Body Paint (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Thirty Eight.

Harry fell asleep beside mom after spending time giggling in the dark with nothing but the glow of the television screen to light up the walls. Fully accidental, he didn't mean to doze off just before one o'clock in the morning, tucked under the duvet to ward away the cold.

The sun was just barely trying to creep through the drawn curtains when he woke again, and she was gone. The expanse of the sheets were left barren, the blankets tucked up underneath his chin, swaddled in warmth when he listened to the morning sparrows sing through the closed windows. Minutes were spent basking in the peaceful quiet before he realized he wasn't alone. Over his shoulder, dad was curled in on his side of the bed, and he realized he'd spent the night sleeping between his parents like a five year old. The thought left him scooting just barely closer to mom's side, only to reclaim his manhood.

The slight distance kept between himself and his father left the blanket taught between the two, his scooting creating tight tugs on the fabric, and he startled with the grumbled sound of dad's voice, "I finally managed to get some, don't you dare take it from me." Harry's giggles meshed with the harsh tug on the blankets, ripping it from the cocoon Harry had made for himself out of stolen bedding. "You're most certainly your mother's child. You sleep like an asshole."

Harry's throaty giggles grew louder, curling his legs up beneath the covers, but loosening his grip to shove more blanket to the other side of the bed. "I've been told that before."

Aubry constantly complained of never getting enough blankets and suffering from not enough bed space. The blanket was pulled up over dad's head to block out the light, grumbling, "I thought the years of sleeping with your knee in my groin were over."

"I did say I wanted to go home," Harry mumbled. "Just trying to go back to where I came from."

Dad's snicker from beneath the covers triggered Harry's own, blankets were flipped off his head and his arm patted down the fluffiness to glance over his shoulder at his son, "When I came home from work, I wasn't expecting to have to argue with a sleeping teenager to get a spot in my own bed." He didn't bother hiding his amusement, and dad continued to tease, "You fart so bad when you sleep."

"I've also been told that as well," Harry laughed. "Mom made me eat broccoli." The sounds of chuckles meshed together when they looked at one another from across the pillowcases with sleep and amusement in their eyes.

Dad laughed, "She kicks me out of bed in the middle of the night for farting, I'm offended she let you stay."

That triggered an onset of silly giggles from Harry. "I never farted in front of Aubry while I was awake, but at night she'd punch me for it."

"Sounds about right," dad mumbled, rubbing at his eye sockets. "But it's fine when she does it, right? Middle of the day, let 'em rip, but we're not allowed to say anything. Double standards."

"She'd go out of her way to specifically fart on me," he revealed. "She'd flip over, fart, and then flip back the other way." Harry's chuckles meshed with the sound of his father's, though dad laughed a little harder than he did.

He laughed with his hands covering his tired face, until they dragged down his fatigued features and he muttered, "That's amazing." He looked to his son, chuckling, "That's how you know they either really hate you, or really love you."

Harry's smile fell just slightly, flipping to his stomach to stretch out across the open expanse of the mattress. Cheek pressed to the back of his wrist, his lips pressed together in sadness when reality set in all over again. Still riding on that same rollercoaster of emotions he was the day before, he was already growing tired of the incoming day. "Yeah." Well... no, actually. It wasn't that black and white. "Well... I don't know. I think it was both, honestly."