Just Like Any Other Day (Larry Stylinson Short Story) - DISCONTINUED

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He has his back to me and his iPod earphones in, making pancakes as suspected, and is singing along to the song playing. "If only you saw what I can see, you'd understand why I want you so desperately..." I am mesmerised by his singing. He's really good. No, he's an amazing singer! I know I expected us all to be, well, okay singers but... Harry's voice is just breath-taking.

Just then, he suddenly whips around. I was unprepared for this...

Harry is beautiful. Is it wrong to say that? I don't even care. I feel like I've seen the sun for the first time. His brown curls fall over his head just so, and his bright green eyes are just the perfect colour to make my jaw drop. I must look like an idiot, standing here, staring at this taller boy that I've really seen millions of times, with my mouth wide open as if I've never seen him before. But it's not like I remember meeting him. I can't even describe him very well - there are just no words to. He's just... absolutely gorgeous. He's wearing black jeans and a simple grey sweater that look brilliant on him. I'm surprised when my heart starts to pound madly in my chest and I find a blush creeping up on my cheeks.

"Hey, Boo. I thought I heard you get up," he says casually, walking over to me with a spatula in his hand. He leans over and kisses my cheek. I allow the blush to heat my cheeks as his lips linger a little before he draws back. His lips aren't soft, but they aren't terribly rough either. They're just right.

Then he smiles and all hell breaks loose. My heart is thumping  madly in my chest and I'm sure that even Harry notices I almost faint. His whole face lights up when he smiles, making him just that more impossibly more attractive, and he has two maddening dimples on either side of his grin of perfectly straight teeth.

"B-Boo?" I eventually reply when I catch my breath.

"It’s short for Boobear. Just a little nickname I call you," Harry explains patiently. It must sometimes get frustrating for him, every day having to tell me these things all over again. Suddenly I feel sorry for him. I never really considered how hard my memory loss must be on those close to me...

“I like it,” I tell him with a small, timid smile. He nods, as if already knowing that. Oh wait... he probably does...

Harry turns and walks back to the stove. "You in the mood for pancakes?"

"Sure," I shrug and sit down on a stool at the kitchen bench, half-shyly. He puts his iPod away in his pocket and gets some plates out of a cupboard.

"Uh, Harry - ...You are Harry, right?" I ask nervously.

He swings around and gives me a quick 'Are-you-kidding?' look.

"Okay, uh, Harry, I was wondering-"

"You can call me Hazza," Harry interrupts as he puts pancakes onto the plates. I frown, confused. There's a pause before Harry says. "Or just Haz for short."

"Okay, Haz," I say, trying out the name. It has a sweet sound to it. "What was that song you were listening to before? I thought I didn't know it at first, but somehow I... I knew the lyrics." Harry sets a plate of about four big pancakes in front of me and sits across from me on another barstool. There's already maple syrup on the kitchen bench, which he grabs and squirts over his pancakes.

"It was one of our songs. One of One Direction's songs. It's called-"

"What Makes You Beautiful?"

Harry's head jerks up sharply and he stares at me for a while, his eyes holding both hope and curiosity. "...How do you remember that?"

I shrug. "I'm not sure. I just... know it."