Young & Beautiful

“Well. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
And then their server comes with the next round of drinks, and they clink glasses, laughing for the
rest of the evening, drinking away the remnants of their hangovers.
**
Louis has a missed call from his mum. Which is fucking splendid.
Especially because he’s cranky as fuck—having not been able to sleep because, perhaps, he’d
been, maybe, outlining a plan of ‘attack’, so to speak, and it may have, potentially, been entitled:
‘How To Become Friends With Harry Styles’. That, on top of having to sit through excruciatingly
boring lectures (and he forgot his homework for one of them, so fuck it all) and having to politely
but firmly squash the incessant attempts at flirting from a group of Dolce & Gabbana girls, has
made Louis a very, very grumpy duck.
And now, as he looks at the little notification on his screen, he’s gotten even grumpier.
Really, he should be thankful. Because after the mess from the other day, she hasn’t made any
attempts to contact him--not a text or anything. And she didn’t even leave a voicemail now, has
just rung and then hung up, so Louis really should feel relief, but instead he feels dread. Because
she’s only rung less than ten minutes ago, and she’ll probably ring again.
Making a noise suspiciously like a growl, Louis shoves his phone in his bag and starts towards his
flat, ready to sink into the couch before he embarks on his tutoring with Harry.
**
There aren’t any more missed call from his mum. Just the one. Just one. One.
And Louis doesn’t understand it at all, but he credits the unease in his stomach to his
overwhelming relief and nothing else—it’s not like he wants her to make more of an effort to
speak with him, or maybe see how his day’s been going—and so he doesn’t say a word when he
collapses on the sofa next to Niall, who’s stoned as fuck and watching cartoons in his pants and
nothing else, snapback haphazardly hanging off the side of his head.
“Rough day?” he asks, offering Louis his bowl.
He declines the offer, instead sighing out a “Fuck yes,” and burying his face in the velvet
cushions.
“Rory’s out getting me food. Want anything?”
“Cake?” Louis squeaks hopefully, and Niall flashes him a thumbs up.
“You got it, mate.”
They stay like that for a good twenty minutes, Louis drifting between sleep and wakefulness, Niall
watching the TV with drooping eyes, occasionally barking out a stream of cackles.
And then the cake comes, and they stuff their faces, and Louis is just thinking that this is probably
the best moment of his life as he licks his fingers clean, when he glances at Niall’s Rolex.
“Oh fuck!” He bolts up, tossing the empty bakery box onto the coffee table, as Niall yawns and
looks up at him curiously.