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nauseous.<br />
Louis’ watching him from the living room, Harry completely out of his league being way more<br />
entertaining than anything <strong>on</strong> the tellie. Harry’s st<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g>ing at the stove, frying whats presumed to be<br />
eggs, running a h<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> through the mess of curls in an attempt to tame the way they’re falling over<br />
his eyes. Louis’ not quite sure how he gets his quiff to stay up like that without any product, <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g><br />
how Louis’ pre-fringe quiff days c<strong>on</strong>sisted of enough hair gel to drown a small child. His<br />
thoughts, though, are cut immediately short when Harry runs his finger up his back, raising his<br />
shirt. It not <strong>on</strong>ly exposes the large <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> expanse ribcage tattoo, but also the angry red scratch marks<br />
that are surrounding his spine, all the way down to the line of his hips.<br />
Louis looks away immediately, blinking <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> pretending like he didn’t just see that. Suddenly the<br />
Home <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> Gardening channel just became the most interesting thing in the world.<br />
“I’m slaughtering these eggs in here,” Harry calls from the kitchen. And his face in covered in a<br />
childish innocence, which is a stark c<strong>on</strong>trast against those red marks etched into his skin. “This<br />
may have been <strong>on</strong>e of my worst ideas yet.”<br />
“How do you possibly fuck up eggs, Harry? They’re quite literally the easiest thing to make.”<br />
Louis' voice comes out more c<strong>on</strong>fident than he feels, <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> his insides are feeling jumbled <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g><br />
awkward, with no clear reas<strong>on</strong> why.<br />
“I <str<strong>on</strong>g>burn</str<strong>on</strong>g> toast, to be h<strong>on</strong>est with you.”<br />
Louis sighs, st<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g>ing from his comfortable <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> warm spot <strong>on</strong> the couch to join a flustered Harry in<br />
the kitchen. The eggs in the skillet are bordering black, <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> Louis has to <strong>hold</strong> back a laugh,<br />
because Harry really did butcher these, it’s hilarious. “I’ll remake them for you, but you need to<br />
st<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> here <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> watch so you can fend for yourself next time. I may be your senior but I’m not<br />
going to cook for you all the time.”<br />
Harry nods, eager, as he pulls an imaginary notepad <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> pencil from the air. He pretends to<br />
scribble notes as Louis washes out the skillet, grabbing two eggs from the c<strong>on</strong>tainer <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> cracking<br />
the yolks into a cup.<br />
“So, step <strong>on</strong>e, you need to put your eggs in a cup, or a bowl, whatever floats your boat, right?<br />
Okay,” Louis grabs the milk from the fridge, “step two, pour a little milk into the cup or bowl, use<br />
your own judgement <strong>on</strong> the amount.” Harry still scribbles notes, Louis’ smile widens at that.<br />
“Step three,” Louis raises a fork into the air, Harry looks at it like it’s the holy grail, “Mix the milk<br />
<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> the eggs, like so.” Louis stirs the mixture, until it’s a yellow paste, beating out the chunks of<br />
yolk with the pr<strong>on</strong>gs of the fork. “Make sure your skillet is hot, <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> you can use either butter or<br />
n<strong>on</strong>stick spray to keep the eggs from <str<strong>on</strong>g>burn</str<strong>on</strong>g>ing to the bottom. You keeping up with me here?”<br />
Another nod. So, Louis grabs the butter, flicking a bit into the skillet <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> sliding it around to coat<br />
the bottom, “Wait till its hot enough, yeah? It should start to cook the egg immediately.” After a<br />
couple sec<strong>on</strong>ds, Louis pours the mixture in, the loud sizzle filling the kitchen, “So you st<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> here<br />
<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g>, using your spatula, just keep scooping <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> flipping, d<strong>on</strong>’t let the eggs <str<strong>on</strong>g>burn</str<strong>on</strong>g>, can you h<str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g>le<br />
that?”<br />
“You should probably finish, you know, for teaching purposes <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> all.” And Louis is about to roll<br />
his eyes <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> leave, but the smile, <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> Harry cocking his head to the side while batting his lashes<br />
makes him stay, but he rolls his eyes either way.<br />
Once they’re finally d<strong>on</strong>e, Louis puts them <strong>on</strong>to a plate, lightly salting <str<strong>on</strong>g>and</str<strong>on</strong>g> peppering before<br />
setting it <strong>on</strong> the counter, “Here you are, compliments of the chef, we appreciate tips.”