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“Haaaaaaazz,” Louis whined with lids closed, nostrils flared as he breathed in the soft scent of flour and bread, the two mixing together and bringing him to life. “Not this early, Haz!” the eldest begged of the fluffy-haired prince, eyes still closed as he rolled over to the other half of the bed.
Harry looked up with lips parted softly, his doe-eyes trying to focus back onto reality. “Wha?” he called out from the flour-dusted kitchen, Harry’s face the only canvas untouched by the ingredient. From the other room, Styles could hear the other boy rustling around, footsteps soon approaching from the narrow hallway. At the doorway of the kitchen was where Louis stopped, his arms crossed in front of his chest as his clothes were just as disheveled as his hair, small bags beneath his eyes almost matching the dark navy color of his sweat pants.
“D’you know what time it is?” Louis asked accusingly, his eyes squinted as he looked down his nose over to Harry. Harry was dumbfounded, a ball of dough in his hands half kneaded into a lumpy blob.
With dough still in hands, Harry swiveled to look at the digital on top of the stove. “Says ‘bout noon,” was his answer, twisting back to face his band mate and live-in boyfriend. Louis, however, seemed unimpressed by the answer, his look sharp before flipping his head to move the hair away from his face. Trying to come up with something to say, the elder of the two stared down at the pastey lump cradled in his boyfriend’s hands before looking at the golden loaf in the oven. He finally returned to Harry’s innocent face and felt his anger leave, his heart softening at the pureness of the younger boys’ expression. “What I do?” Harry asked, putting the mix down at last.
Anger now gone, Louis’ curiosity sprouted. “What you baking, Haz?” queried the still sleepy doll as he craned his neck, stepping fully into the kitchen to take a stool on the other side of the island that Harry was working on.
Flour stained Harry’s hands as he put the dough back on the island top and proceeded to push his knuckles deep into the puff before folding over the dent, repeating the work over and over. “Just a bit of white. I didn’t wanna run to the store,” he shrugged out, staring down at the dough with his thick brows furrowing at the small burn in his arms. One measly loaf was fine to knead out, but after not doing it for so long and then making at least 3 others breads was beginning to take its toll on Harry.
“Just a bit?” Louis laughed dryly while eyeing the small pile of loaves on top of the counter that laid beneath the window sill. “You’ve done a bit more than a bit, love. You’re the only one who would ever just make bread ‘cause you were too lazy to make a run to the bakery.” The elder watched the younger’s hands moving, working the dough with intent. Only a few seconds after that, Louis’ gaze worked up his boyfriend’s wrists to the exposed skin on his forearms, taking in the scrunched up cloth of Harry’s white sleeves before coming to rest at his baby face. Louis couldn’t stop from whispering, “Makes you adorable.” At that, Harry looked up and smiled, dimples showing proudly as a twinkle of pride shone in his eyes.
“Have a piece!” he offered brightly, now shaping the bread into an oval. Taking up the offer, Louis went for the fresh loaves, breaking off a bit before buttering the delicious staple and devouring it. As the fluffy cloud of greatness dissolved over his tongue, Louis’ lids closed, one fluttering as he melted with satisfaction. He swallowed and stared at the rest of the bread in amazement. Not uttering a single sound, Louis grabbed the whole tray of loaves, threw a jar of jam on it, and proceeded to carry it to the bedroom.
Harry finished shaping the dough just as the timer rang for the loaf currently baking. He switched loaves before even realizing that the rest of his bread was gone. Eyes wide with shock, the fluffy-haired boy looking around the kitchen in search of them; he even searched the floor before pouting and walking to his and Louis’ room. “Lou, what happened to the bread?”