You're An Asshole (But I Love You)

Chapter 2

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When Harry gets downstairs it looks like Zayn took care of the cop situation without needing to bring the police in to see how many underage people were drinking. (Over 75% of them were.)

“How’s Louis?” Niall asks when Harry joins them on the porch. Liam and Eleanor are there too now, but Harry doesn’t even acknowledge them.

“Good. Resting.” I guess. I don’t know. I don’t even care.

“Well Nick’s been looking for you. He finished the joint and I think he wants to hook up. Looked pretty horny.”

“If you see him will you just tell him that I went home? It’s past midnight and I’m not really feeling it.”

“I’ll come with.” Liam says.

“Alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

Once they say goodbye to almost everyone they know they walk out of the house. It’s not that cold outside, so Harry takes out his cigarette pack and lights one up. Liam does the same, surprised to see Harry smoking.

Harry only smokes occasionally, when he’s either stressed or bored or sad. He doesn’t even know which case it is right now but he smokes it anyway.

“Did he… you know. Say anything about Eleanor and I?”

“Just that he knew she was cheating on him. And that he doesn’t care about her anyway. Not that she loves him or anything.”

“I hope you didn’t change your opinion about me.”

“I didn’t. It’s none of my business anyway.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. It’s your life.” Harry shrugs and takes a drag.

They finish their cigarettes as soon as they reach their dorm building. They take the elevator up to their floor and Liam unlocks the door.

Harry showers and gets into bed, and when he checks his phone it’s already past one in the morning. The frat parties usually last longer than that because people don’t get drunk so soon, but with the victory and all that everyone was too excited to think coherently. Or even think at all.

Harry isn’t really a big fan of football. Or ‘soccer’, as the Americans on the team call it. He isn’t a fan at all, actually. Or of sports in general.

He’s about to go to sleep when his phone buzzes. He knows it’s from Louis.

Louis Tomlinson: thanks for leaving :)

Harry doesn’t know whether Louis is sarcastic or genuine, so he slides the phone back under his pillow without responding.

That’s the thing he absolutely hates about texting; the fact that he can’t really figure out what the person means. If he talks to someone face to face, he immediately knows what the person is thinking based on their actions, words, and intonation. But it’s so much harder through text.

He decides to sleep on it and not think about Louis too much, because in the end he’s just a prick who graduates this year and doesn’t give a shit about anything.