Young & Beautiful

But also annoying.
After a few warm clutches of the arm and coquettish pleasantries delivered with a lot of teeth and
dimple, Harry finally sent the girl on her way, smacking her bum as she giggled and left.
Which is exactly when Louis marched over.
As Harry turned to face him, the remnants of his soulless, amused smile faded, his eyes connecting
with Louis’. The false cordiality that had previously taken hostage of his face was swiftly replaced
with something…quieter, more observant, and…trepid? It wasn’t smiley, no, but it wasn’t fake
either, so Louis thought of it as a good start to their session.
“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry greeted, but his voice was lackluster, and Louis really would like to
think it hadn’t been filled with something that could be recognized as disappointment, but, well. It
had been.
Which took Louis by surprise. Because wasn’t Harry supposed to be all excited to see Louis now
that they basically had agreed to be bestest mates and share secrets? Shouldn’t they be holding
each other while they cried by now? So Louis sort of half-waved in an extremely unnecessary
manner and smiled awkwardly while also feeling his eyes narrow with weariness. He can only
imagine what his face must’ve looked like.
“Hi Curly,” he responded almost automatically, but his nerves had already surfaced, making his
voice bumpy, sharp with uncertainty on the edges.
It felt like Harry assessed him for a full minute, eyes blank and built far away, but Louis could
almost feel a hum beneath the boy’s skin, as if a thousand panicked thoughts were flitting through
his bloodstream. And Louis could only hypothesize that somehow, somewhere, Harry had already
come to regret their peace treaty, had already made up his mind not to have any more friends, let
alone ones like Louis Tomlinson.
Because Harry liked distance. And, perhaps, he could see that Louis did not.
In any case, Harry’s eyes revealed nothing, and at last the spell was broken when Harry swooped
his curls out of his face with a large, pearl-smooth hand.
“Right. Well. I’m going up the stairs now,” he said, and Louis couldn’t tell if he was feeling
awkward or if he just had a habit of stating unnecessary comments. But he continued, clearing his
throat and straightening his jacket, hands on his lapels. “You are to remain five paces behind me,”
he added, but it seemed forced and determined. Almost as if Harry was attempting to rekindle their
past mutual distaste.
Which…really?
So Louis rolled his eyes. “I think we’re past this by now, aren’t we? Besides, I think you meant to
say ‘steps.’”
Harry blinked. “What?”
“You meant five steps behind you. Because I would say ‘paces’ is more of a walking term. ‘Steps’
ensures a distance of five actual steps. Since we’re going up stairs and all. With steps.” Louis
smiled sunnily, tilting his head with exaggerated cuteness.
“You can still use ‘paces’ for walking up steps,” he snapped, eyebrows furrowing at lightning
speed.