These Inconvenient Fireworks (original story on ao3 by complemtattoos)

three

L

- Rod Stewart. Harry said. Louis stared at the contents in his refrigerator, with his cell phone pressed to his ear. It had been a while since he was standing there and wondering how long ago he bought that white cheese, with Harry calling and taking all his attention next.

- What?

- Rod Stewart. Harry said again. - I was right. It was Rod Stewart himself, not Barry Manilow.

Louis leaned against the refrigerator door, trying to hold back the small, sudden smile that was beginning to take over his face.

- Christ, that was two weeks ago, Harold.

- Yes, but I just remembered that I needed to research about it. Harry replied. Louis could almost see him shrugging, as well as his smug mouth moving, and he was grateful that Harry couldn't see the way his smile kept widening.

- Well, I hope you're satisfied with yourself. Said Louis. He took a jar of cherries from the shelf and closed the door with his hip, twisting the lid as he headed for the kitchen counter.

- I am. Said Harry, letting his voice get lower and thicker as he sang. - If you want my booody, and you think I'm seeexy, come on sugar let me knooow.

Louis closed his eyes for a moment, but didn't miss the beat.

"Did you just call to sing to me in a soft, sensual No-Barry-Manilow voice?"

- Practically, yes. Said Harry. - And several other songs by No-Barry-Manilow, so I think you'd better sit down. This is going to be a long show.

Louis put the bottle on the counter and leaned against it.

- Really? Duchess jumped on the counter and Louis stroked her absently.

- Uhum. Harry purred.

Louis couldn't help himself.

- So, you keep me up all night? He murmured. He heard a high-pitched sob mixed with breath on the other end of the line and thought it was the start of a laugh, but before he could hear it to understand, Duchess tapped a paw on the cherry jar and knocked it off the counter.

It hit the floor with a crash and broke into a puddle of glass, cherries and reddish water that began to spread alarmingly quickly.

- Shit, shit, shit. Said Louis, jumping around the kitchen to grab a dish towel next to the sink. Duchess just looked at him, her tail wagging angrily.

- Lou? Harry's muffled voice reminded him that he still had the phone between his ear and his shoulder. - Are you alright? What happened?

God, did he have to clean the reddish water or sweep the glass first?

- Jesus! Haz, I have to go, my cat just broke an entire jar of cherries on the floor and spread that shit everywhere.

- Are you wearing shoes?

- No. - Would he need a mop for that? Did he still have a mop?

- Are you at least wearing socks? Harry's voice interrupted his thoughts again.

Louis grimaced, half to the sticky puddle on his floor and half because of the question.

- Since when do you know me for wearing socks?

Harry sighed on the other end of the line.

- See, that's why you need to use it!

- Seriously? Is that why? - He hesitated as he stuck his head in the cupboard under the sink, looking for a sponge. - Does this kind of thing happen to you often?