to be so lonely • hs

thirty one

My head lied back against the arm rest on Ambrose's sofa, my phone in hand above me as I scrolled through my playlist to find another song, only to allow the next song in the queue to play out as my name was called from the kitchen.

"Another?" I asked, watching as Ambrose poured yet another shot, Harry held one out for me to grab.

"Well, of course, love— the night's still young." Ambrose nodded, not bothering to close the bottle of vodka as he held up the shot between Harry and I, the three of us clinked our glasses before throwing back the alcohol, a feeling of regret already burning in my throat.

"That never gets better, does it?" I frowned, sipping from a small bottle of cranberry juice immediately after.

"It's delicious." Ambrose joked, though part of me felt as though he were being serious.

I glanced at Harry as he set down the shot glass, discreetly smiling at him before returning to my position on the sofa, my hand resting on his knee for a moment as I made my way by him.

After picking a few songs, I lied my phone on my chest and glanced around the room, wondering at the unpredictable person Ambrose Little was. At first glance, Ambrose was actually quite intimidating. He was tall, owned and wore only black clothing, had dark hair, often sported dark eye make up, and wore an excessive amount of silver jewelry. His voice had a bit of a rasp, but was quite playful, and the hint of mystery and intimidation faded quickly the moment he started speaking. Ambrose was hilarious, and always in a bright mood. He was actually really bubbly and quite the opposite of the character I'd expected him to be when we first officially met.

His home was full of random objects that made sense for him, like a glittery red cowboy hat hanging on the side of his television and a collection of lava lamps on a shelf against the wall. He had a ton of wall art, most of them his own work, and a great deal of knickknacks all over that I couldn't even begin getting into.

I pulled myself from my thoughts and listened in on the debate in the kitchen over which brand of vodka tasted better. In my opinion, they were all equally terrible, but Ambrose felt quite passionately about a few.

"You've actually got to be joking, I can't have this conversation with you." Ambrose argued after Harry insulted his favorite brand, the two of them making way into the living area. Ambrose stood in front of his window, opening it up to allow in a breeze, while I listened as Harry took his previous position on the smaller armchair beside the sofa I lied on.

I felt a light tug on a strand of my hair that had draped over the armrest, half expecting it to be a fault of my own, but sitting up anyway to face a guilty Harry.

"What was that for?" I laughed, speaking quietly.

"It was tempting." He answered, shrugging as he looked over at Ambrose who made his way back, then plopped down beside me on the sofa.

"What was?" He asked, letting out a breath.

"Pulling my hair, apparently." I exaggerated, of course, as it really didn't hurt at all.

"Kinky." Ambrose pulled his phone out, checking the time as I pushed him, shaking my head as we both laughed. "Sorry, just me then."

As if she'd been eavesdropping and knew exactly when to arrive, there was a knock on the door to grab our attention. Gemma had stopped to pick up a pizza on her way over, which we were all grateful for.

"Hello, h— take it easy, mate." Gemma began saying Hi before Harry jumped up from his seat to grab the box.

We gathered in the kitchen now, Ambrose offered her a shot to catch her up, and she declined. "I've gotta drive home," She reminded, which reminded me of the same, though it was a bit too late for that revelation.