Young & Beautiful

gross, but Louis will allow it this once. “It’s home, isn’t it. Here.” He gestures around them.
There’s something about the sentence and the way that Niall says it that means something. There’s
something between the words that, somehow, just sort of solidifies everything. A sort of quiet,
whispering undertone that reveals that he and Louis are probably going to be mates for life, that
this is one of those friendships that won’t break, is the special kind you hear your parents and
grandparents talking about (“You meet your best friends at university—that’s where I met so-andso
and we’ve been friends for thirty years!”), and something about that, something about this
unexpected kinship, makes Louis feel incredibly, incredibly touched. Much to his chagrin.
Still, he smiles back, crumbs sticking to his lips, and gives a gentle shove to Niall’s shoulder.
“Don’t be sappy,” he smiles.
“Don’t be afraid of your feelings, Tommo,” Niall jokes, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“Give in to them.”
Louis chuckles lowly, but lets himself be tugged into Niall’s side, smelling like liquor and muted
cologne.
“And of course, there’s also the fact that I like to play a little hard to get," Niall continues."Can’t
just snag up the first job offer I get, now can I? Got to have them fight over me a bit. Raise the
stakes. By the time I’m done with Uni, I’ll be a force to be reckoned with, I can tell you that.
Especially if I start doing my homework.”
And Louis laughs.
So it’s good.
Then…there’s Harry.
Harry Styles.
Harold Edward Styles.
The boy that’s stuck to Louis’ insides, has painted himself in the walls of his brain, has jammed
his spirit into his pores, and filled the spaces of his phone.
Since their return to school (and that fateful night after the party where Louis had word vomit and
somehow didn’t scare Harry away for eternity) they’ve bonded in some unspoken sense, Louis
just always there and Harry always seeming not to mind. They’re together almost always—
usually along with the other lads, to be fair—but still, Harry has just become so regular, so present
in Louis’ life. So common.
But not common, because everything about Harry means something and is delightful and unique
and anything but common.
The lads still have their luncheons and their outings and their lazy nights and their library study
sessions and their parties. They fall asleep on Zayn’s floor when they stumble home in the wee
hours of morning, play video games at Liam’s when they should be studying, and attend
premieres and concerts and laugh and drink and eat too much, throwing lazy insults at each other
and piling on top of one another for drunken naps, Armani mixing with Chanel, Gucci flecked
with vomit and champagne, dusted in chip grease after a long night out. They do it all, all of the
boys—and Niall always makes a point to put them first despite his chaotic social life—and it’s
always fun and always glorious as they live their nights aglow.
But sometimes, afterwards, when Liam and Zayn drift to bed and Niall bounces back out the door