Young & Beautiful

“Hey mate. I’m, uh, here to see Harold,” the boys says, a little unsure, almost as if he’s potentially
unaware if he’s at the right door or not.
Lovely.
“He’s not here,” Louis says without ceremony, and shuts the door in the boy’s face before another
word is said. And that felt good. With a proud smirk, he turns around, feeling accomplished.
And then the smirk falls straight off of his face because there’s Harry, standing right in front of
him, watching the scene with a scowl.
Well, shit.
Did the boy see Harry there the whole time? Is he going to knock again because he knows Louis
was lying?
“What was that about?” Harry demands, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s in the most casual
clothes Louis has ever seen—inappropriately tight jeans and a black t-shirt that still manages to
have buttons at the collar. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept—or at least hasn’t slept peacefully—
and Louis regards him with a gaping mouth and wide eyes.
“Er—“
“You had no right to send my guest away,” he says sharply. He’s staring at Louis like a hawk
would his prey. Which then sparks the memory of Cleopatrick and, huh, fuck. Louis forgot about
that. Harry really is a hot mess, isn’t he?
“I know,” Louis replies, crossing his own arms and shrugging unapologetically. “But I just did,
didn’t I?”
Harry glares. “Tell him to come back.”
“I’m not your puppet.”
“Tell him.”
“I wouldn’t even if I wanted to. And do you know why?” Louis asks, eyes pinching into a glare
as he takes a step towards Harry who glares harder in response. “Because all of those people are
nothing but harpies. And you can do better than that, you great, sex-crazed, bumbling oaf. So, yes,
I’m going to send them away every chance I get, and I’m not going to apologize for it, and I’m not
going to pretend otherwise!” With that, Louis sniffs and turns away, feeling victorious and
adamant. He resists the urge to stomp his foot.
Harry’s glare recedes. “What do you mean, I can do better than that?” he asks, and his tone is
surprised and confused and caught off guard and all those other things that make Louis’ arms
uncross and fall to his sides, his face turning to Harry’s.
“Just what I said,” he says gently, before his voice picks up its strength again and he flicks his hair
out of his eyes. “Now. Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”
Harry ducks his head, shuffles a bit. “Why are you here?” he mumbles to the floor, and he’s
hugging his stomach now, the light catching in the bags under his eyes.
“Because I need to study and Niall’s being a wanker. I liked it here yesterday. So. Will you take
me?” Louis asks, and a smile plays at his lips.