Young & Beautiful

wallpaper, and statues that rest on Ionic pedestals, proud and dead and untouched. But he looks
away, feeling as if he’s seeing too much.
Because he’s in Harry’s house. Harry Styles’ fucking house.
And, yes, he knew he was rich, but he didn’t know he was, say, Zayn rich—he expected a
modern, lavish house with a pool in the living room and a TV that’s 3D and maybe a zebra
running about or a gold toilet; but he most definitely did not picture an ornate mansion that would
befit the Sun King.
His brain can’t stop asking those persistent, nagging questions : Why is he here? Why did Harry
bring him? He’s obviously on a mission of sorts, doing something important, something he’d been
meaning to do—he didn’t just come here on a whim. Harry has a purpose. Louis just doesn’t
know what it is. And he certainly doesn’t know why he’s part of it. Judging from Harry’s
behavior earlier, he certainly hadn’t wanted Louis’ company, was in an even worse mood than
usual, and yet. Here they are.
Louis can’t even begin to make sense of it.
So he doesn’t. Instead, he strides into the room with the light pouring from it.
He finds a large, desolate space filled only with empty, ornate birdcages. Some hang from the
ceiling, some stand alone, some sit atop the large, granite fireplace at the far end of the room. They
vary in color and size, resting silent and still, their tiny bars chipped with paint and age. But Louis
doesn’t focus on them despite their dominance in the room—instead, he finds the source of the
light that cuts through them, and finds glass French doors opening to a balcony. The curtains that
hang don’t cover them fully, leaving large strips of light exposed, and Louis walks up to them,
pressing his hands against the warm glass.
And he just stands there.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing exactly—not when the room is too silent and too closed off and
too eerie and too alien. Not when he’s not even sure if Harry will remember he’s there, or just
forget him in this tall, dark, ornate prison of a mansion with its air that strangles the light and
welcomes darkness. Not when he stares out at endless rose gardens and fountains of fish people
vomiting water, and not when he’s surrounded by gold and glass and marble, all the while dressed
in a Rolling Stones t-shirt and red jeans.
Because when Harry had whisked him away to evade mum, taking him to an empty mansion was
the last place he expected.
So he just stands there, really, really wishing he hadn’t agreed to come.
**
Eventually, Louis searches for Harry.
Because he absolutely does not want to be left behind, and he’s uncomfortable and a little sick,
and the day has been terrible, and he really just wants to return to his flat which suddenly seems a
lot less ridiculously posh and smoke, drink, eat, and play video games.
Hell, at this point he would welcome just going home to listen to Niall play his goddamn piano.
So Louis searches the unfamiliar territory, leaving the stark birdcages behind, and finds Harry at
last (after awkwardly knocking on closed doors, almost knocking priceless vases over, and finding
dark rooms that were positively terrifying—one held actual fucking knight’s armor, rusted and all,