Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

He's Exhausted

        The steam of your apple cider brushed your nose as you held the warm mug close to your body, your eyes intent on the textbook in your lap. Blankets draped around your body, glasses dipped off your face, and soft jazz music swirled through the living room. Sure, it wasn’t the most exciting Friday night, but you figured if you had to stay in studying, wrapping up in a cocoon of warmth and nestling in the corner of your couch was the best way to do it.

            Harry had been busy with work all day (all week, really), so you didn’t expect him home until late. You knew he must have been exhausted, but it worked out well for you to have the time alone to study.

            You sipped your drink before scribbling something in the notebook perched on the armrest. Honestly, studying wasn’t so bad when you got to enjoy fall at the same time—cider and pumpkin candles and lots of blankets and all that. The only thing that could have made it better was a fire, but Harry hadn’t gotten the chance to haul in any wood yet. Even though you were perfectly capable of doing it yourself (sure, it’d take you a few extra trips, but still), he’d insisted that he be the one to do it. He’d made up some stupid thing about how it was only right for him to do that for you, but you knew he was just trying to assert his manhood. No matter how many times you’d tell him he was man enough without his silly attempts at proving himself— like trying to shave with a straight razor or attempting to drink whiskey or, you know, hauling the wood in—he’d never listen, always coming up with new ways to be manly and stubbornly sticking to them.

            It made you laugh, really, because in other ways he was just the opposite of the “manly man” he tried so hard to be in those moments. Emotional, silly, rather easy-going and soft. But you liked both “Harrys,” and sort of figured that he must fall somewhere in the middle and be the better for it. Despite his being quite stubborn about it all.

            Another note jotted in your notebook, another sip of cider. Your legs shifted underneath you as you flipped the page of your textbook. Beside you your phone buzzed into the fabric of the couch.

            “Are you home?” the text from Harry read.

            “Yeah, just sat down to study,” you responded.

            “ok. xx” his simple reply came.

            Short texts from Harry weren’t uncommon, especially when he was having a busy week. You didn’t mind it, really. The fact that he thought to text you at all was nice enough.

            Half an hour later you heard the back door open and close, keys dropping onto the counter in the kitchen. Harry’s frame appeared in the living room doorway.

            “Hey babe,” you spoke, eyes still scanning your textbook as your hand scribbled a definition in your notebook. “Didn’t think you’d be home until late. How was your day?”

            “Long.” Harry answered in a low, quiet voice and started to move towards your residence on the couch.

            You glanced up from your textbook as he made his way over, curious about his gravely answer. “You alright?”

            He shrugged his shoulders as he leaned down to give you a quick peck on the lips. “’s alright,” he mumbled.

            “What’s alright?” you asked in concern, knowing his day must have been rough without him having to outright tell you.

            “Just stuff with work,” he murmured as he lay down beside you on the couch, eyes immediately closing and hands resting on his stomach as his legs draped off the other armrest.

            “Want to talk about it?” you softly asked, fingers brushing across his forehead and gently sliding into his hair.

            “Maybe just lie here for a while..” he mumbled sleepily.

            You sighed a sad smile before getting back to your studies. It wasn’t long before the soft music and warm smells lulled him into a dead slumber. It wasn’t hard to tell—the grumping snores coming from his nose were a dead giveaway. Usually you’d have kicked him to make him stop—it was quite annoying if you were attempting sleep yourself—but this time you let it go. After a long week and a hard day, he deserved some uninterrupted sleep.

            He only stirred to resituate himself a few times in the hours following. It was nice to have him around, even if he was unconscious. It gave you time to study, but it also gave you time with Harry. With the both of your hectic schedules, you’d learned to appreciate the time you got together, no matter what it looked like.

            Eventually your eyes started to droop as well, and you decided to call it quits for the night.

            “Harry..” you murmured, fingers drifting to his curls again. “Babe..”

            “Hmm..” his grunted reply came.

            “Babe, let’s go to bed, yeah?”

            A heavy sigh fell out of his nose as he attempted to wake himself. A large hand reached to rub his eyes, and his outstretched legs bent at the knees to bring his feet onto the couch.

            “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, hoisting himself up at the waist.

            “You alright?” you asked again, hand resting on his back.

            He glanced a look over his shoulder at you. “Yeah. Fine.” His legs swung over the side of the couch and he rested his weight on his outstretched arms as you set your books down on the table in front of the couch. He watched you as you slid your laptop into your backpack.

            “’s your day alright?” he spoke, voice low and tired.

            You nodded. “Yeah, fine.”

            “Good,” he responded, his eyes flicking closed.

            You smiled at him. “I’ll finish packing up tomorrow. Let’s go,” you quietly chuckled and took his hand to pull him off the couch.

            And maybe a 10pm bedtime wasn’t the most romantic thing on the planet, but with how tired the both of you were, you couldn’t imagine anything better than snuggling up under your warm duvet and falling asleep so close to Harry you couldn’t tell who was warming who, or if that bit of hair tickling your face was your or his, or even if his snores were real or in your dreams. Being with Harry was nice like that—neither of you expecting any more than you could realistically offer, and because of it, getting so much more in the end.