Young & Beautiful

following the sight of the dancing milk carton.
**
It’s an ungodly hour when they’re driven back to the school by Zayn’s chauffer, and it’s the first
time Harry’s gone home with them—and he isn’t even accompanied by a cling-on, which Louis
would marvel at even more if he still wasn’t so damn drunk.
They pile out of the vehicle, reeking of sweat and stale alcohol, their sticky skin shivering in the
cool night air. Sleep has begun to lick at their limbs, their voices quieter and their movements
slower; even Liam remains silent, resting his cheek on Zayn’s shoulder, who is glassy eyed and
blinking very, very slowly.
“I’m going home, mates,” Niall announces as soon as his feet have hit the school grounds. “I need
to take this fuckin’ thing off. And shower. And sleep.” And without a second glance back, Niall
takes off, solo.
And Louis would normally be furious—once again, Niall is carelessly abandoning him—but he’s
still pleasantly swimming with alcohol and the sky is alluring, so he sways on the spot and waves
farewell at Niall’s retreating figure, milk carton bobbing gently up and down.
“I’m actually quite tired as well,” Liam notes, eyes droopy and sunken, his eye patch dangling
around his neck, and he looks to Zayn, his hand clutching his.
Zayn nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Let’s go, Liam.” He nods goodbye to Harry,
who is twirling his cane and moseying along the edge of the sidewalk leading toward the gardens.
There’s this awkward moment where Louis hasn’t said anything, hasn’t chipped in and said he’s
also ready to retire for the night, and the crucial point of decision is almost at hand. He stands
there, literally caught between the two parties, and he knows he should go to bed, should sleep off
this night that’s left him simultaneously drained and invigorated, but his limbs are jolting with just
enough borrowed energy that he wants to stay awake, wants to wander the world.
Liam’s looking at him curiously and Zayn keeps glancing between him and Harry—who is
already beginning to wander almost out of sight, eyes to the sky.
“I’m gonna stay, lads. You go,” Louis hears himself saying, and he doesn’t miss the small smile
that flashes briefly over Zayn’s features.
“All right, then. Goodnight Louis,” Zayn murmurs.
“G’night,” Liam adds as an afterthought, yawning and stumbling after Zayn, who pulls him along
gently.
Louis waves, smiling dopily, before he sets his sights on the figure that mixes with the darkness,
winding his way down the garden path.
This is probably a foolish idea, to be honest. A very drunk Louis following a potentially not-thatdrunk
Harry; the recipe is one of pure disaster and bickering, and maybe yet another setback for
them (will Louis ever get anywhere with this boy? Is it possible to be actual friends with Harry
Styles?) but he’s not thinking right, the need to talk and be entertained at the forefront of his mind,
so he jogs ahead without another thought, until he reaches Harry.
Harry, who continues gliding toward the gardens, seeming to head for the center, where the rose
bushes lie in clusters and the ivy wraps around the ancient stone benches that encircle them. He
glances sideways at Louis.