"Harry come on, you have to go," he pleads. "This is the biggest party of the year!"

I groan and pull the covers up over my head. "Let me just stay here and sleep until I die."

"Your forehead feels really hot," Liam frowns. "You can't go to the party like this."

"I think I'm going to throw up."
He drags me out of bed and rubs my back as I puke in the toilet. "Oh shit," I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve as sweat beads roll down my temples. "I spoke too soon. I am dying."

"Oh don't be so dramatic," Lou laughs. "Liam and I are going to that party so pull your shit together please and thank you."

"Louis," Liam says softly. "Harry is really sick, he's running a fever."

"Niall," Louis snaps. "Can you be an Irish angel and stay here with him?"

"No way! I want to go just as much as you lads. Why am I stuck babysitting?"

"It's fine. I'm eighteen, I can take care of myself guys."

I brush my teeth until the toothpaste turns to foam and gargle some Listerine.

"I'll just go to the doctor and get some medication. It isn't a big deal."

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Lima bean, you heard him. He's good. Let's go," Louis whines and tugs at his wrist. Liam shoots me a sympathetic look as they leave the room.

"Sorry Harry. I hope you feel better soon."

"Thanks. Don't have too much fun tonight."

"It won't be as fun without you." Niall nods in agreement, frowning as he waves goodbye.

I smile weakly and find the energy to pull on some sweatpants and an over-sized hoodie. I tug on a beanie, too exhausted to brush through my tangles and head out the door. I never wear sneakers and I can't remember the last time I wasn't wearing skinny jeans.

The flu. The fucking flu of all illnesses.

"Can you pick up your prescription at your regular pharmacy?"

"Yes," I sigh. "Just go have fun Ni."?

...

"Prescription for Harry Styles."

"That name sounds familiar." I turn around and freeze up, my body growing tense.

He looks so casual, in distressed jeans and a denim jacket. And he looks incredibly young, his baseball cap casting shadows over his smooth, flawless face.

"Sorry you're sick on a Saturday and not on Tuesday or something. That way you could miss my class," he smiles and I shrug.

"No sassy remark? You must be really sick."

"Flu."

"Ewww get away from me," he jokes. I give him a cold look and he puts up his hands defensively. "Sorry. Teachers can joke too."

"Thought you lived at your desk. What are you doing here anyway?" I scowl, hiding my internal excitement.

"My mum needs special medication."

"Oh." My heart sinks to the bottom of my chest. I feel like utter shit now. "Sorry."

"Don't be. Being sick can make you grumpy."

"I'm always grumpy," I grumble. He chuckles and my heart does that stupid thing again where it skips a beat.

"You don't have to tell me, I already knew that. It's weird seeing you in baggy clothes." His nose scrunches up so adorably, head tilting as he gazes at me.

"It's weird seeing you in a baseball cap."

"Touche," he smirks.

"You're wearing contacts," I state quite obviously. I want to face palm for being such an idiot.

"That I am. I guess they aren't so bad."

"When did you get your ears pierced?"

"I dunno, a long time ago. Why?"

"Should I get mine pierced?" He stares at me for a moment, a gentle concentration in his eyes.

"Nope it wouldn't suit you, I don't think...what happened to your nose ring?"

"I took it out."

It's my turn to stare. I smile as I note the tiny glinting silver stud in his nose. It's hot as fuck. Not even gonna lie.

"When did you get that?"

"Last night. I was supposed to grade shit but got so wasted." He clamps his hand over his mouth and I let my laughter escape. "Pretend I didn't just say that."

"It isn't like we're in school. It's cool."

He exhales, relieved I brushed it off as he pays for his mum's medication.

"What were you drinking?"

"Scotch," he shrugs.

"Half of my tattoos are the aftermath of too many vodka shots."

"Thanks a lot for sharing that with me. Truly enlightening."

"My pleasure," I tease back sarcastically.

"I'm assuming you can't go to that party tonight."

"How do you know about that?"

"I'm not stupid. I hear things. Besides, I'm pretty young, not too far removed from attending said crazy parties."

"I guess I'm just going to go home and get some rest now," I unsuccessfully try to hide the disappointment in my voice.

"Did your friends ditch?"

I scuffle my feet and clear my throat, my voice coming out raspier and scratchier than usual.

"Yeah but I understand. They really wanted to go."

"M'sorry," he frowns. We continue walking and talking as we exit the pharmacy. I have no idea where he's going but I don't want to part ways just yet. "Do you want to get some soup? There's a cute little cafe around the block."

"I don't know if I can keep anything down," my cheeks flush.

"It's okay, it doesn't hurt to try."

That's how we end up sat across from each other in a cafe, talking about poetry and trivial things.

He orders two cups of chicken noodle soup and forces me to drink some water.

"I can't taste anything."

He just gives me a reassuring smile and continues moving his soft baby pink lips, explaining why poetry is an art form.

I suddenly feel cured of my illness and nod to every statement he says, agreeing that Rainer Maria Rilke is an underrated poet. In all honesty I haven't read a single piece by him but when he says he's brilliant, I believe him and hang on every word that drips out of his mouth.

Drip.

d
r
i
p

Like sweet honey and nectar.

"Harry," the sudden change in tone pulls me out of my reverie. His brows knit together, his lips stretching into a straight line. "You're really pale."

His hand reaches for mine, which is clammy and gross at hell.

"Sorry I'm so sweaty."

He just smiles and encourages me to take my medicine.

"I'm chilling. It's fucking freezing."

"Okay, okay. Let's take you home."

He pays for the soup and slips his hand into mine. I'm trembling, my teeth clattering as the brisk air hits me. His arm loops around my neck, sudden warmth spreading across the nape of my neck. It travels down my back and makes me shiver, as it courses down my spine.

"You're totally gonna get sick."

"Maybe so," he mutters softly. "I guess that's a risk I'm willing to take."

So my English lit teacher walks me home, his fingers laced in mine. He doesn't even realize it, he just talks casually as we stroll down the sidewalk.

Maybe he doesn't notice but my heart picks up speed and I think I'm going to burst at the seams.

a cold heart
offset by
warm touch
fissure in
my bones
my tender flesh
melting away
crimson cheeks
flushed as
your fingers
entwine with mine

galaxies colliding
there are stars
in my eyes
tender touch
but somehow
it is killing me

"This is my stop."

I fumble for my keys and manage to unlock the door.

My stomach churns and I stumble into the bathroom, lurching towards the toilet.

"Woah hey," my beanie falls to the floor but his fingers skate through my hair, holding my curls back.

A teacher keeping hair out of your face while you vomit is quite possibly the most awkward thing that can ever happen to you. Somehow though, it's deeply comforting.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry."

"For what?"

"This is disgusting."

He just shrugs and wets a wash cloth, dabbing the damp edge to the corner of my mouth.

"I've seen worse."

And he smiles softly.