Rain | Harry Styles

1.3

'it lies there alone in its bed of broken glass, this bed was never made for two.'

(don't let me go - harry styles)

H.

"Shit!" I cursed a little too loudly as I tripped over what must've been the thousandth twig in the past fucking hour. Fucking hell, why couldn't Louis have wanted to meet at a damn Panda Express or something less hazardous? Bastard.

Tomlinson was a twisted bloke - there was no doubt about that, and frankly, I would've much preferred to have nothing to do with him, but - whatever keeps Ana's mind at peace.

Wow, Harry - whipped, much.

A scuffed green bench lay in the place it did before - the paint hardly remained, while the wooden legs stood crooked, weeds of some kind intertwined around the surface - and sure enough, the twisted fuck sat right upon it.

"Isn't it disrespectful to sit on benches like this?" I asked pointedly, folding my arms. Louis glanced over his shoulder for a moment.

"That's what it's for, isn't it?" he scoffed, "A memorial bench."

"I guess," I shoved my hands in the front pocket of my jeans, wandering over to stand in front of him. 

"Mm," he hummed, drumming his fingers along the tattered surface, staring down at his lap.

"Right, well," I exhaled, "you wanted to talk, 'Tomlinson. Talk."

"You're right, 'Styles - I did," he looked up at me, and I wrinkled my nose.

"Why are you acting like this is an episode of 'The Vampire Diaries', or some shit? It's fucking weird - cut to the chase, yeah?" I scowled in attempts to ignore the humor I was finding in his dramatic tone.

"That's cold, I always thought of you as more of a 'Parks and Recreation' kind of guy?" he mused, and I felt my hand twitch in a sudden desire to slap him. Parks and Rec was my shit, anyway.

"Get to the point, Louis. I don't want to have to knock your teeth down your fucking throat."

"Do you miss Caleb?" he blurted suddenly, and I frowned.

"Everyday," I didn't skip a beat.

"He deserved to die," he muttered, and I took a step toward him.

"Say that again, you narcissistic fucking son of a-"

"Calm down, Haz, I'm just making conversation," he smirked and I felt a knot of anger tie itself in my chest.

"That's fucking conversation to you? Piss off with that shit," I raised my voice, becoming even more infuriated with myself - Louis always knew how to get under my skin, "and don't call me that."

"Why not, hm? Remind you of something?" he pressed, and I tried my best to resist the urge to rip his head straight off his shoulders.

"Shut up, Louis," I gritted my teeth, as Louis practically bathed in my discomfort. Fuck, I hated him.

"You're a terrible person, aren't you, Harry? Always have been," he stood up, "Even better, actually - you're a terrible friend. A horrible one. From the minute we met all those years ago, to the day we finally called it quits."

"Called it quits?" I scoffed, "you mean when I finally got fed up with you pushing me around for so many years? And after Caleb-"

"Fuck Caleb! You abandoned me!" he roared suddenly, and I shot him a glare, "my fucking dad died, and what did you do? Nothing! You left me - alone. This bench is all that's fucking left of him."