The Switch (One Direction Fanfiction)

Chapter 2

Chelsea, London; Miller’s Apartment, 6:42 am

“Harry!”

A shrill, girly voice echoes through his ears, and he buries his head deeper under the covers, trying to block it out. Last night had proved she was a screamer, but the fuck was she screaming for now? A little smirk crosses his face at the thought of last night. It had been a good night, a really good night. So good, in fact, all he could really remember clearly was bringing a sexy, leggy brunette back to his place and a long night of insanely hot sex. He stretches his arms out, only to instantly retract them in pain due to banging them into something hard. Since when did his bed have a headboard? And hadn’t he just gotten those new silky sheets that felt really, really good? These sheets were definitely not silk, maybe Egyptian cotton, but certainly not silk.

“Seriously, you’re going to be late for coffee run, Harry! Get your ass up!”

A coffee run? Seriously, who was this girl?

He peeps an eye open and rubs his face over once, noticing the sun wasn’t even fully up yet. The idea of the sun still sleeping only makes him burrow further under the covers- He was pretty sure he didn’t have another interview for another two hours, and there was no reason to be up yet, so Brenna (or was it Brianna?) could make her own coffee run.

“Harry!” The voice is closer this time, and he feels the blankets being yanked off of him, sending chills all over his body. He rolls over, trying to find some sort of warmth, only to fall flat on the floor.

“Fuck!” He exclaims, finally opening his eyes. These floors were not his floors, they were hard wood, and his room had a plush carpet. What the hell was going on? And speaking of hardwood, since when does he wear underwear to bed? Why, pretell, wasn’t he naked? With a sigh, he watches the girl’s bare feet cross the room and over towards him. He squints his eyes, his intruder coming into full view, and as soon as he sees her face, his contorts in confusion. “Emily?”

He might’ve been drunk last night, but he wasn’t that drunk. He distinctly remembers bringing a girl home that could do sinister things with her tongue, and that girl was definitely not Emily Miller.

“What are you doing?” He moans out, his whole body aching due to the fall. Strangely enough, though, his head was the only thing not hurting- He wasn’t hung over at all.

Emily purses her lip, tapping her foot as she picks up a questionable shirt off the floor near by and tosses it to him. He doesn’t know if it’s clean or dirty, but he stands up and slips it on anyway, something unnerving him about having his, well, babysitter seeing him in his half-naked glory. “A better question is what are you doing? Seriously, Harry, you’re supposed to be the responsible one! With all your moaning about being late, you could at least get up on time, don’t you think? Who will save my sorry ass if you start needing me to save yours?”

What is she on about? She’s the responsible one… She was suppose to be saving hissorry ass.

“Why am I here? Am I in trouble?” He rubs his head a bit, trying to remember what could’ve possibly happened.

“No, but you will be if you don’t stop messing around!” She mutters, shaking her head. “Seriously, Harry, what is with you? The boys will be up in a hour, and you need to be over there with the their coffee. You know how Liam gets with punctuality.”

He laughs, because he does know how Liam gets with punctuality. He takes a second to look around the room, and notices how simple it really is- Blue walls, hard wood floors, a couple of band posters, mahogany furniture, a MacBook pro on the desk with a couple of books- Books. He nearly laughs out loud, who reads anymore? What kind of strange world was this? It had to be a joke.