hurt him and I also can’t give you the flower."

“Then you’ll suffer first,” Nex says, then moves. It’s swift, a blur of motion that leaves Louis no time to react. Nex’s fist connects with Louis’ ribs, a brutal punch that sends him stumbling backward, pain radiating through his body. He expected Nex to use his smoke and not his hands. The breath is knocked out of him, but he doesn’t fall. 

Louis summons the shadows around him with a force born of desperation. They spiral around him, thick and dark, and with a flick of his hand, they lash out at Nex. 

But Nex is faster. With a dark, mocking laugh, he steps out of the way, his smoke blocking Louis shadows, his movements graceful and fluid. The shadows hit the smoke and they curl together before both vanishing.

The air crackles with tension as Nex taunts him. "Is this the best you’ve got, Louis? You’ve become weak. Pathetic ."

Louis growls under his breath, forcing himself forward, determined to prove Nex wrong. He charges, his body moving with all the speed he can muster. But Nex is waiting.

Nex summons his smoke, and the ground beneath Louis’ feet erupts in tendrils of smoke, twisting like snakes. They strike with lightning speed, wrapping around Louis’ ankles, dragging him to the ground with a sickening yank. The pain is immediate, sharp, and biting as the tendrils squeeze and burn, tightening around him with a cruel grip.

"Look at you," Nex sneers, stepping forward, his shadowed presence towering over Louis. "A demon with no control over his own power. A pathetic little creature pretending to be something more."

Louis struggles, the pressure around his body increasing, but he refuses to give in. He can’t. Not when Harrybell is still somewhere out there, a vulnerable target. His hand reaches out, attempting to summon his shadows again, but Nex swallows them with his smoke.

Nex grins, a dark glint in his eyes. "You’re nothing, Louis. A puppet, a broken thing. And now I’m going to finish what I started all those years ago."

With that, Nex lunges, his booted foot colliding with Louis’ stomach with enough force to send him sprawling across the ground. The wind is knocked out of him, and pain explodes in his ribs. He coughs, tasting blood in the back of his throat, but he refuses to let it stop him. He won’t stop fighting.

But Nex is relentless. He kicks Louis in the side, once, twice, each hit worse than the last. The sound of the blows is sickening, like bone against bone. Louis gasps for breath, his body trembling as he feels the bruises start to form. His vision blurs at the edges, but still, he drags himself up, using what little strength he has left to lift his hands and try to summon his shadows once more.

Nex smirks, reaching down to grab him by the collar. "You’ll never win, Louis. You were always meant to lose."

With a sharp tug, Nex pulls him to his feet, his grip vice-like. Louis' head spins, his thoughts fading in and out as his body betrays him, unable to keep up with the demand of the fight. Every movement is sluggish, every breath a struggle. Nex hits him square in the face, hitting his left cheekbone and splitting open his lip. Louis grunts, spitting out the blood that has gathered in his mouth, smirking when it lands on Nex’s face. 

Nex leans in close, his breath hot against Louis’ ear. "You should’ve stayed, Louis. You should’ve known your place."

Then, with a cruel grin, he shoves Louis to the ground with a final, brutal push, the force enough to send him sprawling onto the hard earth with a sickening thud. Louis’ vision flickers, the edges darkening as the world around him spins. The air seems to leave his lungs entirely, and he feels his body go limp, a dull throb in his skull marking the last of his consciousness fading.

"Sleep well, Louis," Nex whispers, his voice a mocking lilt. And with that, everything goes black.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Louis winces as he shifts, the pain shooting through his ribs and torso with every move. His body hurts all over, every inch of him throbbing, but despite the agony, he forces his eyes open. The world around him is blurry at first, but as his vision clears, the dim glow of the moonlight gives him enough of a glimpse to realize he’s not alone.

A weight presses down on his chest, and he groans, lifting his hand weakly to touch the spot, a soft, shuddering thump rattling against him. He can feel something small and soft hopping gently against his chest. Louis blinks, his brain struggling to catch up with the situation.

"What the-" His voice is hoarse, rasping painfully as he lifts his head, only to freeze in shock when he sees who is sitting on him.

Sundrop, Harrybell's little bunny, is perched right on his chest, her little nose twitching nervously. Her fur is ruffled, and her large eyes are wide, shimmering with uncertainty. She looks more fragile than usual, and the nervous energy radiating off her is palpable. Louis’ heart clenches at the sight of the small creature, realizing just how much this little thing must be connected to Harrybell.

He winces as Sundrop’s tiny paws thump against him again, trying to get his attention. The bunny hops once more, an instinctual movement that only makes Louis wince harder. He tries to sit up but collapses back into the grass with a groan, his ribs protesting the motion.

"Easy there," Louis mutters, though the words barely leave his lips as he fights through the pain. He takes in the scene around him, realizing he’s no longer in the clearing where Nex had nearly destroyed him. The dark woods stretch out in all directions, trees looming in shadow. 

Sundrop hops nervously again, and Louis, still confused and disoriented, lifts a hand to gently pat the little bunny’s head, trying to reassure her, but his touch is weak, like his own body is refusing to cooperate. "Where... where’s Harrybell?" Louis mutters, his voice barely above a whisper, the anxiety seeping into his tone.

Sundrop only stares back at him, her large eyes wide, and for a moment, Louis swears he sees something in her gaze. Fear? Worry? He can’t tell, but the pit in his stomach tightens. If she’s here, where is Harrybell? What happened to him after Nex knocked him out?

Louis' mind swims with the memories of the fight—the heavy weight of Nex's taunts, the brutal blows, the feeling of his body breaking under the demon’s strength once again. Had Harrybell been hurt too? The thought makes his heart race, panic surging in his veins.

He closes his eyes tightly, trying to steady his breathing, the pain still overwhelming, but he knows he can’t stay here for long. Sundrop's presence is a small comfort, but it doesn’t answer the question that gnaws at him.

Where is Harrybell? 

He can only pray that Nex hasn't found him yet.

He groans, pushing himself up with a shaking hand, every movement pulling at the soreness in his body. He can’t waste time. Not when the fairy he… the fairy he’s come to care about is out there, and whatever Nex had said, whatever he’d planned… Louis doesn’t want to think about it. Not yet. He just hopes that if Nex showed up at the cottage, Harrybell gave him the flower and fled away as far as possible.

The bunny hops off his chest and lands lightly on the grass, sniffing the air nervously before looking back at him. He won’t let Nex win. Not again. Not when Harrybell needs him.

“Alright, little one,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and shaking, but there’s a determination there too. Louis has been through worse, he can push through this. “We’re going to find him.”

Louis grits his teeth as he straightens himself up, clutching the tree with one hand to keep himself from falling over. The blood in his mouth burns like fire as he coughs again, spitting it to the ground. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to steady his breathing, but the pain is overwhelming.

And then, as if on cue, a voice cuts through the air, sharp and laced with disgust.

"Holy spirits, you look pathetic," the voice says. Louis looks up, his eyes narrowing as he tries to push himself to his feet despite the dizziness from the blood loss. He turns his head to find the source.

The figure before him is beautiful and sharply dressed, with an aura of confidence that practically screams power. Louis frowns, the tension in his shoulders tight as he tries to make sense of this newcomer. The man’s eyes glitter with a mix of disdain and curiosity, though Louis can’t help but feel like there's something more beneath the surface. His magic hums in the air, a witch’s presence unmistakable, but the sense of superiority radiating from him is enough to make Louis' teeth grit.

"Who are you?" Louis growls, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, still on edge.

“I’m Zayn,” he says, tilting his chin up slightly, like his name alone should mean something to Louis. When it clearly doesn’t, Zayn sighs dramatically, making Louis frown. “Zayn the Enchanting? Zayn the Magnificent? Ugh. Whatever. I must say, it's a bit disappointing seeing a demon like you in such a pitiful state. I figured you'd put up more of a fight."

Louis glares at him, his fists trembling at his sides. "I’m not in the mood for games, witch. If you're here to make things worse-"

Zayn cuts him off with a flick of his wrist, and a dagger materializes in the air. He casually tosses it at Louis, who catches it instinctively, his grip tight despite his injuries. The dagger is beautiful. It's delicate yet deadly, and the aura around it is unmistakable.

“You’ll need this if you want to actually do something useful for once," Zayn says, his tone still dripping with condescension. "It can kill a demon, you know. Now, go save your precious little flower, or whatever it is you're so desperate to protect."

Louis’ grip on the dagger tightens as his eyes flicker over the weapon. The cold steel is reassuring, grounding him, pulling him back to the present. His body still aches from the earlier fight, but the pain no longer matters. What matters is Harrybell, his little flower, is still out there, and Louis will do whatever it takes to protect him, to keep him safe. There is no hesitation left in him, no room for doubt.

Zayn stands off to the side, clearly unimpressed with Louis' injuries as he watches him ready himself. With an almost bored wave of his hand, Zayn snaps his fingers, and Louis can feel the sting of his deepest wounds beginning to heal. The crushing tightness in his chest loosens, and he can breathe again without gasping for air. It’s far from full recovery, but it’s enough to get him moving again.

“Thank you,” he mutters, letting his shadows take the dagger from his hands.  “I’ll find a way to repay you.”

“Just don’t die on me, demon,” Zayn drawls, his voice full of annoyance. “I live for the drama with your little fairy. The trees talk, you know? Oh, and while we're at it, say ‘hello’ to Harrybell for me. You know, when you’re not busy getting yourself killed.”

Louis doesn’t answer, doesn’t question how Zayn knows about Harrybell. His focus is narrowed, the world around him fading into the background as he prepares for what’s to come. His mind is set, and there is only one thing that matters now: Harrybell’s safety.

With a curt nod to Zayn, Louis turns and steps into the dense forest, his every step deliberate and purposeful. His shadows stretch with him, swirling around his form like they, too, are ready to do whatever it takes. Sundrop is clutched securely to his chest, the bunny still shaking.

He moves swiftly, careful not to make a sound. Every muscle in his body is tense, anticipating the moment when he’ll face Nex again. He is done being a punching bag for the demon. And if he so much as bent a hair on Harrybell, he is dead.

As he nears the cottage, a terrible sound breaks the quiet. A scream. It’s high-pitched, frantic, and yet unmistakably Harrybell. Louis freezes, the world around him blurring as the sound claws at his heart. The scream echoes in his mind, sharp and full of pain, and he doesn’t think, he just moves.

He pushes forward, breaking into a sprint. The faint moonlight filters through the trees, guiding his way as he races toward the cottage. He needs to get there. He needs to get to Harrybell before it’s too late.

Louis arrives at the edge of the clearing, his breath ragged as he slows to a halt. He stays hidden behind the thick cover of a tree branch, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Stay here,” he tells Sundrop, placing her down before his eyes scan the scene before him, and the sight is almost too much to bear.

The garden is a wreck. What had once been a place of life, vibrant and full of colour, is now a ruined, trampled mess. Flowers that Harrybell had cared for, nurtured, and tended to with such devotion now lay crushed and withered beneath the weight of whatever force had ravaged them. The once beautiful garden is now reduced to a chaotic tangle of broken stems and dead petals.

The cottage isn't looking much better either. Thorny vines crawl up the walls, wrapping themselves around the structure like a prison. The peaceful place where Harrybell had lived and found solace is now a reflection of the destruction Nex brings.

Louis takes a sharp breath, trying to steady himself as his eyes lock onto Nex. The demon is standing just outside the doorway, his back to Louis as he prepares to enter the cottage. Louis thinks back to all the pain Nex has caused him, as he remembers just how cruel the demon can be. He can’t let him get to Harrybell, can’t let him win.

No, Louis thinks, clenching his fists. Not this time

He cant see the fairy so that can only mean he is inside the cottage, hiding from Nex. He can’t waste another second. The seconds are ticking by, and with every moment, the danger grows. He feels the sharp sting of urgency flood his body and he knows he has to move now.

Louis moves quietly, floating on his shadows underfoot as he breaches the cottage. He silently moves over the broken shards of a flower pot, the one he knows belongs to his flower, but he doesn't care, not when he hears Harryell’s whispered plea coming from the bedroom. 

Louis keeps moving, stopping when he is standing in the doorway to the bedroom. 

The fairy is on the ground, crumpled and trembling, his delicate form barely clinging to consciousness. His wings, usually so full of life, are tattered, bent at an angle that makes Louis' stomach twist. His glow, a warm yellow light that’s ever present is dimmed down and flickering, as if life itself is leaving him. 

Standing over him, looming like a nightmare made real, is Nex.

Louis doesn't think as he moves.

His shadows surge forward before he even registers the thought, curling around Harrybell’s wrist, gently, to let the fairy know he’s here. Harrybells eyes open slightly more, flicking to his wrist and it's enough for Louis to know he can feel it. Then, he lets them lash out, coiling around Nex’s outstretched arm just as the demon reaches for Harrybell with blood-stained fingers.

The demon freezes.

Louis steps fully into the room, his shadows pulse around him, shifting and writhing, feeding off the quiet, seething rage burning beneath his skin. His entire body hums with it, an anger so raw and potent that it tastes like iron in his mouth. His fingers twitch, and the shadows tighten around Nex’s throat.

"Touch him again," Louis growls, voice like a blade drawn slow and deliberate.

Nex’s head snaps up, eyes burning with hatred as he spits out Louis’ name like a curse.

"You should be dead."

Louis tilts his head slightly, watching with detached amusement as Nex struggles against the tendrils of darkness locking him in place. His voice is deathly calm when he finally speaks.

"And yet," he murmurs, taking a slow, measured step forward, "here I stand."

His fingers flex, and the shadows obey, tightening like a vice. Nex chokes, his body convulsing as the darkness snakes up his throat, squeezing, suffocating. Louis sends Nex crashing into the far wall. The impact rattles the entire cottage, shaking loose dust from the beams above. Before Nex can recover, Louis moves, his steps purposeful, predatory. The dagger materializes in his hand, forming from the shadows that coil around his wrist before solidifying into cold, gleaming steel.

The demon’s eyes widen as Louis raises the dagger, pressing the tip just over his heart.

"You made a mistake," Louis whispers, his voice nearly gentle. He leans in closer, his lips barely moving as he finishes, "Coming after what’s mine."

He doesn’t give Nex a chance to respond.

With a sharp, brutal thrust, he buries the dagger deep into the demon’s chest.

Nex lets out a strangled grunt, his body jerking violently before all the fight drains from him in an instant. The darkness releases him all at once, his form crumpling to the floor, lifeless.

Silence.

Louis doesn’t even spare Nex a second glance as it turns into ash. 

He’s already moving, his focus locked solely on Harrybell. He crosses the space between them in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees beside the fairy's frail form. His hands hover, hesitant, afraid to touch, afraid to confirm just how broken he might be. 

He caused this, this is all his fault.

"Harrybell," he breathes, voice raw and desperate. 

Harrybell’s lips part, but no words come. His body is trembling, his fingers twitching weakly against the floorboards. Louis can see the exhaustion weighing down on him, the way his small frame barely rises and falls with each breath. The glow dims with every passing second, making panic rise in Louis’ chest.

And then, just as Louis reaches for him, Harrybell’s gaze flickers to something else.

Louis follows his eyes, his stomach twisting painfully when he sees it, the flower.

The small potted plant, the one Harrybell had nurtured so carefully, lies a few feet away. Its petals are bent and wilting. The pot lays outside with most of the soil, leaving the roots exposed. Even now, as he lies broken on the floor, Harrybell is reaching for it, his fingers barely brushing against the wood.

Something inside Louis snaps . 

He gathers Harrybell into his arms, cradling him close, his grip firm but impossibly gentle. The fairy doesn’t resist, he’s too weak to do anything but slump against him, a faint whimper leaving his lips as his fingers curl around the fabric of Louis’ shirt, clinging to him.

Louis presses his forehead against the side of Harrybell’s head, his voice dropping to something quiet and soft.

"You’re the only flower I care about."

Harrybell exhales shakily, his grip loosening, his body finally giving out completely. 

Louis feels it the moment he lets go, his weight slumping into his arms as unconsciousness claims him.

Louis' breath catches. His fingers tighten ever so slightly, holding him closer, like he can keep him together with just his grip alone.

He exhales, pressing his lips to Harrybell’s temple as he murmurs, “You’re safe.” His voice is steadier now, stronger, a promise woven into every syllable. “I’ve got you, little flower. I swear, I’ve got you. You’ll be alright.”

Harrybell doesn’t respond.

But Louis feels the faintest exhale against his neck, the barest proof that he’s still here. Still breathing.

Louis shuts his eyes for a moment, pressing Harrybell even closer as he rises to his feet, holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the world.

Because to Louis, he is.

Louis doesn’t know why Harrybell protected the flower, especially to this extent - nearly at the expense of his own life.

It makes no sense. Not when giving the flower away would've been the resolution to all his problems. And yet, as he looks down at the fairy in his arms, the glow that surrounds him dimming, his skin growing paler by the second, Louis finds himself wishing he hadn’t . Wishing, for once in his life, that his stubborn little fairy had put himself first.

But it’s too late for that now.

Harrybell is fading.

Louis’ heart pounds against his ribs, panic clawing at his throat like a wild animal. He doesn’t have the skill to save him, he knows that. He can barely patch himself up, let alone something as delicate as the flower fairies wings. His hands shake around the fairy’s too-still body, his mind racing through possibilities, searching for an answer, for anything .

And then he makes a decision.

Despite Harrybell’s warnings, despite every instinct telling him to stay hidden, Louis runs .

He bolts from the ruined cottage, his grip on Harrybell firm as he pushes forward, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The forest blurs around him, the trees little more than streaks of green and brown as he moves, his legs burning with the effort. The town isn’t far, but it’s still too far. Every second is wasted time, every moment a chance that Harrybell will slip further away.

Louis grits his teeth, pushing himself harder.

By the time he reaches the town, the first hints of morning light are creeping over the horizon. The streets are quiet, still wrapped in the lingering grasp of sleep, but Louis doesn’t have the luxury of patience. He doesn’t care if he wakes the whole damn town, he just needs someone . Anyone .

His eyes dart frantically between the cottages and stores, searching, searching—

Then he sees a flicker of light in one of the stores. He doesn’t hesitate.

His shadows lash out before he even reaches the door, forcing it open with a violent crack . The wooden frame groans under the force, the door slamming back against the wall as Louis steps inside, breathless and wild-eyed, his arms tightening around the fairy in his grasp.

There’s movement, someone stirring, startled by the sudden intrusion. But Louis doesn’t give them time to react.

Louis barely registers the fairy’s yelp of surprise as he turns to face him. His focus is on Harrybell, on the faint rise and fall of his chest, the way his glow has almost completely faded.

Then, recognition dawns on the other fairy’s face.

“Harrybell…” he breathes, his voice breaking on the name, his hand flying up to cover his mouth. His wide eyes dart between Harrybell and Louis before narrowing into a sharp glare.

“What did you do ? Who are you?!”

Louis’ shadows bristle at the accusation, but he doesn’t have time for this. He tightens his grip on Harrybell, desperation clawing at his throat. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do this, I swear! But you need to help him- please .” His voice cracks on the last word, something raw and vulnerable slipping through.

The fairy hesitates, scanning Harrybell again, his expression shifting from suspicion to worry. “Okay, okay- yeah. His- oh, solstice , his wing...”

Louis clenches his jaw, his grip tightening as he readjusts the fairy in his arms. He knows . He’s seen it. The sight of it, tattered and broken, haunts him. 

“I know,” he growls, frustration and panic intertwining. “So help him . He needs his wings, he needs to live.”

The other fairy doesn’t argue. “Come with me,” he says quickly, already moving toward the door.

Louis follows without hesitation, barely sparing a glance around the small space as they rush out. The scent of bread and honey clings to the air, a stark contrast to the sharp, metallic tang of blood still clinging to Harrybell’s skin.

The realisation barely registers in Louis’ mind that it’s a bakery, not a healer’s home. But what does it matter? This fairy seemingly knows Harrybell and right now, Louis doesn’t have the luxury of questioning the how or why .

They rush down a winding path, the fairy flying effortlessly ahead while Louis runs, his breath ragged, his heart pounding. They take two sharp left turns before the fairy finally halts midair and lands in front of a small, unassuming cottage.

“The healers work here,” the fairy says, slightly breathless. “They’ll know what to do.”

Louis doesn’t hesitate. His shadows surge forward, pushing the door open. He storms inside, clutching Harrybell’s limp form, his chest tight with fear.

But before he can take another step, the fairy speaks again, his voice wary. “What are you?”

Louis groans, barely biting back a snarl. He doesn’t have time for this. “A demon,” he snaps, his voice laced with irritation.

The fairy’s face pales. “Oh, oaks on fire, I-,” He takes an instinctive step back. “I need to-”

“You need to either shut up or leave .” Louis cuts him off sharply, his patience long gone. He tightens his grip on Harrybell and strides forward, stepping past the stunned fairy without another word.

The fairy follows him inside where fairies are already working. Some are making salves, others seemingly just standing around and talking but they all quiet down and stop when their eyes land on louis and Harrybell. 

Louis barely registers the silence at first, too focused on Harrybell’s barely-there breathing. But when the quiet stretches too long, when every fairy in the room is frozen, their eyes locked on him with varying degrees of fear and suspicion, his patience frays.

“I need help,” he growls, his voice sharp and unyielding. “Or he won’t make it.”

That gets them moving.

“Bring him here,” an older fairy instructs, motioning toward a low, cushioned bed nestled in the center of the room.

Louis doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, cradling Harrybell carefully as he lowers him down onto the soft surface. His touch lingers, brushing back strands of pale hair from Harrybell’s face, his frown deepening at how fragile he looks.

He forces himself to step back, giving the fairies space, but his muscles remain taut, his shadows writhing restlessly around his feet.

“What happened to him, Niall?” One of the fairies asks.

The name pricks at something in Louis’ memory, and he barely spares the blonde fairy beside him a glance. Niall. Harrybell had mentioned him before, his friend, he had said. But Louis has no time for that now. His gaze snaps back to Harrybell, unwilling to look away for more than a second.

“He was attacked by a demon,” Louis states and the moment the words leave his lips, the room shifts. Every fairy freezes, eyes widening, and slowly, their gazes turn toward him.

Louis grits his teeth. “ Not me. ” His voice is sharp, laced with a growl. The accusation, unspoken but clear in their hesitation, grates against his already frayed nerves.

There’s another beat of silence before, at last, the fairies return to their work, their glowing hands moving over Harrybell’s trembling form.

A soft whimper escapes Harrybell’s lips, and Louis’ entire body tenses. His shadows surge toward him instinctively, desperate to shield him from the pain, but he clenches his fists, forcing them back.

“What are they doing?” he snaps, his voice harsher than intended. His eyes flick to Niall, demanding an answer.

“They’re healing him. Trust them. They’ll take care of him.”

Niall’s words are meant to be reassuring, but they do nothing to calm the storm inside Louis. His hands curl into fists at his sides as he watches the fairies hover over Harrybell, their glowing hands moving carefully over his fragile body. Every soft whimper that leaves Harrybell’s lips sends a fresh wave of rage coursing through Louis. His shadows coil and twist around his feet, restless, mirroring his turmoil.

He hates this. Hates standing back, hates being useless.

His little flower is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing he can do.

“How bad is it?” His voice is tight, strained, as he forces himself to ask the question he dreads the answer to.

One of the older healers, a woman with kind but weary eyes, glances up from where she kneels beside Harrybell, pressing her glowing hands against his chest. “His body is weak. Drained.” Her voice is low, measured. “Fairy magic is deeply tied to nature and their powers, he overexerted himself trying to protect something and he also dipped too deep into his magic..” Her gaze flickers toward them.

Louis thinks of his garden that was destroyed, the vines that were everywhere and the thorns, so different from Harry's usual magic. And he thinks about the flower he protected. All of that is probably enough to drain him. Louis grits his teeth. 

Even when he was on the verge of death, Harrybell had put something else before himself. Something small, something delicate, something unimportant compared to his own life.

Louis feels something dark whirl inside him, something sharp and suffocating. His nails dig into his palms as he fights the urge to lash out at nothing, at everything. His shadows stretch toward Harrybell like they want to shield him, wrap around him and never let go.

“What else?” Louis demands, his voice rough, his throat tight. The healer hesitates for half a second too long, and Louis’ stomach sinks.

“His wing.”

Louis exhales sharply through his nose. He already knew , but hearing it said aloud makes it real.

He swallows, forces himself to ask what he doesn’t want to. “Will it heal?” His voice is quieter now, but no less intense.

“If we act quickly, maybe,” she says carefully. “Fairy wings are delicate. But with the right treatment-

A sharp, pained cry cuts her off.

Louis doesn’t think, he moves . Instinct takes over, and he reaches for Harrybell, his entire body tensing at the sound of his pain but the healing fairy stops him.

“No,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. “You can’t touch him right now. We’re setting his wing, and it’s going to hurt. But if you interfere, it may not heal.”

Louis forces himself to stop, but his entire body is coiled with tension, his fingers twitching at his sides, his jaw locked tight. Harrybell whimpers again, his small body trembling, and Louis has to swallow down the snarl that rises in his throat. It’s necessary, he tells himself. They’re helping him. But he hates this. Hates seeing Harrybell like this. Hates that he wasn’t fast enough, strong enough to stop it from happening.

He just wants to hold him, wants to help him and make it all be okay again. Fuck, Louis feels so guilty, its all his fault. 

“Just fix him,” he mutters, voice low and edged with something raw, something desperate. A plea. “Do whatever you have to do.”

The healers nod and return to their work, their magic glowing brighter as they continue mending Harrybell’s broken body. Louis doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink. His eyes are on Harrybell as they work on him for hours, the fairy whimpering and screaming from pain. 

Niall disappears at some point only to come back with another fairy, and Louis glares at them. “I dont fucking think he needs an audience right now.” 

“Liam is his best friend,” Niall spits and Louis forces his mouth shut. 

Louis feels his frustration building as the two fairies speak in hushed tones beside him. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn't care about anything except Harrybell. His gaze remains locked on the fairy, every soft whimper and strained cry from Harrybell slicing through him like daggers. The sound twists deep inside, a gut-wrenching reminder that he can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

The hours seem to drag on forever, the quiet murmurs of the healers blending with the rhythmic sound of Harrybell’s laboured breathing. Every time Harrybell lets out another whimper or groan, Louis feels like he's being torn apart all over again.

The room is still, a heavy silence hanging in the air. Louis watches as the healers continue their work, their magic glowing faintly, their hands hovering over Harrybell’s fragile body. It’s been hours, hours of pain-filled cries and soft, tortured gasps. But now, slowly, the intensity begins to ease. The soft glow of the healing magic shifts, growing a little dimmer, the whimpers becoming less frequent, the screams fading into shallow breaths. Louis watches, not blinking, not moving, too afraid to believe what his senses are telling him.

A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Harrybell’s lips, a sign, maybe, that the worst is finally over. The tension that has been so tight in Louis' chest begins to loosen just a fraction, but he can’t bring himself to relax. Not yet. Not until he’s sure. The room, once thick with the weight of Harrybell’s suffering, feels a little lighter. It’s not over, not by a long shot, but the worst seems to be passing, and Louis allows himself a breath.

"Is he...?" Louis starts, but his voice cracks, the words getting caught in his throat. He doesn't even finish the sentence; it’s too much to hope for, too much to ask.

The healer who has been tending to Harrybell looks up at him, her eyes soft, understanding, but tinged with exhaustion. “Still weak,” she responds, her voice gentler now, a calm that contrasts with the storm Louis has been battling inside himself. “But we’ve stabilised him. He’ll make it through.”

Louis steps forward slowly, cautiously, his feet feeling heavier with each movement, as though the weight of the situation is pressing on him from all sides. He sinks down beside Harrybell, lowering himself to the cold stone floor, his breath ragged in his chest as he reaches for the pale, limp hand. It’s so cold, far too cold, and his fingers tremble as he wraps them around Harrybell’s, feeling the slight pressure of his hand, a faint connection.

A soft sob escapes Louis' throat, and he swallows it quickly, fighting to regain control. He’s never been this vulnerable, never felt so powerless. But there’s no stopping it now. His emotions crash over him like a wave, and he can’t do anything but let it roll through him, helpless, holding on to Harrybell as the tears keep silently streaming down his face. 

“He’ll fly again, right?” Louis asks, his voice barely a whisper, but it’s filled with desperation. He can’t bring himself to look at anyone else in the room, instead staring at the still, pale figure in front of him, as though willing Harrybell to answer, willing him to wake up and tell him everything will be fine. 

The healer shifts, and when Louis does look up, there is a flicker of hesitation in her gaze before she speaks again. “We can’t say yet,” she admits softly. “His body has taken a lot of damage, and his wing…” She trails off, her face clouded with concern. 

“It’s not just physical injury. Fairy wings are delicate, intricate. His wing has been severely damaged. He needs time to heal, to fully recover, before we can say for sure what’s next.”

“Thank you,” Louis rasps, his voice cracking in the stillness. His words are quiet but carry the weight of everything he’s feeling. The healer nods softly, her face solemn, before she steps back, giving Louis the space he needs.

The room is quieter now, the tense atmosphere lifting just slightly as the healers continue their work, their quiet movements an ongoing rhythm of healing. But Louis isn’t focused on them anymore. His entire world narrows down to the pale form of Harrybell, fragile and vulnerable, still and broken. The sight of him like this claws at Louis' insides, his heart breaking with every breath the fairy takes, each one still shallow, too slow.

Louis leans in closer, his fingers trembling as he carefully takes Harrybell’s delicate hand, lifting it to his lips. The coolness of his skin sends a shiver through him, but Louis doesn’t pull away. Instead, he presses a gentle kiss to the soft skin of Harrybell’s hand, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. His breath hitches in his chest, the weight of everything he feels settling into that single, fragile moment.

“You’ll be alright, little flower,” Louis whispers, his voice low and filled with raw emotion, his throat tight with tears. Harrybell is strong, he’s resilient, and he will heal. Louis refuses to believe anything else. The warm glow, albeit faint, is still there and Louis holds on to that small flicker of hope. 

Chapter Text

Be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

- Sylvia Plath

Chapter Text

Harrybell wakes up slowly, as if dragging himself up from the depths of something heavy and endless. Time feels strange. It's stretched thin and blurred around the edges. It feels like days pass, maybe longer, where he is caught in the space between dreams and waking. He hears hushed voices, feels gentle touches against his skin, whether it's a cool hand brushing his forehead or fingers wrapping around his hand, but he’s too weak to respond, too lost in the pain that has wrapped itself around him.

The world drifts in and out, slipping through his fingers whenever he tries to grasp it. Sometimes, the voices sound urgent, sharp with worry. Other times, they are softer, a quiet murmur in the background, like waves lapping against the shore. He thinks he recognizes them and it pulls him closer to wakefulness, but he still isn’t strong enough to fight through the haze.

Until now.

A dull ache pulses through his body, his limbs heavy, his skin fever-warm. But something feels different. His fingers twitch slightly, and with great effort, he forces his eyelids to flutter open. The world is too bright at first, the light above him soft but overwhelming, making his vision blur. He blinks sluggishly, trying to adjust, trying to make sense of where he is.

His mouth feels dry, like he’s been eating cotton and his head is hurting, but then he sees him.

Louis .

The sight of him nearly knocks the breath from Harrybell’s weak lungs. He’s sitting close, his usually sharp expression softer now. His eyes are red-rimmed and dark from exhaustion, like he hasn’t slept in days. His lips are pressed into a thin line, his jaw tense, and yet, there’s something achingly familiar in the way he’s watching him, something steady, something safe.

Harrybell wants to say something, wants to reach for him, but all that comes out is a small, broken sound. His body is too weak, but still, he’s awake. He made it.

And Louis is here.

There is a bruise on his cheekbone, his lip is split open but he is here and alive.

Louis eyes snap up to him immediately, his eyes widen with relief before he leans closer and carefully grabs Harrybells hand. 

Harrybell’s throat is dry, his body aching in ways he can’t fully describe, but he doesn’t care. Not when Louis is right there, solid and warm, grounding him. He tries to take a slow breath, but it feels like thorns are digging into his lungs, poking him with every inhale. He wants to speak, he wants to ask Louis what happened and if the flower is okay, if he finally got his soul but the words won’t come out. 

The flicker of frustration must show on his face, because Louis’ expression softens even further. “Hey, it’s okay, little flower,” he murmurs, shifting just slightly, like he wants to be closer but is afraid of hurting him. “Don’t push yourself too much yet.”

Harrybell swallows, his throat burning, and he barely manages to squeeze Louis’ hand.

“I’ll get you something to drink,” Louis says, already moving like he’s about to stand, “and one of the healer fairies, yeah?”

But Harrybell’s fingers twitch around his, weak but insistent, and when Louis glances back down at him, he shakes his head. He doesn’t want Louis to go. Can’t let him. Not yet. Not when the world still feels so fragile around the edges, like it could break apart if he lets go. Not when the last time Louis left, so many horrible things happened. 

Louis exhales slowly, understanding almost immediately. “Alright, alright, petal.” He settles back into place, both of his hands now wrapped around Harrybell’s. “I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”

Relief washes over Harrybell like a soft breeze, easing some of the tension in his battered body.

Louis tilts his head slightly, studying him with careful eyes. “Are you doing okay, though? Not in any pain?”

Harrybell hesitates. He is in pain, his entire body feels like it’s been shattered and barely put back together, but he knows if he admits it, Louis will leave to get help. And he’s not ready for that, not yet. So he shakes his head, ignoring the way it makes him feel even dizzier.

Louis seems to believe him, at least for now. “Good,” he murmurs, squeezing his hand just a little tighter. “I’m glad. Then we’ll wait until someone comes.” 

Louis doesn't talk but Harrybell doesn't mind as they wait in silence. He keeps his eyes on the demon, blinking slowly as he fights to stay awake. Time passes slowly but eventually, one of the healer fairies comes in. Harrybell recognizes her as Elira, a fairy he grew up with and he knows she isn't done with her training as a healer fairy. 

“Hi, Lou,” she says, her voice light, familiar, as she offers the demon a small smile.

Harrybell frowns. Lou?

Before he can process the odd nickname, Louis turns his head toward her, and the loss of his gaze sparks something uneasy in Harrybell’s chest. A whine escapes him before he can stop it, weak and small, but enough to snap Louis’ attention right back to him.

He studies him instantly, his grip on Harrybell’s hand tightening, eyes scanning him for any sign of discomfort.

“Oh, Harrybell, you’re awake.” Elira’s voice is warm, but she barely spares him a glance. “I’m going to get Thessaly.” As she turns to leave, she has the audacity to squeeze Louis’ shoulder like they’re familiar .

Harrybell scowls.

“Oi, stop with the pout,” Louis murmurs, amusement glinting in his tired eyes.

Harrybell hadn’t even realized he was pouting, but at Louis’ words, he presses his lips together stubbornly. He doesn’t like how easily she had spoken to Louis, how comfortable she seemed around him. Lou. No one called him that. No one except…

Oh .

His expression softens slightly as the realisation settles over him. It’s not that Elira and Louis are close in the way he had feared. It’s that Louis has been here long enough for the fairies to grow used to him. Long enough for them to give him a nickname.

He’s been here. He’s been by my side, waiting.

The warmth that spreads through Harrybell’s chest is enough to dull the sharp edges of his pain. He clings to it, focuses on it instead of the ache in his body or the exhaustion pressing down on him.

Louis huffs a quiet laugh at his silence, squeezing his hand gently. “Thessaly will be here soon, petal,” he murmurs. “She’ll check on you, make sure you’re alright.”

Harrybell blinks slowly up at him, lashes fluttering as he fights to stay awake. He doesn’t want to close his eyes, not when Louis is here, when his touch is warm and comforting. But his body is weak, and staying conscious feels more and more impossible.

Louis must notice, because his thumb strokes soothing circles over the back of Harrybell’s hand.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, his voice softer than Harrybell has ever heard it. “You can rest, little flower. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Harrybell wants to believe him, but deep in his chest, fear lingers. A fear that if he lets go, if he falls asleep, Louis will be gone. That this warmth, this comfort, will disappear like a dream and he’ll wake up in the other demon's cruel grasp. He swallows, fingers twitching weakly in Louis’ grasp as he tries to hold on.

“Not leaving,” Louis promises, firm and steady.

Before Harrybell can give in to the pull of exhaustion, footsteps echo down the hall, light but purposeful.

“I hear he’s awake?” Thessaly’s warm voice sounds, and moments later, she steps inside, Elira trailing behind her. Thessaly’s face softens when she sees Harrybell. “Hi, darling. You gave us quite the scare.” She says, patting his free hand before she glances at Elira. “Go fetch him something to drink. I’ll check on him.”

Elira nods and slips out again while Thessaly steps closer, raising her hands over Harrybell’s body. A soft glow blooms around her hands as her magic spreads through him, scanning his injuries and soothing them. It hums faintly against his skin, warm but not unpleasant. She concentrates, her brows furrowing slightly before she nods.

“You’re healing well, Harrybell,” she says, her voice gentle. “I know it still hurts, but we’ll give you something for the pain.” Then her expression shifts, more serious. “Now, I just need to check on your wing, alright?”

His body locks up instantly.

His wing.

He had forgotten. Forgotten the moment the demon’s magic had struck him, burning through the delicate gossamer, tearing into him like fire. But now the memory slams into him all at once, cold and sharp. His wing. His wings. Will he-

Panic rises like a tidal wave, choking him. His breaths come too fast, too shallow. His eyes snap to Louis, desperate, searching. Louis squeezes his hand, grounding him. “It’s okay,” he says, low and steady, but Harrybell’s mind is spinning.

Without his wings, he-

Will he ever fly again?

“Hey, breathe.” Louis’ voice cuts through the panic, a gentle order and Harrybell tries, but it’s hard with the anxiety pressing down on him. Thessaly must see it, because she moves carefully, as she gently lifts him into a sitting position with the help of Louis who holds him steady when he doesn’t manage to support his own body. He slumps forward into Louis' arms, the demon holding him to his chest and gently stroking his hair. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Thessaly murmurs, her tone soft and reassuring. “I’m going to be very careful, okay? I won’t hurt you.”

Harrybell forces himself to breathe, forces himself to nod, even as his heart pounds. Louis doesn’t let go of him as tears roll down his eyes and he clutches at his arm to hold onto something, along with the faint scent of Louis’ body. 

Thessaly reaches out, and the moment her magic touches his wing, Harrybell gasps, his body tensing in pain.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” she soothes. “Just a little longer, darling.”

Louis shifts closer, his fingers tightening around Harrybell’s. “You’re alright,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”

Harrybell squeezes his eyes shut as he lets out a whimper when more pain curses through him but he clings to Louis’ voice, to his touch, to the warmth of him, and somehow, it keeps him from spiraling.

After what feels like forever, Thessaly finally pulls her hands away.

There’s a long pause before she speaks, her voice careful.

“The damage was… severe,” she says gently. “But it’s healing. Slower than the rest of you, but it is healing.”

Harrybell’s chest tightens, his breath unsteady.

“Will he fly again?” Louis asks, his voice firm but quiet and Harrybell isn't sure he is ready for the answer.

Thessaly hesitates again.

“We won’t know until he’s fully healed,” she admits before she looks at Harrybell, eyes kind but honest. “But I will do everything I can, darling. We all will. For now, it's important we concentrate on healing your body before we’ll focus on the wing.”

The words should bring him comfort. But all he can think about is the feeling of the wind under his wings, the freedom of the sky. And the possibility that he may never have that again.

Louis holds him closer, mindful of his injuries. “You’re not alone in this, petal.” His voice is quiet, steady. “No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out.”

Harrybell swallows, his fingers loosening from the grip they have on Louis' arm as he feels himself going numb. Without his wings, he is nothing. 

Louis gently lowers him onto his back and takes the cup that Elira had brought over, and holds it up to his lips. He manages two sips before he turns his head away and Louis worries, Harrybell can see it in his eyes but he doesn't say anything. 

“Medicine for the pain,” he says, holding up another, much smaller cup, and Harrybell allows him to let it trickle into his mouth, the taste sweet and bitter. Louis frowns, setting the cup aside as Harrybell coughs weakly. His free hand smooths over his hair, a grounding touch, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade.

“You alright?” Louis asks but Harrybell can't bring himself to answer. He is just too tired.

“Just rest now, darling,” Thessaly murmurs, adjusting the blankets over him with careful hands. “Your body needs time, and the medicine should help with the pain soon.”

Harrybell barely hears her. His mind is too full, thoughts circling like a storm with no way out. He feels trapped, pinned to the bed, to the ground, to a body that suddenly feels so much heavier without the chance of flying again. What's a fairy without wings?

He turns his head, seeking out Louis instinctively. The demon is still watching him, his blue eyes unreadable but there . Always there .

Louis hesitates, then shifts closer, his thumb brushing along the inside of Harrybell’s wrist where his pulse is too fast. “You’re not nothing,” he says quietly, and Harrybell stiffens.

Had he said that out loud? Or does Louis just know ?

Louis looks at him, expression serious and intense. “You’re still you,” he murmurs. “Wings or not. They don’t define you.”

Harrybell swallows, his throat tight. What does Louis know about wings and flying? He wants to scream and cry and argue, but he is too weak and he doesn't want Louis to leave.

The medicine is starting to work, dulling the ache in his body, softening the edges of his thoughts. Exhaustion drags at him again, heavier this time. His blinks grow slower, harder to fight.

Louis squeezes his hand one last time.

“I’ve got you, petal,” he says. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And this time, Harrybell lets himself fall.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The recovery of his body is slow but steady. Louis is constantly by his side, never straying away too far. They even gave him a bed that sits next to Harrybells though he rarely uses it. He holds Harrybell when they heal him and the pain becomes too much, wiping his tears and whispering soothing words. He holds his hand and plays with his hair. 

Niall and Liam drop by as much as possible too. Sundrop is cared for by a rota of fairies, and Liam and Niall make sure to bring her to Harry for cuddles ever so often. They tell him stories and update him on the latest gossip that Niall picks up at the bakery, his laughter loud and full of delight while Liam is softer, quietly fussing over him. He brings him figs and strawberries and Harrybell makes a point to eat them, even though his stomach isn’t quite as hungry as it once was. He doesn’t want to disappoint them, doesn’t want to let them see how much he is affected by what happened. From what he knows, Louis has told them his side of the story, but Harrybell hasn't been ready yet to explain what the demon did to him.

There is also the question of ‘ Will he fly again?’ looming in the air. The first and only time it’s brought up, Louis is quick to shut it down. The shadows curl around his hands, his presence more protective than Harrybell could ever put into words. Niall and Liam, both taken aback by the intensity of the moment, quickly apologise, and Harrybell’s fingers tighten around Louis’ hand in gratitude.

And then, there are the arguments.

Niall’s voice fills the air with his insistence that Harrybell needs to eat more, that he needs more blankets, more warmth. Liam’s quieter but persistent remarks about the right kinds of food, the gentle prodding of his own worries that Harrybell’s recovery might not be as swift as it should be. And Louis is always in the middle, trying to smooth things over, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all while still trying to make sure Harrybell is comfortable.

It’s amusing to watch, really. How they all care so much, how they all seem to have taken up this shared responsibility for his well-being. And yet, when they leave, Harrybell feels drained. 

It’s when the room is still again that Louis’ soft voice breaks the silence. “You don’t have to act around them, y’know? They’d understand if you're tired.”

Harrybell shrugs, scrunching his nose, the corners of his lips twitching as if he's trying to smile. He’s exhausted. The weight of the days, of the endless cycle of recovery, and of pretending he isn’t terrified of what tomorrow might bring wears on him. But he doesn’t know how to tell Louis that.

“And you can talk too, I miss your voice,” Louis adds, his tone tender, the tip of one of his shadows gently boops Harrybell’s nose, and he can’t help but blush, the warmth spreading through his chest.

He hasn't spoken since he woke up. He can’t quite pinpoint what’s holding him back, whether it's fear, uncertainty, or something he doesn’t want to face but the silence feels easier somehow. Louis understands him even without words, and for now, that’s enough.

Harrybell only shrugs and looks at the demon with tired eyes. Louis' sigh is soft, almost resigned, but there’s no frustration there. He simply squeezes Harrybell’s hand, his fingers warm and steady. “Alright, petal. But whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

A few days later Thessaly deems him heeled enough that he can go home, telling him to come back in a week so they can finally start working on his wing. 

And really, Harrybell is afraid to go home. He isn't ready to see everything he loves to be destroyed. But his friends and Louis seem so excited at the prospect of him being able to go home, they don't even notice his reluctance, his fear. And he doesn't speak up either, so he doesnt have another choice. 

When the day arrives, it’s only Louis who accompanies him.

Louis helps him up from the bed, his hands firm but careful as he steadies him. But the moment Harrybell tries to take a step, his legs tremble under his own weight. He’s too weak, too unsteady, his body out of balance without his wings. And the realisation crashes into him like a wave. He can’t even walk home properly, let alone fly.

His knees buckle, and before he can hit the floor, Louis catches him.

“Woah, careful there,” Louis murmurs, his arms securing around him in an instant.

Harrybell’s breath stutters. He grips onto Louis without thinking, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The sudden closeness, the steady warmth of Louis' touch, is grounding, but it doesn’t stop the burn of frustration rising in his throat.

“I got you,” Louis says, voice low and even, like he isn’t the least bit surprised this happened. Like he expected it.

Humiliation twists in Harrybell’s chest. He clenches his jaw, hating how weak he feels, how dependent he is on Louis right now and his eyes burn with tears.

Louis doesn’t let go, not until Harrybell steadies himself again. He keeps his hands on him for a moment longer, as if testing whether he’s truly okay before he finally eases back.

“We’re taking this slow,” Louis states, giving him a look that dares him to argue. “And if you need to stop, you stop. No pushing yourself.”

Harrybell exhales shakily and nods.

The walk is slow, each step careful, and Louis never strays far. His arm hovers near Harrybell’s back, ready to catch him again if needed and his shadows are curled around his waist, tightening whenever he stumbles slightly. 

But as they approach the familiar path leading home, Harrybell’s heart pounds. His stomach twists, dread seeping into every corner of his mind. He doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t want to know how much has changed, how much has been taken from him.

Louis notices. Of course, he does.

Without a word, he reaches for Harrybell’s hand. Their fingers brush for a brief moment before Louis fully takes hold, his grip firm, grounding. Harrybell looks at him and he knows there are tears shining in his eyes.

“I’m here,” Louis murmurs, his voice soft but unwavering as he gives him a reassuring smile.

Harrybell swallows, his fingers tightening around Louis’. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t let go.

And together, they take the final steps home.

His breath catches as he takes in the sight before him. He had expected destruction. Ruined flower beds, and ugly vines still curled along the walls, lined with thorns. A home stripped of the life and warmth he had nurtured for so long. But instead, it has been cared for.

The vines that had curled around his cottage are gone, leaving the walls bare again. His garden, though not as full as it once was, isn’t barren. Some flowers remain, their petals reaching toward the sun, and the soil beneath them is damp, freshly watered.

Someone has been taking care of them.

His eyes flick to Louis, a silent question in them.

Louis simply shrugs, shifting on his feet like he’s bracing for an interrogation. “Didn’t want you to come back to a mess,” he says, acting as if it’s nothing. As if he hadn’t spent his time here, tending to the pieces of Harrybell’s life that he had feared were lost. He must’ve done it during night time as well because during the day, Louis was always by his side. 

Warmth spreads through Harrybell’s chest, overwhelming and unexpected. His fingers tighten around Louis’ hand, and he gives him a grateful smile. 

As they step into the garden, Harrybell’s breath catches in his throat. Sundrop sits among the tulips, her small form bathed in the soft afternoon light. At the sight of them, her ears perk up, and in an instant, she’s bounding toward him.

A sob escapes before he can stop it, and he drops to his knees, scooping her into his arms. She burrows into his chest, warm and familiar, and the tears he’s been holding back spill over, dampening her fur as he clings to her.

“She found me that night,” Louis murmurs, his voice careful, measured.

Harrybell lifts his gaze, brushing his fingers through Sundrop’s fur in silent praise. Louis meets his eyes for a moment before glancing toward the empty flower beds.

“It’s not the same as before,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I figured you’d take care of that. Grow new flowers, y’know?”

Harrybell follows his gaze, his heart clenching at the bare soil where his garden used to thrive. A quiet sadness settles over him, but he only shrugs, swallowing down the ache.

“Yeah,” Louis whispers. “Let’s settle you in first.”

Together, they step into the cottage, the warmth of familiarity settling over Harrybell like a fragile thread. The floor, once littered with shattered glass and dark stains, is now pristine, wiped clean of any evidence of the horrors that had taken place. His favorite armchair remains in its usual spot, Louis’ makeshift bed still pushed against the wall, and his own bedroom stands untouched, as though time had never moved at all.

And yet, something is different.

It feels hollow, like a place that belongs to a version of himself that no longer exists. His eyes flicker to the floor where he had lain curled up in pain, whispering desperate prayers to any force that would listen. To the space where dark blood had dripped, and where the demon had turned to ash.

His breath stutters, and his body locks in place, the memories wrapping around him like vines threatening to pull him under.

But then, Louis is there. His fingers tighten around Harrybell’s, solid and steady, like an anchor in the storm of his thoughts. “You’re safe now, I promise.” His voice is low and gentle, as though speaking too loudly might shatter Harrybell into pieces.

Harrybell swallows hard, shifting his gaze to Louis. He’s watching him with that same unwavering focus, the same quiet understanding that has never needed words.

He wants to believe him. Instead, he bites his lip and looks away, blinking rapidly. 

"Go lay down, and I’ll make you some lunch. You need to rest," Louis says, scooping Sundrop up and placing him on the bed before stepping into the kitchen.

Harrybell sighs, glancing around the cottage. The quiet presses in on him, unfamiliar and heavy, so instead of lying down, he follows Louis.

The moment he steps into the kitchen, a shadow curls around his wrist, gentle and cool. He smiles faintly, comforted by the small touch. But then, his eyes land on the small table between the armchair and the sofa.

The Soulbloom.

It has been replanted, the soil fresh, but the flower is struggling. Its petals droop, the once-vibrant leaves curling inward, edges tinged with brown. It looks fragile, barely clinging to life.

Harrybell’s breath catches in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, the words cracking as they leave his lips. His throat is dry, the sound foreign even to his own ears. He hasn’t spoken in weeks.

Louis stills. His head snaps toward him, eyes wide, not with concern, but surprise. “Oh, look who’s talking again.” His voice is light, teasing, but when he follows Harrybell’s gaze, the amusement fades. The shadow on Harrybell’s wrist tightens, just slightly, and Louis exhales a quiet, “Oh.”

Harrybell turns to him, and the tears burning in his eyes finally spill over.

“Oh no, love. No,” Louis says quickly, shaking his head.

“I tried to protect it,” Harrybell whispers, his voice trembling. “I… I really did. But he was so much stronger, Lou, I—” His breath hitches, fingers curling against his palms. “I’m sorry.”

Louis moves before he can spiral further, stepping close and grasping both of Harrybell’s hands in his own. “Hey now, stop,” he murmurs, firm but gentle. “It’s not your fault.”

Harrybell looks down, guilt clawing at his chest. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve—”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Louis interrupts, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “You were fighting for your life, petal. I don’t know why you were trying to protect it.” His voice softens, something raw flickering in his expression. “Why?”

Harrybell swallows past the lump forming in his throat. His gaze drifts to the wilting Soulbloom before meeting Louis’ eyes, vulnerable yet steady.

“Because,” he whispers, “it’s yours. Your soul. How could I not?”

Louis inhales sharply, his fingers twitching around Harrybell’s as he gathers the courage to speak. “So you know?”

Harrybell nods.

A heavy silence settles between them, thick and pressing. The weight of everything unsaid coils between their interlocked fingers. Louis’ grip is firm but not forceful, grounding but not demanding. It’s a silent reassurance, a quiet plea for patience.

“We need to talk,” Louis murmurs, voice low and steady. “It’s been long overdue.”

Harrybell nods again, allowing himself to be led to the sofa. Normally, Louis would take the armchair, keeping a measured distance between them. But this time, he sits beside Harrybell, close enough that their shoulders almost brush, close enough that Harrybell can feel the warmth of his presence seep into his skin.

Louis licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair nervously and then exhales like he's forcing something heavy out of his chest. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of something raw, like it has been buried for far too long.

“I grew up as a demon,” he starts, slowly and voice slightly shaky. “All my life, I didn’t know anything besides cruelty and pain. That’s just the way it is down there. You either fight your way to the top, or you’re nothing but a pawn. A slave. A stepping stone for someone else’s power.”

Harrybell swallows hard, watching the way Louis’ jaw tightens, the way his shadows curl around his wrist as if steadying himself.

“So, I fought,” Louis continues. “I did things I’m not proud of. Things I had to do to survive. The underworld is dark, cold, and ugly. And I hated it. Hated all of it.” His eyes flicker to Harrybell. “I wanted to escape. So I did.

“I wandered between realms, learned what I could. Humans fascinated me. They were simple in a way demons aren’t. They’re kind, at least some of them. Not like you, but enough to make me wonder what it would be like… to have a soul. To feel things the way they do.”

Harrybell's breath catches in his throat. The way Louis says it, with such quiet longing, makes his chest ache.

“I knew that humans who were turned into demons could get their souls back,” Louis continues. “But someone born without one? That was unheard of. Impossible, even. But I had to try.

“I spent years, decades even researching. And then… Nex found out.”

Harrybell stiffens. His fingers tighten around Louis’ instinctively, as if he can shield him from the very memory of that name. He can hear that it pains him to even say the name. 

Louis notices and squeezes back, reassuring. “I was a high demon by then, strong enough to stay off most people’s radar. But Nex?” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “He wasn’t just powerful. He was something else entirely. Like a god, but worse.

“He told me he’d help me. That he could find a way. And all he wanted in return was my loyalty, my services, for a year and three months.” Louis’ lips twist into something bitter. “That’s about 150 years, by your time. I agreed without even thinking.

“I did his bidding. Every order. Every demand. I killed in his name. Hunted for him. Tortured for him. And I told myself it was for something good . That it would be worth it.” His voice dips lower, quieter. “And if you think I’m cruel, Nex is worse. He-...” Louis swallows hard. “He’s the one who attacked you.”

A sharp breath escapes Harrybell, his entire body going rigid.

Louis flinches, but he doesn’t let go. His shadows reach out, winding gently around Harrybell’s wrist, cool and comforting. “He enjoys pain. Thrives on it. And he… he got bored of just making others suffer. He turned it on me, too.

“He tortured me. Over and over. Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days. He’d chain my hands and whip me until my skin was in ribbons. Sometimes he healed me, just so he could do it again. Other times he let the wounds fester, just to see how long I’d last. He took pleasure in it. In breaking me apart.” Louis’ voice is even, steady, but there’s something hollow in his tone, as if he’s speaking of someone else. “But it was worth it, because one day, he came to me with an answer.”

Harrybell exhales shakily, the tears already welling in his eyes.

“The Soulbloom ,” Louis murmurs. “He told me about it. A flower that could grow a soul. And he told me he’d get me a seed. But in return…” Louis’ fingers tremble against Harrybell’s. “He wanted something from me.”

Harrybell doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until Louis speaks again.

“I used to have wings,” Louis whispers.

Harrybell’s eyes widen. He stares, disbelief crashing into him like a wave.

Louis lets out a breathy, broken laugh. “Gods, I loved them so much.” His voice cracks on the last word.

Harrybell swallows hard, blinking rapidly against the tears burning his eyes.

“Nex took them,” Louis continues, quieter now. “Because I let him. He didn’t just rip them away. No, that would’ve been too easy for him. He took his time. Days. He made sure I was awake. Made sure I felt every moment.” His shadows ripple around him, restless and agitated. “And when it was done, he hung them up like a trophy.”

A tear slips down Harrybell’s cheek.

Louis chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “It took me two months to recover. But at the end of it, I got the seed. And then, I had to find someone to grow it.

“A witch would have cursed me before I even stepped onto their land, but a fairy? A fairy could help.I asked around. Searched. And everywhere I went, it was the same name. They all talked about you.”

Harrybell sniffles.

“They said you were the best.” Louis looks at him then, his expression softer, more open than Harrybell has ever seen. “So I found you.”

Harrybell wipes at his eyes, laughing wetly. “And you were a nightmare.”

Louis huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I was, wasn’t I?”

Harrybell nods. “Absolutely insufferable.”

Louis smirks, but it fades quickly. “I thought it would be simple. In and out. I was still angry. Still hurting. But then… days turned into weeks. And you were just-” he exhales, shaking his head, “you.”

Harrybell tilts his head. “Me?”

Louis nods. “Bratty. Warm. Full of life. And for the first time in my existence, I wasn’t just living for that flower.” His thumb brushes over Harrybell’s knuckles, slow and deliberate. “I was living for you .”

A choked sound escapes Harrybell. His tears spill freely now, but he doesn’t care. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around Louis’ middle, burying his face into his shoulder.

Harrybell watches as Louis hesitates for just a second before tugging his shirt over his head, the fabric sliding over his skin to reveal the scars beneath.

His breath catches.

Two deep, jagged scars run down Louis’ back where his wings used to be. The skin is uneven, raised in some places, dipped in others, as if it had been carved away and barely allowed to heal. There are other scars too, though they are thinner and lighter, probably from the whippings but they barely stand out against the scars from his wings.

Harrybell reaches out instinctively but stops himself just before touching. “Louis…” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

Louis’ shoulders tense. “It’s ugly, I know.”

Harrybell swallows against the lump in his throat. “It’s not,” he says firmly. “It’s… it’s proof that you survived.”

Louis huffs out a soft, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

Harrybell’s fingers tremble as he finally allows himself to trace his fingertips lightly over the scarred skin. Louis shivers, but he doesn’t pull away.

A pang of anger and grief twists in Harrybell’s chest. He wishes he had been there, wishes he could have stopped it, could have saved Louis from this pain. His fingers press a little harder. “Does it still hurt?”

Louis hesitates. “Not physically. Not anymore.”

Harrybell understands. Some wounds never truly stop hurting. 

Slowly, he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to one of the scars. Louis stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath. 

“I was a fool for ever trusting Nex.” Louis mutters bitterly.

“No Lou, you just- you just wanted to be good, to have a purpose. That's… what you did is nothing to be ashamed of and I’m sorry for the way I treated you, for not trusting you.” 

Louis exhales shakily, his shadows flickering around them like restless whispers. He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips.

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” he admits. “I wouldn’t have trusted me either.”

Harrybell frowns, reaching for Louis’ hand. His fingers curl around it, grounding him. “That’s not fair,” he says softly. “I judged you before I even knew you. I thought you were just another selfish demon who only cared about himself.”

Louis lifts a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the heaviness in his eyes. “To be fair, I did storm into your life and demand something impossible.”

Harrybell huffs a quiet laugh. “You did. But you also stayed. You protected me. You cared.” He squeezes Louis’ hand. “And you sacrificed more than I can ever understand just for a chance to feel.”

Louis drops his gaze, his thumb tracing absent patterns over Harrybell’s knuckles, his voice barely above a whisper. “I still don’t know if it was worth it,” he confesses. “The Soulbloom… it’s dying. And after everything I’ve done, I don’t know if I even deserve-”

“Stop.” Harrybell’s voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. His grip tightens around Louis’ hand, grounding him. “Don’t say that.” He takes a steady breath, his heart pounding against his ribs. 

“You keep thinking your soul is something you have to earn, something that proves you’re good. But Lou, I already see it in you. You don’t need a flower to tell me who you are.” His voice softens, thick with emotion. “You’re so full of light. Of warmth. Of kindness. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do.”

Louis exhales shakily, his entire body going still. His shadows waver, curling and uncurling at his fingertips, as if unsure whether to reach for him. His eyes, wide and searching, flicker with something raw and vulnerable.

Then, slowly, like he’s afraid Harrybell might pull away, he lifts his free hand and brushes a curl behind his ear. His touch lingers, fingertips trembling as they ghost over Harrybell’s skin.

They are close, tears shining in both of their eyes and Louis’ gaze flickers down to his lips, just for a moment, before he looks back up, searching Harrybell’s face for any sign of hesitation. But there is none. 

The air around them is thick with everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve kept hidden, and Harrybell knows, deep down, that this moment, their connection, is not just a product of the pain, not just a reaction to the chaos around them or their confession. It's been building up between them for a while now. 

They’ve kissed before. But that was different, an act, a distraction, something necessary but not real. Not like this.

This time, there is no pretending.

Harrybell moves first, closing the last bit of space between them, tilting his head ever so slightly as he presses his lips to Louis’. It’s soft at first, tentative, like the first bloom of spring after a harsh winter. Louis inhales sharply against him, his fingers tightening where they still cradle Harrybell’s cheek.

Then, as if something in him finally breaks free, Louis kisses him back. Harrybell shivers, overwhelmed by the warmth of Louis’ hands, the contrast of his cool shadows wrapped against his skin. He deepens the kiss, pressing closer, fingers fisting in the fabric of Louis’ shirt as if afraid he might disappear.

But Louis doesn’t pull away. He stays. He kisses Harrybell like he’s something fragile and precious and real. Like he’s something worth holding on to. 

The kiss deepens, and Harrybell feels his chest tighten as he’s pulled into the heat of Louis' embrace. He’s not sure what he’s feeling more,  the rush of emotions flooding his body or the way his heart beats faster at every touch, every press of Louis’ lips. Louis kisses him with a tenderness that makes Harrybell feel raw and exposed, but in the best possible way.

Harrybell lets out a soft, involuntary moan when Louis deepens the kiss, his hand trailing to Harrybell’s back, pulling him even closer, if that’s possible. His own hands clutch at Louis’ shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric, desperate for more, afraid of losing the connection between them.

Harrybell’s breath hitches, and he gasps into the kiss when Louis pulls him into his lap, his body warm and solid against Harrybell’s, a contrast to the coolness of his shadows.

Harrybell can’t help but whimper, a sound he can’t suppress, and he feels his cheeks flush at the noise. It’s embarrassing, but in the moment, he doesn’t care. His lips part slightly, allowing Louis to slip his tongue between them, and Harrybell shudders. It’s a soft, needy sound that escapes him, one he’s not used to making, but it feels so natural, so right, with Louis like this.

Louis groans lowly in his throat, the sound vibrating against Harrybell’s lips, and Harrybell feels his stomach flutter in response. His hands slide up Louis’ chest, his fingers brushing over the taut muscles beneath his shirt, but it’s not enough. He wants more, needs more, but he can’t find the words to say it.

Louis pulls back just enough to look at him, both of them gasping for breath, their foreheads pressed together. Harrybell’s heart is racing in his chest, his lips swollen and kissed raw. Louis’ eyes are dark, full of emotion, but there's a flicker of something soft there, something that makes Harrybell’s chest tighten even more.

“I-...” Harrybell starts, his voice breathless and shaky. “I need you, Louis. Please.” His words come out in a whisper, but they’re filled with so much longing, so much want that it’s almost overwhelming. The tremor in his voice betrays him, and he feels vulnerable, exposed, but he doesn’t care.

Louis looks at him, his breathing uneven. He swallows hard, as if trying to find the strength to speak, but all he can manage is a low, breathless sound of affirmation. “You have me,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Always.”

Harrybell moans softly, pushing his body closer to Louis’, the kiss resuming with a renewed hunger, an intensity that burns between them. He feels like he could melt into Louis, like every touch, every breath is pulling him deeper into something that’s both terrifying and exhilarating.

Louis kisses him harder now, his hand sliding down Harrybell’s side, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between them. His fingers dig into Harrybell’s skin, possessive and gentle all at once, and Harrybell can’t help but whimper again, the sound escaping him unbidden. He’s so overwhelmed by the sensations, by the intensity of everything that’s happening.

Louis pulls back just a little, his lips brushing over Harrybell’s jaw, tracing the curve of his neck, and Harrybell feels his entire body tremble in response. “My little flower,” Louis mumbles, his voice rough, as though he’s holding himself back. “You’re perfect. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Harrybell whines softly at the praise, his head tilting back, his hands grasping at Louis’ hair as he presses his lips to Louis’ once more, desperate to feel the connection again. The heat between them is too much to bear, too overwhelming, and yet it feels like the only thing that matters in this moment is each other.

They kiss again, and this time it’s even more desperate, more frantic. Harrybell feels a rush of heat flood through him, a yearning that’s almost too much to bear. His body is trembling from the sheer intensity of it, but it’s the kind of trembling that makes him feel alive, makes him feel seen and wanted in a way he’s never felt before.

It feels real. 

Louis pulls back just slightly, his breath hot against Harrybell’s lips, and for the first time, there’s no pretending. No act. No mask. Just them, in this moment, with nothing left to hide.

“No pretending, no acting, no lying,” Louis murmurs softly, his voice thick with emotion, as he begins to slow the kiss, his hands gently intertwining with Harrybell’s. Louis presses soft kisses to Harrybell’s jaw, his lips grazing the sensitive skin and the tickle of his beard sending shivers down Harrybell’s spine.

Harrybell tilts his head slightly, eyes closed as he revels in the sensation of Louis’ lips against his skin. Louis smiles, his gaze tender, and he lifts his eyes to meet Harrybell’s, his voice hushed. “I want to do it right, petal. I want to treat you like you deserve,” he whispers, his thumb tracing the curve of Harrybell’s jaw before pressing another soft kiss to his skin.

Harrybell’s breath catches in his throat at the words, and for a moment, he freezes, his mind processing the weight of what Louis has said. He looks up at him, a hesitant smile playing on his lips, and his voice is almost teasing when he speaks, though there’s a softness there too. “Are you- are you asking to court me?” He asks, his cheeks flushed, the mere thought of it filling him with warmth.

Louis pauses, and for the first time, Harrybell sees the uncertainty in his eyes, though it’s quickly replaced with something more determined. He nods, his hand brushing through Harrybell’s hair gently. “Court you, date you, pursue your heart. Call it what you want, petal, but yeah… if that’s okay with you?”

Harrybell’s heart skips a beat, and he can’t help the grin that stretches across his face. 

“More than okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft but full of affection, his eyes shining with the same vulnerability he sees in Louis’. As Louis leans up to press a kiss to his nose and then his lips, Harrybell laughs, feeling light and unburdened for the first time in months .

“Good,” Louis says, his words carrying a certain relief. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t like you.”

“Your shadows always liked me,” he says, his voice teasing, as he looks pointedly at his wrist, where a shadow curls around like a bracelet, in a familiar, comforting way.

Louis raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, guess they're a bit smarter than me.” he says, the amusement in his voice laced with something else, something warmer.

“ Oh… ” Harrybell blinks in surprise, raising an eyebrow of his own. “I always thought they had a mind of their own,” he admits, his voice filled with playful curiosity.

Louis chuckles, his hands falling to Harrybell’s hips, drawing gentle circles on the fabric of his dress, right on his hips, as he holds him close. 

“They do, sort of. They’re an extension of myself - including my deepest self - and at first, it was a bit of a control thing,” he admits with a small grin. “I wanted to make sure I knew where you were and what you were up to.” He pauses, looking into Harrybell’s eyes as his fingers brush over his skin in a way that sends a soft, warm shiver through Harrybell. “But with time I just liked feeling you, your warmth. I liked knowing that you were there, knowing that you’re okay. That you’re... safe .”

Harrybell’s heart swells at the words, the intensity of the emotion in Louis’ voice making him dizzy. He feels a soft smile tug at his lips, and the warmth in his chest spreads even further. “That’s... actually adorable,” he says, voice teasing but soft. 

“So, what’s next? You telling me you actually do like honey?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, feeling playful again, despite the rawness of the moment.

Louis laughs, and it’s a sound that makes Harrybell’s chest flutter. “Well... I really don’t mind it?” he admits, a sheepish smile on his lips. 

Harrybell gasps, feigning offense, his eyes wide. “Sorry, what ? You’ve been grumbling about it for weeks, and now you’re telling me you like it?”

Louis grins, shaking his head as his fingers continue to trace slow, comforting circles on Harrybell’s waist. “In my defense, petal, you really do smell like it. It’s sweet... but it was irritating. I didn’t want to like you.”

“But you do?” Harrybell asks, his voice soft but hopeful, his heart thumping in his chest as he looks into Louis’ eyes, wanting to hear it, needing to hear it.

Louis’ expression softens, and he presses his forehead gently against Harrybell’s. His voice is low, sincere, and full of warmth. “I do.”

Harrybell’s heart skips a beat at the depth in Louis' eyes, and for a second, the world feels like it’s standing still. Everything that's weighing down on them, whether it's the flower, or the attack, Louis’ past or his wing falls into the background and they can just be.

Harrybell tilts his head back just slightly, catching Louis’ gaze again, and the smile that pulls at his lips isn’t teasing this time. It’s soft, genuine. “Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, like the words are too big to fully express what he feels.

Louis doesn't answer right away. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he just leans in, brushing his lips against Harrybell’s once more, gentle and reassuring, as if to say that, for now, they’ve found something worth holding onto.

The kiss doesn’t last long, but it's enough to remind them both that, no matter how much hurt they’ve carried, they’re not alone in it anymore.

Chapter Text

The moonlight spills through the window, casting a silver glow over the Soulbloom. It stands where they left it, untouched but barely holding on. Its leaves are curled inward, its petals drooping, its light dimming. They had been so close to seeing it in full bloom too. Harrybell swallows, his chest tightening. He doesn’t know if he can save it, but Louis deserves that he at least tries.

His gaze shifts to where the demon sleeps on the makeshift bed. The slow, steady rise and fall of Louis’ chest is reassuring, grounding. He doesn’t stir when Harrybell stands, doesn’t notice when he lifts the flower gently from the table, cradling it in his hands as he steps outside.

The wreckage of his once beautiful garden stretches out before him but he ignores it and instead, focuses on the flower. He exhales shakily and kneels, setting the flower down on the ground in front of him. His fingers tremble as he presses them to the cool ceramic of the pot, trying to steady himself.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, pulling in the scent of damp earth and the lingering sweetness of the flower. He doesn’t know if he has enough magic left. Doesn’t know if it will work.

But he has to try.

Slowly, he lets his magic uncurl. It's still weak, his body trembling with the effort but he keeps pushing it forward, forcing it to wrap around the flower and breathe life back into it. 

It doesn't take long before he feels that strong, greedy pull of the flower and his breath hitches as the soulbloom begins to drink in his magic, desperate and starving.

Harrybell’s vision blurs, the edges of his world dimming as exhaustion drapes over him like a heavy fog. His magic is already running thin, stretched too far, but he grits his teeth and pushes through the ache.

Please , he thinks. Just take what you need. Just bloom.

But before he can give more, before he can pour the last of himself into the flower before he inevitably passes out, something yanks him backward. His magic is severed abruptly, his breath stuttering as dizziness crashes over him. For a split second, terror floods his veins, until he registers the steady grip around his waist, the solid warmth pressed against his back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis’ voice is sharp, but underneath it, there’s something else, like he is afraid.

Harrybell sags against him, his body too heavy, his magic still buzzing painfully at his fingertips, raw and reaching, desperate to finish what it started.

“I-...” His voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. He swallows, blinking rapidly, trying to clear the haze from his vision. “I was just trying to save it.”

Louis exhales sharply, his arm tightening around Harrybell’s waist as if holding him in place. “At the cost of what?” His voice drops lower, rough with emotion. “ Yourself ?”

Harrybell tries to shake his head, but even that feels like too much effort. His limbs are sluggish, his magic drained. “I don’t-...” He sucks in a breath. “You deserve it, Lou.”

Louis mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. Then, with careful hands, he turns Harrybell to face him.

“Petal,” Louis murmurs, his fingers cradling Harrybell’s cheek, grounding him. “You're hurt. You're still healing. The flower… it's not important right now. Let’s focus on you first, please?” His thumbs stroke gently over Harrybell’s cheekbones, a touch so soft it makes Harrybell’s breath catch.

Harrybell searches his face, looking for any reluctance, any hesitation, but there isn’t any. Just certainty. Just unwavering care.

“But–”

“No buts, little flower.” Louis’ voice is firm, but there’s warmth in his eyes, something achingly tender. “You’ve done enough. Let me take care of you now.”

Harrybell swallows, blinking against the sudden burn in his eyes. It feels like a battle he should fight, like something he should argue against but he is so tired. And Louis’ hands are steady, his presence solid, and for once, Harrybell lets himself lean into it.

Louis exhales, relieved, and presses a lingering kiss to Harrybell’s forehead. “Come on,” he murmurs. “You haven’t slept much, have you?”

Harrybell only hums in response, his body sagging further into Louis’ touch. He barely protests as Louis gently tugs him inside by the hand, leading him toward his bedroom.

“Try to get some sleep,” Louis says softly, giving him a gentle nudge toward the door.

Harrybell takes a step forward but pauses in the doorway, turning back to meet Louis’ gaze. The demon is still watching him, his expression unreadable in the dim moonlight filtering through the window.

Something about the quiet intimacy of the moment makes Harrybell feel suddenly shy. He bites his bottom lip, scrunching his nose as warmth creeps into his cheeks. “Good night, Lou,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper.

Louis tilts his head, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. Before Harrybell can say anything else, a shadow slinks up his side and gently tickles his waist, making him giggle.

“Good night, little flower,” Louis says, his voice laced with amusement. His smirk softens into something almost fond.

Harrybell opens his mouth, wanting to say something, maybe even lean in, but he hesitates. It was different earlier, when they were already close, when emotion had overwhelmed them. Now, in the stillness of the night, it feels more delicate, more fragile.

Louis lifts a brow, and with a wink, he says, “Now go.”

Harrybell huffs a small laugh, rolling his eyes before finally turning into his room. But as he settles beneath the blankets, his heart is still racing.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The morning sun filters in softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over Harrybell’s room. He stirs, blinking sluggishly as he stretches beneath the blankets. For a moment, he forgets—about the attack, about the wilting flower, about everything.

Then the ache in his wings pulls him back to reality.

A quiet sigh escapes him as he slowly sits up, his muscles sore but not unbearable. He rubs at his eyes, blinking away the last remnants of sleep. Sundrop is still asleep at the bottom of his bed and Harrybell decides to leave her as he gets up. It takes him a second to register the faint clatter coming from the other room.

Curious, he pushes the blankets off and pads toward the sound, careful with his steps. As he peeks into the kitchen, he stops short.

Louis is standing by the small stove, his back turned, stirring something in a pot. The demon’s hair is a mess of sleep-mussed strands, his usual sharp posture slightly more relaxed.

Harrybell smiles as he watches the demon, though he doesn't stay unnoticed for long before a shadow comes to curl around his wrist. 

Louis glances over his shoulder, his lips quirking up at the corners. 

“Good morning, little flower.” He turns back to the pot, giving it another stir. “Figured you’d be hungry when you woke up.”

Harrybell steps closer, peering over Louis’ shoulder. “What is it?”

Louis hums. “Something warm. Healer’s recipe.” He gestures toward a steaming mug on the counter. “And tea. Not as sweet as you probably like it, but it’s there.”

Harrybell blinks at him, his chest feeling oddly full. Louis doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to fuss over him, and doesn't have to take care of him. But he is. Has been for so long now. 

And maybe that means more than Harrybell knows how to put into words.

So instead, he picks up the tea, cradling it between his hands as he meets Louis’ gaze. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“Go sit, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Louis says, continuing to stir the pot as he adds honey, making Harrybell watch him curiously. Louis moves with an ease through his kitchen that Harrybell didnt know he had, but he doesn't find he mind. 

It's just always been him, and sundrop, but this, this is nice too. 

He carefully settles onto the sofa, being mindful of his wings as he tucks them behind him, then brings the steaming mug to his lips. He takes a careful sip, expecting something soothing, but the taste hits him unexpectedly bitter. His face scrunches in distaste, and he can't help but cough, the sharpness catching him off guard.

“Oh, come on now, it's not that bad.” 

“No,” Harrybell coughs, wincing slightly. “It’s horrible.” He pouts as Louis glances at him, the demon’s amusement obvious in his expression.

“Thessaly said it’s good for you,” Louis comments with a small grin.

“I don’t care what she says,” Harrybell grumbles, setting the mug down on the coffee table with a huff.

But before he can protest further, a shadow flickers from the corner of his eye, wrapping around the mug and lifting it back toward him, holding it just in front of his face.

“One cup each morning and evening,” Louis says matter-of-factly.

“What?” Harrybell whines, shaking his head. “I can’t Lou.” 

“You’ll have to, if you want to heal, little flower.” 

With a defeated sigh, Harrybell accepts the cup from the shadow, glaring at the dark liquid inside before reluctantly taking another sip. The bitter taste coats his tongue, and he grimaces, but he knows better than to argue.

It’s then that Louis reappears, holding two bowls in his hands. He sits down beside Harrybell, placing one bowl in front of him. Harrybell eyes it warily, his stomach still a little off from the tea.

“What’s that?” Harrybell asks cautiously, sticking his spoon into the gooey-looking mixture. His eyes flicker over the bowl, noting the figs and scattered nuts on top. There’s also a piece of honeycomb poking out from the side, and for a moment, it almost looks like it might actually be something edible.

“Porridge,” Louis explains, his eyes softening into something more tender. “It’s made from oats. A healer’s recipe, just like the tea.”

Harrybell lifts the spoon, inspecting it one more time before he cautiously takes a bite. The flavor is rich and warm, the sweetness of the honeycomb adding a soft contrast to the earthiness of the oats. It’s not bad, not like the tea at all, and the warmth spreads through him.

“Hmm,” Harrybell mumbles, almost surprised at how good it is. He takes another spoonful, savoring the sweetness of the honey and the creamy texture of the oats. “This isn't too bad.” 

“Good.” Louis smiles, digging into his own bowl. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“D’you think I’ll fly again?” Harrybell asks a few days later.

They sit side by side on the swinging bench, the gentle creak of the chains blending with the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. The sun is high, golden and warm against their skin, but Harrybell feels on edge.

His gaze flits over the garden, now barren and still. 

He used to love the way it bloomed under his care, vibrant petals swaying as if whispering secrets back to him. He could bring them back with a thought, his magic is strong enough, but every time he tries, something inside him hesitates. A weight in his chest, a knot in his ribs. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what’s stopping him. 

Maybe it's because of his wings, the way he doesn't feel complete, doesn't feel like himself. He feels naked, stripped down and vulnerable. 

Louis is beside him, absorbed in a book of old folklore, its pages yellowed and worn. It's one of the stories Harrybell grew up with. Louis  closes the book around his thumb to mark his place before he looks at him, eyes studying him carefully.

“I don’t know, little flower,” he says honestly. “I hope so. Does it still hurt?”

Harrybell lowers his gaze, his fingers twisting the hem of his dress. He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah.” His voice is small. “That’s not good, right?”

Louis exhales, a slow, careful breath. He reaches out, gently brushing his knuckle over the back of Harrybells hand before he intertwines their hands. 

“I wish I knew,” he murmurs, voice sincere. “I wish I could do something to heal it.” 

“Yeah.” Harrybell mumbles. He wishes the same.Wishes for the ache to fade, for the uncertainty to disappear, for the weight in his chest to finally lift.

“But no reason to lose hope yet,” Louis says, his tone gentle but sure. He nudges Harrybell’s shoulder with his own, a small gesture of comfort, of reassurance. “We’ll know more tomorrow, yeah?”

Harrybell swallows, eyes still on the empty garden. “I know,” he whispers. He hesitates, then admits, “’M just scared.”

Louis gives his hand a gentle squeeze. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The walk to the healer feels like it takes forever. 

Harrybell has hidden his wings behind a cloak, trying to hide the wrapped side from eyes too curious. He knows how easy and quick gossip travels in his town and with the demon attack, and Louis, he knows there is no chance but for him to be at the very center of most conversations. 

Louis had suggested taking the long route, insisting the extra time might help him settle, might give him a moment to breathe. But Harrybell had shaken his head. He just wants to be there already, to be done with it. To know.

They meet some fairies, some seemingly knowing Louis, others eyeing him warily as they greet Harrybell,  who deeply regrets not listening to the demon earlier because now he's being questioned by fairies about his well being. 

Is he okay? Will he fly again? Does not being able to fly mean he’s no longer a fairy?

The words floated around him, bouncing off the walls of his mind, each one making his chest tighten more. His lungs tighten, a pressure building in his ribs, making it harder to breathe. He couldn’t answer them, not right now, not with the uncertainty pressing down on him like this. He didn’t have the strength.

Louis, sensing his distress, stepped in, his presence a quiet force beside him. He didn’t let Harrybell linger.

“Of course he’s still a fucking fairy,” Louis growled, his tone fierce and protective. He placed his hands on Harrybell’s waist, guiding him forward, pushing him gently but firmly away from the questions and the curious stares.

He feels sick, like he might throw up any second but Louis stands behind him, his hands gently pressing into Harrybell’s back, guiding him forward. The town fades into the distance with each step they take, but the weight of the questions follows them, lingering in the air like a cloud.

“Don’t listen to them. Of course you're still a fairy. The prettiest fairy ever,” Louis mumbles softly into Harrybell’s ear, his voice low and soothing, like a secret just for them.

Harrybell doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have the words for it, not right now. He knows most of the fairies in the town are kind, sweet, and caring, but there’s always that handful—those who are too curious, too eager to dig into the lives of others without regard for personal boundaries. And then there are the ones Harrybell just doesn’t click with, no matter how hard he tries to make peace. Of course, those were the exact ones asking the hardest questions, the ones that poked at him with their concern that felt more like judgment.

The walk feels long. Harrybell feels fuzzy—disconnected, like the world is slightly out of focus. The questions still echo in his mind, but Louis' quiet support, the warmth of his touch, keeps him moving forward. It’s only when they finally reach the healer’s home that the feeling begins to dissipate.

They step inside, the familiar scent of herbs and potions greeting them as they make their way to a secluded corner where Harrybell is directed to sit on a small, soft bed. The room is quiet, dimly lit by candles and the soft light coming through the window, and for the first time in what feels like ages, Harrybell allows himself to breathe deeply.

Louis sits down in front of him, the space between them comfortable, but it’s the warmth of Louis' hands that calms him the most. He takes both of Harrybell’s hands in his, his grip firm, as though grounding Harrybell to the moment, keeping him tethered when everything inside feels like it’s floating away.

The healer, Thessaly, moves around them, preparing the supplies she’ll need to examine Harrybell’s wing. Her movements are gentle, methodical, but Harrybell can’t focus on anything but the tightening feeling in his chest.

Thessaly starts to unwrap the bandages, her hands deft and experienced, but Harrybell can’t seem to keep still. His heart is pounding in his chest, louder with every movement. The tightness in his lungs returns, his breath shallow and quick.

It’s too much. The panic starts to settle in then, starting in the pit of his stomach and spreading over him. He’s afraid, so deeply afraid, and his hands begin to tremble, no matter how hard he tries to hold them still.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, hot and quick, but he blinks them away. Louis feels the tremble in his hands, sees the way his chest rises and falls too quickly, and he doesn’t let go. Instead, he squeezes Harrybell’s hands tightly, his blue eyes steady and comforting as he looks up at him.

“Hey,” Louis whispers softly, his voice low and reassuring. “It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re not alone.”

The words sink in, slowly, like a cool breeze on a hot day. Harrybell can feel the warmth in Louis' touch, the sincerity in his voice. But the fear is still there, gnawing at him, twisting his insides into knots.

“I’m scared,” Harrybell admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“I know.” Louis says, squeezing his hands even tighter. And he really does, is the thing. He understands the pain and the fear that comes with this. 

“Alright darling, that's it, let's have a look.” Thessaly says, putting the bandages that were holding his wing together to the side. Her hands are cool and gentle as she touches the wing but Harrybell flinches anyway when she lifts the wing. 

He whimpers. The wing feels stiff and the movement hurts and this time, he is the one squeezing Louis hands, eyes squeezed shut as Thessaly slowly makes the wing unfold more and more. His entire body is shaking, from the pain. 

Louis stays steady, unwavering, his hands a firm but gentle anchor in Harrybell’s trembling grasp. He doesn't speak, just lets Harrybell squeeze as hard as he needs to, as if willing the pain to flow into him instead.

Thessaly hums softly under her breath, a soothing sound meant to comfort, but Harrybell can barely hear it over the rushing in his ears. Every shift, every stretch of his wing sends sharp, burning pain radiating through his back, and it takes everything in him not to sob. His nails dig into Louis' skin, his breath coming in short, unsteady gasps.

“Easy, little flower.” Louis' voice is soft, a steady presence against the chaos inside him. “Breathe, yeah? I’ve got you.”

Harrybell tries. He really does. But the pain is overwhelming, and his body refuses to listen.

Thessaly, patient as ever, pauses for a moment, allowing him to catch his breath before continuing. “You’re doing well, love,” she murmurs, her cool hands tracing along the delicate structure of his wing. “Just a little more. I need to see how much movement you still have.”

Harrybell lets out a shaky whimper, his forehead pressing against Louis' shoulder without thinking. Louis doesn’t hesitate and shifts, letting Harrybell lean into him, his grip unwavering.

“Almost done,” Thessaly reassures him. She lifts his wing just a fraction more, and Harrybell gasps, his whole body tensing. Tears spill over, hot against his cheeks.

“I can’t,” he chokes out, voice small and broken. “I… Louis, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Louis says, voice thick with something unreadable. He lets go of one of Harrybell’s hands just to cup his cheek, tilting his face up so he has no choice but to meet his gaze. “I know it hurts, but you can do this. You're strong, petal.” 

Harrybell swallows hard, his lip trembling, and Louis is there, brushing a stray tear from his cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.

“Just one more stretch,” Thessaly says gently, her voice soft but firm, grounding him. “And then I’ll be done.”

Harrybell nods, but his fingers remain locked around Louis’. He can’t let go. Doesn’t want to.

Thessaly shifts back slightly, her eyes sharp but kind as she studies him. “Now, unfold your other wing and hold them for me.”

Harrybell hesitates, his breath catching in his throat. The thought of moving his wings again, of feeling that sharp pain shoot through him, makes his stomach churn. But he listens. He takes a slow, uneven breath and forces his wings to move.

The good one extends with ease, the delicate muscles stretching in a way that feels natural, effortless. Buthe can barely feel the injured one. The bandages have held it in place for so long that the weight of it feels foreign now, like it doesn’t quite belong to him.

“Hold them,” Thessaly reminds him.

He tries. He really does. But his vision wavers, little stars dancing at the edges of his eyes as he struggles to keep them up on his own. His body shakes with the effort, his injured wing sagging despite his best attempts to keep it lifted.

Thessaly hums softly. “Good,” she murmurs. “Now, can you give me a flutter?”

Harrybell barely has time to process the request before his instincts kick in. His good wing obeys immediately, the movement smooth and natural, but the injured one… nothing .

He blinks, confused for a moment. He tries again, concentrating, urging his body to respond. But it doesn’t.

The room is quiet, Thessaly doesn't say anything and when he looks to Louis, the demon looks crestfallen, his eyes focused on Harrybells wings..

“It's not-” His voice cracks, raw with fear. He looks back at Thessaly, searching her face for reassurance, but she doesn’t say anything right away. His breath stutters in his throat. “It’s not moving, is it?”

Louis' grip on his hand tightens, solid and real, but Harrybell barely feels it.

Thessaly exhales slowly, setting her hands on her lap. “No, love,” she says gently. “Not yet.”

Not yet.

But all Harrybell hears is not ever.

“Maybe it just needs more time,” Thessaly murmurs, though there’s something careful in her tone, something measured. She extends her hands, the soft glow of her magic flickering to life at her fingertips before she gently glides them over his injured wing.

The warmth of her healing magic seeps into his skin, but it comes with a sharp, stabbing ache that makes his breath hitch. He bites his bottom lip, trying not to whimper, but the pain is different from before. it’s deeper now, like something inside is protesting against the magic itself and Harrybell doesn't even want to begin to think what that could mean.

Thessaly exhales, the glow dimming as she pulls her hands away. “Let me get Rowan,” she says, voice full of thought. “He has healed the worst of wounds.”

She removes her magic completely and Harrybell feels his hope fading. Whatever he held onto to this point, vanishes. His body feels too heavy, his limbs drained of strength, and before he can stop himself, he slumps forward.

Louis is there before he can fall.

Strong arms wrap around him, steady and grounding, catching him before he can hit the bed. He doesn’t fight it. He just lets himself collapse into the warmth of Louis’ embrace, his forehead pressing against the demon’s shoulder as the tears become bigger. He doesn’t sob, not loudly, at least. His cries are soft, broken things, barely more than whimpers against the fabric of Louis’ shirt.

Louis doesn’t shush him. He doesn’t whisper reassurances he can’t promise or tell him to be strong. He just holds him, his arms secure around Harrybell’s trembling frame.

One of his hands finds its way to Harrybell’s hair, fingers threading through the curls in slow, absentminded strokes.

For a moment, it’s just them. The quiet rise and fall of Louis’ breathing, the occasional sniffle from Harrybell, the faint echoes of Thessaly’s retreating footsteps.

And then, finally, Harrybell speaks, his voice so small it barely makes a sound. “It's not fair.” 

Louis exhales slowly, the warmth of his breath ruffling Harrybell’s curls. “No,” he murmurs, resting his chin against the top of Harrybell’s head. “It’s not.”

The room is quiet, save for the occasional sniffle from Harrybell and the soft rustling of fabric as Louis continues stroking his hair. But then, Rowan enters.

He is old, silver-haired, but still standing tall and strong. His presence is weighty, commanding, and he wastes no time with pleasantries. He doesn’t ask Harrybell to move from Louis' arms, doesn’t demand space or anything. He just stands beside them and gets to work.

Rowan’s hands are rough, his touch firm and unapologetic as he assesses the damaged wing. He prods and presses, far less gentle than Thessaly had been, and the pain sparks sharp and immediate. Harrybell bites his lip hard enough to hurt, his fingers clenching desperately into Louis' shirt.

Louis doesn’t stop stroking his hair, doesn’t stop whispering little reassurances against his temple. He presses kisses to the crown of his head between murmured comforts, grounding him as best he can.

Rowan’s magic is different. It is strong, old, and unrelenting. It surges through Harrybell’s wing like wildfire, biting at the wound, clawing at the broken pieces of him as if trying to force them back together. It’s too much, too sharp, too harsh.

His whole body locks up, breath coming in short gasps. The room tilts. The pain is unbearable, a deep ache that makes his vision swim with black spots.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the magic recoils.

Rowan grunts in frustration and pulls away. Harrybell’s body feels boneless with exhaustion, panting against Louis' chest. Waves of nausea roll over him and he feels dangerously close to slipping into unconsciousness.

Rowan doesn’t spare him a second glance. Instead, he turns to Thessaly, his voice gruff. “Why didn’t you heal the wing immediately?”

Thessaly straightens, eyes flashing with defiance. “It was him or the wings, Rowan! He would’ve died!”

Rowan scoffs, shaking his head. “Well, now he’ll never fly again. Not much difference for a fairy, is it?”

The words cut sharper than any magic.

Harrybell flinches as if struck. 

Louis stills.

The air in the room shifts, the shadows at Louis' feet curling dark and furious.

Rowan turns to leave, but before he can take a step, Louis growls, low and dangerous. “Say that again.”

Rowan pauses but doesn’t turn back. He exhales sharply through his nose, like he can’t be bothered to repeat himself.

Louis shifts, carefully maneuvering Harrybell so he’s still held close but no longer curled in on himself. His hands are steady as he tucks a curl behind Harrybell’s ear, but his voice is anything but soft.

“Go on,” Louis says, voice low, seething. “Say it again.”

The air grows heavy. The shadows at Louis’ feet creep forward, curling around his ankles, licking up his arms like ink spreading across parchment. The temperature in the room drops.

Rowan finally turns his head, eyes narrowed. “I’m not wrong,” he states, unshaken. “A fairy who can’t fly is barely a fairy at all.”

Harrybell doesn’t know if it’s the pain or exhaustion that keeps him from reacting, but the words don’t even sting at first. They just… settle. Sink deep into his bones like cold water.

Louis, however, reacts immediately.

The room darkens as his shadows lash out, twisting toward Rowan with sharp, viper-like precision. They don’t touch him, but they hover close, curling around his wrists, reaching toward his throat. A silent threat.

“Louis.” Thessaly’s voice is tense, edged with warning.

Louis doesn’t look away from Rowan, his blue eyes burning like cold fire. “Take it back.”

Rowan lifts his chin, unimpressed. “I don’t take back the truth.”

The shadows tighten.

“Louis.” Harrybell’s voice is barely a whisper, but it’s enough.

Louis stiffens. The shadows hesitate, wavering in the air before slowly retreating, curling back toward their master like reluctant hounds called home.

Louis lets out a slow, measured breath, his grip on Harrybell tightening. “Get out.” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it, sharp and unyielding.

Rowan holds his gaze for a long moment before exhaling, shaking his head. “I did what I could.” And with that, he turns and walks out without another word.

Harrybell feels like he can’t breathe.

He wants to say something, anything, but the words don’t come.

Louis shifts, guiding their foreheads together so gently it makes something ache deep inside Harrybell’s chest. “Don’t listen to him,” Louis whispers, his breath warm against Harrybell’s skin. “You’re still a fairy. You’ll always be a fairy.”

Harrybell swallows hard, his throat thick. “But—”

Louis shakes his head, pressing another soft kiss to his temple. “No buts. You are, petal. And nothing will change that.”

Harrybell squeezes his eyes shut. He wants to believe him. More than anything, he wants to believe him.

But as he sits there, cradled in Louis' arms, his wings aching, his heart heavier than ever, he isn’t sure he can.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

A fairy who can’t fly is barely a fairy at all.

A fairy who can’t fly is barely a fairy at all.

A fairy who can’t fly is barely a fairy at all.

He’ll never fly again. 

A fairy who can’t fly is barely a fairy at all

A fairy who can’t fly is barely a fairy at all

A fairy who can’t fly is—

“Here love, drink this.” Louis' gentle voice pulls him out of his thoughts. The bed dips and he knows Louis has sat down behind him on the bed. Harrybell doesn’t turn around, keeping his gaze fixed on the window where his vast garden lies. It’s as if the garden mirrors the hollow feeling inside him.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks since the moment that shattered everything. Three weeks since he learned that his wings would never work again. That they were broken beyond repair. The realisation hit like a wave, leaving him gasping for breath, struggling to find solid ground.

He’s not a full fairy anymore. The words still echo in his mind like a cruel joke. They sting, but not as sharply as they did at first. Instead, there’s a dull ache that lingers, a constant reminder of what he’s lost. But mostly, he feels numb. 

The grief doesn’t come in sharp bursts anymore; it's an endless, slow-moving tide that he can’t escape. He spent days, where he just laid in bed and cried, but eventually his body got swallowed by numbness.

It’s like he’s fallen into a jar of honey, trapped in the thick, slow-moving sweetness that makes every moment drag on. Everything feels heavy. Every motion, every thought, feels slow and sticky. Like he’s lost his ability to move forward. 

Harrybell doesn’t answer Louis. He can feel the demon’s gaze on him, but his eyes remain fixed on the garden outside, as if the world out there might give him some answers. 

Sundrop is out there, her small body moving through the grass, sniffing and searching for something. Harrybell watches her for a moment, his heart aching at the sight of her. He thinks about growing her some daisies, knowing how much she loves them, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s been feeling detached from his magic since the attack but now, he doesn't think he’ll ever want to use it again. 

After a few more moments, Louis' arm slips around Harrybell’s waist, pulling him gently, carefully, towards him. He turns him slowly, mindful of his wings, until he is laying on his back next to the demon who is hovering above him.

Harrybell lets out a soft, unhappy whine, but doesn’t protest. He just looks at Louis, feeling that dull ache in his chest deepen. Louis’ face is so close to his, those familiar eyes soft and warm. The smile that pulls at Louis’ lips is tender, like he’s trying to soothe something Harrybell can’t put into words.

“Hi, little fairy,” Louis says, his voice light, playful.Harrybell feels a pang in his chest at the name. Little fairy. He hates it and he knows why Louis is suddenly using it again. To remind him, reassure him that this doesn't make him any less of a fairy and he hates to admit it but everytime he says it, the words wrap around his heart like a soothing palm.

Still, he looks away again. 

Louis tuts and lets his fingers gently brush away a few strands of stray here that have been falling over his forehead the wrong way while one of his shadows comes to curl around his wrist. 

“Look at me,” Louis says softly, his voice warm. He waits a moment, and when Harrybell doesn’t respond, the shadow that was curling around his wrist slides up to his shoulder, a soft reminder. 

Harrybell sighs deeply, his heart heavy in his chest. He finally turns to face Louis, knowing the demon doesn’t deserve this cold treatment. Not after everything he’s done for him. Louis has been there for him, every day, from the moment the attack happened. He’s made sure Harrybell eats, drinks, and even manages to wash up, always giving him the space he needs for those private moments of vulnerability. Louis hasn’t once complained. He’s been patient, gentle, and persistent in his care, doing everything in his power to make sure Harrybell is okay.

The thought of all those small, tender gestures—the way Louis makes sure Harrybell’s wings are comfortable when he shifts to lie down, how he helps him navigate the world again, even though he’s hurting too—makes Harrybell’s chest ache with emotion. He swallows hard, but the tears that have been hovering in his eyes finally spill over, warm tracks running down his cheeks. Louis frowns deeply at the sight, his face pulling into a soft, concerned expression.

“Hey now, what is it?” Louis asks, his voice soothing, like he’s trying to make Harrybell feel safe enough to open up. Harrybell sniffs, feeling the weight of everything finally breaking through the wall he’s been holding up inside. He wants to ask so many things. How did he do it? How did he get through the pain of losing his wings? How did he survive without anyone to help him the way Louis has been there for Harrybell? Harrybell doesn’t know if he would’ve survived without Louis’ help. He doesn’t think he could’ve.

Louis watches him quietly, his eyes soft but full of understanding. As if he can sense the thoughts swirling in Harrybell’s head, he leans in slightly, his thumb brushing over Harrybell’s knuckles before intertwining their fingers together. The simple touch grounds him, and Harrybell feels his breath catch in his throat, the overwhelming emotions threatening to pour out even more.

“It gets easier,” Louis mumbles, the words gentle but firm. He gives Harrybell’s hand a reassuring squeeze. "It’s hard now. It feels impossible to move forward, like you’re stuck in some dark limbo where nothing makes sense, where the pain and the fear drown everything else. But it does get easier, love. You just have to fight for it."

Harrybell looks up at Louis, his heart hammering in his chest as he tries to hold back his emotions. He wants so desperately to believe him, to believe that he can get through this, that the constant ache in his chest will eventually fade.

“You have to fight against the dark thoughts, the ones that tell you it’s all hopeless, the ones that make you want to give up. You have to fight against the pain, even when it feels like it’s going to tear you apart.” Louis’ voice grows softer, but there’s something in it that gives Harrybell a flicker of hope. “It’s not an easy fight, and some days, you’ll lose. Some days, the darkness will win. But you can’t let it keep you down. You have to keep fighting, because eventually, you’ll get to a place where you can breathe again. Where the pain isn’t all consuming.”

Louis pauses for a moment, his eyes searching Harrybell’s face, like he’s making sure the words are sinking in.

“And if I know one thing, it’s that you’re a fighter,” Louis adds, his voice thick with conviction. “I’ve seen it in you, Harrybell. You might not believe it right now, but I’ve seen it. You don’t give up. You push through, even when everything seems impossible. You’re stronger than you think.”

Harrybell’s throat tightens, and he feels a lump forming. He doesn’t say anything, but the tears that had stopped flowing are back, spilling down his cheeks once more. He tries to brush them away, but Louis’ thumb gently catches them, wiping them from his face.

“I... I don’t know if I can do it, Louis,” Harrybell admits, his voice breaking, barely above a whisper. He feels like the weight of the world is pressing down on him. “I don’t know if I can fight.”

“You don’t have to fight alone,” Louis whispers back, his eyes warm, full of unwavering support. “I’m right here, love. Every step of the way. We’ll fight together.”

And somehow Harrybell believes him. 

He wants to fight, wants to win. He wants his light back, wants to feel whole again. 

So, he nods. It's small and hesitant but Louis gives him a smile that battles the sun and it makes Harrybell’s heart flutter. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The journey is slow. Some days, the darkness feels overwhelming, and Harrybell finds himself wanting to give up rather than fight. It’s so easy to slip back into the numbness, to let the world keep spinning while he stands still. But every time the weight of his thoughts threatens to pull him under, Louis is there, holding him, supporting him and catching him when he falls.

Louis never judges. He never tells Harrybell to just get over it or that it’s time to move on. He’s there for the breakdowns, for the moments when Harrybell doesn’t know how to keep going. He’s there for the soft tears, the angry outbursts, the exhaustion that drags on with no end in sight. Louis just holds him close, whispers words of comfort, and reminds him that he’s not alone in this fight.

One evening, after a quiet walk through the forest, they sit together on the swinging bench. The air is cooler now, autumn starting to arrive. The sun is dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as they eat dinner, the soft hum of the forest surrounding them. The days are getting shorter, and Harrybell can hardly believe how quickly summer is slipping away.

"I met Niall and Liam earlier," Louis says. He has been out earlier, before their walk, getting some food.  "They miss you, petal."

Harrybell feels a small ache in his chest at the mention of their names. He hasn’t seen Niall and Liam in weeks, not since he got home from the healers. 

"I miss them too," Harrybell says quietly, his voice soft and he looks at Louis. 

“Good, because they were really persistent, practically begged me to come over. So, I agreed, but I warned them I’d throw them out if they didn’t behave. They’ll visit tomorrow.”

Harrybell hums in amusement, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Always so protective,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer to Louis.

Louis lets out a soft laugh and shrugs, his fingers brushing against Harrybell’s for just a moment. That small touch sends a shiver down Harrybell’s spine, and for a second, his heart races. Their last kiss still lingers in Harrybell’s memory, the taste of Louis' lips, the heat between them, but neither of them had dared to bridge that gap again.

Louis licks his lips, his eyes flicking to Harrybell's. Harrybell notices, and his breath catches in his throat, nervous energy swirling in his chest. He’s too shy to initiate it again, even though he wants to. He wants to feel that connection again, wants to get lost in it.

Louis swallows, his gaze still lingering on Harrybell’s lips. The air between them feels charged now, thick with unspoken things. Harrybell can feel the pull of it, the longing in Louis’ eyes matching his own. It’s a silent invitation, one neither of them needs to say aloud.

But then, Sundrop jumps up onto Louis’ lap, startling them both. They quickly pull away from each other, and Harrybell’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. Louis clears his throat, trying to hide his own flustered reaction. 

Sundrop, completely oblivious to the awkwardness, sniffs along their dinner plates. After a moment of sniffing, she finds a fig on Louis’ plate, and picks it up with her mouth, before she hops off Louis’ lap, bouncing away as if nothing happened.

They glance at each other and can’t help but burst into laughter, and Harrybell actually feels lighter and happier and he thinks in that moment he understood what Louis meant when he said it gets easier. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harrybell spends the morning tidying the cottage, making sure everything is neat, clean, and welcoming for his friends. He fluffs the pillows, dusts the shelves, and sweeps the wooden floors until they gleam under the soft morning light filtering through the windows. It feels good to keep his hands busy, to focus on something tangible.

When he’s done, he carefully lifts the Soulbloom and carries it to his bedroom, placing it on the windowsill where the sunlight can reach it. He’s been watering it every day, watching it grow, the leaves no longer wilting, but he hasn’t touched it, not since that night. It’s not his decision to make. That choice belongs to Louis.

Still, Harrybell has noticed how Louis has been avoiding it, like he doesn’t know what to do with it now that it’s no longer dying. Harrybell understands. If their roles were reversed, he doesn’t think he’d be able to just let it go either. Louis gave up everything to get the flower and now, Harrybells magic was enough to keep it from wilting. 

In the kitchen, Louis is preparing charcuterie boards, humming a soft tune under his breath as he arranges cheeses, fruits, and honey comb onto wooden platters. The scent of fresh bread and sweet tea drifts through the air, mingling with the warmth of the cottage.

A shadow curls around Harrybell’s wrist, cool and steady, as he fluffs up the pillows for the third time.

“M’gonna get dressed,” he announces, though he doesn’t move right away, instead smoothing out a wrinkle in the blanket before adjusting the pillows again. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous, so fidgety. Liam and Niall have seen his cottage in every state of messy before. But maybe that’s the problem. Maybe he wants to prove to them that he’s doing okay. That he’s getting better. He doesn’t want them to worry.

Louis, still focused on arranging the charcuterie boards, glances up. “You are dressed.”

Harrybell looks down at himself. He’s barefoot, wearing one of his simple green dresses, the kind he usually reserves for gardening.

“Well, yeah,” he admits, tugging at the fabric, “but something… prettier.”

Louis huffs a quiet laugh. “You look plenty pretty to me.”

Harrybell freezes for a moment, warmth flooding his cheeks as he meets Louis’ gaze. The demon watches him with something soft and unreadable in his expression, something that makes Harrybell’s stomach twist and flutter all at once.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, flustered, tucking a stray curl behind his ear before slipping away, afraid he might do something foolish if he lingers.

Once he’s behind the safety of his bedroom door, he presses his back against it, scrunching his nose in an attempt to chase away the giddy smile threatening to take over his face. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself, but Louis’ words echo in his head. And now, the urge to pick out a lovely dress has only grown stronger.

He wants Louis to think he’s pretty.

His fingers skim over the fabrics in his wardrobe before he settles on a pink strapless dress. The skirt flares like flower petals, airy and soft, brushing against his mid-thigh. It’s one of his favorites, one he usually wears to fancy events. Instinctively, he reaches out to weave vines and flowers around his legs like he always used to. His hands twitch, ready to summon the blooms but then he hesitates.

He isn’t ready. Not yet.

Instead, he focuses on his hair, brushing before weaving a few strands into braids, gathering half into a neat bun. His pointed ears peek through, adorned with delicate jewelry that glints in the sunlight and dangles when he shakes his head wildly. He looks… almost like himself. If he ignores the way one wing hangs uselessly behind him while the other still stands in all its glory.

He still isn’t used to the sight. He definitely can’t bring himself to touch it. But he’s trying.

The first time he had, Louis had been behind him, hands firm on his waist as they faced the mirror together. His ruined wing had trembled as he tried to move it, and when tears welled in his eyes, Louis had only held him tighter, grounding him even as his knees buckled beneath him.

Per Thessaly’s request, they’ve been training the muscles, trying to get the wings to uncurl without pain. Even if he won’t fly again, it would give him a sense of normalcy and on top of that help with his balance. 

When he steps into the living room, Louis looks up from where he’s lounging on the sofa. The demon’s eyes widen slightly, his mouth parting just a little.

“Oh,” he breathes.

Harrybell fidgets, hands twisting together at his waist. “Is it too much?” His voice is unsure, a little hesitant.

Louis is already on his feet, closing the space between them. His gaze roves over Harrybell, slow and deliberate, before he shakes his head.

“No, never too much,” he murmurs. “You really do look like a flower, petal.” He takes Harrybell’s hands, rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles.

A blush rises to Harrybell’s cheeks. “Yeah?”

Louis nods, smiling softly. “Yeah. Prettiest flower I’ve ever seen.” His voice drops to something warmer, softer. “Give me a twirl?”

Harrybell bites his lip, scrunching his nose playfully before letting go of Louis’ hands. He spins on his tiptoes, the petal-like layers of his dress flaring out around him. A giggle escapes as he stumbles slightly, and before he can catch himself, he’s falling right into Louis’ arms.

Louis catches him with ease, hands settling on Harrybell’s waist to steady him. Harrybell’s own hands land on Louis’ shoulders, and suddenly they’re pressed together, closer than before.

“Oops,” Harrybell giggles, breathless.

“Hi,” Louis murmurs, his grip tightening just slightly as he pulls Harrybell flush against him.

Their noses nearly brush, warm breaths mingling between them. Harrybell’s heart is pounding, and Louis’ lips are so close, so tempting. He can smell honey and tea on his breath, and for a moment, everything else fades away.

Just as Harrybell starts to close his eyes, a knock echoes through the cottage.

They jolt apart instantly, Harrybell taking a quick step back, cheeks burning, while Louis groans loudly, tipping his head back in frustration.

“They have the absolute worst timing,” Louis mutters.

Still breathless, Harrybell fights back a smile. “The worst,” he agrees and turns to go and open the door. 

The second it swings open, he barely has time to register the familiar faces before he’s tackled into a tight hug. Niall and Liam crash into him, arms wrapping around him so tightly he nearly loses his footing. A surprised laugh bursts from his lips, the tension from moments ago melting away under the warmth of their embrace.

“We missed you so much,” Niall exclaims, his voice thick with emotion.

Liam nods, holding on just as tightly. “It’s been too long,”

Harrybell’s breath hitches, overwhelmed by the surge of affection. “I missed you guys too,” he murmurs, his voice wobbling. Tears prick at his eyes as he squeezes them closer, soaking in the familiarity, the safety of their presence.

Louis watches from behind, leaning against the wall with a fond expression, arms crossed over his chest. “Alright, alright, let him breathe,” he teases. 

Harrybell pulls back slightly, scrunching his nose at Louis before turning back to his friends. “Ignore him. He’s dramatic.”

“I like him,” Niall declares, pulling away enough to properly look at Harrybell. His gaze softens, taking in the way Harrybell’s eyes still shimmer slightly, the slight flush on his cheeks. “You look good. Better.”

“I’m trying,” Harrybell admits, wiping at his eyes.

Liam gives him another quick squeeze before stepping back. “You’re doing more than trying.” He glances behind Harrybell at Louis, who’s still watching them with a smirk. “And I guess we have you to thank for that?”

Louis shrugs, feigning nonchalance as a shadow comes to curl around Harrybells wrist. “I’m just here to look pretty. He’s done it all on his own.”

“I couldn’t have done it without him,” Harrybell says softly, looking up at Louis with a smile.

Louis huffs, but his shadows betray him, tightening around Harrybell’s wrist in a gentle squeeze. “Nonsense,” he mutters.

Before Harrybell can argue, Louis steps aside, waving them in. “Let’s get you guys inside. I didn’t spend hours on this charcuterie board just for you lot to camp out here.”

Niall perks up instantly, already making a beeline for the food. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Liam chuckles, shaking his head as he follows, but Harrybell barely moves before the shadow around his wrist gives the lightest tug. He follows without hesitation, letting the pull guide him as Louis rests a hand on the small of his back, leading him toward the sofa.

It’s natural. Easy.

He settles in between his friends, smiling when they immediately scoot closer and cuddle themselves close, and Harrybell delights in the love and attention. 

Louis returns then, balancing the charcuterie board carefully, and places it in front of them. They waste no time diving in, each of them grabbing something with eager hands.

“I need to know all the gossip I missed,” Harrybell says, plucking a fig from the spread and casting a glance up at Louis, who’s just returned with their drinks.

“Well, it’s mainly you and Louis still…” Niall starts, taking a bite of cheese before continuing, “But there’s also the rumor that Nyxion is courting someone. So everyone’s trying to figure out who it is.”

Louis shadows grab a strawberry for him as he listens in on the conversation. 

“I’ll never get used to this,” Liam mutters, watching the shadow with wide eyes.

“Yeah mate, it’s weird,” Niall adds with a raised eyebrow. 

Harrybell frowns, pouting a little as he crosses his arms. “Hey, it’s not weird,” he insists, looking from one friend to the other. His cheeks flush slightly under their scrutiny.

Niall snickers, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Of course you’d say that. They’re always curling around you,” he teases, making Harrybell blush furiously. The shadow around his wrist gives a playful squeeze, almost as if it’s in on the joke.

“Whatever,” Harrybell mutters, brushing it off with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “What about Nyxion? Who do we think it is?”

“Well, since it’s clearly not you…” Niall shrugs nonchalantly. “I’ve actually got no idea. Maybe someone from a different court?”

Louis, who has been listening intently, finally speaks up, his voice smooth and low. “Who is this Nyxion guy, anyway?”

“He is the fae prince,” Liam supplies. 

“He had a major crush on Harrybell all our lives. They grew up together,” Niall says.

Harrybell’s eyes widen in horror, and without thinking, he kicks Niall’s side with his elbow, making him wince. “Stop it,” he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Louis raises an eyebrow at the exchange, clearly intrigued. His lips curl into a small smirk. “Did they now?” he asks, voice teasing but thoughtful.

“I never had a crush on him,” Harrybell says quickly.

“But he did try to court you.” Niall grins, nudging Harrybell playfully. 

“And I stopped him before he could even ask,” Harrybell huffs, sticking his tongue out at Niall in protest. He dares a glance at Louis, who is still watching him with an unreadable expression. The weight of his gaze makes Harrybell shift slightly, heat creeping up his neck.

Desperate for a change in topic, he blurts, “What about you and Nerion?”

It works instantly. Niall’s face lights up, and he launches into an excited ramble about his newly official relationship. Liam chimes in with a few playful jabs, and soon, they’re all laughing, teasing, and basking in the warmth of their reunion.

With each passing minute, Harrybell feels lighter. The weight of the past weeks, and the pain that came with it, it all feels a little less suffocating surrounded by his friends. He’s healing. He’s finding his way back to himself. Wings or not, he’s not alone. He has them. He has Louis. And eventually, he’ll be okay. 

But, at some point the topic inevitably changes to the attack, his injuries and his recovery. With quiet patience, he recounts everything, his voice steady as his friends listen with bated breath, their hands clenched tightly with his own together.

“…And then, I woke up,” he finishes softly, glancing between them. Their eyes glisten with unshed tears, emotions laid bare. Harrybell musters a small smile, hoping to reassure them. “I’m okay now.”

Niall sniffs, offering a watery chuckle. “The time at the healers was crazy. We were terrified you wouldn’t make it, and— well, we kind of blamed Lou for everything.” He winces. “It turned into a huge fight while you were unconscious.”

Liam nods. “We were scared, and he…” He hesitates, glancing at Louis before continuing. “He wasn’t exactly the most reassuring presence.”

Harrybell frowns slightly, looking toward Louis, but Niall keeps going, his voice thick with emotion. “Thing is, he never left your side. Not once. Made sure you were everyone’s number one priority, even if that meant threatening the healer fairies a little.” Another small laugh escaping his lips.

Harrybell’s breath catches, gaze flickering toward Louis. The demon sits still, shadows curling lazily at his feet. He didn't know that. 

“Yeah, he tends to be a bit overprotective,” Harrybell teases, though his voice comes out much softer than he intends as he looks at Louis.

The corner of Louis’ mouth tilts up, a small, knowing smirk, and Harrybell can’t help but smile back.

But then, Niall shifts, tilting his head. “What about your wing, though? And your garden?”

The question lands like a stone in Harrybell’s chest. He takes a sharp breath, his fingers tightening where they rest in his lap. “They’re, uhm— well…” He swallows, forcing the words out. “I haven’t used my magic since. And my wing… I’ll probably never fly again.” His voice falters. “The healers can’t fix it.”

“Oh, lovey.” Liam murmurs, pulling him in without hesitation, Niall pressing close from the other side. Their warmth is grounding, comforting and Harrybell relishes in it. 

“It’s- well, it’s not fine yet.” Harrybell exhales slowly, nodding as if that will make it true. “But it will be.”

“Of course,” Niall says instantly. Then, as if the idea has just struck him, he sits up. “But you should regrow your garden. Like, right now.”

Harrybell stiffens. “I can’t.”

“Says who?” Niall challenges, his chin tilting up.

“No one, but,” He licks his lips, gaze dropping. “‘M not ready.”

“Oh, pixie dust , you need your flowers.” Niall insists, and as much as Niall’s choice of expression usually makes Harrybell laugh, he’s not really ready to laugh about it all yet. 

“It’s not that easy.” The words come out almost defensive, a quiet plea for them to let it be.

Liam, however, only grins. “Sure, it is. Come on,” he nudges Harrybell’s knee. “I’ll even grow you a fig tree that never runs out of figs.”

“Yeah?” Harrybell asks, hesitant but intrigued.

“Yeah,” Liam confirms. “But I gotta see some flowers first.”

“Oh, exciting!” Niall cheers, already on his feet, tugging Harrybell’s hands to pull him up.

Harrybell hesitates, glancing toward Louis. Searching for reassurance, for something to hold onto. Louis meets his gaze, his expression softening, and he nods.

“Think that’s a great idea, petal.” His voice is warm. “Missed your flowers.”

The words settle something inside him.

“Okay,” he breathes out, allowing himself to be pulled up and outside by his friends, Sundrop following them curiously. 

As they step into the garden, the sun shines onto their skin. Harrybell looks at the empty flower beds. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to shove away the memories of how he got dragged through the very spot he is looking at right now. 

Mindful of his dress, Harrybell kneels down in the soil. His hands tremble for a moment, the weight of the task ahead of him feeling overwhelming, but then he breathes again, slower this time. He allows himself to feel the earth beneath his fingers, to find that connection again.

He stokes over the soil, feeling the rich earth and takes a few more deep breaths. Then, on his next exhale, he unfurls his magic and lets it slowly sink into the soil. 

For a heartbeat, nothing happens.

Then, like the first hint of dawn breaking through the darkness, the soil shifts. Small flickers of green emerge. Harrybell inhales sharply, his chest tight with something that feels like relief. 

The first lily of the valley unfurls its petals, tiny white bells swaying gently in the breeze. The sight tugs something loose inside him, and without thinking, Harrybell reaches deeper, letting his magic spill into the earth.

More flowers push through the soil, stretching toward the sun. Violets, soft and deep purple, bloom beside the lilies, their petals delicate. Snowdrops follow. Tulips pop up around him, splashes of colour in the dark soil. Daisies sprout where Sundrop sits beside Louis, and his little bunny immediately buries his face in them, nibbling with soft, content sounds. Harrybell watches, warmth blooming in his chest.

He rises to his feet, trailing his fingers just above the soil as he moves. With every step, the garden awakens, blossoms stretching open, vines creeping along the edges of the beds. Primroses, bluebells, soft-petaled anemones. It feels like breathing. Like coming home.

Above him, there’s a sudden gust of air, the flutter of wings. Liam appears, grinning as he hovers just above the ground. “Alright,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “I promised you something, didn’t I?”

Harrybell watches as Liam lifts his hands, his magic sweeping through the air. The earth trembles slightly beneath their feet, and then, with a quiet groan, a fig tree begins to grow.

It stretches tall, broad leaves unfurling, deep green against the sky. Ripe fruit already hangs from the branches, and before it’s even fully settled, Niall is running forward.

“Oh, sick!” Niall shouts, jumping up to grab the lowest branch and swinging himself onto it. He plucks a fig, bites into it, and hums, pleased. “Perfect.”

Harrybell huffs a laugh, looking up at the tree, then around at his garden. It’s full again. It’s alive again.

A shadow curls around his wrist, cool and familiar, and his breath catches as he turns.

Louis watches him, his eyes gleaming in the sunlight as he smiles at him. 

Harrybell steps closer, pressing his palm to Louis’ chest, right over his heart. His fingers curl slightly, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a breath.

Louis exhales slowly, his shadows tightening around Harrybell’s wrist for just a moment before retreating. “You did this, little flower,” he says softly.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Once their friends are gone, Harrybell and Louis sit beneath the fig tree, nestled in the soft grass. Louis’ shadows pluck ripe figs from the branches, passing them to Harrybell as he weaves flowers into delicate crowns.

Sundrop already wears one, her little head with soft petals. Another rests atop Harrybell’s curls, and now, he is crafting one more, this time, for Louis. He doesn’t mention it, just threads together sprigs of baby's breath and forget-me-nots, humming quietly as he works.

When he finishes, satisfaction spreads through his chest like sunlight. He looks at the crown in his hands, then at Louis, and without hesitation, he shifts forward, climbing into the demon’s lap so he’s facing him.

Louis makes a small, surprised sound, his hands instinctively settling on Harrybell’s waist, fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of his dress. “Oh,” he murmurs, tilting his head as if amused. His voice is softer now, more curious. “Hi, little flower.”

“Hi.” Harrybell grins, holding up the crown between them. “Made this for you.”

Louis raises a brow, eyeing the delicate piece of woven blooms. There’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he allows Harrybell to carefully place the crown on his head.

Harrybell is meticulous, adjusting it just so, smoothing down a few petals and tilting it slightly until it sits perfectly. When he’s finally satisfied, he hums, sitting back to admire his work.

“I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Louis drawls, though there’s no real bite to it.

Harrybell shakes his head immediately, his curls bouncing with the movement. “No, not at all,” he says, his voice full of quiet sincerity. His eyes shine as he tilts his head, taking in the sight before him.

“You look pretty.” 

Louis watches him for a moment, something warm flickering in his gaze before he speaks. “I’ve got something for you too, actually.”

Harrybell blinks, caught off guard, as Louis wraps an arm around him, reaching into his back pocket. The movement pulls Harrybell slightly forward, making him slump against Louis’ chest. He doesn’t mind.

Louis pulls out a small velvet box, characteristic of fine elvish works, holding it carefully between them. “I got this made for you a while ago,” he says, voice quieter now, more measured. “I was able to pick it up today, and it just… feels right to give it to you today. Every day, you’re taking bigger steps, and I’m so proud of you. Anyway, this is for you, little flower.”

Slowly, he opens the box.

Harrybell gasps.

Inside, nestled in soft fabric, is a golden necklace. But it’s not just any necklace. As Louis lifts it out, the pendant catches the light and Harrybell’s breath stutters. It’s a wing. His wing. An exact replica, down to the delicate details of the veins, even the colouring.

Tears prick at his eyes as he looks back at Louis, lips parted, stunned into silence.

“It’s-...” His voice wobbles, thick with emotion. He swallows, blinking hard before whispering, “I love it.”

Without another thought, he throws his arms around Louis’ neck, pressing in close, burying his face there. His voice comes out wet, muffled against warm skin.

“Means everything to me.”

Louis exhales softly, wrapping his arms around Harrybell and holding him tight. “Glad you do.” He mumbles. “Let me put it on?” 

Harrybell nods, feeling the flutter of something deep in his chest, his heart pounding. He straightens slightly, giggling shyly, the sound a mix of nerves and happiness. Louis opens the clasp of the necklace with careful fingers, his touch light but deliberate.

When the chain falls into place, Louis wraps it gently around Harrybell’s neck, the coolness of the metal sending a shiver through him. The feel of Louis’ fingertips brushing his skin makes him shudder, and he presses himself closer, unable to hide the way his breath catches at the sensation. 

Louis finishes fastening the necklace, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary, a soft touch that sends a ripple of warmth through Harrybell. The wing rests perfectly between his collarbones, a symbol of something Harrybell can’t quite put into words, but feels deeply in his chest.

He lifts his chin, allowing Louis to adjust it, feeling the cool metal against his skin, but it’s the soft gaze from Louis that makes his heart flutter the most. Louis looks at him like he’s the most precious thing in the world, like every moment between them matters.

Louis’ fingertips trace along Harrybell’s collarbone, sending a sharp gasp through him, and the heat that surges through Harrybell is immediate. His breath catches, and he meets Louis’ eyes, heart thundering in his chest.

"Kiss me?" His voice comes out soft and sweet, the request almost shy, but filled with everything he feels.

Louis hums, a low, approving sound, and his hand drifts to Harrybell’s cheek. His thumb strokes gently over Harrybell’s bottom lip, a tender touch that makes his heart skip. Then, without another word, Louis leans in, closing the distance.

The kiss is slow, a gentle pressing of lips that feels like finally being able to breathe after being underwater for too long. Louis’ lips are warm and steady, and Harrybell melts into it, surrendering to the tenderness of it all. Every thought, every hesitation, fades away, leaving nothing but the softness of their connection.

He lets his hands slide up to Louis’ shoulders, gripping them lightly, grounding himself in the moment. He doesn’t want it to end. The kiss deepens, but it’s still slow, still patient, like they have all the time in the world to savour each other. Harrybell can feel the warmth of Louis’ body, the steady pulse of his heartbeat, and it makes him want more, even as he lets himself get lost in the simplicity of the kiss.

Chapter Text

Smoke and shadows rip at him, greedy tendrils that coil around his limbs, searing where they touch, burning at his wings. They hold him in place, unyielding, dragging him deeper into the suffocating dark.

He tries to scream, but no sound escapes. His throat is tight, raw, his voice stolen by the thick, choking air. His heart slams against his ribs, frantic, and he thrashes, desperate to break free, but the shadows only tighten, sinking their teeth into his skin, gripping at his wings. 

He can’t breathe.

He can’t move.

Terror claws up his spine, cold and paralyzing.

Then, through the suffocating haze, something touches him. Cool against his wrist, a familiar presence curling gently around his fingers. Not like the others. Not greedy. Not cruel.

A voice cuts through the dark, low and steady, anchoring him.

“Harrybell.”

He wakes with a gasp, shooting upright in his bed and panting heavily. 

“Little flower?” 

The voice is closer now, touched with concern. Harrybell turns his head, finding Louis sitting beside him, the soft glow of moonlight painting his features in silver. He looks sleep-rumpled, his hair mussed, his blue eyes tired.

Louis’ hands are wrapped around his wrists, his thumbs stroking gently over each pulse point, soothing and grounding. 

“You were calling for me,” Louis murmurs. “Are you okay?”

Harrybell exhales shakily, his breath still uneven, his body still caught between the dream and waking. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head, the movement small, but Louis sees it anyway.

“Oh, petal.” Louis breathes out, his voice quiet in the darkness of the night. “Can I touch you?”

Harrybell would normally crack a joke about how Louis is already touching him, but all he can manage is a nod. And then, ever so gently, Louis tugs him forward, until he is pressed against him, his body sinking into the warmth and safety of Louis' lap. Strong arms wrap around his waist, holding him close, steadying him. Harrybell rests his head on Louis' chest, trying to steady his breathing as he lets Louis' heartbeat soothe him. 

Louis keeps his touch light, careful, as though he knows Harrybell still feels too raw, too on edge. He doesn’t rush him, doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets him breathe, lets him exist in the quiet comfort of his arms.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks eventually, his voice softer now, like he already knows the answer.

Harrybell shakes his head against his chest. “Scary,” he whispers, his voice barely there.

Louis hums in understanding, his grip tightening just slightly, not enough to trap him, just enough to remind him he’s safe.

“I’ve got you,” Louis promises, his words spoken into Harrybell’s curls. His lips brush against his hair, a quiet reassurance.

Harrybell exhales, the weight in his chest loosening just a little. He grabs the necklace Louis had gifted him mere hours ago, its weight grounding and he fiddles with it as Louis begins to hum a quiet melody under his breath. Harrybell doesn't recognise it but it's warm and comforting making him lull back to sleep but he fights it, too scared he’ll be stuck in the dream again. 

Louis starts playing with his hair, never once interrupting his melody. His voice is soft and raspy, wrapping around Harrybell like a warm blanket. 

Harrybell grips the necklace tighter, his breaths still uneven, but the steady weight of Louis’ arms around him keeps him from spiraling. He wants to let go, to sink into the warmth and safety, but the memory of the dream still clings to him, dark and unshaken.

Louis must sense it because his humming shifts, turning softer, his fingers brushing lightly along Harrybell’s scalp. “It’s okay, petal,” he murmurs between notes. “You don’t have to sleep, just rest. I’ll stay right here.” 

So, he cuddles himself closer to the demon and lets himself get lost in his voice. 

Hours pass before they shift together, finding a new position without needing to speak. Louis leans back against the pillows, guiding Harrybell to rest against him, his arms still secure around his waist. Harrybell’s wings twitch, and Louis adjusts instinctively, careful not to put pressure on them as he continues threading his fingers through his curls.

Their free hands find each other above Louis’ stomach, fingers intertwining lazily, neither of them pulling away. Louis’ humming has faded now, replaced by the quiet sounds of their breaths mingling in the stillness of the early morning.

Harrybell’s eyes flutter shut, the warmth of Louis’ touch pulling him closer and closer to sleep. He fights it for a moment, but exhaustion wins.

And as the first rays of the sun peek through the window, casting soft golden light across the room, Harrybell finally lets go.

The sun kisses the moon good morning. And in Louis’ arms, Harrybell sleeps. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harrybell wakes around noon, the room bathed in soft, golden light. Sundrop is nestled against Louis’ neck, her tiny body rising and falling with his steady breaths. Harrybell smiles sleepily at the sight before shifting slightly, trying to slip away.

Before he can, the arm around his waist tightens.

Louis grumbles low in his throat, pulling him back in closer than Harrybell expects. His breath hitches as he finds himself nose to nose with the demon, their foreheads nearly touching. Louis blinks sleepily, blue eyes still hazy with sleep, but focused entirely on him now.

Harrybell swallows, suddenly very aware of how warm Louis is, how easily they fit together like this. His cheeks heat, and he ducks his gaze before peeking up through his lashes.

“Hi,” he mumbles and Louis smirks at him. 

“Hi” Louis rasps back, voice sleepy and warm, sounding like honey. Harrybell smiles, overcome by a giddy feeling. He lets his eyes gaze over Louis' features. His sharp cheekbones, the freckle dusting his nose, the smudged black liner around his eyes, and then his lips. Lips he’s kissed before. Lips he wants to kiss again.

“Hi," he says once more, softer this time, feeling foolish but unable to stop himself.

Louis’ grin deepens, amusement flickering in his sleepy eyes. "Hi," he teases back, voice low and fond.

Harrybell exhales shakily, pulse fluttering. He should feel shy, but warmth pools in his chest, making him bold.

"Kissy?" he asks, lips forming a tiny pout.

Louis huffs out a quiet laugh, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Kissy?" he echoes, tilting his head like he’s considering it, though his gaze has already dropped to Harrybell’s lips.

Harrybell nods, hopeful. "Kissy." 

Louis hums, the sound low and teasing, but there’s a softness in his gaze, something unguarded. He leans in just enough for their lips to brush together. It’s a fleeting touch, warm and featherlight. Harrybell’s breath stutters, but before he can overthink it, Louis closes the distance completely.

Their lips meet in a slow, drowsy kiss, the kind that feels like sinking into a dream. It’s unhurried, lazy in the best way, like neither of them wants to be anywhere else. Louis’ lips are warm, soft, tasting of sleep and something sweet. His fingers flex against Harrybell’s waist, not pulling, just holding, as if to keep him in place.

Harrybell sighs into the kiss, melting just a little. He tilts his head, deepening it, letting himself sink into the feeling of Louis. His warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way he kisses like they have all the time in the world. Blessedly, Sundrop seems undisturbed, unaware.

Louis makes a quiet sound, almost a hum of approval, and his hand drifts up to cradle the back of Harrybell’s head, his fingers tangling in the soft curls there. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t demand, just moves with an easy, practiced kind of confidence that makes Harrybell’s heart flutter.

The kiss lingers, stretching between them like golden sunlight spilling through the window, until Harrybell finally pulls back, breathless. His lips tingle, his cheeks are warm, and when he opens his eyes, Louis is watching him with a lazy, satisfied grin.

"Kissy," Louis murmurs, teasing, his thumb tracing over Harrybells spit slick bottom lip. 

Harrybell smiles, face flushed as he takes Louis' thumb into his mouth, biting it playfully. 

Louis stills for a fraction of a second, his smirk faltering just slightly before morphing into something darker, more intrigued. His blue eyes flicker with interest as he watches Harrybell, his thumb now resting against the soft warmth of his tongue.

Harrybell holds his gaze, playful but unafraid, his teeth grazing over the pad of Louis’ thumb before he lets go with a quiet pop. His lips curve into a mischievous smile, eyes gleaming.

Louis huffs out a breath, amusement and something else mingling in his expression. “Cheeky,” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher. His fingers slip from Harrybell’s mouth to trail along his jaw, tilting his chin up just slightly.

Harrybell hums, nuzzling into the touch. 

“More kissies?” he asks.

Louis chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s no denying the fondness in his gaze as he leans in again, brushing their lips together in a kiss that’s deeper this time, slower, less sleepy, more deliberate. Harrybell sighs against his mouth, sinking into it, already wondering how he ever went without this.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“I want to go to the river today,” Harrybell says over breakfast. They sit beneath the fig tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves in golden patches. He scoops up another bite of porridge, sweetened with honeycomb. He's grown quite fond of the simple dish. 

Louis, lounging beside him, plucks ripe figs from the branches, offering them up, while Sundrop busies herself with a small bundle of daisies that Harrybell has grown her, happily munching away.

“Alright, petal,” Louis says easily, rolling a fig between his fingers.

Harrybell hesitates, glancing down at his bowl. “I, um... I want you to come with me.”

Louis stills for a beat, his gaze flicking to Harrybell’s face, searching. Then, after a moment, he smiles softly.

“Really?” he asks, tilting his head in surprise.

Harrybell nods, a little nervous but earnest. “Yeah.” 

“I'd love to come.” Louis says and Harrybell gives him a shy smile. 

They decide to make a picnic out of it, filling a little basket with all sorts of snacks, ranging from plump figs, ripe strawberries, and soft cheeses. Harrybell adds slices of pink bread and roasted sweet potatoes, the basket quickly filling with more than they probably need, considering they’d only just finished breakfast and it's already afternoon. 

Not wasting much more time, they set off down the path, their steps falling into an easy rhythm while Sundrop is hopping in front of them. Their hands brush now and then, light, fleeting touches that send little sparks up Harrybell’s arm. 

Harrybell doesn't remember a time where he ever walked it if he ever did at all, so used to flying everywhere. The urge to spread his wings grows with every step he takes. 

He bites his lip, glancing down at his feet.

“Lou?” he asks hesitantly.

Louis hums in acknowledgment, shifting the picnic basket in his grip, his stride easy beside him.

“Can you, um… maybe help me with my wing?” Harrybell keeps his gaze fixed on the ground, focusing on the steady rhythm of his steps.

Louis slows, head tilting. “Help you how?” His voice is gentle, curious.

“Like… stretch them out for me,” Harrybell says, heat creeping up his neck. “I just-. It’s really hard to do alone and I thought maybe…” He trails off, unsure how to explain the weight of something that once felt so natural. But he knows Louis understands. 

Louis watches him for a beat, intertwining their hands and giving him a gentle squeeze, before he nods. “Yeah, petal. I can do that.”

The walk to the river feels longer than Harrybell remembers, but as they near the final bend, recognition blooms in his chest. Just before the river comes into view, he stops, turning to face Louis.

“This part of the river… it’s kind of my favorite secret spot,” he admits, shifting on his feet. “There are other places along the water that are more crowded, but no one really comes here. Except for Niall and Liam. I’ve only ever shown them.” He hesitates, unsure why he’s rambling, why he suddenly feels nervous.

Louis’ fingers tighten around his own, grounding him. “Thank you for trusting me with it,” he says, voice warm and sincere.

Harrybell exhales shakily, nodding before tugging Louis forward.

It’s different from flying, having to push through bushes rather than simply soaring over them. Harrybell parts them with a flicker of magic, as they step out of the forest and into the clearing.

The river rushes past them, the water is splashing a comforting sound. Birds are chirping and bees are buzzing and everywhere are flowers dappled. Flowers Harrybell grew, and he smiles at them. He missed being here, it's been way too long. 

“Wow,” Louis says quietly and Harrybell turns to him with a smile, his dress swishing against his thighs. “It's gorgeous.” 

Harrybell nods, letting the moment sink in, the warmth of the sun casting a golden glow on the water, making it glitter like scattered diamonds.

“It’s my happy place,” Harrybell says, his voice soft as he takes in the familiar beauty around him. Louis steps closer, his expression warm, a gentle smile curving his lips.

“I see why,” Louis murmurs, setting the picnic basket down carefully. His gaze sweeps over the clearing, taking in the vibrant flowers, the flowing river, the peaceful tranquility.

Harrybell can’t help but smile as he sinks into the soft grass, the sun warming his skin. He pats the spot next to him, and before he knows it, flowers bloom there from his overeagerness. He blushes, blinking up at Louis bashfully. 

Louis smiles and instead, sits down on his other side, close enough that their arms are touching. 

Sundrop is happily exploring everything and Harrybell makes sure to grow her some dandelions. 

“What do you normally do when you come here?” Louis asks, leaning slightly back, arms flexing in the sunlight. 

“Just enjoy the tranquility.” He shrugs. “I take baths, contemplate my life, gossip with friends or, my favourite, brood over demons who stepped into my life.”  

Louis chuckles, nudging their shoulders together. “Sounds nice.” 

Harrybell hums, letting his fingers trace over the soft grass blades. “It is.” 

A brief silence falls between them, the peaceful atmosphere settling in. But then, Harrybell shifts, his expression turning slightly more serious as his fingers twitch. 

“I– uhm... can we try working on the wing now?” he asks, his voice hesitant but determined. “I’d rather do it now than later. Get it over with.”

Louis turns his head, sensing the shift, and nods softly. “Of course, petal. We can do that.” 

Louis has seen Harrybell go through the wing exercises more times than he can count. He’s held him as he cried from the strain, but he’s never touched Harrybell’s wings. At least not since that one time, when everything was different, when Louis had threatened him. But that was a long time ago, and things had changed since then.

They reposition themselves, Harrybell kneeling before Louis with his back turned toward him. Louis moves to kneel behind him, close enough that their bodies are almost touching.

“Tell me where I can touch and where I can’t,” Louis asks, his voice calm but with a hint of gentleness. His hands rest on Harrybell’s waist, drawing light, soothing circles on the fabric of his dress.

“E– everywhere,” Harrybell stutters out, trying to steady his breath. “I want you to help me stretch it out and hold it.” He turns his head slightly, meeting Louis’ gaze.

Louis hums softly in acknowledgment. “Okay, I can do that.”

Harrybell swallows, looking back at Louis, face serious. “And don’t stop even when I tell you to. The muscles need to regain their strength.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, concern flicking in his gaze. “Okay, but how will I know when to stop?”

Harrybell bites his lip. “Before I pass out?”

Louis sighs, but his voice is warm with reassurance. “That won’t happen, little flower.”

Harrybell nods, but his nervous energy doesn’t quite fade. “Okay. I’ll say, uhm… ‘sprout .’ I’ll say ‘sprout’ when I’m reaching my limit.”

Louis' hands tighten slightly at his waist, his touch grounding. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Harrybell looks over his shoulder, meeting Louis’ eyes, a quiet determination in his gaze. “I won’t. I trust you.”

Louis nods, his expression softening. “Alright, then. Let’s do this.”

Louis takes a steadying breath, his hands gently sliding from Harrybell’s waist to the base of his wings. He’s careful, his touch deliberate, making sure to avoid any pressure on the delicate, still-healing muscles. Harrybell’s breath catches slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Ready?” Louis asks softly, his voice warm and patient.

Harrybell nods, feeling the knot in his chest loosen just a little, knowing Louis is right there. “Ready.”

Louis' hands move slowly, cautiously, as he begins to guide Harrybell’s wing out. He can feel the muscles resisting, reluctant to stretch and move, but Harrybell stays still, his body tense but not pulling away as he tries to unfold his wing with Louis' help.

Louis' touch is gentle but firm, coaxing the wing to extend a little more. Harrybell’s breath hitches, a slight tremor running through him, as pain erupts. 

“Just breathe, petal,” Louis murmurs, his hands staying steady as he encourages the wing to stretch a little further. “You’re doing great.”

Harrybell’s eyes flutter close, focusing on the feeling of Louis' hands on him, the warm pressure guiding him, helping him move past the pain. He can feel the muscle aching but pushes through with his breath. The slight stretch becomes a steady pull, and Harrybell exhales sharply, a whimper escaping his lips.

“Sprout,” he whispers quickly, his voice shaky as dizziness overcomes him.

Louis gently rests his wing down. “Good. Just rest for a moment. You’re doing so good, petal.” 

After a few moments, Louis gently begins to move again, stretching the wing further but slower this time. The two of them work together, pushing through the pain and the discomfort. The feeling of Louis hands on his wings still feels good, even through the pain emerging from moving it and he wonders what it feels like without the added addition of pain. 

By the time they finish, Harrybell is breathing heavily, sweat on his brow, but there’s a sense of accomplishment in the air. His wing is extended, a little shakier than it should be, but it’s there, and Louis holds it for him, a constant stream of gentle praise falling quietly from his lips.

“Sprout,” he says again when he feels sweat start to gather on his forehead and feels sick from the nausea. Louis lowers his wing, stroking over the delicate surface once, with careful fingers that makes Harrybell gasp in surprise. 

“Good job, petal,” Louis says softly, his voice thick with pride. “You did amazing.”

Harrybell hums in contentment, allowing himself to fall backward, trusting Louis to catch him. The demon does, his strong arms pulling Harrybell against his chest as he spreads his legs to form a 'v' to support him. Louis makes sure Harrybell’s wings aren’t squished, wrapping his arms around Harrybell’s waist and crossing them in front of his stomach, holding him close.

Louis presses a gentle kiss to the top of Harrybell’s head. “’m proud of you.”

“Feed me strawberries?” Harrybell asks, his voice tired but with a hint of a smile at the praise. 

Louis chuckles softly, a shadow reaching out to pull the basket closer. He opens it with practiced ease, pulling out the ripe strawberries and figs.

He holds a strawberry up to Harrybell’s lips, and Harrybell hums happily, his body relaxing into Louis’ embrace as he takes a bite. The sweetness explodes in his mouth, and a soft moan slips past his lips before he can stop it.

Louis’ arm tightens around him at the sound, and Harrybell smiles to himself, feeling warmth spread through his chest. There’s something about pulling a reaction from Louis, of seeing that protective, affectionate side of him that wants Harrybell. 

Louis feeds Harrybell the last of the strawberry, his fingers lingering on Harrybell’s lips, tracing the outline of them softly as the fruit dissolves on his tongue. Harrybell’s eyes flutter shut for a brief moment, the sensation of Louis' touch sending a shiver down his spine. It’s a simple act, yet something about the tenderness in Louis' movements makes it feel incredibly intimate, as if the world has quieted around them, leaving only the two of them and the sweetness of the moment.

When Harrybell finally opens his eyes, he meets Louis’ gaze. There’s an intensity in those blue eyes, something deep and unreadable. Louis’ gaze isn’t just on Harrybell’s face though, it's fixed on the way his lips part as he takes the strawberry, the way his mouth reacts to the sweetness.

Harrybell’s heart skips a beat, the awareness of the quiet tension between them overcoming him. He chews slowly, savoring the flavor, and as he swallows, his hand instinctively reaches out to touch Louis' fingers. He doesn't know what possesses him, but before he can stop himself, he pulls Louis’ fingers toward his mouth and gently sucks them, his tongue curling around them to catch the last remnants of juice. 

The air between them feels charged in that instant, the touch electric. Louis' breath hitches, and eyebrow raising in surprise and his gaze darkening as he watches Harrybell. His thumb traces the outline of Harrybell’s lips slowly, as if memorizing the feel of him. Harrybell’s heart races, the simple act of sucking on Louis’ fingers making him feel something deeper, more vulnerable.

Louis’ voice is low, a rasp that sends a shiver through Harrybell, when he finally speaks. “You have no idea how much that– how much you ,  affect me, do you?” 

Harrybell’s stomach flips at the words, his pulse quickening as he meets Louis’ gaze again, unsure of what to say. His body is responding to Louis in ways he doesn't fully understand, the tension between them thickening with every passing second. He shakes his head, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift. "I... I don't," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips still tingling from where Louis just touched them. 

Louis leans in closer, his breath warm against Harrybell's ear. “You do, petal. You have to.”

Before Harrybell can say another word, Louis' lips brush against his cheek, the kiss soft and lingering, as if he's savouring every second. Harrybell’s breath hitches, the warmth of Louis’ lips and the heat of his breath sending a jolt of electricity through him. His fingers twitch, instinctively catching at a few stray blades of grass, and he feels flowers begin to bloom beneath his touch. 

"Louis..." he breathes, his voice shaky as he lets the words tumble out before he can stop them. "I want you." The admission feels like a release, like he’s been holding onto this truth for far too long. He wants Louis, wants him in every way imaginable, wants him more than he ever thought he could and then some. He can feel the tension building inside him, and he knows if Louis keeps taking things slow, he might just break.

Louis stares at him, his gaze searching Harrybell’s face, as if trying to find something Harrybell doesn’t even understand. A flicker of memory hits him then, the last time they were in a moment like this, it was built on lies. Harrybell doesn’t want to think about it anymore. Not now. Not when every inch of him is screaming for Louis. He wants to leave the past in the past, and move on and look ahead. Turn towards the sun. 

Without thinking, he quickly shifts, moving so he’s facing Louis, scooting even closer by wrapping his legs around his hips. His hands frame Louis' face, holding him there, making sure their gazes lock. There’s an unreadable expression on Louis' face, but Harrybell sees the conflict in his eyes.

“No games,” Harrybell whispers, his voice quiet but firm. “No lies. I trust you.”

Louis’ breath catches, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. His arms slide around Harrybell’s waist, pulling him closer. “I want you too, little flower,” he murmurs against his skin, his voice raw with desire. “Want you more than you know. More than I should.”

“Then take me,” Harrybell whispers, his thumbs stroking over the high bones of Louis’ cheeks, the gesture tender despite the heat building between them. “’m yours.”

The words seem to break whatever restraint Louis had left. Without another second of hesitation, Louis claims his lips, his mouth slanting over Harrybell’s with urgency, as if he’s been waiting for this for too long. His tongue traces the seam of Harrybell’s lips before slipping inside, deepening the kiss.

Harrybell moans softly, a sound of longing and relief, and the world narrows to just the two of them, the rush of their kiss and the shared heat between them. Everything else fades. There are no more doubts, no more hesitations, just the undeniable connection between them.

Harrybell gets lost in the kiss, his hands clawing at Louis' hair as he moves down to kiss his jaw and neck. His beard burns, scratching the sensitive skin of his throat and a whimper escapes his lips when Louis sucks at a spot beneath his ear that makes him shudder in pleasure. 

“Louis...” Harrybell gasps, the name coming out as a plea. He needs more, needs him more. His hands travel lower, sliding over the demon’s broad shoulders and down his chest, pulling him closer with a sense of urgency that matches the pounding of his heart. They're both hard, Harrybell can feel Louis even through the layers of clothes between them. Heat coils at his very core. 

Louis’ low growl vibrates against Harrybell’s skin, and the heat between them only grows, consuming them both. With a sharp breath, Louis pulls back just enough to look into Harrybell’s eyes, searching his face for any trace of uncertainty. His hand reaches up to cup Harrybell’s face, thumb gently brushing over his cheek as his eyes darken with a mixture of hunger and tenderness.

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, his voice strained with desire. “We can stop if you want, if you need to.”

But Harrybell shakes his head, his hands gripping Louis tighter, as if to prove his resolve. “No, I want this,” he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper, yet firm. “I trust you.”

The reassurance is all Louis needs. He nods, his lips crashing back to Harrybell’s, the kiss deepening with renewed urgency as he lets his hands stroke over Harrybells thighs, teasing him by pushing his dress up slowly, revealing more and more skin, stopping just before he’d reach his knickers. 

Harrybell gasps, arching into the touch. “ Please .” 

Louis hums low in his chest, pulling Harrybell closer, his arm wrapping around his waist as he hovers above him. Their lips meet again, but Louis' hand keeps wandering up Harrybell’s thigh, brushing over the edge of his panties, never quite reaching the place Harrybell realises he craves him most.

“Lou,” Harrybell whines, his body squirming with impatience. The sound earns him a sharp bite to his bottom lip. Harrybell gasps, pleasure surging through him. 

“Patience, little flower,” Louis murmurs, voice low and teasing. He can feel the sly grin stretching across Louis’ mouth against his throat, and Harrybell’s hips buck up at the words, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“ Can’t ,” he cries, overwhelmed.

“You can . Be good for me.” Louis growls, voice rough and dark with hunger. Harrybell responds without hesitation, tugging sharply at Louis’ hair. The movement makes the demon’s breath stutter, his eyes flashing with desire

Louis groans softly, his lips claiming Harrybell’s once more, kissing him with a deeper hunger. His hands roam, tracing the lines of Harrybell’s body, every touch lingering as if to memorize the feel of him. Slowly, Louis' lips move down, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his throat, down the delicate curve of his collarbone. With a practiced motion, he pushes the strap of Harrybell’s dress off his shoulder, exposing more of his skin to the cool air.

“More, more, more ,” Harrybell gasps, his voice breathy, pleading, every word dripping with the desperate need that’s taken over him.

A low, almost possessive growl rumbles in Louis' chest, and without a second thought, he pushes the dress further down, letting it pool around Harrybell’s waist. The fabric slides easily off, revealing his chest, bare and vulnerable beneath the demon’s intense gaze.

Louis' eyes are full of desire as he looks at his chest, one hand coming up to cup the swell of his right chest, while he sucks his left nipple into his mouth, the sensation enough to almost make Harrybell fall over an edge he’s just learned existed. He's never been touched like this before, could only dream after Niall once found a book  full of risqué scenes in Thornleaf’s cottage and had showed it off to him and Liam. 

The hand cupping him switches to just playing with his nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. 

“Lou– can’t,” he cries out, bucking his hips up fervently, searching for friction. 

Louis stops his admissions, only enough to pull his own shirt off before he pushes Harrybells dress down his legs, leaving him just in the delicate fabric of his underpants. However, Harrybell is more focused on the golden skin and dark marks lining Louis arm’s. His breath catches in his throat, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to trace those markings with his tongue, feel the heat of them under his lips.

Louis smirks, flexing his abs and it makes Harrybell roll his eyes with a small giggle. “Show off.” 

“Hmm, something tells me you like it,” Louis murmurs with an overconfident smirk. He leans over Harrybell again, his presence overwhelming, and before Harrybell can even open his mouth to retort, Louis captures his lips in a searing kiss.

The kiss is all-consuming, pulling Harrybell back into the world of sensation and heat. He forgets everything for a moment, just lost in the feel of Louis' mouth, the heat of his body above him. But then, the ache between his legs becomes too much to ignore. He is hard and throbbing in the confines of his knickers, burning with need. Harrybell’s body squirms, desperate for any kind of relief.

Without thinking, he sneaks one hand down, trying to touch himself, desperate to alleviate the pressure. But before he can even reach the waistband of his underpants, a shadow snakes around his wrist, cold and firm, pulling his hand away from his body. His eyes widen in shock, a gasp escaping his lips, as the shadow tightens its grip, pulling his wrist above his head.

“Not yet,” Louis growls low, his voice a dark promise, filled with authority and it makes Harrybells pulse race. His other wrist is quickly captured by another shadow, the dark tendrils wrapping around it and pulling it just as easily above his head, leaving him fully restrained, exposed beneath Louis.

Harrybell gasps, his back arching off the ground as the shadows hold him in place, the pressure building in every part of his body. His mind whirls, caught in pleasure. His eyes roll back in his head, unable to focus as every inch of his body feels both free and trapped. The feeling of being at Louis' mercy, bound by both shadows and desire, sends a flood of heat through his chest. It's so different from when Louis first arrived, he trusts Louis, trusts Louis to stop if he so much as shakes his head no at something, trusts Louis to make this good for them. 

Louis' smirk widens as he looks down at Harrybell, now completely at his mercy. He leans in, pressing a soft, teasing kiss to Harrybell’s lips before pulling back just enough to speak. “You’re mine, little flower. Every part of you,” he says, the promise in his voice sending a jolt of heat through Harrybell’s entire body.

The tension is almost unbearable, and Harrybell can’t help but whimper, his body trembling beneath the demon’s touch. 

“Please,” he breathes, his voice a mix of desperation and need, his eyes pleading. Everything is so hazy, but there’s one thing Harrybell is so sure of in this moment. “Yours. Please.” 

“What do you want, little flower?” Louis asks, his voice low and velvety, the words slipping from his lips like a dark promise. He follows his question with soft, teasing kisses along Harrybell’s chest, his lips trailing a path down to his stomach, then teasingly along the inside of his thigh. Each touch sends jolts of need through Harrybell’s body, but Louis never touches where he craves it most. His fingers dance over every inch of skin, but never quite where the ache is unbearable.

“Y-You,” Harrybell begs, the word almost lost in the flood of sensation. His body trembles beneath Louis' touch, desperate for release. Louis hums in response, his finger brushing teasingly along the waistband of Harrybell’s panties. The soft contact sends a wave of goosebumps rippling across Harrybell’s stomach, his breath hitching. “Want you,” he whispers, voice trembling with need.

Louis' gaze is dark, filled with a quiet amusement as he continues to trace the fabric, making Harrybell squirm with frustration. “Got me,” Louis murmurs, lips curling into a smile at Harrybell’s reaction.

Harrybell’s body tenses with frustration, the shadows still holding his wrists firmly above his head, leaving him unable to move. He tries to pull against the dark tendrils, but they’re stronger than him. “Please,” he whines, his voice shaky, filled with longing.

Louis watches him for a moment, lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. “Touch me,” Harrybell demands again, his words coming out in a breathless rush.

“I am touching you,” Louis muses, his finger still moving along Harrybell’s skin, but never where he wants it most. He leans in close, his breath hot against Harrybell’s ear. “What do you want, little flower? Tell me.”

The question is too much for Harrybell, his face burning with embarrassment as he squeezes his eyes shut, unable to make eye contact. The vulnerability is overwhelming, but the need inside him outweighs everything else. 

“No,” he cries out, his voice shaking. “I– want you inside me.” The words spill out before he can stop them, raw and desperate, his body aching for Louis.

“There you go,” Louis praises, kissing along his jaw, his lips soft but insistent. “So good for me.” One hand slips into Harrybell’s underpants, fingers curling around where Harrybell is hardest, hottest,, giving it the lightest stroke, and it’s almost too much. Harrybell’s head falls back with a shuddering gasp, his wrists still bound above him, shadows curling possessively around them.

Louis takes his time pushing Harrybell’s underpants down, his touch unhurried, almost reverent. He drags his palms over the newly exposed skin, his gaze burning. “Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You’re gorgeous.”

Harrybell barely has a second to react before Louis lowers his head, licking over the tip, sucking just enough to make Harrybell cry out. His hips jerk up instinctively, but Louis is quick to press him down, strong hands pinning him in place. Shadows tighten around his wrists, leaving him at Louis’ mercy.

The pleasure is dizzying, overwhelming, but then, just as quickly as it came, it vanishes. Harrybell gasps as Louis pulls away, pressing a kiss to his hip instead. “No,” he whimpers, squirming, desperate.

Louis chuckles, wicked and smug, his fingers ghosting lower, teasing. “So impatient,” he muses, stroking over Harrybell’s inner thighs, making him shiver.

A single fingertip grazes over his entrance, featherlight, and Harrybell lets out a broken moan, his legs spreading instinctively. Louis watches him, fascinated, then gathers the slickness there, lifting his fingers to inspect it. Harrybell watches, wide-eyed, as Louis deliberately sucks one into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut like he’s savouring it.

He hums, low and pleased. “Tastes like honey.”

Harrybell whimpers, his whole body burning. “Lou…” He squirms, half embarrassed, half desperate, but Louis only grins before leaning down to kiss him, slow and deep, letting him taste his own sweetness from Louis’ tongue. 

Louis drags his fingers lazily over Harrybell’s inner thighs, teasing, enjoying the way the fairy trembles in anticipation. “So needy,” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss just above his knee. “So desperate for me.”

Harrybell whimpers, his back arching as he tugs against the shadows holding his wrists. “ Please ,” he breathes, his voice breaking on the word.

Louis hums in amusement, trailing his lips higher, ghosting over the sensitive skin of his hips before biting down just enough to leave a mark. Harrybell gasps, his thighs twitching, but Louis soothes the spot with his tongue, smirking against his skin.

“You beg so sweetly,” Louis muses, fingers skimming lower. “But I think I want to hear more.”

Harrybell shudders, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. “Need you,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. His body feels like it’s burning, every touch sending sparks through him, but it’s not enough. He needs more. Needs Louis. 

“Want you, please Lou. ‘ve been good.” 

Louis leans in, kissing him and biting his bottom lip sharply, drawing blood and Harrybell gasps, feeling himself leak more slick. “You've been so good for me,” Louis says. He whimpers pathetically, a fresh wave of heat washing over Harrybell, his entire body tingling at the praise. He turns his head, trying to catch Louis’ lips again, but the demon pulls back with a chuckle, enjoying his frustration.

Louis’ fingers finally dip lower, his touch featherlight, barely there. Harrybell gasps, his body instinctively pushing toward the sensation.

“You’re so sensitive,” Louis murmurs, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “So responsive.”

Harrybell lets out a broken moan, his entire body tense with need as Louis fingers keep trailing down, down, down until he finally pushes his finger inside of Harrybell. 

“So wet ,” Louis says next, almost marvelling to himself over Harrybell’s newfound ability to take , to take Louis.

He almost bursts right then and there, so overwhelmed by every little touch. Louis swallows his moans with kisses as he slowly pushes his finger in and out, curling it deliberately. 

“More!” he gasps, the stretch making his insides coil. And to his surprise, Louis indulges him, pressing in another finger into his entrance and Harrybell sees rainbows explode in front of his eyes. 

“Wanna touch,” he whines, struggling against the shadows. Louis' skin is glistening golden in the sun and Harrybell wants to explore it the same way the demon has been exploring him. 

Louis has him spread open, completely at his mercy, his fingers working with deliberate slowness, scissoring him open, stretching him wide. Harrybell has never felt this way before, has never gotten this close to anyone and he is glad it's Louis he is trusting this with. Harrybell feels cherished under the demon's heavy gaze, worshipped by his touch. 

The shadows disappear from his wrists just as Louis adds a third finger, biting into his thigh and it's all too much. Harrybell’s fingers fall into Louis' hair, pulling and pushing, not sure whether he wants the demon to stop his onslaught or bite him until he bleeds. 

“Please, Lou. m’ready, m’ready.” He gasps and arches into the touch, his body trembling with need. The stretch burns, but it's a sweet kind of ache, one that only adds to the dizzying pleasure flooding his senses. Louis groans against his thigh, his breath hot against Harrybell’s flushed skin.

“Are you?” Louis murmurs, his voice thick with something dark and intoxicating. His fingers don’t stop, pressing deeper, testing, teasing. His lips trail up, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Harrybell’s hip, his stomach, places that make him shudder.

Harrybell whines, his back arching as desperation coils tight in his belly. “Yes, yes, I promise, just, please ,” he gasps, tugging at Louis’ hair, needing more, needing everything .

Louis moans at the sharp pull, the sound deep and wrecked, and then he’s kissing Harrybell like he wants to devour him, hot and unrelenting, stealing the breath from his lungs. When he finally pulls away, Harrybell is left panting, lips tingling, body thrumming with need.

He watches with wide, hungry eyes as Louis kneels up, the warmth of him retreating for just a moment. It’s almost unbearable, the loss of contact, but then Louis’ hands go to the laces of his trousers, and Harrybell forgets how to breathe. Inch by inch, golden skin is revealed, smooth and glistening in the moonlight. Harrybell drinks in the sight of the strong lines of his thighs, the flex of muscle, the way his cock stands thick and hard between them. Heat licks at his spine, his entire body aching for the moment Louis will finally press into him, stretch him, claim him.

A shudder rolls through him as he plants his feet in the grass, toes curling into the damp earth and he feels flowers grow beneath them. He spreads his legs further, unabashed in his need, offering himself without hesitation. His wings tremble beneath him, his body open and waiting.

“Please,” he whispers, voice wrecked, gaze locked onto Louis with a silent plea. He doesn’t care how desperate he sounds, he is desperate, every inch of him burning for the demon above him.

Louis’ breath hitches, his eyes dark as they roam over Harrybell’s body. A slow smirk tugs at his lips, but his hands are gentle as they slide over Harrybell’s thighs, thumbs brushing soft circles into his skin.

“Look at you,” Louis murmurs, voice rough with want. “So eager, little flower.”

Harrybell shivers, his fingers digging into the earth, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Only for you,” he breathes, and the words seem to break something in Louis.

The demon groans, his control slipping, as he settles between Harrybell’s legs, lining himself up. He leans in, brushing his knuckles over Harrybell’s flushed cheek, his voice softer now, reverent.

“Breathe for me, petal,” he whispers, and then he’s pressing in, sinking deep, and Harrybell swears he can feel the entire world shift around them. 

Harrybell trembles beneath him, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he clings to Louis’ hands, fingers lacing together tightly. His good wing flutters weakly against the grass, his body stretching to accommodate the slow, steady press of Louis sinking into him. It’s overwhelming, the heat, the closeness, the way Louis’ breath skates across his neck, warm and grounding.

Louis groans against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse point, where his heart beats wildly beneath the surface. “You’re doing so well, petal,” he murmurs, his voice a deep, soothing hum. He squeezes Harrybell’s hands, his thumbs brushing over delicate knuckles, a silent reassurance.

Harrybell exhales shakily, forcing himself to relax, to breathe through the fullness. Louis is being gentle, so achingly careful, but even still, the stretch burns in the most delicious way. He lets his head tip back against the earth, surrendering to the feeling, to the way Louis fits inside him like he was meant to be there.

“You can– you can move,” Harrybell breathes out.

Louis doesn’t hesitate. His lips find Harrybell’s in a slow, consuming kiss, swallowing the last of his words, their breaths mingling as he begins to move. 

Louis moves slowly at first, rolling his hips in a steady, deliberate rhythm, letting Harrybell adjust, letting him feel every inch of him. The kiss is deep and unhurried, their lips parting only for gasping breaths before they come together again, mouths open, tongues brushing.

Harrybell moans into Louis’ mouth, his fingers twisting into the soft strands of the demon’s hair, anchoring himself. The pain has melted into pleasure, a pleasure so consuming it sends shivers down his spine. Louis is everywhere , his hands gripping Harrybell’s waist, his chest flush against his own, his breath hot against his skin.

Louis pulls back just enough to look at him, his blue eyes dark and molten. “Still okay, petal?” he murmurs, voice thick with restraint.

Harrybell nods frantically, his body trembling, his wings twitching against the grass. “More,” he pleads, voice wrecked.

A deep groan rumbles in Louis’ chest as he presses their foreheads together, his grip tightening. “Hold on to me,” he warns, before snapping his hips forward, deeper this time, rougher.

Harrybell cries out, back arching, his legs wrapping tighter around Louis’ waist as the pleasure crackles through him like lightning. He clings to Louis, panting, gasping, completely lost in the sensation of being taken, of being claimed . Tears swell up in his eyes, the pleasure too much, too good. 

Louis’ lips find his jaw, his neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “So beautiful like this,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “You feel so good .”

His fingers roam over the demon’s back, and Louis groans as he traces the scars, feeling the way his muscles flex with every roll of his hips. Louis is warm, solid, his , and the realisation makes something tighten in Harrybell’s chest. He clings to him, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything. 

“Louis–” he gasps, voice breaking. The pleasure is overwhelming, coiling tighter and tighter inside him, ready to snap. His nails dig into Louis’ skin, marking him the way he’s being marked in return.

Above him, Louis groans, his breath scorching against Harrybell’s neck. “I’ve got you, petal,” he murmurs. 

Harrybell’s breath hitches, a soft squeak escaping him when Louis suddenly moves. Strong hands gripping his waist and lifting him with ease. The shift is swift, pulling Harrybell up so that he’s sitting in Louis' lap, their bodies still connected but now, the angle changes. Harrybell feels it, deep and consuming, every inch of Louis' presence filling him in a way he didn’t anticipate.

His body trembles, every nerve alight with sensation, and he can’t stop the whimper that slips from his lips. The pressure of Louis' hands on his hips, guiding him, makes Harrybell feel both overwhelmed and alive in a way he can’t quite explain. It’s too much, and yet, it’s everything he wants.

Louis' lips brush over Harrybell’s neck once more, the heat of his breath sending shivers down Harrybell’s spine as their bodies move together. Each slow, deliberate thrust of Louis’ hips causes Harrybell to gasp, their connection tightening.

Louis’ hands slide up Harrybell's back, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing their bodies together in a way that feels as though they’re becoming one. His fingers splay across Harrybell’s stomach, stroking lightly, before tightening in response to a deep thrust that has Harrybell’s breath hitching in his throat. His head falls back, a soft gasp escaping his lips. 

"Fuck," Louis groans, his voice low, strained, as his body presses against Harrybell’s, a delicious pressure that makes Harrybell's pulse quicken. His eyes dart down, and his breath catches when he sees the slight bulge of his belly pressing outwards from where Louis is buried deep within him, the sight both arousing and overwhelming. His heart races in response, the intensity of their connection sending heat coursing through him.

His hips meet Louis’ in eager urgency, his arms wrapping tightly around the demon’s neck, pushing himself closer, needing more. His thighs burn, and pleasure and exhaustion fight to overtake him, but he doesn’t dare stop, not when he feels so full, so close.

“‘M close,” he gasps, the words breaking apart as tears finally spill over, overwhelmed and overstimulated. His breath comes in quick, desperate pants, and he lets his mouth roam over Louis’ neck, nipping and biting, trying to ground himself in the sensation. The taste of salt lingers on his tongue, and Louis groans in response, tilting his head to the side, giving Harrybell all the access he needs.

“Let go, petal,” Louis urges, voice rough, laced with something almost tender.

Harrybell whines, trembling, his body burning with a need he can’t name. It’s too much, not enough, all at once. His fingers dig into Louis’ shoulders, his wings fluttering behind him in restless desperation. 

“Can you— touch my wing? Please ?” he pleads, voice wrecked.

Louis’ hand moves instantly, sliding down his back before tracing over the delicate surface of his good wing. The touch is featherlight but electric, sending a shock of sensation through Harrybell’s body. He chokes on a sob, his entire frame shivering as his magic rises like a tide, uncontrollable, undeniable.

It crashes over him in a wave of blinding, euphoric heat. He cries out, his head buried in Louis’ neck, his entire body trembling as colours burst behind his closed eyelids, his magic spilling free. Flowers bloom wildly around them, vines curling and twisting, filling the space with the sweet scent of fresh blossoms as he loses himself completely.

He clenches around Louis, pleasure crashing over him, drawing out a deep moan that melts into a string of breathless whimpers. Louis groans low in his throat, his grip tightening as he gives a few more sharp, stuttering thrusts before following him over the edge, spilling inside him with a shudder.

For a moment, neither of them move, the only sounds in the air their shared, ragged breathing. The scent of flowers lingers, mixing with sweat and warmth, the proof of Harrybell’s magic curling around them like an embrace.

Harrybell stays pressed against Louis, his body still trembling, wings twitching slightly, his mind hazy in the afterglow. Louis’ arms stay locked around him, holding him steady, grounding him. Harrybell feels like he is floating, the only thing keeping him grounded are Louis' arms. 

“So good for me, petal,” Louis whispers into his ear, his voice low and soothing, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. He holds Harrybell close, pressing a gentle kiss to the delicate shell of his ear.

Harrybell trembles in his arms, his breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. He clings to Louis, tightening his grip around the demon’s neck, afraid to let go. Tears still spill down his flushed cheeks, remnants of overwhelming pleasure and raw emotion, and when Louis moves, he whimpers.

Louis hushes him gently, pressing another kiss to his temple as he slowly lifts him off. Harrybell shudders at the loss, body still sensitive, overstimulated, but Louis is careful– so careful, as he shifts him, turning him sideways and gathering him into his arms. He wraps his arms securely around Harrybell’s waist, holding him close, his touch firm yet tender.

The world around them is quiet now, save for the sound of their slowing breaths and the faint rustling of flowers that have sprung to life in the wake of Harrybell’s magic. Nestled in Louis' embrace, Harrybell lets his eyes flutter shut, exhaustion creeping in, his body warm and pliant against Louis’.

Louis strokes his hair gently, his fingers threading through soft curls as he presses lazy, reverent kisses wherever he can reach. His temple, his cheek, the tip of his nose. Each touch is soothing, grounding, a silent promise that he’s here, that he isn’t going anywhere.

Harrybell tilts his head slightly, his lips parting just so, a quiet, unconscious invitation.

“Kissy?” Louis murmurs, his voice too soft to be teasing, laced instead with something unbearably fond.

Harrybell hums in response, not bothering to open his eyes, just waiting.

Louis doesn’t make him wait long. He leans in, brushing their lips together in a slow, lingering kiss. Harrybell melts into it instantly, his body pliant, his heart fluttering in his chest. It’s gentle, unhurried, nothing like the desperate way they had clung to each other before. It feels… different. Sweeter.

When Louis finally pulls away, Harrybell exhales a tiny, content sigh, nuzzling against his chest, unwilling to let the moment slip away just yet.

Louis shifts slightly beneath him, his grip tightening just a fraction. “Gotta clean you up,” he murmurs, voice low but reluctant.

Harrybell pouts, burrowing closer, his limbs heavy with sleep. “Later,” he mumbles, not ready to leave the warmth of Louis’ arms.

A quiet chuckle rumbles through Louis’ chest, followed by another kiss, this time to Harrybell’s temple. “Alright, petal. Later.”

Later does come, eventually, when they finally get up and slip into the water. Harrybell’s cheeks burn at the sight around them. Flowers, so have bloomed wildly in every direction. Petals float on the water’s surface, scattering across the ground like a blanket of colour. 

Louis grins as he takes it all in, his eyes glinting with mischief. A wicked smirk forms on his lips, and Harrybell can already tell exactly what he's thinking.

“Don’t!” Harrybell warns before Louis can even speak.

Louis holds his hands up in mock surrender, laughter bubbling in his chest. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“But you were going to.” Harrybell whines, his lips pouting as he tries to hide his face. His wings twitch nervously, a soft rustling sound filling the air.

Before he can pull away completely, a shadow curls around his waist, gently pulling him back toward Louis. He squeaks in surprise, and Louis wraps his arms around him, pulling him flush against his chest.

“I think it’s cute,” Louis says with a shrug, his voice playful and warm.

“S’embarassing,” Harrybell mutters, burying his face in Louis' shoulder. The heat in his cheeks only intensifies as he feels the weight of Louis’ arms around him, the intimacy of the moment making him shiver, his heart fluttering.

Louis presses a soft kiss to his temple, his lips lingering for just a moment before pulling away. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed, petal.”

Harrybell hides his face further, but he can’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips. "’M not.” 

“Yeah, you are.” And before he can say anything else, Louis kisses him, successfully shutting him up and making him forget anything else but his lips and his fingers drawing soft circles into his hips. 

The water is cold and Louis keeps complaining, only stopping once Harrybell wraps his arms and legs around him, kissing him senseless. 

Louis relaxes into the kiss, and it doesn’t take long for the cold to feel like nothing at all. When they finally break apart, they let themselves dry in the sun, lying on their stomachs in the warm rays. Harrybell rests his cheek against Louis’ shoulder, his gaze wandering to the scars that mar Louis' back. His fingers instinctively trace the edges of the jagged marks, a soft, gentle movement, different from his earlier, desperate scratching. 

“What did they look like?” Harrybell asks quietly, as he caresses the scars where Louis’ wings used to be.

Louis shudders slightly at the touch, as he exhales a slow breath. “They were big, beautiful... not like yours, though. Not as delicate. More intimidating, if you saw them up close.” He pauses, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “They were heavy... dark, with black feathers. But,” he adds, a quiet tenderness lacing his voice, “I loved them. I loved everything about them.”

Harrybell’s fingers still on his back, his heart aching for Louis in a way he hadn’t expected. He wanted to ask more, wanted to know everything about the wings Louis had lost, but he could feel the vulnerability in Louis’ words, so instead, he rests his cheek back on Louis’ shoulder, offering the silent comfort of his presence.

After a few moments of silence, Louis turns slowly, his hand gently guiding Harrybell to face him. His eyes are soft, his expression unreadable for a beat before it softens into something warmer, more tender. Without a word, he pulls Harrybell flush to him, their naked bodies pressed together, and then he kisses him slowly, languidly. 

Louis moves with ease, turning them so that Harrybell is now completely on top of him. Harrybell giggles, the sound light and full of warmth as Louis tugs Harrybells long hair to the side so it doesn’t get in their way. The moment is playful but still full of the quiet intensity that’s always present between them.

As they continue to kiss, Harrybell eventually breaks away, looking down at Louis with a small, teasing smile. He scrunches his nose, feeling an odd squirming sensation under Louis’ intense gaze. The way Louis is looking at him, soft and yet dark, makes Harrybell feel both shy and wanted at the same time. 

Louis smiles, the kind of smile that makes Harrybell’s heart race and his stomach flutter. He traces his thumb over Harrybell’s cheek, his gaze intense yet vulnerable. “I never thought I’d find someone who could make me feel this... whole again,” he says quietly, his voice laced with uncertainty. “Not after everything I’ve done. I didn’t think I deserved it.”

Harrybell’s breath catches in his throat, his chest tight with emotion. His smile softens, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of Louis’ nose. “You deserve it,” he whispers. “You always have.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. It’s just the quiet, the soft sound of their breathing, and the shared understanding that something rare and precious has blossomed between them, something that neither thought would ever come to be from the nature of their relationship. And maybe that's enough. They've found solace in each other, connected through pain and healing, bound by something deeper than fate or obligation. The past still lingers, etched into their skin and bones, but it no longer defines them. Not in the way they’ve learned to rewrite their worths with every trace of fingertips on each other’s skin. 

In his mind’s eye, Harrybell sees it, his magic pouring into Louis’ wounds like rainfall for flowers to grow. Rare, unique, like the Soulbloom, like Louis himself. Something shifts then, as if Louis could feel it, too, and Harry thinks maybe, just maybe, the Soulbloom had done its work. That perhaps, in growing the flower, some small seed of good that had been buried deep by the cruelty of the Underworld had begun to germinate within Louis. It’d been there all along, Harrybell senses. 

“What are you thinking about, little flower?” Louis asks, his shadows or his fingers - Harrybell can’t tell which - play with his hair, loose and tousled over his shoulder. 

Harrybell can only smile. He’s not sure either of them are ready to hear it out loud yet. So, “Later,” he says. “Kissy?"

Chapter Text

Life has started to feel quiet again. Mornings have settled into a gentle rhythm. They wake together, the soft light filtering through the windows, and share breakfast, sitting close with their legs tangled under the table. Their hands brush occasionally, fingers lacing as they pass food between one other, a comfortable silence stretching between them.

Sundrop sits on the table in front of them, her little bowl of berries and treats overflowing, because Louis has somehow turned her into a little princess, spoiling her rotten without a second thought. Harrybell just shakes his head every time Louis talks to her like she’s the most important creature in the world, an amused smile on his lips. But there’s something sweet in it, seeing the once thought cruel demon turn into this soft creature, something that makes Harrybell’s chest tighten with warmth.

They kiss, just because. A gentle peck here and there, quick but full of meaning. Their fingers never stray too far no matter what they’re doing, whether they’re walking side by side, picking flowers, or just sitting together in the garden, soaking in the sunlight. And if they do, there is always a shadow following him, wrapped around his wrist. There’s a teasing word here, a soft laugh there, a playful nudge when one says something a little too cheeky. And it all feels like the first rays of sun after an endless winter.

Because that’s just what they do now– kissing, cuddling, sharing Harrybell’s bed .

Harrybell had pulled Louis into his bed a couple nights ago, under the pretense of needing comfort from his nightmares. And while that wasn’t exactly a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth either. The truth was, he liked having Louis close, liked the steady weight of his presence beside him. 

And somehow, that realisation, that he liked Louis, that maybe he even felt something more, hadn’t struck him like a sudden revelation. Instead, it had crept in slowly, weaving itself into his heart like ivy, settling there with quiet certainty. 

Harrybell feels happy, feels light and free, momentarily forgetting about all his worries, like his wings, or Louis’ flower, that is standing on a windowsill in his living room, or the small fear that the queen may become wind of Louis’ staying with him. Because the town may have been convinced that Louis brings no evil, but the court might not think the same. Still, he pushes all of that far in the back of his mind, buries it with flowers and kisses and giggles. He wants to be happy, wants Louis to be happy. They deserve it. 

“Where are you?” Louis’ voice pulls him from his thoughts.

They’re lying behind Harrybell's cottage, nestled in a bed of flowers he’d carefully grown. He’d gotten tired of the same old soil, the same view since the pumpkin fiasco. Now, the ground around them is alive with color, the air sweet with the scent of blooms. Harrybell rests his head in Louis' lap, eyes half-closed as the demon reads one of the books Harrybell found in the human world.

What started off as Louis teasing him about reading something so filthy, has ended up in the demon being entranced with the story line. Harrybell had tried to stop him, tried to distract him with kisses even but there was no chance. Louis is stubborn, even more so than Harrybell and wand once his mind is set on something, he doesn’t let go.

“Just thinking,” Harrybell mumbles, half-absent.

“I can see that, petal,” Louis says, his voice soft as he lowers the book and looks down at Harrybell. “I want to know what you’re thinking about.”

Harrybell bites his bottom lip, unsure. He’s about to shrug it off, make an excuse, but then he remembers their promise, not to keep things from each other. They’d promised to share, to be honest. And now, with the weight of it all sitting so heavily on him, he knows he can’t just hide it anymore.

Sighing quietly, he admits, “The Soulbloom.”

Louis’ smile falters, and his gaze softens. “Oh,” he murmurs, setting the book down completely.

Harrybell hesitates again, not sure how to go about it, but he presses on. “It’s just... it’s getting weaker without my magic. I think it’s starting to die off, and I think you need to do something about it sooner or later.” He pauses, carefully choosing his words. “It’s not wrong of you to want a soul, Lou. There’s nothing to feel guilty about. The attack wasn’t your fault.”

He reaches up to touch Louis’ cheek, but his hand freezes mid-air. His wrist, the one where Louis’ mark used to be, is now completely bare. His heart skips a beat, panic setting in as he twists his wrist to examine it more closely. But the three stars are nowhere to be seen. 

“Lou…” Harrybell breathes, his voice shaky, “The mark… it’s gone.”

A sharp pang of panic curses through him. Before he can say anything else, a warm hand wraps around his wrist. He looks up to find Louis’ gaze calm, unwavering, even as confusion fills Harrybell’s chest.

“Good,” Louis says simply, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Harrybell’s. The kiss is warm, grounding, and Harrybell can’t help but melt into it. He softens under Louis' touch, a feeling that always seems to find him, no matter how uncertain he feels.

“But… what does it mean?” he asks, his voice muffled by the kiss. “What does it mean that it’s gone?”

Louis pulls back slightly, his eyes steady, though they carry a hint of something unreadable. “Means you’ve figured out what the way out is.”

Harrybell’s brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Louis takes pity on him, his voice calm, but tinged with something a little teasing. “Remember when you tried to seduce me, because you thought that would be the loophole?”

He winces when he remembers that moment but Harrybell nods. “Yeah…” He'd never wanted to think about that again. 

“Well, there was a loophole. You were right about that, and you found it. It’s been gone for three days now, little petal.”

Harrybell’s mind races, trying to piece together what happened in the last three days. He thinks back, but nothing stands out as strange. They’d spent most of the day in bed, lost in each other, kissing and talking, nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. He frowns, still confused. 

“Was… was getting me intimate with you the loophole?” Dread fills his chest at the thought, but Louis shakes his head quickly, his smile gentle but firm.

“No, little flower, gods, no. It’s something else,” he answers. 

Harrybell’s frown deepens. “Well, what is it then?”

Louis’ smile widens slightly, though there’s something playful in his eyes. “You’ll have to figure that out on your own.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?” Harrybell asks, frustration creeping into his voice and he scrunches his nose.

“Oh, but where would be the fun in that?” Louis muses, his eyes glinting with mischief.

Harrybell rolls his eyes, though he is not really annoyed. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Louis leans in again, his lips brushing against Harrybell’s cheek. “Only for you, little petal.” 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harrybell ponders over Louis' words, trying to come up with the answer, but no matter how much he replays those three days in his mind, he comes up empty-handed. He tries to pry it out of Louis, between kisses, when they're working on his wings, or during quiet walks through the forest. He even gets Niall involved in his search for answers, but Louis' lips stay sealed. 

So, even if it frustrates him to no end, he lets it be. He’ll figure it out eventually. When the time is right. 

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Harrybell returns home as the sky fades to dusk, the warmth of his day with Liam and Niall still lingering in his chest. But the moment he sees Louis sitting outside, staring at the Soulbloom, that warmth flickers. The flower’s once-dark petals have begun to wither, its edges curling and brittle.

He stops in his tracks. “What are you doing, Lou?” he asks, voice careful, quiet.

Louis looks up then, his expression unreadable, his blue eyes searching Harrybell’s face as if looking for something he can’t quite name.

“Do you want me to save it?” Harrybell asks. The offer is simple, without hesitation. If Louis wanted him to, Harrybell would pour his magic into the flower, breathe life back into it. Maybe even go as far as giving his own in return. 

Louis swallows, his fingers grazing over the petals. Then he shakes his head.

Harrybell exhales. “Okay,” he says, stepping closer.

Louis watches the Soulbloom with a tense jaw. “I thought I wanted this,” he murmurs. “For so long, I thought it was the only way. That if I had a soul, I could be–” He stops, shaking his head. His fingers curl into his palm. “But I don’t need it, do I?”

Harrybell reaches for him then, slipping his hand into Louis’. Their fingers tangle easily, instinctively. When Louis finally meets his gaze, the uncertainty in his expression has softened, the weight in his eyes a little lighter.

“No,” Harrybell says, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think you do. But I also think it’s still your decision to make. You’re allowed to want it.”

“I don’t,” Louis says, voice tight, almost trembling. “Not after I hurt you so much.”

Harrybell doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve forgiven you for that,” he says, gentle but firm. His body moves before his mind can catch up, sinking down beside Louis, closing the space between them. He wraps both hands around Louis’, his grip steady, grounding.

Louis swallows hard, blinking down at their joined hands. His fingers twitch in Harrybell’s grasp, as if debating whether to hold on or pull away. But he doesn’t move. His shoulders are tense, jaw locked, but his eyes—his eyes are something else entirely. There’s exhaustion there, but not the kind that comes from sleepless nights or endless searching. This is something deeper. Something like release.

“I want it gone,” Louis whispers, voice hoarse, barely audible.

Harrybell’s breath catches. His eyes flick to the Soulbloom, its once-black petals curling in on themselves, edges fading to dust. He looks back at Louis, searching. “Are you sure?”

Louis exhales sharply, nodding. “I think I’d always blame myself if I didn’t,” he says, voice thick. “It would always be between us. Even if you never saw it that way, I would. I’d always feel guilty. I’d always feel selfish.” He pauses, inhales deeply, then finally lifts his gaze, meeting Harrybell’s eyes with quiet certainty. “You’re more important to me.”

Harrybell’s heart stumbles over itself. Warmth blooms in his chest, wrapping around his ribs, pressing up against his throat. He squeezes Louis’ hands, hard, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak just yet.

Instead, he nods. “Then we let it go.”

Louis blinks, like he hadn’t expected it to be that simple. Like he’s spent so long wrestling with this choice that he never imagined how easy it would feel once he finally made it.

Harrybell doesn’t push, doesn’t rush him. He simply waits, their hands still joined, his touch steady and patient.

Louis exhales, the breath shaky but certain, and slowly, his shadows begin to uncurl from around him. They slither forward like living ink, dark tendrils stretching toward the wilting Soulbloom. The flower barely stirs as they reach it, its petals brittle, the edges curled in on themselves. It almost looks like it's surrendering, bowing to the choice Louis has finally made.

The shadows brush against the stem first, a soft caress, hesitant despite the power thrumming through them. Then, with more purpose, they wrap around the flower completely. A shiver runs through the Soulbloom, its remaining petals trembling before they begin to break apart, dissolving into nothing.

Louis watches it happen, expression unreadable. Harrybell watches him instead, the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his grip on Harrybell’s hand tightens ever so slightly. And then, just like that, the flower is gone.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy, but not suffocating. The weight Louis has carried for so long, the hope, the guilt, the what-ifs—it all settles into the empty space where the Soulbloom had been.

Louis stares at the vacant spot for a long moment before he releases a slow breath. His shadows retreat, slipping away like ink bleeding back into his skin. His fingers twitch in Harrybell’s grasp, and Harrybell squeezes them, grounding him.

“It’s done,” Louis murmurs, almost like he’s testing the words out, trying to see if they taste like regret.

Harrybell shifts closer, pressing his forehead against Louis’, his voice soft but sure. “You’re still you.”

Louis closes his eyes for a beat, breathing Harrybell in, letting the truth of those words settle deep. When he opens them again, something in his gaze is steadier. Lighter.

“Still me,” he says.

And it should feel bigger, and maybe to Louis it does but Harrybell has been seeing Louis for what he is for a while now. Soft and kind, good-spirited. Sees it in the way he prepares them breakfast or in the way he tucks the blanket around Harrybell when he falls asleep on the porch and carries him inside. In the way he lets Sundrop nap in his lap, never moving her until she gets up herself. In the way he teases but never pushes, the way he holds Harrybell close when the nightmares come but never asks for more than Harrybell is willing to give.

Louis has always been Louis.

The Soulbloom was never what was going to make him good. It had twisted his wants into something greedy, made him believe he was incomplete, unworthy, just a shadow of something real.

But that had never been true.

Louis had been whole all along.

Harrybell had seen it, even when Louis couldn’t, even when he was denying it out of stubbornness.

The Soulbloom hadn’t given Louis a soul. It had only convinced him he didn’t already have one.

Harrybell smiles, shifting so he can press a kiss to Louis’ cheek, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “Still you,” he whispers again, because he needs Louis to believe it too.

Louis’ fingers flex against his own, his breath hitching just slightly. Then he exhales, shoulders dropping, a quiet surrender to something he’s been holding too tightly for far too long.

Harrybell leans back, watching as Louis lifts their joined hands, turning them over so their palms rest together. His touch is warm, solid.

And then Louis smiles, small, quiet, but real.

“Let’s go inside,” he says, and Harrybell lets himself be pulled to his feet, lets himself follow. Because for the first time since this all began, nothing is standing between them anymore.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“What are you doing?” Harrybell asks, a puzzled smile tugging at his lips. He is kneeling in the dirt, carefully tending to his tulips, when a new one, made from showers, emerges beside them. 

Harrybell looks up, eyes wandering to Louis who is resting beneath the fig tree, watching him with a small, knowing smile. “I’m bored, little flower,” he sighs, his voice laced with playful dramatics. Then he pouts. Actually pouts.

Harrybell’s stomach flutters. It always does when Louis does something unexpectedly sweet, when his teasing softens into something gentler. Or, if he’s being honest, whenever Louis so much as looks at him. 

“And why is that?” Harrybell asks, biting back a smile as he turns his attention back to his flowers but when he looks down, there is a shadow coming to curl around his wrist, forming three flowers like a bracelet. He takes in a shuddery breath as even more butterflies erupt in his stomach, trying not to swoon.

“You’ve been fussing over these tulips all morning,” Louis complains, tilting his head against the tree. “I feel neglected.” 

Harrybell giggles, shaking his head. “Poor demon,” he teases, voice light and fond.

“Exactly,” Louis hums, “which is why you should come over here and kiss me to make up for it.” 

Harrybell stills for a moment, heat creeping up his neck. He chances a glance at Louis, who is watching him with that familiar lazy smirk, eyes glinting with mischief, and something way softer beneath it. 

“Oh?” Harrybell muses, turning back to his tulips, though his fingers suddenly feel clumsier. “And what makes you think you deserve a kiss?”

Louis sighs dramatically, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I’ve been suffering in silence,” he says. “All alone, deprived of affection while you dote on your flowers.” He gestures vaguely toward the flowerbed. “Meanwhile, I am left to wither away.”

Harrybell snorts, finally looking at him fully. “You are so dramatic.”

Louis grins. “And yet, you like me.”

Harrybell huffs, his cheeks warming. “That’s debatable.”

Louis gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Cruel.” Then, more softly, he murmurs, “Come here, little flower.”

Harrybell hesitates only for a moment before rising to his feet, brushing the dirt from his hands as he closes the short distance between them. Louis watches him the entire time, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips.

“You’re insufferable,” Harrybell grumbles playfully, but he still leans in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to Louis’ lips. 

Louis hums, smug and pleased. “See? Was that so hard?”

Harrybell rolls his eyes, but his smile betrays him. He barely has time to react before Louis tugs him forward, guiding him into his lap with ease.

Harrybell lets out a soft huff of protest, but he doesn’t resist, his hands instinctively settling against Louis’ shoulders. Louis smirks up at him, his grip firm but gentle, fingers splayed against his waist.

“You’re ridiculous,” Harrybell mutters, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite his words.

“And yet,” Louis murmurs, tilting his head up, his voice soft but teasing, “you’re still here.”

Harrybell sighs, exasperated but fond, fingers threading into Louis’ hair. “Yeah,” he admits quietly, brushing their noses together. “I am.”

And in that moment, it dawns on him. The first time he realized he might harbour deeper feelings for Louis had been almost a week ago. They were fooling around in bed, kissing and giggling, the world outside fading away. Louis had Harrybell pinned beneath him, tickling him mercilessly, while flowers bloomed from the walls, evidence of the overwhelming joy he was feeling. Harrybell had felt so safe, so utterly happy in that moment.

Louis was laughing too, his bright blue eyes twinkling, his face crinkling with those adorable little lines that made him look even more beautiful. In that moment, Harrybell had pictured it. Him and Louis, like this, forever. It had felt so natural, so right.

That’s when it hits him. That was the loophole. His heart clenched with the realization, the shock of it all making his breath catch. He blinks, eyes wide, before looking at Louis. A soft breeze flows through the garden, twirling through Louis’ hair and Harrybells heart beats faster.

Louis, watching him with a soft, curious smile, raises a questioning brow.

Harrybell can’t hold back. His lips surge forward, capturing Louis’ lips in a kiss that is fierce and urgent, filled with the understanding of what he had just figured out. In that kiss, everything falls into place. 

He loves Louis . 

The feeling was undeniable and deep, like a flower that has been growing inside of him for a while and now, finally got into full bloom.

Louis didn’t pull away, but instead melted into the kiss, his hands finding Harrybell’s waist, pulling him closer. It was messy and raw, but perfect. The world around them seemed to disappear, leaving only the warmth between them, the rush of their hearts beating in sync.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Harrybell found himself staring at Louis with wide eyes, his chest still heaving, trying to process what had just happened.

Louis smiled, “Well,” he said, his voice warm but with a slight shakiness, “took you long enough.”

Tears welled up in Harrybell’s eyes, and before he knew it, a wet giggle escaped him, the sound shaky and soft. It felt so ridiculous, this whole situation, a demon and a fairy , but maybe that was what made them so perfect, so right together.

“I love you,” Harrybell whispered, arms wrapping around Louis’ neck as he pressed himself closer, his lips finding Louis’ face in a flurry of gentle kisses, soft and desperate.

Louis’ arms tightened around him, pulling him in, his forehead resting against Harrybell’s. “Good,” he murmurs, “because I love you too, my flower.”

fin