Trouble (Harry Styles Fanfic) {On Hold}

Chapter 2

(Harry's P.O.V.)

"Shit." I murmur, my hand going to my pounding head as I sit up. I look around and recognize the room to be my own.

 "Harry!" Louis' pain stakingly loud voice calls from the front of my flat as he bangs on my door.  Even though he's probably only talking as loud as he usually does, it now sounds about a million times louder. "Come on now, you're going to be late for rehersals."

I let out a groan, pulling the blankets back over me and burrowing under them. There was no way that I was going to rehersals like this.

Through the blankets and bed sheet, I faintly hear the click of a lock and a door opening. And then suddenly, Louis is standing by my bed.

"I've got a key, remember?" I peek out at him to find him smirking, holding up a gold colored key in his hand.

I groan again and close my eyes. I soon open them again as Louis yanks the blankets off me, leaving me in my black striped boxers.

"Louuuu." I whine, frowning at him as I rest my hand on my clammy forehead. "What happened last night?"

He looks at me for a moment, surprised, before chuckling softly. "I'm not sure, Harold. Why don't you tell me?"

I squint my eyes at him, not in the mood for his words.

"What do you mean? I don't remember anything. A party, yes. But that's it."  He just laughs and looks at me, as if studying me.

"Last night when you came out to the car, you looked funny.  I saw you talking to a girl earlier that night, but it didn't look like your usual." He stares at me, but when he gets no response he continues. 

"Yanno, brown hair, brown eyes... pretty basic if you ask me." I think hard, but this only causes my headache to increase.

"I don't know what you're talking about Lou." I sigh, standing up and almost falling backwards onto the bed. "Would you please tell them at the studio that I'm sick?" I pout, and he instantly gives in.

"Fine, but you're coming in tomorrow." I smile and lay back down, watching as he pulls the blankets back over my shivering, tan body.

He eyes me once more before waving, and with that he turns around and leaves.

"Thank god." I mumble, glad to be alone again as I curl back up under the blankets and quickly fall back to sleep

(Emma's P.O.V.)

It's around noon of the day after, and I am currently pacing around my bedroom of the flat I share with my friend.

She did, in fact, go home with some guy and had yet to return.

Should I text him? I hold my phone in my hands, Harry's contact information on the screen. I was still in shock that the Harry Styles had sex with me and then gave me his number. That must mean he liked me, right?

I take a deep breath and type out the only thing I could come up with: 'hey'.

No, who am I kidding? That's definatley not the only thing I've come with. For the past hour, I've actually been typing up paragraph-long texts, but then I delete them as I realize how stupid they sound.

I flutter my eyes and hit send, watching as 'Message sent to: Harry Sex God Styles (;' appears on the screen. I feel a strange sense of acomplishment at seeing those words. I had his actual phone number. I hope.

What if he was just messing with me and gave me some fake number? No, how would do that. Would he?

Only a few minutes later, my phone dings with a new message. My eyes light up and I quickly grab the phone from the bed beside me and open up the text.

Message from Harry Sex God Styles (; :  who's this?

I frown at the message, wondering if I've read it wrong. No, it actually says that.

Is he serious? Does he really not remember me after what we did last night?

I sigh and quickly type out a message, sending it to him.  'This is Emma, from the party last night.'

I sit and stare at my phone for what seems to be hours, but I get no response. Great.

Was I just some one night stand to him? Because I for some reason thought that we had something more. I guess I was just one of his sluts now.

(Harry's P.O.V.)

I moan as the signature 'ding' of my phone sounds from beside me.  I sleepily roll over and grab my phone, rubbing at my eyes as I read the new message

I start to get nervous as I see the unknown number. What if some crazy fan had somehow got my number and was going to give it to all the other ones?

I take a deep breath and type out: 'who's this?'

I send it and drop the phone back down beside me, relaxing my body. My head felt better than the last time I had woken up, but the sharp pounding was still there.

Did I have any coconut water? That usually seems to make a hang over better.

I start to stand up, but the person has already texted me back.

 'This is Emma, from the party last night.'

I squint my eyes and frown. Emma? The name sounds familiar, but I can't exactly bring up her face.

And she was from the party last night? Why had I given her my number? I never give girls my number. It was like a rule sort of thing for me.

I just decide not to reply, locking my phone and settting it on the bedside table before standing up.

I stretch, trying to get the aching feeling in my bones to go away. It doesn't work.

I sigh and go to the kitchen, starting the day by eating breakfast at nearly 1 in the afternoon. The way of a champion.