Young & Beautiful

“Niall, you lazy sod, I swear to god I’ll—“ Louis begins with a biting glare, before he’s almost
immediately cut off by Zayn saying:
“Louis. Come here a moment, will you?”
Louis blinks, mouth still posed open in preparation to hurl further insult and warning to Niall,
before turning to face Zayn who is now standing in front of the canvas, arms folded in
contemplation with his hip jutting to the side as he surveys his work. His eyes flick to Louis
momentarily.
Louis nods and complies, throwing one last glare in Niall’s direction, who is now playing piano
again, his soft pink cheeks seemingly suppressing a smile.
“I want your opinion," Zayn mutters silkily.
Curiously, Louis joins him at his side where he wraps a close arm around Louis’ shoulders,
pulling him tighter to his side as he stares intently at the painting before them, smelling of cigarette
smoke, aftershave, and acrylics.
“Tell me what you think.”
Louis stares at the work before him.
Zayn’s painting? It’s gorgeous. That’s the best word for it.
Large thick crimson, blood orange, and burnt yellow flames lick at a smooth night sky, engulfing
soft bending willows that cluster the frame in chunky brushstrokes. Streams of fire twist amongst
the congealed bark and the brilliant green leaves, half-shaded in shadowy night tones, of branches
that grasp at tiny, twinkling stars flicked onto the canvas. Amongst the fiery willows sits a twisted
thorn bed, their glimmering stems painted in thick ebonies, spikes illuminated in grays and dark
greens.
The swoops of the thorn branches are deep and dark, curling around each other like hair.
Like deep, chocolate mousse, curly hair.
And the green of the leaves reflects the simultaneous depth and one-dimension of a certain pair of
green eyes…
And fuck. What is wrong with him? It’s a fucking painting, nothing more.
“It’s incredible, Zayn,” Louis utters, deeply impressed.
“It’s inspired by you,” he half-smiles, hand squeezing his shoulder.
Louis looks to Zayn, then back at the painting. “Me? Zayn, this is, quite literally, a pit of fire.
That’s engulfing the world. What are you trying to say?”
Zayn smiles wider at that, studying Louis’ face with something akin to smug satisfaction, before
returning his gaze back to his creation.
“You’ve got that fiery spirit,” is all he says.
And fuck.
So it’s a painting about himself but it reminds him of Harry.