Nothing Revealed In A Common Crisis

What Should I Say (23.2)

Make sure you read 23.1 first x

~*~*~*~

The following morning, your phone is what forces you to open your eyes. And when you do, to put it bluntly, you feel fucking disgusting.

Your mouth is so dry and you don't want to open your eyes. In fact, you scrunch them up when you realise there's a lot of light in your room and you pat around your bed hoping you can find your phone without opening your eyes.

After a few attempts you hear your Death Ramps ring whack against it which finally allows you to find and answer the call. Keeping your eyes closed you bring the device to your ear when you think you press the green button.

"Hello." You manage to get out in an awful sounding morning voice.

"Thank fuck you're finally awake, I've called you four times." You hear Y/B/F laugh on the other end of the phone.

You just groan, "Is everything okay?" because she doesn't usually call you in the mornings, especially 4 times.

She sounds so excited when she says, "Everything's fucking magnificent after your fucking twitter spree last night."

You frown with your eyes still closed and pause for a second to ask, "What now?"

"Don't tell me you don't remember?" She almost gasps.

"I remember a bit but half my night's blurry." You admit. Christ, your head is banging already.

You remember chilling in bed for a bit with your wine and you remember cracking open and putting away a fair few bottles. Twitter was definitely something you immersed yourself on, but you can't remember every little thing you tweeted.

"Oh," You can practically hear her grin, "I'm going to enjoy every second filling you in then."

You rub your tired eyes with your free hand as you really don't want to open them yet as you ask, "Why, was it that bad?"

"Y/N, you've got over a hundred thousand likes on one of your tweets." She deadpans, "You've gone fucking viral mate."

"What the fuck?!" Your eyes shoot open at that, your heart in your mouth as you worry, "What did I post? Oh my god, please say nothing about Matty or Alex?"

"Not directly," She laughs, but that does nothing to ease your worries, "You tweeted, '"you have nice hands" means finger me, like that's it'"

Your jaw drops open, "I did what?"

Why the fuck would you do that? Even if it is true, why the fuck would you tweet that out!

"You were fucking unstoppable, Babes." She laughs like she's at a fucking Jack Whitehall comedy show. "You almost got as much traction on that one as you did when you tweeted, 'I say I like your hair but that just means I wanna pull on it' just after."

"When the fuck did I post them?!" You ask, needing to try and sort last night out in your head.

"At like midnight your time, Y/N/N. You were fucked." She laughs but you just feel mortified, even more so when she tells you, "You muted all of our conversations when we were trying to stop you. The group chat popped off."

"Which one?" You ask as you take in the state of your room.

All the candles you placed around were burned out, but that's no surprise. You're just glad that nothing caught fire in the night. Fucking idiot Y/N. Three empty wine bottles and half a glass sit on your bedside table and your drawer is open enough to see that your vibrator is lying inside.