Young & Beautiful

disgust and curiosity, his rose lips pressed into themselves, his curls mussed and hazy in the
sunlight.
“Thank you,” Louis mutters quietly, a little out of sorts, and Harry nods his acknowledgment
before setting down the bottle.
Harry seems to be on the brink of saying something further, lips opening just barely, when
suddenly his pocket vibrates, cutting the awkwardness of the room.
Louis sends a prayer of thanks to the heavens.
They both glance down as one, and while Louis prays that it’s Zayn informing him that he’s
outside the door (hah), Harry’s expression instantly falls as he looks at the screen. Which is odd,
really, to look that physically distressed about a phone call.
Louis’ on the verge of asking who it is, but then Harry silences it, looking back up at Louis with a
stark paleness that wasn’t there before, even as his features smooth back into indifference, albeit
with difficulty.
“Help yourself,” is all he says in a surprisingly quiet tone, words mumbled and slow in their
monotony before he turns slowly and makes for the other room, once again shutting the door.
But this time there’s no click of the lock, and Louis almost wonders if they’ve just made some
insignificant form of progress in their relationship, despite the random and mysterious caller.
He hopes not.
**
It’s been half an hour and Niall isn’t texting him back and Zayn and Liam are still not here.
And Harry is still in his room.
Which is fine and all, but Louis has already drank too much spare liquor and poked at too many of
Harry’s stuffed animals--because, yep, he discovered a stash of them in the farther corner of the
room, wearing little hats and monocles as they sat atop dark leather chests. He also discovered a
tiara not too long after, every ounce of his willpower coming in to play as he resisted putting it on
and strutting around taking selfies.
Okay, so maybe he did actually do that. But it was literally only one selfie, and he only sent it to
Stan because, well, he just had to. On a moral level.
It’s just as Louis is drifting back to his chaise longue for more bored lounging and staring out of
the window (owl stuffed animal in tow—it’s eyes are just too wide and adorable to not cuddle and
he’s got shit else for company anyways) when he hears the faint tinkling of piano keys.
Of fucking course.
Are pianos handed out at birth?
But Louis has enough liquor in him to provide a pleasant buzz and since the living room doesn’t
have much to offer that he hasn’t already dissected, he makes his way towards the sound and
presses his ear against the cool wood of Harry’s door.
The tune is lilting and sweet and unfamiliar, almost sad by nature while still bearing undertones of
hope. It’s rather lovely, really, and as Louis listens, closing his eyes and absorbing the textures of