Burn [Larry Stylinson AU]

Chapter Nine

Louis was jostled from his dreamless sleep by something scratchy like sandpaper licking his ear. He froze and kept his eyes closed, thinking, 'I always knew that boy was a kinky bastard.' 

When he popped an eye open however, he wasn't expecting to be staring back at  yellow feline eyes and a red collar with a little bell on it. Long tuffs of ginger hair tickled his nose, and small paws pressed on the exposed skin on his upper chest.

Meow! Cece yowled. 

Louis sat up in bed, scratching his tousled hair. He blinked and looked around, noting the small, carefully wrapped gifts under the sparkling tree, the stuffed garbage bag by the door that held traces of leftover cake and wrapping paper, and the snow drifting outside, powdering the buildings' roofs and windowsills with white against a bright, morning sky.

Cinnamon and maple syrup wafted into the room, curling into the pit of his stomach and making it rumble angrily. He heard the droned music coming from his record player, and slipped out of bed to read the spinning record that was playing. It was Elvis Presley; the track then skipped to the next and from the hibiscus-shaped speaker came the intro to Blue Christmas.

From the kitchen came Harry's loud, raspy voice, "I'll have a blue Christmas without you! I'll be so blue just thinkin' about you. Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree. Won't be the same dear, if you're not here with meeeeee!"

Louis peaked his head into the doorway, to find the angel wrapped in a snug fair-isle jumper with its sleeves pushed up to his elbows, grey sweatpants, and wooly socks. His curls were distressed, twisting this way and that, and he had a red apron with frilly white trim tied around his slim waist. He was bopping his head as he sang, occasionally flipping a pancake and singing into the spatula. His vibrant personality and attire made the washed out cupboards, dull kitchen tiles, and bleak kitchenware that were garnished with wilting flowers, holly, and garland fade into the background. The setting was absolutely perfect for a photo, or so that's what Louis' groggy mind thought.

Snickering, Louis tiptoed back into the room and grabbed the polariod camera Zayn had given him off his nightstand. He then walked back to the kitchen's threshhold, quiet and careful like Bambi in an open meadow, and raised the camera.

"...You'll be doing all right, with your Christmas of white. But I'll have a blue, blue blue blue Christ- Ahh!" Harry shrieked, dropping his spatula when the aperture flashed and the shutter sounded. 

Louis laughed and pulled out the image that slotted from the camera. "You scared me!" Harry exclaimed, putting his hand on his thumping heart. He picked up the spatula and rinsed it under the tap, drying it with a flannel as he turned to scowl at the boy giggling in the kitchen's doorway.

"I'm sorry, but I just couldn't resist," Louis laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as he fanned the image out, waiting for the darkness to fade. When it did, he looked at the photograph and smiled, then went over to the fridge and tacked it on with a souveniour magnet. "There," he said proudly. "I'm no photographer, but I did take a nice picture, eh Haz?"

Harry looked over at the picture and chuckled, before resuming back to flipping pancakes. "I look very manly," he said dryly. 

"Of course you do Haz," Louis winked.  He glanced at the counter, and saw heaping plates of seasoned scrambled eggs, fresh bacon, and golden crescents. "Harry, have you been cooking all morning?" Louis asked in disbelief. Really, who gets up early on a Sunday?

"Mm-hm. Got up bright and early to start breakfast and clean the flat," he replied merrily, putting the last pancake on the stack. He turned to Louis and pointed with the spatula, "Now, you go on and get yourself cleaned up or there'll be no breakfast for you."