Young & Beautiful

“Lads! I’m freezing me nuts off!”
Niall is clomping towards them, soggy and panting, hair in complete disarray. “Are we still
playing this fucking game or did one of you fucking idiots forget to mention that you’ve been
found?”
Harry and Louis glance at each other.
“That’s what I thought. Now fuck’s sake, come on! The lads are waiting.”
And with one last glance exchanged, they march back towards Zayn’s rooms.
**
The rest of the day is good.
They study sporadically—or, rather, Liam studies sporadically—and lie about, having changed
into warm, dry clothes that snuggle their limbs. Harry lights scented candles (“Strawberry scented,
of course. Anything else would ruin me.”) and Zayn breathes cigarettes and doodles on
everyone’s skin in black Sharpie. There’s copious amounts of food and game systems and jokes
that are only funny because of the way each other laughs about them, and everything feels sort of
wonderful.
And Louis feels happy.
Happy, as he currently stands by Zayn’s fireplace, attempting to make sense of his unkempt hair—
having finally discarded his sad, sad beanie that now smells of grass sweat—when suddenly Harry
ambles up to him, teacup in hand, now wearing an immaculate rouge jumper and brown-black
trousers. Which really shouldn’t work as well as it does.
“Louis Tomlinson,” he greets, and takes a sip from his teacup, eying Louis’ movements in the
mirror. “Keeping your hair a bit of company?”
“I think it may be the other way around, to be honest,” Louis mutters, attempting to sort the mess
of strands. “And it’s keeping me too much company at that.”
Harry smirks, continuing to watch. His gaze is calm and observant, and Louis does his very best
to continue his ministrations and not catch those eyes reflected back at him. Even if he sort of
wants to. Even if he’s already feeling a random, pleased smile pushing against his mouth just due
the mere fact that Harry’s willingly walked up to him. As if this is a thing they do.
As if they were mates.
“I’m hosting a party tomorrow,” he says suddenly, lips large and red, matching his jumper. “Due
to it being the end of term, of course.”
“Of course.”
“You’re allowed to come.”
“Oh, am I? I’m allowed?” Louis says, eyebrows raised, turning to face Harry now, whose lips
twitch. “Funny, the way you say that. As if that has any bearing upon whether I’ll be there or
not.”
Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but his lips twitch even more.