the royal family of the music industry

13. Miss You

Of course, of fucking course Harry has to be a clumsy little shit and the cup slips from his hands. It falls onto the stone floor and breaks, creating a loud noise.

Louis stops immediately and Harry wishes he could sink into the floor and disappear forever.

What the fuck should he do now?

Shutting his eyes closed, he gently pushes the door open. As he opens one eye again, he sees Louis standing there, at the kitchen island, phone still pressed to his ear, mouth agape and a shocked look written on his face, body facing Harry.

The kitchen is cold, one window being open and the wind howling through it from outside, moving the curtains.
Harry, standing in the door, with a blanket ridiculously wrapped around himself, staring at Louis awkwardly.

"I'm so, so sorry." He eventually blurts out, scrunching his nose and going through his hair with his left hand.

Louis bites his inner check.
"Lots, I'll call you back later, okay?" He says into the phone, waits for an answer and hangs up, putting it down onto the surface of the kitchen island and placing his hands next to it to lean his body weight on it.

Then he looks at Harry again, apparently not sure what to say as well.

His eyes wander around the room and over Harry's "Outfit" before he speaks up again, clearing his throat.
"What are you doing here?" He asks and Harry is grateful that he doesn't want to know why he stalked him and listened to his private conversations or how much of the phone call he's heard.

"Um, I couldn't sleep. Wanted to make tea. You know, can't go to bed without one."
Harry really didn't plan on quoting a song, it just slipped out of his mouth (oh well).
"You?" He asks, stepping forward to take a glance into the bowl.

Louis chuckles awkwardly. "Couldn't sleep." He repeats Harry's answer. "Decided to make pancakes. Midnight snacking, you know."
Harry nods.

He hates this situation.

Louis bends over to open the oven and take out the plate of finished pancakes.

Harry scrunches his nose again, as he sees Louis' work.

They're really ugly.

You can't even call them pancakes.

It's more like a pile of burned dough.

"I know." Louis laughs and Harry's eyes snap up. Louis looks at Harry with an amused expression. "You can't blame me, though. Never learned how to cook. You always did." He says quietly and Harry bites his bottom lip.

"You want me to help you?" He walks over to where Louis stands at the stove.

"If you don't want to sleep." Louis says and Harry shakes his head, shrugging.

They spend the next two hours making way too many pancakes, sitting on the kitchen island, cracking jokes, laughing and kind of just forgetting that they're not together.
Forgetting everything that's happened.

A bit as if they didn't know each other, hadn't spent six years completely in love with each other. As if they didn't know every secret, every emotion and just everything about each other. As if they met a few days ago in a pub or on a dating app, as if they weren't famous people, watched people. Just some dudes that went on one date and want to get to know each other better, that's how they act.

Harry loves it.

Even when Louis sees him as a friend right now, it's a nice distraction from everyday's worries, to cook with Louis.