Young & Beautiful

scrawl.
After moments of silence, in which Louis tries to keep his back to the scene in a display of protest
but fails (his curiosity was always his weakness) he asks, peering over the desk and attempting to
decipher Harry’s neat, swirling handwriting, “You can at least tell me what you’re writing.”
“An outline,” Harry rumbles without hesitation.
Louis rolls his eyes. “So I heard. About what? You haven’t even asked to see the course schedule
or my books or—“
“I know the professor. I also know the course. I assure you, this is everything you’ll need to
know. Now, stop questioning me.” And Harry’s eyes never leave the paper, bored and confident
and sightless.
“Oh, bravo,” Louis mumbles with another roll of the eyes, but he remains silent (if not for the
mere fact he can’t think of anything to say) as he begins to pace around the room, arms still
crossed, surveying the nooks and crannies of Harry’s chaos.
“Do you play these old things?” he asks, nudging a dusty and decrepit lute with his toe.
“Yes. And don’t touch them.”
“I’m surprised they don’t break.”
“Well, if you’re not an idiot, it’s pretty easy to avoid those kinds of things.”
Louis’ temper begins to prickle. But instead of throwing himself into an argument which would
only serve to lengthen this acute form of torture (why had he agreed to this again?) he clamps his
mouth shut and stares into the sightless eyes of the porcelain cats that are now before him.
And then a shuffle sounds from behind him, and Louis spins around just in time to see a beautiful
boy with devastating cheekbones and coal black hair emerge from Harry’s room, clad in a
disheveled school uniform and smoking a cigarette.
Which is unexpected.
“Oh!” Louis starts, dropping his arms to his sides, taking a step back in surprise. “I didn’t realize
you had company.” He blinks, feeling immediately awkward as he stares between the two, Harry
still scribbling, the boy just standing and eying Louis as he takes a long drag.
“He was just leaving,” Harry says mildly without a beat of hesitation, and the boy gives one last
lingering look to Louis before nodding his direction and walking towards the door.
“See you, mates,” he calls, before the door closes.
And Louis just stands there.
“Are you serious right now?” he suddenly bursts, turning to Harry who seems completely
unfazed. “Do you realize every single time I’m here, a random person emerges from your
bedroom? How many people are in there? Are they like fucking gremlins? Do they multiply when
you pour water on them?”
“Hm, very much so,” Harry mumbles, and that very faint quirk of the lips is back as he continues
writing. “And, as you can see, if you feed them after dark they turn into a nightmare in the
morning.”