Young & Beautiful

thoughts right now.
**
Eventually all the boys arrive (Niall being last because he insisted on purchasing a segway) and
after berry cordial and various cocktails and hard liquor are distributed (Niall refuses to intake
anything but straight alcohol and labels the rest as “juice”) they depart for a very expensive and
lavish dinner that is just as fulfilling as Niall had promised.
Everybody’s happy, Zayn musing over his cigarettes at Louis’ complaints about all the bitches in
his courses (some people need to sit the fuck down) while Liam giggles at everything and stares in
almost-awe, hand on Zayn’s leg.
Harry is the happiest of them all. Well. “Happiest.”
He fills everyone’s drinks and laughs through his napkin and toasts the sky, the stars, the world,
and fixes his bow tie (yes, he changed, is now decked in a lavender suit, a sprig of berries pinned
to his lapel) with jeweled fingers that don’t tremble, and Louis feels sick watching it all.
Because it’s fake, he knows now just how fake, and with every loud laugh that Harry emits, every
toothy grin that fills the room, every strokes of Zayn’s arm and every clink of his glass against
Niall’s, Louis envisions the shrouded boy at the piano, tears washing his face.
But he doesn’t care, can’t care, so he washes his thoughts down with steak and potatoes, berating
Niall for purchasing a segway.
“You’re not coming home tonight, and I’ll make sure Rory knows it, Ireland!”
"Ireland? Did you just call me Ireland?"
And so Louis very firmly pushes away every thought that threatens to surface.
**
It's as they were driving back to school, stuffed into Zayn’s antique car, the moonlight filling the
sky above their heads as the cool night wind whipped wetly against their skin, that Liam suggests
a party.
“I’ve been getting texts all day about it. It’s supposed to be quite fun?”
“Well, it is Friday,” Louis reasons with a mischievous smile, and Zayn smirks at him in the rear
view mirror.
“My thoughts exactly, Louis,” he mutters, hands resting lightly on the wheel as he winds them
through cobbled roads. “Party it is.”
“Excellent,” Harry grins, whipping out his phone. “I’ve been meaning for an excuse to ring some
people.”
“Since when do you need an excuse?” Zayn counters with a glance back at Harry.
“Never,” he shrugs with a large smile, “but it’s only polite to do so.”
Niall barks his laughter, sliding his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “You’ve got balls of brass, you
do!” he roars heartily, and Harry joins him in laughter, pleased with the accolade and tilting his
head back.