Young & Beautiful

Louis waits, hands gripping so tightly to his shoulder bag that they’re actually cramping now, but
he doesn’t release them for fear he’ll begin scratching Harry’s eyes out or throw a vase.
So he just waits.
Finally, Harry opens his mouth. “I want to study in the gardens today,” he says abruptly, chin
lifted in defiance.
“Okay,” Louis agrees almost immediately.
Harry’s face falters infinitesimally, before stalking ahead. “Let’s go then,” he growls, throwing the
door open, and marches onward, not even pretending to wait for Louis to catch up.
**
After a good seven minutes of sitting in the grass in the middle of the school gardens claiming he
needs to have the right lighting before writing Louis’ outline, Harry decides to call some “mates”
over to join them.
Louis smiles through his stress veins, says, “All right. Whatever you want,” and reassures himself
that he must be mastering some sort of reverse psychology on Harry with these mind games--that
even he can’t quite make sense of at the moment--as Harry texts on his phone.
Louis waits, legs crossed, gripping at grass blades for dear life, having absolutely no idea what to
say in the flowery stillness. He resists the temptation of texting Niall to instruct Nelson to run
Harry over with his car (isn’t he supposed to be attempting to befriend Harry? Isn’t that what this
is all about?) as he watches two beautiful, lipstick-ed girls arrive, kissing Harry and cooing over
him instantly.
He watches the tall blonde place Harry’s head in her lap as he lies in the soft fresh grass, watches
as she pulls strawberries out of her purse and feeds them to him, one by one, as if he were some
Greek God.
He watches Harry’s smirk as his eyes occasionally sweep over Louis, who just sits and can’t think
of anything to do with his hands.
He watches as Harry instructs the magenta-haired girl to write whatever he says.
He watches as she pulls out pink, perfumed paper, and scribbles everything Harry dictates in
regards to Louis’ outline.
All the while as Harry is fed strawberries, and the juice runs down his pearly chin.
Louis is seething. But he bites his lips.
“Does anybody know a violinist?” Harry suddenly drawls, craning his neck to look up
questioningly at the nameless blonde girl. God forbid Harry introduce Louis. “I want music. Text
all the violinists you know, darlings. My phone’s dead so I can’t.”
Like clockwork, both girls stop what they’re doing, take out their phones, and begin texting.
“I’m getting rewarded for this kindness, aren’t I?” the blonde asks with a luxurious smile, and
Harry swipes his fingers over her lips.
“In the best way, darling, I promise you,” he breathes.