Young & Beautiful

Louis’ stomach plunks down somewhere near his knees. But it’s a happy feeling, a touched
feeling, a warm feeling, a shocked fucking overwhelmed feeling, and he smiles before ducking his
head a bit, a flushed smile painting his face. “Well, then. Thank you again. You didn’t have to.”
“Yes I did.”
There’s a moment of silence, where Harry’s looking down at the piano keys and Louis’ looking
down at his books, and the air is filled with some thick, heavy matter that almost feels like mutual
understanding.
And Louis wants to say more, he wants to say so much more, but his throat is thick and the
moment is so fragile—he’s afraid he’ll reach out and shatter it all with his clumsy hands and toomuch
energy. Because the words Harry’s said are swirling within him and it’s…a lot. Sort of
staggering, really.
So they each return to their respective duties.
Harry seems to fall back into his project easily enough, his pen scratching wildly against paper, his
head bent and focused.
Louis is not falling back into his studying so easily, instead hearing his heartbeat within his ears,
hands slack, and eyes stuck sightlessly on ‘The’—which is the first word on the first page of the
book.
Harry took Louis away from his mum on purpose. He admitted it. He took Louis away. He helped
Louis. Harry Styles helped Louis Tomlinson. Harry Styles admitted to helping Louis Tomlinson.
Fuck.
Louis’ thought process continues in this fashion for an indefinite amount of time, the sky now
turning black, the stars beginning to speckle through the windows, barely visible through the
warm glow of the room. And Harry continues to scribble seamlessly, head bowed, and his hand
flies so very eloquently.
But then it stops.
Louis’ senses tighten. He’s still staring at ‘The.’
“Could you--”
Harry stops, bites his lip, then looks away.
Louis’ head snaps up.
“Could I what?” he prods, setting down his textbook.
Harry brushes his fingers against the keys of the piano, lip still caught between his teeth. Then he
blinks, releases his lip and licks it. “I was thinking. If I played something. Would you…tell me
what you think?” Harry waits for a response, shoulders stiff and feet pressed together as he sits on
the edge of the piano bench.
“Of course,” Louis blurts immediately, completely and utterly shocked because…now Harry
wants his opinion??
A pig flies by the window.