Enemies || l.s.

1.2

"Yo, you put nutella in the cart?" Zayn asked Louis as they rode around the supermarket. "Cause that shit's the shit."

Louis continued pushing the cart, now trying extra hard because Zayn decided to plop his fat ass in the cart. He's never going on a grocery run with this dude again.

"No you fooking loosah," Louis breathed. Being high and pushing loads of groceries wasn't the best thing in the world. Especially since there's a human in the cart.

Zayn pouts. "But nutella is my baby." And continues to pout and act like a 5-year old. Of course, Louis rolls his eyes like the mother hen he is. It reminds him of times he took his little sisters grocery shopping, and they'd throw anything into the cart. He remembers countless times he's came into the store for eggs and bacon and ended up with ice cream and potato chips.

"Mommmyy," Zayn whines in the cart, tugging on Louis' sweater, earning many confusing looks from bystanders. Louis quickly pulls away, interrupted by his childish best friend.

"Don't call me mommy." Louis scolds him, earning a few weird glances from shoppers nearby.

"I can always call you daddy if you like," Zayn smirks, earning a slap in the face with a bag of mini donuts. He'll never let Zayn call him daddy. that's Harry's job, but he'll never say that shit out loud.

"Disgusting," Louis mutters as Zayn continues to laugh hysterically in the cart. He rolls his eyes, not noticing someone else's cart was parked right in front of them. Before both of them can notice, they bump head-on into the idle cart, sending Zayn and a few snacks tossing around in the cargo area.

"Dude, what the fu-"

"Calum?" Louis' eyes widen at the sight of the taller boy, who's now eyeing the other two with flour in his hands. At least, with one functional eye.

His whole face looks like it's still recovering from a fight, his lip still showing a deep cut that's not fully healed, his cheeks spotting some smaller bruises here and there, and a cut that spreads across his eyebrow. Louis can even see that some of his knuckles have deep cuts in them. If he fought, the person that was on the receiving end is probably more beat-up than Calum.

"Hey." Is all Calum says in the spur of the silence. It's really all that he wants to say, anyway.

"Damn, you look like shit." Zayn gawks at the kid.

"No shit, Sherlock. I've been out of school for a week now." Calum seethes, turning away from the pair. He grabs another item from the shelf, and tosses it into his cart before moving away.

"Wait," Louis lays a hand on his arm to stop him. "Who did this?"

Calum's jaw twitches as he stares off into the distance, his grip on the cart tightening, and muscles bulging through his black tee.

"Ask Harry that question."

And without another word, he moves out of Louis' grip to another isle.

What the fuck happen on Friday?

-------

Ask Harry that question. What is that supposed to mean?

The phrase rings about his head, and bounces off the walls of his brain as he drives home. The streetlights become a blur to him, his body already knows the route to Zayn's house by heart. But he just can't seem to wrap his head around what Calum said.

Ask Harry that question.

"I'll take the bags inside, you look high as the fucking clouds." Louis mutters as he pulls into the driveway. Zayn mutters a sound of appreciation around a bag of chips, as Louis pops the truck for access to the groceries. Carrying all ten bags on his arms, he makes his way to the door, saying hi to Zayn's mom, Trisha, who's watering the plants, and tending to her small garden.