Music sounds better with you

I think we drank half of Leeds

Charlie doesn't think he's ever been this hungover in his life.

Somewhere, there's an alarm going off and Charlie's eyes force themselves open to try and locate the hideous trilling sound. It's coming from somewhere in the bed, and just as he thinks he might have found it, a hand collides with his chest, and he wheezes.

"Ow!"
"Baby?" Nick's croaky voice comes somewhere to his right, and then a familiar hand feels at his chest. "You okay?"
"Turn that fucking alarm off," Charlie grunts, shoving the hand away. He does not feel well. " Now , Nick."
He feels Nick roll over beside him. "I think you're lying on the phone, Char."

Charlie wants to cry but he shifts his hips up and eventually the phone is located, the alarm switched off, and a peaceful silence restored once more.
Until Nick starts coughing next to him, loud, spluttering, hacking coughs that make Charlie feel nauseous.

"Shut the fuck up," he whines. His ears feel like they're ringing at a volume he absolutely cannot tolerate. " Please ."
"I'm coughing," Nick wheezes, turning his head into the pillow to try and muffle it. Charlie grunts again and rolls over onto his side.

He doesn't normally sleep on the left side of the bed, but he's rather pleased that for whatever reason, he did last night, because from here he can see the door to the ensuite bathroom, which is rather comforting when he feels like this.
Then a heavy arm drops itself over his middle and he chokes on nothing.

"Nick, baby, I love you very much, but if you touch me I will be sick."
"I need you to love me again," Nick complains. He doesn't sound much healthier than Charlie feels, to be honest. "Fuck, my head hurts."
"I think I need to be sick."
The hand is back on his hip. "Are you going to be sick?"
"Please don't touch me," Charlie protests weakly. "I don't even... like, I want a cuddle, I do, but the weight of it feels like I'm going to die."
He hears Nick sigh long-sufferingly. "Great. My boyfriend won't cuddle me and he just told me I have a fat hand."
Despite everything, Charlie cracks a smile. "You're so dramatic when you're hungover. I forget how dramatic every time."
"Are you going to be sick?" Nick asks again. "Do you need me to get you some water?"
Charlie thinks about it for a second. "I don't know," he answers honestly. "I think I need to just lie here with my eyes closed for a bit and then I'll be able to tell you."
Nick pats at his elbow, then immediately retracts his hand like he's been burned. "Shit, sorry, baby."
"You will be," Charlie grumbles under his breath, but the smile is still there. He can't stay mad at Nick, not even when he's hungover as fuck.

The smile doesn't stay on his face long though, because just a few minutes later he's scrabbling out of bed and towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Fuck, he drank way too much last night.
It takes him a good few minutes to be done, and by the time he pulls himself upright on shaky legs, he's feeling like he's been bonked on the head with an anvil. He can't be arsed to clean his teeth, so he just swills his mouth out with mouthwash and spits into the sink, then crawls his way back into bed.

Nick lifts the duvet up for him so he can curl under it. Charlie relaxes into the familiar mattress and tucks the covers between his legs, then he sighs tiredly. He might go back to sleep. Beside him, Nick stiffens. Charlie frowns.

"What's wrong with you?" He cracks open one eye. "Sorry, was that really gross? Did you hear all that?"
"I don't care about that," Nick chuckles awkwardly. Charlie cracks open his other eye. "I just... I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, that's all."
"For fuck's sake, you great big lump of lard."
Charlie lifts his arm and shuffles up so he's pressed into Nick's space. Nick's arms are quick to wrap around his back, and as much as he hates to say it, he does feel better for it.

He hates feeling sick and he's still not great with being touched when he feels icky, but now he just wants to sleep and his favourite place to do that is in Nick's arms.
"I suppose we can cuddle now I no longer feel like I'm about to puke." He runs his tongue over his teeth, which feel a bit furry. "Does my breath smell?"
"Yes," Nick answers. "You smell like sick, baby, I can't lie to you."
"Sorry," Charlie mumbles. He makes zero effort to move away. "Do you still love me?"
He feels Nick smile more than he sees it. "Fucking dickhead. Is this because I asked you if you'd still love me if I was a worm?"