Young & Beautiful

XIII
Chapter Summary
Harry takes Louis.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Harry keeps checking his phone.
Which is ironic, because Louis is doing the exact opposite—he’s shut off his phone. For fear of
incessant phone calls from his mum. That he may have been tempted to answer.
But only to have stopped the incessant ringing.
They’re barreling down a country road in the antique car (much to Louis’ confusion: “Isn’t this
Zayn’s car?” “We share it,” Harry had said simply, then gotten in without another word), having
long left their little town, and neither has spoken a word since Louis agreed to follow Harry. And
Louis is sort of, maybe, panicking, but he’s keeping his shit together as he sits in the passenger
seat trying to figure out just what the fuck is happening. And why the fuck he agreed to be here.
It’s nearing evening, the cloudless sky tinged with citrus hues, and the honeysuckle and cotton
blossoms soak the crisp air. Harry and Louis ride along in their windy silence, their frames
saturated in amber light as breezes ruffle through hair and lick at skin. Sunlight and trees glide past
them in streaks as they wind down the road. Louis drums his fingers on the door, on his thigh,
everywhere, his feet shuffling as he flicks stubbornly curious eyes at Harry occasionally, very
secretly desperate for an explanation or a sense of ease. But he tries his best not to stare fully, and
so he turns his head the opposite way, pretending to take in the blurred scenery.
But he’s acutely aware of Harry and his every move.
Harry.
Harry with his furrowed brow that never blinks as his soft curls whip into his face, his lips set in a
tight line. Harry who’s checking his phone every other minute, face void of emotion minus the
creases and the tightness. Harry who was in a foul, shitty mood and made the world thunder
before whisking Louis away to safety without rhyme or reason.
Well. Hopefully safety. There’s still that chance that murder is eminent.
They’ve been driving for ten minutes and Louis can’t stop picking at the hole in his jeans.
Ten whole minutes of driving.
And Harry still hasn’t told them where they’re going.
And Louis is a really, really curious person.
“All right. I need to know,” he finally bursts, turning to face Harry, whose eyebrows are knitted
together, eyes intent on the road. “Where are we going?”