The next morning hit me like a punch in the face.
It wasn't a subtle, refreshing wake up call - it was the sound of an irritating clatter from the blinds being thrown around by the wind. And although I was lying in nothing but my boxers, sandwiched between silk sheets and covers and pillows, I may as well have been laying on concrete.
I felt as if I hadn't slept a wink - and I had no recognition of what happened following Harry sticking his tongue down my throat outside the restaurant.
The first thing I saw when I woke up was Harry; snoozing away to my left, with his arm across my pillow and his mouth gaping slightly in slumbering breaths. I assumed that I'd fell asleep with him holding me, judging by how close we were in his king sized nest and how his arm was now somehow above my head.
But then that just raised the question; did we fuck?
I was wearing my boxers, after all, which was the only factor that denied the answer being yes. Especially since Harry was naked - his flaccid dick somehow managing to prod my hip even though he was practically lying on his back. We were like a jigsaw puzzle.
But that wasn't all, there were foil wrappers from condoms scattered across his oak wood floor. I counted three - all open, without the condom inside. Three? I wanted to think that was a factor for us not sleeping together. Maybe he couldn't get it up... Like I said, it had been a while. And from what I felt sticking into my hip since I peeled my eyes open, it wouldn't surprise me.
I shook my head and cleared my thoughts. Why was I being so negative about all this? I felt as if I wanted to cleanse myself of the idea of sleeping with him. Why did I want to do that? I'd been almost fan-girling over the idea of it since yesterday morning - I was still blessed with those memories - so why did I now feel opposed to the idea? Maybe it was because I couldn't remember it. Perhaps some part of me that was conscious during our maybe-fuck is so pissed at me for not being able to recall any of it... Man, that's some Nicholas Sparks shit.
But after clearing my head, all I could think about was food. I glanced over at the clock and winced at the neon blue light illuminating from it in the morning darkness. 8:56AM. Perhaps it wasn't the blinds that woke me up, maybe it was the cries of hunger from my insides. Because that now makes it two mornings I've battled without breakfast... I needed food.
I gently slipped out the bed, softly pulling the covers off myself and standing to my feet. I didn't want to wake Harry up, not yet. Maybe I could think some more. Maybe he had some pop tarts. Maybe I wouldn't be doing any thinking because Harry Freakin' Styles had the best taste in toaster snacks, ever.
I didn't even bother to hunt down the rest of my clothes. I was wearing my boxers, that was enough - and it's not like Harry would be seeing anything new had he woken up, right?
The cool air of the apartment didn't hit me until I quietly twisted the handle to leave the room and opened the door. Harry's room was huge, but it was warm. Which was surprising considering how the window was open, the floor was wooden, and it was winter. But then again he had been my personal radiator all night.
Once I'd closed the door behind me, I exhaled a thankful breath. I was never the type of person to take advantage of someone's home. Even when I lived with my parents I asked before taking anything out the fridge or turning on the downstairs TV. Just manners, really. But I felt somewhat comfortable in Harry's abode. Comfortable, but also freakishly hungry... I wanted to brush my teeth, too. I could still taste noodles.
I walked down the corridor leading from Harry's room, passing several open doors that showed off three more glamorous rooms; a beautiful white bathroom, a study with chiseled oak furniture and bookshelves, with an apple iMac that illuminated the room's darkness with it's glowing purple background. Both those rooms were parallel, then ahead of them was another spare bedroom, one that was slightly similar to Harry's with the flooring and another queen sized bed, but the paper was white as opposed to open brick. Harry's bedroom was like a loft whereas this room looked like a big, white marshmallow. But the final room opposite was closed. Had I not been so hungry, maybe I would've opened it and had a snoop. But all I could think about was pop tarts... I hadn't had a pop tart in years. Why was I so excited about this? He probably didn't even have any.
