Young & Beautiful

Because Harry is acting more and more distracted and Louis can only watch.
True, things have become generally quieter amongst the boys since the term’s begun to conclude
and exams have become more serious. They party less, throw excess around a little less, and have
begun replacing sweaty nights with sleepy ones buried within the pages of textbooks. Most of
their time off is either spent around Zayn’s table, laughing about everything and nothing while
they drink and smoke, snapping too many photos and puttering on their laptops, or at Liam’s,
wasting brain cells on video games, mild drugs, pricey liquors, and atrocious, impromptu jam
sessions. It’s all less glitzy than the usual, but it’s nice. And Louis almost prefers it.
He likes how Zayn stays in at night, swaddled in black sweatpants and band t-shirts, hair in
disarray while he wears, large, oversized black glasses that slip down his nose as he scribbles out
notes and powers through novel after novel, bookmarking symbolic themes and loud quotes.
He likes how Liam’s face scrunches with worry and concentration as he pours over spreadsheets
and Powerpoints, the sleeves of his oversized jumper pushed up to his elbows, receiving important
phone calls and addressing everyone with his business-like, speedy sentences, his shoulders taught
and the shadows present under his large eyes.
He likes how they all feel the weight of school, as one, and have downgraded to ratty clothes and
greasy hair. And how, without the constant thrum of excitement, they still get along famously, still
care, still have more fun than anybody else, and still choose to be with each other. Because, Louis
realizes, they’re proper best mates now, all them, and it’s comforting, it’s nice, and it’s better than
anything Louis could have hoped for in coming to this damn school.
Having said that.
Niall never gets affected by school. He still has Rory completing the assignments he doesn’t care
for while he putters around on his audio programs and watches senseless YouTube videos for
indefinite periods of time. And since the others have been a bit lackluster after 11 PM, he’s the one
who still manages to go out on the town, solo, and stumbles back to the flat at odd hours to sit and
ride out his intoxications with a pajama clad Louis.
And then there’s Harry. Quiet, increasingly distracted, solitary Harry. He never does his
coursework—Louis doesn’t know how this boy is passing—and he rarely ever sits, always
seeming to pace, always standing and staring out of windows, clutching his phone in whiteknuckled
hands. Though he’s often present, he barely talks, not even to Zayn, and Louis can’t
remember the last time he’s had a ‘thing’ or an ‘obsession’ and he can’t believe he’s saying it, but
Louis sort of misses all of it. Once in awhile, while Louis’ in the middle of telling a grand, bullshit
story or teasing one of the boys, he’ll catch Harry looking at him, his eyes watchful and curious,
peering at him with a quiet intensity that Louis can’t gauge. It’s unnerving, Harry’s calm,
unblinking gaze. But then it’s gone, and nothing changes.
Their tutoring sessions have been so quiet.
With Harry never straying from the lesson, his face never straying from the notes, and his slender
fingers resting on the spines of books as he highlights quotations, there really isn’t much room for
anything lively or memorable. He drawls unhurried definitions and explanations, breathes quietly
in the silence, and barely glances at Louis, never comes near Louis, won’t acknowledge Louis,
and it’s all just so fucking strange because isn’t this the boy who watched the sun rise with him
while they sang Daft Punk?
The world feels upside down. But Louis needs to focus, needs to think of school, so all he can do
is offer jokes and smiles and scoffs, but he can’t push it any further than that.