End of the Day [h.s]

eleven

For what felt like centuries when in reality was only days, I was in miserable torment. How was it even possible for somebody to be hungover for two and a half days? I felt nauseas, groggy, unmotivated and ridiculously apathetic at everything in the world. However, once the alcohol's effect had finally worn off, I felt lazy. So I spent my remaining time lounging around, because well, why not?

Zayn may have texted me the day before, sending me a brief 'hey x' with no further message to follow up. I hadn't responded, not yet at least. I wasn't sure why, but I figured I'd get around to it eventually, I wasn't exactly in a hurry though.

Late afternoon crept up on me, time seemed to be passing by uncontrollably, which was unfortunate seeing as that meant the end of term was also nearing just as quick. I was positioned on my couch with an open book sprawled across my stomach and the tv blaring in the background. My coffee cup was half empty, resting beside my frame on the table. My legs were stretched out over the cushions of the sofa. Opened crisp packets and rubbish dotted around my body.

It was the unsurpassed highlife.

My mother had been working extra shifts at the bar, and if she wasn't working she would be socialising, more specifically drinking at the same very bar, just without the uniform. Albeit I knew it wasn't right, though arguing with her had become relentless and it wasn't worth the hassle. She wasn't planning on changing and sooner or later I'd be leaving for university without a worry in my mind. We would be leading separate lives, out of each other's ways.

So in the meantime, I took advantage of having the home to myself, mainly enjoying being solitary.

That was until the doorbell rang unexpectedly, causing me to jump from the sudden noise and knock over a packet of biscuits next to my leg, which led to them spilling literally everywhere. I sighed, pulling my hair loose and wiping down my legs, hastily making my way over to the door.

Opening the door, I figured I would be met with the eyes of a salesman, perhaps the local postman or a next door neighbour, but instead I transfixed on a couple of pale green eyes. Except they were much paler than usual, if that were possible. It must've been, they seemed to look lighter.

"Harry?" I blurted with bewilderedness, taking my time to scan him. An odd number of curls dangled down as his head was facing the floor. "What are you, what are doing here?"

He shivered slightly, the thin material of his navy, knitted jumper clearly not concealing him from the cold. He then proceeded to pull his persistent gaze away from the ground, looking at me insensibly. However his response wasn't fast at all, tens of second went by before he spoke. "You said if things ever got... well."

"Shit, Harry" I pulled him by the wrist inside, quickly shutting the front door and blocking out the freezing air. I locked it smoothly and turned around to face him. He hovered wordlessly beside me.

Scavenging around trying to pick up the scattered biscuits and empty packets of food in my living room, I groaned and rushed into the kitchen to put it in the bin. He continued to stand still, unsure of what to do with himself, when I returned back into the room.

Once I'd cleaned up most of the space, I planted myself down on the edge of the sofa and looked to him attentively. He seemed so withdrawn, it was awful. It was also pretty obvious he was still recovering from the harsh weather, despite him driving here in his car; I noticed it parked at the end of my driveway. "Do you want to talk about it?" I asked him.

He crossed his arms over his chest, "nothing happened, if that's what you're wondering." I nodded, clearing my throat. Though I didn't know what to make of it, rather I didn't want to know what had caused his sudden appearance, all I could focus on was a way to help him feel better.