Single Dad Harry (Patreon)

I wrote this a LONGGG time ago, like we're talking 2016 and I was supposed to pick it back up but I never did! I've been thinking about revamping it recently though, so tell me if y'all are into that. 

_______________________________________________________________

i.

Y/N falls a lot.

Its an unexplored phenomenon that happened upon her suddenly; she thinks she might've been on the wrong end of some curse, if you asked her, that's how sudden it'd been. As if she'd ticked off a witch and she damned her to a life of ungainly inelegance that gets her fixed into some shitty situations. Like once she'd tripped over her feet, reached out for something to grab onto and unintentionally knocked over two motorcycles outside of a cute diner that she then had to trip over herself trying to run from (her friend in toe). Another time she stumbled over a curb, sloshed her coffee on a small child and had to deal with a more than bitter mother. Once she'd even stumbled a little too far beyond a bush at a club she 100% wasn't meant to be at, and found her history professor getting his junk fondled by a cute, blond beefcake.  Hell, she was even losing her job soon because of it -- nobody likes a waitress who spills everything.

It's safe to say, it was a terrible thing she's got going for her. . .except her history professor will often be lenient, but she thinks it's because he's married and she's carrying his secret with him -- but other than that, mostly bad.

So when she'd tumbled down outside of a particularly big, fancy house because she'd missed a small ball rolling towards her, she only expected the worst. Especially since this isn't her neighborhood, and she sort of snuck in passed big rocks and dusty bushes with her dog tucked beneath her armpit. She's no creep though, she promises that she walks her dog here for two reasons. 1 being it was a nice neighborhood that she didn't have to look over her shoulder constantly, the streets were wide, and it was nice to pretend that this is where she lived for a few minutes. 2 being that this is where Alfred -- her pug -- liked walking most.

Her tumbles often result in scratches and scrapes, but a particularly sharp pebbled area had raked across her skin. A moan of pain overcomes her as she watches a trickle of blood glistening in the glittery rays of sun and leaving a snail trail of a stain in it's wake. The only way for her to get out of this gated neighborhood is over the hill she came in from, but with an open wound? That's just welcoming any sort of disease to really have at her, like a buffet for tiny little viruses hiding in dirt or however that works.

Alfred is getting fussy besides her because they are sitting and not walking and Y/N's about to tell him to stop being a dick when a small voice startles her, "Oh no!" It exclaims, all snuffled and snotty and her head darts over to see a kid around 5 or 6 staring at her knee with wide eyes, "Your hurt! Oh no, oh no, oh no, you're going to die!" And he's cute -- really cute, and familiar looking but before she can get a better look at him (or tell him that she isn't dying or anything), he's scampering off back towards his house. For a moment she thought he'd been running away from the scene of his crime, as she presumes it was his ball she'd tripped over, but then with a loud cry of, "Daddy!" and a few stumbles over untied shoelaces, he's barging through his front door head first and leaving it wide open.

Y/N wraps her fist around Alfred's leash a few times -- the naughty bugger is trying to get away -- while she stares up at the massive house. It's the one all the neighbor's always gab to her about (they think she's a hot shot lawyer's kid down the way or something, but it's not like she's lying she just doesn't bother correcting them when they spout the wrong name to her). Messy divorce, she'd heard, including stuff thrown onto the lawn, yelling loud enough that they could hear despite the space between each house, keyed cars, angry ex's, scorned lovers of the past, a whole shebang at a party a month or two ago that involved heavy alcohol and admitted infidelity. Pretty juicy stuff, about this house, and she's about to meet one of causes of it.

She hadn't known they had a kid though. . .that makes the gabbing much less satisfying and much more sad.

The kid was cute enough -- sounded like he had loads of snot jammed up his nose but he had gentle features and soft, tufty hair. He's actually really precious. . .like a cute little newsie boy; if he was her kid she would probably dress him up as one for the fun of it. She'd also get him to blow his nose until all of the gunk left in a gnarly hunk, but he wasn't her kid so she guesses he'll just have to stay stuffed up and uncomfortable. Or a least she thinks he might be uncomfortable because she's surely uncomfortable when she can't breathe but --

"Here Daddy look!" The sweet voice startles her again and Y/N looks up to where she sees the boy with a very frazzled looking man running out in a robe that's just barely tied and his hair wrapped up tight in a towel.

Y/N's mouth falls open.

His father. . .his father was Harry Styles.

"She's going to die, Daddy, and it's 'cos of me ball." He goes again, wiping at his nose on the sleeve of his shirt and Harry freaking Styles smiles warmly as he let's his son -- his son who Y/N knows is named Theodore because she's been following this man's life since her awkward teenage years -- tug him down to his level, before a more than apologetic smile lands on Y/N.

"She's not going to die Pet," he sighs, "Just a scrape is all -- what've I told you about playing outside when I'm not out with you?" It's very fatherly, how he says it, and Y/N would coo probably if not for feeling so star struck (and also the throbbing pain in her knee).

Theodore looks down sadly, "Said not to, or I might get smushed by a car," he then turns to Y/N as if to explain himself, "'cos m'not so good at lookin bof ways."

"Understandable," Y/N tells him, "I'm not very good at looking both ways either."

Theodore grins, like he's forgotten he's getting scolded and points towards her pug who is sitting in an angry huff besides her, "Wha's your dog's name?"

"Alfred," she answers easily, leaning over and heaving the oversized Pug from the left of her body to her right so he was closer to the boy and his famous father that was hovering over them suspiciously quiet, like he was trying to see how this might play out, "He's a bit cross with me because of the fall so that's why he looks like such a grump. You can pet him if you want, he loves getting rubbed on his head," she shows him how before moving her hand so his small, chubby fingers could replace hers -- she half expected him to be rough like most kids are with pets, but he's gentle in how he moves his fingers and his mouth parts in awe at the soft fur.

"I'm sorry about the ball," Harry starts suddenly and Y/N jumps a bit, having been staring at her pug and the kid, "I -- your knee is pretty busted up. Are you able to walk? Which house is yours I can take you to --"

"No, no, it's fine, don't worry I --" she stutters some, because how terrible would it be to admit she doesn't even live around here? "I think I can make it."  

Pressing her palms into the ground, she wobbles herself up to a stand the best she can without wincing too much in pain. She didn't want him to think she was being overdramatic or anything, even though it did hurt like a bitch and she wasn't 100% sure how she was going to climb over the rock and bushes again. Fact of the matter is she is meeting her idol with blood dribbling down her leg in a manner that makes her look like a total stalker, so she can't even say she's a fan.

When she gains her footing, she is about to sigh in relief but a gust of wind and a tug from Alfred nearly sends her tumbling down again, if not for an arm clasping around her bicep. A squeak echoes through he basically empty street and bounces back into her ears as she tries to regain the footing she lost, "Sorry, thank you."

Harry eyes her suspiciously before shaking his head, "C'mon, lets get you cleaned up. D'ya think you could make it to the porch with me?"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to be a bother --"

"You aren't," he tells her, holding out his arm, "Worry that might get infected though, and you can barely stand so I can't imagine you walking home in this state -- might tumble and make it worse." Y/N takes it hesitantly, twisting the leash around her fist again so that Alfred wouldn't try making a run for it with the kid in tow. They start making their way towards the huge home, Y/N trying to hobble quick enough to match his pace and also trying not to be knocked over with the sheer fact that her clumsiness worked out in her favor this time, only not so much as well. The circumstances in which she imagined herself ending up at Harry Styles' house didn't normally begin with his kid trailing behind them and her knee stained Scarlet, nor did it include Alfred's snorting, slunky way of toddling through the new surroundings.

Harry disappears for a moment inside with Theodore in in tow and remerges with a first aid kit. She keeps her hands settled in her lap, looking around with wide, wondrous eyes at the expansive lawn and fountain accompanying it, hedges sculpted for a king it looked like, grass kept well and green, and as the reality of the situation settles, she feels a slight panic set in, and she hopes she's not shaking because her insides are vibrating and she feels like she might cry. At least the crying she could blame on the knee, but there's so much that she wants to say to him and yet she can't think of anything at all, all at once.

So she sits still and quiet, save for a stern, "Be good, Alfred." and watches as the Pug sits in a huff besides Theodore who keeps a hand carefully between Alfred's ears.

"You'll save her daddy, right?" He asks hesitantly, like he might have confidence in his father but also knows that he's a singer and an actor not a doctor, and as far as he is concerned right now Y/N is bleeding out. There is a nervous light in his eyes that almost convinces Y/N that she's on her way out too, brows furrowing and another stir of a panic sparking in her but Harry tuts his tongue.

"Pet, what did I say? She's okay. Aren't you?" He looks towards Y/N and his eyes are very sweet and kind and he looks a bit sleepy doesn't he? Maybe he'd just woken up a little while ago, and now she feels bad that she disturbed his morning, as she nods quickly and flickers her gaze back to Theodore.

"Right as rain, promise." She holds out her pinkie finger and wriggles it, "Just a scratch is all."

"See?" Harry bends down before her, and she jumps a bit when he swipes up her leg to clear off the blood stain, "She's fine. Why don't yeh go play with Mr. Snuggles in your room, Teddy?"

"Nuh-uh," he tells him, "You got out the sprays -- spray is the worst part, so I gots t'a hold her hand during." With this Harry sighs as his son scrambles up to stand, rushing over to her side and grabbing at her hand with soft, chubby, sticky fingers (it might be snot from his stuffy nose, but she tries not to think about it too much), as he stares with big eyes while his father reaches out for the spray, slides his hand beneath Y/N's knee (she also tries not to think about that too much either, because this is not how she imagined a scenario in which Harry Styles was touching her would go).

Cautiously, he holds it above the scrape, "This is going to sting a bit, yeah?" He warns and Theodore's grasp becomes tighter, "Think you'll manage?"

"Who's to say?" Y/N jokes and she manages to get a small smile out of him before he spritzes it over her wound. And Y/N hisses a bit, Theodore holding even tighter -- tiny cratered half moons dug into her palm from his nails -- and Alfred snorts like some might have ricocheted onto him. When Y/N doesn't immediately start sobbing underneath the pain of the sting, Theodore lets up on her hand while his dad swipes petroleum jelly on the inside of a band aid.

"There," he utters, crumbling up the wrapper in his hand and shoving it in his pocket, "All cleaned up. Still sore?"

"A bit, but I think I can make it home," she tells him, before shooting him a smile, "Thank you loads for patching me up -- I don't think I've been able to even afford a box of band aids in a long while." Standing up steadily, she decides it might be best to pick Alfred up so the heft of his body doesn't try to tug her forward to fall again before she's out of Harry's eyesight, "It was nice to meet you! And you," she shifts the pug over to one arm to cradle him the best she can so she can hold her hand out to Theodore, "Thanks for saving me. Don't think I would've made it without your help."

He snorts up snot and smiles shyly, grabbing her hand with those cute chubby fingers, "Come back soon so we can checks for infections, okay? Follow ups are 'portant."

As they walk down his driveway Harry explains, "He's caught me watching Grey's Anatomy one too many times, so medical jargon fo' him is a norm."

When they get to the end, Y/N hugs Alfred a little tighter, "Thanks again for fixing my knee."

He waves his hand as if to brush it off, "Don't mention it. Be safe, yeah? No more falling."

It doesn't really hit Y/N until she's all the way down the street, when the star struck wonder finally fizzles out into a more reflective understanding. That's the house with the messy couple, which means Harry Styles and his girlfriend had been the messy couple, which also means that their relationship was 100% on the rocks probably (unless the nosy old women got the wrong house, but they don't do much on Weekends besides poke their heads in everyone's business so she can't imagine them having gotten this wrong). Sure she reads articles and stuff, but other than a few offhanded remarks about things being a bit off between the two, nothing had been expanded on.

So she has some intel that not many other people might, which is pretty cool, but then her heart is sort of sad too. That stuffy nosed cutie is going through a terrible, terrible breakup between his parents, including clothes being tossed out and screaming matches. . .the whole nine. She could only hope he didn't have to see or hear any of it. And if there was any truth in what Charlotte down the way had said about the party, the man (what she presumes now his Harry) called out the girl (her name had been Ava -- some model or something, Y/N hadn't paid much attention to her though) out for cheating on him during her time in Amsterdam, and she threw her drink onto him and stomped away and Harry had stormed up stairs (and might have broken a vase, she said some people heard a crash like shards of ceramic dancing against the wall).

With a sigh, Y/N hikes herself and Alfred up the dirt hills she'd crawled over to get here; she guesses it's none of her business, but she hopes he's okay.

                                                                         .                         .                       .

Y/N refrained from taking to social media about her meeting Harry even though her fingers were itching to type it out all out that he smelled like Spring and fixed her knee. That would only lead to "how did you meet's" to which she would have to explain what she does, which will sound very creepy and stalker-ish even to fans online, and if she doesn't cough up the goods or a picture she might be accused of lying. So she steers clear of the topic at all costs on the internet.

Her friend (and roommate) Michael had not heard the end of it, however, because as soon as it all settled into her head what had happened she'd called him immediately. Speaking quickly in a rush of thoughts and sentences that lacked much of a beginning or an end, explaining the whole thing (the best she were able), beginning to hyperventilate to the point he told her to stop and find a paper bag. It was amazing and so real and he was so real and "His hair was wrapped in a towel, how cute is that?"

Though she tells Michael of the encounter, she doesn't share the nitty gritty details of it, like how the house he is in was apparently the same house that a messy break up occurred or how tired he looked. Not because she didn't trust him with this information but something inside her tells her it's not her business to share, especially when she's got no real understanding of the situation. How truthful could Sabrina Kibbleton be anyways? Surely if it were that messy it would've had to end up in the papers one way or another, like a proper Brad/Angelina/Jennifer style blow up on every National Enquirer insight. The headlines different exaggerated variations Ava files for custody: a dirty battle in court over Theodore  or maybe even "She's a *&%@!" - Harry yells in Whole Foods, humiliating Ava in front of hundreds! a picture of him somewhere entirely different adjacent to it, a grumpy face.

So she keeps that, instead zeroing in on all the cute stuff, and "I don't think you understand, he said I wasn't a bother and bandaged up my knee! It was like a modern day fairytale."

"Dunno what kind of fairytales you've been reading, but that's pretty sad." He monotones, "Oi, why are you calling to talk about it when you're coming home anyways? And how long is it g'na be, have you got the donuts yet?"

"Christ, gimme a minute, you know Alfie likes sniffing the flowers outside the bakery before I tie him up." She tucks her phone between her shoulder and ear before bending down and looping Alfie's leash around the bench to the left of the door, "Did I tell you he had the dreamiest eyes?"

"Yes you did, about seventeen times."

"Now listen here Michael, I know you haven't got your prick fondled with for a good month or so, but don't take your blue balls out on me." Her voice lowers for that, since the lady behind the counter didn't need to know about Michael's unintentional edging dilemma. After a break up with his long time boyfriend he couldn't get back into the dating world like he once had been, so he was both parts frustrated and sad, which led to a very grumpy side of him that Y/N could only take small fractions of. They're good friends though, so she keeps him in check for the most part (and by keeps him in check, she shovels sweets down his throat while telling him, "Why take your anger out on someone who gives you cake rolls and donuts, when you can take your anger out on someone who doesn't do that" because it's a dog eat dog world, and being on the bad side of his stick is not fun at all).

He sighs on the other end of the line, "I know, I'm sorry. Can you get me the chocolate with sprinkles? Those are my favorite."

"Anything for you, Sweetheart." She teases him, puckering her lips, "I'll be round in a tick, with a dozen donuts and some Rumchata I smuggled off that boy Jake. The one who wanted me to get his dick wet."

"And did you?"

"Of course not, I told him I was on my period, took the alcohol and left. Didn't mean to get him all worked up." Scanning the donut choices for which she would like with squinted eyes, "Did I?" She scoffs, jumping back to his earlier question, "Who do you take me for?" As she's about to go off on a tangent about how he was very cute surface level but every time he spoke it was like talking to a snapback wearing wall, Mrs. Lorraine came through the swinging wooden door with a big ol' grin showing off a golden tooth on one side, and a chipped one diagonal from it.

She clasps her hands together tightly, "There's my girl!" Her chirp echoes through the near empty bakery (not a lot of people needed sweets on Wednesday's, and that's when she usually came. . .any day otherwise would be packed), "Let me guess, you're here for my donuts?"

"Oh, you know me so well!" She tells her, "I sure am. Do I still get my non-employee discount?"

"As always dear."

A soft snort comes from the phone, "I'll see you when you get here, yeah? Don't ditch me to hang out with the old woman."

"No promises." She responds.

                                                                              .                      .                       .

The next time Y/N is walking Alfred in that neighborhood, she isn't stopped by a stray ball threatening the appearance of her knee (which was healing up nicely, but a scar would be there for a while). However she is stopped by a cry of Alfred's name as she was about a few houses down, which makes her jump, and she stumbles a bit over an elevated piece of concrete in the sidewalk thanks to Alfred deciding they weren't stopping so soon as he continued plunking along. When she turns towards where she heard her voice, she sees a black car idling on the right side of the street, the windows down revealing Harry and Theodore.

Harry was behind the wheel, sunglasses tipped over his eyes but a pleasant smile adorning his face, while Theodore was in a car seat in the back, waving blue stained fingers at her and if she peeks further into the car she can see about a dozen balloons all twisted and knotted into animals and hats and swords. Y/N grins and waves back, "How've you guys been?"

"We've been well!" Harry shouts across to her, before looking pointedly at her knee, "Take it your knee has gotten better, yeah?"

Nodding, Y/N makes a show of kicking her leg out and swinging it back in,  "Good as new, thanks to you. Think you should look into being a physician."

He chuckles which is -- well, it's fucking great, really, honestly, truly. It makes her insides flutter, and she has to bite the inside of her lip to stop from gushing to hard about it. Thank god for Theodore, she thinks, because he starts talking before Harry could do anything more that would just make her squeak and spill the beans about being a fan.

"I wents to a birthday party! Saw a clown! He gaves me some gifts of me own." He reaches back into the car, withdrawing a sword and sticking it out from the window, wiggling it to her as he was showing it off.

"Well shiver me timbers, Matey, you're a sure pirate aren't you?" She loops her leash around Alfred as he starts walking in circles around her legs, like he might be setting her up for a fall -- or he could be after a bug -- either or she's having to step up and around the nylon continuously. Though she's trying to keep very careful; she wants to at least appear a little graceful rather than her usual ungainly self. Theodore nods excitedly, giving it a good few waves before Harry speaks up again.

"You're really okay though? No more falling right?"  

Once again she nods, "I'm all good, Mr. Styles."

"Oh, none of that, call me Harry." He stops her, looking like he's about to say something but Theodore lets out a wide, loud yawn and Harry rolls his eyes fondly, "We'll see you later, got to get this one in for an N-A-P. Went a little too hard at the hokey pokey. See you later . . ." he trails.

"Y/N."

Harry grins, "Yes, Y/N. See you later!"

With Y/N's goodbye they drive off, and she's shaking out of her bones with excitement. Never had she thought that she would meet him again, since it took her about six months of walking here to even see him the first time. Nor had she known she'd made such the impression on Theodore he would insist his father stop the car so he could tell her about his balloon animals, but that's wonderful too because Y/N was almost certain all kids hated her. Hell, she's so in her head replaying how amazing it was to hear Harry Styles laugh in the flesh, that she ends up tripping over Alfred's baby blue nylon leash anyway, despite her earlier precautions.

No matter how severe her tumble, Alfred keeps trucking on. She would question if this dog had a secret vendetta against her or something even though she feeds him, bathes him, and even lets him take up a majority of her bed. Thinks it might be for that one time she accidentally stepped on his paw and Alfred has always been more human than dog anyways, so he knows how to hold a steady, abiding grudge (he still won't look in Michael's direction after he picked up a bit of pizza he dropped on the floor instead of letting Alfred have at it).

"I could leave you at a house with someone's kids who've got grabby, sticky fingers, you know?" She threatens him as she regains her step, but Alfred ignores her and keeps on toddling because he knows she would never (and also he's a dog).

                                                                              .                       .                          .

Y/N was more stressed than she could really explain. Between school starting back up and waitressing, she felt like she had no time for herself at all other than when she can drop her head into the mound of pillows on her bed but even then all she does is pass out. It always got like this around the beginning of the year when she's feeling frazzled from syllabi, buying books (that emptied her bank account practically), keeping her grumpy self serving pug happy and trying to keep her job when she might just be the worst waitress ever.

Her job was becoming rather worrisome as of late; not only was she not very good at it (considering she'd spilled at least five coke products in the past week), but they weren't working around her schedule like they'd promised from the very beginning. Meaning if she wasn't able to make it off campus and three blocks over before 2PM when she gets out at 1:50 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays  then she was sure to get written up each time, which would in turn mean losing her only way to keep a roof over both her and Alfie's heads.

It was ridiculous, really. She should've known the new boss would disarrange the place from the second he tromped through the door with a clipboard in hand like some sort of military sergeant opposed to a cute, quaint 'restaurant on the corner' owner. Took one look at her up and down before kissing his teeth, grumping, "Those nails better be unpolished by the next time you come in here or you'll be written up." The manager of the store -- Carrie, a sweet middle aged woman with smile lines adorning her face -- furrowed her brows, seconds from explaining that Y/N didn't touch the food or wash the dishes on Friday through Sunday so she was allowed to have them painted but he stalks off before she could. All they could do was share a disheartened, unenthused look silently between one another before he called them all to line up at the counter before they opened.

When Y/N had been hired, it was by a sweet old couple who went by The Reynolds. They'd been married for sixty some odd years after running away together at sixteen and started their own little restaurant with original recipes and an atmosphere that made one feel at home. Mr. Reynolds brought in warm cookies he baked every Wednesday for the whole staff to eat in the break room and Mrs. Reynolds made soft, cucumber and green tea scented hand scrub that she gave out in cute little jars topped with green ribbons every month. Their heart and soul went into the restaurant and it's employees -- they'd often said they thought of us like their own kin, even the ones who hadn't been there for 20 to 30 years.

Apparently they had a son though -- a cold, cruel son who tore down the autumn decorations in favor of putting lurid art pieces in their place and cut pay by $0.75 for everyone since the "old folks" were paying them "too much". If Y/N wasn't so desperate for a job she would tell him right off -- criticize him for his abysmal attitude to the tacky suits he gussies himself up in on meeting days and everything in between.

It's always on the very tip of her tongue but it falters at her lips, forcing her to remain quiet.

But the new boss wanted to have a chat with her, which couldn't mean anything good.

All of this is weighing very heavily on her mind as she walks Alfie, her head aching and behind eyes just at the beginnings of teary. Its got her so out of it that she barely hears the cry of her name as she passes Harry's home.

Y/N pauses in her place, lifting her head up and towards the right where she can make out Harry darting across his lush green lawn, narrowly avoiding a ticking sprinkler that reaches halfway across each side of the lawn in a spray of glistering water. He doesn't even bother looking both ways when he runs across the new blacktopped concrete of the street, looking frantic with a white button shirt only done up to the fifth button and a belt partway through the buckle. He even trips over the curb as he stops before her and Alfred, placing his hands on his thighs and panting heavily.

"Mr. Styles?" Y/N questions him, crouching down so she could see his face, "Are you okay?"

He puts up one finger as he continues to wheeze softly, peeking up to her from where he's positioned, "No -- no, not at all, Teddy's babysitter just quit and I have to be at a meeting in forty minutes in a place thirty five minutes away from him." He finally lifts up all the way, taking in a huge breath, "I know this is so fucking crazy and we don't know each other well, but nobody will answer my calls and if they do they're busy and I just -- Could you watch Teddy for a few hours?" Y/N's eyes widen, brows skyrocketing on her forehead so Harry continues quickly, "I'll pay you any amount, I promise, just please. You've met us and you know where we live and its not in any tabloids so I trust you well enough and at this point I have no other choice."

Now all of Y/N's problems seemed to vanish from her in that moment. Her new boss, her new classes, all the stress boring down on her back and making her feel heavy, disseminates like autumn leaves in the bed of October, as she nods her head. All the worry dug beneath her bones, leaving through the pockets of her joints, as Harry leads her back up into his house. All her anger flushed away in a spiral, down the pipes, gone into the ocean, as they walk through his door and she's met with the marvelous marble of grand steps that sat just outside the foyer.

He wants her to babysit? Y/N isn't sure how to feel, entirely, because while she's elated he trusts her enough to babysit his child (and she figures it must be bad if he's plucking a girl who walks her dog off the street and recruiting her for the night), she knows next to nothing about proper babysitting. She's watched family members before, sure, but that doesn't really count because they were family she knew and knew how to please them, what they liked to eat, when they needed to sleep, etcetera. As much as she thinks Teddy is the cutest kid she's ever seen, she knows next to nothing about the small boy. Not a clue if he was rowdy and would tucker himself out or if she had to play a part in putting him to bed, or if he liked his sandwiches cut in triangles, rectangles, or squares (which could start something close to a war, Y/N's found in the past).

"Teddy's down for a nap, so he should be asleep the whole time," Harry assures her, snatching his wallet and keys from the lengthy table athwart the wall she's standing at, clutching a pouty Alfie in both of her arms with no real clue if there was dirt on his paws or not, "I'll be back in 2 hours, 3 hours tops! Thank you so much, think of a price while I'm gone okay? And lock up!"

With that the door shuts with a soft click and Y/N's left in a house far too big for her mind to possibly comprehend. Too much happened too quickly for her brain to really catch up with anything at all really, so after a suitable amount of time standing dumbstruck besides the door, she finally reaches over to twist the lock and pull the heavy silver bar over it's latch. Though she immediately retreats back to the corner she'd originally been in, almost too worried to step her now grubby feeling shoes on the polished wooden floors, let alone having Alfie's potentially dirty paws track his footsteps.

Eventually, after some gentle coaxing from herself (and a more than urgent need to pee), she tucks the sleeves of her jacket over the heels of her palms and swipes over each of his paw pads graciously before setting him down. His claws tick against the ground as he makes himself at home, walking forwards and sniffing around, leading the way as Y/N finally steps away from the wall and in whatever direction Alfie's going to.

It's easy to say that Harry Styles' house was incredible.

Everything felt so big; larger than life almost. The TV in his living room was the size of Manhattan alone, flat against the wall with speakers on either side of it. A couch that looked equal parts expensive and uncomfortable sat pretty and black in all it's leather glory against the wall (she wonders if his sweaty thighs ever stick to the surface and he has to yank them off), with a matching loveseat opposite of it. There was a large shaggy white rug in the center, atop of it a small glass coffee table with nothing but a candle topped in the middle. It's almost suspiciously clean for having a small snotty child, which pushes Y/N to go look for what the actual living room was and not the fancy show room.

She comes across a nice little den, with a more wooden interior, the walls looking like a nice oak and the couches bigger, puffier, much much softer. There were toys here and there, an empty juice box overturned on a coffee table pressed towards a wall like Teddy might've been running around or something. The TV was equally as massive but the entertainment center it sat on had a lot of stuff toppled on it and there was a full bookcase just to the right of it. This was looking more lived in -- like a proper living room rather than this faulty one they were trying to pull for people who walk in surface level.

Y/N catches the glitter of what looks like a nonstick skillet from where she stands back in the foyer but she has no time to go explore it, as she hears a soft voice coming from the more or less bridged connection to the stairs leading either direction to what she presumes is a long line of rooms on each side. When she looks up, a sleepy Theodore is rubbing at his eyes, clutching his blanket in hand tightly with rosy cheeks and a very pouty face, "Daddy?" He repeats as he blinks his eyes open and they widen as he realizes who is standing at the end of the stairs, "Y/N?"

"Hi Buddy," She says, careful not to startle him with being too enthusiastic (he'd just woken up, the tired little guy, she didn't want to aggravate him), "Your daddy had to go to a meeting, so me n' Alfie get to play with you for a while."

He perks up immediately, rubbing his hand beneath his noticeably drippy nostrils as a smile pulls on his face, "For really?" His voice holds a hope that makes Y/N's heart clench -- he's too damn cute, truly -- and she nods. Happily, he claps his hands, "We can play cars! Come to my playroom!"

Y/N doesn't know if she knows how to or is qualified to play with cars -- Tonka or Hot Wheels -- but she nods along anyways. Watches as he bounds down the steps with nothing short of pure glee alit his face. She follows as he trips a bit over his blanket, hand darting out like she was going to catch him by the collar but he rights himself before she has to and leads the way to another door that he pushes open easily.

Its safe to say, Y/N has never seen something so magical.

The walls were painted with a story of a knight and a dragon and a small baby chick, there was a fake tree with a thick hollow trunk that (from what she could see of it) had a latter leading up to a platform with more toys scatter amongst it. A bright yellow slide at the far left leading into a small pit of foam blocks, all different lightly shaded colors. It was huge, something Y/N could have only dreamt of growing up, so when she feels the excitement in her bones at the prospect of playing in this room, well she only feels a little silly.

"You can be the yellow car, Alfie can be the ora'ge, and I gots the pink okay?"

Y/N nods, takes the yellow car, and plops down in the center of the floor with Harry Styles' kid.

                                                                                   .                       .                      .

Around four hours later, after Y/N had successfully played cars, made them both peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (Alfie got the crusts), and figured out how to work the endless amount of buttons on the remote in the den so they could watch Mulan together, Y/N some how managed to coax the already napped boy to lie down on the couch. The sun sat low in a sky painted with pinks and oranges, a deep blue overcoming them from the east, night just around the bend. Closing the blinds and clicking on lamps, Y/N gets Teddy situated on the couch and urges Alfie to go snuggle with him (he may be a grump but he's always keen on a snuggle), who lets Teddy bury his face between his ears and doze off softly.

It'd been far longer than the two to three hours that Harry predicted initially and she had no real way to contact him but it wasn't too bad. She didn't mind it all too much really, being in the den was sort of like being in a normal house aside from everything in there being of such great quality and not one Walgreens candle was lying untouched in a corner forgotten and dusty around soot stained edges. There was a warmth to the room that radiate throughout the entirety of it, similar to a small muted sun coming from two sides opposite either couch. The longer she sat besides a gentle snoring Teddy and a passed out Alfie pressed into these comfy, plush cushions, the heavier her eyelids became.

Y/N's near certain all of her muscles would've slowly melted as she sank deeper into the couch if not for the sound of the front door closing, that ultimately drags her away from any sense of sleep she felt before hand. A few minutes after the sudden shut of the door, a less frazzled looking Harry entering through the doorway and stepping down into the den. An apologetic look worries his brow, one hand full with his wallet, a journal, and his keys -- a water bottle and a container of food in his other. "God, I'm so sorry, it ended up going so late and -- " he speaks a little too loud and without thinking Y/N shoves her finger up towards her mouth, unintentionally smushing her lips and that's when his eyes fall unto his sleeping child. His eyes go a little wide, blinking from her to Teddy to Alfie and back again.

"He fell asleep a little while ago when we were watching Mulan," Y/N murmurs, giving a glance back to the two, "And so did Alfie too, I hope it's okay he's on the couch, I know some people don't really let pets get on their things so I asked Teddy and he said it was fine, but now that I think about it I probably should've just --"

"It's fine, it's fine!" Harry cuts her off, a smile worming its way onto his mouth, "Honest, I don't mind it, m'just so surprised you were able to get him to sleep? He's normally still going strong when I get back and he's being babysat."

Shrugging, Y/N's brows furrow, "I dunno' I just asked if he wanted to cuddle with Alfie and he said sure." She answers, "S'pretty cozy in here though, I nearly fell asleep myself."

He takes his sunglasses off, combs his fingers through his hair to brush it back from his forehead before nestling the glasses back onto his head, "I'm so sorry for being gone so late. Thought it would've ended but they kept it going and even had us go out to dinner to finish." He lifts up the container in his hands, "I've got leftovers from some caeser salad that I brought back for you, in case you didn't eat." Harry gives Teddy another look, "Thank you so much, honestly and -- Christ, did you clean up?"

Y/N nods shyly; she hadn't meant to intrude if she had, but she did tidy some. Threw away the crumpled napkins and discarded juice boxes, fixed up the cushions of the couches and repositioned the pillows on either end neatly. Had even convinced Teddy to help her put his toys in his toy room, keeping out only a couple stuffies so he could play with them while the movie was on.

Harry doesn't seem upset by it at all. Instead, his smile only grows wider, "Whatever price you want you got it."

"It's okay Mr. Styles, I don't need any money." She declines, but she does take the salad from his hands -- her stomach rumbles to life very suddenly, as if the thought of food being near alone had stirred something inside of her, "The food'll be nice though, I can eat it when I get home. I've had some caeser dressing in little packages in my fridge for at least two weeks and I'm looking to get rid of 'em."

His brows furrow, "At least let me give you a ride home? You've done so much."

"No, no, it's okay," she tells him, "I don't live around here and I don't want ya to have to wake Teddy up."

Y/N doesn't realize that she'd ratted herself out until after the words had already left her mouth, and she tries not to let it show on her face that she's fucked up so her toes curl into her shoe. Harry tilts his head a bit, "You don't?"

"No, um -- I come to this neighborhood because Alfie likes it here --" she admits, "But it's not in like a creepy way, or anything! I promise, um, Alfie is just really picky and he wanted over this hill and we ended up here."

As off putting as it should be for a celebrity to find that the person he'd just let sit in his house with his child for a good six hours didn't even live on his street, but rather Harry purses his lips and nods instead, "Oh, okay. Have you got a car nearby that I can drive you to?" And Y/N's about to tell him its okay, that she really just parks a few blocks away from the gate to the entrance way of the neighborhood when he snaps his fingers together, setting his stuff on the table, "Let me make you a cup of tea, actually, before you leave. I fancy me one right now anyways. Got a new blueberry bundt cake cuppa I want to try."

Y/N gives one last sparing look to Alfie and Teddy before nodding her head and following Harry towards the kitchen. Normally the two sleeping on the couch are the topic of conversation between Harry and her, the few times they've met before, so now she isn't entirely sure what they might talk about. For a moment Y/N worries he's only cajoling her to the kitchen for "tea" so he could alert the authorities that some crazy college student has been more or less breaking into a gated community to walk her fucking dog. The thought makes her tense as she heaves herself up onto the ball stool at his island counter, where he removes the kettle from the stove and refills it with water. Her feet swing to and fro, crossed at the ankle, and nibbling at the inside of her lip as she watches him bop around the kitchen.

"So how've you been today? Other than the whole doing me a favor thing." He asks, setting a mug down in front of her that has forest green leaves painted in soft, watery strokes on the ceramic.

Sighing heavily, she leans forward onto the counter, "I've been better, actually," she tells him, "My new boss is going to fire me, m'sure of it." Harry's brows furrow, a pout tugging at his mouth as a silent inquiry as to why, "I'm not great at being a waitress, is the thing, but I work my hardest and the old owners always thought that was enough but this guy is like a damn sergeant or something and is so strict, it's terrible." She tucks her face into the crook of her elbow, speaking a bit louder so he could hear through the muffles, "Plus, he's cut my pay! And he won't work with my school hours like they'd said they would before and it's just the worst thing that could happen right now, the prick."

"He sounds like a proper prick." Harry agrees, "Y'need to get out of there."

"I know," she murmurs, "But where am I to go? I've been looking at job listings but everybody either wants experience, or someone with more free time I'm able to give them. In all aspects, I'm fucked really and s'not like I can even go back to living in the dorms because they won't let Alfie stay with me." The sad turn of the conversation had been her doing and she feels bad about it, but perhaps she just feels pretty shitty about everything right now. Wishes she would've signed up for a job on campus before they'd run out because at least that was better than nothing at all. She pulls up from her arms, "I'm sorry for throwing my problems on you, s'just been weighing on me all week."

"No, no, you don't have to apologize. It's stressful." He assures her, dropping the tea bag into either one of their mugs and only letting the kettle whistle for half of a millisecond (she presumes so he won't wake Alfie up) before snatching it off the stove and pouring both of their mugs a few centimeters below the rim. For a while he's quiet, like he might be pondering her words and tasting the sheer sadness exuding off of her aura. Maybe even thanking the universe for letting him skip past the trials and tribulations of college and trying to manage school, money, and a dog when still feeling like too much of a baby to do anything at all. Sometimes Y/N wonders if she'll ever even graduate -- if working so hard might fuck her over in the end. Especially with this new boss who is planning on working her past 11 on a weekday. "I think I might have an idea though, that could help you out."

Y/N takes the mug by the handle, pulling it towards her body, "Please let me in on it, I need all the ideas I can get." She blows a stream of the steam away, watching only for a moment as it disperses in the air like thin smoke.

"You could be my babysitter?" He suggests, nursing his mug between his palms and leaning back against the counter, legs crossed, "I know this is very sudden but you're so good with him, even in the few times we met before this you talk to him so sweet and he felt comfortable enough with you to sleep tonight. You can bring Alfie, your homework, you're free to anything in the kitchen and all of the TV channels. And I'm sure I can be quite flexible with your schedule. Plus I'd pay you quite well, around four hundred a night is what I paid his last babysitter."

She blinks at him, eyes wide and her mouth dropping agape, "You want me to be your babysitter?"

"You did really well t'night. He loves you too. . .wouldn't stop talking about you or Alfie all day after we'd seen you, and nearly demanded I invite you for peanut butter and jelly eventually." With a small slurp, he kisses his tongue to the roof of his mouth soundly, "Course I'd need you to sign a few things -- not because I don't trust you it's just my manager thinks of it as a safety precaution. But 've got a feeling we don't have to worry about you, given you've known where we live and I haven't gotten anybody sat out on my lawn waiting for me to come home so that's a good sign."

As she goes to agree, mind alit with wonderment on how she'd manage to obtain a babysitting job for a celebrity's child, and the immediate decision to do it -- the liquid in Y/N's mug sloshes hot onto her skin, stinging it with an in-ignorable burn. She hisses in pain, snatching her hand back to her body and holding it near her chest. Y/N's hoping that went by unnoticed but as soon as she looks up she notices that he's made his way to her side, "Christ, you're a clumsy one aren't ya? Up you get." His hand encircles around her wrist, dragging her to the beautiful sparkling sink and turning the water on cold, "I've got some cream we can put on it."

"Oh, no, it's fine really --"  

"Are you mad?" Harry asks her, motioning for her to wiggle her hand a bit beneath the stream to get all of the heated skin, "That water was boiling!" He tuts his tongue quietly with a shake of his head as Y/N's lips draws into a severe pout, "I've got a nice bandage too, just to make sure."

"You're a worrywart Mr. Styles," she tells him, drawing her hand out of the cool water as he turns on his heal for the medicine cabinet, "M'a college student. Once you've dealt with student loans, the rest of the struggle and pain in the world is null."

Snorting, he rolls his eyes fiddling through all of the boxes, bottles, and tubes of medicine until he finds what he's looking for, "Rubbish; even the strongest of college students need a little looking after." Y/N's heart does a weird patter in her chest and she urges herself not to worry her lip to bleeding beneath her teeth as he grabs for her wrist tentatively, the cap of the tube already rolled off as he smears the cream over her spot. "So what do you say? Will you babysit Teddy for me?"

Y/N nods quickly, "Of course Mr. Styles that would be -- well, that would be great. I promise I won't let you down and you don't even have to give me your real number if you aren't comfortable with me having it, or something, and like I could even leave my phone at home if you wanted --"

"Oi, oi, oi, none of that," he shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his cheeks, "As dumb as it might be for me to trust a college student, you put off a very honest vibe. Truly he fact that I went on twitter and saw no pics of the inside of me house makes me feel even better about this decision." He begins unwrapping the sticky adhesive of the packaged bandage, "Course, the first night or so I'll stay in the house -- just have you watch him while I get some work done in another room so you can ask me all the questions you need and we can really solidify this. Plus it'll take sometime convincing my manager that you aren't a reporter trying to weasel in on me."

"I don' even know how to weasel." She assures him, watching as he slides the bandage onto her and Y/N looks up towards his eyes again, locking his gaze, "You're -- you're great, Mr. Styles -- a true saint. They would've fired me if I came in five minutes later after my lecture."

He gives her another small smile, "M'no saint," he answers, "And stop calling me Mr. Styles, honestly, you're making me feel old."