The Loud Crowd

7. The King

Good afternoon! Or morning, depending on where you are. Or night, depending on when you're reading this. Whatever. Helloooo!

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The next morning, I opened my eyes slowly. I felt like crap.

I was sat on the floor, my back leaning against the sofa. The huge skirt of my dress had poofed up in a meringue around me, my hair was tangled and falling around my shoulders, and I could see from my reflection in the glass-topped coffee table that my make-up was smudged around my eyes. 

I heard a yawn above me, and twisted to see Nate stretching his arms out on the sofa. Grinning tiredly, he said, "You really work the hungover princess look."

I scowled, but quickly relaxed my face muscles when it hurt my head. "Shut up," I mumbled, rubbing at my temples. 

Last night, we'd ditched the party to sit on the grubby floor of Nate's grubby apartment, drink too much beer - very classy, I know - and listen to almost every single vinyl he owned, singing loudly and off-key and kissing whenever the music got too good to bear. I didn't regret it, just wished I'd managed to snag the sofa first. My shoulders and back ached. 

"I'm being serious," He yawned. "You look like one of those tragic, vintage portraits. Beautiful." He rolled onto his side and stroked my hair. 

"You're still drunk," I said, feeling somewhat flattered. 

He shook his head, wincing. "Nope. Wish I was. Best cure for a hangover is to just stay intoxicated."

Wearily, I stood up, shifting the huge skirt. "I don't know why I bothered with a dress like this," I sniped, grumpily. "Too hard to sit down in. I should have gone for something short and tight. Much easier to move around in."

"Trust me baby, you wouldn't have lasted long in a short and tight dress." Nate murmured, intertwining his fingers through mine and kissing my palm. I looked down at him, smiling easily. I pulled him up, but he slumped back down again. "Come on, its our last day before the tour. Stay." He pulled me down on top of him. My skirt reacted by poofing up with air right in our faces. As the air in the skirt deflated, I felt myself sinking down onto him. 

He laughed, louder than I'd ever heard, lifting his hands to push the skirt back down where it should be. "Perfect dress for keeping away unwanted attention." He said, kissing my neck.

"You're not unwanted." I mumbled, kissing his stubble cheek. "But we can't stay here all day. We need to pack, to go to Springbreak. We leave from there at five this evening for New Jersey."

He nodded, releasing me. "At least stay for the morning. Last time we spent the night together... I was basically forced out of your door. I want one morning with you."

I bit my lip, remembering that day. "There's no one to interrupt this time," I reminded him. "But OK," I relented. "I'll stay for the morning. But not in this dress." I pulled at the huge skirt. 

He grinned, jumping up. "I'll find you something to wear." He said, dashing through to his room.

I sighed, wishing I could spend every morning with him in such a good mood. Carefully, I set the needle on my favourite of his vinyl's - A Night At The Opera - and closed my eyes at the sound of raw, real music. 

"Here," His voice returned, and I turned around and took the clothes he was offering from him. "They'll be big on you, but you'll have to deal with it."

"Nate, you're so romantic," I said sarcastically, quickly kissing him before going into his bedroom and closing the door. 

I loved his room - there were posters covering almost every inch of the walls, the carpet was thicker than my duvet at home and there was evidence of his music everywhere. There were CDs and vinyls piled haphazardly along the sides of the room, his song book was sat on his unmade bed, lyric sheets and notes papering every surface. His bass was stood against his desk.