Mixed Up // Harry Styles

Four

Picture of Felicity on the side.

                                                 CHAPTER FOUR

     “Oh my God,” I gasp and sit up straight; the car alarm outside beeping from down the street awakes me.

    I push the strand of stray hair falling over my face out of the way, tucking it behind my ear and push the covers halfway down the bed making it more capable for me to get out yet freezing when I see another pair of legs beside me. My eyes stroll along the dark hair covering the pale skin to meet with a pair of dazed blue eyes staring back at me as they wake up also, rubbing their eyes with the back of their hand and a muffled yawn escaping through their slightly parted lips.

     “Niall did we-“

     He chuckles at my expression - horror written all over my face - and shakes his head. “No, we didn’t. Don’t worry.”

     I let out a sigh of relief and roll over to get out of the bed, wiggling my feet into the comfort of my slippers and then plopping back down onto the bed, a sickening feeling and a headache over coming me as I clutch at both my stomach and forehead.

     “That would be the hangover,” Niall says, pulling on his shirt that makes his hair go flat to his head as he pulls it over. “Thanks to you, I’m suffering too.”

     “Thanks to me?” I playfully gasp, pretending to be offended. “I didn’t order the Jägerbomb train to share between us both.”

     He just shrugs with a smirk playing on his lips, “You needed a drink after confessing everything to me, better than drowning in your sorrows by yourself.”

     I shake my head, remembering near enough everything I told him despite the amount of alcohol circulating in my system.

     “I have to go; I’m late to the studio so if you don’t hear from me, management clearly killed me. Bye babe.”

     He leans down to kiss my cheek just before he slips on his shoes, padding through the hallway and out of the front door. I shift my gaze from the bedroom doorway and to the clock just above it, jumping up from my spot once registering the position of the clock hands.

     “Shit,” I mutter running to the wardrobe and yanking it roughly open, shifting through the clothes to find my jeans.

     I pull them off their hanger, jumping about the room and wiggling out of my pyjama bottoms quickly replacing them with my black jeans held in my hand. Next I pull a blazer from its hanger and tug it on over my top, finding the nearest pair of shoes and my bag from the floor nearest the doorway. Almost tripping as I leave the room, I dash to the front door, opening it and closing it again in a hurry leaving the flat in a tip until I come home later this evening.

                                                               *

     “Where are you?” Felicity’s voice rings through the loudspeaker.

     “I’m just coming into the building now, cover for me.”

     “I’ve been covering for you for two hours now! Just hurry up and get here, OK?” She snaps and ends the phone call.

     I sigh, harshly shoving my phone into my blazer pocket and running up the stairs of the six storey building, nearly collapsing to the floor once I reach the top.

     “What are you doing?” Felicity questions in disbelief as she stands watching me recover from the comfort of the office doorway.

     “Running – is not my thing,” I pant in reply, following her slowly to my desk where she had already placed a coffee down for me.

     “Hol,” She begins unsteadily.

     “What?” I swivel in my desk chair to face her, catching her eyes peeping down to my chest a few times with her eyebrows raised.

     “Why are you wearing your pyjama top?”

     “What?” I gasp, peeking down at my top to have a poorly printed Labrador staring back at me.

     I button my blazer up over it, pushing the buttons into the wrong buttonholes due to my panic of someone seeing but deciding to leave it as it is for now, throwing my hands to my face as my cheeks begin to heat up in embarrassment, Fliss letting out a roar of laughter that echoes around the office earning us a few odd looks from co-workers.

     I peer out at her through the gaps between my fingers, finally removing my hands completely from my face as my cheeks start to cool down.

     “I have a hangover, OK? And I woke up late.” I mumble, taking hold of my coffee cup and taking a sip.

     “Excuses, excuses,” She tuts, moving round the desk and sitting at her own which is opposite mine.

     “I’m telling the truth!”

     “Sure, I believe you,” She teases.

     I roll my eyes and choose to ignore her, fumbling around in my bag for a paracetamol but falling unlucky when I open an empty packet and throw it into the bin with disappointment.

     “Hey, do you want to come to Nathans boxing match tomorrow? I have a spare ticket,” Felicity sticks her head over the small plastic screen that divides our desks from one another, keeping each of our messy piles of work separate.

     “Uhm,” I hesitate, zipping my bag shut and nudging it with my elbow to then watch it tumble to the floor, leaning my elbow on the desk with my chin resting on my palm, my other hand massaging my temple gently.

     “Sure, why not?” I concur.

     She smiles back at me and takes her seat again, tapping away at the keyboard as I do the same.

     “Labrador,” She squeaks out of the blue, sniggering again.

     “Shut up!” I warn her whilst chucking a pencil I find lying around on my desk at her. “It was a gift from my mum last Christmas.”

     She rolls her eyes and holds her hands up in surrender. “Stop throwing your equipment at me and get on with your job. You’re meant to be a brilliant journalist and you’re slacking.” She smirks at me, throwing my pencil back over the desk at me.

     “Now look who’s being a bully,” I chuckle, blocking out her voice to get on with some of my work.