hiraeth ; harry lewis

xii. i like being around you

Val and Katie chatted for a little while more, about life in Guernsey and Sheffield and their respective jobs and blog ideas, before rejoining the larger crowd that was gathering. It was for shots, because of course it was; while she wasn't big on drinking, she glanced at Harry, fresh-faced, finally 23, and wearing the chain she had gifted him, and found herself downing several shots of sambuca, to the cheers of everyone else.

"We'll make an alcoholic out of you yet, lad!" Ethan exclaimed, giving her a round of applause as she did another shot.

"Don't count on it," she rasped out, coughing. Her eyes were watering, the taste of the alcohol and its effects hitting her all at once. The world spun around her in a blurred mess of colours, and she could feel a rising tide of panic begin to approach.

A hand landed on her shoulder, fingers digging in, applying pressure. She focused on the sensation, groping around until her hand found their arm, holding on for dear life as the world righted itself.

"I got you," Flo murmured into her ear. Of course it was Flo. It would always be Flo. Louder, she said, "Jesus Christ, Val, take it easy, would you?"

"Probably could've done without that last one," she grimaced, hurrying over to the counter and grabbing her half-empty bottle of gin, cradling it close to her chest. "My child, I will never abandon you again," she crooned, fingers splayed around the gold-tinted glass. "Not to play favourites, but I love you more than sambuca, don't you worry."

"Oh God," Flo said to no one in particular. "You're going to have a hell of a time tomorrow, you know."

The logical part of her mind knew that she was right. She hadn't drunk this much in a while - in fact, the last time she got proper plastered was the night of the speed dating shoot, and she fully intended on going further than that. All of her inhibitions, her hesitancy towards alcohol, faded away. It was like she had reached into her brain and flipped the switch, disconnecting herself from the past. She wasn't Valentina Morgan. She hadn't lived through everything Valentina Morgan had. She was just Val, a normal 24-year-old girl, who could get completely drunk at the birthday party of someone who had quickly become one of her best friends and not think twice about it.

DnB music swelled in the background, no doubt one of Harry's playlists blaring through the speakers. Val flitted around the room, talking to everyone who was in attendance - Harry hadn't invited too many people, so she was already acquainted with all the partygoers. Letting the alcohol fuel her movements - her cherished bottle of gin quickly found itself drained and discarded, and she found herself some more with ease, as well as the shots everyone gathered together to do when someone shouted loudly enough - she let the night pass in a blur of words and faces and stumbling movements.

Flo was at her side for most of it, helping keep her steady and ensuring she didn't face-plant into the floor or into anyone. Everything else was fractured, remaining in her head only in the form of flashes, like choppily cut scenes from a film that abused the Dutch angle.

After a few hours, it was nearing midnight, and a few people had trickled out. She was standing at a black-clothed table, swaying on the spot, milking the last few drops of liquid from her latest bottle. There was a loud thumping noise, and when she blinked the black spots from her vision, she realised someone had set a glass of water down in front of her. Upon following the pale arm up, her eyes met Harry's blue ones.

"I feel like I should point out your hypocrisy," she said, words jumbling together as she picked up the glass and tipped the contents into her mouth. The water was cold and refreshing against her throat, and she felt a wave of awareness wash over her.

"Yeah, but I'm a regular alcoholic, and you're not used to this," he said. She slumped into a seat, and he dropped down next to her, the two of them sat around the corner of the table.