Chapter Text
If there was one thing in the world that Louis hated, it was Harry Styles.
Every school had a boy like Harry—the girls wanted him and the boys wanted to be him. His parents were so rich, he could probably feed the country if he wanted. That fact alone caused Louis to despise him. And it would’ve been easier to like him too, if he were a nice friendly bloke. But he was the exact opposite. He went out of his way to flirt with anyone and everyone, and was always trying to get one over on the teachers. Sure, Louis admitted, he wasn’t half bad-looking. With chocolate brown curls and intense green eyes, he was one of the fittest boys at the school. But there was really no need to flaunt it like he did; changing girlfriends like clothes, a new one draping from his arm each day.
Louis found it all quite disgusting.
“Seriously, can’t she see? He’s just going to fuck her and then throw her away like a disposable tissue,” he said to his mate Zayn with a roll of his eyes. They sat in the table slightly off to the left of the cafeteria, just like they always did. Harry and his group had just happened to walk past, and at the sight of yet another girl clinging to him, with bleach-blonde hair and a skimpy t-shirt, Louis just couldn’t stand it. He began a full-blown rant to Zayn, oblivious that this was not the first time he’d talked at such length about the curly-haired boy.
Zayn nodded, his eyes focused on some point in the distance as he took a sip of coffee. “Chill out mate,” Zayn drawled. “You sound awfully concerned.”
Louis made a face of disbelief. “Why would you say that? I’m just saying, people like him aren’t having a positive impact on society.” He shook his head at the backside of Harry as he rounded a corner, laughing about something with his mates. He wondered briefly how people like Harry even had friends.
“Alright then, whatever you say,” Zayn shrugged. He cast a glance at his watch. “We better get to class if we don’t want to be late.” The pair got up and headed back to the main campus. Louis took the time to appreciate the beautiful scenery. It was a bright and sunny day. The grass was a lush green, and tall trees surrounded the spacious cafeteria. As they walked downhill, they neared the tall four-story building that was their university campus.
There was a massive library on the first floor, and the dormitory was connected at the left side. Louis and Zayn parted ways.
“Remember, party tonight!” Zayn called out. “How could I forget,” Louis chuckled as he entered the school. Zayn was a great friend in many ways, but the one thing Louis loved most about him was that he loved to party. On days when the stress of homework crushed Louis, he could always trust Zayn to get him in to the best parties and have a great time. Sure he’d regret it in the morning, but they were young and it was all in good fun.
He walked into the Psychology classroom and sat down, pulling out his books. He flipped through them absentmindedly, staring out the window at the puffy white clouds. They formed such a nice contrast with the blue sky that he almost didn’t notice when someone sat down behind him. And that someone happened to be the person he hated with every fiber of his being.
“Tomlinson.”
Louis’ head whipped around at the sound of the low, husky voice, the feeling of hot breath right next to his ear. He tried to remain calm and not punch Harry Styles in the face for giving him a right shock. “So you’ve decided to show up for class, Styles,” he muttered, glaring at the younger boy. Harry returned the gaze, cocking an eyebrow. “Of course. You know me, I’m a very good boy.” He smirked, and Louis felt a wave of disgust run through him. He rolled his eyes and turned back around. Why waste time talking to the prick.
Now anyone looking on at this scene might just see it as a completely normal conversation. But Louis knew much better. From the first moment Louis first laid eyes on Harry he had immediately developed an intense hatred for him. And Harry did his best to fuel it, by kicking his chair, making inappropriate comments, and distracting Louis from the lesson.
Right, the lesson. Louis copiously wrote down the scribbled mess the professor had written on the board, trying to listen to the lecture she was giving. Instead, a deep voice was whispering into his ear. Louis groaned inwardly. Not this again. He tried to tune out the noise by his left ear and focus on the lesson, but that was impossible when he could feel the other boy’s hot breath on his skin.
“So, Tomlinson, what’re you doing tonight? Going to Nick’s party?”
Louis clenched his jaw and continued writing. What did it matter to Harry?
“I’ll take that as a yes. Can’t wait to see you there.”
Chills ran down Louis’ spine involuntarily. He shifted his chair to the side. People like Harry Styles really needed to get a life other than making people feel miserable.
The teacher droned on about tendencies in the behaviour of males and females and how each differed, and the similarities in homosexual females and straight males, versus homosexual men and straight females, yada yada. Louis was beginning to fall asleep; sure, psychology was interesting, but this professor spoke with such a monotone voice that it just went in one ear and out the other. Just as his head was about to hit the desk, the low voice by his ear spoke up again.
“So which one are you?”
“Why do you care?” Louis muttered under his breath, sincerely irritated by now.
“You’re gay, aren’t you? I can tell.”
Louis stiffened. He wasn’t, not at all. He’d dated tons of girls before if it was any proof. And besides, so what if he was? It was none of this Harry kid’s business.
“Bet you like it up the ass—”
He’d had enough. Louis wheeled around and stared Harry dead in the eye. “You shut your fucking mouth, Styles, or I’ll make you regret you ever—”
“Fine, fine,” Harry smirked, raising his hands in surrender. “I was just curious!”
Thankfully, at that moment, the professor closed her books and announced that class was over. Louis couldn’t snatch up his notebooks and bag quick enough. He dashed out the door and straight to his dorm, wondering how on earth he was going to be able to survive the semester like this.
Fortunately, he reminded himself, there was the party where he could let loose. Piles of homework and a very long essay later, he and Zayn drove over to the club and walked through the door, greeted by a wave of loud music. Louis smiled. Nick held the best parties, and Louis was grateful for a chance to unwind after the day’s stress. He headed straight for the bar, and looked around, spotting a group of fit-looking girls. He elbowed Zayn, and they made their way over.
Two hours, much dancing, and countless shots later, Louis was very drunk. He was still on the dance floor, a blonde-haired girl attached to his waist. The bass thumped loudly in his ears and vibrated through his body. He looked around with half-closed eyes—as expected, Zayn was nowhere to be seen. Probably hooking up with one of those pretty girls. He looked down at the girl, who batted her clumpy, overly made-up eyelashes in an attempt to be flirtatious. He sighed and pulled away, smiling apologetically. She made a noise of protest but merely kept dancing, finding a new guy to grind against.
Louis leaned against the bar, a hand on his temple. He never thought he’d say it, but he was tired of dancing. The girls at this bar were, at first glance, pretty, but as the night wore on they had only proved to be sluts, skimpy dresses revealing too much as they danced on tables and random guys’ laps. His heart just wasn’t in it. A nagging voice in the back of his mind that said perhaps he wasn’t interested in girls at all, but he ignored it.
“Hey there,” said a gravelly voice right beside him.
He looked up to see a pair of startlingly clear green eyes. Harry Styles. Great, just what he needed. He took a step back, but ended up stumbling. Harry extended a hand and caught him by his arm. His touch sent a pleasant, tingling sensation through Louis.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Harry drawled.
“What are you doing all by yourself? You should be out there having some fun,” Harry’s voice whispered in his ear, sending shudders through Louis yet again. “You just left that poor girl standing there.” Harry pointed to the girl Louis had been dancing with.
“What’s your point?” he slurred, shoving Harry away and glaring at the boy who just never left him alone.
“Couldn’t pick up a girl, could you?” Harry smirked. “Poor little Louis can’t get himself laid?”
Anger spread through him like fire. He stumbled toward Harry, glaring him straight in the eye. “Oh yeah, look who’s talking!” he tossed back, though it came out more like an inarticulate jumble of words. “If you’re so great at picking up girls why are you here bothering me, huh?”
Harry blinked, momentarily taken aback. Louis took the chance. “Couldn’t get yourself a girl either, could you? I know what you think,” He didn’t even know what he was saying now but it felt so good to get back at Harry, he didn’t stop to think. “You think you’re so great and that everyone loves you. When really, no one in their right mind would want to fuck you.”
“Oh really now?” Harry breathed, shifting so his face was inches away from Louis’. Louis could feel the heat radiating from his skin at such close proximity and he was overwhelmed by an unfamiliar feeling, something not at all unpleasant that stirred up inside him. “You might want to take that back.” He placed a finger on Louis’ cheek, letting it trail down his jawline. Louis swallowed, but stood his ground, staring Harry down.
“Never,” he said.
And that was it. Harry attacked the older boy, crashing his lips against Louis’. Gentle hands wrapped around Louis’ waist, tugging him in closer. Louis obliged, leaning into the taller boy, tugging furiously at his curls. Harry shoved his tongue into Louis’ mouth, and their tongues fought for dominance until Harry pulled away. Louis made a sound of protest, but was silenced as Harry’s lips trailed down Louis’ neck and nibbled at the skin just below his ear. Louis moaned with pleasure. It felt so right, that he forgot how wrong it was to be kissing Harry Styles, the boy he hated with a passion.
Right now the only passion was the sparks that were almost palpable, the ferocity of the kisses pressed to lips and collarbones and the fingernails dragged along each other’s back. A blur of tangled limbs and heated passion, as Harry shoved Louis up against the wall, hands cupping his face, and threatened to swallow him whole.
Somewhere along the line Harry had muttered something about “my place or yours” and somehow they ended up clambering into some sort of vehicle, limbs still interlocked, kisses wet and sloppy, and they drove off.
The rest was a blur that Louis couldn’t quite recall when he woke up bleary-eyed in a bed that wasn’t his.