So this is my first KKBB fic. I really hope I did the characters justice and I look forward to any insight or suggestions.

This thing seriously tricked me into writing it. It started off all innocent, just a brief character study while I fought through some writer's block for another story of mine, and then it took on a life of it's own. This isn't my usual writing style, but again, the story seriously took over.

Please enjoy!

P.S. I really hate when FF dot net destroys any hope of a page break I try to come up with. Grr...

At 22, Perry wasn't much different than he is now. A little less cynical, a little less snarky, a little more impulsive (what young man wasn't?) but he was still essentially the same person.

He joined the military fresh from high school, impatient to put as much distance between him and his father. One term in the military was definitely enough for him and he sure as hell didn't plan on doing it again. He was eager to get out and get on with his life. This is how he ended up meeting Vincent Merot, a young, idealistic grad student who attended school at UCLA. They started out as roommates and then became friends, and eventually romantic partners.

They never discussed their relationship and therein lay part of the problem. Perry didn't talk about feelings or emotions or anything sappy like that. It didn't come naturally and he never saw reason to force it. So it was at least partly his fault.

They'd been roommates for about two years, lovers for a year when it happened.

He walked in on Vince with one of his classmates… and he lost it. The military had taught him plenty of tricks and by the time Perry was done swinging, the man was barely recognizable. Vince went off on him, called him 'sick,' and a 'monster.' Perry dumped him and kicked him out of the apartment.

Hours later, Vince was dead. Suicide. The police determined that there were other factors involved beyond just getting dumped. He wasn't doing well in school, his financial aid had been cut off, his car was getting repossessed, his grandmother had just passed, and after all, he'd always suffered from severe depression. It didn't stop the guilt from tearing into him. Nothing did.

Perry took one lesson from that relationship and made a promise to himself. He doesn't get attached. He doesn't get so invested that he loses his cool. He doesn't ever fall in love.

Love is dangerous.

. . . .

Perry hated watching the unfolding drama of Harry and Harmony, two people who could have been soul mates, if not for the fact that they were both so fucked up. He already knew how the story would play out. Harmony had grown up with little sense of control and had adapted to life accordingly by using her body, her sexuality as a bargaining chip, as a tool to get what she wanted. Perry liked Harmony, knew she was a good person but despite the love that she had for Harry, she wouldn't be able to change. People couldn't just tear down their defenses on command and Harmony would never be able to give herself fully to Harry, and Harry kind-hearted fool that he was, wouldn't be able to bear witnessing Harmony use and debase herself.

And Harry… Harry was the sort of person who seemed to wake up every day completely lacking any knowledge of the world. Every morning held fresh starts, anything was possible and anything that happened had a silver lining. There was a doe-eyed innocence about him, some semblance of naiveté that never ceased to amaze Perry. Everything that had happened to Harry, everything that he'd seen, and still he expected to witness the best of everything and the good in everyone.

Sometimes Perry wanted to shake him, beat the innocence out of him. Do anything to make him realize the world was full of sick, depraved people who would just hurt him for the hell of it. And when those instances hit him, all he could picture was his father. His father yelling at him to toughen up, to be strong, and god why did he have to be such a little bitch? And Perry hated himself for it. And he knew that if he did manage to take away Harry's innocence, he would take away what was Harry.

And so every day, Harry would witness Harmony's trespasses, her lies, and he would be hurt, confused and angry, but he would forgive her anyway, still expecting that "perfect" Harmony. And every day saw Harmony grow more and more distant, unable to cope with Harry's expectations, unable to be his perfect Harmony. And every day Perry watched Harry's heartbreak, watched Harmony's growing bitterness and resentment, until finally… they ended.

. . . .

But Perry had already seen this show and so he spent six hours babysitting a grown man, (one who'd somehow become his best friend) as he drank himself into a stupor. And it was Perry who busted down Harry's door when he stopped answering the phone the next day. It was Perry who found Harry in the midst of swallowing a lethal amount of pills and dragging a knife along his wrist. And it was Perry who held Harry until the ambulance arrived.

He didn't call Harmony, knew that Harry wouldn't want her to know, knew telling would only cause her guilt she didn't need. So he stayed by Harry's side, held his hand and pretended he'd never been here before.

When Harry woke hours later, eyes red-rimmed, full of grief, anguish, and shame, Perry put aside his pride, stroked his hand and told him it was okay and let Harry sob into his chest, apologizing, desperate and Perry hated him for it, wanted him to be stronger, to be selfish, to live for himself and not every jackass who just wanted to exploit him.

At one point, (he's not sure when, but there must have been some point when he made a conscious decision) Perry decides he would never try and force Harry to change, would never try to change him, but he would be there to protect him. He would be there when Harry trusted the wrong person, when he picked a fight with someone (anyone), when he got in over his head and when he loved the wrong person. Perry would be there to protect him, no matter what. He didn't want Harry to change.

And so when Harry, with a little bit of hope in his eyes, mentions that Harmony wanted him to move out, Perry invites him to stay and when Harry starts calling him a big soft teddy-bear, Perry snarks right back, because he isn't going to be changing either.

. . . .

Harry waits outside the hospital, leaning against a stranger's car which he fails to notice is worth $300,000 and Perry struggles not to reprimand him. He's still recovering, after all.

They ride in silence back to the house, something Perry isn't used to. The quiet gets to him and he tries to stir up conversation but Harry doesn't take the bait, even when Perry mentions a (nonexistent) case he wants Harry to work on. He's silent until they park and Perry goes to unbuckle himself and then Harry turns, eyes wide, manic, "Aren't you going to fucking say it? Just say it already!"

Perry stares, racking his brain, struggling to catch his meaning but comes up empty and says as gently as his personality allows, "Say what Harry?"

"I told you so! That you were right and I should've left her alone!"

"No Harry." Perry feels his face tighten, reaches a hand to brush Harry's hair, "Let's go inside, okay?" he wants to call Harry an idiot, wants to smack him upside the head, wants to pull him into his arms and protect him from the world (and Harmony). But they both just go inside.

He makes them hot chocolate like his mother used to, adds a splash of whiskey like his dad used to, and when he hands the mug to Harry, he takes it without expression.

Perry figures it's finally time and he sets his own mug down and faces Harry, using his hands to turn Harry to face him. He leaves them there, (not) enjoying the sensation of Harry's soft skin, scruffy five 'o'clock shadow beneath his fingers. They make eye contact and he says simply, "Don't do that again, alright?"

Harry breaks down again and they fall asleep together on the sofa and Perry hates himself for the dreams he has that night. He wakes, having to hide the evidence before Harry sees, and he feels like a disgusting pervert.

. . . .

Two weeks later it's almost back to normal.

Perry doesn't pull his punches or bite his tongue, at least not all the time and Harry's beginning to jump around and chatter incessantly again and he finally asks about the 'case,' and then pesters and badgers him until Perry sends him on an easy assignment; snapping pictures of an unfaithful wife.

He doesn't realize his mistake until Harry returns via taxi at four in the morning, reeking of alcohol and dropping packets of gum as he stumbles into the house. Harry shoves the camera into Perry's chest, eyes flashing anger, guilt and fear before they descend back into misery. Perry stops him with a hand on the shoulder and when Harry gives him the coldest look Perry's ever seen on that face, he drops his hand and lets him continue without a word.

Perry feels like the biggest jackass in the world.

The next morning (afternoon) Perry brings Harry some of his favorite coffee and a bottle of aspirin. The other man winces at the sunlight streaming through the window, and his eyes look like Harry's again. Perry struggles to find the words he needs to apologize and finally gives up and pats Harry's head and leaves the room.

After all, life goes on.

. . . .

Sometimes Harry will fall asleep when they're watching a movie together. A lot of the time Perry only notices when the room goes suddenly still and quiet. Harry's gotten better about talking during movies (which is to say, he only talks during action scenes) but he still blabbers on constantly. On the nights Harry falls asleep, Perry always covers him with a quilt and shuts the TV off before he goes to bed. Neither of them ever mentions it, and it gets easier for Perry to do every time.

One night they're watching one of Harry's favorite movies, some cheesy flick from the 90's that looks like it was made in the 80's. Perry hasn't bothered to follow the insane film (does that guy seriously have a chainsaw for a hand?) and might have left to go to bed, or do something productive, but Harry insisted he stay.

Harry falls asleep about ten minutes before the credits start rolling. Perry lays the blanket over his sleeping friend and then, inexplicably, sits on the coffee table, elbows propped on his knees.

He's been watching Harry sleep for at least three minutes before he realizes what he's doing. Disgusted and disturbed, he rubs his face with one hand. He goes to stand and glances at Harry one last time, and freezes. Harry's watching him through sleepy, curious eyes.

Perry wants to hurl out an insult or a snarky comment but his tongue sticks in his mouth and the best he can do is retreat, feeling Harry's eyes on his back.

. . . .

A couple weeks later, Perry wakes up to find an extravagant bouquet of roses on his desk.

Harry's sitting across the room at his desk, so Perry is already on high alert. Harry is never up before him. The ex-thief is alternating between staring too hard at his computer and watching Perry with the biggest shit-eating grin he's ever seen.

Upon seeing the flowers, Perry halts midstride. He glances at Harry who is suddenly so engrossed with his paperwork, he's stopped breathing. Suspicious, Perry walks slowly around his desk, wondering if this is some kind of "thank you" gift from one of his clients, or a bomb, which is probably more likely. Very few of his clients are happy when they receive definitive proof that their spouses are cheating.

Finally, he nears the desk and hesitantly examines the flowers. He doesn't find a bomb, or anthrax, or even a note. He glances over at Harry who's watching him.

"You've got a secret admirer." He says somewhat breathlessly. Perry feels a peculiar warmth in his face. He slides into his chair and shoves the flowers into the garbage without a word. Harry looks crestfallen, but says nothing.

Perry struggles to understand the motivation behind the flowers, wonders what kind of crappy prank Harry had been trying to pull.

It doesn't occur to him until later that evening that maybe Harry was trying to be romantic.

The thought terrifies him.

. . . .

The next morning, he finds a bouquet of violets. They follow the roses into the garbage can.

The day after that, its lilies. And then, gardenias, followed by daffodils. Then, tulips. It goes on for almost two weeks before Perry takes pity on Harry, and his wallet. He takes the day's bouquet (carnations) and put them into a vase and sets them on his desk.

He doesn't have to look to know that Harry's glowing and grinning ear to ear, but he does anyway, when he's sure that Harry isn't looking. Something (happiness?) warms his chest at the look of pure unadulterated joy on his friend's face.

He does his best not to think about what it means, for either of them.

. . . .

Perry starts having a recurring nightmare.

He's walking into his apartment, except it's the one he had when he was 22. There's something wrong and his gun is in his hand as he does a sweep of the apartment. He comes to his bedroom and someone's there. It's so dark, he can't see. They're moving… are they going for a weapon? He raises the gun, aims and fires.

The person turns. It's Vince staring at him as blood blossoms on his t-shirt. Perry rushes to catch him. Then suddenly, it isn't Vince, its Harry. And then they're lying in the middle of a street; the street where they both almost died, and Harry is trying to tell him something and Perry's leaning close to hear, but the words are lost to the wind.

The first time he dreams it, he awakes with a gasp, Harry's name on his lips and that's when he realizes how precarious their situation is.

He had accepted that he was lusting after Harry; that was relatively easy, if unpleasant, to accept. The man had a certain appeal, an enigmatic quality; even if he was nothing like what Perry normally went for. But lust went away and if he had to, he could find an outlet. No problem.

Harder, and far more terrifying, to accept was the fact that he might feel something more than that for his friend.

And the hardest thing to accept was the possibility that Harry thought he had feelings for Perry.

But Perry had made a promise and he would keep it, even if it meant protecting Harry from him.

. . . .

After he accepts the flowers something changes, and Perry doesn't know whether to be worried or grateful. Harry's really smiling and laughing again. Sometimes he catches Harry watching him, inscrutable, and when Perry barks at him to get back to work, he just grins to himself. It begins to drive Perry crazy. It feels like Harry knows something he doesn't and that's not something Perry's used to.

But they're able to get on like normal, at least for a while.

One night, Perry's watching one of Dabney's newest actors in a corny crime drama, hoping to get fresh ammo for when they next meet and he almost doesn't hear Harry come through the front door. And then he's there, blocking the TV with that inscrutable look and a bottle of cheap, crappy wine.

"Would you move already?" he snaps, growing uncomfortable with the way Harry keeps staring, and he tries to ignore the twisting in his gut.

Finally, Harry moves but only to sit next to him, far too close.

"Goddammit, what Harry?" he snaps again and Harry almost grins, but he hesitates before he speaks.

"Would you like to, uh, have a glass of wine with me?" he holds up two champagne glasses. Slightly disconcerted, Perry snags the bottle and glances at it.

"No. Jesus, could you buy a shittier wine?" he snarks and hands it back. Harry looks momentarily dejected but recovers and opens his mouth to speak but Perry stops him, "Shut it. Commercial's over." Perry turns to the TV and tries desperately to ignore the fact that Harry's still staring at him, and he feels almost guilty when the other man leaves the room.

Half an hour later, Harry returns reeking of wine as he snaps off the TV, and Perry's pretty sure the bottle's empty now.

"Harry what the-" Perry's words are cut off by the press of lips against his own and he tastes cigarettes, cheap wine, and something oh-so-Harry. As Perry's tongue acts of its own accord and begins to fight/dance with Harry's, he realizes what's happening. Perry tears away and they break apart, both gasping. Perry feels a familiar, dangerous sensation at the sight of Harry, flushed, eyes slightly glazed, and lips puffy, ready for more. He clutches the cloth of his sweats to keep his hands from latching onto Harry like they want to. Harry comes forward and Perry leaps back.

"No, Harry!" he shouts, probably louder than necessary, and confusion and hurt flit across that beautiful, stupid face and Perry puts on his most scornful voice, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Harry hesitates, confusion so apparent.

"I kinda thought that was obvious."

"No. Go to bed. I'm not playing part in this little experiment of yours just because Harmony dumped you." He snarls and it almost hurts him to say it and his voice cracks a little, but Harry doesn't notice, only hears the words and his face crumbles. Harry stands there, silent, and then suddenly, he's gone and Perry wants to go after him.

Instead, he collapses under the guilt of his words and wishes that Harry had left some of that wine.

. . . .

Harry doesn't get home until three in the morning (and no, Perry wasn't waiting up for him). There's something in his walk, something in his eyes, that sets Perry on edge. He goes to Harry's side, trying to see it, to understand.

And then- a smell wafts over, hits him like a freight train. The obscene stench of sweat and sex intermingled with a man's cologne. There's a look of guilt and fear in Harry's eyes as Perry approaches. He feels a sudden urge to attack someone, he just doesn't know who. A sense of betrayal and possessiveness rise up, a feeling of 'mine' erupts in his chest and he fights it down. Then suddenly, Harry's in his face, attempting bravery.

"There. Experiment over." He says daringly. Perry's fists clench and he reacts without thinking, shoves Harry down the hall, into the bathroom, wrestles him into the shower and turns the water on, ignoring all of Harry's protests and yowls as the cold water hits him.

"Clean your ass off." He grits through clenched teeth, "And don't ever come back to this house smelling like a goddamned whore again."

Perry hates himself and the hate only grows when Harry lowers his eyes, accepts his punishment in silence, and begins to disrobe. The once-cool detective leaves the bathroom, slams the door shut, and nearly sprints to his bedroom where he locks the door behind him. Desire, want and need are all battling with common sense and reason.

He will NOT sleep with Harry. He will NOT sleep with Harry! He refuses to take the most genuine person in his life and destroy him. He will not ruin this friendship just because his dick wants a playmate.

He hears the shower turn off, and seconds later, footfalls outside his room. He prays with all his might that Harry just keeps going and his prayers are answered and Perry almost weeps in relief, knowing he would not have been able to deny Harry again.

. . . .

The next morning neither says a word about the previous night and they both continue life as 'normal.'

. . . .

Perry doesn't realize that Harry's been talking to Harmony until almost a month after that, when she accosts him outside his favorite coffee shop.

"What the hell Perry?"

Mixed feelings arise in him and he chooses the safest; annoyance, "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah, you can stop being such a little bitch and fucking go out with Harry already." He feels his eye twitching and doesn't deign to respond as he brushes by her.

"Perry!" She heads after him and he hears her mumble 'drama queen' and then she jumps in front of him. He almost spills his coffee on his $500 suit and glares at her. "He loves you, Perry."

"Or, maybe, he's transferring all his feelings for you onto the closest thing he has to a friend in this stupid city." He grits out between clenched teeth, jaw popping.

"He's over me, Per." Her voice hints at something bitter, it enrages him and his hand crumples the coffee cup, spilling hot coffee over his hand. He curses and throws the cup to the ground. He tries to step by her but she blocks him.

"Move."

"He loves you." She repeats and his stomach clenches and he struggles to keep the pain from his voice when he speaks.

"Yeah, well, I'll keep that in mind."

"I know you love him." She says, arms crossed, glaring. He's not sure whether he doesn't respond immediately because it doesn't deserve an answer, or if he can't because his throat constricts.

"News flash, Princess, he's my friend."

"Seriously, why won't you fucking admit it?"

"Because I'm not going to risk my friendship with him just to satisfy some petty desire. I'm not like you." He says it to hurt her and it does, but it doesn't stop her.

"You are such a jackass." She pauses, "So what is it, Perry? You afraid of getting hurt? Or are you afraid of hurting him?"

He walks away without a response and she lets him go. All the while something whispers in the back of his mind, "Both."

His hand is red and throbbing from the hot coffee and he ducks into the next coffee shop to run his hand under cool water and get a fresh cup. He avoids the office for the rest of the day but texts Harry some inane task to keep him busy.

. . . .

The next time he sees Harry the inscrutable look is back. Perry scowls to himself and remembers when life was so much more simple.

. . . .

Again Harry doesn't mention anything and life continues per usual, but now Perry knows better than to relax.

A week later, Perry comes to the office after a takeout run and finds a note on his desk. Harry's taken a case. At first it just annoys him, but something about it goes deeper than that (more than just Harry taking a case without his permission). It's only after he's called Harry five times with no answer and stared at the note for several minutes that it finally hits him.

The address is that of a gang member's, a man he'd been following for his cop friend. There's no way his contact would've asked Harry to tail anyone, let alone a known gang member. He calls his friend just to be sure and only after his contact assures him that he did not send Harry, an unlicensed citizen, to trail anyone, does panic set in. Perry got made and now Harry was walking into a trap.

He's out the door and in his car in a flash, still calling Harry's cellphone repeatedly. Curses fly from his mouth as his car flies through the L.A. streets. He draws on his extensive knowledge of the city, careening down back alleys, hurtling up side streets and he's there in record time. Miraculously, without getting pulled over (not that he would've stopped).

Harry's car is parked down the street from the house, which sits facing a vacant lot. He parks behind Harry's rust bucket and climbs out, gun in hand. He glances into the car. It's empty. A half-eaten burger lies on the driver's seat and Harry's cell phone is blinking in the cup holder.

Fear isn't something he's felt in a long time. Not the paralyzing blind panic that he's feeling now, and for a moment he can only stand there frozen as useless adrenaline races through his veins.

A car door slams a few streets over and it's enough to spring him into action. He jogs toward the house, eyeing the windows. All of them are covered. He doesn't see any movement. He makes it to the porch without hearing gunshots and he thinks it might be a good sign. Gently, he checks the front door, finds it unlocked, and he eases it open, back pressed to the wall. He waits, listens for movement or voices, hears nothing, sees nothing. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks and tries to ignore the pounding in his chest. When he decides its safe he pushes the door open. No sudden shouts or noises greet him and so he peers inside. The front entry and living room are empty.

He sees stairs off to the left, and a hall which leads to several doors. He's heading toward the stairs when he hears a thump and veers to head down the hall, listening for more. But the universe has decided to make this difficult, and all is quiet again. He tries not to think about how bad a sign that is. Harry should be cussing and yelling. He should be screaming for Perry to come and save him. The gun is slick in his hands and he has to pause and wipe them again before he starts checking the doors.

The first is a closet. The next is a bathroom. And then he hears another thump, the low murmur of someone talking. He bypasses the next door, heads to the end of the hall and presses his ear to the closed door. Definite movement. He tries to decide the best way to enter and then he recognizes a low gasp, a muttered epithet and he's no longer thinking when he kicks the door open, gun raised.

His eyes sweep the scene. They take in the gang member and one of his buddies; both holding guns. Harry is tied up, curled in a corner, bleeding… bleeding everywhere and barely conscious. One gang member turns, raises his gun, and Perry doesn't bother warning them. He shoots the first, swings to the second and shoots him before he can react. Perry knows how to shoot. They're both dead before they hit the ground. He knows that there will be legal repercussions (there always are) but doesn't care. He waits, listens, in case there are more in the house and all is quiet. He holsters the gun and runs to Harry's side as he pulls out his cell phone and calls for an ambulance.

His friend looks up, confused, as Perry starts to untie him with shaky hands, "Perry? Aw shit, Perry. Was a set-up. 'M, sorry." He's mumbling and blood spews from his mouth when he talks. Perry can barely understand him.

"Don't move Harry. The ambulance is on its way." Perry tries to assess his injuries but there's too much blood and he gives up and just holds him while they wait. Harry's breathing is shallow, weak and obstructed by blood.

There's something gut-wrenchingly familiar about this scene but he doesn't exactly understand what until Harry starts to say something and he has to lean down to hear him. His heart stops as the nightmare floods back to him, and for a moment he's somewhere between fantasy and reality, both of them nightmares, and he's not sure which is which. And then Harry's whisper reaches his ear and he plants himself back in the here and now and he hears, "So, been trying to tell ya… 'm kinda gay for you."

Perry stifles a frantic, desperate sort of laugh and is saved from having to say anything by the EMTs entering the house and he yells out their location. He squeezes Harry's hand and Harry gives him an almost-smile and tries to squeeze back, but his fingers barely move. One of the EMTs edges Perry out of the way and he watches, listening to their words, trying to infer how bad it is by their tones. But it all seems like gibberish.

One of them glances at the gang members and Perry's afraid that they're going to stop working on Harry to examine them, but they only call for another unit. They get Harry onto a stretcher and he has to follow them in this car.

Perry calls his police contact and tells him what happened, and he promises to meet Perry at the hospital and send some uniforms to take care of the scene. Gratitude almost overwhelms him and he hangs up just before he gets to the hospital. They take him into the ER away from Perry and no one tells him anything.

. . . .

He waits for three hours before a doctor comes out and tells him Harry is stable and has been moved to another floor. His police contact has already come and gone, after Perry promised to call him when Harry's well enough to tell his story. Harmony is with him now. There was a brief moment where he almost didn't call her, where his petty, angry side said she didn't deserve to know. And then he realized that Harry had forgiven her, had gotten over it, and therefore, so should he.

Harmony asks a few questions when she gets there and her accusatory eyes are watching him. She wants someone to blame for this, he knows that, and he almost wants her to say something, to give him a reason to be a dick and bitch at her. She keeps silent though and he has no way to relieve the tension that's building in him.

When a nurse finally comes to tell them that Harry's awake and able to take visitors, he almost turns and leaves. But he fights the urge, knowing Harry would want to see him. He lets Harmony go first and she comes out too soon, way before he's ready.

"Hey, you be nice to him." Harmony says as she's walking by.

"Shouldn't be too hard to be nicer than you were." He says briskly and doesn't wait for a response. He could've sworn there was a time that he actually liked her, he just can't seem to remember it now.

Harry's sitting up when he enters and a vague, pleasant smile indicates that they've got him on some powerful painkillers that are working just fine. He nears the bed, hesitates, almost reaches for Harry's hand, pats it instead.

"So, you doing okay?"

"I can't believe it." Harry says and Perry meets his eyes, "I almost fucking die and you still can't say it."

"Say what?"

"Whatever, fuck it." Harry waves his hand impatiently and flings of the sheet covering him. He tries to climb off the bed, snags his foot and falls head first to the ground. Perry catches him with a muttered 'idiot,' and sets him right. Harry takes a moment and then sinks to his knees and gazes up at him with a ridiculously solemn expression. Perry glances toward the door, the impulse to run away almost too strong to ignore and Harry reaches out and latches onto his hand as if he knows.

"Perry Van Shrike. I love you. And not like, in a friend way, or a business partner way, like if business partners actually loved each other-"

"-Harry-"

"-but whatever. I'll get my gay membership card or whatever it is you have to do-"

"-Harry-"

"-Will I have to go out and buy like, new clothes or-?"

"Goddammit Harry!" Perry pulls him up by the flimsy hospital gown and presses a firm hand over his mouth. He waits a minute, not even sure what he wants to say. Finally, he releases Harry, ignoring the uncertainty in those wide, brown eyes, "Who says I even like you?" He snarls, but Harry doesn't miss a beat, one of his eyebrows scrunching up in disbelief.

"Really? Says the guy who was watching me while I slept? You know that was pretty freaking creepy right? Not to mention the whole call my name out in your sleep thing." Perry flinches at that and Harry looks at him, triumphant. Perry switches tactics.

"You don't know what you're getting into."

"Uh, I just spent my day getting my ass kicked by two douchebags with guns, I think I do."

"No, Harry." Perry shakes his head, "I mean me. I've already told you, I'm not a nice man." Harry shifts beside him, scratches his head.

"Hate to break it t'ya, but you're one of the nicest people I know. I mean, you're kind of a dick, but when it, you know, comes down to the important stuff, you're there for people." Perry finally risks a glance over and Harry's just watching him, expression serious and Perry can't think of anything to say as his imagination runs wild with what he can do to that mouth. And then their lips are pressed together and he can't even tell who started it.

"So," Harry says gasping as they pull apart, "were you like ignoring all of my wooing or what?"

"Woo-what the hell are you talking about?"

"The flowers, the wine, all that shit. I mean, I fuckin hate wine! What did you think I was doing?"

"Being a dumbass." Perry says. They're both silent for a second and then Harry speaks, frowning.

"So, do I have to go to like city hall and get a card or what?"

"Idiot." And even he can hear the affection in his tone. Harry just smiles broadly and Perry pulls him into another kiss.

He's not going to say that this is a smart move to make, but damn if he'd feel like an idiot not to. And maybe, just maybe, love isn't as dangerous as he thought.

Hope you enjoyed! :)