Wear it like a crown

chapter 3

Louis was late, and Harry was a bundle of nerves.

He'd slipped out of Zayn's flat shortly after eight, while Niall and Zayn had still been down for the count and thankfully unable to ask uncomfortable questions. After picking up some fresh ingredients from the organic shop around the corner, Harry had set to work. Now it was ten past nine, and everything was ready but the bread and the eggs. He tugged at his apron where it was knotted at his nape and went to check that he hadn’t forgotten anything when he’d laid out the table outside.

Even though he'd been waiting for it, the sound of the doorbell made him jump. Right. This was it.

Time to face the music.

The door viewer showed Louis looking out at the street, shifting from foot to foot. For a moment, Harry was transfixed by the line of Louis' profile—hair sweeping across his forehead, the clear cut of his nose, a hint of stubble, and the curve of his thin upper lip which was offset by a more generous bottom lip. Jesus, he was stunning.

It wasn't the point of this meeting, though. At all. Louis' behaviour had not invited any illusions on Harry’s part.

"Top floor," Harry spoke into the transmission before he buzzed Louis up. He left the door open and went to place the bread in the pan, listening for the sound of movement in the stairway. The old wood creaked with each footstep.

"Hello?" Louis called when he reached the door.

"Kitchen," Harry replied. "Come on in."

A second later, Louis poked his head into the room. He was barefoot, wearing a band t-shirt and tight jeans, looking like he’d hopped off a runway. With a start, Harry realised he was still in his apron, the one Niall had given him and which projected a woman's body onto Harry's chest. Oh God. Quickly, Harry yanked it off.

The gleam of amusement in Louis' eyes made it clear he'd seen it, though. Fortunately, he didn't comment. "No bodyguard?" he asked, drawing closer. It was followed by, "Wait, you were actually serious about that homemade breakfast."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Harry used a spatula to check the slices of bread. Another minute on this side before he could turn them over. "And I didn't feel like it. Security detail, I mean. Johnson was my main one, and he should have been on duty until this afternoon, but—you know. So." Avoiding Louis' eyes, he crouched down to peer into the oven; the sausages and bacon glistened with grease, the smell wafting through the kitchen.

"I get it," Louis said after a beat of silence.

Harry exhaled and glanced over his shoulder for a quick smile. "Thanks."

"You’re welcome." Louis' gaze swept over the space, lingering on a blackboard that contained some to-do's and a packing list for Spain, interspersed with Zayn's doodles. Stepping closer to the fridge, Louis examined the photographs Harry had put up there, random shots of things that had caught his attention. Louis’ voice was absent as he asked, "You need help with anything?"

Harry flipped the bread. "It's fine. Almost done."

Silence wrapped around them while Harry prepared the eggs, the gas hob hissing gently, typical city noises spilling in through the open windows. It was quite possible that the sense of mild awkwardness originated in Harry's imagination. For his part, Louis seemed content to amble around the kitchen, openly curious as he examined this and that. Without asking for permission to explore, he disappeared into the attached living room. Harry should have expected something like this; after all, Louis had disregarded conventions from the moment they'd met, in spite of his familiarity with official protocol. It was as intriguing as it was frustrating.