One Direction (One-Shots)

Soup- Larry Stylinson

AN::

More bromance and romance.

_________

Harry sat very still in his seat on the kitchen barstool, watching Louis float around the kitchen, putting things into a big stock pot. He said nothing, but followed his awkward and inexperienced movements with knives and bit his lip in silent protest whenever the blade would go too close to his hand.

It wasn't his decision for Louis to cook.

But Harry was sick and Louis insisted on making some of his mother's homemade chicken soup for him, and when Louis is determined to do something, he damn well does it. Louis's attention to the pot wavered and his eyes turned to Harry with a cheeky smile.

"Enjoying the view?" He asked with a cheeky smile.

Harry made himself smile past the raging headache and nervous energy resting on that large pot and chuckled. "Yes."

He didn't have to be down here watching this, but the mere idea of Louis cooking brought a less than satisfactory image in Harry's head; one he didn't want to be played out in real life. So he sat on the barstool, watching with wary eyes, praying nothing would go wrong but prepared for if it did.

Louis took a large sigh once everything was in the pot and turned his attention back to the sick boy in front of him. "Are you feeling any better, Haz?"

Harry raised his hand and tipped it back and forth, signaling that he was so-so.

Louis smiled at the gesture and came around the kitchen island to lay a hand on his forehead. His eyebrows creased. "Still pretty warm. Why are you down here, anyways? You should be resting upstairs."

Not wanting to show his lack of faith in Louis's cooking skills, he just shrugged. "Didn't want to be alone I s'pose."

With an understanding nod and a poked out lip, Louis laid his head on Harry's shoulder and toyed with his curls. "My poor Hazza."

Glancing nervously to the soup pot, which was starting to get hot and steam, Harry smiled patronizingly down at Louis and nodded. "When will the soup be done?" He drew Louis' attention back to the soup without hurting his feelings.

Louis looked towards the soup and shrugged. "When it smells good, I guess. Don't really know."

Harry smiled tentatively and fiddled with his thumbs.

Louis noticed the nervous gesture. "What's wrong, Haz? Are you going to be sick again?"

Harry shook his head and ignored the nausea that was now rolling around his stomach at the thought. He looked up into Louis' blue eyes and smiled reassuringly.

Louis wasn't entirely convinced and took his hand and led him to the couch. "Come lie down for a while."

Harry threw a despairing glance in the soup's direction before he was brought into the living room and made to lie down.

"Alright, can I get you anything until the soup's done?" Louis asked sweetly, brushing some stray locks from Harry's head. Taking care of Harry was never a burden for Louis, and when he was sick he just couldn't help himself.

"No, you can go back to the soup if you'd like." He replied, praying Louis would take his offer and go tend to the soup.

Louis rolled his eyes. "Oh darling, do you think I'm going to forget about the soup? I have done this before."

Harry nodded ferverently, ignoring the pulse in his head as he did so. "Oh I know you have. It's just that.. well last time it didn't quite end well." He put it as gently as he could, and added a small smile tot he end of the sentence.

Louis smiled lightly, but Harry saw right thru the expression and into the hurt. "Yeah." He chuckled sheepishly and found a sudden interest in his socks.

Huffing frustratedly, Harry sat up a bit and put his hand back in Louis's. "But I appreciate you caring for me, Lou. I'm sure the soup will turn out fine."

Louis nodded and squeezed his hand once before getting up from the couch. "I'm gonna go-" His words trailed off as he wandered back off into the kitchen.

Harry sighed and laid back down. Hurting Louis's feelings wasn't an easy task, and Harry was mostly the emotional one of the pair. So when Louis was hurt, Harry was at a loss of what to do. Louis didn't really take comfort well, and he'd always protest to being babied. So Harry stared up at their living room ceiling and tried to think of what he should do.

About half an hour later, Harry awoke with a headache the size of Europe. His eyes began to water from the pain, it was so bad. He got up slowly, wincing and groaning when the movement made it worse, and padded his way into the kicthen.

Louis was standing vigilantly over the stock pot, stirring mechanically.

Harry went up to stand beside him and put his hand on his arm. "Louis my head hurts really bad." He sounded like a child, but didn't care in the slightest.

Louis turned his attention to Harry and laid a surprisingly cool hand on Harry's forehead. "You're warmer than before." His voice was low and empty of inflection.

He reached into the cabinet above him and got out some pain killers for him. Walking across the kitchen, he grabbed a glass from the dishwasher and filled it with water, not saying a thing to Harry in the process.

"Lou. I'm sorry." Harry peeped, on the brink of real tears mostly for the fact that he was sick and his emotions were entirely too intense.

"For what." Louis asked, eyes still not meeting Harry's.

Harry's lip trembled and he felt the need to sit down somewhere. So he parked himself on the floor, and let loose his pointless tears. "For hurting your feelings." Sobs shook his words and Louis's head shot to where he sat on the floor.

"Haz, what the hell?" He asked confusedly and sat down beside him. He pulled him into his lap and patted his back soothingly. "There's nothing to cry over, Harry. It's alright. I'm alright."

Harry's sobs didn't break, but he somehow managed to ask, "Can I have some soup now?"

Louis chuckled. "Of course, darling."

So Harry ate Louis's soup. And it turned out to be pretty damn good.