Young & Beautiful

Dressed in a solid ebony suit and bow tie, curls tossed and practically shimmering in afternoon
light, lips obscenely pink (the fucker wears lippy, he has to), is Harry Styles, holding a champagne
glass with his fucking pinky extended, smiling in a half-sneer that tugs at his dimple and leaves his
eyes shadowy and desolate.
And fuck, this day just got worse, because there is he, right there, and Louis had totally forgotten
that he’d returned. Had totally forgotten that he’d stood outside his window last night.
Oh god.
“Well, well. Shady’s back,” Louis mumbles, eyes stuck on Harry and feet stuck on the floor. His
mouth is dry and his hands crawl into his pockets to hide and he flicks his hair nervously and just
when the fuck did he become so awkward around Harry fucking Styles?
Oh yeah, maybe after he’d seen him crying in his room? Or maybe after he’d seen his body
tugged in ten different directions by harpies? Or maybe when he held his hand as he slept
peacefully. Or maybe not, who knows.
But Louis just stares now, frozen to the spot, attempting a glare but unsure of the outcome as he
feels every pair of eyes on him in the room.
“I told you he would be,” Zayn smirks from his throne, lounging with a cigarette and Liam at his
side, and immediately Harry and Louis’ eyes fly to him.
Louis is speechless. And on the verge of throwing a brick at Zayn’s head—because, thanks to
Zayn, Harry now knows that Louis had inquired about his whereabouts. And the last thing he
needs Harry to think is that he cares about him in any way at all, because that will probably only
be used against him and to Harry’s own advantage.
Not that Louis cares.
But then he feels Harry’s eyes slide over to him and he refuses to react, refuses to look back,
having absolutely no idea how to proceed with the situation, while still staring at Zayn with a fury
that only the Hulk himself could match. Zayn merely smokes peacefully and traces the patterns of
the tablecloth with his forefinger.
But, luckily, there’s always oblivious Niall and innocent Liam to the rescue.
“You failed your exam?” they utter simultaneously, Niall amused and Liam very nearly
flabbergasted.
“Er, yeah,” Louis confirms as he gathers himself, clearing his throat as he turns his back to the
scene, sliding his shoulder bag off and ignoring the burn of Harry’s gaze. “I didn’t even know we
had one today. It was by luck that I’d managed to run into Cindy beforehand.”
“Cindy who?” Harry’s voice asks, and Louis still refuses to look back, instead busying himself
with his belt which is suddenly conveniently too loose and needs to be readjusted. Now.
“Jones,” he mutters, sliding the leather through the buckle tighter, fastening it on the next hole
with fidgety fingers.
“I’ve had her,” Harry drawls pleasantly, and Louis can practically hear the delicate sip of his
champagne between his smug lips.
“Fuck’s sake,” he breathes, rolling his eyes and feeling a surge of disgust. Because, really? Was
that necessary information?