Don't Wave No Goodbye

It’s a nasty time of 4:56 in the morning when Darcy’s phone lets off a loud, irritating vibrating noise that has her clenching her jaw tightly and waving her hand around in search for it. When she finally gets to it, the vibrating has finally stopped and she’s confused to see a text from Fearne Cotton, especially at this hour.

Opening the text, she realises it’s a mass text and contains a lovely picture of a tired but happy looking Fearne holding her newborn son. Underneath the photo, there’s a bunch of details about the baby like how much he weighs and other information people usually like to know. The baby looks like every other newborn baby, wrinkled and highly unsatisfied to be out in the world, but Darcy smiles as she sends back a congratulatory text to Fearne, also asking if she could use the photo for the ‘Want To See Something Cute?’ segment on Monday.

Darcy throws her phone aside, about to roll over and sleep for the next decade when she hears the distinguishable sound of someone emptying the contents of their stomach in her ensuite bathroom. Rolling out of the warmth of her bed, Darcy grabs a jacket to keep herself from freezing to death in her own home only to realise it’s Harry’s and suddenly last night hits Darcy all too clearly. She pads into the bathroom, careful not to switch on the light and make things worse for the both of them, to find Harry hunched over the toilet in just pants, groaning softly to himself. The air is acidic with the smell of booze and vomit but Darcy makes her way over to sit on the edge of the bathtub, reaching out to rub Harry’s bare back softly.

“Ngh?” he says like a question, and Darcy laughs softly, continuing to rub circles against the warmth of Harry’s skin.

“How ya feeling, superstar?” Darcy whispers, thinking it’s strangely endearing how Harry throws his arm across his face and gives a little pout.

“Like I’ve been hit by a train then thrown off a cliff. God, it’s awful,” Harry moans, his eyes screwed shut in pain.

Feeling sorry for him, Darcy grabs the glass she keeps beside the sink and fills it with water before finding a few aspirin from the medical basket kept in the bathroom cabinet. She nudges Harry lightly until he cracks open his eyes and takes the water and pain killers gratefully. “These might help.”

Darcy watches as Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs when he drinks down the pills and water. He places the glass back by the sink and sighs gently, already feeling marginally better by just having that drink of water.

“How come you’re not praying to the porcelain god then?” Harry asks sulkily but can’t help give her a small smile.

“Years of practice, kid, lots of experience,” Darcy laughs, leaning over again to run a hand through his hair and he leans into her touch appreciatively. “You alright, though? Don’t need a trip to the A&E to get your stomach pumped?’

Harry makes a face at this. “No thanks. I think I’m all puked out. Just need some sleep.”

“Come on then,” Darcy says, helping Harry to his feet and leading him back to the bed. She wonders if maybe she should put him in the guest room just in case, but by the time the thought occurs to her, Harry’s already snuggling down in between her still warm sheets looking so content, she doesn’t have the heart to move him.

She shrugs his jacket off, tossing it back onto the floor before slipping in beside him, enjoying the familiar feel of a warm body lying beside her. Darcy knows that come morning, proper morning and not this pre-dawn bullshit, she’s going to go through a massive freak out over the fact there’s a teenager boy in her bed but right now, she just lets herself move closer to him and fall back into a dreamless sleep.

*

It’s around eleven when Darcy surfaces once more, and finds herself yet again in an empty bed. Lazily she wonders if Harry’s slipped out of her house like a dirty secret and figures it’s for the best when she smells her favourite smell in the world: a freshly brewed cup of tea.

Okay, so he’s still here and he’s making tea. Slightly worrying but Darcy’s an adult and she can handle these adult situations just fine. But if she takes a few minutes to have a quick freak out, nobody has to know.

When she’s finally ready to face whatever awkwardness is bound to occur, she throws on the nearest articles of clothing and makes her way down the stairs to find Harry looking adorably mussed from sleeping, hands cupped around her favourite mug as he blows on his tea softly. He looks up to see her watching and gives her that dimpled smile.

“Hi,” he greets casually. “You’ve got great timing; I just made a pot of tea.”

Darcy smiles at this and quickly sets out to make herself a cuppa. “So are you feeling any better?”

Harry blushes lightly at this. “Yeah, heaps, thanks. Probably won’t be eating anything for a while, just in case. Think I’ll stick to tea and water.”

“Keeping yourself hydrated is the key to getting over a hangover,” Darcy adds unhelpfully, having nothing more to really add to the conversation. “Or how to prevent one from happening at all.”

“Yeah, you’d think I’d learn. It’s weird; I drink all the time and yet last night, ugh wow. I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a Grimshaw party, right?” He grins at her, like they have some sort of inside secret, and it all feels too much, too comfortable.

“We’re not – this doesn’t mean anything,” she blurts suddenly, and then sarcastically congratulates herself for being able to handle this like a mature adult. “I mean, not that last night wasn’t lovely but I just wanted to be clear.”

Harry looks a little taken back but nods slowly. “Right, yeah, of course. Sorry, I’ve uh – I’ve probably overstayed my welcome a bit, haven’t I?”

Darcy closes her eyes, feeling like the world’s shittiest person. “No Harry, it’s fine. You don’t have to go. I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about any of this. I’m not looking for any sort of relationship or even commitment and last night was probably something that shouldn’t have happened, as wonderful as it was.”

Wonderful was definitely the word to describe it. For only being eighteen, Harry had been more than knowledgeable in the art of sex and even through a drunken haze, Darcy hadn’t felt so good in possibly years.

Harry scratches at the back of his head awkwardly, moving to place his mug down on the kitchen counter before nodding slowly and giving her a little smile. “Don’t worry; I’m not after any of that myself.”

He doesn’t sound entirely convincing but Darcy’s too busy being relieved, smiling at him brightly. “Well I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“Yeah, yeah me too,” Harry says, flashing her a lesser smile before looking around suddenly. “I should probably be off anyway and let the lads know I’m still alive. Erm, I guess I’ll see you around or something?”

“Right, yeah, of course,” Darcy agrees, watching as Harry slips on his shoes and she feels a sudden pang of something akin to longing in her chest. “But, um, Harry?”

Harry looks up, his expression one of confusion and muted hope. Darcy gives a little sigh before smiling at him softly.

“Last night was really great, and I mean, if you happen to find yourself in my bed again sometime, I don’t think that’s the worst thing that could happen,” Darcy tells him cheekily and the smile that comes across Harry’s face is completely worth it.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But next time, less alcohol and vomiting, hmm?”

Harry ducks his head with a grin. “Agreed.”

After exchanging numbers, Harry goes to leave only to turn back and leave a sort of half kiss on the corner of Darcy’s mouth. She’s a little too stunned to say anything more so Harry just gives her that grin that makes her want him, badly, and waves goodbye, his cab already waiting from him outside. Darcy stands there minutes after Harry’s been and gone, confusion seeping into every part of her and she wonders what on earth she just let happen.

She waits fifteen minutes after Harry’s left to text Nick, feeling panic rise up in her throat and bubble over.

‘having what might be a crisis or break down. brunch?’

Not even a minute has passed when Nick replies with: ‘uh oh. primrose bakery in 20? x’

She doesn’t even bother with a shower, thinking it’s just far too fitting to go out smelling like alcohol, sex, and absolute shame.