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You're An Asshole (But I Love You)

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It’s 10:15 in the morning and Harry is fucking late. He’s never been late to any of his lectures, especially psychology, the degree he’s supposed to major in.

And he wouldn’t be late if it weren’t for Liam, his annoying roommate and his newest conquest Sarah, or Sophia, or whatever her name was – they never stuck around long enough for Liam to actually properly introduce them to Harry.

Harry’s alarm always rings at eight am sharp, so that he can take a shower, dress up, and have time to walk to the nearest coffee shop (which is ironically Starbucks) two blocks away in order to have some breakfast before his 10 am classes.

Unfortunately, it so happened that Liam decided to bring back his new ‘friend’ at two in the morning and bang her brains out so hard that she wouldn’t stop moaning and screaming, causing Harry to stuff a pillow over his face. Once he realized that the pillow didn’t really help muffle the screams, he decided that the next best thing was to suffocate himself with it.

Long story short, he fell asleep around four in the morning and didn’t hear the alarm, so he woke up at half past nine and didn’t even get the time to have a nice breakfast before rushing to a class he would be late for anyways.

Harry can barely breathe as he takes two steps at a time to get to his lecture hall. He opens the door too loudly and slams it against the wall, which has everyone in the lecture hall turn around to stare at him.

He can image how he must look: disheveled hair, laptop bag hanging around his neck, and his plaid shirt buttoned only halfway up. He plants a smile on his face as he apologizes to Mr. Winston and quickly walks down the steps to get to his seat.

Harry isn’t even surprised to see none other than Louis Tomlinson, president of the Alpha Beta Zeta (ABZ for short) fraternity, lounging in his seat.

Who did he think he was, taking Harry’s unassigned seat that had obviously been his since last year when he first sat down?

At first Harry isn’t sure if Louis even noticed him coming in and now embarrassingly standing next to him. But then he sees the mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth, so he angrily taps his foot against the floor and crosses his arms.

“Excuse me? I believe you’re in my seat.”

“Your seat, is it?” Louis asks and turns his head to look up at Harry.

“Yes.” Harry answers, dropping the volume of his voice since Mr. Winston has continued with his lesson.

“I don’t see your name on it. And we’re not in preschool anymore, are we?”

Harry can feel all his neurons slipping away because of how utterly stupid and annoying Louis Tomlinson can be.

“We’re not, but it looks like your height still is.”

Louis' chiseled jaw clenches and Harry knows he’s hit a soft spot. If there was one thing Harry knew Louis couldn’t handle, it was when people made observations and comments about his ‘masculinity’.

His eyes fall on the empty seat next to Louis’ that used to be Niall’s but it seems like he didn’t bother showing up today, so Harry excuses himself and tries squeezing in the space between Louis’ knees and the seat, before he drops down in Niall’s seat.

Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve sat down in Louis’ seat, which is exactly behind Harry’s. Well, it was too late now, so Harry pulls out his laptop and turns it on. He’s about to ask Louis to let him copy his notes (something he would’ve never done if he wasn't in a crisis), but then he realizes that Louis is playing Call Of Duty, completely ignoring Mr. Winston. Great.

Harry begins to copy all the notes he can see written on the giant whiteboard about the human brain in astounding details. As he does that, his brain can’t help but wonder to how he came to know the specimen that is Louis Tomlinson.

It all started last year, right when Harry set foot in his psychology 101 lecture hall. He chose the seat right by the aisle, in the second row from the back, quite far away from the professor.

What he didn’t really know at the time was that the cute guy with the soft fringe and sharp jaw who was sitting behind him was actually a 5 foot 7 ball of energy during lectures, with a high pitched Yorkshire accent, who wouldn’t let Harry properly pay attention and actually learn something.

Harry didn’t learn Louis’ name or who he actually was until the second month of his freshman year when his roommate Liam invited Harry to the first official soccer game of the season. By then he already hated the guy who sat behind him in psychology with a passion. So when he spotted the guy in a pair of white footie shorts and a black bandana around his bicep, Harry knew someone must be playing a joke on him, because this guy was everywhere Harry turned and it seemed like he couldn’t get away from him even if he tried.

When he turned around, Harry’s eyes fell on the - quite obvious - round bum his shorts accentuated, and then on his shirt, which was encrypted with ‘TOMLINSON 17’.

That first game was also the day he properly met Barbara Palvin, a girl he knew from his Social Psychology class. She was proudly sporting a ‘HORAN 9’ shirt and kept waving at Niall, the blonde Irish guy who sat next to Harry in Psych 101.

“Are you his girlfriend?” Harry asked, trying to make idle conversation with her. He hadn’t really had the time to make any friends except for Liam and Zayn, the guy who works with Harry three nights out of seven at the diner a few blocks away from their university.

“Niall’s?” the girl had replied, not really fazed by Harry’s sudden question.

Harry nodded and the girl mirrored his action. “I’m Barbara Palvin, by the way.”

“Harry. Styles.”

“From England, right?” she laughed, and Harry envied her perfectly white teeth. They kept the conversation going throughout the game and Harry learned that she was majoring in sociology, together with her best friend and also roommate Eleanor Calder, whoever that was.

After the game, Barbara invited Harry to the victory party that was going to take place at the ABZ house, which was, apparently, ‘the frat house that threw the most epic parties on campus’.

Liam also invited so there wasn’t anything else Harry could do other than accept. It was Friday and if Harry wanted to have some friends in the upcoming four years of his college life, he had to go.

The frat house was a huge Victorian type building with the Greek letters sprayed on a sheet and hung from a balcony that was right above the entryway.

The entire front lawn was chaotic; there were empty beer cans, alcohol bottles and red or blue cups scattered all over the grass. The music could be heard from two blocks away and the lights kept changing every five seconds.

Barbara (sort of) introduced him to the train wreck that was Louis Tomlinson. Harry was out on the back porch smoking a cigarette and talking to a senior in his Social Psych class named Nick when Barbara came looking for him to ask for help. The party was barely three hours in, but Niall was already drunk off his mind, and she couldn’t carry him upstairs to his bed alone.

“I couldn’t find anyone else sober enough to help me. Thank you so much.” She told him once Harry picked the boy up from the island counter, putting one of Niall’s arms around Barbara’s neck, and the other one around his.

“His room is the second one on the left. That one.”

Harry didn’t hesitate to open the door, he didn’t even bother to knock before he opened the door. Which. Okay. Turned out to be a huge mistake.

Tomlinson and a brunette girl were on the bed, and she was unashamedly sucking him off.

“Jesus.” Harry said as soon as he laid eyes on them. The brunette was startled and nearly choked as she sat up, and Tomlinson covered himself with the duvet that was bunched at their feet.

“What the fuck?” he asked. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“Don’t you know how to lock a door?” Harry replied.

The guy threw him a death glare.

“As much as I hate to interrupt you guys, Niall is pissed and I’d like to lay him down on his bed. Don’t you have your own room, Mr. Vice president?”

“I do, but Zayn’s occupied that one. Liam’s using his.”

“Great.” The brunette mumbled and rolled over to retrieve her dress.

Harry waited for the guy to put his boxers on under the covers before he got out of bed and properly dressed up, not bothering to hide his obvious erection.

The two of them cleared the room quickly, and Harry was left with Barbara to tuck Niall in and turn him on his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit the next morning.

“Thank you for helping.”

“Who were those two?” Harry asked her as they closed the door and began walking down the stairs.

“My best friend Eleanor and her fuck buddy Louis. He’s the footie captain.”

“Right. He’s a menace.”

“He is annoying sometimes, always tries to be the clown.”

“He’s not a freshman, is he?”

“No, he’s a junior. Turns twenty one in December.”

“Oh. Doesn’t look like it.”

“Doesn’t act like it, more like.” Barbara laughed and Harry joined in.

That was the first day of many more to come that Harry got the pleasure (note the sarcasm) to socialize with Louis Tomlinson, who then would end up playing numerous pranks on Harry, accidentally kicking his seat during lectures because he couldn’t find a comfortable position, and throwing up on him twice out of the many times he took care of him at parties while he was piss drunk.

He has no idea why he helps Louis though. But Harry is the kind of person who is nice to the people he doesn’t really tolerate if they really need help.

“Honestly, if you don’t even care about this lecture why do you bother showing up?” Harry whispers to him when he can’t take the sound of Louis’ fingers hitting the keyboard anymore.

“Because I like getting on your nerves, that’s why.” Louis replies. “And if I don’t show up to at least three lectures a week I won’t get enough credits.”

“You’re studying to become a drama teacher. Why do you even need psychology?”

“I don’t even know.” Louis mumbles and returns to his game, which means that he’s done talking to Harry, who sighs and turns his head back to the professor.

The lecture ends only fifty minutes later, and Harry’s stomach is growling from the lack of nutrition in the past ten hours.

He gets up and closes the laptop, sliding it in the bag that was already on his shoulder. Louis does the same, except he doesn’t have a bag; he just holds his laptop in his freakishly tiny hands as he walks up the last two steps to leave the hall.

Harry is so eager to leave and run to the nearest coffee shop to get breakfast that he doesn’t even hear Mr. Winston call out his name.

He finds Barbara and Niall at Starbucks, so he orders an Iced Coffee and a muffin before he goes to their table and joins them with a smile.

“Why weren’t you in class today?” Harry asks Niall right after he takes a sip from his coffee.

“Didn’t wake up this morning.” He answers and throws Barbara a wink. She laughs and Harry shakes his head with a smile. He always liked Barbara and Niall as a couple a lot more than he likes Louis and Eleanor. He doesn’t even know if they’re together, considering he sees Louis doesn’t really seem that interested in her.

“So there’s a party at the frat house this Friday.”

“Halloween party?”

“We decided to turn the Halloween parties into normal parties ever since Louis dressed up as Adam but without the leaves around his crotch last year.”

“Yeah, he got really drunk last year, didn’t he?” Barbara laughs.

“He always gets drunk.” Harry adds. “’s quite trashy. Always hooks up with the toilet.”

“The man loves to drink, cut him some slack.” Niall tells him.

Harry knows he doesn’t have the best alcohol tolerance (that is if he has any at all) because he learned it the hard way when he was fifteen, at his first party that actually had something other than beer. He ended up with the head in the toilet that night and since then he stopped drinking more than he knew he could take.

“We’re collecting ten bucks from each person attending for alcohol, because Coach said he’s never going to let the club pay for our parties anymore since that victory party incident.”

Harry remembers the victory party incident, when the players got so drunk they broke a window and almost set the frat house on fire.

“Alright.” Harry agrees and puts a ten-dollar bill on the table, even though he’s probably not going to consume that much alcohol. “At nine as per usual?”

Niall nods and takes the money, then puts it in his wallet.

“Can’t wait for Friday.” He says and then calls up one of the pledges to get Louis and then come pick him up so they could go and buy some alcohol for the party.

On Wednesdays there’s always the same middle-aged lady at the second checkout counter who’s absolutely infatuated with Louis for some reason, or so Harry’s heard. That’s how they can always buy alcohol with no stress whatsoever.

Harry checks his watch and realizes that he should really get going if he wants to finish up the paper that’s due tomorrow and get to his 2pm lecture in time.

“Shit, I really have to go but I’ll see you later. Bye.”

Barbara smiles at him and Niall shakes his hand as he yells at the pledge over the phone. Harry hurries back to his dorm, and he’s not at all surprised when he walks in on Liam and Eleanor making out on his bed, nearly naked.


Louis throws his MacBook on his bed as soon as he gets back to the house from the exhausting 10am lecture, and then lets himself fall next to it, face-first.

He lets out a loud groan into the sheets as he decides to lay there until he dies of starvation. Maybe then he’d get out of taking the midterm. Winston probably wouldn’t give him a break even if he were dead.

There’s a knock on his door and then Zayn enters the room without waiting for an answer. He’s dressed in just a pair of sweats, which means that he doesn’t intend on attending any classes today.

Louis likes Zayn because he’s an art major who decided to join the soccer team just for fun and an excuse to get out of unwanted classes.

If he has to be honest, Louis partially joined the team for the same reason. They obviously weren’t as big as the football team, but they were a close second and it was always full when they played a home match.

“Got a mo’?” Zayn asks and sits down next to Louis on the bed, taking out a small silver box out of his trackies.

Louis immediately turns on his back and sits up.

“You always know how to cheer me up.”

Zayn winks at him, and then opens the box that contains one regular sized joint they could probably smoke up in, like, twenty minutes without interruptions.

“When’s our next checkup?” Louis asks while Zayn lights up the joint.

“In December, I think. Don’t worry.”

Louis waits for him to take two long drags and then takes the spliff from Zayn’s fingers. He likes it when his best friend comes into his room to calm him down. It’s like he knows when Louis feels like shit or has a bad day, because he’s always there to listen to his problems. Well, not really listen. More like smoke so much Louis forgets about them.

But it works this way.

Sometimes Louis doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him, why he has bad days for no reason at all. Deep down he knows, but he doesn’t want to admit it to anyone, not even himself. So he sweeps everything under the rug, then sits down on the hypothetical rug, lights up a joint and takes three, maybe ten shots of Vodka until he forgets about it.

It always works.

“You know that new sorority girl that transferred from England? Brunette?” Zayn starts, and Louis already knows what Zayn wants to tell him.

“What’s her name?”

“Sophia S-something.”

“I think Liam took her home last night. That’s what Eleanor told me. Looks good in bed, though.”

“You’re with Eleanor.”

“Oh. Right.”

Sometimes Louis forgets he’s supposed to have a girlfriend. Ever since he’s been little he’s had commitment issues. Maybe it was because of the numerous dads in his life that always came but never stayed, or because he just doesn’t feel romantically attracted to anyone. Ever.

He’s about to say something else, but his phone rings so he passes the joint back to Zayn and picks it up.


“Hey Tommo, Josh here. Listen, Niall asked me to inform you that we’re going over to Walmart in a few hours to get drinks for the party on Friday. We have about seven hundred bucks, do you think you could collect from fifteen more people until seven? I’m on my way to the sorority house.”

“Yeah, sure. See you then.”


Louis hangs up without saying anything else, suddenly looking forward to a night of getting completely smashed.


Harry’s Labor Law class is from five to six thirty on Wednesday’s, so as soon as he gets out he receives a text from Liam.

Liam Payne: hey can u drop @ Walmart quick we r out of toilet ppr thx also id rlly appreciate if you didn’t tell any1 abt what u saw :)

Harry rolls his eyes. As much as he hates Louis Tomlinson, he’s never tolerated cheating. But Liam is his friend so he’s going to keep quiet. For now. If it happens again, he’ll probably tell Louis. No one deserves to be cheated on, no matter how shitty of a person they are.

So he writes back to Liam quickly as he starts walking towards the bus station.

Don’t worry :)

He enters Walmart, grabs a small basket, and then goes off to buy toilet paper and food. As soon as he reaches the beverages section, his eyes fall on three frat boys and a pledge, who seem to be occupied with putting two bottles of each type of alcoholic beverage in the cart.

Harry’s just about to walk past unnoticed, but Niall spots him and shouts after him. He turns around with a smile plastered on his face and his eyes fall on Louis immediately because he’s smiling at him, but it only annoys Harry.

“We’ve got money for one more bottle, what d’you think? Vodka or Jäger?” Niall asks holding the two bottles up. Their cart is already full and the pledge looks confused and scared at the same time because of the amount.

“Um… Jäger, I guess?”

Harry knows he’s a bit awkward because he’s looking at Louis while responding to Niall, but he can’t take his eyes off of his scruff.

“You alright, mate?” Louis asks, and that breaks Harry’s probably creepy stare.

“Yeah. Sorry. I must’ve… zoned out for a minute.”

“Sure.” Louis laughs, before he turns to Niall and grips into the cart. “I’m going to head to checkout. You lads can stay and chat all you want, but I need you in ten minutes by the car because I’m not unloading these myself.”

“Well, you’re going to drink half of it.” Harry tells him and Louis just flips him off as he walks away, pushing the giant cart (it’s not that big, but maybe Louis is just tiny) in front of him.

When Harry reaches the checkout counter, the boys are already loading up a black Range Rover while loudly talking and laughing.

As he walks by them he makes eye contact with Louis, who throws him a fake smile.

Harry already knows that he’ll end up taking care of Louis and putting him to bed in less than forty-eight hours. He always does.


Thursday and the first nineteen hours of Friday pass by in a blur for Harry. After sitting through three ninety-minute lectures he has a four-hour shift at the restaurant with Zayn, from five to nine. He’s planning on arriving at the party around ten. The parties usually start at nine, but everyone always shows up at least an hour later. It’s like a code.

When he gets home he takes a quick shower, puts on a Rolling Stones shirt and a pair of tight black jeans, before he waits for Liam’s new girl (whose name was Sophia, Harry learned) to finally get her makeup done so they could go.

Their dorm building is a two-minute walk away from the frat house, so they decide to walk there, even though it’s not that warm outside and Sophia has really high heels that make her a bit taller than Liam.

The music can be heard from a block away, and judging by the Snoop Dogg song that’s currently playing, Harry already knows Louis is picking out the music.

The front doors are wide open – probably the reason the music can be heard from space. The house is packed with people Harry knows only because he sees them around often (and some personally), and the majority of them already have a red cup in hand or someone attached to their mouths.

Once Harry reaches the living room he loses Liam and Sophia, but finds Barbara at the bar in the kitchen, pouring herself a shot of Vodka.

Harry hates Vodka. It’s the one thing he isn’t able to drink. One shot is all it takes for his insides to turn upside-down.

“Harry! Do a shot with me!” she yells so he can hear her over the music.

Harry nods because he’s way too polite to deny her, so he grabs an almost empty bottle of Jägermeister and pours himself a shot.

“Cheers!” they say at the same time, and then down the shots in the split of a second.

The alcohol burns Harry’s tongue and throat, but he likes it, so he does another shot with her. And another one. With three shots already in his system, he decides that he wants to dance because Avicii is playing and Harry actually wants to have a good time.

Barbara guides him into the living room where most of the dancing is going on, and she begins to dance, but Harry is too busy looking at Louis, who’s currently chatting to Nick, one of Harry’s good friends and former students at FSU.

He’s a DJ at a breakfast radio show in Miami now, but he occasionally visits his old campus and attends games. Harry has no idea why Louis is talking to him, because just a year earlier he was the one completely trash-talking Nick.

Once Barbara finds a new dancing partner – Eleanor – Harry heads over to the DJ booth, where Louis and Nick seem to really hit it off.

When he gets there, however, it’s clear to him that there isn’t much bonding going on as much as witty lines and smart comebacks.

“What’s going on?” Harry asks and steps next to Nick, who turns around to greet him.

“Harold! Great to see you! I was just explaining to Mr. Captain how mixing Vodka and Gin isn’t good for his footballer lungs. Or for his health.”

Louis rolls his eyes.

“He came and asked for you but I couldn’t find you-“

“He told me to stay away from you because you’re way too young for me.”

“You’re twenty fucking five years old!” Louis exclaims and Harry knows, judging by the way he speaks, that he’s already tipsy. He eyes the red cup in his hand, and after a bit of concentration he figures out it’s Vodka mixed with Gin as Nick had said.

“And you’re almost twenty one.” Nick shoots back.

“Yet you both argue like you’re three.”

“Well then. I’ll leave you two alone. Got some catching up to do.” Louis finally says, sarcasm dripping off his tongue, before he turns around and heads to the kitchen.

“That guy” Nick points in the direction Louis went “has a serious drinking problem.”

“I know.”

“How has his liver not given up on him yet?”

“He’s English.”

“Well you’re English and you puke after four shots of Tequila.”

“That was one time!” Harry protests. “And I mixed alcohol with weed.”

Nick rolls his eyes and places his cup on the table where the laptop is propped up.

“Let’s go outside.”


Nick sighs loudly and pulls out a small box, making Harry understand what he’s planning on.

“Fine. But just one hit for me. I already drank three shots.”

“Four’s your limit so you’ll be alright.”

They make their way through the mass of sweaty bodies until they reach the back porch, where more people are apparently sharing a joint. Zayn and Niall are there, but Liam is still missing, probably off somewhere with Sophia. Or Eleanor.

Nick lights up the joint, takes two drags, and then passes it to Harry who only takes one drag before passing it back.

“Come on now, don’t be a pussy.”

Harry crosses his arms and stares at Nick, annoyed. He’s in the mood of making out with someone, he always is at these kind of parties, but he never finds anyone. Well, there are a lot of girls who flirt with him and try to get him upstairs, but they’re not Harry’s type. Girls aren’t Harry’s type period.

He used to hook up with Nick at parties in his freshman year. That’s probably why Louis sometimes calls Nick a pedophile.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not smiling.”

“Yeah, you are. Quite fondly.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Shut up and pass me the joint.”

“Oooh, bossy now, are we?”

Harry takes the spliff and takes two long drags, but doesn’t pass it over. He’s about to take the joint back to his lips when he’s distracted by the door loudly banging against the wall and Louis coming out of the house.

Harry knows he’s drunk before he even hears him talk. He realizes it when he sees his glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, and also from the way he’s holding the almost empty red cup.

“What’s going on here?” he slurs and grips into the banister to hold himself up. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Because you’re drunk off your arse and can’t form a proper sentence.” Nick answers.

Harry throws him a warning look. Louis tends to be in one of three moods every time he’s drunk.

There’s the hyper mood, where he’ll just jump around and dance even if it’s not in sync with the beat or any music playing at all.

Then there’s the horny mood, where he’ll just go up to anyone and feel them up, kiss their cheeks and ask them to follow him upstairs. He propositioned to Harry about five times up until now, but Harry was always kind enough to deny him. (Whether Harry wanted to actually accept Louis’ offer or not, that’s something only he has to know.)

And there’s the mood Louis is currently in; the one where everyone is his enemy and if someone just as much as picks on him, he goes off and tries to fight them.

“What did you just say to me, you old pedophile?”

Louis can’t even make a step in Nick’s direction because he’s wobbly on his feet and Zayn has to grab his arm.

“How about we take you upstairs, huh?” Zayn suggests but Louis pulls his arm out of his grip.

“Fuck you. I don’t need to sleep.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Do you have a problem with me?”


“I’ll take care of it.” Harry says and hands the joint back to Nick.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Harry sighs and locks his fingers around Louis’ wrist, but it’s clear enough that Louis can’t even walk properly.

“I’ll help you get him upstairs.” Zayn offers and Harry is glad that he doesn’t have to do this by himself again.

So they each put one arm around Louis and guide him inside, where the music is way too loud and the people are way too drunk.

Who invented frat parties? Harry wonders as they elbow their way through the people in the living room and finally reach the stairs.


Zayn turns around to see Barbara walking towards them.

“There’s a cop at the door wanting to talk to the president of the fraternity about a noise complaint.”


He turns to Harry.

“Take Louis upstairs and put him to bed. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

Harry nods and once Zayn leaves, Louis’ entire bodyweight leans against him. He’s not even that heavy, so Harry decides to swoop him up and carry him bridal style until they reach his bedroom.

He lets Louis down on his own feet when he reaches his room at the end of the hallway, but when he opens the door he sees Liam in bed with not only Sophia, but also Eleanor.

Don’t you have any shame? Doing this with Louis’ girlfriend in his bed? Harry wants to ask, but doesn’t.

“I’m going to need the room right now.” He says, a lot harsher than intended, but they deserve it.

Three minutes later, the three of them clear the room and Liam’s face turns pale when he sees Louis sitting down on the floor, leaning against the wall. He must’ve slid down while Harry was talking to them.

“Don’t worry, he’s completely pissed. But he’ll find out eventually.”

Liam leaves then, so Harry bends down to pick Louis up and carry him inside. He puts him down on the bed and turns him on his side.

He leaves him like that to go to the bathroom and get a wet towel to wipe his forehead, but when he comes back Louis is on his back with his shirt off and eyes half open.

“Was that Liam with Eleanor?” Louis slowly asks.

“Um. Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” He hiccups. “I knew she was sleeping with other guys.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Nah, I don’t care about her. I don’t care about anyone.”

“Okay. Well, um- here. I brought you a wet towel.”

“For what?” Louis dumbly asks and doesn’t even sit up so Harry can press it against his forehead.

Harry sits down next to him and does just that. He read a while ago (when he got so drunk he felt like he could die) that pressing a cold, wet towel against your forehead decreases your dizziness. Also, running your wrists under cold water. That’s how most of rituals with drunk Louis play out.

(“Thanks.” Louis would always say.

“Sure.” Harry would respond.)


Harry nods and places his hands in his lap as he watches Louis close his eyes. He usually goes through his phone and responds to messages from his sister or retweets something while he waits for Louis to fall asleep.

It looks like Louis isn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon, though, based on the erratic way he’s breathing.

“Am I pathetic?”

Harry looks up at him, for Louis to stare straight into his eyes.

“Uh… not really.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

“A bit. Everyone gets drunk, don’t worry about it.”

Why is he even trying to make him feel better?

“Yeah, but I drink and smoke every day. That’s more than everyone.”

Harry shrugs.

“You can do what you like.”

“Who says I like it?”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Oh, we're not close enough for me to tell you that, Styles.”

Harry dumbly leans in, closer to him, until he can smell the Vodka on Louis’ shaky breath.

“Not like that, you idiot. We’re not friends. Why would I tell you?”

“We’re not friends, but I’ve been taking care of you for a year now. You owe me at least a reasonable explanation.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“But you need it.”

Louis rolls his eyes and turns on his side with his back to Harry. The towel falls from his forehead.

Harry doesn’t even bother putting it back before he gets up and leaves the room, without turning off the light or looking back. Unlike usual.