Young & Beautiful

Harry glances up at him.
Louis waits for an absolution.
“Aren’t you going to eat the strawberries?” Harry asks, and Louis blinks because, no, that was not
what he was expecting, but...it works. Because Harry’s still in the room and he’s not slamming
doors or lowering the cages behind his eyes.
“Of course I am,” Louis says immediately despite his surprise, and throws them into his mouth
without a second’s hesitation, resolutely ignoring the garish wrinkles of Aloysius. He chews,
purposeful at first, then thoughtful, the flavor filling his mouth. “You know, I must say,” he says,
mouth full, “This is probably the best regurgitated strawberry I’ve ever eaten.”
Harry’s face immediately erases of the trepidation and discomfort it had previously housed, a
small, almost silly smile delicately painting it instead. “It’s not regurgitated!” he insists, and it bears
such a childlike undertone that Louis feels his own smile warm.
“Is it an owl pellet, then?” he continues, spurred on, and Harry’s short, quick snort cuts through
the room and the air particles, leaving Louis’ skin abuzz, the very earth abuzz. “Is that what you
were doing while you were away? Finding your Hedwig? And feeding me her remains?”
At that Harry rolls his eyes, but his lips are still quirked, and he begins striding towards his china
cabinet. “Let’s go outside. We’ll hold our tutoring session another time. It’s a beautiful day,” he
says without transition, opening the glass doors and inspecting his teacups.
Louis starts, glancing out the window at the murky gray sky and freezing rain. “Er.”
“It’s perfect weather for a picnic,” Harry continues, before selecting two teacups and shutting the
doors gently. He turns around expectantly, eying Louis. “What say you?”
“I say that you’re bloody mad and that it’s fucking freezing outside. And wet. And we might die if
we have a picnic,” Louis says, still feeling the remnants of the chill from his short walk here. Fuck
no, he was not going to have a picnic at the end of November. Besides, wasn’t Harry supposed to
be a dainty creature, anyway?
Harry sighs, rolling his eyes as he plucks the bowl of strawberries back up off the table. “Don’t be
boring.”
“I am not boring!” Louis squawks, as Harry offers him a small, red teacup with a small sparrow
painted on the side.
“Your favorite cup, correct?” he asks, the object sitting in his extended palm, and Louis nods,
grumbling as he accepts the offering with muttered assent.
“I’m not having a picnic outside with you,” Louis says in a tone that’s very final, letting the teacup
dangle unfeelingly from his fingertips.
“Yes you are. I love the rain.”
“Funny, because I don’t. I think I may even hate it. And besides, I’m not even sure that qualifies
as rain—I think it’s closer to the ‘snow’ spectrum, to be honest. Given that it’s winter.”
But Harry doesn’t even hear, already marching out the door.
“Hey! Where are you going?!” Louis demands, trotting to catch up.