THERES THIS CUTE ASS SONG THAT I WANT TO PLAY BUT YOUTUBE WONT LET IT PLAY ON THIS SITE

IF ANYONE CAN PLAY SONGS AND LISTEN TO IT WHILE YOU READ THEN PLEASE PLAY somewhere only we know by Keane

EVERY TIME I LISTEN TO THIS SONG IT REMINDS ME OF HARLEY AND HARRY

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*Harley's pov*

I grumbled to myself as I awoke softly, my eyes still closed as I quietly hummed and nuzzled my forehead into whatever it was resting against. I had some pretty weird memories last night, and it somewhat worried me.

Alcohol was worse than I thought.

I finally opened my eyes, tasting last night's drink on my tongue as I took in my surroundings. My head was in Harry's lap, where his legs were crossed. He was sat on my mattress, his body leaning against my headboard with his head rolled back, completely asleep.

One of his hands were in my hair, and the other was resting against my ribcage lightly. I took it in my hold and raised it gently to my face, where I put his warm palm to rest against my cold cheek.

He then awoke, his voice groaning softly as his head lowered in curiosity. His eyes met mine, his tired face in a daze as he stared down at me. The pad of his thumb traced my thick bottom lip, and then it trailed down to my chin where he tilted my head up to look at him.

"Good morning." He whispered.

"Hm," I groaned. "Good morning."

His fingers ran through my hair as he held it up off his lap. "It's nice to see you."

"It's nice to wake up to you." I admitted, and I meant it. If I could wake up to him every day for the rest of my life then it would be complete.

"I'm glad you're alive." He acknowledged.

"I had the most weird dream," I breathed. "Something about Jesus-"

"What time is it?" He asked rhetorically as he checked his phone beside him. "It's only five. Your parents come back at seven, don't they?"

I nodded slowly at his rude interruption, so I decided to let it pass. I smiled to myself as I let myself rest into his lap for the last few moments before I left to go to the bathroom. I finally sat up, shuffling tiredly from the mattress. But something wasn't right.

Oh no.

The familiar, uncomfortable warmth of wetness in my underwear had come early from mother nature. I was standing with blood soaking the crotch of my leggings, and I was too scared to turn around.

And when I did, there was a patch of blood on my white sheets. I knew, Harry definitely knew because he was gawking at it but then looking away and pretending to be oblivious.

I panicked, and I never say smart things when I panic. "Oh, wow. Is that yours?"

He gave me a look and slowly shook his head, his face now stern. "No."

I was mortified and contemplating the idea of jumping from my bedroom window.

He looked almost sympathetic that I was so awkward and embarrassed. He didn't even know what to say, and I certainly didn't know what to say either.

"Pee time." I announced, and ran off like a fool.

Pee time?

Harry was the worst person to handle this sort of thing. He had the empathetic capacity of a toilet brush and the comforting capacity of a stick.

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