Young & Beautiful

“Don’t be a dick, Niall. Just be safe. And for the love of God, give Rory a break, yeah? Try doing
your homework one of these nights?”
“One of these nights,” Niall promises before hopping off the chair, spinning Louis (en route to his
warm, luscious haven of a bed) to grab his hand and kiss it before gliding out the door, jacket in
hand as he thunders a “Sweet dreams, TomTom!”
The door shuts and peace is restored and…
And Harry’s laughter is still echoing in Louis’ ears when he lies down for bed.
**
It’s mid afternoon. The lads are lazing about in Zayn’s rooms, spread on luxurious furniture and
sipping champagne, the ceiling blanketed in smoke, and Niall’s asking Liam advice about which
offer to take in regards to his future.
“I’ve got masses of people asking me to be on their track. I’ve even got someone who wants me to
try my hand at producing. Already!” he exclaims, and Liam is listening intently and taking notes.
It’s all very commonplace and very cozy, and then Louis’ phone rings.
And it’s his mum. Yay.
Harry quirks an eyebrow as Louis stares at the screen distastefully. Noting his curiosity, Louis
flashes the screen towards him.
“Mum?” Harry reads. His eyes cloud the tiniest bit, his countenance altering ever so slightly.
“Answer it,” he says immediately.
“Nah,” Louis says, pocketing the phone again. “She’ll leave a voicemail. Then I’ll decide if I
actually need to talk to her.”
“She’s your mum, Louis. The only one you’ve got,” Harry says lowly.
“But you don’t know her, Harry,” Louis counters, and his voice is riding the edge of snippy.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about her. And the way I was raised.”
Which is true. It’s been something Louis has been toying with—spreading his life out for Harry,
letting him see the blueprints and then delving into it altogether. He wants Harry to know him,
wants him to understand. He doesn’t have much to tell—his life is nowhere as complex or tortured
as Harry’s—but it’s the building blocks of his life and character and he wants Harry to remember
his story.
And, perhaps, knowing Louis’ story may encourage Harry to reveal his own. Perhaps.
So he’s equal parts disappointed and bewitched when Harry replies, through a stream of smoke
from his freshly lit cigarette:
“Good. Keep your secrets. You’re too young and beautiful not to have secrets.”
And Louis can’t think of an adequate response, his pulse picking up pace, so he replies with, “I
can’t argue that, now can I?” in a voice he desperately wishes is laughing rather than squeaking.
Harry doesn’t look at him for the rest of the day.