Red Brick Heart

17

When Harry wakes up late on January first, it's almost like he's back at uni, and in fact takes him a moment to get his bearings: he's naked, back pressed up against the wall, his right arm completely dead from where Louis is using it as a pillow. When he cracks one eye open he finds the room is far too bright: his head is throbbing, mouth dry and rancid, and his stomach's bubbling uncomfortably. He can't quite remember how the night – or the morning, he supposes – ended, only that it involved everyone getting fairly naked and doing shots off one another. That would explain why he feels so sticky and gross, he supposes.

He has every intention of going back to sleep, but the minute he rolls himself over to curl around Louis it's like he's disturbed the sensitive equilibrium in his stomach and a wave of nausea hits him. He tries to ignore it, burying his face in Louis' shoulder and forcing his eyes shut, but it's no good, it only gets worse. Groaning, he lifts himself up on all fours, mildly perplexed at the fact Niall is lying on Louis' other side with a big handlebar moustache drawn on his face, the ink slightly smudged. As he stumbles out of bed he picks his way over the shapes of his sleeping friends, launching into a run as he descends the stairs and making it to the toilet just in time to chuck up a horrific mix of Doritos and tequila.

He flushes the toilet, head pounding as he rests it against the cool porcelain of the tank, resolving to never ever drink again (or let his friends coerce him into drinking so much ever again, maybe). He doesn't have the energy or the trust in his stomach to get up again, and he must fall asleep hugging the toilet because he wakes up to a pair of hands gently lifting him under the armpits back into an upright position and pressing a glass of water into his hands.

"Hi," he says croakily, taking the water as Louis huffs and wraps his arms around his torso fully to lift him.

"Oh, you're conscious, that's good. Fuck, you are a lump." He pulls Harry back in his lap, both of them rested against the bathtub, one of Louis' hands pushing Harry's sweat-sprung curls back from his forehead and kissing his shoulder as he steadily downs the glass of water. "Feeling all right?"

"Pretty awful," Harry says, snuggling back into Louis' hold and setting the empty glass on the linoleum floor. Louis rests his head against Harry's, fingers tangling in his hair. "Thanks for the water. Bit better now."

"That's the value of a tactical chunder, babes. Get it all out before you go to bed, and the mornings are always much better."

"That's disgusting," he says, before adding, "But I feel pretty disgusting now, though, so..."

"You'll be all right. I'd get you a damp flannel to cool you down, but your giant giraffe body has me kind of trapped."

Harry laughs a little, despite himself, nuzzling his nose into Louis' neck. "How kind."

"I always am."

They sit like that for a little longer, Louis' fingers lightly scratching his scalp and soothing him back to drowsiness. He really does feel awful, but it's so much better with Louis there. His boyfriend.

"We've been together a whole year," Harry says inanely, eyes still closed. Louis snorts.

"Feels like it was only yesterday, my love."

Harry cackles so hard he thinks he might throw up again. "Oh my god. I love you."

"Mm." Louis grins against his forehead. "Love you too. So much. I reckon I might even be able to stomach you for another year."

"Promises, promises," Harry says, shifting a little and reaching up to rub his greasy forehead. "I feel so gross. Can we go back to bed?"

"Sure." Louis lets go of him as he unsteadily gets to his feet, head spinning, and inspects himself in the mirror. It's not a great sight. He's got a lovebite on his neck as well, and not the kind you can just pass off as a trick of the light or a bruise. Louis grins at him in the mirror, and it's the first proper glance he's got at him all day: he look ruffled but chirpy, eyes puffy but crinkled as he laughs.