The Babysitter » styles

XV

“But you'd expect that from me."

When I walked downstairs the next morning, I found Harry slumped at the table, his head in his hands.

“Did someone drink too much?" I teased, grabbing a carton of eggs out of the fridge.

“Shut up," he mumbled. “What even happened last night?"

I shrugged, trying to ignore the disappointment blossoming in the pit of my stomach. “I don't know, I wasn't watching you." I turned on the stove.

He managed a smirk. “But that's your job, isn't it? Watching me?"

I stuck my tongue out at him, cracking the eggs into the pan. “Last time I checked, you hated that I had to watch you, and now you're complaining that I didn't watch you? Get your thoughts straight, boy."

Harry snorted before groaning. “Damn, this hangover is killing me."

“Shouldn't have drank so much," I stated.

Harry glanced over at me. “I like them scrambled," he said, referring to the eggs.

“I never asked what you liked," I retorted. “Besides, who said they're for you?"

“You're not going to cook for a poor, hungover man?" he pouted.

“No."

He didn't answer, just moped to himself. I put the eggs on a plate, grabbing ketchup from the fridge.

“You like ketchup?" Harry asked, a disgusted look on his face.

“I don't see what's so wrong with ketchup," I said, squirting some onto my plate. “It's like putting sugar on your food, except less sweet."

Harry shrugged, watching as I sat down next to him. “Whatever you say," he muttered.

“Is Louis coming over today?" I asked, beginning to eat.

“Someone's eager, aren't they?" he responded, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That's not what I meant!" I exclaimed, slapping Harry. “You look like an idiot when you do that."

“Why do you care if Louis is coming over or not?" he questioned.

“Because he told me he'd give me my clothes back if I went to the party with him," I said, “and last time I saw him, he was passed out on one of the couches you own."

Harry eyed my outfit, which consisted of galaxy tights and a plain white tank top. “I don't see anything wrong with what you're wearing now."

I glared at him. “That's because you're a guy and couldn't care less about clothes."

“Some guys care about clothes," he argued.

“Yeah, but you don't," I shot back.

He laughed. “Touché."

I finished my food, setting my plate in the sink. I grabbed the pan I used to make the eggs and began to wash them.

“Couldn't you use a dishwasher for that?" Harry spoke up.

“Couldn't you use an Aspirin for your hangover?" I mimicked him.

He was silent for a moment, and I nearly laughed, realizing he hadn't known he could take a pill to numb his hangover.

“Maybe I didn't want to," he said in a small voice, but I heard him going through pill bottles.

“Maybe I didn't want to use a dishwasher," I answered, drying the dishes and placing them back in the cupboards I had found them in.