A Night in Hollywood

Nightmare

It was dark in the room when Louis woke up. The moon was still shining outside, casting a bit of light on Louis' bed. On the other body lying there. Harry had an arm draped around Louis' waist, his cheek mushed against Louis' bare chest. Harry's eyes were closed, his breaths coming in small puffs.

An overwhelming surge of fondness coursed through Louis' body. This man, in his bed, was sure nothing like he had imagined.

Louis lifted his hand and let it run through Harry's hair strands. In his sleep, Harry moved closer to Louis.

Louis realised he hadn't felt this content in a long time. The last time he had felt something remotely close, was when he had shared a bed with Jacob, but with Harry, it was so much more different. It felt much more intimate.

To the world, Louis and Harry were boyfriends. Happily in love. But Louis had hated Harry. Past-time. Louis wasn't sure exactly when that had changed, knowing himself he had probably just tried to ignore it, but he couldn't anymore. Not when Harry was here, snuggled against Louis' body for comfort.

Louis let out a breath.

He was scared. Scared of what he was going to feel. He decided to just ignore it and live in the moment.

Louis fell back asleep.

* * *

When he woke again, he was tangled in the sheets, the sun was shining through the window, much higher in the sky than it normally was.

Louis sat up, in panic fumbling for his phone. He cursed when he saw the time. He was supposed to be at set two hours ago. He tumbled out of the bed, leaving it empty. Harry was such a dick for having just left without him.

Louis took everything back. Harry was the worst person he had ever met.

He went to his closet, found some clean boxers, dress pants and a T-shirt. He also found patterned socks. He pulled the clothes on and in a hurry, he left his room. He scurried down the stairs, into the living-dining-kitchen room.

He stopped.

Harry was in his kitchen, listening to soft music playing on his phone. He was wearing his boxers shorts and an apron that Louis had once gotten from his mom in a birthday present to encourage him to cook his own food—hadn't worked. He hummed along to the song playing, something indie by a singer Louis didn't recognise, but weirdest of all, he was standing by the stove flipping pancakes on a pan.

"Harry?" Louis asked confused. "I thought you had left for work."

"Louis," Harry said excitedly and paused the song. "You're awake."

"Uh-huh." Louis blinked sleepily. "Why aren't you at work?"

"We don't have work today," Harry said.

"Um, yes we do." Louis stepped further into the room. "Why are you making pancakes?"

"'Cause I was hungry and I didn't wanna eat your shitty cereal," Harry said and flipped a pancake.

"Do I even own stuff to make pancakes?"

"You had an old pancake mix that was gonna expire soon," Harry said. "Found it in your drawer."

"That still doesn't explain why we don't have work." Louis walked up to Harry and stood beside him as Harry flipped the pancakes.

"I called Henry, told him we weren't coming in today."

Louis' lips parted. "Why would you do that?"

Harry's cheeks were slightly red. "You looked tired."

"I was sleeping. You look tired when you're sleeping."