Red Volkswagen || h.s.

'tis the damn season

I guess that's what we need to establish today. Or sometime sooner than later.

Knowing Harry, I truly don't think he would mind. At least, I wouldn't mind if it was my house and he had the same idea.

I move, setting my phone down on the island counter and walking over to the fridge. When I open it, there's not much. Some eggs, miscellaneous fruits and vegetables, leftover containers, among other things. I shut the fridge, looking around the kitchen for a pantry, spotting the door to the right of the fridge. I open it and reveal the small room that's three fourths empty, discovering a couple boxes of cereal, a few baking items, a loaf of bread, two boxes of pasta, and a jar of peanut butter and honey. That's it. Well, out on the counter under the cabinets there are some bananas. But that's it.

What do I do with that?

I think for a moment, coming to the conclusion that he has everything for something like french toast. I've never made it myself before but I've definitely watched my mom do it enough to know that it's incredibly simple. It does have the potential to get messy, but I'll clean up.

Now where the hell are his pans? I feel like I'm snooping as I go through every cabinet but I'm just trying to find a bowl and a pan. He doesn't really have much past the bare essentials of kitchenware anyway, so I find what looks to be his only pan in one of the bottom cabinets and a bowl in one above the counter.

I would put some music on or something, but I obviously don't want to wake Harry up. So I just roll my sleeves up and get to work, trying to make as little noise as possible, but also hoping he wakes up soon enough so the french toast doesn't get cold and mushy.

By the time I get the first piece of bread in the pan, Devin texts me and asks how everything is going.

Well, I don't really know how to answer that, because in the span of less than twelve hours since she dropped me off, it feels like so much has happened but also nothing has happened at all. Either way, there's not much to tell yet, so that's what I tell her.

I slide the first piece of bread onto a plate and put the next one in the pan, wondering how much to make because I don't want to use up all of his bread. Is it seriously okay for me to be doing this? What an odd question to be asking myself.

"What are you doing?"

I swear I almost throw the spatula due to the startle Harry causes me.

"Jesus." I mumble with my hand on my chest dramatically.

"Sorry." He widens his eyes as I look over to him standing there in a white t-shirt and sweatpants, his long hair spread over his shoulders and looking like he definitely just woke up.

"It's fine." I shake my head and hold back sort of a smile. "I, uh, hope this is okay, I figured I could make breakfast." I motion to everything I've got going on and take the current piece of bread in the pan out so it doesn't burn.

I look back over to him and he's got his eyebrows raised. "That's fine. Uh, thanks. What is it?"

"French toast. There wasn't a ton, but I figured the bananas and honey would work."

"Yeah, that's my fault. I usually order in. Easier than cooking all the time." He shrugs, moving around me to get to the coffee pot on the other side of the stove.

"That's fine." I chuckle under my breath. "If it works it works."

I cringe internally at the small talk we've got going on, desperate to change the topic to something more natural. It's never not been natural for us.

"How did you sleep?" I ask delicately.

He shrugs. "Not good, not bad. But it's fine because I don't really have any plans for the day."