❝You drive me fucking wild,❞ he says, pulling at his hair. He moves closer again--this time grabbing me by the waist. I let out a groan as he kisses my neck.
❝Shut the fuck up, baby.❞
#1 ON FANFICTION 04/28/17
"Thanks," I mutter, when Harry slides the egg off the steaming pan onto my plate. He mumbles a "your welcome" and sits down right across from me. A few moments pass before he sighs, putting down his utensils. I woke up about half an hour ago, and I came into the kitchen where Harry already was making breakfast. Michael is still sleeping.
I'm glad he came to live with us because it makes me feel.. normal. And it's weird having a boyfriend so in love and devoted to you when you don't even remember meeting him. I didn't talk to Harry after he threw out Niall last night. I was finally feeling good and like myself since I... died. And Harry just threw him out.
"Look, I'm sorry for throwing out Niall," He says, like he reads my mind, and I look up at him. I examine his eyes, to see if he means it...and I think he does.
"There is a lot that happened between us, so we're not on the best of terms," he explains, not blinking once.
"Why?" I ask, and he shakes his head, looking down on his plate. Ugh, he has to be honest with me... But it seems to be a sore subject, so I let it be.
"So what's the plan for today?" I ask, clasping my hands together. I know the doctor had different recovery options for me, and I'll do anything to remember. I see the longing in Harry's eyes--sometimes it's tempting to pretend I remember everything, just to see him happy. I have this strange urge to see him smile...
"You have therapy today," he says, taking another bite of his breakfast.
"Right..." I'm reminded of what the doctor said. Lots of therapy and medication. I take a deep breath after finishing my food. I help him clean the dishes and I get to the bedroom to get changed. Michael's still sleeping, his mouth drooling onto the pillow.
I walk to the closet, and open it to see what clothes I have. Woah. There's a lot of stuff in here.
"You never let me pay for you," Harry stands in the doorframe, looking over at the clothes. But...
"I can't afford all this," I say, looking at the mountains of clothes, shoes, accessories...
"Yeah you can, come here," he says offering his hand. He freezes for a second and is about to retract it before I decide to put my hand in his, just to see his smile.
He takes me into an inner corner of the living room, where a easel with a few paintings are stacked. I stare at them, amazed by the color use and technique... I wish I could paint like this.
"These are yours, they go for about 1000 a piece," he says and I look back at him with wide eyes.
"N- no way, I can't paint like this..."
"You painted these." He insists, and I dig out out something that catches my eye.
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