Ebony & Ivory [H.S]

Eleven

Rolling my eyes, I lay back onto the bed with my legs hanging off the edge.

"You hungry?" he asks, and before I even get a chance to respond, he continues. "And don't do that thing that girls do where you pull the whole 'Oh no, I'm not hungry. I ate a grape yesterday, so I'm good' routine, because that's not gonna fly with me," he says, trying to maintain a serious expression.

Shaking my head vehemently, I reply, "God no. I'm fùcking starving. Why do you think I'm being such a bítch?" I laugh.

He looks at me curiously, a small smirk playing on his lips as he sits down on the bed beside me.

"What?" I laugh, using my hands exaggeratedly.

"Nothing," he lies, tapping my knee. "Now let's get some breakfast."

We head out into the kitchen, and he looks a little surprised when he sees me grab my coat.

"Oh, are we not going out?" I blurt.

"Err, I just thought we could eat here," he answers, and I can't quite pick up on where his sudden mood shift has come from.

"Sounds good, we just got a new waffle maker that I've been meaning to try out. Wanna give it a whirl?" I ask, raising my eyebrows suggestively in a joking manner, ignoring whatever it was that happened moments ago.

"Let's do it," he says, rolling up his non existent sleeves, looking as focused as I've ever seen him. I first have to search through the multiple cupboards to find the right bowls and ingredients, and when I'm satisfied, I Google a simple recipe for us to make.

"I really feel a Shrek quote is in order," he explains as he gets some cooking chocolate out of the fridge. "What is it? 'And in the morning, I'm making waffles?'"

"You've forgotten the part about staying up late and swapping manly stories," I correct him. "But good try. Maybe next time, Harry," I joke, shutting him down.

"I think it's fair to say we've ticked off all the boxes then," he nods, satisfied with himself.

"Yeah, you have a point. It wouldn't be so late if you weren't messaging me at such an ungodly hour," I point out, acknowledging the flirtatious texts we were sending back and forth. "Might I also add how juvenile it all was - texting while we're in the same house. But, I mean, I guess I shouldn't really be surprised."

"Hey!" he defends, unable to suppress his laughter, as he jabs his hip playfully into mine as we stand side by side. "Enough of that, I'm fragile. Let's get started on this. How much flour is it saying we need to use?"

"Apparently two cups for four people, so maybe just use half?" I suggest as I read the recipe on my phone.

He carefully measures out a cup of flour, ensuring the cup is precise.

"Here," I say, taking the cup and just throwing in the flour. "It doesn't need to be perfect. Let's just figure it out together."

He's open mouth in shock before he nods to himself, the idea sinking in.