Elise woke up with a hangover, just not the type when you at least have the wild night you may not remember to show for it. She was certainly not in bed naked, with another nude person, surreptitiously checking to see if they used protection.

This was an emotional hangover.

She'd got feelings, for a boy. Man, did she hate those. The last time she had them, it wreaked all kinds of havoc, and that was just her sister's boyfriend not a world famous object of obsession. She should have known how to read the signs, that mistake had gone a similar way. Time spent together in a house, some things in common,  a little tension, fear of rejection, a move, sex, secret relationship, discovery, a broken hearted sister, disappointed parents, and a transcontinental move to escape.

Ok, so this one was in a much safer place than that. Harry was a bad choice as a man to have feelings for, but for totally different reasons than Bryce. Her quarantine buddy was a bad idea because of the rejection and/or future rejection.

Did it count as rejection?

Elise felt rejected, but feelings aren't facts, as her dad liked to remind her. She supposed it was a near miss. She had gone the last 10% just like the movie Hitch had taught her. Maybe he would have finished the gap, closed the circuit, and such, and she could have felt those beautiful pink lips on hers.

But he was saved by the bell.

Instead they ate, and sat on opposites ends of the table just like she had set it. Elise liked that it wasn't a ridiculously long ostentatious piece of dead wood before yesterday. She'd even complimented Harry on it. Last night it was unsatisfactory, definitely not as close as she would have liked to be sitting.

And during cake time, which had turned out stellar, he had touched her elbow and the bones in her feet had rattled. His hand hadn't coasted to her palm, nor had he spun her into him and pressed his lips to hers. He'd just told her it looked great and handed her the knife to cut.

Elise couldn't even think about the couch.

He'd insisted that they cuddle, and had lain behind her in the unexpected big spoon position. She'd been very excited when he suggested it, thinking it was a typical boy ploy to feel her up and get to the kissing they'd almost started.

She figured she'd at least get to feel a boner.

That was an atrocious word. But everything else sounded even worse in her head.

She'd felt no erection, just the warm shape and had wanted with all her might to press back against it, but if there was such a thing as a platonic spoon, she'd just experienced it. Then Harry had fallen asleep, his head bookended by hers until his neck relaxed onto the pillow.

Elise threw in the towel then.

The little voice in her head, that sounded suspiciously like her sister, told her that good guys didn't want her, though they'd be bad long enough to take what she was offering.

She was pretty sure she'd called Jessica a jealous bitch over that. The words had stuck in her head though, and not that she was hoping to make a go of things with her sister's ex, but the idea that he was just playing on her dark side to explore his own, it just poisoned their relationship. It certainly contaminated her already fragile relationship with her sister.

Elise had wanted to go away then, needed an escape, if she left it would be better, her parents didn't have to feel disappointed everyday when they looked at her, and Jessica didn't have to feel betrayed. Hence, England, quarantine, Harry Styles.

The first several days she could not figure out how it was karmic in any way that she got to be so close to Harry Styles. Now that he had become just Harry, the lovely rich weirdo with the bad taste in books and great taste in music, she was temporarily living with, she had figured out the catch.

The universe had given her her adolescent fantasy, shown her reality was better, and then snatched it away, like ice cream falling off the cone into sand within the first ten minutes on a boardwalk. Much as she hated it, Elise also felt it was right. She'd snuck around with her sister's boyfriend, it was only right someone she'd fallen for, who was way out of her league anyway, wouldn't want her even if she was literally the only option around.

Why was self loathing so attractive in moments of reflection?

She was going to have to go downstairs soon. She could hear music, a sure sign Harry was up and waiting for company. Maybe she could heat a thermometer under a light bulb and claim sick. Little water on her face to fake clammy skin.

Then he could baby her and she could take the tenderness and not expect the kisses, or boners. Because nobody liked kissing snotty people. Could you fake snottiness? Not without props, Elise decided. Also, faking sick when in quarantine during a pandemic seemed particularly heinous.

Despite her misgivings, she hauled her sad skeleton out of bed and got dressed. When Elise found herself searching for a specific pair of underwear, she realized she was literally planning on wearing her big girl panties. That at least made her chuckle. Whatever got you there she supposed.

Most of her fretting would be for naught. He was just Harry, and he'd acted like nothing happened. She could follow his lead, right? They were forced friends, at least for the next 6 days. May as well make the best of it and not lean in to the awkward.

The stairs made the echoey sound around the bend and she avoided the creaky part and only got a low groan. She'd relaxed a bit by the time she made it downstairs.

What the fuck was his problem? Why was he shirtless? Again! At least he had on more than a towel. Fuck her life, man. Or fuck her man, that'd be the life.

She stood at the end of the stairs and gave herself a moment until he realized she was there. His back was, woah! He was very broad for someone so slim. And his chest was, ugh, and his face. She often felt like she should congratulate him on his visage, especially the way it had leaned out and squared up. He was so manly now.

Dammit, she should have found that thermometer!

"Morning." She heard him say before she had gotten out of her head.

"Good Morning." She smiled back at him. His smile was like the call for a response in songs. You had to answer it.

"Are you hungry? There's leftover food, we could throw eggs over the last couple puddings. Or coffee?" There was a weird current under their conversation. Like he was walking on the shells of the eggs he was planning to cook her.

"Coffee?" She shrugged. "I can't really think about food yet." Elise's nerves were churning her stomach. All she could think of was the near kiss and the heat of his body behind her.

"Done." He headed to the kitchen and she followed, of course. He'd pulled out the French press, something she would purchase for herself after this. And asked, "what do you want to do today?"

Honestly, she wanted to hide out. Was there a book she could fake wanting to read? Elise was sure he had some book of semi terrible prose he would recommend to her. She need but ask. Then she could hold up in her room. The downside was she'd have to see his little sad puppy face when she told him she didn't like what he did. That was one of the downsides. Elise also wanted to be around him, maybe be able to smell him, and to avoid him noticing her avoiding him. But they needed to have something that discouraged talking, or she was gonna wind up asking him what the fuck his problem was. Because, they'd had a couple moments, she was sure of it, when they worked out, when he touched her thigh, and the near KISS, for fuck's sake. There was chemistry.

Or she was going a bit crazy, and it was totally one sided, which, seemed the way it should be.

In any case, she couldn't just ask him. She wasn't usually an asker, she was a guesser. Elise's best friend Niki was direct and wonderful, she asked for what she wanted or asked people what they wanted. When they were teenagers, she'd thought it was so embarrassing sometimes, now she wished she had some of her boldness. If she could just ask it would really simplify things. Harry, do you like me? Are you having any pesky feelings? Do I make your dick hard? Any flavor of honesty would taste better than the uncertainty she was chewing on.

Instead Elise said, "marathon Friends?" She shrugged.

His eyes opened big and she looked down to dodge the power of his pleased crinkles. "Marathon Friends!"

So there they were, three quarters of the way through a series with popcorn between them when Elise said, "I think I need to stand up. My butt is numb."

"I could rub it for you? No, not an option then?" He giggled. "We could make an obstacle course?" Harry suggested gleefully, and she wondered how long he'd been sitting on that one.

"That sounds athletic. As you've seen, I'm no athlete."

"Built like one." He said and before she could really respond he'd launched into a plea. "It'll be fun, then we can build a fort and watch more Friends."

"Are you 7 at heart?" She giggled. His glee was contagious, like Phoebe's wackiness.

"Nine!" He danced his eyebrows. "But to adult this party up, let's add alcohol. I feel like I have not given you a proper look at British life and quarantine, as we've not been pissed much at all. We can play a Friends drinking game, bet there are loads on the internet!"

Oh, this was a bad idea. But maybe she'd find some liquid courage.

The obstacle course, well it went better than she anticipated, and he let her win. She cartwheeled, the one thing she had learned in gymnastics, across the finish line. He was way ahead of her when they got to the pillow sack race at the end. The idea had struck her like a lightening bolt. She could not bound like him, all that thigh strength, but she could cover ground quick another way! She managed to keep the high thread count fabric on through her revolutions. She was a little terrified of destroying his nice linen. Harry let her cross ahead of him, and he hoisted her into the air when she exclaimed "YES!"

She expected him to complain about her tactics, instead he jogged her around on a victory lap. "Well done!" He danced in a circle and put her down, his arms wrapped around her, squishing her face into his clavicle.

"But I cheated." She muffled into his body.

"We didn't make rules. You saw an opportunity and took a chance." He shimmied his shoulders, all his bottled up energy from a day on the couch coming out in exuberance. "You gotta take chances in life."

They were close, though he'd let her go. Was she supposed to take the chance now? Was that an invitation? Why did she have to do it? "Yeah, yeah, you're right." She said but didn't act.

A beat passed and he sighed and turned around, moving around exercise equipment. "Let's build this fort, yeah?" His smile wasn't forced, but she noticed he only had two eye crinkles, not the full powered four.

His hand was on her shoulder. The opportunity was still there, but yesterday's rejection still clouded up her head like an unkept pool. "Yeah." She turned around and opened the ornamental blanket storage box he had in his media room.

They worked together with ease, and had a fort that would stay up for days on its own with no roughhousing to show for it. IKEA would be proud, they didn't even need pictorial directions.

"It looks cozy!" She smiled at it.

"It's nearly perfect." He said, before jetting off. "One second." He came back with led lights and used some stylish magic to arrange them high."Now we got it. Just missing one thing."

She couldn't imagine anything missing with the attractive light on his face. This was dreamy, she'd almost forgotten that he seemed to have decided that she had to make the move. Leaving them at an impasse. "What?"

"Tequila!" He danced his eyebrows. "One sec." He jackrabbited off.

Should she tell him tequila made her way too honest, or let him figure it out for himself?

"Alright." He skidded into the tent by her side and she applauded because he managed not to shatter the tequila bottle and glasses. "This is the best tequila." He assured her. "Find a drinking game! Unless you fancy strip scrabble."

That sent her diving for the phone. That was an even worse idea than getting drunk together. It was a quick google search later and they had their marching orders.

Phoebe seemed the most reliable. They both were licking salt and swallowing top shelf shots whenever she appeared. Monica and Joey were making a good showing too.

Her stomach hurt and she was bent sideways making a right angle at his hips from laughing so hard. Elsie had forgotten! This show was so funny, and god! They were both drunk.

Rachel was having a sappy moment and it was bringing out the sap in Elise. Man, tequila also made her emotional, she'd swung like a desktop pendulum from laughing so hard she cried to introspective sadness. It didn't exactly make sense, she was definitely more the Ross in this situation. Though her pining had started much later, precisely 7 days ago.

She giggled, nothing was precise after that much tequila. Call her Tarzan with all that swinging.

"What are you laughing about?" He turned on his side to look at her, his face full of mirth, his eyes at half mast and a little red. Bedroom eyes popped into her head and she had to suck in a breath. This felt very coupley, lying side-by-side in a fort. She would say cuddling, but they weren't touching. They hadn't been, but while she was assessing their postures, she realized he'd tangled their ankles together.

Everything they did felt coupley. Because they wanted to couple up or because they were just a couple in number?

"Um" she croaked. "I was just thinking of something, but then, tequila brain you know!" She flicked her temple lightly.

"Oh, I know!" He was jolly and she thought for a minute of other times she'd seen pictures of him drunk. His arm was around her waist now. He liked drunken cuddles, when he was younger, which was knowledge she maybe had no business possessing but knew nonetheless. His face in her neck a moment later had her closing her eyes and sighing. He smelled good, a little like a bar, but also like cologne, and his hair was so soft. She wanted to touch it.

Maybe she had more in common with Ross than she realized. A seemingly unattainable old crush suddenly in her life, maybe attainable, available.

Her drunken hands had a mind of their own, and she ran them through the silk of his hair. It felt wonderful between her fingers. Elise twirled some curls around her pointers and was rewarded by a groan from her cuddle buddy.

"Mmmmm, feels good!" His ankle tangle had become his calf and at that moment his whole thigh had inserted itself between her legs. She'd been ignoring the dull throb there for most of today, for days. The barest pressure was on her crux and she couldn't take this. She tensed and pulled, he moaned. Her hand dropped.

She felt his breath on her neck and then his head roll back to her shoulder. "Hey! Why'd you stop."

If she turned her head their boozy breaths would mingle and it would be their second almost kiss in as many days, and she couldn't take this.

Elise turned her head.

He blinked at her slow and the tequila sunset of his eyes was intoxicating. She let her eyes come down to his lips, and when his tongue peeped out to wet his mouth, hers moved on its own, "Harry?"

It needed to be asked right? She couldn't just let it happen.

"Elise." He breathed back and moved closer.

Tequila, and mint somewhere underneath, was all she tasted. Teeth and tongue, plump lips moving between and surrounding hers was what she felt, until his larger frame pressed her back onto the floor. She felt the one thigh almost against her center become his pelvis, flush. He pulled back, looked in her eyes and gave her a soft buss, resumed the eye contact. Elise leaned up like he had water and she was thirsty. The way his tongue played along the sides of hers, sliding over the top and out before he changed angles slightly and reinitiated had her lightheaded. Her skin was tight, especially where his hands were. Her clothes were heavy and hot, at her hips, around her rips, the sides of her breasts tingled, her shoulders were his palms held her open beneath him. Elise needed water. Was panting. She wasn't even sure how much the kiss had escalated, until his lips were moving over her neck and onto her collarbone, the thick strap of her top coming down, cold air and warm kisses on the swell of her cleavage. Pressure revolving between her thighs. The well was just ahead and if they kept at it, she'd dive in. Water water everywhere, so much to drink. To drown. She stilled.

"Elise?" Harry asked from where his hands and mouth had almost reached her nipples?

"I think we should stop."