I Knead You (Narry)

Chapter Eight: A Taste, A Tease

It's early afternoon when Harry wakes.

He sighs and rolls over onto his back, sheets tangling uncomfortably, half-beneath him, half thrown carelessly over his lower half. He brushes the hair from his face and stares up at the ceiling.

He doesn't usually sleep this late, but as tired as he was when he climbed into bed last night, he couldn't stop thinking of how he'd probably ruined whatever he had with Niall. At the time of the incident, Niall had still been polite, but the night ended quicker than he would've liked after he and Niall almost kissed.

Of course, Harry didn't want the night to end at all.

He curses to himself and can only hope that he didn't completely ruin things between them. He knows of Niall's boyfriend. Knows that he already doesn't like the man, even though they haven't met. If Niall's face when he showed up at the shop last night was anything to go by, he knows that this man doesn't deserve Niall.

Beautiful Niall with his chocolate-blond hair that looks as soft as cotton candy, his bright blue eyes that he swears can see into the bottom of his soul, his creamy pale skin and the stark pink cheeks and lips.

No one deserves Niall. No one except him.

He groans at his thoughts. He'd never been attracted to someone so quick. Niall makes him feel comfortable, warm and fuzzy, makes him feel like he's at home whenever he's around the boy.

He's fucked.

He drags himself out of bed and to the bathroom, needing to relieve himself. After he's finished he heads to his kitchen, not even bothering to put any sort of clothing on as his stomach alerts him that it's in need of some food.

He pulls open the fridge, scratching at his bare stomach and huffs when he sees it almost empty. It always looks like this though, and more often than not Harry finds himself pouting at the fact that he doesn't do enough grocery shopping. He only spends a day off at his own place here and there since his hours at the bakery don't leave him with a lot of time at his own place, so there's no real reason for him to keep his fridge stocked when he's only here the odd day of the week to fully enjoy a filled fridge.

But it's every off day that he wishes he could push himself to stock the damn thing.

He shuts the door with a bit more force than he'd like and turns to the cupboard, pulling out a mug and a teabag, because if there's something Harry always has in his kitchen, it's tea. He fills the kettle and sets it up on the stove to get warm, then leans against the counter, arms crossed, trying to think of what he'll do on his day off.

He doesn't want to do anything. Knows he could get a bit of shopping done, knows he definitely should go to the grocery store, but his mind drifts off to Niall again when he spots the container of cookies from last night right where he'd tossed them onto the counter after getting home.

He pulls the top of the plastic container off, and they smell as good as they did the night before. He finds himself thinking of how Niall looked when he cracked the eggs into the mixture or the way that their hands brushed when Harry'd gotten distracted by the grin that was being thrown his way and Niall had snatched the spatula out of his hand.

He blames his mouth watering on the smell of the delicious cookies.

It's not quite as good as when it was still warm and soft from the oven, but it is still one of the best tasting cookies he's ever had. Soft and zesty, full of flavor, and he's sure if he warmed it up in the microwave it'd taste exactly as it had last night.

The kettle goes off behind him and he shoves the last of the cookie in his mouth before turning his attention back to the stove. He pours the steaming water into the mug over the tea bag, letting it steep for a while while he munches on another of the half dozen or so he has left. It's nowhere near as healthy as his usual breakfast of yogurt and oats, but this morning he doesn't really mind.