Art | Harry Styles

10

Something's ringing.

A deep grumble sounds from Harry's throat, as he lifts his head from the pillow with his eyes still barely open. He can barely see a thing, and so he claws to his left in search of his glasses, pushing them up his nose and allowing his eyes to focus.

And then the headache hits.

He winces as an indescribable pounding begins to cloud his mind, and he throws his head back against the pillow. His hand moves aimlessly around the mattress in search of the source of the previous ringing, and at last he clasps his phone in his hand.

Three missed calls - Mum.

He groans inaudibly, tapping on the 'call back' button. The line rings for a few seconds, and then connects.

"Harry Styles, where have you been?"

"Hi, Mum," Harry murmurs as his face buries back into the pillow, feeling like a child about to be scolded for trying to pinch a toy from the shop.

"Where have you been?" she repeats, her tone unrecognisable.

"Here," he mumbles shamefully, desperately wishing for the aching in his head to subside, "sleeping."

"At four in the afternoon?" she presses, and Harry chews on his lip, "are you.. hungover?"

"No," Harry says a little too quickly, and is met with silence on the other end of the line. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

His mum suddenly bursts out laughing, and Harry runs his hand over his face in a mixture of embarrassment and relief.

"I hate you," he mumbles, as his Mum continues to laugh.

"You deserve the hangover. What, did you go to a party last night?"

"Something like that," he thinks back to last night, the final thing in his memory being the collection of alcohol from the nearby bar. Red lips and brown eyes flash through his mind, and he pushes his tongue into the hollow of his cheek.

"Who are you, and what have you done with my son?"

He yawns, rubbing his eyes lazily and staying quiet for a moment or two, before speaking again, "I miss you, Mum."

"I know," she says in that magical soothing voice all mothers seem to have, "but m'very, very proud of you."

Harry purses his lips, staying quiet for a moment as his Mum sniffs on the other line.

"Get out of bed, Harry," his mum tells him, "take some pictures. Send them to me when you do?"

"Of course, Mum," he smiles softly although she can't see it. His mum has always been the biggest fan of his photography, and of him, full stop.

"Have a good rest of your day, Harry, darling. I'm going to head off to bed."

"Night, Mum."

"Night, lovely."

She hangs up, and the aching in Harry's head that he'd been distracted from for a few temporary moments now returning. He winces slightly, leaning back into the pillow with a sigh. He goes to stand up in search of some water and painkillers, but his eyes land on something on his bedside table.

He pushes his glasses further up his nose as he notices a glass of water he didn't remember putting there. He squints, despite the glasses on his face, noticing two white pills on the table and a note beside them.

Hi,

I'm writing this at 1AM and you're saying something weird in your sleep. Anyway, you drank a lot and I know you haven't before, so I figured you don't know how to handle a hangover either.