Chapter Text
Harry was too tired to function.
Which, apparently, meant he was too tired to have a filter.
Which, in turn, meant he was dangerous.
Elliot knew something was off the second Harry waltzed into the kitchen, hair even messier than usual, eyes heavy-lidded but sharp, mouth curled into something resembling amusement.
It wasn’t that he looked delirious.
No.
It was that he looked aware.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
And that?
That was bad fucking news.
Harry leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes darting across the room like he was looking for a target.
Then, just loud enough to make everyone turn—
“You’re all fucking idiots.”
Silence.
Then—Piers, predictably.
Piers scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? And what exactly makes you an expert on that, Potter?”
Harry tilted his head, too lazy to look properly offended.
“I’m just saying—” He tapped his fingers against the counter. “It’s almost funny. Watching you all fumble around like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Piers narrowed his eyes. “You’re not making any sense.”
Harry smirked.
And then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he dragged a finger across his own collarbone.
A casual touch. Barely there. But enough.
Enough to make Piers' expression twitch.
Enough to make Elliot lean forward, intrigued.
Harry sighed dramatically. “See? Clueless. Absolutely fucking clueless.”
Piers scowled. “You’re talking nonsense.”
“Am I?” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Or are you just upset that I see right through you?”
Malcolm huffed a laugh. “Oh, this is getting good.”
Harry barely spared him a glance. “Stay out of it, Malcolm. You’re predictable.”
Malcolm’s smirk twitched. “I’m offended.”
“You’ll live.”
And then—his eyes flicked to Dennis.
---
Dennis had been quiet.
Observing.
Trying—**and failing—**to pretend he wasn’t hanging onto every single word.
Harry noticed.
Of course he did.
And when his attention shifted to Dennis, Elliot saw the exact moment Dennis' throat bobbed.
Because Harry was looking at him too intensely.
“And you, Dennis.” Harry’s voice **dropped—**just slightly. Silkier.
Dennis stiffened.
Harry’s lips curled. “I bet you think you’re real smooth, huh? Sitting back, acting like you’re not taking in every single thing happening in this room.”
Dennis scoffed. “You’re full of shit.”
“Am I?”
Harry’s gaze **dipped—**just slightly.
Dennis’ breath hitched.
And Elliot saw it.
Saw the way Harry took one slow step forward.
Saw the way Dennis' fingers twitched at his sides.
Saw the way Harry tilted his head, lazy and unbothered.
And then—
“I bet you notice everything. Don’t you?”
Dennis swallowed. Hard.
“You watch.” Harry exhaled slowly, dragging his thumb across his own bottom lip. Not thinking. Just moving.
Dennis' pupils fucking blew.
Elliot let out a low whistle. “Merlin’s tits, Potter. Let the poor boy breathe.”
Harry hummed, finally dragging his eyes away from Dennis.
And then he set his sights on Elliot.
---
Elliot had been waiting for it.
And he was not disappointed.
Because the second Harry turned to him, he knew he was in for something interesting.
Harry’s voice was mocking. “You, though. You like watching people squirm.”
Elliot smirked. “And you don’t?”
Harry let out a soft laugh.
Then—**without hesitation—**he reached out and ran his fingers along Elliot’s jaw.
Slow. Intentional.
Elliot’s grin widened.
But even he wasn’t immune to the way his skin burned where Harry touched him.
Harry’s thumb brushed the edge of Elliot’s mouth. “You ever wonder what would happen if someone turned the tables on you?”
Elliot let out a slow, deliberate exhale.
Then, just as casually, he caught Harry’s wrist.
“You really are playing with fire tonight, huh?”
Harry’s smirk widened. “Always.”
Dennis exhaled sharply. “Okay, he’s officially broken.”
Piers, looking like he was either two seconds from throwing something or storming out, shoved away from the counter.
“He’s not broken. He’s fucking delirious.”
Harry grinned, sleep-deprived and shameless. “And you love it.”
Piers growled.
Elliot laughed.
And Dennis?
Dennis just ran a hand down his face, muttering, “We are so fucked.”
---
Piers didn’t care about the flirting.
Didn’t care that Harry had made Dennis turn bright fucking red.
Didn’t care that Elliot was still grinning like an idiot.
What he did care about?
The fact that Harry looked like he was about two minutes away from collapsing.
His smirk was slipping.
His hands were trembling.
His eyelids were heavy.
And the second he stepped away from Elliot, he stumbled.
Not much.
Just a little.
But enough.
Piers moved without thinking.
Caught his arm. Steadied him.
Harry groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Piers—”
“When’s the last time you slept?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“Potter.”
Harry tried to pull away. Piers held firm.
And that?
That was enough to make Harry finally sigh in defeat.
“I dunno.”
Piers clenched his jaw.
And that was it. That was fucking it.
Because Harry wasn’t just messing with them.
He was running himself into the ground.
Piers exhaled sharply. “Go the fuck to bed, Potter.”
Harry smirked, but it was weaker now.
And then, finally, he left.
And Piers?
Piers sat back down, jaw still tight, hands still curled into fists.
Because Harry had wrecked them all tonight.
And they had let him.
---
Piers should have been sleeping.
But instead, he was watching Harry.
Out cold. Finally resting.
And Piers had to admit—even asleep, Harry still looked smug as hell.
Piers let out a slow breath.
He was in trouble.
They all were.
Because Harry was going to ruin them.