"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more."
Do you really wanna know where I was April 29th? Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?
(A Larry Stylinson fanfic based on the notebook)
(a bit)
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FRANCIS:
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LOUIS:
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×͜×
It's the sharp sound of a message popping up on his phone, that startles Harry.
His humming along to the upbeat billboard charts song is silenced as he puts down the spoon he used to stir with, and grabs his phone with his free hand to read the message.
Won't make it tonight, sorry. See you tmr.
A disappointed gush of air leaves Harry's lips and his shoulders slump, a painful crease forming between his eyebrows. Why?
He bites his lip as he locks his phone, without responding. This is now the second time this happened. Within a week. He sets his phone back on the countertop and leans forward, hands resting on the edge of the kitchen island as he stares at the things on the stove; a big portion of rice and a pan with some vegetables - curry. He clicks his tongue as he turns the heat down, hesitating before turning the stove off completely.
Tilting his head, he looks at the dining room, the table set beautifully with a white tablecloth, two plates, forks and knives, empty wine glasses and a candle in the middle. He was looking forward to this. He had showered, dressed neatly and spent about an hour in the kitchen to cook. And now it was all for nothing. He looks down at his phone again, the screen black with no additional message popping up.
