Never Kiss Your Best Friend •L.S.•

Chapter 9

That day as I sat and wept from the fresh heartbreak I'd suffered, I couldn't help but feel disgusting all over.

Stan's hands had been all over me and I felt used. He'd been cheating on me the whole time and I had been so oblivious. I felt stupid and fucking naíve.

Harry, being the best friend one could ever want, held me in his arms as I cried my heart out in the alley.

I was drunk and heartbroken, and Harry was the one who took care of me for the next few days that I took to recover from the shock of being cheated upon.

Needless to say, Harry wanted to go and beat up Stan, but I held him back, wanting to simply move on from this mess of a 'relationship'.

The next week, I'd dragged Harry to a bar and gotten piss drunk because apparently that was on the 'move on' checklist in 2016. It was time to show that I was not at all affected and ready to move the fuck on.

We'd barely made it home when I'd drunkenly cried on Harry's shoulder, so much so that now the buzz was starting to wear off.

“Fuck, Louis. Stop it. Don't waste your tears on that asshole.” Harry muttered in my ear, as we sat on the sofa in his house.

He obviously couldn't take me to my house in this state, and we'd been fortunate his parents weren't home this week. God bless business meetings, I guess?

“Shit, Harry. I need more alcohol. I'm almost sober now.” I try to get up, but damn Harry and his biceps for holding me still.

I knew where Harry's parents kept their secret stash, after all it was the place from where we'd sneaked our first alcoholic drink.

“Just stop this, Louis. You don't need another drink. In fact you could use a glass of water.” Harry glared at me, or well tried to since it was more of a worried look at best, and brought me some water.

I drank the water anyway, willing the need for alcohol away.

We'd been watching crappy romcoms for over two hours when I started crying silently. Damn you, sad romance tropes.

Harry noticed, of course he did.

He sighed, looked at me and used his shirtsleeve to dry my tears. His warm hands cupping my face so gently. . .

Maybe it was in the heat of the moment or an accident but the next thing I know is that we're kissing. As in mine and Harry's lips are touching.

I don't know who moved closer, or if I kissed him or whether it was the opposite. I really still can't get it.

Can't remember exactly who closed the gap and fractured our friendship.

I remember his lips, so soft yet firm. I remember the tingling sensation I felt in the pit of my stomach.

And suddenly I had backed away. Left Harry on the couch, as I stumbled towards my house.

That night, I'd been scolded by Mum and grounded for two weeks.

I was honestly glad to be, because that meant I could avoid Harry easily without much effort or suspicion.

Obviously I could have just brushed it off as a drunken endeavour but what was bothering me was that I liked it.

And that was so wrong on so many levels.

First, Harry had a girlfriend.

Second, he was my best friend. And he had a girlfriend.

Third, I was sure that it was only me who was feeling all these butterflies in my abdomen.

Fourth, it was most likely a misunderstanding because I'd just been dumped and of course, I'd needed a comfort kiss.