Warm sunlight bathes my body, painting the sheets a golden honey. These flats aren't for sun lovers—they have tiny glass squares that look like jail cell windows; I'm fortunate enough to have the best lighting out of Niall, Louis, Zayn, Liam and myself considering I won the master bedroom after competing in a beer pong tournament for it.

I feel a hand hit my chest, along with some groaning while whoever's beside me stretches their limbs, then scramble to clutch the sheets at their chest like they'd seen a ghost.

I finally peel my eyes open, tilting my aching head to the side and expecting to see my girlfriend's face, Yasmin. But instead I'm met with yours; a face full of guilt as you gnaw on your bottom lip.

Realisation hits me like I'm a punching bag for Muhammad Ali—I look down to see I'm full seven inches manhood out, considering you stole the sheets to cover your naked body, clearly not concerned about mine. I steal some of the excess sheet pooled at the foot of the bed to cover myself.

I slept with my girlfriend's best friend.

You and I were friends before I even knew Yasmin, you're the reason I'm with her because you had introduced us. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't had these kinds of thoughts about you before, but that was prior to me getting involved with Yasmin.

I stare at you blankly; my head pounding like a bloody drum. We were all at a party last night, hosted in a flat walking distance from here. The boys, you, and I all got wasted—and high—together, while Yasmin left early; she's never been one for socialising, and much less getting high off of shared joints—especially not when Louis provides, she seems to have some preposterous distaste for Louis and I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why.

She's always got something to say about my best friends behind closed doors, always on Louis and Zayn's asses about 'smoking kills, you know." Or jokes that the bleach is 'getting to Niall's head." But puts up a facade to their faces—as if I don't live with the bastards and can keep secrets from them.

Seems you and I got too far off our heads to realise our actions, and their consequences last night. I'm already wincing at the thought of you going back to your own flat and facing Yas—she's your best friend and she's going to have noticed you weren't sleeping in your own bed at your shared flat last night, no doubt will interrogate you to spill 'who the lucky man was' that grabbed your attention. How awkward would that be when you tell her it was her boyfriend, in a drunken daze.

I can hear the boys downstairs; way too energetic for a Saturday morning at 10am. Niall's probably cooking hangover eggs like he always does, with Louis' ass on the counter while he watches. How the hell am I supposed to sneak you out of here without them seeing?

Over the animated chatter of the boys downstairs, there's a knock at the front door that rings out. My hand clamps over my mouth when I hear Yasmin's voice: 'Harry's still asleep?'

Didn't realise we'd organised to meet-up this morning.

I silently gesture towards your clothes strewn across my bedroom, then to my ensuite. You seem to take the hint, gathering your clothes and taking them with you as you turn on the shower.

Fuck, I didn't think my plan through, if Yasmin comes in here to me, she'll hear the shower running and know something's up—as of the boys are downstairs and she would've saw them in passing. On autopilot, I jump up and follow you, locking the bathroom door and stepping butt naked into the shower behind you—I hush you not to scream at my sudden presence.

I hear my bedroom door creak open and my face twists when she calls: "Harry?"

"In the shower! Can you wait downstairs with the boys?" I shout back, making sure my voice is heard over the water hitting the tiles. Probably yelling into your ear as well.

I get no response so I assume she's heading back to the kitchen. I let my forehead fall against the damp skin of your shoulder with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm so sorry for this mess we're in,"