Young & Beautiful

And, simple as that, they leave.
**
Harry isn’t there the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.
Nor is he ever at the studio, which Niall dutifully informs Louis of at nearly every waking
moment, though Niall claims the recording is going splendidly, the track nearly finished. (“Des
even came by today.” “Oh, he did? How did that go?” Niall shrugs. “Fine, I guess. He was a bit
quiet. Kept to himself. He’s a damn good musician, though. The song he wrote is incredible.” “Oh
really? How nice. Was, um, you know, Harr—“ “No, Louis, Harry wasn’t there.”)
So Louis texts him. More than he’d like to admit. He texts him before every tutoring session.
‘Omw. U better be there. Ass.’ Or some variation of that. He texts him when he hits mental brick
walls while studying, his brain scattering to a thousand different places (most of those places
landing on Harry’s doorstep which is just excellent) and leaving him little room to do anything
else but tap out a, ‘Where r u?’ or the occasional, ‘R u ok?’ and sometimes the, ‘Im going to fail
my term and itll be your fault. Think about that Curly.’ And, of course, there’s the, ‘Can u at least
text me to assure me that ur not dead? That wld be nice.’
All to no avail.
And it’s sort of worrisome, yeah, it is. But Louis keeps telling himself, each time he arrives at
Harry’s door and knocks fruitlessly, feeling a strange disappointment clunk in his stomach once he
begins walking away silently, that he’s probably happy, probably safe, and probably with his
father. Which…well. Louis actually doesn’t know how to feel about that.
But he really would like to think that Harry being with his father is a good, safe thing. So he
leaves it at that.
He leaves it at that, and he doesn’t stare at his phone hopefully, he doesn’t walk by Harry’s rooms
every day in hopes to see a light, he doesn’t stand in the gardens and wait for a movement, a
flicker, anything, and he doesn’t reenact their last conversation in his head over and over and over.
He absolutely does none of these things because the end of term is almost here, December is just
around the corner—next week, in fact—and Harry Styles is just a boy who, really, may or may
not be considered a mate.
And it’s that simple, really.
Yep.
That simple.
**
They’re in the library—even Niall—and it’s been four days since Louis last saw Harry.
“Don’t worry about him,” Zayn had assured him in a puff of smoke, and Louis smiled and
nodded, sidling the conversation into one of lighter, funnier territory, while the mechanics of his
mind clicked and puttered on, undeterred.
And while Louis wouldn’t label his feelings as ‘worry’, so to speak, he did still continue to think
about Harry despite Zayn’s muttered assurances.
So it comes as no surprise that he’s thinking about him right now as the boys bask in the silence,
Zayn highlighting passages in his novel, Liam clicking frantically on his Macbook, the blue-bright