Desolation [h.s]

Chapter 21

At least now, he's not alone whenever he eats. I'm always here when he is, so I know he isn't completely alone in this vast penthouse whether he likes it or not.

Though, I'm sure there are times where he wants to be totally alone, not bothered by my presence. Those are the instances where he walks into his room without a word, and then I don't see him until hours later or when something happens and we need to leave.

Recently, he hasn't had opportunities to do that. We've been remotely busy and I could tell, just based on his utter silence after his short teasing last night, that he was itching to break away.

I sat there for a few more moments, observing him in silence as he placed a bag of flour on the center counter, next to some eggs, butter, and sugar. I stare at the ingredients, running through my small knowledge on cooking, more specifically breakfast meals. A grin threatened to pull onto my lips as it finally clicked at what he was making, or at least preparing to make.

"Are you cooking pancakes?"

My question rings loud in the room, voice still a little groggy from just waking up. Harry doesn't even look at me as he pulls out baking soda, sliding it in front of him.

"What else does it look like I'm making?" he asks, placing the clear bowl in front of him.

I push off the couch, tugging my shirt down from where it was bunched up on my stomach, exposing a small patch of skin.

"Could be loads of things," I say, walking into the kitchen, hands held behind my back.

At this, Harry glances up at me, hands stalling from where he was beginning to ready his ingredients. "Really? Like what?"

I freeze in my spot, a few steps away from the counter he's working at, pursing my lips in thought. "Um... waffles?"

It comes out more as a question and Harry shakes his head, looking down and avoiding eye contact with me, focusing back on the task at hand. 

"You're never allowed to use my kitchen."

The faint indent of his dimple begins to pop out thanks to the small smirk that's starting to form on his lips.

"I'll have you know, Mr. 'I'm great at everything', I can make a mean microwavable mac and cheese."

I'm not sure why I was pulling jokes with Harry, but I enjoyed this light banter in the morning much more than the insults that were usually thrown at each other. I wasn't awake enough for that yet.

"Is that so?" Harry hums, quirking a brow as he begins pouring all of the ingredients together.

I nod, sliding into one of the open stools, placing my bare feet on the bar that stretched across the bottom.

"Yup," I responded curtly.

"Have you ever messed it up?"

"....No."

He didn't know that I've somehow managed to screw up such a simple and easy meal. But, Harry looks up, expression showing he didn't completely believe my lie. I groan, slumping forward to rest my elbows on the counter.

"Okay, it was once and I was piss drunk, so that doesn't count," I defended, pointing a finger at him and giving a serious look.

Harry chuckles under his breath while he mixes the ingredients for the pancakes together. "Thought you didn't drink, Amor."

Automatically, my entire form tenses at his question, heart nearly stopping in my chest. 

"I... I don't, or at least I try not to," I mumble, pulling my hands off the table to rest them in my lap. I shake my head, suddenly feeling burning hot and I push off the stool to stand up, taking a small step back. "Um, I'm going to freshen up. Yell when it's ready."