Strawberry Ice cream

Chapter 5

TW// Self harm

I ring the doorbell, standing with my feet slightly apart. I play with the elastic of the braces suspending my jeans up. The door opens and Harry's face glows in the setting sun, porcelain skin dancing in pink hues and his bright eyes shining. 

"Yay! You made it!" He opens the door wider and I duck under his arm. Why the hell is he so tall? Why do I have a crush on a freaking giraffe boy? "Make yourself at home."

I take a hesitant seat on the sofa, looking around. There's a fireplace in the corner with logs ready for winter, the house smells like mixed herbs and cooked bread. 

"Have you cooked bread?" I wonder. 

He shakes his head. "No, mum cooked some last night though, why?"

"I can smell it."

"Want to make cookies or something?"

I raise an eyebrow and give a short laugh. "Love, I nearly burnt the house down trying to cook pasta, I clearly won't be able to bake."

"Well you're in luck, I can so thanks to me, we won't burn this place down. Come on, it'll be fun!" He drags me into his kitchen which has a marble island and hanging low lights. 

He goes through his cupboards and fridge as I watch from the side, he shoves all the ingredients onto the counter. 

"Oh!" He yells, clapping his hands. "I walked to the shops earlier and bought this especially for you." 

I raise an eyebrow as he trots over to the freezer, pulling the drawer open and grabbing a pot of ice cream. 

"It's strawberry! Your favourite," He sings, dumping it on the counter also. 

I have the urge to kiss that smirk off his face but I think better of it. He probably isn't even gay. 

"Why thank you Curly." Butterflies flap in my stomach as I get closer. These feelings only started recently and I hate my mind for it. He's my friend.

"Don't mention it. Now, I want you to crack the eggs for me." 

I do as I'm told, being careful not to drop any shell in it and we add it to the flour sugar and butter mix he's already whisked up. I place my hand in the flour bag and slap it against his chest. 

"What was that for?" He gasps, grabbing some mix and shoving it on my cheek. "Ha."

"Bastard!" I grab an egg, tiptoe and crack it over his head. 

"You're the one to start it, you fucker!" He puts his large hand behind my neck and throws my face straight into the bowl of cookie dough. 

My mouth flies open and I slowly raise my head, the goop of dough dripping from my chin and nose. "You better not have gotten my hair in that Harry." I can't open my eyes as the cookie dough is falling against my lashes. "I can't see!" I complain, feeling around for a tea towel. I grab it and whip it against what I hope is his arse. 

"Ow!" He screeches. 

"You saying ow?! There's cookie guts going into my eyes! They're gonna burn! I'm gonna be blind! I'm blind forever!" 

"Oh stop exaggerating, you dramatic tit. Wait there." I hear him shuffle away and he comes back. I feel something soft against my eyes and he wipes away at the mix. 

I slowly open my eyes to see him with his tongue slightly sticking out as he concentrates, kitchen roll in his hand wiping away at my eyes and some of my face. 

"Go rinse the rest off in the toilet, it's down the hall to the right." He busies himself with scooping cookie dough onto trays.

"Thanks." I hurry off down the hall and into the bathroom. The downstairs bathroom isn't big, just cream tiles on the walls, a toilet and small basin. I wash most of it off, getting my fringe wet too. I flip it to the side where it always is and dry my face down with the hand towel. I go back into the kitchen to see Harry dancing to the radio.