Here In The Afterglow

Chapter 3.7

The final day of the school year brings pleasant, balmy wind and a curious breeze that rolls off the hills. The pines flutter with anticipation, but the clouds are soft and wispy, white like snow and meandering above.

Louis wakes to the sound of Harry singing, muffled and soft from downstairs. The curtains are already drawn back, ribbons of flared sunlight falling across the tangled sheets and into Louis' eyes as he straightens slowly and wipes at his crusty lids. His back is a little sweaty, Harry's shirt sticking to him when he stands and stretches his arms over his head, breathing in deep and purposed. His ribs only protest a little, just an unconscious throb that settles after he lowers his arms back down.

He shuffles downstairs quietly, feet light on the ground as he sticks close to the wall. As Louis gets closer, Harry's voice becomes clearer. He's listening to the radio, some Willie Nelson song playing that he's obsessed with. Harry's voice is a raspy hum. Louis peeks his head around the corner, a fond smile creeping onto his face.

The light flows through the windows in a gilded, soft haze. It reflects off Harry's glasses, making them flash and shine as he shifts his hips and shoulders in tiny sways. There's a mixing bowl in his hands, and he moves in time with the twirl of his spoon, hair curled around his neck and still a little damp from his shower.

"Blue skies smilin' at me," Harry sings softly. He's got flour high on his cheekbone, a sticky drop of maple syrup on the corner of his peach lips. "Nothin' but blue skies do I see."

Louis steps into the room and leans against the wall. "Are you making me pancakes?"

Harry lets out a quiet yelp and fumbles with the bowl in his hands, spoon clattering onto the counter messily. He turns to Louis with a slightly bewildered expression, but it quickly morphs into an open mouthed smile.

"Might be," he says, fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. He casts a glance down at the counter. "Now I've made a mess."

Louis grins and moves forward, tucking himself into Harry's side. He sticks a finger into the batter – to which Harry lets out an affronted hey – and sucks it off. It's sweet and a bit lumpy with unsifted flour, a tiny twinge of lemon and syrup.

"S'good," Louis says as he runs his tongue over his teeth to get rid of the sticky remains. Harry beams down at him, then grabs him around the waist and hoists him up onto the counter. Louis lets out a tiny sound of surprise, scrunching his nose up as Harry grins at him.

"Missed doing that," Harry says.

"Manhandling me?" Louis raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Harry just giggles and rests his palms flat on the counter beside Louis' thighs, shuffling between his legs. Louis narrows his eyes. "You've got flour on your cheek."

Harry wipes his hand over his face, missing the spot. "Got it?"

"Yup," Louis says, smiling innocently. "Got some syrup there, too."

He pokes at Harry's lips. Harry's smile widens, and he nudges their foreheads together. "Can you get it for me?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "No."

"Please," Harry whines, a long drawl that's paired with a petulant pout and wide eyes. Louis sighs but leans forward anyway. Just before he closes his eyes he sees Harry's pout morph into a dopey, satisfied smile.

Harry tastes sweet, his lips sticky with syrup. Louis runs one of his hands up his jaw and into his hair. With the other, he subtly dusts away the flour that Harry had missed before. Harry sighs into his mouth and cups Louis' thighs, thumbs caressing them gently. When Louis pulls back, Harry's jaw cradled in his fingers, there's an amused smile on his lips.