Young & Beautiful

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.” There’s another pause, one where they’re both smiling, and Louis plays
with the fabric of his blankets. “Wished you were there, though,” he says, very, very softly.
And fuck. He hadn’t meant to say that. No more tequila. Never, not ever.
“You do?” Harry asks, and he sounds startled, surprised. Taken aback, if you will.
“Yeah. You would’ve made it fun, wouldn’t you? Woulda had a proper dress code and a bizarre
theme and everybody would’ve fallen over themselves to kiss your ass. It would’ve been a
sublime time. Moreso than it already was, of course.”
“Of course.” Harry’s grin is bursting from the words.
Louis feels warm. Maybe even drunker.
“I make everything better, you see,” Harry continues. “You would’ve died if you’d seen my
centerpieces today.”
At that, Louis laughs, harder than he probably should.
“What?” Harry says crossly. “They were carefully constructed!”
“From the hands of a god, I’m sure,” Louis laughs, wiping away his tears.
“Yes. I suppose I am a god.” And Harry’s voice is smug and sort of adorable and Louis smiles
even wider—which is maybe scientifically impossible, but it happens.
“You know, Curly,” he says, voice scratchy with sleep and the need for water. He’s gonna feel
like utter shit tomorrow. “You’re the first person I’ve called this year.”
“You’re the first person I’ve talked to this year,” Harry replies softly, voice also weighed down
with exhaustion. He pauses. “That is, unless you include the screaming I did at the guests when I
made them leave the house.”
They both laugh.
“That’s not even funny, that’s tragic!” Louis laughs, wrapping an arm around his stomach to keep
warm. Happy happy happy. Drunk drunk drunk.
“Such is my life,” Harry giggles, but there’s so much in that sentence, so much truth, that Louis
sobers, feeling a stabbing sensation in the center of his body.
Harry yawns. Like a baby lion.
“I should let you go, Curly pants,” Louis smiles, but he doesn’t want to go, just knows he has to.
“Sleep,” Harry agrees, even though it’s not a proper sentence.
“Happy new year and all that.”
“And likewise, my chap.”
Another snort escapes Louis. “Very nice. Well.” He sighs, forcing himself to depart. “Goodnight,
Harry Styles.” His lips are pressed against the phone, brushing them as he speaks. He imagines
Harry’s are, too. Lips brushing against each others’ voices.