The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 15

"Okay, let's see here . . ." He trails, raking his eyes over the array of boxes and cartons in front of him. A bead of sweat rolls from his forehead onto his brow, caused from his procrastination and nerves, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. He picks up the thin, red box. "How do I do this?"

The instructions are literally spelled out for him step by step on the box - interpretable to any kindergartner, but somehow it still feels like he's trying to read another language. He has this weird craving for Harry's approval and to get this to turn out right. But the thing is, Louis can't cook for shit. He doesn't think Harry would appreciate anything that he spits out onto a plate.

The last time he tried making food, he set the toaster oven on fire. He remembers it quite vividly because it had been a craving for a midnight snack well into the night - sometime between two and five in the morning, if he remembers correctly. And when it had burst into hot orange flames, smoke curling upwards and setting off the horrendous screeching - his dad was not very happy. To put it simply. Now Harry wants him to cook again, and Louis doesn't even know if he still wants him to. He wanted him to last night, but what if he changed his mind? What if he doesn't remember? What if he was just joking? What if he's waiting for him to do it so he can make fun of him about how whipped he is? Jesus Christ, Lou. You're over thinking this. Just do it.

Louis takes a few calming breaths, grabbing a large bowl form under the sink. If he calms down, he should be able to do this. I mean, other people do this kind of thing all the time. It can't be that hard, right?

2 eggs

So far, so good, he supposes. Seems pretty straight forward. Hopefully, he can recall how to crack an egg. He opens the carton he laid out on the counter, taking out two that appear to not have any cracks. That's one of the very few things he learned in Culinary Arts. That, and that paper towels do not make good oven mitts.

With his tongue poked out in very strained concentration, he takes the small white egg and taps it on the side of the bowl. He thinks maybe he actually succeeded on his first try until he pulls the shell apart and finds he smashed it a little too hard, the crunchy outer layer falling apart and into the bowl.

"Awe."

Panicking, he dips his fingers into the liquid with a scrunched nose and does his best to fish out the pieces. It's cold and slimy, and he knows he didn't get it all out when he gives up. He just hopes it doesn't kill Harry or rip up his insides when he swallows. And it will be a fucking miracle if he actually manages to pull these off as edible.

The second egg goes much smoother, less pressure applied this time, and he actually doesn't get more shell in it. He dances in place for a moment. "Hell yes." Wiggling his slimy fingers, he rushes across the kitchen to unravel some paper towels and wipes the egg off.

Maybe cooking is just one of those things where you either like it or you hate it. Louis' pretty sure he's on the hate spectrum, but he'd probably like it a whole lot better if he didn't personally have to worry about his safety every time he gets near a stove. But he doesn't really mind. At the ripe age of seventeen, he doesn't think he'll be doing much cooking anyway. He adds one cup of milk without much difficulty and pours the mix into the bowl, watching it turn brown as it hits the liquid.

It's at that point where he starts to contemplate what exactly Harry means to him. A brother? Not really. He's never wanted a brother, and he doesn't know anything about him other than he's kind of an idiot in a stubborn kind of way, and that he's most likely a womanizer if he learned anything from last night. Like he said, 'I don't know you well enough to hate you.' There's a ring of truth that follows that statement, and he wonders if Harry would hate him if he grew to know him. He's not a very interesting person - a nobody really - but it'd be nice to have another friend. Someone to lean on when things get tough and Niall's not there to comfort him.