Young & Beautiful

Louis quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, Charles does, doesn’t he?” he replies delicately, placing special
emphasis on the name.
He’s never been particularly comfortable with the term ‘father.’
With one last unimpressed glance out the window, he sighs and saunters forward. “C’mon, then.
Let’s just get it all in here.”
His mum nods, still gaping with narrowed eyes, before following him out the door.
*
His mum left after they’d hauled box after box into Louis’ new abode, the murky cardboard
contrasting against gilt picture frames and varnished ebony that had absolutely no place in a 21 st
century suite at school.
Seriously--why the fuck was everything gold? It’s Uni, not Versailles.
“I’ll see you soon?” his mother asked before she exited, voice teetering on the brink of frailty.
Louis nodded, doing his best to resist rolling his eyes in pained exaggeration. He was a good
person, he really was—opened doors for little old ladies and all that—but his mother had a
penchant for weakness and self-indulgent distractions, something he, nor his sisters, could ever
really afford.
“’Course, mum. I’ll be back before you know it. One morning you’ll just wake up and there I’ll
be, sitting at the table and demanding brekkie.”
“Or I could visit you?” she uttered with childish hope.
“Mum,” Louis sighed, lacing his words with feigned patience, “I’ll let you know. The term hasn’t
even started. All right?”
She nodded, sad eyes gazing into his, imploring.
Right. Time to go.
Without transition, Louis wrapped impatient arms around his mother. “Thank you again for
everything. Goodbye. Love you.” He pressed a stiff kiss to her cheek. “Tell the girls I’ll miss
them, but only sometimes. Ban them from my room. And keep an eye out, all right? Don’t forget
about them.”
She nodded, eyes still sad. “I won’t. Goodbye, Boo. I’ll miss you, my darling.”
“Best get going! Time is money!” was his response, sung in an overly chipper tone.
He watched her leave for only a moment before turning to the task at hand, mind still settled in the
suitcases that littered the shining floors.
So now, Louis is alone, faced with duct-taped boxes, showy walls that mock him and his nondesigner
shoes, no flatmate (yet), and a very real sense of drowning.
“Well,” he mumbles, sniffing as he surveys his luxurious surroundings with hopelessness, “I
suppose this is where it all begins.”