I Do?

C Major

A light ding stirs Harry from his slumber. Sighing, he opens his eyes. The events of last night a total blur.

"Fuck me," Harry groans as he rolls to his side and unplugs his phone from the wall. Yawning, he opens Snapchat. A mistake, really. Hundreds of unopened Snaps glow red and blue for Harry to open. He bypasses all of them until he lands on a familiar face.

Pink hearts surround Taylor's Bitmoji as he selects the red icon next to it. The snap opens to reveal a picture of Taylor with a yellow firefighter hat on. 'I think you left something...' is typed out at the bottom of the photo, along with Taylor's tired expression.

Harry opens the camera icon and takes an equally tired-looking picture. He captions it 'fuck' before sending it Taylor, not really caring that he didn't look his best.

As he waits for Taylor's response, he gathers what energy he can to climb out of bed. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and rubs a hand over his face as he's greeted by his own tired expression.

Harry shakes his head as he turns away from the mirror and towards his bedroom door. The smell of coffee fills the apartment as Harry makes his way to the kitchen where Niall sits. A bowl of colorful cereal sits in front of his friend, and his hair is messy from sleep.

"Mornin'," Harry murmurs as he steps into the kitchen to prepare his breakfast. As he takes two slices of bread out, he spares a glance outside. The sun sits just above the horizon, casting beautiful shades of yellow, blue, and white into the sky. A couple of fluffy white clouds drift lazily across the Los Angeles skyline. It would be a good day for a morning run, Harry decides.

He quietly takes out a slice of bread and places it into the toaster before turning to his friend.

"Where'd you go last night," Harry questions as he waits for his bread to toast.

Niall looks up from his bowl of cereal and scoffs, "Too drunk to remember? I carried you two idiots back home from the party after not being let in, to begin with. You're welcome for that, by the way."

Harry raises an eyebrow in Niall's direction. He's not sure why Niall's laying his frustrations on him. It's not like it's Harry's fault that the brothers didn't let Niall in. "What's your problem," Harry asks loudly.

The toast jumps from the toaster, but Harry lets it sit and cool while Niall replies, "Nothing, I just have a test to study for."

"Don't take your procrastination out on me. Not my fault," Harry points out as he takes the toast from the toaster. He brings the bread to his lips and takes a bite, giving his friend a look from across the kitchen.

"You're right. I'm sorry," Niall grumbles. Harry can tell that only a part of his friend is sorry, but he doesn't want to fight that battle today. Instead, Harry finishes his toast in silence.

"I'm going to go to the library and see if I can study some there," Niall explains as he finishes the last couple of bites from his bowl.

"Alright," Harry responds, wiping the crumbs on his hand off on the side of his thigh.

~_~_~

With the apartment to himself, Harry feels a sense of peace wash over him. He stands in his living room, his eyes falling on the grand piano. Its sleek black frame has a thin layer of dust on it, and the keys are as pure and ivory as they looked when he bought it.

The night he bought it was a low one for him, admittedly, and he thought having the instrument in his house would bring him some sort of peace. Maybe having it here would be a silent rebellion against his father. Sure, he wasn't allowed to learn to play as a child, but he could learn now. He had the instrument, and Google was free, so nothing was stopping him. Except, every time he sat down, he felt like throwing up. He could hear his father's voice in his head, calling him a Pussy for even sitting on the bench. Telling him that the piano and music is for women and a women's place in the house and men should focus on bringing in money.

Nothing stops Harry now either. An invisible string seems to pull Harry in, guiding him towards the piano bench.

Hesitantly, Harry takes a seat and slides his hands over the top of the keys, not making a sound. He doesn't allow himself to touch the keys, not yet. The familiar feeling of shame starts rooting its way, but Harry tries to push it down. He needs to get over himself.

"No son of mine plays the piano."

Harry pushes the thought aside and tries to find a sense of calm. He closes his eyes and images a beach in front of him. The water laps quietly and peacefully against the shore. The thought takes a minute to calm Harry's nerves, but then he's finally ready, he feels a tug on his finger, and he's playing a note.

The sound is a low one, and it sends vibrations all through Hary's back as it echoes around the room. See, Harry tells himself quietly, he had nothing to worry about.

Gingerly, he brings his other hand up to the black and white keys and places them gently on top, careful not to press down on them in fear of sounding bad.

A memory teases its way to the front of Harry's mind, distracting him from the moment at hand.

"Look, it's really easy, Bubbi! You just play these three notes, and you make a pretty sound," Gemma cheers. Her voice slurs in the way a child's voice does, but Harry, only four at the time, doesn't understand what she means. He has an urge to reach out and slam his hand against the black and white shapes in front of him, but Gemma's hand holds onto his tightly.

"Gentle, Bubbi, you don't wanna wake Daddy," She giggles, her voice brushing past the curls covering Harry's ears. Harry perks up at the sound of the word 'Daddy.'

He looks up at his big sister's face, her eyes staring down at him kindly and warmly. He would've trusted her with anything back then. She was his big sister, after all. His sisters knew what she was doing. Maybe that's why Harry allowed Gemma to guide his pudgy hands to the keys. She takes each of his little fingers and presses down on three separate notes. The sound of music fills the room, and Harry beams. He was playing!

"Gemma-Anne! Get my son off that bench!"

Nothing stops him now. Harry opens his eyes and glances down at the piano keys, his fingers hovering over them. They make up the chord Gemma helped him play and the chord that he secretly played whenever he had the chance. That was before the guilt and shame got ahold of him too tightly anyway.

Harry allows a final breath to escape his lips before pressing down on the keys, producing beautiful music. 

~_~_~

Hey guys. New update. Lol. Next chapter is the family dinner! Any predictions?