Show Me (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter Twelve - Nobody Compares

No one ever makes me feel

Like you do when you smile.

Baby, tell me how to make it right?

- "Nobody Compares", One Direction

....

My dad pulled up in the driveway, slamming the door shut. His expression was sour before he even left the truck - he probably noticed Harry's Mustang. I'd have to sit and watch a sports game with him to suck up once Harry went home.

Harry gave me a knowing look, wiping at his slightly damp curls with the towel. Go on, his expression read.

"Hey, Dad!" I said brightly, closing my Biology book and jumping up.

My dad's eyes snapped from Harry to my eager smile. "Hey," he mumbled warily, then glanced in my boyfriend's direction. "Styles."

Harry lifted three fingers to wave. "Hi."

"Um...so, D-Dad," I mumbled, pushing my hair back from my face. "Er..."

"We should head on inside, yeah?" Harry piped up, giving me an exasperated look out of the corners of his eyes.

My dad nodded slowly, shuffling into the house. I grimaced. He was tired, must've had some real characters come into his psych office today.

"H-how was work?" I chirped as my dad plopped on the sofa, Harry drifting behind me.

"All right. Some of my regulars came today. Mr. Oldman came back, he's coping better after his daughter's passing...Tess has started talking to her parents again." He shrugged, rubbing at his silver-streaked hair.

I cleared my throat. "So, can I...make you dinner?"

I heard Harry's irritated sigh, and my dad grumbled out a, "That'd be lovely, Al."

Harry and I made our way to the kitchen, and he watched me get out the makings for spaghetti and frozen garlic bread. "Babe."

I sighed. "Yes?"

"You're a pussy."

I gasped, smacking Harry with a bag of angel hair pasta. "Shh!"

"But really," he continued, as if nothing even happened, "just go up and ask Rob if you can spend spring break with me."

Keeping my eyes down, I dumped the half-crushed pasta into a pot of water. "I'm afraid he'll get mad."

"Why would he get mad?" Harry strode over to the sink, easily lifting the entire pot of water and spaghetti with one hand back to the stove.

"Because," I hissed, "I'll be away from home...with you. He'd think..."

"Oh." Harry blinked, his heart-shaped lips lifting in my favorite one-sided smirk. "Oh."

I started to move my hair away from my face to keep it out of the pot, when I felt Harry's long, rough fingers tuck my bangs behind my ear. "Baby. Just give it a try, okay?" He kissed my temple. "I'll be here. All I have to do is start talking about the Chicago Bears with him, and he'll be sold. Hook, line, and sinker."

I bit my lower lip, not responding.

Finally, I finished the spaghetti and sauce, baking the garlic bread in the oven. Harry leaning against the counter and watching me. "Dad, dinner's all done."

My father's gruff groaning was heard from the living room, and I pictured heaving himself off the sofa. I gave Harry another panicked look while I filled glasses with Dr. Pepper, but he was calmly setting the table. Once we were seated, my dad immediately dug into his spaghetti, swirling the noodles around his fork. He'd started chatting to Harry about football again, while I mentally prepared myself.