When waking up the next morning, Harry is still in my bed, obviously. We fell asleep with my arms around him tightly, his back pressed to my chest, the credits of some stupid rom-com playing as I drifted of to sleep.

My chest still feels tight from yesterday. I told him his mum wasn’t capable of taking care of him. I treated him like a fucking piece of shit while he was having the worst time. I feel so goddamn bad that it’s hardly bearable.

My hand brushes over the back of Harry’s head before I can think about it further, fingers tangling up in his messy hair. How was I ever able to want to hurt him so badly, fuck.

I get up before he wakes up from me starting at him too much, quietly leaving the room and shutting the door behind me. I could at least start being nice to him now. Not that it feels exactly bad, being nice to him. It feels stupidly good, caring about someone.

I fucking care about Harry. I care about him scarily much, I realize, my heart stopping to beat for a second. Why do I care about Harry so much?

I care about him so much that I grab a pan. Me, Louis, grabs a pan and tries to cook. And honestly, he has to forgive me after that because never have I ever cooked for someone. I haven’t even tried, not even for Zayn or Mum.

I fill some oil in there because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Then try cracking eggs to fry them but the egg yolk melts before the fucking egg even reaches the pan. I scratch the back of my neck, trying to figure out what to do now.

I could just make scrambled eggs as well. As far as I know you just throw eggs into a pan and wait for them to not look as disgustingly slimy anymore. That should work.

I didn’t hear Harry come down the stairs so I flinch badly when I feel an arm wrap around my waist from behind, Harry’s face nuzzling into my neck.

“Sorry”, he mumbles, kissing my jaw, “What the hell are you doing in the kitchen and why aren’t you wearing a shirt and look ridiculously hot while burning the kitchen down?”

“I’m not burning anything”, I say, realizing the eggs might have turned a little bit, slightly black in the pan, “At least not the kitchen.”

He chuckles lowly, scrunching his nose up, looking annoyingly adorable. “Feel like that’s a little much heat, Lou. And the eggs look dangerously dry.”

I push my lower lip out. “But I tried. I wanted to do it right this time.” He laughs at me, pulling me into him by my hips so that our chests collide, our lips meeting just seconds later.

We kiss for a little too long, apparently, because it smells really fucking bad in the whole kitchen and I quickly pull away from Harry, pushing the pan off the stove, turning the heat down.

“Well”, Harry says, “Guess we won’t eat those eggs anymore.” He walks over to the window and opens it wide. I pout a little because I just can’t fucking cook, not even for Harry, apparently. “We’ll make new ones, don’t worry.”

There’s an amused smile drawn onto his lips and he presses a quick kiss to my lips, my heart doing this weird thing where it feels like it skips a few beats and then has to beat a bit faster for a few seconds to pump all the blood back into my veins, or something. I never paid attention in biology class.

“Did you mix the eggs with some milk?”, he asks, walking over to the fridge, apparently already knowing the answer, “You didn’t, did you? That’s why they looked so fucking dry.”

“Harry, stop, I can do it, really. I was supposed to make breakfast for us today. I can do it, really.” I take the milk from him and for a second, consider just pouring it into the pan when I realize that’s probably not how it works.

“Stop”, Harry says, a hand on my hip to slightly push me to the side, letting his fingers dip into my skin delicately before pulling away to empty the burnt eggs into the trash can, “I’ve got it, Lou, you can set the table?”

“But”, I say, stepping closer to him, our sides brushing as we stare at the pan heating up again, “I wanted to. I was supposed to do something nice today.”

He turns to me, his expressions soft, eyes crinkling, “You did. Thank you.” He sounds genuine when he says it, then wraps both his arms around me, pulling me in, for a hug, not a kiss. What his unexpected, really. Because it’s nice.

It’s really fucking nice, feeling him so close, his lips against the side of my head ever so slightly, his curls against my cheek, his chest pressed close to mine and suddenly I feel so fucking warm and I never want him to let me go again.

Things don’t work like that, though. I can’t just glue myself to Harry. Not that I’d want that, I imagine it’d get a bit inconvenient, but still, maybe I’d enjoy it, for a few hours or so. Just have his soft body comfort me in a way no one ever has before.

“It’s fine, love, I promise. I told you it’s okay. You’re not trying to make anything up to me, are you?” I shrug, turning my head slightly, not breaking from the hug.

“You shouldn’t. Please. Okay? Thank you, though. I appreciate you, Louis.” One of his hand moves from my lower back to my cheek, cupping my face before pulling me in for a sloppy kiss to the corner of my mouth.

“We can do something fun today, though?”, I ask carefully, my heart having to pump too much blood, again, for some reason, “We can get ice cream?”

“It’s pouring outside”, Harry says, starting to mix some eggs and milk in a bowl, “But sure. Let’s pretend it’s actually summer.”

Breakfast takes a bit long today because we’re making scrambled eggs and we’re kissing, a lot, and Harry is a slow eater and I don’t tell him to hurry the fuck up today and we slump down on the couch afterwards to watch a horrible, braincell-killing comedy show and then we take even longer to get dressed.

When Harry gets back downstairs, I’m already waiting for him, wearing back, loose jeans and some old hoodie that I found on my desk chair. Harry is looking fucking amazing, as always, his hair not styled as neatly as it often is but still looking perfectly fluffy, an old fleece pullover thrown on, his eyes looking slightly blue with the colour of his top.

“Let’s get ice cream”, he says casually as if he didn’t look fucking mesmerizing, swiping curls out of his face with his right hand, “I’m craving it, badly.” He sways for and backward once, then reaches his hand out for me to take it, pulling me up from my chair.

“Thanks”, I mumble, his hand so soft and warm and smooth and I want to hold it. No, I don’t. I do not want to hold Harry Styles’ hand, for fucks sake.

We head out into the rain after having put on shoes, no jackets though because that’d mean having to dry even more clothes afterwards.

Harry wasn’t wrong. It really is pouring outside. As soon as we step outside of the door, we’re already halfway drenched. Harry looks adorable when wet, his hair plastered to his face, his curls disappearing except for at the ends, his nose scrunched up slightly as he grins at me.

“Bit hard to pretend it’s summer, isn’t it?”, he asks and I barely understand him over the sound of the pattering rain, “But if we try really hard, maybe we’ll believe it, or something.” He reaches his hand out and for a second I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it until he grabs mine and starts running, pulling me along with him.

The ice cream parlour isn’t far from our house and Harry’s a fast runner, apparently, because we arrive there in about four minutes, our hands holding onto each other tightly, the sound of our breathless chuckles mixing with the rain when we arrive and stand under one the arcades for a bit to catch our breath.

My hand is still in Harry’s when he pulls me closer to him so that I stumble forward a few steps until there’s barely and space left between us. “You look so pretty like this”, Harry whispers, a smile forming on his lips.

I concentrate on my face staying it’s actual colour and not turning bright red as I stare at a spot in the air right next to his head, pretending I’m thinking about something really important. Or something like that.

“You’re bad at taking compliments”, he then notices, taking a step forward so that I have to take one back and my back is close to the brick wall behind me, then cradles my neck, presses my hand with his and kisses me quickly.

“I know”, I reply, my cheeks probably pink by now, then nod towards the ice cream parlour. “So I’m changing topic now and you please play along with it. Should we get ice cream?”

“Extremely smooth topic transition, Lou. Well done.” He grins, then nods. “Sure. What’s your favourite? Ice cream, I mean.”

“You told me I never take the fancy kinds”, I say, “During some argument. You said I’m boring and only take the usual flavours.”

Harry laughs lightly, a sounds I could listen to for hours. “And was I right?” His hand is still on my hip, lightly squeezing it before starting to walk towards the shop.

“Kinda”, I mumble, hating to admit it, “The fancy ones sound so weird. Bubble-gum? If I want something that tastes like bubble gum I could just chew on some.”

“That makes no sense, darling. I could say the same about strawberry and chocolate, you know? Ice cream always tastes off something else. That’s why there’s isn’t a flavour called ice cream.”

I raise an eyebrow, trying to understand what he just told me, then shrug. “Okay. Then I’ll take bubble gum, I suppose. If you insist.”

He laughs, shaking his head slightly before walking inside, ordering two scoops of bubble gum ice cream for both of us, paying with his money. I roll my eyes but he waves me off, pressing the scone into my hand. “It’s on me. Since poor you has to try something fancy today.”

“Thank you”, I mumble as we walk outside again. The rain has calmed down a little and we’re both a bit cold from the ice cream and being drenched, but it’s nice, nevertheless.

Harry looks at my expectantly as I try the ice cream, waiting until I’ve decided whether I like it or not. “It’s not bad, I suppose.” When he looks at me a little disappointedly, his lower lip pushed out slightly, I laugh, shrugging.

“Yes, it’s good, okay? Thank you for providing me this amazing new taste experience.” His laughter is quiet and soft, tongue sticking out as he tries the ice cream as well and I want to hug him again, like he did this morning.

“You’re welcome. Next time, we’ll try chocolate-chilli.” He grins and though I am not amused by that idea, all I can focus on is the ‘next time’ and the way my heart skips another two beats when those words leave his mouth.

~~~

forgot to upload yesterday since I was super busy with packing

might upload a second chapter this evening if I have the time

hope you enjoyed <3