Young & Beautiful

“Exactly, Ireland. I’ll hate it on principle.”
Liam apparently finds this hilarious, and begins laughing near-hysterically, clapping his hands.
“Hate it on principle!” he repeats through his giggles.
“I’ll hate it with you,” Zayn says, meeting Louis’ eye in the mirror.
“But it’s your house,” Harry protests, and Louis is surprised, having thought he wasn’t paying any
attention to their conversation at all. And also finding him to be a hypocrite because he didn’t
seem too fond of his own residence just yesterday...
“That’s why I can hate it,” is all Zayn says, but his voice is joking and light and it rolls off the
shrug of his shoulders, so it makes Louis smile more and nod his assent.
“You’ve got my back, Malik.”
“I’ve got your back.”
They drive on.
**
Louis sort of does love it.
On the outside, at least. It’s certainly smaller than Harry’s mansion, but ‘cottage’ is the last word
on earth that he would use to describe it.
“You’re not allowed to describe things anymore,” he tells Liam, who strolls ahead, flicking out his
lighter to set flame to the cigarette perched between Zayn’s lips. “This is not a cottage.”
“We’re home!” Harry says emphatically, smiling so large it looks painful, and he hops out of the
car, arms looking ready to embrace the building as he close his eyes blissfully.
“Did you live here?” Louis asks, surprised, turning to him.
But Harry doesn’t open his eyes nor acknowledge the question at all.
“Come on,” Liam says before Louis can protest, tugging his arm forward. “I want to play
croquet.”
“Show us the house first,” Niall orders, and Zayn strides forward, puffing on his cigarette,
motioning the others to follow with the mere flick of his finger.
“This way, lads.”
They climb the steps to the stone building, its ivy and morning glories carpeting the walls. The
windows are large and plentiful, most of them opened and welcoming the cool breezes. There are
balconies and patios and a garage stuffed with shiny vehicles, and surrounding them is a large
expanse of green grass, mini gardens, gazebos, and willow trees whose long branches tickle the
soil.
It’s not as classically over the top as Harry’s house. This actually feels like a home, albeit a grand
one, and Louis already feels more at ease as he passes through the front door, it’s heavy wooden
oak cold and smooth against the palm of his hand as Niall presses it open for him. He finds
himself standing in the entry way, with its tall ceilings and coat racks, and, thankfully, it’s much,
much warmer than Harry’s house on the inside as well. The sun streams through the large