Perfect (L.S)

8.

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"You should've known I don't give head out for free." Harry said, brushing a string off of his sweater. He yanked it back from Louis after Mr. Fleming left.

"Oh, fuck off." He hissed. He was somewhat bitter after Harry pulled away from him. "Got me hard, for what?"

"To play with you, sweetcheeks." He giggled and sat back in his chair. He fastened his seatbelt. It was a cream coloured, silky-soft belt that matched the theme of the entire plane. "You're straight anyways, you wouldn't like it."

"You said if you didn't swallow, then it wasn't gay." Harry didn't reply, so Louis continued. "Your excuses are shit."

Harry huffed and crossed his arms, "you didn't want to do it in the first place."

"Well, now you got me excited." Harry motioned to the seatbelt sign that had flashed on. He sighed and took a seat next to Harry. Putting on his belt, he continued. "You're a piece of shit, Harry, you know that?"

"Just like you, sweetie." He smiled sarcastically.

"Hand the vodka." He extended a hand, expectantly opening and closing his hand. Instead of handing the vodka, he handed him a barf bag. He looked at it, surprised. "What the fuck is this for?"

"Hangover."

"Well, I'm not hungover yet. So hand the fucking tequila." He threw the barf bag. It landed in the corner of the cubicle, flat on its front. "Well?"

"You had it all, you fuck." Harry replied.

"No, I didn't!" Louis yelled a little too loudly. Harry flinched at the loud noise. He held his ears, closed his eyes and lowered his head for half a second. His ears are really sensitive to pretty much anything, obviously.

"Yes? It's all gone, idiot." He held up the empty bottle. "You chugged it as soon as Mr. Fleming left."

"Oh." Louis let out.

"Dumbass." Harry rolled his eyes. Getting out of his seat, he opened his suitcase and pulled out a plastic bag. He put the empty bottle in the bag.

"Listen, you piece of shit. I'm really fucking tired of you and having to listen to you speaking to me like that." Louis pushed him out of the way, crossing his arms as he sat in his seat.

"What is your fucking problem? You switched up on me in less than a second." Harry kicked Louis' seat.

"Fuck the hell off, man. I can't believe I'm stuck with you for a week. I need more alcohol." He extended a hand.

"Too bad, 'cause I'm in the same boat." Harry snarled at him.

"Well, just hand me something. Be fuckin' useful for once." Louis sighed, pushing his head back against his seat. Harry pressed his fingers frustratingly against his temple.

"Listen, Tomlinson, why don't you get some shit yourself? The bag is right there. I'm not your mummy." Wrapping his fingers around the string handles of his tote, Harry threw the bag at Louis. The wind knocked out Louis' chest when he took the blow.

Louis stared at him blankly. "Do you really think my mum'd give me alcohol, you dipshit?"

"It's a figure of speech. You'd know that if you'd actually know what a dictionary is." He returned the same expression to Louis. They were so similar in points of anger, that at one point, Harry thought he was looking into a mirror. Yet the person in the mirror was a lot... shorter.