The Runaways

-2

I kicked off my shoes and gently sat down to my bag leaving the foyer light off.

The smell of pancakes filled my nose as I stepped into the kitchen. I peered from around the side of the wall; the lights were off and arm-like shadows from tree branches painted the walls. Silver moonlight spilled into the room, lighting up the old wooden floor with a pool of white light.

My eyes rose from the floor to see Harry's lanky silhouette laced into the shadows. His eyes were closed and his lips were puckered as he whistled to You Give Love a Bad Name. Half the buttons on his washed out silky floral shirt were undone, leaving the rest to swirl around his torso as he bobbed his body to the beat of the song. Chunky lilac headphones sat atop his head and loose strands of lengthy hair slipped past the plastic falling onto his face.

I quirked a brow.

In one hand he held a plastic spatula. He lifted it to his mouth, his body still swaying to the song. He glanced down at the spatula before singing into it as it it was a microphone. Quite horribly might I add. "Shot through the heart," he flicked his wrist and pointed the spatula at the wall "And you're to blame, you give love a bad name."

His face scrunched up and his back hunched over as he began to make weird noises that vaguely could be identified as a guitar sounds. His body swayed from side to side to the beat of the song and his head bobbed up and down; his curly hair swinging in all directions. Harry's movements looked so uncontrolled, akin to a drunken man.

I smirked and leaned on the wall beside me.

On the stove before him, sat several little white candles illuminating the room with a soft glow. The light danced along the walls, each flame sporadically growing and diminishing in the shadows.

In front of him lay a hot iron pan holding a sizzling white pancake in the center. Beside the stove sat a silver bowl with batter dripping down the sides and several banana peels tossed carelessly aside. The counter was dusted with flour and silver wrappers from sticks of butter.

My smile diminished at the sight. Only Harry would make banana pancakes at two in the morning, and leave a catastrophic mess for someone else to clean (aka me). Somehow he always 'forgot' to clean up.

I slipped past the wall and tip toed further into the kitchen I had snuck behind him. I smirked to myself as Harry jerked for side to side. I opened my mouth to shout 'boo' when he whipped around. I yelped in surprise, whilst jumping back and clutching onto the kitchen counter behind me.

He grinned down at me haughtily. "Think you can scare me?" he smirked. "I heard to come in."

His hand rose from his side and ruffed my hair until it was covering my face and stuck up around my ears. I pouted my lips slightly, and narrowed my eyes at him in annoyance and confusion. I leaned back against the counter and glanced between his eyes and the headphones.

I tilted my head and arched a brow, "Weren't you listening to music..." I trailed off accusingly.

His brows pulled together into a frown, and his eyes shifted to the right; glancing down at the floor. "I- what?" He stuttered, suddenly blinking erratically, as if he had something in his eyes. "Yes, yes I was listening to music" he argued defensively. "Obviously" he muttered lowly, before tuning to flip the pancake.

I glance to where Harry was tapping a foot on the floor and flipping a pancake dispensability high in the air. He lifted the pan off the stove to catch it in the air; the pancake landed with a flop and began to sizzle again.

I rounded the side of the island and neared the bar stools by the stove. I flopped down on the cool wooden stool, leaning my elbows on the island. I cupped my face in my hands and stared as Harry poured more batter into the pan.