Young & Beautiful

earlier. He doesn’t think it was.
Still, there’s a peaceful silence between them, filled by an outside breeze and some broken
sentences as people pass in and out the door, and Harry’s eyes remain upward and Louis’ eyes
remain on Harry.
“What have you been writing? On those bits of paper you’ve been stuffing into everybody’s
pockets? I saw you give one to Zayn. Don’t think he noticed, though,” Louis says, voice slurred,
but he keeps his eyes fixed on the boy before him, who he now sees is wearing cat ears, almost
buried beneath his curls, and large smears of black, shimmering makeup smudged over each eye.
It’s sort of beautiful, but sort of not, and Louis’ too drunk to think about it anymore than that.
“Quotes,” Harry replies, lips poised to the heavens.
“Oscar Wilde quotes?”
“Dorian Gray quotes.”
“Oh,” Louis says, playing with the glitter in his bucket. “Same thing, really, isn’t it? But. That’s
clever.”
Harry shrugs.
“Do they mean anything? Or they just selected at random, then?” Louis asks, trying to stifle a burp
and remain collected, as the alcohol swims through his bloodstream, bubbles his stomach, and
steers his vision. He’s trying to be serious, trying to act sober. Because maybe Harry needs to talk
once in awhile.
But all he says is, “Yes. I’ve chosen each specifically,” and he leaves it at that, his lips pressing
into a line.
Clouds drift over the moon. It’s very fitting for the holiday.
“I think I’ve gotten glitter all over your skin,” Louis notes, taking in the shimmering surfaces of
Harry’s flesh under the pale blue light.
Harry shrugs again, this time sipping his punch.
Louis shifts, feeling at odds with the situation—and he really just wants to have fun right now, not
deal with the utter tornadic complexity that is his and Harry’s friendship but at the same time he
feels torn—and he cocks his head, trying to catch sight of Harry’s full face rather than his profile.
“Are you having fun?” he asks as a last attempt.
Slowly, Harry turns to face Louis, a grimaced smile tattooed on his lips.
Louis’ heart drops.
Well, shit. Back to this.
But it’s not as dramatic as Louis anticipates it to be, the air quiet and calm, Harry’s eyes shadowed
and unseen, and he merely turns his back and becomes part of the crowd in one effortless, quiet
movement, never answering Louis.
And Louis’ really drunk still and life still seems fun and Harry Styles still seems like a distant
problem, so he buries any discomfort that threatens to erupt, instead surging back inside and