Temptation (Larry Stylinson) ✅

3. Meeting

When harry looked down, he felt like he was watching his body move from three rooms away. His head was spinning, and the walls began to swivel around him, dancing along to the beat with the rest of the party goers. Harry shook his head, as if trying to eradicate the dizziness, and took another sip of his drink. His balance was failing him, but he didn't seem to care.

After he and Camille had smoked on the fire escape, they went to the kitchen to get more drinks. They seemed to be out of alcohol, but of course Camille knew about the secret hiding place under the sink, and she helped herself to some Fireball Whiskey, a sickening blend of cinnamon flavoring and liquor.

Camille grabbed two solo cups, filling one up with three shots worth. "How much do you want?" She asked Harry. Kneeling on the linoleum floor, she looked up at him with her big blue eyes, somehow both innocent and guilty at the same time.

Harry shook his head and pushed the plastic cup aside, kneeling next to her. "Can I see it?" He asked, pointing to the bottle. Camille nodded, allowing her fingers to brush against Harry's ask she handed it over.

Without warning, Harry threw his head back and began to chug, a firey sensation sweeping through his throat as he gulped it down. Camille giggled at him, shaking her head as she watched him struggle towards the end.

"Fuck!!" Harry gasped, coughing and nearly smashing the bottle on the ground.

"Too much?" Camille asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Or not enough," Harry replied with a smirk. His face was all red now and he was wiping the excess fireball that had leaked down his chin during his chugging session.

Camille grabbed the bottle from the ground, finishing off the small remainder of what was left. Then she grabbed her solo cup and hopped up, placing it on the counter.

Harry stood up too, but not without wobbling a little bit. The alcohol was already hitting him — perhaps because his tolerance decreased over the summer or perhaps because he had just drank way too much in one sitting. Either way, he began to feel a bit of lightheadedness washing over him as he rose.

Camille grabbed Harrys's wrist, steadying him, and made her way with into one of the main rooms, luckily not the room they had been in earlier. This room also had people dancing, but not as many. And there weren't rainbow lights, just dangly white Christmas lights surrounding the perimeters of the walls.

"You look so cute when you try to drink alcohol," Camille said, leading Harry to the corner of the room, opposite from the stereos. She liked to feel the beat of the music vibrating against her ears.

"Try or succeed?" Harry asked curiously. It was probably the third question he had answered with a question tonight. But even with the alcohol in his system, he wanted to keep Camille guessing. And flirty non answers seemed to be the way to do it.

Camille looked back at him, her blue eyes shining in the dim lighting, a tiny, and shook her head. "Styles," she said softly, wiping a tiny smudge of mascara at the base of her eyelid. "You're one tough guy to figure out."

Looking back now, that conversation felt like ages ago to Harry, who was currently holding onto the fireplace and trying to regain his balance. Somewhere between talking to Camille and now, he had gotten wildly drunk — accepting even more drinks, taking shots with strangers who called him "buddy," and just barely rejecting a colorful pill that Camille had pulled from the confines her purse.

Now, for all Harry knew, Camille was off in the bathroom or with Jen or somewhere that wasn't here. He wasn't sure how long she had been gone or how long she would be gone. But he hoped she'd be back soon because people were starting to leave and he didn't quite know how to get back home.