Young & Beautiful

“You quite proud of it, then?”
“Of what?”
“Living here. Coming from all this.”
Harry looks around, expressionless, as he takes in the high, vaulted ceilings and tapestries. “Not
really,” he says, simply and monotonously. “It makes no sense to me.”
Louis steadies his gaze onto him, surprised, and quirks his eyebrow. “Then we have something in
common, after all.”
Harry’s own stare slides to Louis, and their eyes lock, Harry’s boring into him unblinkingly. Louis
can feel the pangs beneath the surface, the swirls and a thousand other things, and even when he
clears his throat, Harry doesn’t look away.
“Well?” he suddenly questions, breaking the silence, “Aren’t you going to show me around?” He
tilts his head inquisitively, taking a few steps towards Harry.
There’s a pause, and a cloud moves to cover the sun outside, muting the sunbeams that sneak
through the cracks of the covered windows.
“No,” Harry finally says, but it’s said with such little conviction, his mind obviously in a thousand
different places, and the exhaustion in the hallows of his eyes and tension written in his skin is
enough to send tiny jolts through Louis’ bloodstream, stabbing at his heart.
And fuck.
Louis’ seen the darker bits of Harry, has seen his foul moods and his glares and his tears even, but
this quiet anxiety within him is new, and it’s unsettling, very unsettling, and Louis doesn’t want to
see the forlorn stress that pours from his skin any longer, because it’s making his fingers twitch
and it rubs the back of his throat unpleasantly.
So, with a smile and a complete lack of thought, he walks up to Harry and finds himself nudging
his elbow playfully into Harry’s side. “C’mon, then. Just a quick look? I might even get jealous.
And hate my life, wishing I was you. Wouldn’t that be nice?” he teases with a large smile, and
nudges into him once more, trying to soften the sharp edges of Harry’s expression.
And Harry…Harry fucking smiles in response. He smiles.
Harry Styles actually smiles.
It’s small (tiny, really), it struggles to bloom, and it’s paired with eyes that are still a little distant
and dark, but his lips quirk and his dimple flashes, and it’s the softest, most sincere thing Louis’
ever seen, even if it is gone in a split second.
And Louis can hear the refusal, can see it building behind Harry’s eyes again slowly and—
“Okay,” he relents suddenly, his tone calm, quiet. And he leaves it at that. No charm slathered on,
no quips, no winning smiles. Just a simple “okay” and he leads the way, his limbs relaxed as his
long legs glide forward.
Louis stares after him, truly surprised, before catching up and stepping into place beside him.
**