Young & Beautiful

And shit. Here’s the crossroads.
What is he supposed to say? That Harry cried like a baby last night and Louis (who may or may
not have also let a tear or two slip) promised to never leave him? Like some awful romance novel?
That they’re friends again in some strange, indefinable, poetic way that nobody in the world seems
to be able to understand, least especially Louis or Harry?
But really, is that even the reason Harry’s acting different? Could he really be so bold as to assume
this change of behavior is attributed to him? What if something’s happened with Des and that’s the
real reason? Or anyone else in Harry's life that's more important.
Of course it isn’t Louis. Des probably just said something kind or apologized for being the worst
father in the world or maybe his heroin addict sister called him or…whatever. Whatever the reason
for Harry’s mood change, Louis can’t be it. It’s just too unlikely.
So Louis shakes his head.
“I’ve no idea, mate, sorry.”
Zayn nods, watching Louis closely.
“Was he at all different at the party?”
Louis shifts. “Not really. A bit quiet, I suppose.”
Zayn stares at Louis carefully, eyes intent. “What about the song? How did everybody react to
the song?”
The song?
Louis raises his eyebrows. “Er. They liked it, I suppose. I haven’t heard any complaints.”
At that Zayn breathes a sigh of relief, eyes flicking back to Harry. Which is…strange.
“Why?” Louis asks, now watching Zayn who glances at him briefly.
“No reason,” he says breezily after a pause, before sliding a cigarette out of his gilt case. He offers
one to Louis who shakes his head. “Well, whatever’s going on with him, I hope it continues. It’s
good to see him smiling again.”
And then Zayn’s gone, taking his place beside Liam and pressing his cigarette to his lips
reverently while Louis reassembles the broken pieces of his brain.
The rest of the luncheon goes smoothly. The boys toast the term, exchanging the better memories
and laughing off the worse ones, pouring generous amounts of liquor and eggnog in each others’
cups. Symphonic Christmas music wafts from the speakers of Zayn’s stereo system, and the sky
outside is grayish white, with tiny flecks of snow falling sporadically. It’s warm and cozy and
festive, and as Louis tells story after story of Niall’s escapades with the piano and Rory, the boys
laugh louder and smile brighter and everything just feels familiar and nice. Almost like home,
even.
It’s odd to think he’ll be leaving for his actual home within only a few short hours, and staying
there for almost a month. These faces he’s come to associate with ‘every day’ he will now be
separated from for weeks. It leaves a sad sort of reluctance within him.