There is no alarm.
Ezra isn't climbing you like a tree.
For the first time in a long time you wake up to your head pounding like a drum, your eyes too heavy to open and even if you wanted to you can already tell its way too bright outside to do that. Still, you're overheated and sticky, so you force them open despite how oversaturated the bright world is in this moment.
The first thing you see is familiar bed sheets that aren't yours. Your mouth goes drier than it already is as you look to your left, where Tom has his face smashed against his pillow a few inches away from you, snoring into oblivion. There is a bit of drool on the corner of his lip, his stupid eyebrow is sticking up, his hair is matted and disgusting, and he's naked.
You hate that you find it so attractive.
Anxiety bubbles in your chest as you slowly sit up, taking in the fact you're naked too. Your neck feels like it's been punched seven times in a row, and your hips ache a bit. You scrub a hand down your face, trying to stay calm and rational about this.
Both of you, albeit drunk at the time, are legal adults who consented to sex.
Except Tom's your boss and you adore his son and you can't do that.
Quickly but calmly you get to your feet shakily, hating how the world spins and you clutch the side table to stop from falling over. Gaining your barrings you grab your clothes, remaining naked as you rush to your own room, mindful that Tom is still sleeping.
Once in your room you throw on pajamas, hands shaking and vision swarming.
Phone in hand, you run to the bathroom across the hall, and your knees protest as they slam against the flooring. You can't find it in yourself to care as you throw up the contents of your stomach, stomach lurching when you dry heave on nothing. Gasping for breath you check the time on your phone, letting out small little whine when you see how late in the day it is.
With bleary eyes you fumble through your contact list until you find the one you want before calling it, pressing the phone to your ear. It rings a few times before you finally get a response.
"'Ello?"
"Harrison," you wheeze, trying not to gag again.
There is a crash from the other end, "shit...you never call me Harrison. What's wrong Y/N?"
"I...fuck, we were supposed to go pick up Ezra right now but I'm currently vomiting my brains out and Tom is passed out and I...and we—" you ramble, breathing getting harder and harder.
"Okay, okay, it's alright. I can go get him and bring him home, no problem. Just breathe for me," Harrison soothes, pausing before asking, "did you and Tom...?"
You inhale sharply, tears finally falling as you give a broken drawn out, "yeah."
There is a soft string of curses on the other end before, "finish in the bathroom. Get a glass of water. Lay down. Don't bother with Tom right now, alright? I'll be there as soon as I get Ez."
"Okay," you sniffle, "thank you Haz."
"Don't mention it."
The line goes dead and you sit there, trying to gather enough strength to get up and do as Harrison said. After a few minutes you stumble to the kitchen, sipping on a glass of water, holding it down pretty good. You manage the couch after a while, sitting hunched over with your head in your hands, trying to keep calm while you wait. Wait for Harrison and Ezra to show up. Wait for Tom to inevitably wake up. Tessa paws at your leg and you look down at her adorable face and can't help it as you pet her lovingly.
"I think I fucked everything up Tess," you mutter, "and I don't know how I'm gonna fix it."
Tessa whines and curls up at your feet, head resting on the top of them.
You pet her a few more times before relaxing again. Time passes but you don't bother to track it, instead you just sit blankly and wait. When you hear keys jiggling in the lock paired with childish snickering, you feel your chest tighten uncomfortably.
The door swings open and you see Ezra first. He looks all squeaky clean, clearly from bath time, curls floppy and eyes bright.
"Whoa, Ez stay in the livin' room yeah?" Harrison says quickly and stands in front of you, blocking Ezra from view.
"Haz what—?" You ask but he's already helping you up, leading you back into your room.
Harrison leaves you in there, and you hear the TV being turned on and toys being dumped onto the ground back in the living room. You wait quietly until he comes back in, shutting the door behind him. Before you know it, you've got an arm full of Harrison, and you relax into the touch.
"I should've stopped you guys," Harrison says against the top of your head.
You shrug, letting out a broken pitiful laugh, "'s not your fault...we didn't think."
Harrison lets you go and he takes a step back.
"Why did you pull me in here anyways?" You ask tiredly.
He winces and takes out his phone, swiping and tapping before handing it to you. It's a front facing camera and you hold it up, eyes wide when you finally see what he's referring to. Most of the left side of your neck is pretty much purple and red everywhere.
It's bad, like it's not going to fade for days or even weeks bad. Even then they'll turn a bit yellow before they fade completely.
"Oh my god," you say, your words getting whinier as you speak, tears spilling from your eyes.
"Hey, hey, it's alright. It's fall; you have hoodies and turtle necks, right?" Harrison asks.
You nod, "but still this is bad. And I am so screwed, this is going to ruin everything."
Harrison's face does a weird thing, like he wants to say something, but he stops himself for whatever reason. You take in a deep shaking breath as your hand runs through your messy tangled hair.
"Can you watch him while I shower?" You ask, the 'please deal with Tom when he wakes up' goes unsaid but Harrison gets it.
With that said and done you stand under the shower, its spray too hot as you scrub at your skin too harshly. You need to not be so hungover, you need to ice the ever-loving fuck out of your neck, and you need to prepare yourself for walking into a warzone.
Except when you leave your room after you shove on jeans and an obnoxious turtleneck that isn't in the least bit subtle, there is no warzone. The TV is off, and you find all three boys in the kitchen and dining room. Tom is sitting at the table next to Ezra, messily eating breakfast Harrison definitely made. Ezra is currently punching some Play-Doh, so it gets flat, wanting to use the cut out plastic shapes on it.
You feel your head swim a bit.
"Sit, eat breakfast," Harrison says and walks around from the kitchen, setting a plate down across from Tom while his own is placed between the two of you.
Bless this boy.
You shakily take a seat, quickly sipping at your water, taking the ibuprofen he set out for you.
"Look! I make stars!" Ezra beams, holding up his purple star cut out proudly.
"Can you give it a face?" Tom asks, his voice more gravely than usual.
Ezra nods with very determined "mm-hmm" and uses his fingers to give the star a smiley face.
You find it in you to jump in as well, "does the star have a name?"
"Um," Ezra says, brows furrowing as he thinks, "Peppa."
"Like Peppa Pig?" Tom asks, but clearly knows the answer.
"Yes," Ezra giggles before smashing the star with a fist.
Harrison laughs, "star abuse."
The three-year-old has no idea what that means but cracks up anyways, head thrown back as he laughs at Harrison's comment. You take another bite of your rather heavy breakfast, and for the first time you look up, meeting Tom's gaze. He looks so nervous and worried it makes your stomach flip, and suddenly you're not so hungry.
You look back down, picking at your food for a few more minutes before giving up. Standing, you walk your plate to the sink, setting it down before heading to the freezer. You grab one of Ezra's animal shaped ice packs and wrap it in a thin tea towel, pressing it against your neck.
"Hurt?" Ezra asks from the table.
"Uh yes, I just have an ouchie on my neck. It's okay, I'll be better soon," you tell him.
Both Tom and Harrison are looking between you and Ezra, obviously a bit nervous. It is so clear that the boy can feel the tension in the room, his hazel eyes are a little glassy with worry. You walk over to the table again, leaning over Ezra's chair to give him a kiss in the forehead.
"Seriously kiddo, I'm alright, think you can stick it with Uncle Haz and Daddy while I go do some things?" You ask .
Ezra looks up at you and nods, "okay."
Smiling at him you move to return to your room, needing a bit of space even if you should be shoving it away and doing your job. Before you can leave the kitchen and walk down the hall Ezra calls out, "love you Y/N."
You freeze, because despite last night and this morning, that still makes your heart soar.
"Love you too sweetheart," you call behind your shoulder, not wanting to look back as you continue to your room. The second you get inside you flop onto your bed, hiding a soft scream into your mattress. After a moment you sit up and one handedly grab your computer, roaming around for a bit to clear your mind, keeping the ice pack on until it starts to get floppy and wet.
While scrolling you can't help but stare at an advertisement, specifically one on cheep flights.
Before you even realize it, your cursor is hovering over a confirmation button for flight dates to the states, back home. You want to be reckless and just click it, but you need to check in with Tom and his schedule and make sure these dates work.
Well...you know they do, you know how long he has off before he has to fly to New York to finish filming. Still it would be the right thing to do to check in with him.
You glance at the clock, it's been two hours since you hid yourself away.
"I hate this, this is so...stupid," you mutter to yourself as your stand up, making sure the neck of your shirt was hiding the bruising, and walk out.
You stand at the entrance to the open living room space. Harrison is holding Ezra upside down by his ankles, meanwhile Ezra is holding up a nerf gun pretending to shoot at bad guys. When you look around for Tom you don't see him, Harrison nods towards the hall.
"His room," he says calmly.
You pull a face, "we're acting like middle schoolers."
Harrison laughs bitterly, "well according to the zodiac—"
"Oh, shut it dude," you chuckle.
"Higher Unca Haz!" Ezra demands, wiggling a bit.
You turn on your heel, letting the two continue their playtime as you wander back down the hall. Stopping in front of Tom's door you raise your hand to knock, which feels too formal, and hesitate. You don't hear anything, and your first thought is he passed out again. Still your hand falls to the knob and you open the door, peeking in.
Tom is on the bed, glasses on, eyes red rimmed, phone shoved in front of his face.
Neither of you say anything, even when your gazes meet. The silence continues when you nervously step in, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. You note that the sheets have been changed and the window is open, the smell of sex and alcohol is now gone, all traces of what happened are gone. For some reason that hurts, deep down somewhere the fact that last night is so easily...wiped away hurts.
"Pictures are everywhere," Tom finally says sharply, locking his phone and letting it fall by his side, "from the club and the bus stop."
You pause, and you suddenly remember that Tom is a public figure, he's a fucking superhero. Of course, paparazzi would catch him; catch the two of you. You can't even begin to imagine the nasty things people are saying, you have no desire to look; ignorance is bliss.
"I think I'm going to cash in some of those vacation days," you mutter.
Tom looks over so fast you fear for his neck, his eyes looking even glassier than before. You want nothing more than to tape him back together and keep that shattered look off his face. There's this wedge between you two, stopping you from doing that. It feels like I giant chasm between you two and there is a bridge, but both of you are too scared to cross it.
"Just for a few days," you add, "I'd be back before you head to New York to film. I just...think I need a bit of space. Plus, I've been telling my family I'd come visit soon anyways."
A hard look glosses over Tom's face as he sits up, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the bed.
"That's fine, do what you need to do," Tom nods.
Your eyebrows furrow, "you're mad."
"I'm not mad."
"Clearly something is pissing you off."
Tom lets out a frustrated sigh, "things are so upside-down Y/N."
You let out a broken noise, running a hand through your hair, "we were too drunk. We were out of our right mind."
Tom looks at you then, face softer and his voice barely there when he asks, "do you think it was a mistake?"
"Do you?" You ask.
That question is heavy, loaded, and you don't want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. There is nothing more you want right now then to say no, to march over to that bed, and just simply hold Tom close with no hesitation. What you do remember from last night makes a shiver run through your body, it makes you want.
Except it's not that easy because Tom is a public figure, Ezra is a giant factor, and at the end of the day this is a boss and employee relationship. Or it was a boss and employee relationship. You both look at each other, waiting for an answer that isn't coming.
"When are you leaving?" Tom asks after a moment.
You inhale sharply, "the flight leaves tomorrow morning."
Tom looks like he's going to be sick.
"I'll be back in a few days," you try but all you get in return is a lazy nod.
You grab the door knob, opening it, walking out with a short "thanks" thrown over your shoulder before you let Tom be by himself again. Without any preamble you return to your room and start shoving clothes into your backpack. It's kind of terrifying, how much you live in Tom's house. Everything aside of kitchen things and big furniture is here. All your personal items.
Shoving that thought away you make good time on packing, making sure everything is where it needs to be. You return to your computer and confirm the flight, and the second you do you feel a pang of guilt seed it self in your stomach. Leaving abruptly feels wrong, it makes your skin crawl.
"Love you Y/N" runs through your head a few times.
The next thing you know you're back out in the living room, walking over and picking Ezra up, holding him tight.
"Hugs?" Ezra asks in your ear.
"I just want to hug you sweetheart," you smile, looking over to Harrison who looks tired and confused, "you can go take a nap or go back home if you want. I'm gonna watch over him."
Harrison stretches with a yawn, nodding, "I'm gonna check in with Tom then I'll head out. I left Jacob passed out on my couch."
"Way to welcome him to the UK," you snort.
Harrison winks before vanishing down the hall. You and Ezra end up finger painting at the kitchen table, messy, but incredibly fun. You watch as Ezra tries to put a bunch of red and blues together to make Spider-Man which warms your heart, which is something you really need right now.
You end up painting the Hulk because he's easy to make, and sure you smudge the edge of his pants a bit, but Ezra still adores it and wants to hang it up in his room. A little while after you both start a new paining you start to hear raised voices from down the hall.
Ezra looks over with a concerned face.
"Daddy?" He asks.
"He's just...talking with Uncle Haz. Here, you wanna listen to music?" You ask, pulling out your phone.
Ezra nods, and you put on the soundtrack to Moana that he's been loving lately. You and him both drown out everything else, finger painting, singing along to a song sung by a crab.