Young & Beautiful

That’s what Harry sent him? It’s New Years and it’s midnight and he’s texted Louis, for only the
third time in his life, and he…sends him a poem about a solider committing suicide?
Louis’ heart thumps, painfully and irrationally, and suddenly all he can wonder is if this is some
sort of game. If this is some sort of hidden message and he swallows down the thickness in his
throat as he taps out the only reply he can manage in his current state.
‘Curly, that’s got to b the single most depressing New Years greeting I’ve ever gotten.’
He stands there, staring at his phone, making a drunken and steadfast promise not to move until he
gets a response. He hears his name being called from the other room.
“Louis!”
“Just a minute!” he replies, eyes never leaving his screen, hands hot.
He waits.
Nothing.
Still waits.
And then it vibrates. He reads the text immediately.
‘It’s art, Louis Tomlinson.’
And then, just a pause later:
‘Happy New Year’
And relief floods Louis. Thank fuck—it’s just Harry being weird.
‘Right back at ya, shady pants. Someone’s wearing a bow tie at this party and they’re acting like
a twat. Thinking of u! x’
Almost immediately there’s a reply.
‘Funny, because I’m thinking of you as well. There’s a woman here who keeps looking at herself
in every mirror and insisting she’s beautiful. Though she doesn’t pull of the self-adoration quite so
well as you do.’
‘Well that's probably bc she’s not as beautiful.’
To which he gets the response of a sunflower emoji. But he’ll take it.
He smirks fondly as he rereads the texts, feeling instantly warmer and reassured, before heading
back into the party.
**
Louis is very, very drunk by the time he gets home.
Drunk enough to wish that he was coming home to Niall playing piano in his pants, with food all
over their flat, and whiskey and beer peppering every surface.
Drunk enough to, maybe, take Liam up on that threesome he had offered so long ago with himself
and Zayn.