Anchor {h.s}

twenty-seven

I woke up with a headache and a bed too cold for my liking. I didn't dare to open my eyes, scared to confirm this feeling of loneliness that crept up on me. I tossed and turned, hoping that I would brush against an arm, a leg, or anything that would reassure me and shut down the sickening feeling that was starting to grow in my gut. But I didn't, and the feeling grew, the panic started, and the tears threatened to fall.  

But before the first tear could slip from my eyes, I heard a noise, a sizzling sound in the kitchen. I waited, holding in my breath and keeping my body still. The sizzling sound continued to be heard, joined by the sound of cooking pans hitting each other and a small 'fuck' being involuntarily shouted.  

Swiftly, I pulled the covers away from my body, ignoring my pounding headache and my bare legs, and made my way to the kitchen.  

I smelled the burned food before I saw it lying on a plate in the middle of the counter. Eggshells, flour bags and dirty dishes were scattered across the counter and I almost wondered if there had been a war in my kitchen. Then I saw Harry, his back to me, trying to flip a pancake but failing miserably. His muscles were tense and the frustration was clear as he sighed, put down the pan and turned off the stove.  

I watched him from the kitchen entrance as he ran a hand through his hair, defeated by the stubborn pancake that just wouldn't flip properly. A small smile played on my lips as I observed the scene in front of me, my headache long gone.  

"I don't know why you keep trying," I said with a teasing tone in my voice, startling Harry as he jumped two feet in the air and turned around to look at me. His eyes were wide with surprise and his cheeks red with embarrassment. "You and I both know you're an awful cook."

It took him a second to register what I had said, and then his shoulders relaxed and his hands, that had froze mid air, fell to his side.  "I followed every step of the recipe," he mumbled, his eyebrows pulled together. "It still didn't work." 

He bit his lower lip, surely to restrain himself from pouting, and I chuckled softly before entering the kitchen and taking in the mess. It seemed even worst from up close.  

"I wanted to make pancakes," he explained as he saw me looking around.

I turned my head to look at him. "I assumed that," I said before taking the half burned pancakes that was still on the stove and putting it in the trash.

"I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed," he added as I closed the trashcan. 

I froze for a second, my heart beating ten times faster and my lungs restraining me from breathing. This was an incredibly sweet gesture, especially coming from Harry.  

"Well," I said, my voice breaking a little. I coughed to clear my throat. "I'm definitely surprised," I said as I finally turned around. 

I tried to put a smile on my face and ignore the nervous feeling that was starting to grow. Before Harry could notice it, I turned back around and put the pan in the sink to rinse it.  

I knew what I had told him yesterday, I remembered saying that we would talk about us today, but I wasn't ready yet, and something told me that neither was Harry. As sweet as the gesture was, him and I both knew that it was meant to be a distraction, a way to push back as much as possible the dreaded discussion we were meant to have.  

"Did you sleep well?" I asked as I scrubbed the pan to get rid of the burnt chunks that clung to it.

I heard him move behind me before he stood near me to pick up the mess he had created. "Yes, very well," he said, avoiding my gaze as he went to the fridge to put the eggs, milk and butter back in. "You?"