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The flat was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that made Harry’s skin itch, especially knowing Louis was somewhere in the apartment. Silence and Louis rarely went hand-in-hand. It was unnerving, to say the least.
Harry had just returned from a long day at rehearsal. His body was tired, his voice strained, and all he could think about was the leftover green curry waiting for him in the fridge. He’d been looking forward to it since lunchtime, knowing it was the perfect comfort food after hours on his feet.
But when he opened the fridge, his heart sank. The container was gone.
Harry’s jaw tightened as he slammed the fridge door shut. “Louis!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the flat.
From the kitchen, Louis popped his head around the corner, spoon in hand, lips stained with the telltale green of Harry’s curry. “What?” he asked, far too casually.
Harry stormed in, eyes immediately landing on the empty container sitting brazenly on the counter. “Are you kidding me? That was my dinner, Louis! I put a sticky note on it! It said, ‘Harry’s food—don’t touch!’ What part of that didn’t you understand?”
Louis blinked at him, then glanced at the sticky note now crumpled on the counter. “Oh, I thought that was more of a suggestion,” he said, biting back a smirk.
“A suggestion?” Harry repeated, incredulous. His voice rose in pitch as he threw his hands into the air. “A suggestion?! Louis, I’ve been dreaming about that curry all day! You can’t just eat other people’s food because you feel like it!”
Louis shrugged, unbothered as always. “Well, technically, I can,” he said, plopping himself onto the counter and swinging his legs. “I mean, I did.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Harry growled, running a hand through his curls. “You’ve been doing this since we moved in together! My crisps? Gone. My chocolate? Disappeared. And now my curry?! What do you even eat when I’m not here? Or do you just live off my leftovers?”
Louis raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Harry’s tirade. “Are you done?”
“Done?!” Harry’s eyes widened. “No, I’m not done, Louis! You’re so—”
Before Harry could finish his sentence, Louis jumped off the counter and crossed the room in two swift steps. Without a word, he grabbed Harry by the front of his hoodie and kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative. It was forceful and urgent, a deliberate interruption meant to shut Harry up. And it worked.
Harry froze, his breath hitching as Louis’s lips pressed against his. The kiss was warm and insistent, and Harry could taste the faint spice of the curry Louis had stolen. For a moment, his mind blanked, all the frustration melting away under the sheer weight of the kiss.
When Louis finally pulled back, his face was flushed, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. He was so close that Harry could feel his breath, warm and steady, ghosting across his skin.
“Are you done now?” Louis murmured, his voice low and laced with amusement.
Harry stared at him, still trying to process what had just happened. “What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
“A kiss,” Louis said matter-of-factly, leaning casually against the counter. “Thought it’d shut you up. Worked, didn’t it?”
Harry blinked, his lips tingling and his brain racing. “You can’t just kiss me to win an argument, Louis!”
“Why not? It’s effective.”
“That’s not the point!” Harry exclaimed, though the redness creeping up his neck suggested otherwise.
Louis stepped closer again, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Haz,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re cute when you’re mad, but you’ve got to admit—me eating your curry isn’t the end of the world.”
Harry sighed, the last of his anger deflating. “It’s not about the curry,” he muttered. “It’s about the principle.”
Louis tilted his head, his eyes studying Harry’s face with a hint of something unreadable. “Alright,” he said softly. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you dinner tomorrow. Anything you want. Just… don’t stay mad at me, yeah?”
Harry hesitated, his gaze flickering to Louis’s lips before meeting his eyes again. “Fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if you touch my food again, I’m locking the fridge.”
“Deal,” Louis said with a grin.
And just like that, the tension between them shifted. Harry could feel it, buzzing quietly in the air, unspoken but undeniable. Maybe he should’ve been angrier. Maybe he should’ve pushed Louis away. But instead, as Louis sauntered back to the sink, Harry found himself smiling.