my sister's boyfriend's bestfriend ⋆ a harry styles fanfiction

06 - friends

The sound of people and paparazzi bustling echoed through our living room. Harry and I stood facing the frosted glass doors watching the silhouettes of curious onlookers pass by. It had been four hours since the initial story broke and three hours and thirty minutes since the crowd outside our house began accumulating. Harry and I stood in the living room looking at the mess that was being created before our eyes. 

I felt my stomach twist into a knot. It groaned angrily at me demanding food. I hadn't eaten since I'd arrived in London which, now looking at the clock, I realized was almost a full day ago. I placed my hands around my abdomen as though it would muffle the continuous growling. 

"Are you hungry" Harry asked cutting through the stale air with his voice. Neither of us had spoken since we'd seen the article, his voice shattered the silence like glass.  

I looked over at him, eyebrows raised. I couldn't tell if it was a genuine question or a pitiful sarcastic remark. As our eyes met I noticed the first ounce of sympathy he'd shown me since I got here. His features softened, the shadow along his brow was no longer as harsh. I mirrored him and finally lowered my defenses. 

"I'm absolutely starving" I responded, the end of my sentence faded into a laugh. 

"I was planning on ordering food but, I wouldn't subject the delivery boy to trek through that battleground" I said tilting my head towards the frosted glass door. 

He chuckled in response. Swiftly, his body turned around to face the kitchen. He swung the refrigerator door open to unveil the most pathetic groceries I had ever seen. A carton of eggs laid at the center, the rest of the shelf remained vacant. Below it was a carton of milk, some Gatorade and water. There was also a take-out container, but judging by the grease stains that marbled the cardboard, I didn't think the contents would be edible by now. 

"I can cook you..." his voice trailed and I watched his emerald green eyes scan the fridge. I could see his mind attempting to find a way to finish his sentence. 

"I can cook you pancakes" He looked up and smiled. 

"It's 5pm"

"And?" 

We both laughed, it was nice. I gave up my protest and sat at the barstool watching Harry race around the kitchen gathering his ingredients. I took mental note of where he pulled things from for future reference. Flour in the bottom cabinet. Sugar in the jar on the counter and pancake mix in the pantry beside the fridge. I watched as his black t shirt became a smoky colour of grey after being attacked with flour and pancake mix. I momentarily considered offering my help but it was a little entertaining. 

As he mixed together the ingredients, a sweet familiar aroma began to swirl through the air. It was the same scent that breezed constantly breezed through my home on Sunday mornings. The scent that lingered when Eleanor asked me to move here. I smiled to myself deeply inhaling and allowing it to fill my lungs. 

Harry was not a clean cook, nor a graceful one. My nostalgic memories were interrupted by the sound of plates and cutlery clanging against each other. And as I looked up, each ingredient to his pancake recipe could be found splattered against the granite countertops. 

"This is quite the mess you're gonna have to clean up" Harry sang as he noticed my stare. 

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Me! You're the one who exploded flour all over the kitchen!" 

"I cooked, you can clean. It'll be our roomie system for now". I sighed and decided not to rebuttal. He looked up at me and smiled, a genuine smile. 

Maybe not having a complete fresh start wasn't the worse thing ever. Maybe, just maybe, it would be nice to have a friend in London. Never did I think my first friend would be Harry Styles but some of the best things in life are unexpected I suppose. 

"Pancakes are served" He said sliding a plate towards me. 

I looked at the perfectly golden pancakes, stacked atop each other messily. A singular cube of butter was half melted and dripping down the sides. Harry reached over with a whipped cream canister in his hand. The nitrogen hissed as he drew a smiley face on top of my pancake. I looked up at him and smiled back. 

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