Young & Beautiful

“Niall, I’ve got another fourteen pumpkins in the back—“
Niall waves his hand dismissively, walking towards his room. “Forget about ‘em. You’re coming,
my treat.”
Rory seems more exasperated than thankful as Niall makes to get dressed, and Louis turns around
on the couch, draping his arms over the back and grinning.
“You can only eat pumpkin flavored things though, Rory. RIGHT, NIALLER?” he shouts, and a
distant “Right-o!” is heard in return.
“Right, of course,” Rory sighs, rolling his eyes, and Louis beams before trotting off towards his
own room, stuffing on the first bits of orange clothing he sees, already feeling good about the day
and the people in it.
**
It’s afternoon, they’ve been drinking pumpkin ale and hot apple cider spiked with whiskey (at
Niall’s insistence—“why the fuck would I drink hot apple wee unless it was doing something for
me in return?”), watching scary movies in the background, and have been carving pumpkins
nonstop.
Surprisingly, Niall’s actually very good at it, creating little cartoons and silly faces, (though some
are genuinely terrifying, and Louis’ already demanded that they’re to be put outside, as they’re
deemed ‘unfit’ for the sanctity of their home), and he makes quick work of it too, so their flat is
already generously peppered with charming jack-o’-lanterns, candles nestled inside of them and
dripping hot, orange and black wax onto the still-moist innards. The faces flicker on their walls,
even in the bright hours of the day, and fill the room with delicious, seemingly edible scents that
makes the ale slide down smoother and their jumpers feel warmer.
Louis himself tries to create something that resembles a face, he really does, but for the most part
he just spears a bunch of holes in the pumpkin’s side, and once in awhile one has a rectangle for a
mouth. (“I think I’ll stick to just fetching the pumpkins with Rory next year. Sculpture was never
my forte.” “I don’t think this is sculpture, Louis.” “Shut up, Niall, nobody likes a show off.”) Still,
he takes pictures of them, sends them to Zayn and Liam, even sends one to Harry—a particularly
vicious looking one whose eyes were hacked into angry slits, a large, jagged frown filling up most
of its face. He sent it, along with the words, ‘When did you turn into a pumpkin, Curly?’ and he
knows he won’t get a response, but he at least knows he’ll see it, and he’d like to think it’ll make
him smile and maybe bridge some of the gap that’s still left between them.
It probably won’t, though.
Nevertheless, the carving continues.
Currently, Louis’ completely covered in pumpkin guts, as is the surrounding floor. But that’s
mostly attributed to the pumpkin sludge fight that Louis had initiated, after purposely digging out
all of the contents of the largest pumpkin, before dumping it all onto Niall’s unsuspecting head.
Chaos ensued. As well as Irish profanities.
But now the guts are crusted to their limbs and the room smells pungent despite the candles, and
Louis’ hand is cramping from carving so fucking much, so he settles back and allows Niall to
continue while he hums his folk songs and laughs at the particularly gory bits in the scary movies.
And then, well, Louis’ mind wanders. To tonight, mostly. And he wonders if Zayn and Liam are
carving pumpkins right now or going on a peaceful fall stroll. Or if they’re still picking out their