In Too Deep (Dancing With The Shadows)

twenty two

"Are you sure he's even going to accept?" Mabel asks, looking very amused with the way Louis is bustling around the kitchen downstairs, setting up the table sweetly with the best silverware they have in the house, all nicely polished and pristine.

He wedges the pink candlestick into its holder in the middle of the white tablecloth, before he swivels around to stare intensively into her eyes.

"Don't you think I haven't thought of that possibility yet? I'm stressing out, why did I agree to myself that I would do this?" he grumbles, slapping the heel of his hand to his forehead with a low defeated groan.

Mabel snorts softly, folding her arms over her chest. "Because you love him?"

He looks to her then and swallows thickly. "I'm not doing this because I fancy the kid," he tries, but he's not fooling anyone. Why would you set up a dinner date for your best friend instead of just ordering take out, or better yet, let the damn cook do all of this shit for you?

He's afraid he's falling for Harry, and he only has three days until the man leaves for good. He can't wrap his head around it, refuses to believe that they only have seventy two hours until Harry is whisked away to be shoved on a stage in front of blinding spotlights and loud deafening cheers, whilst Louis is stuck here alone, trying to pick up the pieces of his family's misfortunes and to fix them right.

"Do you need any help?" Mabel asks, quirking a brow when Louis shoves a pile of pasta into a hot pot without any water.

He chews his lip. "I'm more than capable," he argues, moving the pot off the heat when the dry pasta begins to pop. 

Goddammit why the fuck isn't the kettle boiling quicker?

"Well you need water in that for a start," Mabel reasons, walking over. "And add salt to it, helps with the boil."

"Yes, thank you, Mabel, I think I know how to make a pot of pasta without your judging input."

"I'm only trying to help so you don't burn down my kitchen," she replies, knocking her hip into his.

He pours water over the pasta, but it's a bit late now that half of it is stuck to the bottom of the pan. He chews his lip, staring at the monstrosity he's just created.

"I told you, I didn't need no help," he finally let's out, leaning his elbows into the counter and putting his head in his hands.

"You should soak that pan, before it never comes off," Mabel notes from behind him.

Louis springs upright. "That's it, I can't have you hanging off my shoulder when I'm trying to be like Gordon Ramsay. Out!" He snaps his fingers pointing to the door.

"You'll never be Gordon Ramsay. You might be like one of his clients on Kitchen Nightmares, but no, never will you amount to be him with the way you try to cook," Mabel quips, smirking at Louis.

Louis wants to strangle the life out of her right now. As if he's not stressed enough with the thought of Harry rejecting his offer on a date, let alone her making snarky inputs every five seconds.

He grabs her by the shoulders, spins her around and begins pushing her toward the door. She doesn't go without a fight though, kicking up her legs and grappling for any surface to keep her grounded to the tiled floor of the kitchen.

"You should use the microwave rice in the pantry and mix it with some tomato sauce and chicken," she strains out, holding either side of the door frame whilst Louis heaves and pushes for her to go.

"It saves you from trying too hard and burning the house down. Just make sure you add a bit of oil to the pan for the chicken and pan fry it gently until it's golden brown on top and white all the way through," she finishes, before Louis is throwing her out the room and she skids across the floor in her socked feet.