Lemonade (Harry Styles A.U.)

Chapter 22: Say Grace, Kiss Pickles.

"Where does it go when you flush the toilet?"

Harry stared toward the doorway, listening to the struggle from just outside when Reign exited the tiny bathroom. Her face appeared in seconds. Hair scooped up into a ponytail to keep it off her neck, she stepped back down into the room where Harry had made himself comfortable by laying pressed up against the wall. The bedsheets were rumpled, placed on top were wooden letter squares and a very unfortunate game of Scrabble halfway played. His shoulder shifted mindlessly, "Same concept as an airplane."

Her feet paused in the doorway, "... but where does that go?"

"In a big poop tank." His words fell from his lips casually, but after they slipped, his eyes widened with excitement. Suddenly reaching to adjust the letters on his wooden letter stand, the clinking and sliding of the jumbled pieces meshed with the sound of bare feet moving the few steps forward to reach the edge of the bed.

She stopped just before the empty space she'd previously occupied. "So it doesn't just..." her wrists flicked, throwing a gesture outward, "let it fly?

Harry broke into a smile, snorting, his voice wavered, "No, that would be awful!" Even she began a round of giggles at her own silliness, plopping her weight down at the corner of the bed, she mistakenly jostled the game pieces and caused them to slide around on the board. Harry's fingers instantly began moving them all back where they belonged. "Imagine you're sitting outside, enjoying your day, and a plane flies over and dumps a load on you."

Sheepish giggles bubbled girlishly from a pretty mouth. Small fingers moved across the game board, placing the word sticker back where it was originally played. "I never thought that hard about it. Out of sight, out of mind." Harry completed the adjustments, while her attention turned to the assortment of letters she possessed. Flitting her eyes back and forth from the game board, to her playing pieces, she wasn't left with many options at all. "What did you play while I was gone?"

He pointed to the letters running across the top of the board. "Train."

Humming, she glanced back to her game pieces with disappointment. "You go, I have nothing."

Harry took no time to ponder and immediately began building a word off the letter S in sticker.

S-E-P-S-I-S.

"Twenty four points," he grinned.

"Nuh-uh." Leaning in closer, squinting, she counted eight.

Her argument was shut down before she had a chance to make one. Finger pointing to one of the squares he played upon, Harry was pleased to announce, "Triple word score."

Huffing with defeat, she leaned back to begrudgingly snatch up the scorecard off the sheets. Mixed penmanship decorated the page, with some numbers scribbled in blocky, messy writing, while others were in fluid, small curves. The number 24 was scratched onto parchment neatly, underneath the name that was written in sloppy capitals. The tip of the pen ran over her previous score of 7, correcting the halfhearted scribble he'd jotted down. "Your handwriting sucks."

"I'm well aware." His fingers outstretched for the booklet, "What am I at?"

Quickly adding up numbers she dodged his attempt at taking it away. Leaning back, the math was done when more numbers were written onto the page. "Eighty nine." Compared to her meager score of sixty three, he went from winning only slightly to winning by a lot with a single turn. "Cheater."

"Went over this once, I don't have the heart to cheat." A shriveled up, annoyed nose was pointed his way. "Thanks, by the way, because your inquiry about septic tanks made me think of it."