One (h.s.)

nine

the one where Michelle wants Harry back

Harry woke up feeling extremely tired. He should probably blame it on that bottle of red wine he drank last night before falling face-flat onto his bed. He was still sprawled on top of his mattress when he woke up.

He shook his hair slightly to move it away from his face, and grabbed a dark a beanie from his drawer to hide his slightly matted curls, but found himself groaning because of the headache he had earned from drinking.

Harry stood up, groaning again, finding it so, so hard to stand up. His knees wobbling so that he had to lean against the wall to steady himself for a bit. When he was sure he could walk across the corridor to the bathroom he and Zayn shared, he pushed lightly against the wall so that he stood up straight.

Staring at his abnormally large feet  covered in white socks, he carefully placed them one in front of the other so that they would lead him to the bathroom. Once in front of the mirror, he lifted his head and winced at his appearance.

Why on earth did he think he could manage to drink that whole bottle of red wine? He blamed it on Zayn.

Last night, right after he arrived from working to the flat, he found Zayn in the kitchen with a cardboard box, smirking at Harry evilly when he appeared through the doorway.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Harry said as soon as he entered, looking at him suspiciously.

"Guess what the guys I met at that art exhibition gave me for my fantastic presentation?"

"I don't really know," Harry murmured with his head down. He really didn't want to guess anything. He just wanted to lay down in bed and go to sleep while dreaming about Charlotte. "You tell me."

"Nine bottles of this amazing red wine!" Zayn exclaimed, and Harry winced at the high volume.

"And...?"

"Let's drink."

Harry blinked. "It's literally one in the morning. Did you stay awake so you could have a drinking party with me?"

"I couldn't sleep anyway. Come on, Harry, it will take that tiredness right away from you. Besides, it's Thursday tomorrow: your day off. If we ain't going out tonight, we might as well drink, yeah?"

He found himself nodding and saying "Okay" at Zayn as he walked towards the kitchen counter.

Long story short, they began drinking a few glasses each, and when they had successfully finished one bottle between the two, and Zayn began walking towards his bedroom mumbling that he wanted to try and draw a self-portrait while drunk, Harry sneakily took a bottle with him to his bedroom because, fucking hell, that was some great wine.

And now here he was. Feeling all the consequences. Stupid hangovers.

His head was pounding and he felt his stomach shift every time he made a violent movement. He washed his face with water, desperately hoping it would make him feel better. But it didn't. So he groaned and leaned against the toilet seat, wishing that he would just start throwing up already so that his stomach could feel at least a little better.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry had fallen asleep and woken himself up about ten times. And he had still not thrown up the red wine from last night. So he groaned again and lifted himself off the toilet seat and began walking to the kitchen to retrieve some headache pills from the cupboard. Even though he knew they wouldn't do much.

He leaned against the counter while he swallowed the pills staring at the floor for what seemed to be a really long time.

A door opened from the hallway and Zayn appeared at the door.