Young & Beautiful

Harry pauses, peering up at him with grumpy, furrowed eyes, and Louis can’t tell if it’s the cold or
the embarrassment that flushes his cheeks, but he finally accepts the offered hand and rises to his
feet unsteadily.
“Football is stupid,” he mutters, his hand immediately finding his watch and rubbing the space
there absently. He averts his gaze to his feet.
“Football is fun,” Louis corrects.
“I’m no good at it,” Harry scowls, looking off in the distance. “I never was.” He glances at Louis
who is still catching his breath as he listens, his beanie clutching on for dear life, hands on his hips.
Harry continues, low and hesitant. “I was never really a sporty sort of person. My father wanted
me to be, I think, but… Like, even at school I just..” he stutters in his rumble, picking at the dying
grass with the toe of his boot, hand still clutching his wrist. Finally, he looks up at Louis, eyes
very nearly miserable and very helpless. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”
And Louis bursts into laughter. Which makes Harry’s face crack the tiniest bit, his lips twitching
upward.
“It’s not funny,” he argues, but his lips twitch further, and Louis can only cackle, head thrown
back and arms wrapped around his stomach as Harry tries his hardest to maintain a scowl.
“OI! Lads! You coming or what?!” Liam shouts suddenly, splitting the air between them.
“Yeah, yeah! Just a minute!” Louis shouts, his laughter finally dying down.
Harry’s gaze returns back to the ground. He chews at his lip.
“I can teach you, you know,” Louis says simply with a smile.
Harry looks up, cross. “Maybe I don’t want to be taught.”
Louis just shrugs. “So then ignore me. But I’ll teach you, anyway.”
Harry stares.
Louis takes that as a green light.
“All right, so, first off—your stance is all wrong. Here, you’ve got to shift your weight, just like
this—“ Louis places his hands on Harry’s, urging his limbs to shift into the proper pose.
Taken aback, Harry’s eyes find his face, unblinking and direct, as Louis looks down to their feet,
instructing Harry’s to move accordingly. But as Louis continues to speak, his hands still clutching
gently onto Harry’s own, Harry’s eyes, intent on Louis, flicker with something indefinable, the
planes of his face twisting with unease and, suddenly, he disengages himself from Louis’ grasp
without an ounce of warning. Instantly his features grow distant and startled, his stare having
flicked away from Louis’ face, now darting around the courtyard.
“I want to play a different game,” he suddenly announces, stepping away from Louis, voice offkilter.
Louis blinks. Because…what just happened? He observes Harry—his fidgeting feet and hands
that search for something to do.
“Uh, and what game would that be?” he asks, for lack of anything else to say, bringing his hands
back to his sides and feeling a persistent stinging beneath his flesh at the sudden change. He’s