17BLACK

Chapter 74

Harry's POV:

"You can take the bed." My words echo throughout the penthouse, reminding me just how lonely I've been these past few days.

Louis sniffs and clutches his stomach. At first I think he's just looking for comfort that would be out of my realm of giving, but then I hear his stomach rumbling.

"When was the last time you ate?" I haven't eaten much myself lately, but Louis is used to having Will or me to snag food from.

He stares at the ground, only offering a shrug as a response. I know him well enough to know that this means that he hasn't eaten at all since the breakup.

The breakup. I hate calling it that.

"I'll go make some food..." I have to walk past him to get to the kitchen, and I refuse myself to set a lingering hand on his bum like I would have done before.

A small hand catches my arm. I immediately tense. A hug of comfort I can do, it's something that I would have offered to anyone in distress, but not touches like these. It crosses the line as his fingers curl into my bicep and his eyes obviously stare at the ship peeking out from under his delicate hand.

I freeze, my jaw clenching.

Louis, sensing my discomfort and probably having discomfort himself, drops his hand.

"I don't want you to go out of your way," he whispers, his eyes still refusing to look at mine.

I scoff and step away from him instinctively.

"Cereal is hardly going out of my way." I chuckle as if he was being naive, but I had planned on making homemade vegetable soup. Whatever. If he doesn't want to accept my efforts, that's fine with me.

It would be healthier, though, than sugary cereal. And I highly doubt that Louis would enjoy the healthy bran cereal I have in the cabinets.

I hurry away to the kitchen to fix the bran cereal anyways, pouring the milk and slicing up fruit to sprinkle onto the flakes. He needs nutrition, no sugar.

I know from experience that he would like having sugar on top of the cereal, but that's not at all healthy when he hasn't eaten anything else.

I make some tea exactly the way he likes, blowing on the steam with the cereal in my other hand as I return to the living room.

Louis is sitting on the couch, but it's not like he used to. His legs aren't lazily draped over the cushions, his beanie and socks aren't tossed onto the floor, and his back is much straighter than he is.

"Here." I stop at an arms length and hold the food out to him.

"You didn't have to do that," he says weakly, but he takes it. I can tell that he's hungry by the look in his eyes and the slight wince as his stomach contracts in on itself.

I watch as Louis frowns and puts all of his attention onto the bowl of cereal and fruit. I'm reminded of how he was the one taking care of me and fixing me food when I was sick, and wonder how time has bloomed into this mess of pain and separation.

"I'm sorry. I just crossed a line." I huff in anger at myself. Stupid. The wearing your heart on your sleeve thing sucks.

Louis doesn't eat any of the food yet. It's going to get soggy soon.

"Thank you," he says. It sounds so sincere that it nearly brings me to my knees. That could just be his voice, though. It has that effect.

I observe quietly as Louis brings the spoon full of fruit to his mouth, chewing slowly. He's not acting hungry.