Reckless {HS}

twenty-seven

Delilah's Pov

The soft rays of morning light crept through the curtains, casting a warm glow in the unfamiliar room. I blinked against the brightness, confusion swirling in my mind. Where was I? It took a moment for the memories of the previous night to rush back: the gallery, the heist, the panic, and Harry. My heart raced as I recalled the whirlwind of emotions—the fear, the thrill, and the undeniable connection that had grown between us.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I was no longer in my own bed, but rather in some sort of safe house, surrounded by people I barely knew. I needed to regain my composure. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I felt the coolness of the hardwood floor against my feet. A quick glance at the clock on the wall revealed it was well past eight. Everyone else was still asleep, I assumed, lost in their dreams while I wrestled with the remnants of my own.

Quietly, I made my way out of the bedroom and into the hall. The house was eerily silent, save for the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet. I moved deeper into the home, glancing at the framed photographs lining the walls; strangers. They depicted moments of joy—friends laughing, vacations, and celebrations. A pang of nostalgia washed over me as I thought of my own friends, especially Sophie, who had been so concerned about my whereabouts.

As I walked, I fished my phone out of my bag, heart sinking as I noticed several missed calls and texts from Sophie. Each notification served as a reminder of the life I had momentarily left behind. I scrolled through the messages, her frantic voice coming through in the frantic texts: "Delilah, where are you?" and "I'm worried. Call me back!" I sighed, a mixture of guilt and anxiety bubbling up inside me. I needed to explain everything to her, but I had no idea how to articulate the chaos of my current situation.

Continuing my exploration, I found myself in the living room, which was adorned with simple yet comfortable furniture. The walls were painted a soft beige, and a couple of throw blankets were casually draped over the couch. I noticed an old guitar resting in the corner, and I couldn't help but wonder whose it was and how many songs had been played on it during late-night gatherings.

Eventually, I made my way to the kitchen. It was bright and fully stocked, the scent of fresh coffee wafting through the air, though no one was there to make it. I opened the fridge to find it filled with eggs, vegetables, and a variety of breakfast items. My stomach growled in response to the sight, reminding me just how hungry I was. I decided that making breakfast would be a nice way to ease the tension of the night before and hopefully show a bit of gratitude for what they'd done for me.

I set to work, pulling out ingredients and starting to whip up a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs and sautéed vegetables. The sounds of sizzling filled the kitchen, and I felt a sense of normalcy wash over me as I busied myself with the task. Cooking had always been a comfort, a way to channel my energy into something productive.

Just as I was finishing up, I heard the shuffling of feet behind me. I turned to see Niall, Louis, and Liam all appearing in the kitchen, their hair tousled and expressions a mix of confusion and sleepiness. They blinked at me, trying to process the sight of me standing there, surrounded by breakfast.

"What's going on?" Niall asked, scratching his head as he rubbed his eyes.

"I thought I'd make breakfast," I said cheerfully, trying to dispel the confusion in the air. "I figured it would be a nice way to say thank you for everything."

The boys exchanged bewildered glances, as if they had never experienced this kind of hospitality before. Niall blinked again, clearly surprised. "You're... cooking for us?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's just breakfast," I replied, trying to brush off the gravity of the gesture. "But you know, I didn't want to be a burden. Figured I'd try to help out a bit."

Liam, always the composed one, stepped forward with a cautious smile. "We appreciate it, really. Just... not used to people cooking for us."

I laughed lightly, feeling a warmth spreading through me at their reactions. "Well, I hope you like it. It's not much, but it's better than nothing, right?"

"I don't know about that," Louis chimed in, teasingly. "We have very high standards when it comes to breakfast, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, I hope I can meet those standards." As the conversation continued, I felt a small sense of ease settle in. Despite the chaos surrounding our lives, there was something comforting about being in this kitchen, joking and chatting with the boys. It was a fleeting moment of normality that I desperately needed.

"Where's Harry?" I asked, glancing around as I finished plating the food. The absence of his presence was notable.

Niall shrugged. "He's probably still sleeping. He had a rough night."

"Yeah, he looked pretty exhausted when we got here," Liam added, grabbing a plate and helping himself to some eggs. "But I'm sure he'll be up soon. He's a heavy sleeper."

I nodded, a wave of concern washing over me at the thought of Harry. I didn't know what he was dealing with, but I could sense that there was more to his story than met the eye. I wanted to know him better, to understand the man behind the façade.

The conversation flowed easily among us as we ate, and I found myself relaxing more with each passing moment. Despite the wild circumstances that had brought us together, I felt a growing bond with these boys.

Just as we finished breakfast, the sound of a door creaking open caught my attention. I turned to see Harry stepping into the kitchen, his hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He looked both disheveled and charming, and for a moment, I couldn't help but smile.

"Morning," I said, trying to sound casual.

He blinked at me, then at the spread of breakfast laid out before us. A mix of surprise and appreciation crossed his face. "You made breakfast?"

"Yep, just trying to be nice," I replied, feeling a rush of warmth at his reaction.

He stepped closer, rubbing the back of his neck, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," I said simply, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes that told me he appreciated the gesture, and my heart fluttered at the thought.

As the boys resumed their chatter, I watched Harry's expression soften. It was a small moment, but it felt significant. For now, amidst the uncertainty of our lives, I was grateful to have found a semblance of connection in this unexpected place.