#format of the pictures suck bc you can't add read more on the app and on the app is the only way you want put two pics

[manchesterau]

Your Gay Uncle Harry

Okay so I have been really hung up with all those photos of Harry in Italy recently and one thing came to mind when looking at all the photos: Gay Uncle. I even made a post about it! So now I present to you a small fic about your gay Uncle Harry. It’s written in 2nd person pov because I don’t like the feel of 1st person. I...have no idea why I wrote this, and who would even enjoy this but here it is! This is...diffrent from anything I’ve ever written before but I sorta fell in love with this, so I hope you do too.

My own prompt: harry is giving gay rich uncle who you don’t really know too much about because he’s always traveling around with his boyfriend but always invites you and your cousins to his villa in the south of italy for the summer where he plays host

Your family never really talks about him, and when you were younger you never really understood why. The way they all talked about him seemed like he had passed, always in past tense, never spoken about with happiness, always in hushed whispers. Always when the children were away, out of sight out of mind.

When you were younger you pictured him as a ghost, a white sheet with curly hair, bunny teeth, and dimples. You pictured him living hundreds of years ago, in the city somewhere if you were itching to get out of the country, and sometimes in the country herding sheep when you were in the city missing home. 

It took a while, but then you finally understood why no one really talks about Uncle Harry. You grew up on a vineyard in California. Uncle Harry was born in a small village in the UK. There is one picture of you and him together, and it’s when you were a baby. His mum, his sister (your Aunt Gemma), and Uncle Harry all traveled to the United States for the first time to see you.

Your mother holds up the picture, she doesn’t understand your curiosity about your Uncle, and quite frankly you can tell that it annoys her, but she tries not to show it for your sake.

You hold the picture up with shaky hands. You’re nervous because you’ve never really seen a picture of him before, it’s like he had been erased from history. Or your family tried very hard to make sure that he was. So when you see his big bright smile, wild curls, and steady arms holding you almost nineteen years ago you want to cry. You don’t, because then you would have to explain to your mom why you’re crying but you sniffling some here and there. He’s holding you with so much pride, so much love, like your his baby, and this is a photo taken right after he’s given birth.

“Why...I mean I guess I don’t understand why you all never really talk about him.” You say.

Your mom pauses, she turns away from you for a second. “I...honestly I think there was a falling out years ago and...and we all know Harry can hold a mean grunge like nobodies business. All of us can really. But, I mean he still comes around sometimes when he’s not busy traveling the world, to say hi and he always asks for updates on you kids.”

You nod, the photo in your hand weighs heavy in between your finger tips. Then your mom pulls out her phone, goes to Facebook, and pulls up Uncle Harry’s page. It’s like an explosion of rainbows, of the likes you’ve never really seen before. Only on the internet, communities you guard with all of your heart, a safe space for your eyes only. And then you start to understand why it’s all hushed voices when talking about Uncle Harry. You scroll for hours through his page, later on, watch video after video, smile at every picture he puts up. 

A random dish from a random country he visited last month. Funny old people memes that make you snort. Him all wrapped up in the pride flag, and what you assume is his lover right beside him. A picture from a few weeks ago of them embracing, his name starts with an L and that’s all Uncle Harry says about him regarding his name. Post after post after post about how he had found the one, how in love he was, how his boyfriend was pushing him to reconnect with his family, his love for his smile, the way his eyes crinkle, the barely-there freckles that dot his cheeks. The moments they’ve shared, the heartache they’ve endured, the sweet bliss and utter happiness and love they have for each other.

You cry. Not because you’re upset, but because of how robbed you were of knowing your Uncle. So you friend him on the Facebook you created an hour ago. When you get a message from him two days later asking if your family or a friend of the family you yell and thank whoever is above that no one is home. You reply that he’s your Uncle, go over the semantics on who your dad is, your mom, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandma, papa. By the end he sends you a video, saying how he doesn’t understand all the texting and emojis and you call him an old man and he says he doesn’t take offense to that.

“I like to think of myself as an old soul. Also I’m only thirty-seven, that’s hardly old.”

You laugh at his accent, and he laughs at your lack of one. 

You never talk about what happened that made him estranged from the family, but deep down you understand. And when he says he can see a little of himself in you, you cry.

It’s summer, you're at home miserable because of the sweltering heat. The past few days you’ve been to a lot of family gatherings, and it annoys you that the hushed whispers about Uncle Harry never stop. You want to yell at them, to scream and sing his praises but you don’t. And then your mother walks through the side glass doors, her white cowboy hat sling low on her head. Yours sits on the ground below you, an ant crawls by slowly. She looks over at you, once, then again, and then she smiles and nods to herself, hangs up, and walks over.

“Your Uncle Harry is inviting you and your cousins to his villa in Italy if you want to go.” She says it so nonchalantly that you think she’s joking around and you roll your eyes. She shrugs and crosses her arms, stares you down. That’s how you know she’s not joking.

The next thing you know you're on a long flight to Italy. Five of your cousins are on the same flight, the rest of them declined. And then you’re getting off the plane, taking a car, and now you’re standing in front of a house. The stone feels warm under your fingertips as you slide your hand across the side of the house. You’re welcomed by Uncle Harry’s boyfriend, his smile friendly and inviting. His fringe gets in his eyes a lot, and he complains about it, says your Uncle loves his hair like this. You smile, something deep inside you settling. 

He takes you all on a small tour, shows you your rooms, tells you your Uncle went on a shopping trip, and should be back very soon. He leaves you to unpack, and you leave your suitcase on the twin-sized bed, wandering around amazed at everything. It feels like home, in a way where you know you won’t get homesick from being here for the summer. It feels like love, like taking a bit out of a warm cookie, like a cuddle with your mom while it rains outside, like curling up next to the fire with a good book. You haven’t felt this way in a long time.

And if there’s one thing no one tells told you about Uncle Harry, is that he sure does know how to make an entrance. You’re looking at the view of the sea beside the pool, you can hear the sound of children playing on the beach below, people moving around in the house behind you, the gentle sway of the leaves as a light breeze blows through.

“How’s the view?”

He startles you, bright big smile on his face and his bunny teeth on display. His hair is shorter than the pictures he’s uploaded before, and he’s actually been able to grow a mustache. He laughs when you tell him this before pulling you into a big hug. You don’t cry like you thought you would, but you do tear up a little.

“I can’t believe you’re actually real.” You say. You still think of him sometimes as a ghost, but without the paper sheet and more real, a little translucent at times. 

He pulls back, an arm slung around your shoulder as he hip checks you, his sunburnt nose moves a little as he says, “In the flesh, love.”

You don’t tell him this, but later on as the summer winds down, as the gentle breeze that brought a little moment of peace between the unrelenting day's of heat starts to pick up more, and as classes are due to start again you think about how this was the best summer ever. You hug him extra tight before you and your cousins head off home. And just before you get in the cab he pulls you aside and gives you a rainbow pin.

He tells you, “Your never alone. I know how it feels, but know that you’ve got someone in your corner rooting for you.”

You cry, waving goodbye to Uncle Harry and his boyfriend as they wave back embracing. You take the pin and stick it to your shirt, you get a smile from one of your cousins at the airport and the weight on your shoulder lift a little.