"He left," Harry's voice says from behind me, a sort of irritation laced in his voice.

I think under any other circumstances, this news would probably hit me hard, and I would start to feel really insecure, but for some reason, I can't feel that way. Maybe it's the alcohol numbing my nerves or the fact that Harry is the one telling me. Either way, I don't know what's really happening and why Jake left me in here alone. But instead of asking anything about the situation at hand, apparently, the only question that my subconscious wants to ask is what Harry is doing here.

When the words leave my mouth, Harry looks at me confusedly for a moment before an amused grin overtakes his pretty, pink lips. His dimples pop as he does this and he has this mischeivious look about him that reminds me why I was so obsessed with him. Ugh, stop looking like a Ken doll, please. That'd make everyone's life much easier.

"How drunk are you?" Harry laughs, his bright eyes observing my unsteady motions. As I try to walk away from him, I stumble a little, but Harry makes me resume my seat. His hand on the skin of my back ignites the stupid feeling in my stomach that can only be my admiration for him coming back to annoy me. I want to push him off of me so that I can leave and not have to speak to him, but I find that my legs don't want to work for some reason.

"It's the heels," I groan, and he shakes his head at me, chuckling under his breath as he walks away.

Okay, what is it with guys walking away from me tonight? My game is normally bad, but not this bad.

Though I am certainly drunk, I don't really wish to admit it to him. He was so rude the last time we spoke, so the last thing I want to do is to act like nothing ever happened. His mood is so fucking unpredictable that it's hard for me to know how I'm supposed to act around him. Also, I don't want to give him another reason to think that I'm being irresponsible this evening. Him seeing Jake sucking on my face is just about as much embarrassment as I can take right now. On the other hand though, since he knows I'm drunk, then maybe he wont think as badly of me for it since I'm not in my right mind.

Ugh, I don't know anything.

My eyes drift from Harry's muscular back to the wooden table in front of me, and I find myself staring at the curvy lines that run across its surface. There's one line that's thicker than the others, and for some reason, my fuzzy brain thinks its the most interesting thing in the world. The line runs through the wood, converging with several others in the middle of the table to form a really big, rough dark spot.

When Harry returns, he finds me intensely staring at the spot and running my fingers over the textured wood with little acknowledgment of his presence. A water cup is set in front of me, and I watch as the sweat on the plastic trickles down to wet the wooden surface. That's a fascinating sight as well.

I don't hear the chair beside me scrape against the floor, but when I look up, I see that Harry is watching me with those stupidly green eyes of his.

"What are you looking at?" I ask him, the edge of irritation laced throughout my tone in a way that I hadn't anticipated. Despite my rudeness, Harry shrugs and continues to watch me with an unchanging, neutral expression of curiosity. If the room weren't spinning in slow motion, I think the look he's giving me wouldn't bother me, but because I can't seem to keep my eyes focused, his composure just makes me uneasy and pisses me off.

I ask again, "What are you doing here?" Harry laughs aloud this time, throwing his head back and causing his hair to do that cute floppy thing where it falls just in front of his eye.

Harry regains his composure and leans towards me, resting his elbows on his very, very pink pants that I am just now noticing. Is he for real? I mean, no judgement at all, but I have to say that it takes a very secure man to pull these pants off the way Harry is.

"You really don't remember?" he asks, that mischievous smirk crossing his mouth again.

Oh, shit? Am I already forgetting things that I've done? I really hope not because that means I'm in for a rough night of lost memories. I try to think back on tonight, specifically looking for a detail that might give me a clue as to what he is talking about. Despite how hard I try to think back on everything, nothing whatsoever comes to mind to help me.

"What am I supposed to be remembering? I'm drunk, but not that drunk," I tell him confidently, though I really shouldn't be. I have just enough awareness to make sure I don't die or do something stupid, but anything beyond that is pretty much gone.

With a knowing grin, Harry glances back to the now empty stage and then fixes his attention back on me, "Did you not realize who was singing?"

When the words leave his pretty mouth, I feel my stomach drop and I suddenly realize how completely idiotic I've been. He was literally there on stage when I walked in, but I didn't see him. I walked past him yet again when Jake and I made our way to the dancefloor, and still, my eyes didn't think to take in the sight of Harry fucking Styles singing on stage. What the shit, eyes? I trusted you.

It's not even like Harry is hard to miss, either. I mean, first of all, he's gorgeous and his smile seems to radiate happiness for miles. Second of all, the man is wearing pink fucking pants. How could I possibly miss that?

I realize that my mouth is hanging open in shock, so I shut it rather quickly and try to play off the whole thing, "O- Of course I did."

Harry raises his brow at me like he has so many times before and shakes his head in disbelief, "I was surprised you didn't notice me. I totally messed up the chords for 'The Chain' when you walked in."

There seems be a moment of realization for him as soon as he finishes speaking, and the one brain cell of mine that has been doing a lot of work this evening seems to think that Harry didn't mean to say what he did. Unfortunately, I don't process this thought quickly enough to say something in return before Harry changes the subject.

"Anyways," Harry begins, obviously flustered about something. He clasps his hands together in front of him and fixes his attention on the door. "What was the occasion for such a fun-filled evening?"

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. He can't know that he is the reason for my little drunken escapade, but with the way I act when I have liquor, I don't know if I can keep myself from accidentally spilling that information. I know in my head that I shouldn't tell him, but that has never stopped my mouth from saying something I shouldn't before. But if not the truth, then what should I tell him?

John, my one brain cell reminds me, and I mentally make a note to give that cell a day off for its exceptional service.

"John wanted to go out tonight, so I came with him," I lie, trying to convince myself that I'm not actually lying.

Whether I'm lying or not, Harry seems to believe me seeing as how he scoffs at the mention of his young fraternity brother. Okay, I get why John doesn't like Harry, but why does Harry not like John? I get that there's some secret frat stuff I can't know, but Harry's only complaint against the poor kid is that he's "lame." To me, that alone does not warrant the reaction that Harry has given me.

"Simmons?" Harry questions, incredulously. With a sound that resembles a snort, he continues, turning once again into the asshole I know he can be, "I don't get why you keep hanging out with him. You could do so much better than him."

Harry's words anger me, and I find that I can't control myself, " Well, for starters, he's nice! I get why such a concept would confuse you, because you are not nice, Harry. If you don't stop being mean to him, I'm leaving right now."

A frown pulls at Harry's mouth, and he looks to be rather annoyed, "He's my pledge. I'll say what I want, and besides, you aren't going anywhere without drinking this water first." He pushes the cup of ice water towards me and watches me expectantly without backing down. Even though I know he's right about the water, I can't help but get even angrier. Who does he think he is? My father?

I cross my arms in defiance, "No, I don't need your help again."

I glare at Harry before taking my phone from the pocket in my dress and unlocking it to call John. I press dial and put the phone up to my ear, waiting for him to pick up. After a few rings, it goes to voicemail, and I begin to feel the heat rise to my cheeks again. Damn it, John. You had one job.

Embarrassed, I try to text him to call me, but with my poor coordination, I end up sending "Plse cal em." I swear, I'm not that drunk. I just forgot to proof it first. That kind of typo happens all time, for real.

No, it doesn't, my one brain cell corrects me, and for the first time this evening, I wish that that cell would just fuck off.

Reluctantly, I look up at Harry and see that he is looking at me in a such a way that I really don't like. He looks so fucking smug that I really could hit him in the face right about now. I won't, but I could for sure.

"Call him one more time," Harry instructs, his voice and his entire body emitting a very patronizing attitude. "If he doesn't answer, I'll take you home."

"I'd rather walk," I spit at him, pressing the call button one more time and praying to God that John answers. Harry rolls his eyes at my remark and once again pushes the cup of water towards me, mouthing the word 'drink' to me as I await John to pick up his phone.

I ignore Harry, and funnily enough, John ignores me as well. I don't know what he could be doing, but I hope that whoever she is, that she's nice and pretty. Slowly and completely against my desires, I put the phone down on the table and pick up that damn water cup, lifting it to my lips and feeling the refreshing beverage rehydrate my mouth. I won't ever admit it to Harry, but I really did need that.

Harry stares at me triumphantly, and I roll my eyes, "Don't look at me like that."

He simply shrugs and leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above him and clasping his hands behind his head. When he does this, his black blousy shirt is pulled up, exposing two vine-looking tattoos on either side of his hips. My first thought is, damn, look at that v-line. My second thought- well, it doesn't come as a thought, but rather, a comment out loud.

"I guess vine really isn't dead," I laugh, taking another sip of the cool water and pointing at his tattoos. At this, Harry's demeanor changes yet again, and I am blessed with the perfect view to watch.

A moment ago, he was literally everything they mean when they say 'hot and bothered.' With his shirt pulled up and his sleeves straining across his biceps, he was obviously displaying a very hot visual experience for me. And then with his victorious and patronizing attitude, Harry was undoubtedly bothering me. I guess that's not exactly what 'hot and bothered' means, but regardless, he was annoying me and looking very good while doing it. So I guess I was the hot and bothered one, then. 

Now though, his whole body language has changed. Harry has this cute, embarrassed smile on his face that reaches those green eyes of his, making him look much like a nervous child. He seems to shrink in size as he retreats back into his chair, this time with his shoulders hung somewhat low and his grinning face directed towards the ground. Oh, I wish he knew just how beautiful he looks when he smiles at the ground. One might even say it overwhelms me.

"That's the first time I've gotten that reaction," Harry chuckles, pulling nervously at the bottom of his shirt to cover himself. I wish he wouldn't. Wait, no. I can't think things like that. Clothes are good. "But I'm really glad to hear that you agree with me on that topic. Vine truly won't ever die... unlike Miss Keisha."

Is he... quoting a vine to me? Oh fuck, that makes this even harder.

Despite my brain telling me to not finish the vine, my soul simply cannot resist, so I end up shouting, "She fucking dead" rather loudly, so loudly, in fact, that several people look over at me to see who the hell is being so rambunctious.

Harry apologizes to them for my obscenity and laughs yet again as he turns his attention back towards me. I haven't seen him smile this much since that night we went dancing together. At the thought of Harry dancing with me to the smooth tunes of Dean Martin, I suddenly get very sad again because I know it won't ever happen again.

"I should go," I say quietly, fixing my attention on the table in front of me. I don't want to look at him anymore; if I do, it will only make this worse.

Harry seems to notice my sudden change in attitude because it takes him several moments to reply. When he does say something, I can tell that he is obviously confused even though he's trying to hide it, "Oh, okay. I'll go get my car, then. Please, stay right here until I come get you."

He reluctantly stands from his seat and retrieves his car keys from the bartender before leaving through the back door. Several minutes later, he walks in through the front door and helps me stand from my seat at the table. I find that as I'm walking to the car, the alcohol in my blood is no less potent than it was thirty minutes ago. If anything, the full effects are now plaguing my body and I begin to wish that I hadn't done this. I look like a fool trying to walk in these stupid shoes as Harry leads me to the car, and though Harry has every right to laugh at me, he doesn't.

Once I'm in the truck, we begin our drive in silence. With the steady rumble of the engine and the comfy leather seats, I find my eyes now struggling to stay open. I had been feeling the tiredness for a while now, but now that I'm not sitting on a hard, wooden chair, it's becoming more and more difficult to resist it. I try in vain to stay awake, but alas, the comfortable silence of the evening pulls me to sleep.

•••

Aw, I like this chapter :)

If you have one, What's your favorite vine??
Mine is probably the one where the British guy gets hit in the face by his friend and he says very unenthusiastically, "fuck. I can't believe you've done this."

Anyways, thanks for reading and please vote if you can!! :)

-Kate