Young & Beautiful

eyebrows.
“Well, too late now.” And he opens the door without another moment’s hesitation. “Heeeeyyyy!”
he greets in his most jovial tone, and Louis swallows as he prepares himself mentally (impossible)
and follows him inside.
There’s Zayn, wearing black jersey shorts and an enormous paint-splattered black t-shirt,
paintbrush in hand as he stands in front of a large canvas near the row of windows in the back.
And there’s Liam, dressed to the nines in a cream waistcoat and trousers, white button-up shirt
starched and ironed and glowing in the afternoon sun as he sits at the long table and puffs on a
cigar, mindlessly flitting through a large, dusty book.
And there’s no Harry.
So Louis breathes again.
“Louis!” Liam immediately grins, standing up and stubbing out his cigar. “Niall!”
“Lads,” Louis greets, smile wider than he realizes, possessing all the relief and unwinding tension
of suffering from a very close call. And, no, he’s not disappointed that Harry isn’t there because
all he feels is relief. Relief.
Zayn sends a nod their way before he continues painting large strokes on the canvas before him.
“How are you boys today? Up for a smoke?” Niall asks, and is already getting out his little baggy
and the accompanied paraphernalia which Louis had no idea he’d even brought.
“Really, Niall?” Louis judges, eying the boy’s focused movements. “We’ve not even been here
for a full minute.”
But Niall merely shrugs. “No time like the present!”
“Oh, lovely!” Liam smiles, clapping his hands.
After Niall makes speedy work of what he does best, he inhales from the little glass bowl with a
large grin, resembling a chipmunk, before handing it off to Liam and hopping towards the piano.
“Here, I’ll play you a very special song,” he coughs through an avalanche of smoke, and settles
himself down, golden hair mingling with smoke and sunlight.
“Play something chipper, will you?” Louis calls as Liam passes him the bowl with a large smile.
“Yes, something chipper!” Liam agrees, cloudy wisps sneaking out of his lips.
Louis then brings his own mouth to the glass, flicking the lighter into life as he takes repeated hits,
rationalizing that he deserves to get as high as he wants in celebration of the fact that Harry is not,
in fact, here, and thus can relax.
Because, yup, Harry’s not here!
And he’s definitely not going to talk about him.
“So where’s Harry?” he finds himself asking as his head dizzies with weed. Oops.
“He’s missing,” Liam says nonchalantly, sipping tea.