Young & Beautiful

All in all, Louis is winning at life.
There’s only one slight catch.
And it comes in the form of a curly haired, green eyed, pompous mouthed dandy who struts
around like he owns the place and flits through empty passions like he does escorts. Because yes,
every single fucking time Louis sees Harry, he’s got some new conquest on his arm, some new
heart for him to mangle and press against thorns.
And oh, all the “new things” he gets into…it’s enough to drive a man crazy.
At each social event, Harry manages to paint himself even more ridiculous. Whether it be his three
day obsession with yellow roses (everyone had to dress in yellow, and when they attended a
symphony, Harry made them all throw them on the fucking stage) or his infatuation with the word
“peafowl” which spurred him to litter live fucking peacocks on the lawn of Zayn’s lake house
while they played croquet (“They’re my spirit animal,” he drawled), or his particularly annoying
little stint where he fell in love with antique doorknobs and refused to open any doors that did not
possess them, thus forcing others to open them for him all day, every day. Louis took advantage of
that one by slamming doors in his face at every opportunity he could get. It was rather marvelous,
actually. That was a good 'thing'.
And then there's the parties.
The nights of excess where Harry’s walls break and he loses what little he has of himself in
crowds and intoxications. The nights where he lies on couches and pours absinthe into his
dripping mouth and smokes opium on velvet pillows and stumbles around with flowers in his
hand, pressing glares and thinly-veiled insults into peoples’ mouths. He acts like a king, a fucking
evil king, and Louis can only watch him with a growing intensity and wait for a crack in the cold,
hard surface so that he can laugh and rejoice in the barely-there humanity that resides in Harry
fucking Styles.
Which never comes, of course. Not really.
But through all of these little ticks, not once does Harry ever exchange a word with Louis.
He looks through him and sidles past without a word, all pretense of charm vanished. He knows it
doesn’t work with Louis so he doesn’t even try. Which is wonderful, really, but Louis was never
the sort that liked to be ignored, and though he can’t quite bring himself to acknowledge Harry
either--the image of his haunting eyes and whispered words still resonating uncomfortably within
him from their last interaction--he still finds it all very rude.
The others don’t seem to mind, don’t even seem to question the stark animosity between the pair.
Especially since Niall and Harry have bonded so well—which Louis constantly berates him for.
(“TRAITOR!” “He’s just fun. I still like you better.” “Damn straight. Traitor.”)
So it’s natural that Louis isn’t very nervous, at all, right now as he makes his way, alone, to
Harry’s rooms. Which he has never been to before. He's not even a little bit nervous.
They all agreed to meet there after they were done with lecture, and since Niall still has twenty
minutes left of his audio course and needs to run some errands with Rory, Louis took it upon
himself to embark on this perilous journey alone.
Which is fine.
So, ignoring any sense of displeasure in the pit of his stomach, Louis knocks on what he hopes is