Not Again? || l.s

o n e

o n e | piss off

You just take me to the edge
You pull me back again
You're messin' with my head

~ 'mad at you' by why don't we

ツ

Harry woke up, startled, to someone pounding on the door to his tiny dorm room. He rolled over, facing the door as the knocking continues, this time louder. He eyed the alarm clock on the shared desk between the two beds, and he almost couldn't believe the luminescent 1:32 am, or the fact that someone's actually pounding on his door at that time of night on a Wednesday.

Only he could believe it, since it's not the first time.

"Harreh," someone slurred from the other side of the door. "Harry, c'mon, I forgot my key. Let me in. I know you can hear me."

He could, but he could pretend that he didn't —which was what he attempted to do, rolling back over to face the wall, pulling a pillow over his head. Harry was the type of person who could sleep anywhere, at any time, and he's a deep sleeper, which comes in handy, really, given the rooming arrangements.

Honestly, he should have known from that first day. He should have known the moment he'd shouldered into the dorm room with a heavy box slipping from his fingers, only to find that someone had already been inside. Someone who had left their stuff everywhere. There had been boxes in different states of being unpacked littering both sides of the room, not respecting the halfway line at all. There had been clothing partially folded and draped off both beds, the drawers of the dresser at the end of the right bed hanging open.

Louis Tomlinson was a fucking asshole.

Only Harry hadn't realised it at first since the boy in question had stumbled into the room with his cheeks flushed, wide blue eyes and sweat glistening his forehead.

And he'd spoke seemingly sincere, "Sorry, sorry! I didn't think you'd be here for a while, I thought I'd have time to put my stuff away."

What Harry didn't realise, at that moment, was that it was only the beginning.

Now, he couldn't get back to sleep. Louis kept knocking at the door and Harry kept trying to sleep, but he fucking couldn't.

With an annoyed huff, he climbed out of bed and unlocked the door. Louis stumbled inside, smelling like cheap beer and perfume. In the dull light from the hallway, he could see the red lipstick stain at Louis' neck, and he rolled his eyes.

"If you keep me up any longer," he warned. "I'm punching you in the face."

The door shut, plunging the room into darkness.

"You don't have the balls," Louis said, unconcerned. "And I'm tired anyway. Going to sleep, don't worry," he yawned and collapsed on his bed hard enough that the sound of the bed frame hitting the wall cracked through the room. "Wouldn't want to screw with your precious eight hours."

Harry glared in Louis' general direction and climbed into his own bed, pulling the pillow immediately over his head because Louis, of course, snored like a fucking lawnmower. He should really get that checked out. It's got to be some kind of condition. Or maybe he did it on purpose because he knew it irritated Harry.

He finally did fall back asleep, to the sound of Louis' annoying breathing and with the smell of alcohol hanging heavily in the air.

ツ