"What's got you in a ditch?"

Louis looks up through his lashes at the taller boy. It was Monday and Louis has a major hangover from the whole weekend of pure partying. He absolutely did not want to deal with the weed-stealing and ever so hypnotizing-kisser right now.

"Fuck you, Styles."

"Is it 'cause I stole your joint?" Harry pulls his hands out from the pockets of his varsity jacket. It was gold, white and red, matching the cheer-leading and football uniforms. The most eye-catching part of his jacket is the large printing of 'STYLES' on the back as well as '57' on the front, right on Harry's chest. Probably over one of his nipples, that's assuming he even has nipples. Why do men have nipples anyway? It was like Louis' brain was still high but the rest of him wasn't.

"And my sunglasses."

Harry licks his lips, slowly. Not bothering to hide his wandering gaze as it travels to Louis' hips where a small strip of skin is exposed from the low band of his sweatpants. "I'll give you your sunglasses if I think you deserve them."

"Asshole," Louis mutters.

"Babe, don't pout. Even though you look cute when you pout." Harry hums in delight. "Actually, pout. You're the cutest on the planet."

Louis blinks profusely—out of confusion and disbelief of Harry's words. He clears his throat and breathes in slowly. "Harry, go away."

"Princess, are you all right? Looking a little.." Harry pauses. "Just little. You're looking fairly little today."

"Harry."

"How tall are you exactly?"

Louis huffs and angrily stabs his salad. Fucking cucumber slice. They're only bearable when they're sliced. Not when they're all raw and hard. All green and long and shit, like a fucking overgrown alien dick. Fucking cucumber.

"Damn, do all short people hate cucumbers?"

"Go have a quickie in the janitor's closet, Harry." Louis sasses.

The football player hums. "With you? Sure, princess." Harry's voice drops deeper.

Absolutely not. Louis is a virgin and he would never give away his one sliver of innocence to this curly-haired cunt.

Louis furrows his brows, "You're a player, Styles." He drags his eyes up and down Harry's tall lean figure with an unimpressed expression. "And, I don't date players."

Harry laughs into his sleeve, and eyes Louis as if he's delusional. "I'm not a player, babe." He purses his lips then smiles charmingly. "I'll get you, Tomlinson. You'll be mine by the end of the year." Harry smirks his infamous cocky grin before sauntering somewhere else in the cafeteria. Who the fuck says that? All fucking cliche and shit. Who the hell does he think he is? A fucking Prince? Louis makes the decision to hit Harry with his bicycle one day.

"What was that about?" Asks Liam as he, Zayn and Niall sit down in the empty seats of the table with full trays of food in front of them. All three of them may have been watching the whole exchange from afar.

"Nothing." Louis dismisses with a wave of his hand, returning his attention back to his sad salad, he would probably get his driver to take him for pizza after school.
"But can I get arrested for running over someone on my bicycle?"

The rest of the day goes perfectly well, Louis watches a fight from the safety of his classroom so there wasn't anything new.