Shakespeare | Harry Styles

Part IV

It's not pleasant to wake up in a room without blinds.

Light pierces your eyes, even through the lids. The sun is blaring hot. You can feel an uncomfortable layer of sweat coating your back. When you open your eyes, it takes a few panicked moments to remember where you are.

"Stay."

Your fingers move without thought, pushing the overgrown curls back from his forehead. You've wanted to do that since you met him.

"I have-"

"Please, love," he presses, voice quiet and gravelly with the remnants of sleep. "Can' walk yeh home. Would feel better 'f yeh jus' stayed." His fingers rub at your jean-clad thigh as he yawns.

"Harry," you warn gently, heart picking up speed against your will. "I'm not ready to..."

"T'what?" His eyebrows are drawn low as he looks up at you. He looks like a grumpy toddler who's ready for a nap.

"You know," you mumble, staring out the window. You can still see some lights changing colors from the yard, reflecting off the upstairs window. If you listen closely, you can hear the distant thumping music from downstairs. You're surprised at how well this room shuts out sound.

"Mmm," Harry hums, pulling you down gently by the grip he has on your leg. Your back slips down the wall until your head hits the pillow. "'M not askin' yeh fo' sex," he explains bluntly. "Jus' sleep here."

You blink heavily, reaching up to rub the sleep from your eyes. Your attempt to sit up is hindered by a heavy arm hooked around your waist. It's then that you realize the heat that has your shirt sticking to your back isn't from the sun, but from the radiating body practically glued to you.

Harry's chest is melded to your spine, warm breath condensing down the back of your neck. His nose is buried in the hair at the back of your head and his arm constricts around you like a vice when you shift your position.

"Harry," you gasp, prying at his fingers where they've clamped onto the hem of your shirt. It's like being trapped in a sauna.

You can tell when he wakes up because his entire body stiffens before he releases you. It's a relief as air hits your sticky back. Your jeans aren't any more comfortable, you realize, as you sit up on the mattress.

Harry is fumbling around on the floor for his glasses, running his other hand through the wild mess of hair atop his head. He slips the lenses over his eyes and squints in your direction, the bright sunlight around your silhouette blinding him momentarily. Recognition sets in when his vision adjusts and he lets out a heavy breath.

"Y/N." He states your name like a recitation. "We didn'..."

"What?" You're as confused as the expression that's plastered on his face. You turn away from him and find your phone on the floor a few feet away, stretching out to reach it.

"Did we fuck?"

Your phone teeters between your fingers and then tumbles back to the floor as you spin around. There's a crease between Harry's brows and a deep frown set into his lips. He doesn't remember anything. How that is, you're unsure. He was having full conversations with you and didn't seem nearly as drunk as you would expect someone must be to forget an entire night.

"We're still wearing clothes, aren't we?" Your tone is harsh as you push yourself back in the direction of your phone. The screen tells you that it's ten thirty-eight and you've missed your only class of the day.

"So, why'd yeh sleep here, then?"

"Because you told me to stay," you spit, slipping your phone into your pocket.