Young & Beautiful

They arrive as one, Harry leading the way in his gray and mocha plaid blazer, cream knit sweater,
and matching gray bow tie, carrying what appears to be an umbrella… With a dog head for a
handle. Which would annoy Louis far more if he wasn’t currently caught on an emotional fishing
line, trying his best not to stare intently at Harry’s eyes (are they duller than yesterday? Is there life
in them today? Are they unchanged at all?) and instead focus on the atrocity in Harry’s hands.
“This is Berkley,” he purrs fondly, faux-smile bedazzling the room as he holds up the dog carving
reverently.
And, fishing line or no, Louis stares at the thing with blatant revulsion.
“That has got to be the ugliest thing I have ever seen,” he states flatly on instinct, causing Harry’s
eyes to immediately flash to him. He scolds himself instantly though because he’s trying with
Harry, he really is--and, judging from Harry’s acknowledgement of him, he thinks he might be
trying, too--so he adds a hasty, “But it’s very quirky,” and offers an attempt at a smile.
Harry still scowls, but it’s not cold or cutting like it usually is. It’s, as odd as it sounds, an amiable
scowl, but Harry still shields the umbrella from Louis, and averts his eyes elsewhere as he makes
to greet Niall.
So perhaps there really is progress. And perhaps whatever mess Harry was in yesterday has been
resolved. Because his smiles aren’t as fake as usual, and he seems very up and pleased with that
umbrella. So that’s something.
“So sorry we’re late, mates,” Liam says, but it doesn’t sound very apologetic, just scripted, as he
clutches Zayn’s arm with one hand and smooths out his hair with the other. “Our meeting ran a bit
longer than usual today.” And there’s no mistaking the glee that rides just below the surface of his
words.
Zayn is quick to roll his eyes, meeting Louis with a half-lidded, exasperated stare as he shakes his
head. “By his own doing.”
“Hey, now,” Liam responds, whirring to pout at Zayn, thick eyebrows meeting as one, “You said
I could do whatever I wanted. Not my fault there was a lot on the agenda.”
Zayn just shakes his head, but there’s a light twist of his lips and he presses back a smile.
“So, are you going to tell us what you’re talking about, or…?” Louis states, leaning on the counter
and glancing between the two with very unimpressed eyebrows.
“Student Union?” Niall offers from the other side of the room where he’s adjusting his cream
jumper and unpinning the tags as Harry watches him calmly, dog-shaped umbrella handle beside
him at eye level. For fuck’s sake.
Zayn nods, and Louis bites back a snort.
Zayn’s the president of the Student Union. Naturally. And about once a week, he “holds”
meetings where he sits in a large chair as he watches other, lesser, beings make articulated
speeches and discuss the goings-on of the school in professional tones and spreadsheets, planning
affairs and making nice with the so-called “elites” of the university. And, of course, Liam is also in
it.
Because, you know, god forbid Zayn and Liam ever separate.
“Even though I’m the Vice President, Zayn let me hold the meeting and do all the work today,”