Young & Beautiful

“But it’s not as succinct, is it?”
There was a pause where Harry studied him, glare mingled with the tiniest hint of actual
confusion, and Louis could see the wheels turning as he pondered his choice of vocabulary.
“No matter,” he finally concluded. “Just stay behind.”
“Oh, sure thing, Curls.”
And so Louis raced ahead.
“Hey!” Harry immediately protested, and jolted forward, dashing after Louis up the steps and
grabbing at his orange jumper spastically, his serene image of charming cool long forgotten.
“I WIN!” Louis declared in a thunderous tone as soon as he reached the top, shoving victorious
fists in the air.
Harry huffed behind him, shaking out his hand which had knocked against the railing
unpleasantly when Louis shoved him off.
“That’s not fair,” he grumbled in protest, but Louis turned to him, grinning.
“’Remain five steps behind me’” he repeated in laughing disbelief, rolling his eyes and shaking his
head while Harry glanced at him with slight discomfort, still cradling his hand. “The things that
come out of your mouth. I tell ya, son.”
“’Paces’ not ‘steps,’” is all Harry mumbled in response, before begrudgingly unlocking his door
and letting Louis in.
“So you’re teaching me proper, yeah?” Louis asked upon entering, flopping down on the chaise
longue and grinning, kicking off his shoes.
Harry froze at the spectacle, keys dangling from his long fingers. “Gross. Shoes must be kept on at
all times.”
“My feet are cold,” Louis replied, as if that was the end of that, and slid his phone out of his
pocket, shifting his attentions elsewhere.
With a steeling of the shoulders, Harry stalked over to his desk, muttering obscenities. “Fine,
whatever.”
Louis smiled as he flitted through old texts, staring unseeingly as his screen.
There were a few moments of silence, interrupted only by the opening of Harry’s desk drawers
and the rustling of papers while Louis flicked through his phone, answering a text from Niall that
merely said:
‘Best mates yet?’
To which Louis’ replied: ‘Dnt be cheeky’
A few more moments passed, and Louis took in the room, the cat figurines, the velvet curtains that
brushed the floors, Zayn’s paintings that hung quietly, and the scattered pages of sheet music that
littered the corner by a violin and an ancient lute, Harry’s familiar scrawl covering the margins and
every other bit of white space. Which, huh, Louis didn’t know Harry wrote music. But it didn’t
really come as much of a surprise.