i woke up to the smell of something distinctly burnt. my eyes fluttered open, taking in the faint morning light filtering through louis' bedroom curtains. his bed was cozy, warm, and for a moment, i debated staying in the cocoon of blankets forever. but the faint sound of muttering and pans clattering snapped me out of it once again.

i thought we agreeded on no more sharpening knives?

pushing the blankets aside, i padded out of the room in my socks, rubbing my eyes. when i reached the kitchen, there he was—louis, shirtless, his hair a wild mess, standing over the stove with a spatula in one hand and a look of utter frustration on his face.

"what are you doing?" i asked, leaning against the doorway with a smirk.

he turned, startled. "shit—you're awake."

"clearly," i said, walking toward him. "what's this supposed to be?"

he gestured at the pan, which contained what i could only assume were meant to be pancakes. "breakfast, obviously."

i bit back a laugh. "and here i thought you were just trying to set the house on fire for fun."

he rolled his eyes. "don't start, bluey. i'm trying to be romantic."

the sweetness of his words caught me off guard. i stepped closer, nudging him gently out of the way. "alright, chef tomlinson, move over. let me save your romantic gesture before it becomes a hazard."

"oi, i had it under control!" he protested, but he let me take the spatula.

"sure you did," i teased, poking at the pancake batter, which was oddly thick. "what's in this?"

"flour, eggs, milk—whatever the recipe said. i followed it exactly!"

i raised an eyebrow. "did you measure anything, or did you just guess?"

his silence was answer enough, and i couldn't help but laugh. "perfectionist."

"yeah, yeah," he said, smirking as he leaned against the counter, watching me take over.

my cheeks flushed slightly at his words. he said things like that so casually, as if they didn't make my heart race every time. i focused on the pancakes, trying to ignore the way he was looking at me—like i was the most fascinating thing in the room.

"so," he said after a moment, "what's on the agenda today?"

i shrugged. "i don't know. i was thinking we could just stay in, watch movies, maybe go for a walk later if we feel like it."

"lazy day, huh?"

"yeah. we deserve it."

he grinned. "i'm not complaining. as long as you don't make me watch one of those overly emotional films where someone dies at the end."

"no promises," i said, flipping a pancake.

an hour later, we were sprawled out on his couch, plates of pancakes and mugs of coffee (or in my case, hot chocolate) in front of us. louis had insisted on picking the first movie, which of course meant we were watching some action film i barely understood.

"this is ridiculous," i said, gesturing at the screen. "there's no way he'd survive that fall."

"it's a movie, love," louis said, smirking. "not everything has to be realistic."

"but it's so unrealistic! he just got thrown out of a plane and landed in a tree without a scratch."

"it's called suspension of disbelief," he teased, poking my side.

i swatted his hand away, laughing. "you're weird."

"and yet, here you are."

he had a point. as much as his sarcasm and stubbornness drove me crazy, i wouldn't have traded this moment for anything.

by the time the second movie started, i was leaning against louis' shoulder, his arm draped lazily around me. the soft hum of the heater filled the room, and i felt completely at peace.

"you know," he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence, "i could get used to this."

"to what?" i asked, looking up at him.

"this," he said, gesturing vaguely. "lazy mornings, burnt pancakes, you taking the piss out of my cooking—feels nice."

my heart swelled at his words. "i could get used to it too."

he glanced down at me, a rare softness in his eyes. for a moment, i thought he might say something else, but instead, he just leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

later that afternoon, we ended up in the kitchen again, this time attempting to bake cookies.

"are you sure you know what you're doing?" i asked as louis cracked an egg into the bowl.

"relax, bluey. i've got this."

"that's what you said about breakfast," i reminded him.

"and look how well that turned out," he said, grinning.

"you mean the part where i had to save it?"

he rolled his eyes. "details."

we worked together, laughing and teasing each other the entire time. flour ended up everywhere, on the counters, the floor, even on louis' face.

"you've got something," i said, gesturing at his cheek.

"where?"

"right here," i said, reaching up to wipe it off.

his hand caught mine before i could pull away, and for a moment, we just stood there, the air between us suddenly charged.

"you've got flour on your nose," he said softly, his thumb brushing against my skin.

"so do you," i whispered back.

"guess we're a mess, huh?"

"yeah," i said, smiling. "but i don't mind."

he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was sweet and slow and everything i hadn't realised i'd been craving all day.

as the sun set, we found ourselves back on the sofa, plates of warm cookies in our laps. the day had been so simple, so ordinary, and yet it felt like one of the best days of my life.

"thanks for today," i said, leaning against him.

"for what?"

"just... everything. for being you."

he looked at me, his expression softening. "i keep saying it, but you're something else, bluey."