Note To Self (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Ninety Two.

Harry woke at seven a.m. to crisp air and dull morning light. Crickets still chirped, but his skin was left cold from the night. Birds flapped in the trees nearby singing their morning songs, only interrupted by soft voices speaking through the breeze and Gemma's sleeping breaths. They'd shared a tent, and unfortunately, an air mattress that had begun to deflate with their combined body weight and left his back aching. Rolling onto his side shifted his sister's body while he curled in on himself, but the sinking mattress had created a dip in the center and made it near impossible to keep from laying pressed up against one another. She wiggled, hand swiping down her face, and her words were mumbled, "Get off of me."

Harry only grumbled in response, burying his face in his pillows to block out the steadily rising sun. His stomach felt a little rumbly and gross, creating just enough discomfort to keep him wide awake after Gemma had fallen back to sleep seconds after she'd spoken. Their mother and father could be heard talking, and that had kept his mind even more awake than it already was. Regardless, he remained in bed trying his hardest to ignore Gemma's awful breath. Morning had come too quickly, just a short time after the parties had wound down and everyone had crawled into their designated sleeping spots and the woods fell quiet. Just four hours after Harry had been woken up and urged out of bed with Aubry to crawl in beside his sister instead, and he would've much preferred Aubry hogging bed space over his sibling.

The gurgling of his stomach was audible and distracting, sloshing in his guts he could feel, and his eyes burned when he drew his face out of the covers after hearing Winnie panting and her paws on the ground. Gemma's knee in his back made it impossible to fall back to sleep, and he emerged from the tent to find his parents enjoying cups of instant coffee beside one another. His hair was a haphazard mess, sticking in every direction from tossing and turning on the sagging mattress, and just how tired he was showed on his face when he settled in a chair beside the lifeless firepit. No good mornings were shared, just an offer, "Want breakfast?"

Harry shook his head, not yet ready to speak.

Dad picked up on his struggle. "You look hungover."

"That's what happens when you get your underaged son drunk," mom jabbed. She'd already shared her disapproval with him when they'd returned to the campsite late the night before and Harry was a little more giggly than usual, but dad was drunk too and he was impossible to argue with when he'd had a few.

Another shake of the head was given by Harry. He wasn't. He'd been seriously hungover before, and that was something he never wanted to experience again. His belly just felt a little icky. "I'm fine," but just as he said it, his stomach gurgled and he thought maybe he might've been a little bit hungover, just enough for his intestines to be angry with him.

He trekked alone through the misty morning woods toward the bathroom, and within a few hours of being awake, he felt completely fine. Drowsiness clung until day two of the lakeside beach fun commenced, with blow up floating tubes in the water and too much sun. Harry and Liam went kayaking together across the lake, and Harry took his shirt off once they'd made it to the open water and the sun got a chance to hit his browning shoulders. Working in his grandparent's garden had earned him a tan quickly, and that was the one place he didn't care enough to wear a shirt 24/7 and that meant for the first time in years he didn't have a stark white torso and tan arms.

Laps were made around the lake, spending hours in the marshy areas fishing and watching turtles plop into the water off protruding logs when they got too close. They didn't return until cheeks were tinged pink and they'd long run out of bait and clean water to drink under the baking rays. Lunch had just passed when they were greeted with a smile from Harry's mother while she picked up half eaten plates of food to throw them in the trash. "Any luck?"