boys don't cry. [h.s]

twenty three

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.

Afraid she would wake him, she wormed her way out from beneath him carefully, but he only sighed and smashed his face into the pillow when she moved, still lying flat on his front. Isabel smiled at that before yawning and stretching, the distinctive ache of her thighs and soreness of her hips indecently reminding her of the night before, and the night before that, and before that...

When she shuffled into the kitchen clad in one of Harry's discarded t-shirts and her sweatpants, she found Zayn sitting at the table shovelling cereal into his mouth, glaring gloomily at his bowl like it had offended him.

"Morning," she said cheerily. Zayn nodded his hello, eyes half shut.

"Fuck me, I have to go to work," he mumbled as she switched the kettle on and stuffed some bread into 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."

"Ten till six?" Isabel asked as she retrieved jam and butter from the fridge. She was acquainted with Zayn's schedule at HMV now, and he nodded with a familiar air of self-pity, sighing loudly. "You'll be all right 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 replied before 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 in an effort to ensure he'd be all right for 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. He stood up with a groan, crossing the room to drop his bowl in the sink before turning to face Isabel, 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 in solitude, 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, peering at the bags under her eyes and her swollen lips in the mirror, before heading back to the bedroom to find Harry in exactly the same position she'd left him, face down with his cheek squashed against the pillow.