Young & Beautiful

XXV
Chapter Summary
Louis misses Harry.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It isn’t much longer before Louis takes Harry home from his father’s release party.
They sit together on the way back, tucked in Harry’s limo together in the middle of the seat, Harry
lightly slumped into Louis’ side as the bumps of the road press them closer together.
It’s…odd.
They haven’t spoken since Harry cried—Harry hasn’t even looked at Louis since he let the tears
slip from his eyes. Rather, he’d just followed him blindly, like a soggy pup lost in a rainstorm,
and Louis lead him by the waist through the throngs of guests smoking on the parameters of the
hotel, their strings of smoke twisting together and clogging Louis’ lungs. He led Harry away,
safely and efficiently, and now they’re safe inside the car and on their way home and…it’s just
odd. Louis is unsure if he should speak, touch, comfort, or let alone. He can still feel where
Harry’s tears dampened his shirt, can still hear his racked, primitive anguish and the way his name
was lamented from Harry’s mouth, so painfully and so helplessly that it stirred even the relatively
colder tendrils that Louis is composed of. And he wants to reach out, clasp Harry’s frail hand
between his own or nose comfortingly into the curls that are resting so close to his cheek or, hell,
clutch onto his waist with hands that don't hesitate…but more than all this, he just want to treat the
situation right. He wants to treat Harry right. Doesn’t want to overload him or crowd him.
So instead he just gently lays his head atop Harry’s own—which has tiredly come to slide onto his
shoulder—with feather-soft care, just barely resting upon the silky tresses of hair that could inspire
the next Renaissance. He exhales peacefully, his body filling with simple relief for the mere fact
that Harry is here, this close, and safe.
It feels good to have him back.
In the fleeting glow of the street lamps he sees the droop of Harry’s eyelids in response to Louis’
movement, but he says nothing and never stirs, just stares out of the window, quiet and worn, a
small sort of serenity overcoming his breathing as the orange glows elongate his eyelashes and the
shadows of his face. It’s begun raining—or rather, sleeting—and it’s splattering against the
windows, icy and abrasive, but Louis can’t quite bring himself to care because right now he feels
warm and dry and a lot of other things that he thinks he could feel forever in some whimsical,
intangible, wonderful way.
And then suddenly the car stops. They’re outside of the outer gardens—near Harry’s rooms.
They’re back.
He tries not to indulge the flash of unhappiness he feels flit through his system as Harry begins
sitting upwards, pulling his body completely off of Louis’ and ripping away the warmth that had
begun to spread to his bones and the corners of his tight, polished shoes. Harry breathes softly as