Young & Beautiful

there’s a note on the bed with a pair of clean slippers (probably Niall’s own that he’s not worn
once) that says, “Keep these away from Zayn Malik” with a large, sloppy smiley face drawn
underneath, a scribbled pile of sick drawn in the corner.
Louis can clearly picture Niall making the note in his mind, that large, shit-eating grin taking up
half his face, so he crumples up the paper with a roll of the eyes and tosses it in the bin across the
room. He then slides out of bed thinking that he is very, very grateful for three things this morning:
1. He actually studied last night.
2. It’s Saturday so he has the day off.
3. He had not woken up to the sound of piano.
Today is going to be a good day.
He yawns, stretching his limbs like a cat, and begins roaming around the house, feeling prim and
beautiful and full of rest. And very sated. He goes to the kitchen immediately in hopes that there
will miraculously be piles of fresh food waiting for him, but instead sees what Niall left him: a
cold slab of bacon and a bag of weed.
He scoffs at it, grabs some juice and nibbles on a croissant as he sits by the window (which is now
shut) (firmly). He looks to where his slippers had been when he’d last thrown them and takes in
the now flawless sheen of the floor, polished and scrubbed, back to its immaculate luster. He
really needs to write a card for Rory. Or write him in his will. Louis feels very, very grateful.
Suddenly his phone vibrates.
Niall.
‘U up?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m having breakfast at Fleet’s. Join me. They’ve got endless bacon.’
Louis doesn’t need to be told twice. He puts on the closest presentable clothes he can find, wraps
a scarf around his neck, and exits the building with the thought of bacon, tea, and toast on his
mind, all thoughts of Zayn Malik and vomit far, far away.
**
Upon their return, Rory is back in the apartment, holding Louis’ slippers. But that’s really the last
thing Louis could give a fuck about right now in this room.
Because as soon as Niall and Louis stepped through the door, they were met with—possibly—the
most unexpected sight either of them could have imaged.
Their flat is filled—abso-fucking-lutely filled, top to bottom, no surface spared—with flowers.
Flowers.
Every kind of flower in every kind of color, bushels and bundles everywhere. It’s essentially a
hothouse, or maybe the Versailles gardens, and it’s really bewildering—even Niall is speechless,
and Louis is almost tempted to film this phenomenon—and breathtakingly beautiful, yellow roses
glowing in the light, lilies lying docile and rich, violets covering the piano, and hydrangeas sitting
in neat vases along the lines of the floor.