Young & Beautiful

While Harry is nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Harry?” Louis asks before the door’s even shut, and he glances around, startled when
he sees the bedroom door open and revealing a darkened, still room. His eyes search the
remainder of the space before he drifts along, finding an empty kitchen, empty bathroom, empty
everything.
Zayn watches mildly from the chaise longue while Liam beams and follows Louis with his eyes
curiously.
“He’s left already,” Liam says simply, as if it were obvious. “He’s hosting, you know. He said he
wanted to finalize the decorative details and make sure that the gingerbread men were cooked to
the perfect degree. His theme is gingerbread, you know,” he says, eying Louis’ cream suit. “He’ll
be displeased that you haven’t followed his dresscode.”
“I’m cohost,” is all Louis says, forcing himself to ignore the distinct pain of disappointment and…
could it be hurt? that lingers in the oxygen filling his lungs and fogging his brain.
“You are?” Liam asks, surprised. “He didn’t mention.”
Ouch.
“What did I tell ya?” Niall says easily, thumping Louis on the back before busting open the
Jameson, already accepting a cigar from Zayn and tapping out haphazard texts on his phone.
Ouch again.
Louis glares at Niall’s golden head.
“He’s a bit distracted like,” Zayn says, calm, quiet eyes boring into Louis’. “I’m sure he’ll mention
it once we get there.”
Liam looks to Zayn’s peaceful reassurances before setting pitying eyes on Louis—which make his
stomach twist and his nerves flare.
“Yes, I’m sure he’ll mention it,” he says.
Louis laughs and pretends not to care, sliding off his jacket in the suddenly too-hot room and
setting it on Harry’s desk, ready to drink, ready to laugh some more.
**
They arrive at the hotel the party’s at.
It’s the very portrait of perfection. Everything is gold and amber and caramel and brown, with
sprigs of mistletoe and holly hung about, a large punch bowl filled with gingerbread coffee punch
sitting in the middle—very reminiscent of Zayn’s party, actually, and Louis briefly wonders if
Harry was the true host of that one as well—and ribbons, bows, and evergreen branches
peppering every other surface and vaulted ceiling. The air smells of ginger and there are golden
trays of gingerbread men and tiny porcelain teacups filled with eggnog.
It would all be very charming and very pleasant, really, if it wasn’t for the fact that Louis feels
distinctly jilted. And forgotten.
Especially when he sees Harry, smiling and laughing with a cluster of beautiful guests, raising his
teacup in the air and quoting some goddamn poetry. Which is really fucking annoying. And really