Blackout [Larry Stylinson]

2: Crisps and Oreos

Harry awoke the next day, his eyes fluttering open, not recognizing where he was until he saw the white tiles. Some were stained with red, but he couldn't be sure if it was blood.

He let out a low groan and when he tried to sit up, a pain struck through his lower region, and caused him to lie back down. He was so sore, and he had only had one round last night. He wondered if he was in the stall alone.

“You're awake,” A somewhat high voice chimed from the sinks, and the stranger rushed over, rubbing his hands against his dark skinny jeans to dry them off. As he got closer, Harry started to recognize him - it was the man from last night, the man who had hurt him. But Harry couldn't recall having sex with him. Now he could see that he had tattoos covering his right arm, riding up his skin, and from a person's point of view, they were pointless drawings. He also had piercings, snakebites that clouded his bottom lip, and one through his nose. He looked as if he was one of those punk guys, the ones who knew how to play the electric guitar and wore mascara like the stereotypes, but Harry was too tired and sore to look close enough to see any makeup.

Harry nodded slowly, forcing himself to sit up through the pain. “Yeah...” He mumbled, still cautious about this man, thinking he could hurt him again if he got too close. But why would he still be here? Had he just woken up, or had he waited for Harry to wake up? Why on earth would he wait for a one night stand to wake up?

“I'm so sorry about last night, you must be so sore,” The stranger blurted, sitting down beside Harry, crossing his legs underneath him as if they were still in kindergarten. “Do you have somewhere to be?” He asked softly, and his tone wasn't as rough or raspy as last night. Harry could see he must have been twenty at the very oldest. “I could drive you-”

Harry shook his head, running his hands through his curls and rubbing at the skin underneath them tiredly. “No, no, I think I'm fine...” he mumbled dryly, licking over his desert lips, turning his head side to side so he could stretch his worn out neck a bit. “What time is it?” The curly haired boy asked from habit, biting down on his bottom lip.

“Just a bit past ten in the morning,” The stranger answered politely, raising his eyebrows at the curly-haired boy, wondering why it would matter. He knew it mattered, but he was curious of the reason. The boy didn't look age appropriate for a bar now that Louis could see him clearly through the lights and he wasn't drunk. He looked younger than eighteen, and he started to wonder why he would have been here so late last night.

Harry nodded slowly, before realization kicked in. His eyes widened and all of a sudden, he was completely awake, scrambling to his feet and rushing to get his clothes on. Niall would have been up by now and he would be so scared if his big brother wasn't there to greet him. Harry thought of his big blue eyes, searching the whole crowded house for him and not finding him. It made him nearly burst into a fit of sobs. “I have to go,” he said quickly, pushing at the slight ajar stall door.

The brunette stood up quickly and grabbed the curly-haired boy's hand, “Wait, take this,” he pressed a few bills into the younger boy's palm, feeling absolutely horrible for whatever might have happened last night.

Harry rose his eyebrows and looked down at the money; it was a good amount, more than he made in a normal night. He smiled a bit, “Thanks,” the word was mumbled quickly, and then Harry was rushing to the door of the bathroom.

“Wait-” The blue-eyed boy called again, and Harry knew it was him since he had such a high accent. This time, though, Harry didn't stop. “What's your name?” He heard the question just as he was pushing open the heavy door, and decided to wouldn't hurt to call back. It wasn't like they were having a conversation or anything.