Louis only has to scroll through twitter for ten minutes when someone knocks on his door, angry and frantic.
“Jesus, alright, I’m coming,” he grumbles, pulling himself out of his bed and fumbling with the lock on his door. He opens it slower than he normally would, because he’s pretty sure he knows who’s standing on the other side.
Sure enough, when the door swings open, Harry barges inside, closing the door behind him. He wastes no time shoving Louis up against the wall, and Louis winces when his back slams against it, hard enough that there’s sure to be a bruise there tomorrow.
“Louis.” Harry’s voice is low, angry and biting. “What the fuck did you do to my boots?”
Harry’s collection of boots are his most prized possession. Everyone in the house knows this. Louis may or may not have poured chocolate sauce all over them earlier, but that’s only because Harry had done the laundry this week and turned all of Louis’ white clothes pink.
Asshole.
“Nothing,” Louis answers, trying his best to push Harry off him. Harry’s much stronger though, all hard muscles from his hours at the gym, and he doesn’t budge.
Louis resolves to start going to the gym tomorrow, just so he can bench-press Harry out of the house and out of his life forever.
“Don’t lie to me,” Harry says, growing angrier. “Those boots are Saint Laurent, Louis.”
Louis blinks at him innocently. “Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”
Harry growls. “You’re an arse, you know that?”
Louis crosses his arms, tries to look indignant. “You’re the one who fucking turned all my white clothes pink. Last I checked, an Adidas hoodie doesn’t come cheap either.”
He doesn’t know what he expects, but it’s not for Harry to press him harder against the wall, his teeth bared like a feral animal. “You fucking ruined my shoes,” he growls.
“You fucking ruined my clothes,” Louis shoots back.
Harry ignores that, which, rude. “Clean them,” he says.
Louis scoffs. “Make me.”
Harry’s eyes darken, obviously growing more and more agitated with Louis’ lack of compliance. Louis can feel a bit of smugness creeping up, and he’s just about to open his mouth to say something to rile Harry up more when Harry makes another frustrated noise, and leans down and kisses him, hard and wet and angry.