Malignant [h.s]

Thirty Eight

I mildly squint my eyes open, feeling disoriented about where I am. My eyes quickly adjust and I remember that I am in Harry's room still. I peer at the clock that says 12:30pm. Woah.

I've slept half of the day away, how did Harry allow me to sleep this long?

Where is Harry?

My mind up to this point has ignored the fact that a giant arm is rested on my hip and my legs are intertwined with another pair. I turn my head behind me and see none other then Harry laying right behind me, passed out.

His one arm stays firmly rested on my hip while his other is snaked under my neck. I look across his tattoo forearm and feel shocked that this wasn't the first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes.

How did this end up happening? He should have stayed on his side and I should have stayed on mine. I don't know if I should wake him or just wait for him to wake up on his own.

Who am I kidding... I can't lay here and just not do anything until he wakes up. I need to get out of here and maybe he will forget that I slept here with him at all.

I slowly start to sit up as fragilely as I can, praying that I get out of here without him noticing.

"Amelia." His raspy tone murmurs and I freeze. I turn my head to him and see his piercing green eyes burning into mine.

"Morning." Is all I manage to spit out as I'm half sitting up in his arms. His curls are a mess but it still looks good on him, his eyes look tired and have bags underneath and his arm is still wrapped around my waist even though he is aware that it's there.

"Sorry I made you sleep here." He murmurs while half of his head is in the black pillow.

"You didn't make me, it's fine." I quickly answer, while looking at his arm still gripped around my waist. He notices me staring at the unusual contact so he pulls back right away.

"Well thanks," he says with his deep morning voice.

"No worries. Do you remember anything from last night?" I ask out of curiosity. Does he remember telling me his sister committed suicide is more what I'm wondering.

"Bits and pieces, yeah." He murmurs and sits up. The second his sits up he presses his palms to his temples.

"Fuck." He cusses while screwing his eyes shut. He looks to be in pain so I can only guess that he has a killer hangover.

"You gonna live?" I say causally.

"Fuck me why would I drink that much, I never get hangovers." He says before diving his face into the pillow like a child; a six foot inked child that is.

"You were high too." I revise his statement.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck." He draws out the profanity into the pillow.

"Okay do you know any other words?" I say in an annoyed tone from his unnecessary use of cursing.

"Watch it." He mumbles threateningly into the fabric. I should be a little frightened by his statement, but having him say it while his face is in a pillow makes it a little more funny then scary.

"Alright. Well I don't really know what to do in situation like this so I'm just gonna go. Do you like need anything?" I stand up from the warm bed and look down at his long muscular body tangled in the sheets.