harry styles // one shots

unwell (f/a)

In which Y/N can't control her alcohol and Harry was hoping to go to bed early - wc: 1,900+

TW: alcohol use 

You and Harry didn't live together, yet. He had asked you to move in not long ago, and you told him yes without hesitation - however you were stuck to your apartment lease for another 3 months before you could fully commit. For the time being, you bounced back and forth staying over at each other's places, you more so often stayed at his place than he did at yours.

Some nights, it came as a blessing that you didn't live together. Like on nights when Harry would go to bed early if he had to be up at an ungodly hour of the morning for an interview, and you would just be coming home past midnight from a night out with friends. But on nights like tonight, it didn't matter if you lived together or not, because as the only sober person you could rely on in your contacts list, Harry would have to make a slight change of plans.

Thankfully he didn't have an interview the next morning, or anything to do the next morning - some nights Harry just liked to go to bed early. He would roll his eyes when you would tease him and call him an old man for his habit, but he liked waking up early and watching the sunrise - a sight you were fine with missing out on.

He knew you were going out that night, to catch up with some old friends from college.

"I promise, only a couple of drinks," you assured him. "I can control myself."

He gave you a weary look, one that said I want to believe you. But who was he to say anything? You were an adult, and you were just having fun - still, he just had a tendency to worry for your safety on nights that he wasn't out with you when you were drinking.

"Besides, I don't want to get shitfaced tonight. I'm too tired," you laughed.

The person you were in that moment was a different person than the one you were when someone ordered 3 rounds of tequila shots for your table. And then one more round, for good measure.

The night went by in a frantic blur, and despite claiming you didn't want to get shitfaced you were exactly that - shitfaced. Unable to stand on your own two legs or form a coherent sentence, your friends piled into an Uber with you in tow.

You had no idea where you were going, all you knew was that you felt amazing.

That's how you ended up passed out on the living room floor of your friend's apartment, mumbling small words under your breath and a loopy smile plastered across your lips. You had tripped on the concrete outside, resulting in some nasty scrapes on your shins and elbows - although you couldn't feel the pain as various liquors numbed your senses.

"Y/N, I need you to sit up," your friend instructed, tugging at your wrists to force you to sit up straight against the couch. You slumped against the fabric. "Where's your phone?"

"Bag," you mumbled, throwing your arm on the ground in the direction of your bag, which sat on the end table across the room. She retrieved your phone, holding it up to your face to unlock with faceID.

"Okay, I'm gonna call Harry to come pick you up," she told you.

"Noooo," you whined, attempting to grab for the device. "He'll be mad at me."

"No he won't, I need him to come get you so he can take care of you," she argued, tapping at the screen.

"I'm fine, I'll take care of myself," you mumbled, head dropping down as your neck went slack.

She could only laugh at you, bringing the phone up to her ear. You didn't hear any of her conversation with Harry, only re-entering reality as she placed your phone back into your hands. You glanced at the time of the bright lockscreen - 2:19AM. Great, Harry must be thrilled.