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Ow, what the actual fuck? What the hell did I do last night?
Louis wakes up in a sweat. He has a splitting headache, the kind that makes you want to die right then and there.
Ouch, my head. Too much light.
The blinds are closed but a single ray of light still makes it through the cracks.He pulls the covers over his head to keep sunlight out of his eyes. Even if they’re closed, it’s too painful not to cover them.
Fuuuuuck… Let me die. I need a cuddle.
Blindly, he flings his arm to the other side of the bed. Empty. And cold. Louis winces and opens his eyes in a jolt.
Harry? Where is he?
Usually, when his boyfriend wakes up before him, he stays in bed, staring creepily at Louis or reading, his hand more often than not stroking Louis’ hair until he wakes up.
But not today.
Because today the bed is empty.
What the fuck?
Louis gathers all the willpower he can muster to get his head out from under the soft covers and face the dimmed light of the room. With a shaky hand, he grabs his phone from his bedside table and it’s dead. Of course. But it’s weird because he’s sure he plugged it last night. Or well, this morning. Or maybe it was the night before? Who actually knows?
Fuuuck… I wanna die!
He shakes himself one more time and gets out of bed with a groan. His head is still killing him and a wave of nausea is making his belly swim. Dragging his feet, he reaches the bathroom and rummages for a few minutes in their neatly arranged cupboards before finding the bottle of ibuprofen he was looking for and placing it in the corner of the sink.
Next step: brushing his teeth.
Oof, it’s swimming. Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up. Just another minute and I’m done.
He barely saves himself from emptying his stomach right there, on their beautiful blue bathroom rug. Or worse, on his bare feet.
Where’s Harry? It’s his job to nurse me back to life.
Groaning, Louis grabs the painkillers and his phone and shuffles to the kitchen.
After laughing at me! “Louis, babe, you can’t hold your liquor.” I hate him. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t see this, actually.
Pouring himself a glass of water, Louis notices Harry’s favorite mug drying next to the sink.
Well, at least he’s alive.
He downs the fresh water along with the ibuprofen and fills it again.
Oh my god, make this pain stop already.
Looking at the clock, he realizes it’s nearly midday. Makes sense, seeing the way he’s feeling.
Why am I so hungover? I don’t remember even drinking that much.
Shaking his head, he starts the kettle because tea is the best medicine for a hangover. And Harry. He is the best cure, actually.
His brain is very slowly clearing up, the fog lifting up and nausea seems to lighten if he doesn’t move too quickly.
Who made me drink so much? Niall? Zayn ?
He scans the room but there’s not one of their usual post-it notes neither on the counter nor on the fridge even if Harry’s shoes and coat are not in the entryway.
I’m just going to die of pain. Alone. Without my boyfriend. Great.
A quick check at the calendar confirms that Harry doesn’t work today and the brunch with his mum is still planned for tomorrow. There’s objectively no reason why he wouldn’t be lounging in bed with him or, worst case scenario, reading in the living room with his cup of cold coffee.
Maybe he texted to tell me where he went. I just have to wait for it to light up. Easy!
But his phone still lays lifeless on the countertop. Unplugged.
Oh shit, you moron!
Louis plugs it and stares while it’s trying to get back to life. His head is still pounding, and his brain is starting to fill with anxiety The kettle finally whistles and stirs Louis out of the staring contest with his phone. He brews his tea stronger than usual. No sugar,just a tiny dash of milk.
Scratch that, forget the milk.
While the tea is seeping, and wanting his brain to shut up, he treks back to their bedroom just to make sure Harry’s clothes are still in the closet (they are), then in the bathroom where Harry’s skin care products are still spread on the counter. Along with his toothbrush.
Ok. Good. At least he didn’t move out.
Louis knows deep inside that probably nothing happened and Harry most likely left to run an errand and will come back soon. But his brain has already taken the wrong turn and starts spinning. He’s always been a bit anxious, as if it’s his basic state. Nothing too invasive, but always simmering. The hangover isn’t helping — his thoughts now fixated on the fact that his boyfriend unexpectedly left their home on a Saturday morning. Especially after a night so wild that Louis can’t even function normally.
Something must have happened but- what? If I could remember the last part of the night, it would probably make more sense why Harry isn’t home this morning.
The problem is that the memories of last night are all blurry. He does remember that they went out to celebrate Niall’s new job. It was supposed to be a quiet pub night with Niall, Liam and Zayn. Dinner, a few beers, and a good catchup session. The same as always.
But at some point, the night took a wild turn and went from a pub dinner to a whirlwind of shots and dancing. Louis remembers laughing and clinging to Harry like a lost koala as they left the pub to go to a club. They hadn’t gone dancing in ages and everyone was really up for it. He remembers feeling so happy while walking down the street with a slightly tipsy Harry hanging off his arm. He felt like his life was complete. His friends, his boyfriend, a spectacular night. Everything was feeling so good.
Yeah, well, clearly it’s also where it all went to shit. Never again. Thank you very much.
And then—blackout. Louis frowns and tries to get past the headache but everything is foggy and he can’t even remember which club they ended up at.
This is a two-cups-of-the-strongest-tea kind of morning. Definitely.
He starts the kettle again with a sigh and his phone finally lights up. He blinks several times at the notifications. There are his usual news ones (swiped), a text from his boss asking him if he can cover for someone else this morning (no way in hell), the sports app letting him know that Manchester won last night (hell yeah! But also, why can’t I remember that?).
Finally, their group chat.
Who the fuck renamed it to “Niall boss and his minions”?
There are already a few messages today (how? Just how?). It’s just Niall complaining about his hangover (serves you right), and Liam’s daily gym selfie (what a maniac this one, omg).
But no text from Harry even in their private chat. This is definitely weird. Harry rarely leaves without telling Louis, writing a post-it or sending a text when he goes out before Louis wakes up.
Ugh, where are you, my darling boyfriend?
He starts humming glaring at the boiling kettle—
Baby Where the hell is my husband? What the fuck is taking him so long ?
Fucking song—
Who the fuck cares anyway? Just shut up omg. Okay, I’ll text him.
Louis (11.18 a.m.)
Morning, baby. Where are you?
The text is delivered. Unread. But delivered. Louis waits a full 3 minutes, staring at the screen, for the message to turn as “read”.
It doesn’t.
Okay, weird. What happened, for Christ sake? Where are youuuuuuu?
While sipping his second tea, he tries to recollect more memories of the night. He was definitely dancing, an objectively fit guy stuck to his back, Harry’s watchful eyes focused on Louis.
Oh we did this last night? Ok. Makes sense since we had both had quite a bit to drink.
Sometimes, they like playing, being a bit more easy-going and touchy with people they don’t know, making the other one look, maybe get a bit jealous but it’s always just for a couple of songs, to make the night more— spicy. It usually leads to a heated end of the night.
Well, it clearly didn’t work last night, dumbass.
Louis knows he was staring at Harry while dancing, grinding, never letting go of the eye contact, watching for a sign from Harry that it was enough. But Harry didn’t make one, just stayed staring. Louis remembers dancing like that for a song or two. And then, it’s all black again.
Fuck. Ok. Maybe that’s when everything went south.
But he’s home and Harry spent the night here too. His warm side of the bed and his dirty mug are proof of that.
I can’t have done something so bad. Can my memory come back now? Please! This is really fucked up. Never drinking again.
Louis curls up on the couch, covering himself with Harry’s blanket. It smells like him, some strawberry notes and something earthy.. It’s the perfect place to wait for a sign of life from his boyfriend . Just as he’s starting to doze off, his phone buzzes once and he looks at the notification immediately.
Zaynie (11.34 a.m.)
Hey Lou, still alive? What a fucking sick night, right?
Louis sighs. Because Zayn is a multitexter and he doesn’t have the energy for that this morning.
Zaynie (11.35 a.m.)
Sorry I had to leave before you guys but I was knackered.
Zaynie (11.35 a.m.)
Btw … You looked wrecked. Harry got you home safe?
Louis (11.36 a.m.)
Hey Z… what if I tell you I’m home and safe but I can’t remember how I ended up in my bed?
Zaynie (11.37 a.m.)
I’m not surprised, mate… You were already quite drunk when we hit the club.
Oh great. I gave a show I guess.
Zaynie (11.37 a.m.)
But Harry was watching out for you. I guess he brought you back home and tucked you in
Louis (11.38 a.m.)
Don’t know, man. He’s not here right now and I have no clue where he’s gone. No text no nothing. I’m at the point where I wonder if something happened. Do you remember anything?
Zaynie (11.39 a.m.)
No, I didn’t see anything but I left early.
Zaynie (11.39 a.m.)
I’m sure he’s just out for an errand or something.
Yeah right, buddy.
Louis (11.40 a.m.)
Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll nurse my headache while waiting, I guess.
If none of the boys have mentioned it in the group chat and Zayn doesn’t look worried, nothing must have happened. Right? Well, that or there are just no witnesses.
I guess that’s good. I’m glad nobody saw my sad drunk ass being dumped in the middle of a celebration night.
He takes his phone back anyway and opens his chat with Harry again. His text is still unread. Fantastic. He sends another one in case Harry didn’t hear the first time.
Louis (11.45 a.m.)
I hope you’re ok! Let me know where you are. Love you.
And since his brain won’t shut up, he taps with nervous fingers another one right away.
Louis (11.45 a.m.)
Are you mad at me?
And another one.
Make me stop!
Louis (11.45 a.m.)
I’m sure we can fix things. Come back home so we can discuss. Please.
The last text is on the desperate side but he doesn’t really control his hands anymore. It sends before he can even process what he wrote.
Fuck
Louis (11.46 a.m.)
I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what I did, but it looks like you're mad at me. And now I’m here, at home, talking to myself, trying to figure out why you are mad and ignoring me.
A second after pressing “send”, keys rattle in the lock of the front door. His heart jumps inside his chest, his throat narrowing. He can’t make himself get up to greet Harry in the lobby as he would usually do. A sense of dread downs on him and his head is probably exploding in the next minute due to high pressure.
Calm down, Louis. It’s just Harry. HARRY. Your lovely boyfriend. And even if he’s mad at you, you will talk it through together.
A breath—
Yes but what if I really did go too far with that guy and Harry won’t forgive me? How will I live the rest of my life without him? I can’t do that… I need hi—
“Lou? You there?” Harry calls, coming down from the hallway, finally interrupting Louis’ train of thoughts.
Louis’s mouth refuses to cooperate and he remains silent, too caught up in the scenario he made up of Harry leaving him. He curls further into the blanket and waits, shivering, for Harry to come into the room.
“Ah! Found you! What are you doing?”
Louis doesn’t reply. He can’t. He meets Harry’s bright gaze and waits. Harry furrows his brows, his pink lips downturned, and gets closer.
“What’s happening, Lou? Are you feeling okay? Mean headache this morning?” Harry smirks slightly. “It was quite the adventure to get you back home last night.” He chuckles and sits down next to Louis’ feet, putting a hand on his knee. His strokes are gentle and Louis relaxes a bit. The pounding in his head fades away a little as Harry comforting him makes the fog dissipate faster. His boyfriend is magical like that.
“Harry. I’m so sorry. Whatever I did, I promise I’m sorry. Don’t leave me.” He pleads, clutching his wrist. He knows everything that’s swimming in his brain right now has only been made up by his hungover mind but he can’t stop himself from needing an explicit confirmation from Harry.
Harry widens his eyes, opening and closing his mouth a few times before settling on “what are you talking about, Lou? Why would I leave you?” His frown is definitely deeper now and Louis struggles to maintain eye contact, looking down and away.
“I- I don’t know.” Louis stammers. “I woke up alone, and then- then there was no note saying where you were and you didn’t answer my texts. And- and I don’t remember like half of what happened last night. I promise I didn’t do whatever made you mad on purpose.” Louis is on the verge of tears and he can’t control what’s coming out of his mouth.
Harry seems to finally understand and leans towards him, pulling Louis’ head into his chest, one hand settling on his nape and the other gliding to his lower back. The position could be awkward and uncomfortable but Louis finally feels a knot ease up for the first time since he woke up.
Harry kisses his hair and sighs. “I’m sorry I forgot to leave you a note. I left quickly because Gemma texted when I woke up, saying that she had a couple of hours left for brunch before her work trip. And seeing how dead to the world you were, I thought I’d be back before you’d even stir.”
Louis lifts his head from Harry’s chest and looks him in the eyes. Harry smiles at him, apologetic. “I should have texted. And I’ve not checked my messages in the last hour because I drove her back home before heading here. But you were supposed to be still asleep, so I didn’t have any reason to look at it.”
He reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his phone but Louis suddenly feels embarrassed about his spiral. He doesn’t want Harry to see them— the texts. So in a desperate move, he leans back against the couch and grabs Harry by his neck to make him lay down with him. Harry’s nose finds his favorite place in the crook of his neck, their bodies are aligned and Louis breathes without aching. First time this morning.
“No no no, you don’t check your phone now. And I will go and delete those texts before you read them, okay?” Louis is trying to steal Harry’s phone from his big hands but Harry is squirming and they both end up laughing on the floor.
“Let me see, Lou… I promise I won’t laugh at you. I know your brain and I just wanna know what was going on in there, because you really looked like you thought I had moved out or something."
“Something. Definitely. I knew you hadn’t moved out because you left all your face masks in the bathroom.”
“Oh okay, I see, Mr Sassy-Pants. Let me check those texts.” Harry grins and manages to pluck his phone from Louis’ hand.
Louis watches in horror as his boyfriend reads through all the texts he received in the last 30 minutes. It could be funny in other circumstances when Harry’s face changes from teasing to confused and then worried. But it’s not. And Louis knew, even when writing those messages, that this would be how Harry would react. But his brain is stupid and he can’t always control it. Especially when he’s got a hangover from hell. So now, he feels guilty for making Harry feel bad or concerned or like he should have done something.
Fidgeting, he feels his thoughts starting to spiral again and he needs to anchor himself. It’s selfish, he knows that, but it’s the only way he can get out of his head right now. So, without a sound, he reaches for Harry’s phone again, sets it down on the table and pulls on Harry’s hand to make him sit back down with him. Settling in Harry’s lap, Louis tangles his limbs around his boyfriend, his arms wrapping around Louis, rocking them a little. Louis takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes, the comforting thuds of Harry’s pulse pounding against his chest. The steadiness of his boyfriend’s touch makes him feel better already.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I hate when this happens. It makes me feel so insane. And I don’t want you to worry and be sad because of it,” Louis whispers, his lips brushing Harry’s neck.
“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry, Lou.” Harry soothes, fingers tangled in Louis’ hair. “As I said, I should’ve left you a note or sent a text.” He pulls back a little to be able to look into Louis’ eyes. “I just need to say that I’m not mad at you. Nothing happened last night. You danced for a bit and then we just left because you started feeling sleepy. We took a cab back here and went to bed. That’s all. Nothing more to report. I know your brain tells you things sometimes, and I can imagine it was worse with the hangover today. I also really need you to know that I wouldn’t leave you without talking even if you had gone too far for my liking.”
Louis lets his head fall back on Harry’s shoulder and sighs, tightening his hold. It’s nice. Grounding. “I know that, yes. And I’m really sorry I couldn’t see it through the fog this morning.”
Lifting his head,Harry is already watching him with a fond smile. Louis leans in for a kiss, Harry melting into it. When they pull back, Harry shows he really is the perfect boyfriend once again.
“What about you go get a shower so you feel human again. I’ll make you pancakes for lunch, is that okay? And I say we can spend the afternoon watching that gay hockey show you’ve been talking to me about for days?”
“Oh I love this plan. I love you.” Louis pecks Harry’s lips, finally feeling strong enough to let go of his boyfriend and get up. He grapples Harry’s hand to help him stand up and goes for another hug before heading to the bathroom, not without Harry smacking his butt before he manages to be out of reach.