I don’t know what it is about her—you—that winds me up so bad.

Maybe it’s the way you laugh too loud at Liam’s jokes. Or how you sit on Louis’ lap like you’ve been best mates for years. The way Niall talks to you like you’re some saint, like you’ve never done anything wrong.

They love you. Can’t get enough of you. Always inviting you to things, always making sure there’s an empty seat next to them that somehow ends up next to me.

Brilliant.

I’ve tried to be civil. Honest. But you get under my skin like no one else does. Every time you open your mouth it’s like nails on a chalkboard—smug, clever, too sharp for your own good. You always have some smart little comment locked and loaded, and everyone thinks it’s hilarious.

I don’t.

The worst part is, you know I don’t like you—and you love it. You lean into it. Say things just to watch my jaw tighten. Bat your lashes like you’re innocent when really, you’re as annoying as they come.

Tonight has been the final straw. Niall invited everyone over for drinks, and of course you’re here—feet up on the table, holding court in the living room like it’s your house. You’re telling some bullshit story. None of it catching my attention until I hear my name. Who the fuck do you think you are?

I look over. You’re smirking at me.

“Keep name out your fucking mouth.” I snap, death glaring you.

The boys all look between us and eachother and burst out with laughter—beers almost spilling.

I hate the way you talk, I hate the way you act. I hate the way everyone loves you.