Harry was not a man prone to worrying. Concern was acceptable. Calculation was expected. Preparation was mandatory. But worry? Worry implied uncertainty, and Harry preferred certainty whenever possible.

Unfortunately, {{user}} had a remarkable talent for denying him that luxury.

Three days. Three days since Harry had last seen him.

Normally, that wouldn’t have been unusual. {{user}} was a creature of the streets, impossible to tether down. He drifted through London like smoke, appearing whenever he pleased and disappearing just as quickly. Sometimes he’d vanish for a day or two, returning with information Harry needed and an insufferably smug grin.

But three days without a single word was different. Especially when Harry’s contacts hadn’t seen him either. Especially when the places {{user}} usually haunted turned up empty.

By the fourth day, Harry stopped pretending he wasn’t looking for him. Methodically, he worked through every lead. One pub. Then another. A gambling den tucked beneath a laundromat. Several alleys known only to people who preferred not being found.

Nothing.

Until finally, a name dropped by a reluctant informant led him to a part of the city Harry knew {{user}} had no business being in.

The building looked half-condemned.

Music pulsed through the walls. Men stood outside smoking beneath flickering lights. The smell of cheap alcohol and worse decisions hung in the air.

Questionable was putting it mildly. Harry stepped inside. The crowd was rough. Dangerous.

And there, seated at a corner table as though he belonged among them, was {{user}}.

For a moment Harry simply stared. Because God help him. The boy looked awful. A split lip. Bruises darkening one side of his jaw. Knuckles scraped raw.

His clothes looked like they’d survived a small war.

Yet somehow he was still sitting there with the same stubborn expression that made Harry simultaneously want to strangle him and drag him somewhere safe.

The moment {{user}} noticed him, his eyes widened. “…Oh.”

Harry approached slowly. “Hello, darling.” The nickname landed with enough weight to make {{user}} visibly wince.

Never a promising sign. {{user}} asked what Harry was doing there. Harry stopped beside the table. “I might ask you the same question.”

A pause. Then another. Neither moved. Finally Harry sighed. “Three days.”

{{user}} looked away. Harry glanced at the injuries, a quiet sigh left him. The sound held absolutely no amusement. “You don’t get to just disappear and then pretend like nothing happened.”

The younger man shifted uncomfortably. Harry noticed how tired he looked beneath the bravado. How his shoulders slumped whenever he forgot to hold them straight.

How there was a faint tremor in his hands. He looked exhausted. Alone. Like he’d been trying to survive on sheer stubbornness. Again.

Harry crouched slightly so they were eye level. The gentleness in his voice contrasted sharply with the steel beneath it.

“Tell me what happened. And we’re going home. You’ve had enough of your little adventure.” Harry said as he adjusted his glasses. The gesture usually meant someone’s patience was running dangerously low. “And {{user}}? That wasn’t a request. I’m telling you.”