Heterochromia ● a.i

30

(Dylan's P.O.V.)

The light that shines through the curtains is way too fucking bright. I open one eye and feel my heart begin to beat in my head. I groan and cover my head with a pillow. Wait... Where am I? I'm not in bed with anyone. The scent of the room is familiar. After a moment of contemplating whether or not to face the intense pain I'm going to feel when I move this pillow from my eyes, I slowly sit up and look around. I'm in my room, on my bed, my red blanket is covering me, I'm wearing yesterday's clothes, my shoes are on the floor, and Ashton is sleeping on the chair.

He's sleeping on the chair. You've got to be fucking kidding me.

I wipe the sleep from my eyes and stretch. My head is pounding so damn hard. I don't even remember what happened last night. I know Violet was being her bitchy self, I threw pop on her, Ashton and I got in another fight, and I walked to the nearest bar. After that everything is fuzzy or just non-existent. I fall back onto the bed, unable to remember last night's events, and immediately regret doing so. My head hurts even more and I groan again in pain.

I hear rustling beside me and turn to face Ashton in the chair. His arms are stretched over his head and his legs are stiff. His body relaxes and his eyes fall on me. I slowly sit up on the bed and bring my knees to my chest. He sits upright in the chair and watches me like I'm an animal in the zoo. I know he doesn't want to say anything because he's scared it will piss me off, and honey, I would be too. He licks his lips and takes a deep breath, directing his gaze to his hands.

"Good morning," I say quietly.

"Good morning," he matches my tone.

This isn't awkward as hell, "wh-what happened... last night?"

He meets my eyes and I break away from his golden brown gaze to the bed. It isn't nearly at pretty as them.

"You came home late, drunker than I've ever seen anyone," he says quietly.

"How'd I get back?" I remember sitting at the bar and losing count after four shots of straight whiskey.

"A guy called Greg brought you home."

I nod slowly, "oh."

"Mhm."

"Why didn't you sleep with me - I mean, in the bed?" My mouth exploits the words before my mind can stop them.

He shrugs, "I know you didn't want me to. It would have caused an argument we didn't need."

I nod again and look back up to meet him. I'm remembering some things from last night. I remember the bar, piercing green eyes, Luke, and that's about it.

"How drunk was I?" I ask.

"Belligerently," his response is short and straight to the point.

"I have bits and pieces of what happened, but it's all kind of blurred into one."

He nods and gives me a half smile. I love it when he does that.

"I'm remembering someone's eyes," I say, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Yeah, you kept calling Greg, Harry."

I look at him in complete shock, "no."

He gives me a nod letting me know that I actually did, "you were also telling him how beautiful his eyes were... and how mine reminded you of shit," he breathily laughs.

I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment and I shake my head, "I am so sorry."

He shrugs, "eh, don't worry about it."