Babies don't cry

23.

June

When Isabel woke up, Harry was on top of her, his head buried so far into her neck that his nose was pressed into the crevice above her collarbone, his lips warming the skin below.

He was heavy, but not unpleasantly so; one of his legs was between hers, the hairs on his calves brushing the stubble forming on hers, his whole torso splayed across her and one of his hands tangling in her hair.

She lay still for a moment, his breath hot against her collarbone and their feet touching, his toes tickling the arch of her right foot. She ran her hands up and down his bare back, wondering how it always ended up like this. They could go to sleep in any position but now Harry would always end up at least half on top of her, his face burrowed into her neck or chest and their legs tangled.

She wormed her way out from beneath him carefully, afraid she would wake him, but he only sighed when she moved and smashed his face into the pillow, still lying flat on his front. Isabel smiled slightly, then yawned and stretched, pulling on one of Harry’s discarded t-shirts and her sweatpants.

When she shuffled into the kitchen Zayn was there in his black polo top for work, sitting at the table and shovelling cereal into his mouth.

“Morning,” she said cheerily, and he nodded at her, his eyes half shut.

“Fuck me, I have to go to work,” he mumbled as she switched the kettle on and put some bread in the toaster. “It’s too early for this.”

“You hungover?” Isabel asked, surveying Zayn’s pale skin and bloodshot eyes. He groaned at the sound of the kettle boiling.

“I feel like I’m gonna explode,” he said dramatically, rubbing the heel of his hand over his eye. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to last the whole shift.”

“Is your shift ten till six?” Isabel asked, getting the jam and butter out of the fridge. She was acquainted with Zayn’s schedule at HMV now, and he nodded, sighing loudly. “You’ll be alright in a few hours,” Isabel chimed brightly, and he scowled at her.

“Reckon Harry’s okay?” he asked, scooping the last of the cereal out of the bowl. “Is he still asleep?”

“He’s just tired, I think,” Isabel said, taking a sip of her tea. “Neither of us drank too much.”

This was because neither of them had wanted to go to the pub last night at all, but they’d been forcing themselves out with the others as much as possible, however tempting it was to stay in bed. They'd spent most of the night trying to cut Niall off, seeing as he had his big exam the following day, but he’d drank far too much anyway and promptly been sick all over Caitlin’s shoes on the way home.

“Has Niall gone to his exam?”

“He left just before you came down,” Zayn replied, putting his bowl in the sink and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “How do I look? Do I look hungover?”

Isabel tried not to laugh at him, her lips quirking up at the corners. “You look like death.”

“Cheers.” He smiled, tapping her lightly on the arm with his fist and loping to the door, calling to her over his shoulder. “Don’t let Harry sleep all day, lazy shit.”

Isabel finished her breakfast and her tea, contemplating whether or not to take some up for Harry before accepting both would go soggy and cold respectively before he touched it. She padded up to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, before heading back to the bedroom and finding Harry in exactly the same position she’d left him, face down with his cheek squashed against the pillow.