Heroin {harry styles}

36

3:46am

It's 3:46am and I'm sitting at the kitchen counter. My head drifts down onto the counter in front of me for the hundredth time tonight before I quickly snap awake.

Just as I'm about to give into my urge to finally sleep for the night, the front door slams.

Nope. Forget it. This was a mistake.

I jump off of the barstool as quick as anyone can at almost four in the morning, tiptoeing hurriedly our of the room. I should've gone to bed hours ago.

"Where do you think you're going?" A deep voice drones from behind, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"To bed," I mumble, not turning around out of hope that Harry will just let me go. But he never does.

This was such a stupid idea.

"Why are you even awake at this hour?" He asks after a long pause.

I let out a sigh, relaxing my shoulders and turning around to face him, unsure of what excuse I'm going to make for why I'm awake.

"What the hell happened to you?" I exclaim the moment I catch a glimpse of the blood trickling down Harry's temple, seemingly coming from somewhere inside his mop of curly hair.

At least it'll take his attention off of wondering why I'm still awake.

"What are you talking about?" He asks, shooting me a confused look.

"Your- your face!" I shout at him, pointing at the blood coming out of his head.

How on earth can he not feel that he's got some sort of massive cut on his head?

"Layla, I think you're so tired you're starting to hallucinate. I know my face is too sexy to handle sometimes but there's no need to shout about it," Harry chuckles at his own narcissism.

"I'm not hallucinating! You're bleeding!"

"I'm perfectly fine. What are you talking about?"

Determined to prove that I'm not crazy, I storm right past Harry and grab some paper towels. Before he can stop me, I stomp right up to him and wipe them over some of the blood, practically shoving it in his face to prove that he's hurt.

Harry calmly takes the paper towels out of my hand and wipes away more of the blood from the side of his head.

"Yeah that's not mine," he shrugs, throwing the paper towels away. He grabs a few more and runs them under the sink before cleaning the rest of the blood out of his hair.

"Whose is it?" I shriek, way more dramatically than intended.

He only shrugs in response.

I maintain my composure as he stares at me but the second he turns around to get more paper towels I make a face behind his back, sticking my tongue out and rolling my eyes.

"Mature," Harry comments, still turned around.

"How did you-?" I begin to ask but he interrupts me.

"Your reflection in the window is right in front of my face."

I look at the window in front of me and realize he was right as I can see his smirk clear as day in the reflection.

"Goodnight Harry," I deadpan, realizing once again that he's always going to win at banter.

"You never answered my question," he turns around, leaning back on the counter.

I shrug, trying to come up with anything but the truth, but Harry's stare weighs down on me.

"I just couldn't sleep," I shrug.