** MAJOR EDITING**
Niall realises he likes Harry, his best friend. But Harry's already drowning deep in a toxic relationship with Liam, his companion.
A story of love, lust, friendship, and abandonment between five friends during their last year of...
Did I ever tell you that I went to The 1975's NYC concert. It was great. They're great and I don't want to fangirl, so, I'll leave it at that: they're great.
All of my future chapters will be unedited until Anobrain is finished. Which, so far, has gotten sO MANY positive compliments and feedback. Thank you thank you thank you all -- so much.
-
-
-
chapter one. army of two and a half adolescents.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
-
I'd always say to this current day, my interim minute — I've got where I am today because of myself and not on who my family is. Their support I'm still deeply grateful for, but my determination and my perseverance was the main achievement of my success --
MULTIGRAIN CHEERIOS STARE AT me. They stare at my fatigue and I'm so exhausted and I think my life involves personification. What bowl of grainy wheat cereal stares and talks to me?
Obviously me on a Saturday before work.
I'd like to say I enjoy making my own money instead of mooching off of my older sister and mother because they make a shit ton of pounds. My morals live along the lines of responsibilities helps you when it's time to work and live in the real world as a young adult. And, quite frankly, working hard with peculiar hours is a big contributor of my perspective on an adolescent life. Or so I'd like to think.
Just as tired as I feel, I chew slowly before swallowing the cereal's residue. Gulping it all down before I hear heavy, descending, footsteps treading along my homes stairs. They belong to Harry and his large feet— they've always been that big since we were around age of ten. With Zayn's shoe size coming in a close second if we were having a race on large shoe sizes.
"I'm appalled, Niall Horan," is how Harry greets me on a Saturday morning before our noon shifts.
He's sporting the local Starbucks crew sweater. His hand held over his heart while melodramatically gaping at me. "You steal the shower before me. You get dressed before me, and you don't have the nerve to make me a bowl of cereal for your improper etiquette as a host."
Unfazed I point towards a made bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (Harry's favourite cereal) directly across from him. I look back to Harry with an eyebrow raised teasingly. "What was it that you said, Harry? I couldn't quite hear you over my 'improper etiquette' and 'bad hosting'," I confidently mumble.
Harry blanches before his cheeks flush. Maybe from the warm shower he set for himself minutes ago or from the Autumn humidity amplifying through my home. All the same he rubs at his nape defeatedly. "I said nothing but a thank you. My wonderfully, extravagant, un-dubious, best friend," he murmurs softly before taking a silent seat across from me.
