Chapter Text
Harry wakes to the sound of Peppa godforsaken Pig for the fourth consecutive morning and groans at the distant memory of sleeping long enough to hear his pre-set alarm.
Rustling in his sleep-warm sheets, Harry reaches an arm out of his cotton cocoon and pats the surface of his bedside shelf before remembering he shoved his phone beneath an extra pillow at around four in the morning. It takes him another twenty seconds of tuning out Peppa fucking Pig to remember why the phone was hidden.
Spending three and a half hours that he should have been sleeping reading his favourite blog instead was…inadvisable. When he woke himself up with a particularly loud snore halfway through scrolling a new article about homoerotic intent in a selection of ice hockey fights, Harry knew he had to cut himself off. Writing of that caliber deserves his full, caffeinated attention.
“Muuum.”
He knew Chandler must be awake, but he’s not usually shouting this early in the morning. Maybe Harry can blame that on Peppa, too.
The distant toddler call goes unanswered, but maybe Harry just can’t hear his sister over the sound of the world’s most annoying animated swine. Some mornings he wonders if she raises the volume just to get him up with the rest of the household. It’s how Jane would wake him when he was a moody teenager, so there’s precedent.
Harry rubs at his eyes, knowing full well that sleeping past seven in a house with two children under four is, at best, sisyphean. The nearly three hours of interrupted sleep will have to get him through his very long, very important day, even if he really wishes that day were starting closer to nine.
There’s a creak behind him that can only mean the toddler has breached containment. Sure enough…
“Hair.”
A sticky, gentle hand pats Harry’s shoulder through his cocoon, and he regrets every moment of deciding on a Japanese bed frame that kept him within grabbing distance of jam hands. Even if those jam hands belong to his favourite - and only - nephew.
“I’m awake.” Harry grumbles, trying not to sound as wrecked as he feels. When he elected to move in permanently with his sister, her partner, and their two wriggling children, he knew what he signed up for.
“Hair.” Chandler tries again, and Harry can hear the pout in his eyes without even needing to open his own.
“Chair.” Harry rolls over, careful not to elbow his nephew anywhere tear-inducing, then lifts the sheets to invite the kid in for a cuddle.
“I’m not Chair.” Chandler waits for Harry to help him traverse the very small rise onto the mattress and settle them together, facing one another like nearly every morning since moving into this house.
Chandler smells like oatmeal, raspberry jam, and laundry. Harry breathes him in as he wraps him in a hug, Chandler giggling when Harry wriggles his fingers at his ribs before relaxing with a sigh.
“Chair and Hair.” Harry mumbles through a yawn, smiling despite his exhaustion. How is it so bright already? Last he checked, England was known for its rain. “Your mum know you’re in here?”
Nodding, Chandler points at the open door with one tiny hand, indicating that Jane let him into Harry’s room. On nights when he gets home after midnight, he keeps the baby gate in the corridor closed. Even with jam hands, Chandler hasn’t learned how to open it…yet. Another few months and the kid will probably out manoeuvre every childproof feature in the house.
“Your Uncle Hair is very tired this morning.” Harry yawns again, trying and failing to be annoyed about being woken up like this. Truthfully, he wouldn’t trade it for anything. “Five more minutes?”
“No thank you.” Chandler puts both hands on Harry’s cheeks, jam and all, and blinks at him expectantly.
“That’s what I figured.” Harry sighs again, presses a kiss to Chandler’s forehead, and forces himself to sit up. “Let’s get you back to your breakfast.”
“Hair!” Chandler holds his arms in the air, asking to be picked up, which Harry immediately obeys. He takes Chandler in his arms and leaves his beautiful, barely used bed behind. Re-closing the baby gate behind him, Harry walks down the corridor, past the living room, and into the kitchen where he deposits Chandler back in his booster chair at the table.
“Jane, you’re looking…why do you look like that?” Harry brushes a kiss against his sister’s cheek, one hand sliding around the middle of her back in a suggestion of a morning hug.
Jane turns to him with a bowl of rice cereal, a teeny tiny spoon, and a question in her eyes, then looks down at her outfit as if she’s just remembered she inhabits a human shape. Parenthood will do that to a person.
“You don’t like it?” Jane holds the spoon out for her youngest when she grumbles in protest. Mariane prefers to be eating every moment she’s awake, and she’s not shy about reminding anyone. If they’re on schedule, this is already her second breakfast.
“It’s strong and bold and definitely belongs to your wife.” Harry reaches for a mug to pour himself a much needed ration of coffee from the Moka Pot. He’s grateful to his past self for buying the largest size available as a gift for his Brazilian, coffee-obsessed sister-in-law on move-in day. “Also it’s about three sizes too large for you, seeing as she and I are the same height and share clothing nearly every day.”
“Well!” Jane waves a hand in the air as if the oversized jumpsuit is the least of her worries. If she keeps flinging Mariane’s precious calories around like that, it might be.
“I’ll fix you before I leave.” Harry leans forward to press a kiss to his niece’s forehead then takes the seat beside Chandler at the table. “But what’s the occasion? Did I miss something on the calendar? I have a shoot today.”
“No no, you’re fine. The kids are going to visit their grandparents and I wanted armour since I’ll be going alone.” Jane brushes her fringe away from her eyes, a nervous tick she’s had for as long as Harry can remember.
“That’s very brave of you. Possibly stupid, but brave.” Harry reminds her between sips of his morning nectar. Their parents still think Jane should get back together with her ex-husband, which is both idiotic and cruel. So, just another Friday for them, really.
“Maybe mum and dad won’t be horrible this time…” Jane feeds Mariane another spoonful of mush, then glances at her toddler who’s been suspiciously quiet. “Chandler, hands out of your pants. You’ll get your penis full of jam.”
“Jam pants.” Chandler confirms with a nod, because that kid knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Uncle Harry can administer a bath before he leaves while you find a belt that will fix your waist situation for the day.” Harry gently removes Chandler’s hands from his pants and reaches for the damp flannel ready on the table for cleanup of the jam hands. Chandler doesn’t fuss, just reaches for his toast to gnaw on the corner for a while longer.
“How many more years until mum and dad accept that Kent is a prick who’s never coming back and Isadora is literally my legal spouse and co-parent of my two kids? We’ve been together since before Mari was born, and her birthday is next month.” Jane is understandably exasperated, given that her ex-husband left his family for a co-worker while Jane was five months pregnant with her second child. If nothing else, her parents should understand why she never wants to speak to him again.
“They still think I’m going to settle down with a nice girl some day and make beautiful heterosexual babies. And given that I came out to them at fourteen…” Harry pretends to do some complicated calculations, his finger drawing nonsense in the air in front of him. “I’d say any day now.”
“You’re not funny.” Jane tosses an apple at Harry, knowing he’ll catch it.
He does, and bites into it almost immediately, wiping away the apple juice that gathers at the corners of his mouth. He hasn’t eaten anything since before he went out last night, and he burns a lot of calories on club nights. If he’s lucky. And last night he was lucky twice.
“They don’t pay me to be funny.” Harry shrugs, talking through a horrendous amount of chewing. Chandler laughs, splattering a bit of oatmeal on accident with a wayward jam hand. Clearly the attempts with the flannel were premature.
“No, they pay you to make athletes look like expensive adult entertainers.” Jane takes advantage of a rare moment when Mariane seems contentedly full and pours herself her own cup of coffee, closing her eyes and inhaling the luxurious scent of specialty beans sent directly from her in-laws’ farm. If you can call their multi-generational coffee business a farm. “You’d make more money if you moved to London. More clients, better networking.”
“I detest London.” Harry enunciates his disgust. This is an old, repetitive conversation. “And living with you and the kids is the best thing that’s happened to me in years. I travel when I need to, but I’m happy here. Manchester is big enough.”
“Just wait.” Jane walks over to him and sets a slightly patronising elder sister hand atop his shoulder, not caring in the slightest that Harry is shirtless this morning. “One day, some gorgeous man is going to sweep you away to Paris or New York or Sydney, and you’ll only see the kids for their birthdays and Christmas.”
“That’s never going to happen.” Harry doesn't need to list all the reasons why. There’s only one that matters. “Even if there is a beautiful man someday, you four are my home. The furthest I’ll move is down the street, and even then, I might ask your millionaire wife to build me a house in the garden. You have the space for it.”
“Not this again.” Jane shoves at his shoulder but she’s smiling. Her brother showing up the moment her husband left and immediately taking over any and all second parent responsibilities until Isadora entered the picture is one of the dozens of reasons she loves him. They’re inseparable. “When do you need to leave today?”
“Couple of hours.” Harry automatically reaches over and moves Chandler’s oatmeal out of grabbing distance. That bowl has been flipped onto the table twice this week, and he’s not eager for a repeat performance. “I was thinking I’d take the kids for a walk, let you have a bit of time before I’m gone for the day? We should enjoy the sun while we have it.”
“I blasted Peppa on purpose to wake you up.” Jane admits, her cheeks pinking slightly at the admission.
“I figured. It’s my own fault for staying out so late then reading well past my bedtime.” Harry stands up to refill both of their mugs. They’re going to need it. “You working today after visiting mum and dad?”
“No, I’m done for the week. I caught up last night while you were out and the house was quiet. I wanted to have the weekend free with Dora and the kids. She’ll be home from the airport around six.” Jane gratefully accepts the refill, even though her mug was still half full.
“Happy Friday, Janey Jane.” Harry clinks their mugs together, takes a hearty drink, then picks up the remote. He loves his family, but if he has to endure a single additional second of background Peppa, he’s going to break the telly.