Note To Self (Harry Styles AU)

Chapter Ninety One.

Hey, yo. There's a playlist for this chapter because why the fuck not. Actually, to be more specific, there's a playlist for the second half of this chapter. Yeet. Here u go:

https://open.spotify.com/user/morninwoodharry/playlist/0jaAhI2fLIMHWlI7zbBq7T?si=sdA1y3rSR_anhJ_FYasVZQ

The sky was painted with red white and blue after the sun had set, leaving the clear summer night smoky with the air smelling of gun powder. Harry's skin was prickled by the sparks of sparklers, and the booming in the sky reflected off the lake water to double the beauty of the colorful explosions. Lexie was told all the fun was for her birthday, but she fell asleep with her head perched on her mother's thigh in the sand before she ever got to see the show. Children were exhausted after the long day of fun, all falling asleep early, and that left the older folks free to gather without the little ones. That was when campfires would be lit, alcohol was consumed, and cuss words were used. Bodies weaved from campsite to campsite, too loud for the time of night it was, but the holiday was in full swing and no one cared. Mosquitos swarming in the air, golden campfire flames providing light, and drunken voices bouncing off the trees.

Men and women subsequently dispersed, leaving Aubry's campsite flocked with men. Harry had followed his father over, who was, most definitely, drunk, and since it was the fourth of July and no one was looking, Harry had been allowed one beer that had rapidly turned to four. He sat on the ground, all the chairs taken already, his knees bent with his back leaned up against a tree trunk alongside Liam. The fire flickered light on faces across the way, his own father, Liam's, Sophie's, several other men from around town, and even Aubry's father sat beside his own and sipped on a bottle of Corona. He'd been long gone all day, stumbling and slurring, and the evening was no different.

Countless sites were lit up with a party, laughter could be heard echoing through the night. Harry was just tipsy enough to join in on the adult jokes, and dad was just drunk enough to ignore the curse words from his son's mouth. Just drunk enough to join in on the vulgarity, just hardly enough alcohol in his system to loosen up, because for the first time he was being treated as one of the adults. He got his first insight into what men talked about when their wives weren't around, without a filter. More than just once did he cringe at the things his father said.

"Okay, dad," Harry grumbled. "That's my mom you're talking about."

He'd had too many drinks to care. "How do you think you were made?"

"I prefer not to think about it." The last sip was taken from Harry's bottle just to wash the reminder down his throat.

Dad's chuckle was echoed into his beer bottle before he took a sip, and the lip was tilted toward his boy who sat at the opposite side of the fire. "Sure you have your own stories."

"Yeah, but that's my daughter," Mr. Williams reminded, and Harry's cheeks grew hot.

"Solo expeditions," dad reworded, just to backtrack and save his son's ass just the smallest amount.

Liam started to laugh, and Harry looked down on himself, his head shaking from side to side. He wasn't drunk enough to delve into that. "Dad, I like you better sober."

"I don't," Liam snickered.

A fifth bottle of Coors Light was passed to him by Liam's dad, "Here, drink your pain."

"Alright, alright. Quit handing my kid alcohol," dad urged, looking over the flames to his son. "How many is that?"

The hem of Harry's shirt was placed over the cap to protect his palm while he twisted the bottle open, the seal breaking audibly. "Two."

"You're a bad liar."

Harry burped, and the cap was flicked into the firepit. "Clearly not the worst." His statement was bold, taunting, almost. Icy cold bitter liquid washed over his tongue. A second burp, and he told the truth. "Five."