Syndrome // H.S.

16. When He Sings, I Hear a Symphony

I was only half-way awoken by the sound of a phone ringing. I had no idea what time it was, but I was not about to open my eyes to find out. I did my best to ignore it, feeling myself lull back under the warmth of sleep. It finally went off, and I was almost out again when--

Ring, ring, ring.

The noise of it going off a second time pulled me further back into the land of the living. That's when I realized the extra weight on my body. I just barely opened my eyes. I was laying on my stomach, facing the wall where the bathroom is. There was a hand obstructing my vision, and it wasn't mine. I was confused for a second before I smushed my face into my pillow so I could roll my head to see what was going on on the other side of the bed.

It was Harry.

He was also on his stomach, but half of his chest was laying across my back, while his heavy arm was draped the rest of the way. The hand I had seen while facing the other way was his own; he was practically spooning me while we were both on our stomachs. I rolled my head back to where it had been facing when I first woke up so I wouldn't be nose to nose with him.

I didn't realize that his phone had stopped ringing until it started right back up again for the third time. I closed my eyes and huffed in annoyance, too exhausted to deal with this right now. "Harry," I groaned. He only inhaled deeply and his arm tightened around my back. The phone continued singing it's annoying song. "Harry," I drew out his name frustratedly. I also rocked my body side to side a bit in an attempt to wake him up.

"What," he grumbled on top of me.

"Your phone..." I mumbled, my mind trying to fall back asleep. There was something about the added weight and warmth of his body that was putting me at peace.

"You get it, you're closer," he said almost unintelligibly, and I felt him bury his face into the side of my shoulder.

"S'your phone," I told him, unmoving.

He let out an annoyed groan. He only propped himself up enough to pull his upper body the rest of the way across my back. I grunted at the pressure, annoyingly aware that I really, really did not hate the feeling. I heard his hand lazily slap the bedside table a few times until he felt his phone, before sliding it off. He let out a, "Fuckin' 3:45 in the fuckin' morning." No wonder I couldn't wake up. I always slept hard after a night of smoking weed, it's one of the only ways I can get a decent night's rest.

The bothersome ringtone finally came to a halt when he answered it grumpily. "What?"  There was a pause as he listened to whoever was on the phone. "How bad is it?" his voice was less harsh now, and he sounded worried. "Have you noticed any blood in his bile?" I tensed under Harry, realizing that they must be talking about Zayn. "Feel his forehead... Okay, how's his breathing?" He sighed deeply, apparently trying to preform an over-the-phone medical exam while still half asleep. "He's fine Liam. He's not overdosing or anything, just hung over. Don't give him anymore Tylenol for another six hours, and if I were you, I'd bring a trashcan to the side of the bed so he doesn't have to stay in the bathroom all night. Make sure he's sipping on water as long as he's still throwing up, and keep a cold rag over his eyes to help the migraine. Mostly just try to get him comfortable enough to fall back asleep. He's gonna have to sleep this off before it gets better... Yeah... Okay, call me back if anything changes. Bye." He hung up and slammed his phone down, settling onto my back again.

"Zayn?" I asked, my voice muffled. I felt him nod against my shoulder blades.

"He woke up less than an hour ago puking. Fell back to sleep and then woke up thirty minutes later doing the same. Said his head is pounding. He'll be fine but Liam's freaking out."