I Don't Have Much In Life But Take It - It's Yours.

Aspirin.

That's all I think when I wake up, the one thing pounding through my head, apart from that splitting pain. I know Fynn's in my embrace, but aspirin and water's far more important. I wriggle out from under his torso and stumble out the bed.

"Whoa.." My head spins horribly and I clutch at the table beside the bed until my mind stops swirling. I take a tentative step forward and my stomach lurches again, the blood pounding in my head. I press the palm of my hand to my forehead and clench my eyes shut, wobbling my way towards the door to the bathroom.

When I reach the door to the hall I trip on something, almost falling into the door, my hands flying forwards to catch myself, and I feel the bile rise in my throat. I retch a little, choking, and push open the door, almost running, despite my bastard of a headache and falling to my knees next to the toilet.

I'm so violently sick my knuckles turn white around the bowl, gripping so tight so I don't fall over. My back arches and it feels like I'm hurling my actual guts up. I clench my eyes shut in the pain, and feel a hot tear or two slide down my cheeks. My lungs heave, trying to catch my breath, failing a little as I feel like I'm choking, still throwing up.

I'm so busy hacking my stomach up I don't notice the door open slightly, and a tired looking Fynn slip through the gap. He kneels next to me, wrapping an arm round my tense shaking shoulders. I look up at him in a moment of calm from my stomach, and smile weakly.

He smiles back and squeezes my shoulders slightly, "I heard... so I thought I'd come and.. help?" I smile again and nod, even the slight movement sending my head pounding and stomach lurching again, returning to the previous hurling-my-guts-out stage. Fynn slips his hand into mine, and I squeeze back tightly, making him whimper a little. I try to say I'm sorry, but I can't since I'm too busy hurling.

When it's calming down a bit, when the bloods stops roaring and my stomach's finished it's acrobatics routine, Fynn slips his hand from mine and stands. He looks around a little, then finds a cup and fills it from the tap. I sit back on my heels and run a hand through my cold sweat soaked hair. I catch a glimpse of myself in something reflective and actually wince. My hair's sticking up in all directions, my eyes a little bloodshot. My make-up's all run, and I'm deathly pale, so I don't resemble a panda, more a piano since the stripes of black and neon streaking down my face almost reach my chin.

I have to concentrate on my hands not shaking as I take the cup from Fynn, "Thanks Fynny," He smiles back and kneels next to me, his hand rubbing my back comfortingly. I sip the water slowly, my eyes only half open so the light doesn't hurt too much. I think it's finished, and place the cup on the low shelf next to the sink. Fynn wraps his arms round my waist and I climb into a stand. My head thrashes again and I feel the bile rise in my raw throat. I fall back forwards, so I'm bent double, and throw up all over again. Fynn holds my shoulders, one hand streaking down my back, comforting me like a child as I whimper a little.

Fynn moves away and a second later I hear a cupboard being opened over the roar in my head, and a moment later he's back, his arms round my waist.

When it's stopped for the second time, completely, I hope, I open my eyes, and fall back to the floor, sitting crossed legged. Fynn hands me the water and two aspirin, which I take gratefully and down quickly.

I groan and press the palm of my empty hand to my forehead again. Fynn makes a quiet tutting sound and takes the cup from me. He wraps his arms round my waist again, pulling me up into a stand, my head roaring so I have to lean against him. He drags us into the bedroom, pulling me onto the bed. I realise I'm still fully clothed from last night, and mumble something about taking them off.

Fynn's hands wind round my shirt and pull it over my head. He looks at me a little expectantly, waiting for me to take my jeans off, but I sit there childishly, smirking a little at him.

He sighs lightly and smirks back, brushing the hair slightly out his eyes, and reaches down. His hands curl round the waistband of my jeans and he uses it to pull me into a stand again. He slowly drags his fingers to the button, and I feel a shiver run through me. I keep my eyes fixed on his beautiful eyes and he smiles at me. Fynn deftly undoes the button, letting his hands graze my boxers, making me part my lips a little and move forwards.

He slides his hands into them, and round the back, so they're resting on my ass. He pushes me towards him and I step forward, placing my hands on his bare shoulders. He pulls my jeans down, the skin tight fabric getting stuck on my thighs, so we have to tug at them furiously until they fall to my ankles, which gives my headache extra fuel, especially when I bend down to pull them off my feet.

I groan and straighten up, hand against my forehead again, and Fynn leads us onto the bed. I climb between the covers and Fynn does the same, lying so his lips easily connect with my neck. Which he's doing right now, and making my back arch so much it's verging on uncomfortable. But with Fynn's lips against me it's anything but uncomfortable.

I tangle my hands in his blonde hair and murmur into it, gasping as his lips touch the tender concave space in the middle of my shoulders. He shifts over and closer so he can reach the whole of my neck better. I tilt my head back and his kisses trail up my neck, and the underside of my chin, until he's almost straddling me and his lips meet mine.

It quickly turns into a heavy make out session, everything heightened by the roaring my head and when we break away the air is tearing at my lungs. Fynn presses his hands against my chest, smiling up at me as I stare down at him, shifting a little and moving my legs to try and prevent that erection. He leans down against me and I press one hand into his hair, the other resting on the small of his back.

I let my eyes close and the inky blackness comforts my headache a little. I start to remember things, things from last night.

I remember coming to the house, getting giving a bottle of WKD, which is quickly downed and dropped on the floor when I drag Fynn to dance with me.

I remember another vodka, then another, then another then another. Then dancing, by myself, giggling, trying to sing along to the Klaxons, with my eyes half closed and a dreamy smile.

I remember that guy trying to hit on me, dragging me to the chair in the corner, where I pushed him away furiously, telling him, sounding sober, that I had a boyfriend and telling him to fuck off.

I remember Fynny coming over, asking me if we can go. Him pulling me out of the chair, and me giggling madly as we stumbles towards the door. I remember throwing up in a vase...

I remember stumbling home, doing stupid things like picking flowers, or throwing up into bushes. I remember Fynn searching my pockets, my stupid grin, pressing my lips to every inch of skin I could reach. I remember Fynn dragging me upstairs and sitting next to me sprawled on the bed, my stupid smile.

Then I remember, hazy, as if my vision's smoky, as if I'm watching a TV with too much static. I remember Fynn's voice, "In all honesty, I was using you. I thought that you were just some stupid, stuck-up rich kid with more money than sense," My eyes snap open, and I see Fynn lying against my chest, a small smile on his face, oblivious.

Maybe he doesn't remember last night, maybe he'd had more to drink that he'd let on. Or maybe he does remember, maybe he hopes I wont.

"Fynn," I say quietly, touching his upper arm so he tilts his head back to look at me, "Did you mean it?"

His eyebrows furrow and I feel something dangerous bubble in my chest, "Mean what Jay-jay?" But there's a hint of worry in his eyes, and I know he knows exactly what I'm talking about.

"Last night," I say, my voice coming out colder than I'd meant it, and Fynn flinches a little, moving so he's sitting up. My arm falls from his shoulders, and I don't replace it there.

He clenches his eyes shut and bites his lip. I just stare, in shock, in anger, in sadness, "I meant it Jay," He says, smiling, "Every word,"

He reaches out for my hand but I tear it away. My other hand pushes him square in the chest so he falls back. His feet catch him so he's standing at the edge of the bed, "Every word?" I spit, standing up on the opposite side.

Fynn just looks confused, sad, his mouth turned downwards as he stumbles back so he's pressed against the wall.

"Every word?" I spit again, running a hand through my hair, "So what? Am I just rich kid with more money that sense, the easy one, the one you could just use and not give a shit about?"

Fynn opens his mouth to argue but I raise my voice over his and stare straight over his shoulder, "Why Fynn? Answer me that, answer me why you stayed so long, why you did all this? In fact, no, you know what? Just get out,"

Fynn's jaw falls open, but I don't care, I'm too hurt, "Just get out, I don't want you here," I reach down and pick up his jeans from the floor. I throw them at him, along with a discarded shirt, and he catches them, his shaking fingers wrapping round them. I grab the bags, still with his clothes, those I bought, and throw them at him too. He doesn't catch them, let's them fall at his feet.

He shakily pulls on those jeans and shirt, and I see a tear drip onto the carpet, but I still don't care. He stands up and my eyes meet his for a second. I tear mine away, unable to hold his gaze.

I see my jeans, from barely ten minutes ago, and pull the neon green wallet from it, pulling all the notes out of it and throwing them at Fynn too, whose fully dressed and just standing there, "Go on!" I screech, my voice hoarse with emotion, "You've got what you wanted! The money, the clothes, the rich kid, just go!"

The tears are running down Fynn's face now, he's not bothering to restrain his emotions. He still doesn't say anything, reaching down and picking up the bags of clothes.

"I loved you Fynn!" I spit, storming forwards and ripping open my bedroom door, "This is what I get?"

"Loved?" He says quietly, staring at the carpet before looking up with tear filled eyes, "Past tense?"

My eyes glaze over in attempt to conceal what I'm feeling as they meet his, "Past tense,"

He walks away. I watch his back as he almost runs down the stairs and a few seconds later the front door bangs. I throw my door shut and yell, falling back on the bed.

"You fucking idiot Jay, who are you kidding," I mutter to myself, "Past, present, and fucking future," I close my eyes again and I remember more.

"Now I'd rather die - for want of a better term - than use you like that. I love you, Jacob, and I promise that it's not going to ever change."

Oh fuck.

I move faster than I've ever done in my life, and throw myself down the stairs. I rip open the front door, "Fynny! Wait! Wait! Let me explain!" I run down the drive to the pavement and look round wildly.

But he's not there.

"Fynny," I murmur, "I fucked up,"