“Hey twat, toss me my jacket, will you?”
Louis paused by the coat rack on his way out the door. He wasn’t sure what he had expected after Harry’s breakdown the other day — would everything change? would they be tolerant of each other now? — but he should have known it would go right back to how it had been before. Harry was being, as always, a complete dick.
He smacked Louis’ ass while he was in the kitchen, he took the remote for the television out of his hands and turned the channel, he ate the last of the bread and didn’t bother to tell him; all of the little things that bothered a Louis to no end.
The worst part was, it didn’t go back to the way it had been the day before the breakdown, or even the way it was a few days before the breakdown. Harry’s attitude had somehow morphed all the way back to what it had been like right when the whole ordeal started. He was possessive, and rude, and inconsiderate, and it made Louis want to scream and pull his hair out.
He wasn’t sure he liked the vulnerable Harry he had seen on the anniversary of the death of his father, but he didn’t like this asshole he was forced to live with either. And while he knew he didn’t like either of those versions of Harry, and knew he didn’t like Harry at all, that seemed to be just about all he knew where emotions were involved. His mind was constantly reeling, even when Harry was a prat, he could feel more emotions running through him than pure hatred and annoyance like before. It was tainted with something… warmer. Not hotter, per say, but warmer. He would get flickers of things he had never felt before, and it scared him shitless. He couldn’t stand the thought of being so clueless and vulnerable around the one person who made him that way, and the one person most likely to take advantage of it.
“Here,” he grumbled, throwing the coat to Harry’s outstretched hand with a scowl.
“Unbunch your face there, sweetcheeks, you’re gonna get wrinkles.” Harry smirked, slipping his arms through his sleeves and adjusting the collar of the coat around his neck. “Though, if you need help with the wrinkles, I know of a pretty easy solution.”
He lifted his eyebrows and swept past Louis and outside. Louis glared after him, closing the door and locking it before following behind.
“Oh yeah?” He said, his tone mocking and dripping with evident sarcasm.
“Oh yeah.” Harry lifted his eyebrows in false innocence and blinked twice. “I hear spunk does wonders for the skin, no wonder you’re looking so youthful.”
“Fuck off, Styles.” He climbed up into the passengers side of Harry’s Range Rover, pulling his seat belt over him and clicking it closed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out the window.
“Aww, I knew you’d care about the wrinkles,” Harry’s face was innocent and malevolant at the same time. Louis wasn’t sure how he managed, but it was Harry Styles, after all, the world’s biggest douche bag. “And if you insist, babe.”
Louis rolled his eyes as Harry made a show of unbuttoning his pants, and shifted his body further away to face the window.
“Don’t be so pissy,” Harry said, starting the car with a turn of the key.
“I’m not being pissy,” he grumbled.
“Louis, you’re crossing your arms, grumbling, and refusing to look at me. Pretty sure that’s the definition of pissy.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re the definition of prick and I try not to associate with them.”
“We’re fucking, Louis. I think it’s safe to say that’s more than ‘association’.”
