Unnamed Project Styles

October

Friday morning. Harry's head is killing him the same way it always does the morning after the night before. The dull numbing feeling that alcohol gives him always comes at a price.

It's October now and the temperature that surrounds Harry as he drifts in and out of sleep reminds him of that. He goes to pull his thin duvet further around himself, harvesting any warmth that he can give to his body. Instead of duvet, however, his hand touches skin. Skin? Harry forces open his eyes and he's met with the back of a blonde head. They stayed? He can't remember the last time someone stayed, they used him in the way he uses them. She stirs gently in her sleep causing her to roll over. He studies her face, trying for the life of him to remember her name. It began with A, that's all he could remember. He met her in 42s. The ground was sticky, the air was hot, she was with her friends. Or was she alone? Harry can't remember. He tries desperately to piece together parts of his night, he remember the sex. It felt like normal, numb, that was how sex always felt to him on a Thursday night. Alcohol controlled his emotions. She blinks open her eyes and Harry finds himself staring at her. They're brown. Harry remembers they were brown. He had complimented her on them when he saw her in the club. Alice. Her name was Alice. Blonde haired, brown eyed Alice.

"Hi" Alice sleepily mumbles, directed at Harry.

Harry doesn't know how to respond. They never stay. He would usually wake up alone or wake up to the sound of his door being shut without a trace of the night before left behind but the banging from within his own head.

"Hi" he replies using his hand to rub the back of his neck.

"Do you remember me?" She asks him and he chuckles.

Her voice brings back some of Harry's memories.

"Alice, the University of Salford art student from Dartmouth" he tells her, subconsciously thanking his previously intoxicated mind for waking up.

"Well done, the way you were acting last night I thought memories would be the least of your worries" she tells him, her voice laced with humour.

A faint blush creeps onto Harry's cheeks. He wasn't embarrassed by the effects alcohol had on him but something about her smiling at him made his face feel warm. Harry liked her smile, he smile felt genuine, no one stayed to smile at Harry the morning after. Harry liked waking up to someone smiling at him.

"You stayed?" Harry asks bluntly, he doesn't care if he seems to the point.

They never stay.

"Your bed was too warm to leave" she answers and he feels the corners of his mouth turn down.

"Oh" Harry replies, the small sound barely reaching above a whisper.

"I'm joking, I had fun last night" she continues.
"Would you like a jumper?" he asks, not wanting her to be cold.

"Yes please" she replies quickly, effected by the October chill.

Harry climbed out of the bed to grab a loose knit jumper from inside his wardrobe. She shrugs it on and he feels the same blush from earlier arise onto his face. He didn't know what to do. They never stay. Should he offer her breakfast? Should he talk to her? Do they both go for round two?

"I'm a bit rubbish at this morning stuff" Harry admits embarrassingly.

"Don't tell me, someone as good as you hasn't had their fair share of one night stands" she jokes and his past Thursday night habits suddenly feel unclean and wrong.

"Well...urm" he stutters and she chuckles at Harry's expense.

"You're cute harry" she tells him.