I Don't Like You (Harry Styles Fanfic)

"Get a clue you douche, i'm not into you! Leave me alone!" I snapped cruelly.
He shook his head in frustration. "I don't get why you don't like me..."
I sighed angrily. "I dont even know you!"
"How could you not know me?"
"Am I supposed to know you?"
"Yes! I'm Harry Styles! I'm famous!" he yelled, moving closer to my face.
"Well guess what pretty boy, I don't give a shit," I spat, turning my back to him and walking away.
"What the hell, come back! We need to settle this!" he called after me.
"Dude, leave me alone!"
"Why aren't you like the other girls? Just give in and say that you like me!"
I stopped walking and turned to face him.
"You're pathetic Harry Styles, and I pity the girls that apparently die over the thought of you. Reality check, you're the ugliest man in the world for being this conceited, and I'd be suprised if any girl was stupid enough to date you."
I smiled as I walked away with his mouth hanging wide open.
Douche bag...


3. Chapter 3

After a few minutes, I memorized the steady rising and falling of his chest. He was beautiful.

Hesitantly, I pulled my hand out of his and laid it on the bed. It was then that I noticed his tattoos again. The birds looked so free, I smiled.

Reaching my hand over his chest, I stroked my hand across it, quickly pulling it back when he moved a little. I moved my hand back to him slowly, this time to check and see if the wash cloth was still warm, which it wasn't. So I picked it up and tiptoed over to my bathroom again. 

As I was wetting it, I heard a loud cough sound from my room and I winced. He was probably gonna throw up again. Swiftly I picked up a bucket and ran back to my room. He was sitting up now, looking around confused. He only took a 20 minute sleep. 

He swung his legs out of the bed and abruptly stood up, holding onto the bed frame with one hand.

"Hey hey, calm down," I spoke gently. When I tried moving closer to him, he flinched. 

"Relax, it's okay, I promise you." With that he stopped shaking, and started crying while sitting back down on the bed.

I slowly walked over to him and looked at him with concerned eyes. I was worried. I don't know why I cared so much.

"A-Are you okay?" 

He put his face in his hands and hunched over a bit and continued to sob. It made me want to cry too. Imagine watching a sad movie... and you just wanna cry as well with the character that is suffering.

I pulled some tissues from my tissue box on my night stand and gently lifted up his chin with my hand.

Looking into his eyes, I saw confusion, and it broke my heart. This is exactly why I don't interact with other humans.

Slowly, I wiped his tears and laid him back down onto my bed  under the comforters. Putting the wash cloth on his forehead, his hand reached for mine again.

"Can you lay with me?" he asked with sad eyes.

There was no way I was laying with a stranger, so I just told him,"I'll be here right next you."

I felt bad for saying no when he closed his eyes in a depressed manner and sighed. Maybe when he's sleeping. I mean he's about 2 inches taller than me... and is probably stronger. He could take advantage of me in a blink of an eye. I'm not stupid. I would never take that risk.

He was still holding onto my hand tightly, as if he was afraid of losing something. I wonder what.

After five minutes, his chest began its steady rhythm again, and I decided to read a book. This time, I didn't know how long he would stay asleep. All I knew what that I had to be there when he awoke.


It's been about an hour and a half, and he was still passed out.  I removed the washcloth from his forehead, and he opened is eyes quickly, startling me just a bit. He looked like he was gonna be sick again.

"Do you feel nauseous?" I asked him quietly.

Before he could answer, he started gagging again and I picked up the bucket while sitting next to him and holding it up to his face. He cried a bit as he let it out, and I felt so bad for him.

"It's okay... you'll be alright," I comforted. I rubbed his back when he was finally done and put the bucket in the bathroom to dump out later. When I came back he was already laying back in my bed, but this time he was wide awake, just staring at me with those sad eyes of his.

I walked up to the bed and felt his forehead. It was a little warm, but he didn't have a fever. 

"How are you feeling?" I questioned worriedly.

He sighed,"My head h-hurts a lot, and so does my stomach," he croaked out.

"You just need to rest and maybe eat something."

He closed his eyes and nodded his head. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," I told him.

He looked scared when I said that and grasped my wrist. "Don't leave," he pleaded.

"Do you wanna come and lay on the couch?" 

When he nodded his head he sat up and tried standing up, but almost fell over.

I wrapped his arm around my neck while holding his body as I walked him over to my livingroom.

I laid him down softly and covered him with the same comforters from my bed. I brought some fluffy pillows from my bed as well and laid them behind his head and shoulders. He looked reaaaallllyyyy comfy.

I left to the kitchen (which is connected to my livingroom), opened my cabinets and brought out the ingredients needed for my homemade chicken soup.

After 30 minutes of it cooking, I poured some into a bowl, grabbed a spoon, and walked back over to him.

He was asleep, so I placed the soup on the coffee table next to him and shook him softly.

His eyes opened slowly, but weren't that sad anymore.

"Eat this, it'll make you feel better," I reassured him. He sat up and I handed him the bowl of soup and watched as he began to eat it slowly.

To lighten the mood, I turned on the tv and put the movie 'White Chicks" into the CD player.

10 minutes later he was done, and he placed the bowl on the coffee table.

"Thank you," he spoke. I smiled at him and helped him lay back down so he could continue to watch the rest of the movie. 

I was about to go and pull up another chair when I heard his fairly deep voice say,"Can you lay with me?"

He looked at me with begging eyes, and I thought of the possibilities of him doing something bad to me. He was vulnerable, it was completely obvious that he couldn't do anything.

So I laid on the inside of the couch and put my legs under the comforters. I wasn't expecting him to touch me at all.

But he snuggled his head into the crook of my neck and wrapped his arms firmly around my body.

He still had no shirt on.

Yet he was surprisingly comfy.


I wish I had a friend to call and talk about this after he left...

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