Young & Beautiful

‘Goodnight Harry’
He doesn’t get a response—he wasn’t expecting to—but it doesn’t stop him from falling asleep
almost immediately for the first time in two weeks.
**
Louis doesn’t know why the fuck he’s going to this luncheon.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to see the boys before they leave for holiday break. He does,
obviously, and very much so. But the thing is… Louis isn’t sure where he and Harry stand. Are
they friends again? Or did they just part amicably? These are things that Louis needs to know.
And normally Louis would be stressing about this to Niall, but unfortunately he hasn’t stopped
talking since he came home (very early in the morning, deciding to wake Louis up with a body
slam in bed and a never-ending chat about how incredible his night was; which would’ve been
fine if he hadn’t smelled so strongly of weed and alcohol and several different perfumes) and is
currently more occupied in trying to decide which party to attend first over holiday.
“…but I hear George Van Eyck’s parties are sick and I know his cousin’s a big name in the record
companies, so I figure I might as well get in cozy there, eh? Besides, his mum is fit. And he
always has good weed. You can’t go wrong, right?” Niall blathers, cheeks pink with the cold as
they ascend the staircase to Zayn’s rooms. His hands are deep in the pockets of his black peacoat,
and a thick, wool scarf is wrapped loosely around his neck. He’s the perfect picture of winter,
contrasting with the warmth of his lilting voice.
But Louis is barely listening.
Because they’re closing in upon Zayn’s door. And behind Zayn’s door is Harry. And though, yes,
him and Louis shared a moment last night—if that’s what you call it? Because it felt like a fucking
moment—he can’t help but fear Harry’s temperament and his reaction to the situation. Will he
recoil? Hide? Lash out? Be a total prick? Will he even be there?
Fuck, he should’ve just went home. He could’ve been sat on his couch, surrounded by his sisters
by now.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
When they finally reach Zayn’s door, Niall bursts forth without any hesitation.
“Mates!” he exclaims, arms outstretched in a welcoming embrace as he clomps forward, and
Zayn’s smile immediately flashes into existence from where he’s sitting at the head of the table.
Within mere seconds of entering the space, Niall’s got his glass filled with whiskey, a lit cigarette,
and a plate filled with food. It’s like he’s equipped with his own personal army of tiny, invisible
nymphs that flit about him, serving his every need.
Louis is far quieter than his predecessor, skulking in quietly and taking in the scene, his white
jumper hot against his skin and his jacket buttoned too tightly to his chest.
“Niall! Louis!” Liam greets happily, slapping Niall’s back happily before making his way to
Louis. He sits in front of him, perched upon the edge of the table, staring eagerly like a child
would his favorite teacher.
“Liam, mate,” Louis smiles, fiercely fighting the urge to search for Harry in his peripherals. Is he
here?? Is he happy?? Is he hurt?? Is he here?? And, god, he can't even blame his jittery
attentiveness to champagne.