Friends. // l.s.

Chapter 18 - "Now I'm a poet and I didn't even know it."

Louis' POV

An elderly maid handed me a full plate of steaming hot stacked pancakes, topped with deliciously melting butter and a side of various fresh fruits. My stomach grumbled at the sight and my mouth watered at the scent, I set the plate down in front of me and gulped down the thick saliva that had gathered.

"Thank you veeeery much," I chirped and the maid, Stella, smiled in response. I'd always had a liking for her because she didn't seem intimidated by me.

"You're welcome, Master Tomlinson," she turned her head towards Harry who was sitting across me, "Master Styles, do you want to have anything else?"

My head snapped towards his over his already half empty plate hunched figure and he swallowed loudly before answering unclearly, "No, thanks. Oh wait, be a dear and pass me the syrup, please," Stella was about to reach for it when he added with expecting eyes, "Louis."

"Get your own syrup," I sneered, grabbing my fork and digging into my own stack of pancakes, not before coating it richly with a thick layer of nice appetizing syrup.

"Tastes good, might wanna try some?" I commented and caught Stella laughing slightly to herself as she left the scene, remarkably without handing Harry the sticky sugary goodness. My unnecessary teasing had no other purpose than breaking the awkward tenseness that had settled between us since we've entered the dining room to fill our stomachs with breakfast. After we've sat down, none of us had spoken a word and considering Harry had received the first plate of pancakes he had had an almost reliable excuse to not talk to me with his mouth full. But I had been beyond uncomfortale in my tense sitting position, watching Harry as he had devoured the food hastily without properly chewing and barely taking a breath in between. Somehow it was my duty to ease the tension and so far I've not quite succeeded. Of course, there were a lot of things I could say but I didn't want to bring up another one of those serious topics so I've settled for a lighter conversation.

"Yes, please," Harry, who apparently was oblivious to my obvious taunting, pouted and held out his hand for me to place the syrup in it. "I really like syrup," he added with a blush.

It was hard to fathom that this was the same Harry who'd been picking on me the way he'd been before and who was always the first to throw in a punch if he gauged it as necessary. This Harry resembled an innocent unaware kitten and not in the slightest the tough bad boy he claimed to be all this time. This Harry was the Harry I'd learned to know a long time ago. Surely, this wouldn't be a temporary state and it was only a matter of time until his friends showed up and he shifted back into his old self.

"If you like it that much, you should get yourself some," I pointed out and shoved another forkful of warm pancake in my mouth.

"But it's so far away, I can't reach it," he said sadly and slumped his shoulders. He regarded his leftover but not with syrup covered food on his plate with sorrowful eyes that soon fixed on my adjacent munching frame.

"You're a big boy, Harry. I'm pretty sure you can stand up and get the syrup without bothering me further. Yeah?" I cooed with a roll of my eyes.

"You're a dick. You're really a dick," Harry remarked harshly and rose from his chair, scraping it across the floor with his thighs to have enough space to stand. He stomped around the table and retrieved the syrup with a glare.

"So you're mad at me now?" I asked curiously and he intensified his gaze.

"Yep," he replied while taking his seat again and pouring syrup on his pancakes excessively. When he succeeded in doing so, he put the bottle down with more force than necessary. Presumably he wanted to show me his wrath.