Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

CSI and Teasing

The hotel room door beeped as it swung open and Harry lumbered in. His hair was in a bun, a sweatband holding back the shorter pieces, and his loose t-shirt soaked with sweat.

"Hey," you lazily called from the couch, eyes flicking toward him with a smile before returning to the TV. "How was your work out?"

"Fine," he responded calmly, t-shirt already mostly off. "I'm just gonna take a shower."

Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom in his joggers, ferociously toweling his hair.

"What are you watching?" he mumbled, drawing closer to your nest of blankets and cushions.

"CSI," you nodded in response. He tossed his towel on the floor and perched himself on the arm rest beside you, shoulders hunched forward. You looked up at him, appreciating the view of his ridiculous jawline.

"You're hot," you teased, an elbow to his bum. He exhaled a small laugh and smirked down at you.

"Are you gonna reign it in or do I need to put a shirt on," he ribbed back.

"Oh shut up," you half-heartedly rolled your eyes-- too comfy to be overly dramatic. "Com'on," you tipped your head towards the empty space beside you.

Without needing any more convincing, he shrugged off the arm rest and plopped own beside you. He released a heavy sigh as he did, head flopping onto the back of the couch. You knew he must be thankful for an afternoon and evening off, especially after the crazy week he'd had. Even up until he left for his workout he'd been in interviews and having meetings.

"Was there anything in particular you wanted to do tonight?" you asked, remembering how he liked to go sight-seeing sometimes, maybe catch a movie, get out and about in the city he was in.

"Just this," he said simply, and turned his resting head to smile at you. His eyes looked unusually tired.

You laughed quietly, despite your sympathy. "Fine by me," you settled, patting your lap. He took the signal and flopped himself over, placing his head on your thighs and looking up at you, a little too pleased with himself. You laughed again.

"The tired eyes," you started, fingers already working their way into his scalp, "They were a ploy."

"You fall for it every time," he grinned, closing his eyes and enjoying the way your fingers felt trailing through his hair.

"Wow, this show gets more gruesome sometimes than I remember," he mumbled a few minutes later.

"Yeah, it can get kind of gross," you agreed.

"I mean, she's really... that knife's just really going in there..." he commentated, making you laugh a little.

"Here, let me help you," you teased, covering his eyes with your hand.

"Oh yes, much better, thank you," he played back, making you giggle.

And so you sat for the rest of the evening, episode after episode, only pausing to answer the door for the pizza delivery, and only moving to re-situate even closer than before-- his head on your lap, your head on his, arms around, legs this way and that, chest to back and back to chest-- finally falling asleep so tangled up you thought you might not ever be able to unknot and leave as two people again.