Fists and Knives (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 8

Something inside of me secretly hoped that since I had already met Harry and finally seen his face, he wouldn’t really hide anymore.  I hoped I would have someone new to talk to or watch TV with during the long days I spent in the house when Louis was gone, but Harry continued to order food using the window and scraps of paper.  Sometimes, I would spot him on the balcony, but it was only when he was turning away to walk back into his room.

A second side of me was grateful that I didn’t have to talk to Harry.  I was furious that he dragged me into going to that fight and even more furious that he made me lick that honey off of his finger.  Who did he think he was?  He knew I was dating Clark… he made that very clear immediately after making me do what he did.  Disgusting.

In my many hours of loneliness, I began to use random ingredients to make dishes I thought would taste good and shared them with Louis when he was there - that way, I was getting a partial professional opinion (my own) and a partial “customer” opinion.  Why not take advantage of the fact that I didn’t have to pay for any of the ingredients?  I was considering dishes that I might make at my own restaurant, excited that after only two weeks, I already had saved up $1,500 dollars.  I knew that I would need much more money to actually buy a restaurant venue… but baby steps, remember?

On Friday afternoon, I finished preparing the dish I thought up that day and slid it across the counter to Louis.  He eyed it suspiciously and used his fork to lift up a few of the noodles. “These aren’t normal noodles,” he declared.

I laughed and shook my head to confirm his statement. “It’s a kind of Thai noodle. It’s good.”

Louis puckered his lips and smelled the bite of noodles on his fork.  “It smells like peanut butter.”

I nodded and pushed on his hand slightly to move the fork toward his mouth. “Yes, now try some.”

“Are there onions in it too?  And chicken?  And peppers?”

I groaned and pushed Louis’ hand a little harder, causing some of the noodles to fall off of his fork.  He sucked his lips into his mouth and shook his head. “I can’t, Kennedy.  I’m sorry.  I don’t do spicy things.  They mess with my stomach in a horrible way.”

With that confession, it was my turn to groan.  “I wish you had told me that before I just spent as much time as I did making this for you.”

Louis chuckled. “Kennedy! Everything else you’ve made has been so good.  The spicy things just REALLY mess up my stomach,” he said, putting his hands on mine and turning his head so he could see my eyes.  When I finally allowed myself to look up at him, he smiled apologetically and I couldn’t help but smile back.  

“Fine,” I said, taking the plate from him.  Just as I was about to put the plate in the sink, a voice over my head stopped me.

“Send it up.”

I raised an eyebrow as I sent it up. “It’s not pizza or a sandwich, Mr. Picky.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at me. “You think I cant fucking see that?” He snapped, pointing a hand down at the plate. 

I huffed. “Well why do I have to send it up?  Why can’t you just come down here?”

Harry straightened up uncomfortably and I could see in his face that he was thinking up an excuse. “My foot hurts.”

“Bullshit,” Louis blurted, grinning up at his best friend. “You ran halfway across New York last week and now your foot hurts?”

Harry’s face fell into a scowl as he listened to Louis.  He turned from the balcony and disappeared, I thought into his room, until his body appeared in the kitchen.  He walked to me and grabbed the plate.  I flinched slightly, a movement not going unnoticed by Harry.  His eyes flickered up to look into mine and a dark grin spread across his face.  I let go of the plate and looked at Louis as Harry leaned against the counter and began to eat.