Young & Beautiful

“Well, I’ve got to go the studio now,” Niall says, hopping over the couch and heading towards his
room. “Gotta work with father on some stuff. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“Ooh, look at you. Mr. Fancy Producer in the making,” Louis teases.
Niall winks as he emerges from his room wearing a snapback and a large jumper, gray sweatpants
poking out from beneath. “What can I say? I’m well bred!” he mocks, and hops over to Louis so
he can wrestle him into a headlock.
“My hair!” Louis squawks as he shoves him away, but Niall merely laughs before bounding to the
door.
“I’ll see you later. Stay out of trouble. Text if you need anything, or text Rory.”
“Will do, Ireland. Bang those drums for me.”
And then the door closes.
Really, Louis should work on his homework, especially for that damn course that will probably
fail him and all his hard work for this term.
But then again, it’s a lovely night, and Louis could stand for some good fresh, evening air, and so
without another thought he grabs his iPod and slides out the door, needing to calm his grating
mind.
**
The walk was wonderful. The sun was fading, the chatter in the streets was muted, and the lights
began to flick on and twinkle all around him. Pubs, shops, and the walls of the school were all
painted in evening blues, and the smell of summer was still just barely lingering amidst cool
breezes.
And Louis was finally, finally feeling better, his head clearing of anxiety and over-thinking, and
was just on his way back when the ludicrous thought that he should take the long way home
occurred to him. And though he knew exactly what he was doing, he didn’t allow himself to over
think it.
But now, here he is.
Standing in the gardens, looking above at the row of windows of Harry’s flat. And the lights are
on. And once in awhile, he’ll see the top of a curly mass of hair walking slowly to and fro.
Occasionally he’ll glance an arm or a hand or the tip of a jacket being taken off.
Harry’s home.
Harry’s home and now Louis has to ignore the surging panic, curiosity, maybe-excitement, and a
slew of other emotions that have engulfed him out of seemingly nowhere. Because Louis almost
staggers from the emotions that are taking over his body, and he doesn’t even fucking know why.
Because he hates Harry, he’s pretty sure he really does, but he can’t seem to look away as he
stands amongst chrysanthemums and daisies on a cobblestone path, the tragic musk of roses
settled in the air, staring up at dimly lit windows, searching for a boy who barely exists.
And he stands there until the lights flick off and the movement is no more, the moon soaking the
world in calm shadow, before he can finally drag himself away.
And now all he can think about is tomorrow.