Nebula - Chapter Two.

A/N: I’m so sorry that it has taken me so long to update/ upload! But I’ve been really busy lately, and I was a tad bit stuck with this chapter… But anyhoo, this is the second chapter! I hope you all like it! It’s kind of really fluffy! And the ending might be a bit crappy, because I’m really happy, and I wanted someone else to be happy so I quickly finished this! x

Pairing: Larry Stylinson.

Summary: “Your soft spot for this boy will be the death of you, Louis Tomlinson, the Doncaster lad thought to himself.”

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                Louis woke again, five hours later, burying his head into his pillow as the sunlight hit his eyes through the gaps of the curtain. Groaning, he pulled back the covers unwillingly, and stumbled out of bed. Brushing his teeth, he wondered down the hallway to Harry’s room. Pushing the door open a fraction, he watched his younger band mate still succumbed in the land of dreams.  I’ll wake him after I finish preparing, Louis thought to himself. Quietly, he padded back to the toilet to finish his morning routine. Putting on a striped shirt, braces, and red trousers, Louis walked to his younger band mate’s room, only to find the boy still asleep in the same position.

                 “Harry,” Louis said gently, trying not to startle the boy. “Hazza, wake up.”

                “Five more minutes, Lou,” the curly haired boy mumbled.

                Louis smiled at the sleeping lad, something fluttering in his stomach at the sound of Harry’s sleepy voice saying his name. “I’ll make you pancakes.” Louis tempted Harry. At the sound of the word ‘pancakes’, Harry turned his head ever so slightly towards Louis, his eyes still shut. “With chocolate chips,” Louis added with a laugh.

                A sleepy grin broke out across the younger boy’s face, as his eyelids slowly fluttered open. “Then why are you still standing here?” The curly haired boy asked cheekily. “Go make me pancakes, Boo Bear!”

                “Good morning to you too, Curly!” Louis laughed as he made his way to the kitchen.

                “MY PANCAKES, LOU!” Harry screamed down the hallway, his mouth full of toothpaste. “GO MAKE THEM! AND I WANT DOUBLE CHOCOLATE CHIPS!”

                Louis chuckled, shaking his head at the impatience of his flatmate as he collected the required ingredients needed to fulfil his promise. Waiting for the pan to heat up, the blue eyed boy made himself a cup of Yorkshire Tea, reminding him of home-home and his loving girlfriend who had brought him these specially from his mother two weeks ago.

                His girlfriend, Louis suddenly remembered. Last night… What really happened last night? Why did he have the sudden urge to kiss Harry? It’s probably just hormones, and missing El, Louis thought to himself, shaking off the thoughts, returning to his searing pan.

                He reached to the top shelf, for the little cat-shaped mould that he always used to make Harry’s pancakes with. It was just something that the two shared – when Harry made Louis’ pancakes, he would make them with blueberries, in the little boat-shaped mould he had bought; and when Louis made Harry’s pancakes, they would always be double chocolate chipped in shapes of kittens. Harry would then proceed to smother his pancakes with enough butterscotch syrup and butter to flood their bath, and accompany it with a glass of cold milk, always drank through a straw. On the other hand, the elder of the two would never fail to accompany his blueberry pancakes with a dash of whipped cream on the sail of the boat, and chocolate syrup, a hot mug of cocoa in his hands. Pancakes were for when one of the two flatmates were depressed, needed tempting, or special occasions. Louis would always make them on Harry’s birthday, and for Christmas, and the latter would do the same. They would always eat it on the kitchen island – the Doncaster boy on the inside, and the Cheshire boy on the other – facing the TV which was to be switched to Cartoon Network.

                They never made their own pancakes. Because, for some reason, it just didn’t taste the same.

                Pouring the chocolate chipped pancake batter into the mould, he picked up his phone, dialling for Zayn.

                “Vas Happenin’!?” Zayn answered animatedly – his voice too loud for an early morning. “You’re up early, Loueh!”

                “Morning Zayn,” Louis replied, flipping the pancake. “Do you know how many signings and interviews we’ve got today?”

                “Hmm… Let me check, hold on!” The boy replied. There was a clattering noise, footsteps, and the phone was picked up by Zayn again. “Well, according to this sheet I have from management that you probably lost, we have a signing at twelve fifteen, then an interview with some radio station at four… And we’re off the hook for the rest of the day! Brilliant! I can go shopping for some new shoes… Hmm… I wonder if Harry will come with me… Is Harold there? No… Never mind, leave it, I’ll ask him later!” The Bradford boy rambled on the other line. “Anything else? If you don’t have any more questions, I’m going to go fix my hair.”

                “Nope, thanks Zayn. Have fun staring at yourself in the mirror! See you later,” Louis replied, tipping the pancake out of the pan as he hung up, sliding his phone across the kitchen counter.

                Louis was startled as he felt muscular arms wrap around his waist and a head leaning on his shoulder. “Mmm, I smell pancakes,” Harry mumbled appreciatively into Louis’ shoulder, his hair tickling the sides of Louis’ face. “If they’re not double chocolate chip, I’m going to kill you, Lou, and make you make me more.”

                “Well isn’t someone a greedy child,” the elder teased. “Come on, park your bum in your high-chair, Styles,” he ordered, tipping the last of the pancakes onto a blue plate already stacked sky high, adding a small knob of half melted butter.

                Harry scrambled into the seat across from Louis on the outer side of the kitchen island, waiting in anticipation, like a child waiting for ice cream. His green eyes shone and glittered, his lips swollen from the nervous habit Harry had adopted from biting them when he was excited or nervous. His hands were curled around a knife and a fork, ready to dig into Louis’ pancakes.

                Louis set the plate, syrup in front of his band mate, shooting him a glare as he made to get his glass of milk with a straw. Placing the milk on the mat in front of the boy, he pushed the plate towards the green eyed boy. “Bon appetite,” he added with a French accent, twirling his invisible moustache.

                Harry laughed but didn’t need to be told a second time, drowning his pancakes in a sea of butterscotch syrup. He dug into them, not talking for a few minutes as he ate the pancakes with a look of appreciation and satisfaction on his face.

                Louis watched gladly as his younger band mate enjoyed the breakfast he had tempted him with to wake him up. Sipping his tea, he turned on the television, switching it to Cartoon Network, where Courage the Cowardly Dog was animatedly sprinting across a large cornfield.

                “You make the best pancakes in the world, Boo Bear,” Harry complemented through a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes. “I could live on these for the rest of my life. I could live with you for the rest of my life,” he added.

                Time slows for Louis, and his pulse quickens. But Louis shrugs it off. “Ah, I’m not sure I would want to live with you for the rest of my life,” he teases. But Harry pouts. “Only joking, Haz. You know I could.”

                The Cheshire boys face lit up in a smile, deep dimples settling in on his cheeks. “Why aren’t you eating, Lou?”

                “Not hungry,” the blue eyed boy replied. “And plus, we’re going to Nandos with Niall later, so I’ll get something there.”

                “But you have to eat, Lou,” the younger boy whined. “What do you want? I’ll make it for you,” he added, cutting the ears off his cat shaped pancake, shovelling one into his mouth. “Or you could have some of my pancakes!”

                “No thanks, Haz. I’m really not hungry.”

                “Just a little bit?” The younger pleaded, offering the pancake cat’s other ear. Louis shook his head, refusing the offer, and Harry retracted his offer, putting it into his own mouth. But the younger boy was determined. Cutting the pancake cat’s face into four, he placed them carefully onto his fork. “Whee, come on! Open up for the aeroplane, Lou!” Harry’s fork is in front of his face, the boy making aeroplane sounds.

                Louis laughed, his heart softening for Harry. Opening his mouth, the sweet butterscotch syrup and chocolate chips dripped down his throat, leaving it burning as the sweet sensation ran down his throat. But he didn’t complain. Because he knows this is how Harry likes his pancakes, and because the smug satisfactory smile on Harry’s face is too cute to be wiped off.   

                Harry sipped on his milk through a straw, and Louis collected the plate and cutlery, rinsing them before he loaded it into the dishwasher.

                “So what do you want to do? We still have an hour before the van arrives,” the elder asked, collecting Harry’s empty glass.

                “Mmm… We could watch a movie?” Harry suggested.

                “Okay, your pick.”

                Harry studied their selection of films carefully, his brows furrowing in concentration. So cute, Louis absentmindedly thought to himself. The younger boy stuck out his tongue in concentration, darting to wet his lips; something in Louis’ stomach churned uneasily. What’s wrong with you, Louis? He questioned himself.

                Harry had slotted in the DVD into the player and The Lion King was playing. Harry sighed and shifted so that he was sitting next to his band mate. The younger adjusted himself, positioning his head in the crook of Louis’ neck, and an arm around his waist in the most casual manner – as if it were completely normal – ,and  his legs curled up next to the Doncaster boy’s.

                Louis’ heart fluttered.

                What is wrong with you, Tomlinson? Lou thought to himself as the movie started, absent-mindedly wrapping an arm around Harry.