Young & Beautiful

He doesn’t fall apart, he doesn’t screech his annoyances at Niall, and he doesn’t map out plans of
attack. He just breathes and pushes his frustrations, his screamed questions, his guilt, his empathy,
and his discomfort to the back of his mind for another day. Or month. Or year. Or decade.
And he continues on with his present life.
Still though, he mentions it briefly to Zayn one day, when they’re studying in the library and have
only a few minutes before they need to pack up so they can make their dinner reservation.
Liam and Niall are sharing a laptop in the corner, giggling like buffoons at some video—the only
time Liam’s laughed in awhile, the stress of the latter half of the fall term putting his over achieverness
into overdrive—while Harry is charming some beautiful boy over by the large windows near
the front desk.
And, no, Louis isn’t watching the display. Not watching like a hawk. Because he’s not curious,
and he’s not fascinated, and he’s not a little bit irked in the dark recesses of his soul.
“So. Harry,” he mutters to Zayn, who’s on his right, quietly reading a large, dusty novel with
chipped pages and endless sentences.
He glances up, his entrancing hazel eyes smacking Louis in the face like they always do. “Harry?”
he murmurs questioningly.
“Yes. Harold,” Louis says wryly, and Zayn smiles. “About him. I, er, don’t know how well
things are going.” He glances over to the subject in question, who is now grinning winningly, his
curls dusting the frame of his face as he laughs pleasantly, pressing soft, purposeful hands to the
boy’s wrist. His face is feral.
Louis resists the urge to grimace.
“What do you mean?” Zayn asks, attention caught, and softly closes his book, peering at Louis
intently.
“I just…I don’t know what’s wrong. Everything was going really well the one day. Then the
next…I dunno, mate.” He considers sharing the quotes Harry gave him, is about to, then
something stops him. A quiet, possessive, discomforted pang that already regrets having shown
them to Niall, even. “I don’t know what to do,” he simply says instead, and Zayn nods to himself,
now also looking at Harry.
“I wish I could help you,” he mumbles at last, soft. He shrugs. “But you’re better at this than me.”
“I’m really not,” Louis laughs, shaking his head. “I’m out of my realm, bro. No fucking clue what
to do at this point. But.” He becomes serious, eyes turning to Zayn. “I do have a question.”
He feels himself prickle a bit. Because he’s not sure he wants the answer. Why does he care so
much? Why? Life has never been fair.
Zayn’s eyebrow quirks, but he waits patiently.
“You said so yourself that Harry’s family is the most important thing to him, right?”
Zayn nods.
“And that if he’s…upset, so to speak, it would probably be because of that?”
Zayn nods again.