Temptation (Larry Stylinson) ✅

11. Confessions

Harry woke up with a massive hangover the next morning, his head throbbing and his stomach aching. As soon as he got up, at around 10:00am, he began to feel dizzy and held onto his dresser for support as he regained his balance. 

"Are you as hungover as I am?" Niall groaned from his bed. 

Instead of responding, Harry sprinted to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet bowl and dry heaving. Nothing was coming up, as he hadn't eaten anything last night, but he still felt extremely nauseous and gripped the bowl in agony, his knuckles turning white. 

"You puking?" Niall asked, sitting up in bed. "Dude, I feel sick too. I think that everclear ratio was way off..." Suddenly, Niall lurched out of bed and ran to the bathroom as well, gripping the sink and throwing up into it. 

"Fuck," he said, rinsing his mouth. "Sorry, Harry."

"It's fine. I haven't puked but I think I might," Harry replied, coughing. As if on cue, he started to throw up into the toilet. It was red like the color of the punch. Lovely. 

"Definitely bad punch. It's red," Harry moaned, doubling over in pain. 

"Same here," Niall said, half laughing, half complaining. In the past three years at U of Chicago, he had his fair share of hangovers, but never one with red punch-colored puke. This was a new low. 

"We're not making it to maths are we?" Harry asked, running a hand over his face. He was sweating, his skin cold and clammy, and he shook a bit as a chill made it's way down his back. 

"Fuck, maths. I'll text my friend Dave for notes," Niall said, leaning over the sink and puking a second time.

Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes and curling his legs up to his stomach on the bathroom floor. Fuck these Americans and their Everclear, Harry thought. This is awful. 

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A couple of hours, two naps, five Advils and four bottles of Gatorade later, Niall and Harry started to feel like humans again, their nausea subsiding and their headaches dulling. 

"I think I can stomach something light. Getting my appetite back," Niall said to Harry, who was checking his phone in bed. "How about you?"

"Yeah. Do you want to get pancakes or something? I'm craving diner food," Harry said with a laugh. He put his phone down and sat up, facing Niall. 

"Sounds good to me," Niall agreed, jumping off his bed and grabbing a T-shirt. He did the sniff test to make sure it was safe, as he hadn't had time for laundry lately, and deciding it was, he tossed it on and headed to the door. 

Harry put on a shirt as well and tugged on some athletic shorts and Nike sneakers before following Niall out the door. 

The diner wasn't too far from campus. You just had to turn right instead of left when you got to 12th street, and the building was right there. Despite their lethargy, Niall and Harry made there in a few minutes, the cool fall breeze gently nipping their skin. Soon the leaves would turn red and yellow and brown and they wouldn't be able to wear shorts and a T-shirt anymore. 

"Banana pancakes please," Harry said as the waitress arrived to take their order shortly after their arrival. Though he was British, pancakes were his favorite food ever-- so many restaurants in London had them now a days, though they weren't as good as the US kind, and he even made them at home some weekend mornings. 

"Yeah, I'll take the belgium waffles," Niall added, handing the waitress their menus. "I'm starving." 

"Same," Harry said, leaning back into his seat at the booth. "I was so plastered last night. I remember crying at some point--I'm really sorry Niall. I crossed some boundaries."