Chapter Text
“Remember, we don’t really know each other.”
“I know, you’ve only reminded me about- hmm- I dunno, fifty times in the past two minutes?” Harry rolled his eyes at the feather haired boy sitting across from him, leaning back against the hard, plastic cafeteria seats.
It was lunchtime, and the busiest hour of lunch at that, so the hall was bustling with students, all rushing to eat before class or club meetings. One would think college would be less busy than high school because there were more free hours of the day, but it seemed, university life was even busier.
“I just, I really want to be invited, and it would make it that much better if you were with me, Haz. We could actually be brothers!” Louis exclaimed, his nervousness shining through his movements as he bounced on the edge of his seat, picking through a bowl of pasta with his fork clutched tightly in his hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry responded absentmindedly, glancing around the room, his eyes catching on a girl with whom shared several of his classes, and well, damn, if her arse didn’t look good in those navy jeans. “I still don’t get why we have to pretend not to know each other though? I mean, they’re gonna ask us where we’re from probably and when we’re from the same town it’ll be obvious we know each other.”
“But they won’t know we know each other well. Look, Haz. There’s going to be challenges and there’s probably going to be hazing. The older brothers will use any weakness against us, and if they knew how much you meant to me, well, I don’t think I could handle them using that against me.”
Louis’ serious statement, as well as the serious gaze he was giving the younger boy, caught Harry’s attention, pulling it away from any attractive specimen until cerulean orbs locked with forest green, Harry’s lips turning upward into a cheeky smirk.
“Aww, is BooBear worried about his Hazza?”
Louis flushed deep scarlet, both at the nickname and Harry’s blatant reference to the older boy’s show of affection, and he flicked a pale, bow-tied pasta at the curly-haired boy, muttering a “shuddup” at his best friend who he’s known since the age of two, when they bonded over swings, slides, and unintelligible babbling.
Harry laughed as he batted down the piece of pasta as it flew toward his head, watching affectionately as Louis muttered under his breath about Harry being “a fucking twat” and “why do I even put up with you?” before focusing back on his uneaten plate of pasta, scarfing down the food like he hadn’t eaten in days.
In all honesty, and if the stampede in his stomach was any indicator, Harry was quiet nervous, regardless of the cool exterior he had managed to maintain all day.
He wasn’t nervous for Louis at all, for his best friend had a way with words and a way with people that Harry had never quite been able to match. No, Harry was more nervous for himself; he had always been the quieter of the pair, one who just tagged along for the ride, occasionally adding a suggestion or comment, but for the most part, the follower. In this case, though, he would have to make it on his own, something he had never done before because previously he had always had Louis leading him along.
And the thought of Louis being accepted to the frat, and him being left behind was terrifying, so, in that moment, Harry made a vow to himself that he would do absolutely anything to ensure a spot beside Louis in the most prestigious frat at their college.
Delta Kappa Epsilon.
Everyone had heard the stories, everyone knew who they were, everyone watched the brothers of the Delta Kappa Epsilon under high scrutiny, keeping an eye on just what they were doing because if they did it, well, everyone else should too. Delta Kappa Epsilon was infamous for its parties and events, the girls and the booze, and most prominent for Harry at the moment, just how hard it was to be accepted.
Why Louis had to choose the most prestigious frat, Harry still had no idea. Well, okay, he had some sort of idea, but still, wasn’t too thrilled with rushing into the hardest frat at school. But Louis wanted to, and if Louis wanted to, Harry wanted to, because if Louis was happy, then Harry was as well.
“Remember, we don’t really know each other.”
Harry rolled his eyes again at Louis, responding the same way he had for the past fifty or so times, “I know.”
~O~
“Fuck! Liam! What the hell was that for?” Zayn Malik rubbed his bicep, wincing as he tried to rid himself of the oncoming dead arm from Liam’s hard punch.
The raven-haired boy was sprawled out on the couch, his legs hanging off the end, head resting on the opposite arm. He had been lazily texting on a white iPhone, half watching a football game in between messages until Liam blocked his viewed, snatched his phone from his hands, and proceeded to smack him on the arm.
“I told you an hour ago to be ready by three, and it’s currently two-fifty five.”
Zayn tried to contain the laughter bubbling deep in his stomach as Liam glared at him, taking in his current state of dress, or rather undress, with big brown eyes, much resembling the look of a sad puppy.
Liam heaved an angry sigh as Zayn failed to contain a smile, and proceeded to lean over and roll the boy off of the couch.
“Hey!” Zayn protested indignantly, falling to the ground with a thump, nearly taking out Liam as he fell.
“Get your lazy arse in the shower. You have two minutes to wash up and one to dress,” Liam commanded, pointing toward the far end of the house where the bathroom was located, his bare arms rippling with tan, toned muscle as they sat outside of his tank.
“But Daaaad. It takes at least five minutes to gel my quiff,” Zayn protested, teasing the other boy, who didn’t seem the least bit amused as his eyes narrowed angrily, lips pursing in what Zayn supposed was Liam’s version of a scary face.
“Go!”
***
It really had taken Zayn five minutes to do his hair, and added to his ten minute shower and extra two minutes deciding what to wear, he was late as he strolled out of the house and around the side, feet hitting carefully trimmed grass.
He didn’t care, though, and while Liam had threatened him not to be late, it didn’t matter much at all because he was one of the oldest brothers in Delta Kappa Epsilon, so if anyone tried to give him shit for being late, well, he’d simply pull seniority and tell them to fuck off.
He scanned the crowd on the lawn, noticing how many guys were sprawled around, waiting for instruction, until he found Liam standing closely next to their other best friend, Niall Horan. He sauntered over to the pair, slapping the blonde on the back before pinching Liam’s cheeks cheekily.
“Hello pumpkin,” he greeted, smiling widely. This was his element, being in the spotlight of a handful of desperate lads, all wanting to be where he was within the frat. “Feeling better after your tantrum?”
Liam huffed, ignoring Zayn’s teasing as he turned to the crowd of rushers, gaining their attention with a simple wave of his arm and pointed look.
As Liam and Niall began the first rushing ritual, commanding the boys to separate into groups of five, Zayn took the chance to look over the new recruits. For the most part, none of the lads stood out; their outfits similar as they attempted to fit in; their faces locked in the same nervous haze. He looked from face to face, cataloguing which ones would make it and which ones would fail just from one glance at their faces. Only three boys caught his attention more than the rest.
The first was slighter in build, hips wider than most and accentuated with tight, tan chinos. His hair was a lighter shade of brown, skin golden, and his eyes flashed with mischief, a pert smile upturned on bright pink lips. Blue eyes met Zayn’s, and the raven-haired boy nodded, acknowledging the lad, who he felt would be a good partner in crime. None of the other boys had met his gaze, yet, so when this boy did, Zayn noted it.
The next boy was orange- orange hair, orange skin, or pale red skin (not that Zayn really cared too much), orange shirt. The only things not orange about the boy were his navy jeans, light tan flip-flops, and bright blue eyes. Aside from the obvious color that stood out from the crowd, the fire-haired lad stood out because of what he was doing with his hands. They were clasped in front of his body, one holding the other, seemingly moving around, fingers flicking in different directions. To the untrained eye, it looked as if the boy was simply nervous and tangling his fingers together, but Zayn realized he was practicing chords. A guitar player, Zayn smiled at the thought, glad to see a musician in the crowd.
Not many people realized it, but although Delta Kappa Epsilon was well-known for its killer parties and social life, the boys of the frat were quite well rounded, exceeding in athletics as well as academics.
None of the brothers had below a 3.7 GPA, and many were recognized by their professors as some of the best students.
Liam played football, having started as a freshman and worked his way up to captain and star quarterback, leading their team through an almost undefeated season the previous year.
Niall, although loud and boisterous with his friends, was a softy whenever he held a guitar in his hands, callused fingers moving along the strings with so much emotion that Zayn found himself aching inside occasionally from the melodies the blonde played.
And Zayn, well, as much as he was teased for it, the boys constantly making comments about how he was vain, Zayn was an artist- a fashion designer, to be precise. This explained his constant state of being well-dressed, as well as how he could take hours on end to prepare for social outings. What people didn’t understand about his major, though, was that it wasn’t just the clothes, or the models he was able to meet, but rather, the actual art that came with the designing. He loved drawing, often partaking in the activity outside of his class projects, and being able to create an outfit on paper, and then transfer it into a real life object, well, there was nothing he loved more.
Which is why, being a fashion design major, the first thing he noticed about the third boy who caught his attention was just how presentable the lad looked. He wasn’t dressed as many of the other boys were, and while Zayn knew it was a risky move, he was taken aback with the confidence it seemed to portray. The lad was wearing a blue plaid shirt, the buttons falling open on his chest, revealing hard pecs that Zayn supposed led to a toned stomach, jeans that hung off of slim hips, and white converse. Shiny, silver RayBans covered his eyes, hiding any obvious expression from his face. The outfit overall was simple, yet affective, and Zayn was caught up in just how beautiful this lad was. Curly hair was pushed to the side of his head, soft looking strands catching under the sunlight in copious chocolate curls, and he stood tall, legs spread in a V-formation, hands clasped behind his back. This lad seemed quieter, more reserved than the rest, almost as if he was skeptical of the entire ordeal of rushing, but if anything was indicated from the strong purse of his lips, Zayn figured it was determination.
Yes, Zayn thought, eyes flitting between the three boys who caught his attention, these three will do quite nicely.
He was broken from his thoughts, though, as Niall clapped him on the shoulder, fingers digging into his muscle comfortably before he whispered in the raven-haired boys’ ear.
“Let the fun begin.”
~O~