Two Truths & A Lie

Two Truths & A Lie

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing8h 25m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Oct 18, 2015
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Fanfic
1Direction
Prologue: ....I snorted and shook my head. “What makes you want to be friends with me? You didn’t answer.” Harry shrugged. “We are two honest people in a school full of liars.” I struggled to keep my laugh quiet. “What poem did you pull that from? Honest? You just told the librarian we were working on a project.” Harry blew a raspberry. “Trying to make friends with you is a project. Why are you making this so hard for me, Hastings?” "I’m picky about my friends. I have a very close group of friends, and none of them were assholes to me when we first met,” I said, taking a stab at him. He chuckled. “If you all are so close, why are you in here with me and not in the lunchroom with them?” Fuck me for walking straight into that one. I didn’t have a response. Harry grabbed my hand and held it tightly as I tried to pull it away. “I think you’re the only person at this school who hasn’t lied to me yet. Maybe that’s why I want to be friends. Or maybe it’s because if I’m going to sit here and pretend like I’m better than everyone else, I want someone - a friend - to pretend with. I thought I could just hurry through this year alone and I can’t. I’m lonely. For some strange reason, I trust you,” Harry laughed. I laughed too, but it was more of a ‘yeah, right’ laugh than a ‘you’re so funny’ laugh. “I’m serious!” "Mhmm. Okay, Styles." Finally able to pull my hand away, I closed my book and shoved it into my backpack. "Look," He said, his eyes locked on my face as I stood. "I’ll prove it to you...."
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"You're not going to leave me, are you?" I asked as I looked ahead at nothing, focusing on feeling his breathing on the back of my neck. "Never," he whispered. "I'll be here until you get tired of me." He was holding me in his arms, with his back to the wall of my bedroom. Both of his arms were wrapped around me, and I could see the prominent cross tattoo on his right hand. I had had another attack, feeling like the world was caving in on me. As soon as I felt that familiar pang in the bottom of my stomach reaching up to my chest, I would call him. Almost immediately, I would hear a knock at my door. He would always drop what he was doing if he received a call from me, telling him that it's happening again. He would be on my front step, always, with a few pints of ice cream and comfort. He was my rock. He was my sedative. My cure.

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