It's been two whole months since I drunkenly stumbled onto Niall's doorstep, completely disoriented and unaware of my surroundings, and yet he still offered to let me stay the night. And here I am, I repeat, a whole two months later, underneath the covers of the bed in his guest room.
That one night to stay over turned into "until you're back on your feet, I'm not letting you leave this house". Which is sweet of him and I appreciate everything he's done for me these past few months. This morning he left me a pastry on the bedside table and a note reporting he got a new box of Yorkshire tea bags. He's a good lad with good intentions, I just hate feeling sorry for myself. I hate that I'm able to sleep in every day and I feel awful just walking around sulking. And for God's sake it's been two months, you'd think I'd be over it by now. Over him by now. But for some inexplicable reason I'm still hung up over something that happened so long ago. And mutually. It's not like I was broken up with, I agreed to the breakup. Why did I agree to the goddamn breakup?
YOU ARE READING
Still - Larry Stylinson
Fanfictionlouis tries to cope with him and harry breaking up. this is gonna be really short btw lol
