Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

Painting Your New Home

Wouldn't painting kitchen cabinets with Harry just be the cutest? You'd both probably be a little too excited about having a house of your own. For you, decorating just how you'd always wanted with your favorite colors and the throw pillows of your dreams would be unbearably fun. For him, just having a physical home of his own would be a nice change. He'd quite like that a lot, you know? Having a place to come back to, to settle down in, to get quite comfy and always know there'd be a Sunday roast waiting for him.

And, as many new home renovations go, there'd be lots of painting involved. Painting of bedrooms and bathrooms and even desks and chairs and perhaps a mantle or two. And the trim, oh the trim. The trim would take days. But Harry'd insist that you two do it all (or at least most of it), and you knew it was just an excuse to spend time together. Goodness knows the boy would have enough money to have someone paint the whole house seventeen times over. But no, he wouldn't have it, because when was it that he got to spend so much unadulterated time with you, working on something so special to the both of you? Sure, it'd just be a house. But in the house, well... he'd hope there were lots of memories to be made. And yeah, not all of them would be so happy as a day painting the kitchen and being complete goofs, but... well, he'd figure any memory with you in it would be worth having, even if some of them turned about to be a bit painful, a bit difficult.

But, of course, in his usual Harry-esque way, he'd not ruin the moment with his self proclaimed "silly talk." No, moments like those-- the ones spent in hard, but fun work-- were best left for the more trivial conversations, like how concerned he'd be about your falling off the counter. "I'm just trying to reach the top cabinets, I'll be fine." you'd insist. He'd counter with a reminder about your clumsiness, but his goofy giggles would give his joking nature away. "I just want you to be caareful." he'd grin, his hands playfully reaching up behind your waist, outstretched as if he thought at any moment you might fall. "Harry... I'm literally like three feet off the ground. I'll be fine. Also, I'm not the one who falls over on flat stage surfaces all the time, so. Just saying." To that he'd furrow his brow and mumble a slow, "Heyyyy..." which, of course, would make you giggle. And just as you'd raise your paintbrush again, his hands would come squeezing in, throwing you off balance and pulling you back into his chest. And amongst a screech and flailing limbs, you'd manage to accidentally swipe your brush across his face, leaving a trail of paint splashed across his face, his mouth opening in a gasp.

And from that point a playful paint war would erupt, a welcome sidetrack to a full day of hard work around the house. The giggles would come easily, the laughter quick, and the retaliations quicker. And you'd sort of love that-- that chemistry, that playfulness, that moment-- and tuck it away in your heart for a very long time.