No Matter What // Harry Styles AU -- Dunkirk inspired

Chapter Twenty Four

"Hazel," a warm and gentle voice coos. "Hazel, m'dear."

"Hmm?" I groan slightly, slowly opening my eyes to see Gran peering right over me. "Gran?" My gravelly voice skips a pitch. What time is it? 

"Good morning, my lovely little lady!" Gran is entirely too cheery for my morning taste, but even in my groggy state I know not to be rude. I wince slightly, but try to recover by awkwardly smiling.

"Mornin' Gran," I greet her, blinking quickly as my eyes adjust to the soft glow of the early morning light. Gran's dressed and ready for the day, her smart blouse and skirt match her cherry red lips. There's something about the way the morning light hits her high cheek bones and the way her smiles curves in a tender smile that for a moment it makes me feel like I'm looking right at mother. Good grief, I miss that woman right now.

"I wanted to see how you were feeling. You went to bed so early last night," Gran explains,  her blue eyes wide as she looks me over. 

"I think I'm feeling alright." I smile back politely as an ocean of guilt slowly begins to storm in my conscience. I almost shuffle myself from under the covers when I suddenly remember that  I'm still dressed in last night's evening clothes. Swallowing nervously, I settle back down and pull the covers up to my chin so that Gran doesn't catch a glance.

"Hmm," she clicks her tongue slightly. "Your color seems a bit off. Your cheeks are rather flushed." Gran rests her cool palm against my forehead.

"Oh," I laugh nervously. "Probably just the Chapman tomato genes. I feel fine, really Gran." I try to convince her. 

"You're father always did have those rosy cheeks." Gran gives a weak smile that settles into a thin line. I don't know why, but I've never really given much thought to Gran and Grandfather knowing Father. It's hard to even imagine them in the same room. They're just so different. Father is such a joker, his wit and sarcastic nature never ceases to make me laugh while Gran and Grandfather are just so serious all the darn time. 

"Well then, if you are indeed feeling up to it, I'd very much appreciate some help getting a little breakfast on," Gran gives my leg a little pat.

"I'd be happy to," I reply earnestly.

"Your Grandfather will join us in the dinning room this morning so we will make sure he has everything he needs in there."

"Alrighty." I smile up at her, "I'll be down in a jiffy," I try to politely usher her out of my room. 

"Lovely!" Gran clasps her hands together. "Well, I'll leave you to it." 

Gran stands up and gracefully makes her way out of the room. As soon as the door clicks behind her, I exhale the giant breath I was holding, letting my body relax back into the softness of my bed.

"Ah, geez louise," I mumble to myself, rubbing my eyes. 

I clamor out of bed, stumbling slightly as my foot gets caught in the thick quilt. I guess my clumsiness is another gene I should attribute to my father's side- Gran moves just as elegantly as Mother always does. Meanwhile, I can't even seem to stand up straight. Steading myself, I slowly pad my way over to my dresser, but not before catching my reflection in the mirror.

Oh, heavens. 

My eyes go wide as I take in the horror front of me. My hair is pushed in some sort of tangled mess and my lipstick from last night has faded in a way that makes my already pale skin look clownish. A small laugh bubbles over as it occurs to me why Gran must have thought I really was sick. For once I'm glad to be such a natural disaster. 

I trot down the hall to wash my face and take care of my unruly hair. I should be tired from staying out late, but my spirit is full of energy- every step I take is like walking on moon beams.