Young & Beautiful

while Liam wears a black, glittery mask that keeps falling off his giggling face. And then there's
Louis, bedecked in a large curly afro complete with a comb, a staff, and a Jedi robe.
Too many photos are taken, too much wine is guzzled, and it’s all very ridiculous but Louis can’t
seem to care as he strides under the murky night sky, laughing. Not when he needs distractions
such as these, and not when he sings “Phantom of the Opera” at the top of his lungs while he
swings from lampposts, mussing the words because he has no fucking clue what they actually are.
The night, overall, is a success.
And then Tuesday comes around.
And it’s a quiet day.
Louis attends his courses, ears picking up on the random bits of gossip he hears, especially every
time Harry’s name is mentioned, in some slight and distant hope to obtain any form of information
as to his whereabouts, since Zayn and Liam only repeat the mantra of: “He’ll be fine, he always
comes back.”
At one point, a group of beautiful girls in McQueen scarves gab animatedly about their previous
nights’ exploits with Harry (which is utter bullshit, since Louis has, possibly, meandered around
Harry’s rooms and has never once seen the light on, the curtains remaining untouched and the
shadows within settled and unchanging) and Louis resists the urge to shove their purses over their
heads. Because, really.
But other than that, it’s a fairly peaceful day, enough to even sate Louis’ frustration at once again
near-failing his assignment for that bloody course that he hates so fucking much.
So, when Louis comes home from lecture and opens the door to Niall atop a full set of fucking
drums in the middle of their living room, he is rather taken aback.
“What the living fuck is happening?” he deadpans before he even shuts the door, standing in
horror and taking in the display, Niall’s hand poised just above a cymbal, ready to crash down.
And “CCCCHHHHHH!” there it goes, the metal clanging and reverberating within their notsoundproof
flat, and Louis drops his bag to stuff his hands over his hears.
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!” he shouts, but Niall only grins before stilling the cymbal
between his thumb and forefinger.
“I got a drumset,” he says proudly by way of explanation, sat back on his stool like a little boy on
his first day of school, grin wide and a little smug. His pristine tracksuit puts Louis’ own t-shirt
and jeans to shame oddly enough, and his impeccable cologne (which Louis frequently steals even
though Niall gives him bottles constantly) fills the room.
“I see that. And no, you’re not keeping it,” is all Louis says as he shuts the door, kicking off his
shoes.
“I have to, ya' see. Me dad wants me to play back-up drums on Des Styles’ new track.”
Which makes Louis freeze.
“Des Styles? He’s got a new track, then? He’s doing all right?”
“Oh, yeah! Yeah, father called this morning. Des is doing another collaboration with Nick
Grimshaw, and he’s so goddamn excited cuz they asked him to produce it. Last time they did a
track, Des insisted he was going to do the producing himself. Father was fuckin’ furious.”