All You Are is What I Need (Larry BoyxBoy) Book 2

Twenty Nine

Louis inhales, the fresh and homely smell of Harry surrounding him. He feels shuffling, then a pair of warm lips against his forehead. He frowns, and forces his eyes to blink open.

"Go back to bed, love" he hears. He closes his eyes and rubs the sleep from them. He lets out a small groan.

"Shh, it's okay," Harry murmurs to him, brushing his fringe away from his face, "gonna go make everyone breakfast."

Louis licks his chapped lips, and opens his eyes to see his boy, sleep ruffled and so, so cute. "Can I help?" he asks, voice rough.

"You can sleep, love. It's okay," Harry reassures. He's pulling up his sweatpants to cover his bum, tying the drawstring.

"No, no," Louis mumbles, clearing his throat, "I wanna help," he yawns, "if thats okay."

Harry grins, "Of course it is."

Harry rummages through the kitchen like mapped out memory on the back of his hand. He pulls out flour and milk and baking soda, some more powders and oil. He grabs a bowl and a whisk, and Louis simply watches dumbly as he mixes all the right amounts of things into the bowl.

"Wanna whisk it for me, babe?"

Louis hums out a reply, taking the handle of the whisk and taking over for his boyfriend, stirring the mixture as Harry pulls out a pan and plates and silverware. When Harry turns back to him, he snorts.

"What?" Louis asks in defence.

"You're awful," Harry laughs, "how do you not know how to whisk properly?"

"Whisk properly?" Louis says in offence, smiling nonetheless, "I think I'm whisking quite proper, yeah?"

"Absolutely not," Harry shakes his head, "everything's wrong, here, give it to me."

Louis' mouth drops, and he pulls the bowl tight to him, "No, I wanna whisk it."

"At least let me help you then," Harry mutters, "for the sake of the pancakes."

Louis glares, huffing out a heavy breath, "Fine. Show me how to do it Gordon Ramsay."

Harry snorts, again, shaking his head as he simply wraps his arms around Louis and presses his chest to his back. He wraps his hand around Louis', the other taking hold of the other side of the bowl.

"First of all," he murmurs against Louis' neck, "you whisk it, not stir it."

Louis rolls his eyes, leaning back against Harry's chest. He tilts his head back, turning it to place soft kisses to Harry's jaw.

"You're not even watching," Harry laughs, turning his head to meet Louis' eyes.

Louis just smiles, pressing his lips to Harry's. His smile grows when Harry's hand stops moving, and he chooses to focus on kissing him instead.

Anne watches fondly from the doorway, having too much of a heart to get her morning tea and break the boys bubble.

The morning is filled with butter, syrup, and racked up sobs. Harry doesn't want to let go of his mummy, doesn't want to say goodbye again. Anne's eyes are filled with tears, her lips pressing gentle kisses to Harry's face, soft murmurs of, "M'gonna see you in a few weeks," and "don't worry dear," and "I love you too, so much."

Leaving is the hard part, the part that hurts more than any other. It happens in a blur, one minute they're enjoying pancakes and the next they're packing in the van, and none of them really remember the transition. It's just so much, too much, but a good too much. The best type of heartbreak there is.