The next week passes fast, I barely spend any time at home anymore. It’s not like I’m avoiding him, I just don’t know how to deal with his presence.
I can’t send him away either. He’s still sick, only slowly getting better. His fever went down two days ago but his cold isn’t really any better yet.
He sleeps most of the time anyways, as if he really, really needed it. He probably has to catch up a lot.
I don’t want to disturb him and I always feel as if he felt like he disturbed me, so stay at the library, finishing long due projects, stay at friend’s houses or am in my room when I’m home.
We don’t talk about why he’s still there when he said he’d leave a few days ago already. He doesn’t say it anymore either, insisted he’d leave as soon as he was better.
It’s Saturday morning when I walk into the kitchen and Harry looks like he got better for the first time.
His lips aren’t as dry anymore and his eyes don’t look so tired. I smile a little and he doesn’t smile but he doesn’t look as sad either.
“Feeling better today?”, I ask.
He nods a little and gets up from the couch. “I’ll leave.”
“Not what I meant. You can take a shower. Bath, if you want to. I’ll make breakfast. You can eat with me.”
He shrugs, looking as if he wasn’t decided whether he wanted that yet. I can’t really tell what he thinks of me, considering we barely ever talk.
All I know that there’s guilt every time he takes food from me, if he even does. It’s like he’s never hungry, not even when he hasn’t eaten in days.
“I’m sorry, Louis. I know I’m a burden, I’m sorry for even doing this. I never should’ve showed up in the first place and I know that. I am sorry.”
Mt face drops a little. It’s probably the most he’s ever said to me and then it was so much at once, so much things I knew he felt but never actually pronounced out loud.
“Harry”, I say, “I don’t really know why I offered you this in the first place, but I don’t regret it. When I tell you to take a shower or bath and have breakfast with me afterwards, I mean it.”
He nods. “Okay. Um, my old clothes, did you, do you still have them?”
“In the bathroom, next to the sink. I washed them.”
He nods, lips lifted a little and leaves the room.
I watch him lock the door before I turn around and open the fridge. It at least isn’t as empty anymore so I am able to mix the mixture for pancakes and try to fry them in the pan.
“Doesn’t really look like it’s working”, a voice interrupts my desperate try to finish the breakfast.
Harry is standing in the doorway, an amused, small smile on his lips. “I can do it”, he mumbles and I nod relieved and hand him the spatula.
It doesn’t take him half as long as it took me and after a few minutes of-at least not uncomfortable-silence, he places a plate with pancakes in the middle of the table.
We eat in silence and after eating one pancake, he puts it down on his fork. I frown, thinking he doesn’t want to eat more because he’ll feel guilty.
“You can eat more”, I say, “I made them for two.”
He shakes his head slightly. “I, um, my stomach isn’t used to eating so much.”
“Oh”, is all I say because I don’t really know what to say.
He said it so quiet and carful, as if it was wrong. “Okay. You can eat in little portions. We’ll keep some of them in the fridge so you can eat them later.”
He nods carefully, smiling, this time a real smile. It feels special, somehow. His eyes shine just a little but it feels like a lot already.
I smile back and for a few seconds we just smile at each other before he looks at his used plate again.
It feels weird, being with him. He’s a stranger living in my flat, I don’t know anything about him but still there’s some connection that comes along with living in the same place for more then a week.
I put my fork down again and point to the couch. “Fancy watching a movie?”
He shrugs, nods and takes the plat before placing it in the sink. There’s this unpronounced question in the air the whole time we’re around each other. A what the hell are we doing? And a when do I have to leave? And a why would you even let me stay?
I can’t answer any of them. It’s not like I exactly enjoy his company, it’s awkward and quiet. But I don’t want him to leave either. I can’t bare the thought of passing him on my way to uni every day without being able to help him again.
I sit down on one end of the couch, him on the other end and I place my laptop on the table in front of us.
“Should we just search for romantic comedies on Netflix and see what we find?”, I ask and he nods.
“Who the hell calls it romantic comedies?”, he asks, a small smile on his lips. It could become my favourite thing ever, eventually. That smile I barely get to see.
“Huh, everyone?”
“No, Louis, everyone says rom-com.”
I roll my eyes, happy because he’s joking, because he seems lightheaded and at ease, a little happy, maybe, for the first time in months.
“Sorry, that’s just the younger generation.”
“Am I younger than you?”
It shocks me a little again because we know nothing about each other.
“I’m twenty-one.”
“You look younger, smaller.”
“Fuck off.”
He smiles the whole conversation long and I chuckle. “I’m nineteen”, he says, “But I act way more mature, obviously.”
I smile. It’s not really funny though because he’s right. He acts too mature for his age.
I turn on some movie afterwards and we watch it in silence. It’s the first time it doesn’t feel awkward, being around him.
It almost feels comfortable.
~~~
first real interaction yayyy
feedback?
also writing on a short more poetic story (also Larry rn) let me know if anyone's interested I'll start uploading it soon as well<3
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scarred wings (l.s.)
FanfictionLouis studies teaching at university. On his way there, he passes a homeless boy every morning. Harry has scars, they can't always be seen. Some are covered by the dark ink on his skin. Louis really likes Harry's butterfly tattoo.
