Young & Beautiful

acknowledging, instead focusing his stare on Louis, who merely stares back.
Without Harry even giving a glance in her direction, the girl leaves, the door softly shutting behind
her.
Harry continues to stare at Louis, a martini now in his hand. Does he have fucking house elves?
Where do all these prepared drinks come from?
“I’ve changed my mind. I want you to leave now,” is all he says, lips pressed against the cold
glass, eyes simultaneously bored and cutting.
What the actual fuck did he just say?
“Sorry?”
“You can return once the others have arrived,” he says in a sighing drawl, his boredom and
entitlement practically oozing out of every orifice.
Louis smirks, planting himself down on the chaise longue without a blink. “You’re very funny.”
Harry’s eyes flash momentarily, watching as Louis makes himself more comfortable in the most
over-the-top manner that he can manage. “You know that I can have you removed. By force, if
necessary. I have a variety of options and none of them are any trouble to me.”
“I don’t think you understand how little that fazes me, Curly. And yes, I’d love a drink.” Without
breaking eye contact, Louis grabs the nearest glass from the table and extends it expectantly at
Harry, glancing pointedly at the champagne bottle to his left.
And that’s it, Louis thinks. That’s all that Harry is going to take; instead of just walking away or
sending a scathing comment, he will instead punch Louis in the face, upending furniture and
losing his fucking mind. And Louis almost wants it. He wants to justify the all-consuming hatred
he has for this boy, wants to rationalize to himself why he focuses, why he cares, why he sets
aside time to just think about how much Harry fucking Styles bothers him.
So Louis braces himself, a hand already on the cherry wood armrest (if you can call it that), ready
to defend and attack.
But it doesn’t happen.
Instead, instead, Harry continues staring, eyes cold and assessing, before picking up the bottle and
slowly walking over to Louis unblinkingly.
He’s going to dump it over Louis’ head. He’s going to spill it in his face and laugh and then
probably crack the bottle over his skull and then—
But Harry pours the champagne into Louis’ offered glass.
And Louis’ jaw almost fucking drops because what?
He stares, probably gaping (but he hopes not) as Harry pours and stares back; he’s almost
impressed with the fluidity of Harry’s actions as he pours champagne unseeingly, eyes still intent
on Louis, and is still more impressed when he manages to cut the flow at the precise moment
Louis’ glass is filled.
And now Louis really doesn’t know how to react, with Harry standing in front of him silently,
wearing a tacky shirt and a creepy robe and an expression that’s caught somewhere between