Through The Dark || Harry Styles

6. HARRY

HARRY

"Harry, do you eat eggs?" Lucy's voice carries from the kitchen.

I've folded the same blanket three times, her warning about it being straight making me roll my eyes and start again each time.

It wasn't my intention to fall asleep here last night, but after one too many vodka shots I think we both just passed out as sleep deprivation and the alcohol combined. I woke up to Lola in my face and Lucy curdled up on the couch opposite.

"Sure do," I call back, conceding that my fourth blanket folding attempt will have to do and I shove the uneven bits into the middle to make it look neater.

Lola cocks her head to the side from where she is watching me.

"Shh," I hold a finger to my lip and pat her head.

The smell of butter melting and coffee brewing wafts through the air and I tilt my head back and groan at the delicious smell. Lucy buzzes around the kitchen with ease, her giggle tickling my ears as she laughs at my dramatics.

"Can I help?" I offer, but she shakes her head and points for me to take a seat at the breakfast bar.

She appears marginally fresher than yesterday, enough to notice. She has showered and is in tight blue jeans and a white t-shirt, a tan coloured cardigan draped over it. Her hair is shiny and falls down around her shoulders, her eyes are a little less hollow and her cheeks are flushed from the steam coming from the pan.

Selfishly, the cloud of misery that surrounds her makes mine more bearable, but last night, spending time with her, I realised just how defeated she is. When she broke down I froze. I don't know her well enough to comfortably embrace her and I get the feeling that she needs to process things in her own time and her own personal space. She's always so composed, so refined, that when she lost control last night, I was stunned into silence.

Lucy goes back and forth to the refrigerator, her brow creasing in the middle as if in deep thought before returning with items to chop or grate or break up into the pan. I can tell just from the way she moves that she loves cooking. She's meticulous and clean, gentle but disciplined. A calm has washed over her that has been missing the past few days.

Offering to help again with a firm negative response, I take a minute to check my phone. There's a message from Jake's brother, Hugo and another from my mum, both checking up on me.

I text both back quickly but the smell of the omelette Lucy has just put down in front of me pulls all of my focus. My mouth is watering and the first bite has me moaning into the air like a teenage boy who has just seen boobs for the first time.

"Oh my god, what did you put in this?" I question with a mouthful.

Her smile lights up her face as she holds a stainless steel jug of milk under a frother before pouring it into the two small coffee cups on the counter. Taking a seat next to me she breaks her omelette with a fork.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she scolds. "Whatever I had in the fridge, Mum brought over some groceries yesterday."

"Oh god, it's bacon isn't it," I tease just to try and make her laugh.

I'm successful.

"I know you think I'm a bitch, Harry, but I wouldn't do that to you," she states with a warm smile, taking a sip of her coffee.

I debate protesting, but don't.

"You're allowing me to have milk today, Coffee-Snob?" I raise an eyebrow at the cappuccino in front of me.