MY HEAD WAS spinning. It seemed like I had forgotten how to breathe. It also seemed like the world was playing a fat, sick joke on me and I sure as hell wasn't taking any of it. I couldn't take any of it.

"W-Wait..." It was impossibly hard to string a sentence, with him this close to me, this affectionate with me. "We can't. Harry, we can't do this."

"Why can't we?"

Why was he acting as if this was the most normal thing in the universe? This was the exact opposite of what was normal, at least for us.

And I knew he wasn't acting like himself. Hell, of course he wasn't. The look in his eyes -those emerald crystal greens that haunt me in my sleep- says it all. It says how he doesn't know what he's doing. He has to not know what he's doing.

"This is crazy," I take another step back, shaking my head. "You're- You're drunk. Yes, that's what it is."

"Fiorella, you-"

"That's the alcohol talking, I know this isn't real one bit-"

"Fiorella... This is the most real I've been with you."

"No!" My head keeps shaking and wagging but I don't think I have control over any of my actions anymore. I feel like I'm numb all over. I take another step back. "You'll wake up tomorrow morning and laugh it off. You won't even remember this!"

"No- Please, babe, just l-"

"Since when do you call me babe?" I fume, my eyes watering, my pointed finger shaking horribly. Harry stops taking steps towards me; he freezes in place and stares at me with a clenched jaw and sparkling eyes. "You're drunk! I'm not your babe! I'm Fiorella, I'm Fio-rel-lah!"

Harry squeezes his fists and his eyelids twitch for a millisecond. I swallow hard, my lips quivering harshly. My cheeks are hot and wet, my head is aching, my heart is having a tantrum against my ribcage as my hand falls by my side in defeat.

"I'm your best friend," I remind him. "I'm your best friend."