Bittersweet - Larry

16

I woke up nauseous, needing a moment to understand what was happening before I unwrapped myself from harry and turned around so I could lean over the edge of my bed and throw up into the bucket. It surprised me that I remembered Harry had put it there as everything else seemed to be a blur. At least after I got drunk.

"You okay?" Harry asked, his voice seeming to be even deeper in the morning.

 I took a moment to breathe before I laid down properly again. "No." 

I normally never struggled with nausea after drinking, but I had been drinking more than I usually did, so I suppose it wasn't a surprise. 

"I'll get you some painkillers."

"Thank you," I mumbled, letting him crawl over me and out of my bed. 

I watched him disappear out of my room, and another wave of nausea rushed over me at the same time. Harry came back while I was still throwing up, putting the pills down on my bedside table before he opened the window to get some fresh air in.

"Take the pills and go back to sleep."

"Are you leaving?"

"I have a house to clean." 

He didn't look at me but turned around to leave. I sighed in response, but instead of going after him I took the painkillers and drank what was left in the bottle, curling up under my duvet afterwards. The silent treatment had never been fun, but with Harry it was torture. It was still surprising to me that I enjoyed spending time with him. He was the definition of tall and handsome, yet he was awkward and soft at the same time, and it had been refreshing to find out there was more to him than his fuckboy appearance. He had brought a certain thrill of excitement into my life, and I needed him to interact with me again.

***

I took a shower when I woke up again, brushing my teeth before I took a clean pair of boxers on and headed downstairs. I couldn't remember how messy the house had been when we went to bed, nor could I remember why we went to bed together. I knew for a fact we hadn't had sex because not only was I not sore, but Harry wouldn't have taken advantage of my neediness even if I had been drunk enough to beg for it. But the house was still a mess even though Harry had been cleaning while I slept, and he was walking around in his boxers, throwing cup after cup into a plastic bag.

I walked into the kitchen to take a glass of water, leaning against the counter afterwards while I made myself a toast. Harry walked in while I ate it, and he put the plastic bag down before he leaned against the kitchen island across from me, watching me for a few seconds before he spoke up.

"Do you feel better?"

"Yes," I mumbled with my mouth full.

"Are you gonna tell me why you kissed Zayn?" 

I raised my eyebrows, but he didn't tell me why he wanted to know. I remembered the kiss clearly, yet why it had happened in the first place was still a mystery. "I don't have an explanation." 

"No?" 

"Are you jealous?"

"Absolutely," he admitted. "We argued about it too."

"Why?"

"I asked him to keep his hands off you, but he didn't." 

I almost choked on the toast, not seeming to understand what he was telling me. "You can't do that."

"Of course I can. Liam asked the same of you, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but..." I trailed off because technically he was right—if he had called dibs on me, Zayn wasn't allowed to touch me, but it didn't change the fact that I wasn't okay with it. "You can't ask people to stay away from me."