Harry Styles Imagines

We're Exhausted.

"Stop," I mumbled out to a drunk Harry. He snickered, "And why should I?"

I sighed.

This was the fifth night this week. Don't ask why Harry had picked up this habit-and brought me into the mix-because I couldn't give you an honest answer.

"I mean, no one fucking cares, Y/N, except you. You care, Y/N because you're always fucking here to pick me up when I fall," he stumbles on his words, dragging out the last word and laughing. Harry nearly trips over his lanky legs as he moves from the door way.

Drunk Harry is exhausting. Especially at three in the morning. One moment he's easy to deal with and the next, a bully.

"Harry-" "You're my bestest friend," he threw his hands up, almost losing his balance and nearly crushing me.

"Okay, yeah, you're my best friend too Harry, now let's just sit you down here," I grabbed his broad shoulders and helped him onto the couch. As I turned away to clean up his mess so I could leave, I felt a hand slowly grab for mine.

"I'm sorry Y/N," Harry said slowly. "I just love you so much..." his red eyes were almost lidded with tears.

"I know," I whispered, turning away again.

(Okay so this sucked major ass. And I'm sorry to anyone who reads it. I just wrote it in class when I was bored so yeah...)