hotel room 108 [narry au]

hungover on vengeance

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and also, i'm updating like this because i'm hoping to get to a certain point before i leave on the 4th. i'm just hoping these rapid fire chapters have the same quality regular leisurely written chapters do (am i right?)

chapter twenty-six

N.J.H.

They say the worst part of getting drunk is the hangover. Since I'd never been drunk before, I was unable to prove that right or wrong from my own experience. I can now truthfully say that the hangover is in fact the worst part of getting drunk. When I wake the next morning, Harry's arm is draped around me and though it's comforting, my pounding head is making everything unpleasant.

"What did we do last night?" I answer hazily.

"Everything," his voice cracks as he says it, "everything that could ever be. You were so drunk last night."

"And you weren't?" I protest, cradling my head as I sit up.

"I was tipsy, but you were crazy drunk," he laughs softly, "you blew me in a public bathroom. I love drunk Niall."

"What day is it?" I ignore his comment about my intoxicated state and reach groggily for my phone. I press the home button and fear seeps through my skin to the bottom of my heart. It's Thursday, November 27th.

Thanksgiving Day.

I leap out of bed in pure dread when I see that it's one in the afternoon.

"Harry!" I shout, dragging him out of his sheets and making both of our hangovers worse, "we have to go! We have to go! There's cooking, and cleaning ourselves up and we have to be at Louis' house in five hours!"

He rubs his eyes, opening them just a smidge. His eyes lock onto my phone, which I'm holding in his face frantically. His hand pushes my cell to the side as he scrunches his face up painfully. I relax, leaning down and kissing his forehead as an apology for basically assaulting him in this state.

"I'm sorry," I say in the most adorable voice I can attempt at and succeed in.

"Too cute for your own good," he replies, holding me close. We lay there, still on the floor, wrapped in his sheets with our bodies the only thing touching them.

"Here's what we could do; You could just cook here," Harry says calmly, "and you can wear some of my clothes."

"Wear your clothes--" I say, about to be appalled, until I remember that I look trendy and cuddly in Harry's clothes, "okay."

My teeth attach to my lip as I notice I'm full on straddling my hungover boyfriend. He gives me one of his famous nose pecks before picking my up by my waist,

"Come," he demands, "we smell like drinks and jizz. We need to shower."

"Where did Louis and Zayn go after?" I ask quietly, "Last night is literally such a blur."

"Well," a chortle leaves his thin lips, "that's what happens when you're drunk. But, they caller Uber. Zayn didn't get drunk but he didn't want to drive because he had some shots."

"Were you the only one not drunk?" I question.

"Pretty much," Harry explains, "the night wasn't much of a blur for me. Though, I did steal car keys from a drunk Louis."

"Oh my god," I laugh loudly, "he's gonna kill you!"

"So be it," he shrugs, "at least I stopped him from driving himself home."