#i hate you fic
#larry stylinson
#lourry
It was dark when the five boys left the restaurant, the sun having set roughly an hour prior to their departure. They wandered into the car park, all with full bellies and light hearts as they messed around. It was mostly empty in the covered lot, only a smattering of people walking to their cars after a night out. They boys went mostly unnoticed, and not noticing others themselves, too wrapped up in each other. Their boisterous conversation covered up the sounds of a camera, the soft click sounding quietly from behind cars as the lone pap followed them stealthily on their way to the car.
A group of boys stood, leaning against a car not too far away from Harry’s own. Clearly inhibited, the group shouted and laughed as the One Direction boys approached, one of them even moving forward for a closer look.
“Hey, hey, hey, look what we have here: One Direction’s resident faggot,” a nasty sneer curved on the boy’s face, his eyes glinting in the darkness of the parking lot. His friends laughed cruelly around him, faces hidden by the shadow cast by their hoodies.
Louis rolled his eyes, fighting the blush that was rising in his cheeks, and continued walking. Harry, next to him, stopped, turning slowly to face the gang behind them. The other boys paused once they realized Harry was lagging behind, confused looks on their faces as they watched their friend.
“Excuse me?” Harry’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes holding the gaze of the boy who had spoken, “What did you just call him?”
“Oh, I forgot,” the boy grinned without humor, eyes dancing with malicious intent, “you two are butt buddies. You like making him scream? I bet he’s a right tiger, isn’t he?”
“Shut up,” Harry growled, his hands curling into fists at his sides, “You don’t get to talk about him like that.”
“Sweet,” the boy simpered sarcastically, batting his eyelashes in a poor imitation of adoration, “protecting his boyfriend’s honor. Get me a bucket.”
“He’s got more honor than you,” Harry retorted, eyes shimmering with repressed fury, “only woman that’ll ever love you is your mother—and I’d be willing to bet my house that even she’s rejected your ugly mug.”
“Don’t talk about my mother,” the boy snarled, and Harry took a quiet moment to relish the small victory—it seemed he’d struck a chord, “let’s be honest here—he can’t get a woman, can he? Your little boyfriend? He’s a cock-sucking faggot, no woman would want him.”
“I told you not to talk about him like that,” Harry ground out, unable to stop himself this time as his fist swung out and landed squarely on the boy’s jaw. The crack echoed ominously off the walls of the car park, all the boys in the room stunned by Harry’s actions. The boy spat at Louis’ feet, leering nastily as he wiped blood off his face.
“You must be one hell of a fuck,” he commented, almost conversationally. In that moment, Harry saw red, lunging at the boy and knocking him to the dirty pavement. They struggled for a moment, the boy gaining the upper hand briefly as he slammed Harry flat on his back, forcing the air from Harry’s lungs and rendering him immobile for the shortest of moments.
The boy took Harry’s temporary disability for what it was, his knuckles meeting Harry’s nose with a sickening crack, Harry’s cry of pain jolting Louis out of his stunned state. He yelped as Harry rolled the boy over again, straddling his hips and driving the heel of his hand into the boy’s own nose, gasping as the boy retaliated with an elbow to Harry’s eye.
