Young & Beautiful

“Happy Christmas, Louis,” Harry replies with a smile he tucks into his chest.
“I hope you’re showered with the best presents—and none that come in the form of venereal
diseases.”
Harry bursts into surprised laughter. “You’re very unfair,” he criticizes, but he’s still got his smile
on, his cheeks kissed with a blush and his eyes alight. And how the fuck do his eyes manage to
glow like that? It’s like someone’s installed lightbulbs behind each socket and they just shine like
little stars set in the nebulas of Harry’s face. And, no, he’s not even going to mention that crater of
a dimple. He will not.
They’re about to part. Louis can feel it. Really, he should just smile a goodbye and walk away,
leaving this damn snow queen behind until they reunite next term.
But Louis never does what he should do. So instead he hugs Harry.
With determined arms he steps forward, engulfing the boy in his tight embrace, standing on his
tippy toes and wrapping arms around Harry’s neck.
At first Harry doesn’t know how to react. He just sort of stiffens and stands with his hands at his
sides. But then slowly he relents and wraps long arms around Louis’ waist, enveloping him, and
Louis feels his face digging into his skin and the tickle of his eyelashes as his eyes close.
It’s a bit overwhelming in some inexplicable way. The way Harry smells and feels and the way
that this might be the most incredible hug in the world? Ever? Louis feels Harry’s nose buried into
his neck and for some reason it feels like every single valve in his body has been turned on full
blast and he’s drowning in something he can’t quite explain.
At long last, they part, Louis still holding onto Harry’s jumper, his hand clustered in the fabric at
his side. Harry notices, glancing down with lashes that cut into skin that matches snow. And that
should really be enough to have Louis let go and step back. But instead he just stares, his hand
warm, and everything suddenly feels warm despite the wintry chill, flecks of snow sticking to
Harry’s glazed red cheeks and his crimson lips, moistening his eyelashes, and dusting his hair. He
looks like a fucking art project, like something a student took months to think up and create.
They continue to stand, Harry watching Louis quietly, his head slightly tilted, not moving a
muscle, and his breathing is slow and quiet and peaceful, and Louis just doesn’t want to let go.
That’s probably not normal, is it?
And he hasn’t even had any champagne.
With a determination that is stronger than it should be, Louis forces himself to release Harry’s
jumper, Harry’s eyes quiet and watchful and softly green, giving life to their wintry surroundings.
“I’ll see you next year,” Louis says, smiling a bit weakly, taking a step back.
Harry watches him, face unreadable.
“Bye, Curly,” he mutters, then turns around and walks away before Harry can speak a word.
**
He’s been home for six days and it’s already too long.
It’s not that it isn’t good to be back—his sisters have missed him terribly, all piling upon him
whenever he’s in the room and tugging at his clothes for attention. Hell, as soon as he’d stepped
through the door upon his return, they all ran at him with all the fury of the Valkyries, embracing