Savior

The Boy in the Kitchen

"Sorry, I...uh... wasn't expecting company."

I have to physically bite my lip to stop the giggle bubbling up my throat as I watch a very embarrassed and flustered curly haired man run around his small apartment, picking up empty beer bottles, cartons of food, and miscellaneous clothing.

The flat is a mirror image of mine: floor-to-ceiling windows, white chipped walls, and an open floor plan connecting the main rooms with a separate hallway for the bed and bath. The only difference is that this flat is filled with various furniture –no doubt form their store- and is significantly messier.

My hesitancy in stepping into a man's apartment was abundantly clear when I spluttered out a poor excuse not to come, but Harry's coaxing and puppy dog eyes had me reluctantly agreeing.

I didn't even have to tell Harry to leave the door open –he just did.

And I'm not sure how to feel about it.

I'm initially surprised at the fact that I didn't keel over as soon as I caught a whiff of the woodsy scent emitting from his flat or even have a panic attack at the idea that I was in uncharted territory with someone that could easily overpower me.

No, I didn't feel any of that. Even after witnessing his violence at the bar, I still believe that Harry is a cupcake. Especially considering his actions in the last week.

All I felt stepping into his territory was very mild anxiety.

Again, I'm not sure how to feel about that.

Harry huffs lightly as he steps out from what I assumed is his bedroom, but just catch a glimpse of a canvas splattered with paint before he slams the door shut.

"Is that your art room?" I ask, uncharacteristically excited at the thought of seeing what Harry does for a living.

As soon as the question leaves my lips Harry tenses, but it hardly registers, "Can I see some of your art?"

I barely make it a step in that direction before Harry is blocking my way. I meet his soft green eyes to see them widen in sudden alarm, looking from me to the closed door repeatedly. Heat crawls up his neck quickly until his whole face is painted red.

"Uh... no... none of it – none of it is ready to be seen yet."

"Why not? I'm sure they're all lovely," I try to step around Harry, but again, he blocks my path, the panic now clear on his face, "You shouldn't be embarrassed about something your passionate about Harry."

He rubs the back of his neck clearly uncomfortable and flustered, "'Mm not. I just... You can't see it yet, okay?"

Although the curiosity is eating at me, I simply shrug and nod my head. I won't push him, just as he doesn't push me. With one last glance towards the closed door I allow Harry to lead me into his small kitchen.

I'll get him to show it to me eventually.

If there is an eventually.

"Alright, you just sit back and watch the master work."

"Pretty sure I'm the master here – you have tasted that first hand."

"Baking and cooking are very different things, young grasshopper."

I bark out a laugh at our easy banter and nod my head in submission, taking a seat at the bar as I watch Harry pull out a pot and all his needed ingredients.

I watch him move around the counters with ease and grace –smoothly grabbing each ingredient and putting them together with no hesitance. His arm flexes as he stirs the cheesy mixture in a bowl and the muscles in his back contract under his white tee shirt when he pulls his unruly hair into a knot on top of his head. He then turns around to shoot me a cheeky grin and I flush from being caught staring at him.