** 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...
Are any of my readers The 1975 fans? If so, what's your favourite song by them? Mine would be like Somebody Else or Anobrain af.
They make me emo af --
what are you expecting to happen between narry and zouis? can you guess what ship is going to make an appearance soon? You'll be rather surprised tbh .. and no it's not nouis. although they're my faves.
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chapter twenty-eight. HOFBrINCl.
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After we both simultaneously pull away from the other like a magnet, it gets awkward. Harry nor I internally fight ourselves not to look into each other's eyes, but I can feel the powerful gaze from Harry's eyes beaming onto my exposed skin. Like the sun's rays in the summertime weather. As if we're far away from the shade, staring eye-to-eye with the sun but that's uncommon.
My fingers fumble with each other yet I don't bother to budge. Because budging means defeat. Although I've practically surrendered for kissing Harry back. Willingly. "Hi," I mumble politely. Almost pathetically.
Harry scoffs melodramatically. "Now you're willing to talk to me," he says judgementally. That's when I decide to look at my kind-of best friend with a mocking scowl on my face as his. There's no room for judgement — that goes for the both of us.
I don't bother to say my thoughts. Already beginning to slide back into the cracks of passiveness. Harry seems to take notice of that because his aura transitions. His eyes glisten towards me. "Look. I didn't mean that," he counters. Harry picks up a brown paper bag I didn't notice he brought to my home with him. "I got you ice cream. Your favourite."
Choco Mint Chip makes its abrupt reveal; I'm almost conflicted because., because. Without a proper glance my hand reaches for the cup of heaven in Harry's hand as I invite him inside my house in the same unison. Talk about pushover. We walk to the lounge together then sit on the couch silently. Distance is kept and comfortability doesn't, exactly, seem to matter at this point.
"Can we speak of it, please?" Harry questions minutes later into the growing several minutes of silence. I, still, shake my head denyingly. There's nothing to discuss.
Usually when you see something with your own eyes in a situation words don't need to be taken into consideration. Doesn't matter the level of friendship nor the automatic label society has created nor the habitual subconsciousness humans have for the other humans. If you witness an inflict of action, there is nothing to discuss.
I seen Harry with Liam in my room. Lips attached and words kept at bay. Unlike the agreement the two made in the lounge beforehand. And I don't have supernatural vision, but I seen what I've seen that Friday night during our movie night.
