This is the New Year (Larry Mpreg)

Nineteen

Harry wakes up on the day of his graduation to a smell that's rather, well, strange to say the least. At least, strange compared to the smells he's used to waking up to.

He's used to waking up to the smell of Louis's shampoo or the smell of Louis's cologne that's soaked its way into the fibers of Harry's pillows. He's used to the smell of Niall's slightly burnt pancakes and Louis's charred bacon.

But the scent his nose is picking up right now is nothing he's used to. He can't quite tell what it is, but it doesn't necessarily smell awful, so he decides to ignore it and try to rest his eyes for a little while longer. He reaches his arm over to cuddle Louis, but his forearm touches Louis's sheets instead of Louis's skin, and his fingers stroke a pillow rather than the scruff on Louis's chin. His eyebrows furrow at the lack of contact, and he slowly peels his eyes open, wondering where his boyfriend's gone.

Harry takes in a slow deep breath through his nose as he pushes himself up from his position on his stomach and stretches out all of his limbs before groaning and falling quickly back down onto his chest. His closes his eyes once more, not quite understanding why Louis has woken up so early, but too tired to care.

His eyelids part once more when he hears a string of badly-whispered curses coming from Louis's kitchen, and he turns his body to sit upright when the pace of his tiny footsteps quicken.

Harry's face contorts to give off a tired, but confused expression, and he slowly forces himself to slide off of the comfort of Louis's bed, pulling some boxers up his legs just in case Liam decides to pop in randomly. He's definitely walked in on Harry naked before, and they both would rather it not happen again.

He gently opens the door to Louis's bedroom, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in the process.

"Jesus fuck," he hears Louis try to whisper, before a loud slam interrupts his words. "Shit," Louis all but yells, obviously frightened by whatever the noise was.

Harry pauses where he's standing for a moment. "Louis?" he calls out creeping forward, receiving no response. Harry instantly quickens his pace. "Louis, what the fuck?" is all Harry says when he makes his way to the kitchen.

Louis immediately turns to face Harry, clutching an object behind his back and giving Harry a sheepish smile. "Hey, Harry, baby darling, light of my life, man of my heart, cutie pie boo boo, apple of my eye-"

"Louis, how did you set the kitchen on fire?" Harry interrupts, slowly moving his way towards the singed kitchen counter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Louis replies, way too quickly.

Harry glances between Louis's legs and sees a flash of red. He rolls his eyes. "You're holding a fire extinguisher behind your back," Harry chuckles. "and the bottom of your white cabinet is black," he adds.

Louis fish mouths for a second, before huffing and dropping his arms to his sides so that the fire extinguisher is more visible. "I tried, and therefore no one should criticize me," he says defensively.

Harry looks towards the source of the fire. "Louis, you were making tea," he laughs, motioning to the black spout of the tea kettle.

"No one, Harold," Louis replies quickly, the pink tint on his cheeks growing redder.

"You're so cute," Harry fonds, shaking his head. It wasn't a bad fire, obviously. The black on the bottom of the cabinet was probably just soot, but the kettle's most likely ruined.

Louis scoffs. "I am not cute," he grumbles. "I'm manly," he mumbles, looking down at the fire extinguisher.

"Of course you are, dear," Harry smiles. "Now, hand me the fire extinguisher so I can put it away."