ripped jeans | hes

twelve

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rantipole (noun) - a wild, reckless young person

"You have to stay sober tonight."

"Huh?" Harry bowed his head so he could hear me better.

Harry, Aria, Niall, Liam, and I had just parked the SUV and were walking towards Luke's frat.

Luke's trap house was noticeably already overpopulated, red cups and clashing bodies littering the front lawn.

"You're taking Aria and I home." I whispered into his ear. "I need you to stay sober so you can drive."

"How about you stay sober while I get trashed? Take Niall's keys, drop me off at my place, and drive yourself home. I'll pick up Niall's whip in the morning."

I didn't understand why Harry would want to get 'trashed',  but I decided not to question it.

I laughed dryly at his offer. "I don't think so. You agreed that whenever I say we go home, we go home. If you get drunk tonight, I will never talk to you ever again."

"Fine, fine." Harry muttered. 

"Don't fuck this up." I said and he gave me a suspicious look.

"I'm getting so fucked up tonight!" Niall ran up behind us and wrapped his arms around Harry and I's shoulders, bringing us all closer together.

I could smell Niall's overly-masculine cologne, which smelt like stale wood and even staler whiskey.

I cringed at the physical closeness before finally relaxing, nudging myself into Niall and Harry's firm bodies for protection. I got an odd sense of safety from their masculine presence, like nobody could mess with me if I was with them.

"Good god, Niall. You get fucked up every night." Harry laughed as we entered the trap house.

As soon as we walked in, I could feel the flaring music's bass vibrate under my feet and travel straight into my bones. Sweating bodies mercilessly rubbed up against each other, some clutching full bottles of vodka and cans of beer.

It was hot. Too hot.

Harry and Niall began to lead me into the less-crowded kitchen, Aria and Liam trailing closely behind.

Niall and Harry pushed through countless masses of people, paving a very narrow path for Liam, Aria, and I.

Some partygoers, mainly male, would 'accidentally' brush up against my body as we walked by. I tried to turn around to curse them out, but Harry roughly pulled me along before I could lash out.

"Oy, Styles! My man!" Somebody shouted out for Harry, who cooly nodded his head in acknowledgement.

A few more people called out for Harry, some inviting him over for a drink and some even asking about who I was. Some people called out for Liam and Niall, who were happy to shout back.

It was nice to have the attention (kind of) on me.

Harry just kept his head high and ignored the people shouting for him, which seemed almost impossible. He seemed determined to get to the kitchen with no interruptions.

"Somebody's popular," I shouted over the booming music.

He shrugged lamely, not wanting to admit it.