BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Forty-Two

TW: discussion of suicide

-

Chapter song:

Cellar Door by Escape the Fate

-

My eyes flutter open when the sound of a loud crash drifts through the crack in Harry's bedroom door, followed by a string of raspy curse words. My brows furrow, and I glance around the sunlit room, my sleepy eyes landing on the empty space on the bed next to me.

The smell of something burning hits my nose, and I force myself out of bed to find the source. Opening the door the rest of the way, I shuffle down the long hallway leading to the kitchen, my eyes widening when I take in the sight in front of me.

Harry's standing in his kitchen, his brows pinched together as he dumps a pan of blackened eggs into the sink, muttering angrily to himself. His hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and his black t-shirt is covered in what looks like flour. When I examine his face, I notice the same white powder caked onto his right cheek, making me giggle.

Is he cooking?

Harry looks briefly in my direction, doing a double-take when he realizes I'm watching him. "Hey, baby," he whispers, his cheeks turning red as he glances around the messy kitchen. "Did I wake you up?"

I grin, shaking my head as I walk towards him. "No, it's okay," I assure him.

Now that I'm closer, I'm able to take in the disarray around him. Every inch of the countertops is covered in random ingredients, cookware, and remnants of the same flour that's all over his person. I notice the stove is still on, with nothing over the blue flame flickering through the metal rings, and I reach over to turn it off.

"I was trying to make you breakfast," he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck as he stares into the sink. "I burned the eggs."

I place my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, and he shoots me a playful glare. "I'm sorry," I choke out, rolling my lips into my mouth.

He groans, hanging his head in defeat. "I wanted to surprise you," he whines.

"It's... definitely a surprise," I state with a laugh, snaking my arms around his waist to pull him into a hug.

Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around my shoulders, placing a kiss on the top of my head. Even with the smell of the burnt eggs wafting throughout the kitchen, his strong, musky scent floods my senses, and I hum as I bury my face in his shirt.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he sighs, his hand rubbing my back softly. "I thought it might be nice to bring you breakfast in bed."

I pull away to stare up at him, his nervous eyes flicking back and forth between mine. "You didn't disappoint me," I shake my head, standing on my toes to place a kiss on his flourless cheek. "Now we can cook together."