less than lovers (h.s.)

nine

I woke up the next morning ready to take on the festival, but unfortunately, my stomach had different plans. Somehow, in the middle of the night, Harry's arm had ended up slung around my waist. My shirt had rode up in my sleep, and his hand was resting on my stomach like it belonged there. The realization that this was the second time I'd woke up next to him in the past month was startling, but I didn't have much time to reflect on it—I was going to be sick.

I tried to shift out of his grip, but he was holding onto my waist tightly. The thought of him waking up in this position was obviously less than ideal, but at this point, I had no choice.

"Harry," I hissed. "Move. I need to get up."

He groaned slightly, which gave me a sense of relief. At least he was somewhat awake. However, instead of letting go, he did the complete opposite of what I told him, beginning to rub circles onto my bare stomach. If I hadn't been seconds away from hurling, I might have blushed.

"Harry, I'm serious. I'm going to throw up."

That definitely woke him up. His hand jerked away from my waist as if he'd been burned, but before he could say anything, I was sprinting to the bathroom. I barely even had time to shut the door before I was emptying my stomach into the toilet. I was sure that my nausea didn't stem from a hangover, especially since I'd barely drank last night.

The sound of footsteps only made me feel more sick, and sure enough, moments later, I could feel a hand on my back. "Jonesy, are you okay?"

I groaned loudly. "I'm literally in the middle of throwing up. What do you think?"

Instead of reciprocating my sass, Harry gently held my hair back as I keeled over the toilet bowl yet again. It was just about the least attractive thing I could've ever done, but I didn't have the energy to dwell on my humiliation. Mimicking his earlier actions in bed, he rubbed gentle circles into my back, until I was finally all finished.

Harry watched me silently as I washed my hands and brushed my teeth, and I tried not to waver under his gaze. Finally, once I felt slightly less disgusting, he followed me out of the bathroom and onto the bed. Then, he said, "I didn't think you'd be this hungover."

I shook my head. "I'm not hungover. I barely drank last night."

"Are you sure?" When I nodded, he frowned. "Did you eat something bad, then? The McDonald's, maybe?"

"No, I was feeling sick before that."

His brow tightened at my revelation, and the worry was evident on his features. "Jonesy, why didn't you tell me?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal!" Harry exclaimed, his voice colored with frustration. "How long have you been feeling sick for?"

When I shrugged yet again, he cursed loudly before resting his palm on my forehead. "Fuck. You feel hot."

Trying to lighten the mood, I teased, "I'm always hot, aren't I?"

Harry did not look amused. He stared at me for a minute before saying, "I'll be back, I'm just going to get something."

That caught me off guard. "What? Where are you going?"

He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Just go back to bed, I won't be gone for long."

I folded my arms across my chest stubbornly. "I don't want to go back to bed. I'm not tired."

"Just lie down, then, you need the rest."

I begrudgingly let him tuck me into bed, and his hand lingered on my forehead, clearly trying to gauge whether I had a temperature or not. I didn't have the energy to fight him on it.