Crazy | {h.s}

Crushed Eggs; Chocolate Cake

Three knocks. Then two more. Then four more in a quick, little pattern. And then no more knocks, just the click of my door opening and shutting.

"LAUREN!"

I rush out of my bedroom in a hurry, a bit flabbergasted by my intruder: a baby giraffe with a full head of thick chocolate curls and no shoes, standing in my kitchen.

"What the hell are you doing in my kitchen?"

"I need to borrow three eggs." He holds up three fingers.

"I was going to open the door for you if you waited. Was that door not locked?!" I say, yet I wasn't very good at acting like I was upset with him.

He shrugs, "Didn't think you'd mind if I just came in, it's okay, you can trust me. It's not like I'll steal anything. And no it was not."

I give him a confused look, but quickly shake it off as he shuffles through my, now open, fridge.

He takes out the carton and bobs his head to a made up beat as he plops it down on the counter and takes out three eggs.

"I'm baking a cake, forgot I didn't have any eggs."

He looks at me and gives me a nod as if to say thanks and then starts shimmying his way out of my apartment. Though, he only makes it to the doorway before an egg slips out of his hand, landing on his bare foot and cracking open, causing him to freeze.

He pauses for a moment, contemplating what to do as I stand there watching, holding back a laugh.

"I've got it. I've got it." He says to me, holding up a hand to stop me from helping him.

He then, very carefully, walks back to me, keeping his toes together and foot flexed to keep it all on and then tosses his leg over my counter, with surprising flexibility, dumping the egg into my sink.

Surprisingly he managed to keep most of it off the floor.

Harry rinses off his toes in the running water and I quickly grab him a paper towel.

He thanks me with a smug smirk, like he's so proud of himself, and soon he's bobbing his head and humming again as he grabs another egg, cradling them carefully this time.

"Be careful this time, Harry."

"I know, LoLo."

Yet, as he spins around, an egg slips out of his grip and splatters on the ground.

"Oh, for fucks sake!" he yells.

We both stare at it, as if expecting that it'll stand up and clean itself, yet that's not the case.

I groan and rub my eyes.

"You're a clumsy little giraffe."

-----------------

Two loud knocks sound on my door again and then, as expected, in walks Harry carrying a blue polka-dot plate with a large piece of chocolate cake on top.

"I've come to offer my condolences with cake."

He's still got no shoes or socks on and his same old black skinny jeans. I'm embarrassingly enough wearing little cupcake pajama pants with a tank top, not really what I'd prefer he sees me in.

"I really should learn how to lock my door, huh?"

He shakes his head, "How am I gonna get in if it's locked?"

Yet, he doesn't wait for my reply before he sits down on my couch next to me, watching reruns of Friends.

Harry feeds me it bite by bite, occasionally stealing one or two (or three or four), before the cake is gone and he's laying splayed out on my couch.

An arm and leg of his fall off the couch and rest on the floor and I can't imagine how that is comfortable for him, but, like I said before: baby giraffe.

"That was really good, Harry."

"All thanks to those eggs you gave me. Those were nice eggs." He murmurs.

"Would you like a blanket?" I ask, he shakes his head and taps his finger on the couch and I swear, if we weren't 25 years old, not in a relationship, and very awkward, I would wrap him up in a fluffy blanket and coddle him until he falls asleep in my arms.

He's that perfect.