Oasis (Larry Stylinson)

Chapter Five

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CHAPTER FIVE

HARRY’S POV

Around noon the next day, I kick Louis out of the flat to prepare our fancy dinner.

“But what do I doooo?” he complained at the time.

“I don’t know, but when you get back, you better look hot,” I said and playfully slammed the door in his face.

“All my bloody clothes are here, Harry!” he shouted through the door.

“Then don’t wear anything,” I shouted back.

There was a long pause before Louis said, so quietly I had to strain to hear it through the door, “Well that would make for an interesting dinner.” After that he left and I haven’t seen him since. It’s 6:53 and I texted Louis to come back around seven. So, basically, he’ll be here any minute.

I’m freaking out. What if he doesn’t like the dinner I made for him? What if he thinks this is all a joke? I mean, it’s a little strange I suppose to have an elegant dinner in your own home. I think I went too far. I lit candles, bought fancy wine and all the ingredients to make clam chowder and filets.

Oh god what have I become. I’ve been slaving over a hot stove all day just to make a dinner that Louis might not even like. Hell, he’d probably settle for fish and chips if I made him. But this needs to be perfect. And memorable. I hear a knock on the door and I practically jump out of my boxers.

When I open the door, Louis is standing there. He really took my words to heart. He is wearing a black beanie low on the back of his head, a t- shirt that has a picture of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon cover on it and black jeans.

“Do I look hot enough? Some of this is Zayn’s,” he says with a slight smirk on his face. The little punk knows he looks hot, doesn’t he? I grab his face with both my hands and give him a giant smooch on his thin lips. I take his hands and drag him into the flat. When we get to the kitchen where my meal is set up, his jaw drops.

“This looks like a lot of work, Harry,” he says tentatively. “You did all of this for me?” he slowly sits down in front of one of the plates and stares at it.

“Of course I did this all for you, Louis,” I say with a smile. He looks at me, still in shock, and doesn’t say anything.

“Is it too much?” I ask. I knew it would be. I’m such a screw up.

“Harry,” he says slowly. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” He is still staring at the plate of food in astonishment. I walk up behind him and position my lips directly next to his ear.

“You deserve it,” I say, making sure that my mouth scuffs against his neck. He shudders underneath my light touch. I move to sit down at the seat across from him, pouring him a glass of wine as well. We immediately dig in.

“Hawwy, dis ‘es amazen,” he slurs between bites of filet.

I chuckle and say, “Eat with some class, Lou.” He gives me a fake dirty look but slows down his eating.

“Good choice with the filet,” says Louis. “I love it. You’re an amazing cook, Hazza.” I blush and thank him.

“One day, when this is all over, you should become a chef,” he says. The funny thing is I think he is being serious. I’m not that good. I smile at Louis and think about how much he believes in me. I could tell him that I want to be an astronaut and he would find a way to help me make that happen. He is one of the only people in the world that truly has faith in me, and I adore him for that.

When we both finish, I pour a bowl of chowder for each of us.

“There is soup too?” Louis is like a little kid on his birthday, receiving present after present and loving it.

“Yup,” I say sitting down and beginning my soup.

When we finish, Louis says, “Harry this is the greatest date I have ever been on. Thank you.”

“No problem Boobear, I loved it too. Is there anything else you want to do?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, we could watch a movie or something.”

“Yeah,” Louis says with a smile on his face, “Let’s do that.” We make our way over to the couch. Since we can’t decide what to watch, I just scroll through the channels until I find some stupid action movie that looks good enough. I notice Louis pulling faces at the television screen.

“Do you want me to change it?” I ask.

“No, it’s fine,” he grunts. Suddenly I feel brave, so I twist my body to face him more.

I look him in the eyes and say, “Louis, I know this might seem fast to you, but we have known each other for so long now. I really care about you and I want to go on more dates and have more memories together. I love kissing you and I want to hold your hand and say that you’re mine and I’m yours. Will you please be my boyfriend?” He just stares at me. Too cheesy? I have a tendency to get cheesy at times like these.

His face twists into something that looks like disgust. He still hasn’t said anything.

This is practically my worst nightmare come to life. Louis finds the idea of us together revolting. Why did I have to say anything?

Suddenly, he gets up and bolts to the kitchen. What?

I follow him and find him with his whole body doubled over the sink. He is hurling into the metallic bowl. The greenish-grey substance makes me want to puke as well, but I manage to hold it in and make my way over to Louis. My fingers begin massaging his back and calming him. When he finishes throwing up, he is breathing heavily and there is sweat dripping down his forehead.

Just when his breathing is back to normal and I think he is done, he goes and hurls into the sink yet again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

By the fifth time puking, the sink is pretty full and Louis is unnaturally pale. I take my hand off of his back to turn the water on in hopes of flushing some of the throw up out. As soon as my hand leaves his body he loses his footing and clutches onto the counter for support. I leave the sink and grab him from behind to keep him steady.

“I don’t feel so good,” he mumbles in a daze.

“No kidding,” I mutter, helping him to the couch. As soon as his body hits the couch, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Do you think you’re done throwing up, Lou?” I ask nervously.

“I sure hope so.” He sounds like he is about to fall asleep. I feel horrible because this is my fault. I bet I undercooked his meat or something and gave him an extravagant, incurable disease. Some first date.

I guess it’s memorable, though.

“Yes,” he whispers from his spot of the couch. I scoot closer to him and put my ear close to his face.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what, Boobear?”

He gives a faint half smile and whispers directly into my ear, “Yes, I will be your boyfriend.”