Young & Beautiful

“So,” he says, folding his arms across his chest as he stares at Louis, dressed in a shimmery gray
sweater and black skinny jeans, effortlessly chic and smelling of privilege and manufacturing.
“Which personality has decided to show up today?”
The sentence is cold, but it’s said quietly enough, the words reverberating against the chilly breeze
that tousles Louis’ hair and rustles the leaves on the nearby trees, so that Louis only feels guiltier,
dumber, sadder.
Louis sighs, looking down at his feet.
“Fair enough, that,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, but he sees Harry’s face react in his
peripherals, so he chances a glance upward.
The boy’s eyebrows are furrowed, but there’s a quiet curiosity sitting in the corners, and it’s
almost encouraging, really, that there isn’t complete vehemence in his expression.
“I’m coming inside. It’s cold,” he declares, but he peeks out a small smile as he says it, catching
Harry’s eye.
Harry replies with silence, but nods once, stepping back and closing the door behind him once
he’s entered.
And then Louis is standing in the middle of the room, taking in the new rugs lain on the floor
(they’re rather nice), and Harry stands behind him, stiff, just staring with an intent scowl that could
either be concentration or abhorrence—at this point, Louis really doesn’t know.
Zayn’s words are crowding his skull.
…just because nobody else could tell by the way he acted, doesn’t mean there wasn’t shit
happening.
I was in love with Harry.
…he never connected love with anything because he’s never really known what it is…
Be patient with him.
You affect him.
Fuck.
There’s a lot happening right now.
“Look,” he says, turning to face Harry, and he forces himself to look in those eyes. Those
terrifying, vacant eyes. “I’m really sorry.”
Harry stares, his scowl morphing into lines of confusion.
But Louis just continues. “I’m sorry about yesterday, about the day before, about every day, about
now, about everything. I’m sorry. I’ve been an idiot, to be honest. And I’m sorry, Harry.”
There’s this heavy moment of silence where Louis stares at Harry, feeling awkward and like he’s
on fire, and Harry looks almost comically bewildered, caught between frowning and widening his
eyes.
“You’re apologizing?” he asks at last, slow and suspicious, but he keeps his distance.