Young & Beautiful

Niall’s face instantly morphs into an expression akin to a bear cub caught in a trap, and that’s all
Louis needs.
“That’s what I thought,” he clips, gathering the last of his things.
“Well—she said hi,” Niall offers, rubbing the back of his neck and twisting his lips in what Louis
assumes is an attempt at a fake smile. For as long as Louis has known Niall, not once has he seen
him anywhere near uncomfortable; the boy’s a fearless dragon—nothing intimidates him and he
would never apologize for who he is. He’s a 'take me or leave me' kind of guy, and such a
confidant, carefree demeanor leaves little room for discomfort or artificiality.
But right now Niall is sure as hell faking a smile and fidgeting under the awkwardness of the
situation, and that just makes Louis feel really, really shitty. Because even Niall—oblivious,
tactless, asks-Liam-why-he-doesn’t-get-that-creepy-birthmark-removed-from-his-neck Niall Horan
—pities Louis and the fact that even he can tell that his mum doesn’t find her only son all that
special. She just wants a son, any son will do, and Louis probably wouldn’t be her first choice,
with his relentless sass and lack of pity and wardrobe filled with too many shoes he’s only worn
once and never again.
She probably wants Niall for a son. Because, really, who wouldn’t? And Louis really doesn’t
fucking care because he’s used to this, understands this, and doesn’t need this.
“It’s fine, Niall,” Louis says, and he does his best to keep his voice light, but there’s an odd
pressure in the back of his throat that throws his tone off, and Niall’s lips tug into the barest hint of
a frown.
He claps a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Look. I don’t know the story between you and your mother.
But I can tell you right now that you’re a solid bloke, a good fuckin’ guy, and I’ve got your back,
mate.”
It’s a simple thing to say and a simple gesture, but Louis supposes it’s just the way that Niall says
things, in his burly Irish lilt that makes the sentence embed in Louis’ bones and warm the cold
places. That and his utter sincerity, which just comes so natural to him.
Louis feels himself smile, genuinely. “Thanks, mate. I appreciate it.” And he returns the clap onto
Niall’s shoulder.
And they proceed to have a moment.
“Well,” Niall then barks, breaking the tender silence, “You best get going or you’ll be late for
tutoring. You’ve got a friend to make.” And he throws him a wink before pocketing his phone
and scratching his nose.
**
Louis’ standing outside of Harry’s door and already rehearsing some of the accommodating things
he can say to him in order to make this afternoon a pleasant experience.
He could offer Harry a drink? Offer to go umbrella shopping with him? Offer to talk? Say yes to
all his ridiculous ideas because he probably doesn’t get the support he needs at home?
Louis’ mind is whirring, spinning and spitting all at once, and he’s so caught up with his
‘Operation: Best Mate’ that he barely registers the door slowly creaking open in front of him.
And there stands Harry, bow tie-less, but wearing a crisp white button-up and onyx blazer with