Close Quarters // H.S.

Fighting.

•

"It looks like a fucking pigsty in here. I go to my friend's apartment for one night and this is what I come back to? I swear to God, Harry, you make me want to rip my hair out. Also, this is my food! Not yours!"

Harry's mildly ashamed to admit that, yes, it was a mess in the apartment. So what, though? He's going to clean it, so why does she need to start complaining the second she walks in the door? He doesn't even fight the urge to roll his eyes, freely doing it without any sort of hesitation. He's too irritated to think straight.

He'd only had a few people over last night. Maybe a little more than a few. Whatever!

It's his apartment too, so he argues that he should be free to have whoever he wants over. He's usually met with a usual rebuttal from his imperious roommate, some bullshit about him having no respect, or something. She'll get five words in before Harry is tuning her bothersome voice out. He usually daydreams about a new roommate. Or apartment in general. The rent is getting so high!

He'll be out in a year, though.

Hopefully.

And he'll get to leave Nico's whining behind, because she doesn't get to be out in a year.

Harry's favorite thing to make fun of is the fact that he's the oldest in their living space, trying to force some "when I was your age..." advice down her throat even though there's only a year and three month difference between the two of them. It pisses her off, which in turn makes Harry laugh.

It's... a dynamic.

Nico's been on top of her schoolwork, and Harry hasn't. It's even more evident now, though, because part of the mess that he's created throughout their home is his unorganized stacks of papers which he desperately needs to sort through.

His essay draft should be in there somewhere. The essay itself is three weeks late, the draft four. He's a sweet talker, so he was able to snag an indefinite extension.

Being smooth with his words clearly doesn't phase her.

"Harry! Are you listening to me?"

His daydreaming is cut short by the screech of his name.

"Uh,"

He begins, faking a thoughtful expression before letting it drop with a scoff.

"No."

"Fuck you."

"No, fuck you."

Harry finds this comedic, and a smirk is already tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Do you seriously think this is funny?"

We just went over this. He really, really does.

"Yeah."

He's quick to respond, but not quick enough to dodge the empty Tupperware container being hurled at his shoulder.

"Harry, get out! I'm so sick of you! I cant fucking live in peace!"

Her voice is trembling as she yells, and Harry actually starts to feel bad. He never meant to make her that upset. It was a joke, at first. It was funny! That was their dynamic! She'd get pissy, he'd laugh! We went over it!

"Your trash is everywhere, you don't respect me, or my space, or my food or fucking anything! Look at this! Do you see this? All these papers? Yours! Imagine if these got destroyed last night with the people you had over! I bet you wouldn't have given a single fuck. You just try to float through college doing the bare minimum, Harry, but some of us try. We try so hard. And you know I try. But it's hard when I have to deal with you and all of your shit daily!"

Yeah, he feels really bad.

He wishes he could admit it. He very literally can't, though.

It's like someone's hit the off switch on him. As if he's trying to speak a language he's never even heard of before. He just can't speak, period.

"Cat's got your tongue, huh? Yeah. Whatever. I know you don't really like me. You know I don't really like you. Just, please, for the rest of the time we're living together, could you just be a little nicer?"

Harry stays silent.

"I see. That's fine, Harry. You don't have to answer. I don't really want you to answer. You'd spew bullshit anyway. Fuck off, go do something to get out of my way. Leave, or something. I'll clean up your piles of shit per usual. Do your friends think you live alone?"

"No."

"Hm. So you can talk. I really think you should leave, now."

"You know I live here too, right?"

He can't help but to be a dick once more.

Harry's glancing over at Nico, and he's this close to having a heart attack. She looks fucking terrifying.

Her face is burning up, he's not sure if it's from anger or sadness, but it's obviously not good either way. Harry swears he can see steam coming from her ears as she stomps over, yanking him close by the collar of his shirt and practically spitting venom at him as she speaks.

"I'm telling you to get the fuck out. You make my life a living hell. I was gone yesterday, you're gonna be gone today. I'm so serious right now, Harry, and I don't think you understand. Find someone to stay with. Grab a few things and just go. You clearly know a lot of people."

She gestures to the clutter across the room from them with her free hand, sighing as she releases from Harry's shirt. It looks like she's been drained from the yelling.

Nico's also a little hungover, which clearly doesn't help.

There's just silence after her explosion. Both of them aren't sure if it's helping the situation or making it worse.

She's leaning towards helping, Harry's leaning towards worsening.

They really can't agree on anything.

Harry packs — silently, of course, stuffing a few necessities into a small duffel bag. He'd managed to shuffle past her once she was simmering down, eyes shut with her hands rubbing against her temples to try to avoid an oncoming headache. It wasn't hard for Harry to find a place to crash for the night. Hell, he even let some people stay last night as long as they'd promise to be put by 8:30 sharp the next morning. People owe him!

He was shocked that people took him up on that offer.

Mitch's couch would be his bed for the night. Neither of them minded. Mitch didn't know the full story, and he figured that he wouldn't get it anyways. Even if he did, he wasn't interested in hearing the whole thing.

"'M leaving now."

Harry grumbles.

The only kind of response he gets is from a bird chirping outside. It's silent inside.

"I said I'm leaving."

"Mhm."

Nico's started to clean the litter that Harry (and some other people... but mostly Harry) created. She's clearly busy. And still livid.

"M'kay. Act like that, it's fine. You're wound up tighter than an antique clock. You should find someone to fuck for the night while I'm gone, it'll be good for you. Hopefully it'll make you less of a hard-ass."

"Fuck off, Harry! Out! Now!"