Young & Beautiful

He just barely manages to push Harry’s door open, the tray with his two—surprisingly heavy—
lattes taking up the majority of his hands. He’s got them both—the gingerbread and the eggnog
lattes—and the air outside is crisp and faintly smells of smoke and cold, the scent clinging to his
clothes and skin despite now having entered Harry’s warm, empty, softly lit rooms.
Empty.
Luckily, Louis’ growing more accustomed to Harry’s whereabouts, so the still atmosphere and
vacant spaces don’t deter him, his focus shifting towards the lightly ajar bedroom door instead.
The happy tinkling of a piano is heard.
Louis already feels his smile forming.
“I brought preseeeeents!” he practically sings as he bursts through the door, holding the tray above
his head like Simba as Harry jerks, his hands falling from the keys before he spins around wildly.
His eyes connect immediately with Louis’, the shadows below suggesting an unrestful night, but
they’re still as marginally relaxed and pleasant as yesterday, the corners of his lips barely pulling
upward. A white sweater the texture of gossamer hangs off of the points of his shoulders and
clings to his spindly, spidery legs, and his long, slender feet are adorned in black heeled boots,
resting on the pedals of the piano. His hair is in artful disarray—much like his very soul, one could
say—fluffed on top of his head in great, swooping curls that fall in his face and catch in his
eyelashes and tickle his cheeks.
If he’s surprised to see Louis in his rooms this early in the morning—after all, Louis had never
really specified just when exactly he planned on coming over—he doesn’t really show it, his face
composed and calm, faintly tinged with a smile.
A smile that Louis’ caused.
Just because Harry’s sees him.
Him.
That probably shouldn’t feel as monumentally earth shattering as it does.
“Hi,” Harry says simply, quietly, before his eyes flick up to the tray Louis’ holding and his lips
quirk higher. “What’s that?”
“Presents,” Louis repeats, watching the way Harry’s lips morph, his tired eyes alight. “Because
you said you’re over strawberries, right?”
Harry nods, eyes returning to Louis’, the small smile present and watchful. The morning sun is
streaming through the windows, setting the piano and the hairs on his delicate, pale arms on fire.
Some of it gets trapped in his eyes.
“So I thought maybe a nice Christmas-y flavor could be your new thing,” Louis continues through
his grin, feeling full of energy and just really fucking excited. Though he couldn’t explain why if
he was asked. “So. Try these. Tell me your feelings about them. Let us discuss. Let us brainstorm.
Because you have to start somewhere, don’t you?”
Slowly, Harry blinks, his smile fading. “My new thing? You brought these for me?”
“Correct.”
“Both of them?”