Young & Beautiful

Harry smiles in response, perfect and charming, but it’s not altogether disingenuous, so Louis
smiles, too.
And immediately Louis feels happy beyond understanding, but also sort of bewildered and
confused, so he mumbles, “Well, someone’s in a good mood,” as he stares, still absorbing the
details of the situation.
Harry? Red suit? Strawberries? In autumn? Harry? Back? Happy?
“They’re delicious,” Harry replies to a question that wasn’t asked, and plucks a strawberry from
the bowl and brings it to lips whose hue matches the fruit in question perfectly. With a smirky grin
that paves the way for so many questions, he bites into the fruit, juices dancing on the soft padding
of his lips, before he pops the thing entirely into his mouth, ripping the stem off delicately and
flicking it to the side.
Louis watches the movement, before shuffling his feet.
He doesn’t want to break the vibe of the good mood. Honestly. He doesn’t.
But he’s prickling with curiosity and worry still, his mind still hung up on that mysterious phone
call that pulled Harry away in the first place, so his smile quiets as he takes in Harry’s face which
bears the relaxation and quiet happiness that Louis had glimpsed last he saw him. It’s the closest
thing to ‘genuinely’ happy Harry’s been, and it’s wonderful. But it also quietly scares Louis,
because inconsistency seems to be a theme in Harry’s life, and happiness is well and good, but
how does it react when faced with troubled waters?
He may be happy now, but what if something happens? Will he crash? Hard? Come tumbling
down to the ground in a fiery wreck?
Louis doesn’t know.
So he regards Harry before he dares out a, “Where’ve you been? What happened?” in the most
casual tone he can manage. Which isn’t very casual at all, his words squeaking at the end the
tiniest bit.
Harry swallows, his eyes beginning to reflect something more real at the words. He looks down at
the bowl in his hands as his lips fade into an expressionless line. He doesn’t move.
Louis sighs, pulling his beanie over his head a bit more, before rubbing a hand over his eyes. He
really needs to stop being so forward with Harry—the boy can’t take it.
“All right, look,” he says, walking up until he’s standing directly in front of Harry, hands
illustrating his words, and he notices him take an almost imperceptible step backwards. “I know I
don’t have any right to know. I know that it’s none of my business and I’ve no right to keep
asking you all of these questions that you don’t want to answer. And I’m sorry for it, I am. I’m
nosy—too nosy for anybody’s sake—and I wish I could say that I won’t keep asking, but I will,
and I’m sorry for all those times, too. But can you at least just, like, let me know that it’s all good?
So I know that I don’t have to worry about you falling into a stupor or summat. Cuz I…” He drifts
off, searching for words. Harry’s shoulders tense, his brow furrowing further as he waits. “…I
need a tutor awfully bad. And, see, it’s such short notice to get another one. So, just because I
need you as my tutor, can you just let me know if everything’s good?” Louis finishes, and he
smiles as he ducks to catch Harry’s eye, immediately feeling the weight of the conversation lift
fractionally.
Harry huffs out a breathy noise (a snort? a chortle? could it be?), shifting his weight as he lifts his