Young & Beautiful

…
Except that Harry isn’t even fully on the bed, his legs hanging over the end, the pillow far from
close to his head.
And so he shifts him upward, maneuvering the boy with endless limbs until he’s situated
comfortably. Unthinkingly, Louis undoes his bow tie and the first couple buttons on his crisp shirt,
opting out of stripping him of his jacket since he can’t even imagine how he would accomplish
such activity without waking Harry up fully. He unlaces his shoes and slides them off, fetches a
wet cloth and dabs away a mysterious stickiness that coats his neck and hands (Louis doesn’t want
to know) and brushes a cool hand over his sweaty forehead and damp locks.
And now he’s going to leave.
Because he’s officially taken care of Harry and basically bathed him and done all that he should
considering he owes him nothing and Harry has as much respect for him as he does a snow crab.
Actually, Harry respects snow crabs more. He’s said so.
Louis rolls his eyes at the thought as he sits beside Harry, holding the wet cloth in his hands as he
stares at his sleeping form. It’s such a contrast from the usual.
Once again Louis is reminded of earlier in the day, Harry’s face and posture as he wept and
poured whatever feeling he possessed into the piano; that same sense of realness is there now, and
as Louis watches him, unable to look away and unable to identify the clawing in his stomach, he
finds himself placing a hand over Harry’s own.
He wants to take it back instantly. But he doesn’t. He just sits there, staring at this tornado of a boy
with deep shadows and dark curls and holds his fucking hand like a child, unable to pry himself
away no matter how much his bed is calling him.
Eventually he succumbs to his exhaustion though, sliding his hand away and taking a final look at
Harry. He doesn’t know when the next time will be that he sees him in such honest surrender,
such open vulnerability, and it makes him both sad and relieved.
So with one last parting look in Harry’s direction, Louis shuts the door, gripping the damp cloth in
his hand tightly as he tears himself away and trudges back to his flat, each step bearing a new
weight.
And Louis does not want tomorrow to come.
Because he does not like the direction that this situation is headed.
Chapter End Notes
I am becoming increasingly concerned over the length of this fic. My greatest fear is
that it will be 100 chapters or something. I mean, I need to handle this situation before
it becomes Medusa. :S
Aaaanywho, thank you all for reading, you're gorgeous, you're sweet, I love your
words.