witness || h.s.|| ON HOLD

sixty-one || itchin' on a photograph

the song for this chapter is "Itchin' On A Photograph," by Grouplove :)

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I'm itchin' on a photograph
Yeah I'm scratching on a thermostat
Yeah I'm giving up on looking back
Yeah I'm letting go of what I had
Yeah I'm itchin' on a photograph

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Tate

    In life, there are very few reminders that you are human stronger than the pounding feeling of a hangover. 

   I sat up in the bed, one of Harry's large t-shirts draped over my body, and immediately threw my head back down onto the pillow.

   There was also an ache between my legs, a wonderful ache at that and I smiled up at the ceiling and blushed as I recalled the events of last night, but I stopped myself before I got all horned up all over again. 

    I felt Harry stirring in the bed next to me, one of his arms draping over my waist and pulling me in closer.

   "Can we just stay in bed all day?" He mumbled with his face halfway burrowed into the pillow.

       I rolled over onto my side to face him, sighing and tugging the covers that I kicked down in my sleep back up to my chin.

  "I wish, but probably not," I chuckled, smiling when Harry pouted his bottom lip out, his eyes still scrunched shut. 

    Suddenly, Harry's eyes snapped open, filled with panic.

  "Please tell me you remember last night," he practically begged, and my heart lurched as his worry.

  I reached a hand out towards him and cupped his cheek. "Yes, baby. I remember everything. I consented to it one hundred percent," I reassured him, and he sighed in relief. 

  "Okay, good. I just, I would feel so awful if I did something that you regretted in the morning," he admitted, and I stroked my thumb across his cheek.

  "I know, but you don't need to worry. I would have done it all over again sober too," I replied, my tone being a little cheeky and believe it or not, causing Harry Styles, infamous assassin, to blush. 

  "I love you," he whispered, placing his hand on top of my own, giving it a light squeeze.

  "I love you more," I giggled back at him, "what do you say we take a shower really quick before assessing the damage downstairs?" I suggested, and Harry groaned.

    "I don't even want to think about what the downstairs looks like. Or, better yet, who is downstairs," He chuckled pulling the covers completely over his head, trying to hide from the reality that was just a mere staircase away.

   I smirked to myself and stood up, ignoring the shaky feeling in my legs caused by a mixture of the hangover and some of the best, most rough sex I had had in my life, and faced the bed, still wearing nothing but Harry's t-shirt.

  "Okay, if you want to stay in bed all day, that's fine, but I think I'll go ahead and hop in the shower," I shrugged, reaching for the ends of the shirt.

   Harry pulled down the covers so that just his eyes were visible, looking like a cheeky little teenager.

   I sighed and lifted the shirt over my head, leaving me completely naked, before holding the shirt out at arm's length, and letting it fall to the floor.