This wasn’t meant to be a date, but we’ve had such a good time and now it’s 2 a.m. and I should really go home…
“Wait, okay, I have a good one,” Harry says, laughing. He’s curled up on Louis’ living room couch like he owns it, the throw on the couch wrapped around his shoulders like a pashmina. “Would you rather have pig ears on your head or a pig’s tail on your butt?”
Louis quirks an eyebrow at him. “That’s not a good one,” he says.
“Is too,” Harry says, sticking his tongue out. “Whatever you pick tells me something about your character.”
“And what is that something, pray tell?”
Harry shakes his head, his eyes gleaming. “Won’t tell you until you pick one,” he says.
Louis sighs, acting put upon, when really, amusement is running through his veins, bubbling to the surface. “Fine,” he replies. “If I really had to pick one…a pig’s tail on my butt.”
Harry furrows his brow. “Why?”
“So that more people will stare at my ass.”
There’s a second where Harry blinks at him, and then he’s throwing his head back and laughing, a loud, full-bodied sound. “Okay,” he says, when he eventually calms down, grinning so wide that Louis worries his face will split into two, “that’s a good answer.”
“So…?” Louis asks.
“So, what?”
“So, what does that say about my character?”
“Oh.” Harry worries on his bottom lip for a moment, and Louis zeroes into the movement, wonders vaguely what it would be like if he were the one to bite down on it. “Um, just that you have a nice…perspective on life?”
“…You were bullshitting me, weren’t you.”
“Yep,” Harry answers smugly, popping the ‘p’ sound. “And you fell for it, hook line and sinker!” He holds up a piece of paper, littered with numbers and equations. “You think I can do it for my math test on Thursday?”
Louis laughs. “Harry, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you can’t bullshit math.”
“Ugh,” Harry groans, throwing the piece of paper away. It flutters slowly onto the ground, and lays there for about three seconds before Harry is snatching it up, setting aside neatly with his other worksheets. “I hate this dumb subject. How the fuck are you so good at it?”
Louis shrugs. “It’s just logic.”
“Logic, more like magic,” Harry mutters, before raising his arms and stretching. The bottom of his shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of his defined stomach that Louis tries not to stare at.
He can’t. After all, Harry’s the gorgeous, popular football player on campus and Louis’ just…Louis. They’re from two different worlds, two different social circles. In fact, their paths would never have intersected if it weren’t for Harry needing help in math.
“Shit,” Harry swears suddenly, and Louis looks up to find him on his phone. “I didn’t realize it was already so late.”
He turns the screen to Louis, long enough for Louis to see 2:06 emblazoned on the upper part of the screen, before pushing his phone into his absurdly tight jeans and jumping up from the couch. “I gotta get going,” he says. “`ve still gotta get up at six for practice.”
Louis feels his eyes widen. “Shit,” he says, jumping up from the couch and shepherding Harry to the door. “You should’ve said something! I shouldn’t have kept you this late.”
Harry snorts, which turns into a full blown laugh when Louis tries to push him out the door. “Don’t worry,” he says, digging his heels so Louis can’t push him out any further. He’s still grinning when he turns around, placing a hand on the door frame so Louis can’t shut the door without injuring the star quarterback and having the whole school turn against him. “`ve done it before.”
Louis frowns and crosses his arms. “That’s not healthy,” he scolds. And when they’d gotten close enough that he’s allowed to scold Harry about his sleeping habits? He’ll never know.
“I know,” Harry says, “but I wouldn’t have traded this for sleep.”
And Louis knows he can’t be flirting–Harry is the most popular boy on campus, after all, and there’s no way he’d flirt with someone like Louis–but right now, it sort of feels like he is. Harry’s grin is something cocky, and he’s leaning forward enough that they’re (sort of) sharing air. If Louis took one step forward, he could, quite literally, brush his nose against Harry’s.
It’s quite a tempting thought.
“You’ll regret saying that in,” Louis makes a show of checking his phone for time, “four hours.”
“Hm,” Harry says. “See, I don’t think I will.”
And there’s something about the way he says it that makes Louis’ stomach clench, that sends Louis’ poor little heart into hysterics. He wants, all of a sudden, to pull Harry back into his dorm, sit him down on the couch and listen to the cadence of his voice, figure out what makes him tick, but–
But Harry’s Harry, and there’s no way he would be flirting with someone like Louis. Louis’ probably just so tired that he’s putting much more meaning into their interaction.
Yeah, that’s it.
“So, I had fun tonight,” Harry start, breaking Louis’ train of thought. He seems to hesitate, his expression shuttering into something unsure, before clearing up again. “Let’s do it again sometime”
“Uh, sure.”
“Actually, there’s,” Harry stops himself, shakes his head. “I have a game Friday, and I was hoping you’d come see me?” His green eyes are open, honest. Vulnerable. “We can do something after, if you…if you like.”
And Louis’ brain short-circuits, his heart goes into overdrive. He also loses control of his mouth.
“Uh, yeah,” he says. “Sure, I’ll come.”
Harry’s face lights up. “Great,” he says happily. “I’ll text you to remind you.”
And then he’s spinning on his heel, walking away, and Louis can only stare wide-eyed at his retreating back, wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.
As soon as Harry disappears down the hall, Louis shuts the door, presses his back against it, and slides down onto the floor. He groans, then buries his face in his arms.
Because fuck. Harry Styles might’ve just asked him out on a date.