Summer Shade ➳ Larry

Chapter two

(Harry's POV)



I have very high hopes for this summer. Everything is amazing so far and I can't get enough. Especially now that Louis is going to move out from his parent's house. That way we can hang out without his sisters lingering around and bugging us. I love Louis's sisters and all, I really do, but the privacy will be nice.

Louis and I just relax the rest of the evening, lounging around the mansion. We eventually find ourselves cuddled up on the couch in the living room whilst watching a movie . . . not that we payed attention to it anyway. It quickly turned into a lengthy make out session.

We were forced to pull apart due to lack of oxygen and had to return our attention to the movie. It didn't make much sense, though, because we missed the first part of it.

Now that the incredibly boring film is over, Louis turns to me and asks. "Do you wanna come see the apartment with me later?"

I shrug and he cuddles into my side, leaning his head onto my chest. "Of course," I say quietly.

"You don't sound too certain," he mutters.

I lift up his chin slightly, "I am certain, I'm just nervous to tell my family what they think about me sharing it with you, 's all," I explain.

"Well, technically it wouldn't be sharing. I don't expect you to help pay the bills or anything. You're still in high school, after all . . . but it'd kinda like frequent sleep overs, I suppose," he rambles.

"Okay well-"

I'm interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. I soon realise by the sound of the loud footsteps that it is indeed my father. I shoot a glance at the clock, and yes, his meeting ended a few minutes ago. I guess time flies when you're having fun. Louis widens his eyes at me and I just part my lips.

"Oh shit," I mumble. I take his hand and prepare to drag him out of the house before my dad sees, but it's too late. He steps into the living room and he sees us on the couch right away.

The expression on his face is priceless. He stops in his tracks and watches us in awe as Louis climbs off of my lap and onto the opposite side of the couch. My dad's face turns crimson and he clears his throat to cease the awkward silence.

"Harry . . . you know the rules," he grumbles.

I nod.

He grunts in response and walks away into the kitchen, slamming the door tightly behind him. The odd thing is that was the first time I've talked to him in weeks. The last time we talked it was only to yell at me for arriving home five minutes past cerfew after a movie.

When I'm certain that we're out of his hearing range, I turn to Louis.

"Sorry 'bout that," I say ever so quietly.

" 's alright. I'll leave," he says.

"How about I come with you?" I offer.

"Why?"

"So I can see the apartment, silly! Besides, I wanna get out of this house," I say in annoyance. Things get boring around here, especially when I'm alone with only my father.

Louis nods. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

Louis struggles to find the apartment key on his chain of random ones. After several tries, he selects the right key and sticks it in to the shiny, gold lock. Sure enough, it opens the door, sounding off a fast click. Louis smiles and pushes open the heavy, green door.

He steps inside and I follow behind him. I grin at the large, empty living room. It's nothing too extravagant but the apartment isn't in bad condition either. It's perfect. Everything seems so empty but I know soon enough it'll be filled with furniture and picture frames scattered across the white walls.

"It's nothin' too fancy but it's affordable," Louis comments from somewhere else.

I don't know where he went but I follow his voice into the kitchen. When I step under the arch way, Louis is standing there sitting on the blue counter tops. The room has large counters, a stove, a brand new refrigerator that must've come with the apartment, and a kitchen island right dead in the center. Hard wood strips cover the floor and it shines perfectly in the light reflecting through the multi-coloured mosaic window.

"I love it," I say honestly, running my hand along the smooth table.

"The kitchen is one of the main reasons I decided on this one over the rest. It has a big kitchen, and I know how much you love cooking," he tells me.

I turn around to face him and stand in between his legs whilst he sits on the counter top. He smiles and throws his arms around my shoulders, lacing his fingers together behind my neck.

"You know, if you live by yourself, that means you'll have to cook," I remind him.

He frowns. "In that case, I'll be eating take out and microwavable foods for a while."

"Then why don't I teach you how to cook?" I suggest.

"Do you know how long that'll take?" he asks questionably.

"Well, we can take it one step at a time. Oh, I can teach you how to cook fajitas first. They're your favorite."

He laughs slightly. "Mhm. We have a stove. Why don't you teach me tonight? And maybe you can sleep over?" he asks.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Lou there's no furniture in here . . . or ingredients."

"So we'll go shopping, and we don't need chairs and such quite yet. We'll survive without it for a night. We can use blankets and have a little picnic in front of the fire. Sound good?"

There is no way I could possibly say no to that. I pull out my phone and call my parents, telling them that I'm spending the night at Liam's house. They don't even question it.

"Wanna go shopping now?" I ask when I hang up the phone.

Louis nods and hops off of the counter. I peck his cheek quickly and we head out the door. He remembers to lock the apartment, and we walk out to the parking lot, then take Louis's car to the market down the street.

About an hour later, we find ourselves back at the apartment carrying bag fulls of bell peppers, chicken, onions, garlic, lime juice, and tortillas. We also bought a few pans to cook everything in and even some fancy wine (and plastic cups to put it in because we're classy like that) for later.

Louis runs into the kitchen like the puerile boy he is and I follow closely behind him, carrying all of the bags because he claimed that his arms were "too sore" to do anything- which was a complete and utter lie- but I can't really complain because I'll do anything for him.

Oi, listen to me. I'm a hopeless romantic.

"What do you want me to do?" Lou asks, prying his hands through the grocery bags.

"Turn up the heaters on the stove. Go ahead and put the pan on there and spray it with cooking oil," I tell him. He twists the knob on the stove to high and places the newly purchased pan on the stove. He takes out the non-stick oil and coats the pan with it.

I grab his wrist to stop him, "Too much," I say. He frowns and I take the can away from him, placing it down on the counter.

"I can't cook. I can't even spray a damn pan . . . why don't you just make the fajitas? This was a dumb idea."

"What? No, Louis. It's just a pan. It's fine," I chuckle.

He groans in annoyance. "Babe you're going to be living by yourself most of the time . . . that is, when I'm not here. So when that time comes I don't want you to starve to death-"

"I can eat fast food and take out," he shrugs.

"Yes, because that's definitely healthy," I say sarcastically. He huffs, obviously giving up his argument, and allows me to continue.

"That's what I thought. Now, go ahead and cut up the onions and peppers," I say.

"I'll cut my finger off," he warns me.

I pause. Maybe allowing him to use a knife isn't such a good idea . . .

I cut up the vegetables and chicken myself, then toss everything into the pan. I hand Louis a spoon. At least spoons can't cut anything, right?

"Here, stir it. You can do that, right?" I say, half-way joking.

He rips the spoon out of my hand and grunts. He starts stirring the chicken and vegetables together in large circles. The middle of the pan goes ignored.

"You're doing it wrong, let me help," I mumble.

"Of course I'm doing it wrong. I can't do anything right," he sighs.

Louis pouts so his lower lip extends over his upper, and he genuinely looks sad. I brush away his fringe so I can see his blue depths hidden behind his glasses.

"No, you're perfect. So what if you can't cook? You can do other things."

"Like what?"

"You can make me laugh and you always can put a smile on my face. You can sing. You can act. You can light up a room with your smile-"

"Okay, enough. Charmer," he laughs.

"Love you," I grin.

"Love you too, you dweeb," he grumbles. He lightly kisses my lips, standing up on his tip toes to match my height. I don't let him leave and keep him near by wrapping my arms around his thin waist.

He tangles his fingers into my curls, twisting it around his fingers and pulling on them slightly. I moan into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past my lips. He sloppily dances his tongue with mine, fighting for ascendancy.

A loud, sharp beep interrupts us. It only takes me a split second to realise that it's the smoke detector. I push Louis's hands off of me and, in a rush, I turn off the burner. The pan is now spurting smoke and the chicken is burning.

Louis fans the fajita filling and moves it over to the burner that's switched off. He fans it with his hand in an attempt to cool it off . . . as if that will make it any less burned. I reach up and switch off the smoke alarm.

Louis smirks. "I guess this is what happens when you get distracted, eh?"

* * *

"I think we burned the chicken," Louis says, swallowing a bite of the fajitas. State the obvious. We're seated in front of the lit fireplace in the empty living room atop of blankets. We're both lying on our stomachs with plates of food in front of us and red solo cups full of red wine.

I take a bite of the fajita, dripping with juices. "Hm, tastes like charcoal," I say honestly.

Louis frowns. "I can't cook worth my life. See, I told you."

"Practice makes perfect," I remind him.

Louis tosses the plate into the fire, probably finding it too disgusting to eat. I have to admit, teaching Louis to cook was the most frustrating thing ever.

He laughs. "No. Practice just makes more burnt chicken."