Young & Beautiful

circle, our parents. Des’ wife when Harry was a kid was a model, so they were always at all the
banquets and gatherings that my mum went to. Then we started going to school together.”
“So you’re childhood friends,” Louis restates conclusively, and Zayn nods, flicking paint onto the
canvas in splatters.
“We kicked about at school. Harry was always popular, always got attention, always was first in
everything.”
“I reckon you weren’t much different,” Louis smiles.
Zayn shrugs. “Yes and no. I didn’t like the attention, see. But Harry loved it. It wasn’t the same at
home, like, so he loved everything about it. He was a sweet, charming lad.”
“Was he. What happened?” Louis scoffs.
There’s a moment’s silence, where Zayn sets down his pallet and picks up a moist rag, beginning
to clean his brush. His face is calm and emotionless, but it doesn’t quiet Louis’ intrigue any,
instead setting him even more on the edge.
“It’s common knowledge that Harry’s mum died when he was 9.”
No it’s not. But Louis nods.
“People said he weren’t upset about it. And he wasn’t on the outside—not really. But—“ Zayn
suddenly stops, his motions stilling as his eyes get lost somewhere on the ground, his mind far.
And then suddenly his movements continue, the cloth dragging over the brush, and he’s back.
“Well, that’s his story to tell. He’d had a time of it though, Harry, and just because nobody else
could tell by the way he acted, doesn’t mean there wasn’t shit happening to him.”
Brush now clean, Zayn sets his tools down before gliding towards the large table that sits in the
middle of the room, picking up a slim, guilt case. He opens it, extracts a cigarette, then offers one
to Louis, who takes it without hesitation, as he waits for Zayn to continue.
Zayn places the cigarette between his perfect lips, the white contrasting against the warm hues of
his flesh, and he fumbles for a lighter in his pocket. “He’s had quite a few mums. None of them
stuck around. And then Des started dating my mum.” The lighter flicks into life and licks at the
cigarette as Zayn inhales, deep and beautifully, long, dark eyelashes draped over his cheeks. “We
were about fifteen at the time,” he exhales through smoke, the words curling into wisps. “Then
they got married, we all moved in.” He pauses, reflecting, pinching his cigarette between paint
stained fingers. “He was happier then, Harry. He still had his demons, but he weren’t… He had
fun, yeah, but he cared. We got into so much trouble.” Zayn smirks at the memory.
Louis smiles in response, passing his unlit cigarette between his hands, listening intently.
“He introduced me to everything. We partied all day, every day. Drank everything we could get
our hands on, fucked everything we could get our hands on, smoked everything we could get our
hands on—the first time I tried a cigarette was with him.”
Louis can’t help but laugh at the reverence in Zayn’s voice, and Zayn matches it, his chuckles soft
and cute, so unlike the sharp contours of his exterior.
“We did everything together. To be honest, I think we were both a bit angry about our parents
being married. Des was better back then, he were on medication and he wasn’t drinking as much
and was still clean, so he was all right. I never cared much for him though. If he weren’t on the
road or doing press, he were in the recording studio, and he never said much. Cared more about