My Best Friends Brother (Harry Styles)

Chapter 9

The next morning I woke up with a less severe headache than the last time. It was still awful, obviously, but I felt better, nonetheless. I glanced over my side to look at Gemma, who was in a deep sleep from what I could see, her back turned and her dark brown hair spread all over her light pink pillow. I chuckled lightly to myself at her appearance and sat myself up, feeling a sharp pain in my head. Luckily, I didn't feel the need to rush out of the room and throw up, so that was a bonus. I suddenly felt the coldness hit my hands as I pulled them from under the warm sheets and placed them on top of the doona. I let out a small shiver, which traveled throughout my entire body, but decided that I better get up and do something productive to thank Gemma for last night. I came up with the idea of making her breakfast in bed.

I tugged the blanket from my body, hanging my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet barely even touching the floor. I sat there for a few short and silent moments, removing any sleep that I had in my eyes, before hopping out of bed and making my way towards the bedroom door. I reached down and pulled on my ugg boots, which were placed neatly against the wall, adjacent to each other. I smiled to myself, knowing that Gemma would have done this. I pulled them on each of my bare feet and opened the door, cringing when it made a mere squeak. I craned my neck back to look over my shoulder, exhaling in relief when I saw that she was still sleeping and hadn't moved from her previous position. She really was in a deep sleep.Or she was dead...

Better not think the worst.

I made my way down the staircase quietly, knowing that everybody was still fast asleep. I wasn't sure what the actual time was, but I figured that it was around seven or something. It was weird that I even woke up before noon, being hung over and all. I guess I just have strange reactions to alcohol. I strode into the kitchen, despite the thoughts in my mind, finally getting a glance at the time on the silver­framed clock, hung on the wall above the telephone.

Quarter to seven. Eh, close enough.

I quickly bent over, letting my long, now wavy hair fall from down my back to above my head. I raked it all together roughly with my hands, forming it into a high ponytail with the black hair band around my wrist. I always carried one with me, aware that I'd need it in a time like this. I stood back up straight into my previous position and parted my hair into two, tugging on each section, making the ponytail tighter. Once I'd done that, I clapped my hands together unobtrusively, thinking of where I'd get started with this meal.

I bit my lip, glancing around the kitchen, thinking of what Gemma enjoyed. I wasn't a stranger to this place, I had cooked at the Styles' house plenty of times. I just had a lot on my mind, and pushing all of those insane thoughts aside to come up with a good idea for breakfast was proving quite intricate.

"Bacon, eggs, pancakes, waffles..." I muttered quietly to myself, my brows furrowed as I examined the magnets on the fridge.

"I'd prefer you," I heard a husky voice speak from behind me. I quickly swiveled on my heels, my ponytail turning and whipping the other side of my head slightly. My stomach dropped when I saw Harry standing in the hallway entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the wall, shirtless. I ignored his comment and restrained myself from biting my lip at his minimal amount of clothing by simply just rolling my eyes and turning around. I may not like Harry, but his body was kind of... um, I don't know, amazing?

"And I'd prefer that meal in bed," he finally added, strolling over to the fridge, a ridiculously large smirk present the entire time. I didn't even have to look to know it was there. I could practically hear it in his voice.

I let out a small scoff, "Like I'd ever do that." I turned to face him as he walked over to the cabinets above the stove, reaching up and grabbing a honey coloured cereal box, the band of his underwear visible above the top hem of his pants, just like last night. He retrieved the box, closing the cupboard door before turning around and walking over to the bench, then turning back to get the milk from the fridge. "Why not?" he asked.