Changed [stylinson]

IM Toast

He reckons he has two options. He could either crawl into bed with Harry - and possibly give him a heart attack - so that Harry wakes up in his arms, or he could try to make Harry breakfast. Considering it's seven in the morning and he knows Harry has a habit of staying up until he passes out completely, he opts for the latter. 

The problem with this plan presents itself almost immediately; Louis can't cook for shit. He looks through their fridge and realizes that the milk is expired, so he crosses off about every option he had in his mind. Damn Harry and his forgetfulness. 

Toast it is.

Louis prides himself in his ability to make the (appropriately titled) Best Goddamned Toast Ever, but they usually call it 'good toast' when Paisley is around. Maybe Harry is full of shit and tells Louis it tastes so good just to see him smile, but Louis thinks it tastes good. Especially with butter and the jelly that Harry makes. Louis finds three pieces of bread and toasts them all, arranges them on a plate, and realizes that he's only killed three and a half minutes. 

"Excellent," he says to the empty kitchen, sighing to himself. He really really needs to sleep, and holding Harry sounds extremely appealing. "Fuck it."

He tries to be very gentle when he gets into bed, because startling Harry from his sleep could result in an accidental kick in the groin, and drapes his arm over Harry's stomach. Harry sniffles but doesn't stir, not even when Louis presses his nose into the back of Harry's neck. Curls tickle at his cheeks, but Harry's skin is warm and smells like his favorite body wash. He pulls the duvet that Harry always kicks away back over them, and just as he starts to remember that he just left toast in the kitchen without cleaning it up, he falls asleep.

__________

Harry wakes up with an arm around his middle and hot puffs of air hitting the back of his neck. His immediate reaction is to panic, but the the fog in his brain clears and things start to make more sense. Why would a burglar climb into bed and snuggle up to him like a cat?

He looks down at the arm and relaxes, tension seeping out of him like sand from a bag. He sees the familiar rope on the wrist pressed against his hip bone and smiles to himself, because his boy is home. Wait, his boy is home.

"Louis," Harry gasps, "Lou."

"Mmfgrph," Louis replies.

"Lou," he drawls, trying to shift so he can turn around, but Louis has an iron-like grip on him and he must have been working out or something because Harry can't move. 

"Hazza," Louis snuffles, sounding half asleep, "Baby. Baby Hazza. Are you 'wake?"

"I'm awake." Harry talks in his sleep, okay? It's usually nonsense, but Louis seems to think it's the best thing ever. One time Harry started saying Louis's name in the middle of the night and Louis will never ever let him live it down, he swears. "What are you doing here?"

Louis snorts. "Good to see ya' too."

"That's not what I meant," Harry whines, but his smile widens when Louis nudges his leg in between Harry's. It feels so good to be in his arms again, and it's a privilege he never wants to take for granted ever again. 

"I missed you, so I decided to surprise you for the weekend" Louis says simply, pressing his cold toes to the back of Harry's legs at the same time. Harry tries to flinch, but Louis's arm nearly chokes him, so. Louis really should wear socks. "I'll go back soon enough, but you and Pais don't come up nearly as often as we originally planned. Just wanted to hold you, I hope that's okay."

"It's great, actually. I missed you too, sap." Harry isn't complaining, but he looks over at his alarm clock and notices that it's half past noon. "Holy shit- I slept for twelve hours."

"Good on you, baby," Louis cheers, and Harry is certain he's still not fully awake. He wonders if he could get away with saying whatever he wants right now. 

"We haven't had sex in like, weeks."

Silence.

Harry purses his lips. Maybe Louis has fallen back asleep-

Louis interrupts him. "Let's fix that."

_________

Two hours later, Harry walks into the kitchen stark naked with Louis behind him in his jumper and realizes that Louis has made him toast. Well, had made him toast. A few hours ago.

Louis's cheeks heat. "Oh, shit. I forgot about that."

"You made me toast?" Harry smiles so widely that it almost hurts. He's in love with Louis and how spontaneous he is. He's in love with the way he tries so hard. He's also especially in love with the way he's just been fucked, if he's being honest. "What a babe."

"I wanted to help."

Harry turns and pinches Louis's cheeks lightly, which he knows is irritating, and kisses him on the nose. "You already helped me just by showing up, babe. I've missed you a whole lot lately, 'specially because you're so shit at answering your voicemails."

"Stop it," Louis groans, prying Harry's hands from his face and slipping around him to throw the toast in the bin. "I've been preoccupied! Plus, I'm here now." And when Harry scowls at him for throwing out the toast, "It's been sitting for ages. It's probably all gross now."

Harry huffs. "Could've fed it to the birds."

"No, Harry."

He pouts, but his stomach growling is a rude interruption. Louis cocks an eyebrow at him, placing a hand on Harry's tummy as he giggles. 

"Lou," he whines.

"Maybe I should've kept the toast."

Louis assures him that he doesn't have to, but his eyes tell Harry a different story. So Harry makes them pancakes, of course, and googles a recipe for them without milk. They eat between kisses, because they can, and Louis drags him to the store after they shower and Harry spends fifteen minutes trying to get all the tangles out of his hair. 

They buy lots of sweets, because Louis plans on staying for the next few days, and Harry even buys some new flower seeds with Louis's help.

All in all, it's a lovely visit and they end up snogging in the family loo, because Harry in fucking leggings - because skinny jeans suddenly aren't tight enough for him, or something - is too distracting for shopping for pasta sauce.