Young & Beautiful

Louis rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “No, but I mean it. Something is seriously wrong.”
Without an ounce of worry, Niall dives back into playing whatever song it was that he’d been
attempting to master. “Well, what can you expect? He’s had a very unconventional upbringing.”
“Big words.”
Niall shrugs. “’S true, though.”
The sentence presses into Louis’ mind. Unconventional upbringing.
Howso? Yes, the 'rock star' father who is apparently batshit crazy and goes missing. (It runs in the
family?) Yes, the drug addict, supermodel sister. Yes, the slew of ‘mums’ and the one who passed
away due to unknown causes, probably to drugs.
Unconventional upbringing.
Harry Styles’ been constructed out of madness, he has. And fuck. How can…
But no.
No.
Louis is not going to be mentally ensnared by Harry today for any longer than is necessary. He’s
already spent the day with him, followed him around, been left behind, stared at scary flowers and
been on the receiving end of the most fluctuant-ly intense stares of his life. And he’s made an odd
sort of peace with him as well, so that should really be enough for the moment.
“Whatever,” Louis says with finality, shaking the thoughts out of his head. “Doesn’t matter.
Anyways. We best get ready or we’re going to be late. And you know how Liam is about that sort
of thing.”
And with that, he stalks to his room and straight to his closet, dedicating his full concentration on
what to wear for the night ahead.
**
The party is much like the rest.
Niall crowd surfs over a sea of glittering people, his laughter booming over the blasting music as it
pours from the speakers, sunglasses taking up half his face. Not too far behind him is Liam, also
crowd surfing, his smile gleeful and excited as hands pass him to and fro. Louis notes with
fondness that Zayn is always close by, hands protective beneath or around him, making sure he
doesn’t fall or get groped unnecessarily. It’s adorable, really, and Louis smiles as they glide past,
Zayn sliding a wink Louis’ way.
There’s decent music and good drugs and beautiful people, and Louis gets caught in a longwinded
conversation with a fit young boy with too many teeth who keeps staring at his crotch like
it’s painted with gold (which Louis can’t really blame the poor thing for, because fuck yeah, these
trousers were made to serve his body and that’s that) and, briefly, Louis wonders, through his haze
of weed, alcohol, and who knows what else, if it would be worth it to drag this nameless pretty
face to the corner and maybe have him fuck or suck him senseless, or at the very least oblige a
friendly hand down the trousers. But he doesn’t feel it, just can’t force it, and he finds himself
bored and studying his wine glass for amusement before finally being saved by Niall, who
demands to show him a bloke who “looks like the splitting fucking image of that cunt
Shakespeare”. And he sort of does; it’s odd.