Could you be any louder?

chapter 3

"I can never do anything right, can I?" Harry snaps, as he throws his magazine on the sofa, where he'd been reading earlier.

"For gods sake Harry," Louis sighs, leaning against the counter, warming his hands with his cup of tea. "I just asked you to not leave your art in the hallway again, because I fucking tripped over it. No need to get all worked up."

He watches how Harry stands up, shoulders tight, and he feels his eyes on him but he doesn't dare to meet them. Instead he looks down at his hands, peeling a little bit on the skin of them.

He does know he over-exaggerated a little just now, when he almost reprimanded Harry on how he tripped over his stuff. But to be fair, it's happened thrice now.

"It's not 'just' this or 'just' that. You've been fucking parenting me lately and it's getting really fucking annoying. We live here together, both as adults, remember?" Harry bites, slowly making his way over to Louis, causing him to look at Harry again.

"Well I'm sorry for not wanting to break my fucking neck every time I come home from something." Louis shrugs, studying Harry's face. He studies the frown between his dark brows, his plump lips now in an angry thin line.

Louis knows he is purposely over-exaggerating all of this, but he can't stop. Not when this is the reaction he gets out of Harry. He just really is in the mood to make someone lose his mind today.

Harry scoffs, gesturing between Louis and himself as he squints. "You and I both know I never put stuff outside of my room."

"Well, there was something in the fucking hallway just yet, wasn't there?"

"Oh shut the fuck up." Harry spits out, his eyes frantically searching for a bit of sympathy in Louis' face. "Why don't you just go lock yourself in your room again already if you're gonna be this fucking irritated all the time."

Oh?

Louis has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at the last remark, his lips spreading into a slight—dangerously fake—grin instead as he continues holding Harry's stare.

"You aren't my fucking dad okay? So stop acting like you are." Harry breathes out, his face showing defeat.

"Oh yeah?" He inches closer to Harry's face, the remains of his devilish grin still lingering on his lips. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You don't do well with people telling you what to do, do you?"

"Louis." Harry warns, his brows furrowed.

"You hate it when people tell you what to do because it reminds you of your own fucking dad, doesn't it?" He sneers, venom dripping from his tongue. "You hate it because daddy used to get mad at you when you didn't do as he said, right?"

To be honest, Louis doesn't even fully understand why he is doing what he's doing right now. He just really wants to hurt someone, just to get the sharp edges off of his day, and unfortunately for Harry, its him. And he knows exactly how to use the part that'll hurt the most.

"Louis, please." Harry asks, almost pleadingly.

"You act all out like this now, with your lifestyle, because daddy said you couldn't, didn't he?"

"Louis." The desperate tone making Louis aware he struck a nerve.

"Louis?" Harry asks again, his voice cold, his eyes scanning every feature of him. "Fuck you. Literally fuck you for acting like we were becoming friends and then using everything against me. I thought you were better than that."

Louis finally rips his eyes away from Harry's. The pain in his eyes almost becoming unbearable to look at. Fuck.

"What?" He snaps, an uneasy feeling playing up in his stomach. "Don't you dare turn this against me, you literally were the one to get mad when I said something about putting away your art somewhere else."