Young & Beautiful

There’s a brief moment of silence. And then:
“I grew up in a place that didn’t quite see me. I have a family, but…I’m not sure if they even truly
exist,” Harry says, voice masquerading as light but straining behind each word. His face is
impossibly smooth and unmarred, glowing golden from the candles and the dark. “But when they
finally did see me—my father in particular—they didn’t—“ He pauses, swallows, then continues.
“I suppose they felt my character needed some alterations.” He lifts his gaze to Louis, eyes lazy,
smile wry, but there’s a touch of sadness at the corners, bitterness in the mouth.
“Why would they think that?” Louis asks quietly, fingers never leaving Harry’s wrist, but it’s now
out of a sort of protective embrace, the desire to touch and keep close and secure him safely in his
grip.
“I had sex with a lot of boys, for a start,” Harry says bluntly, eyes now sightless and staring ahead
of him, perhaps lost in thought.
Louis nods, biting the inside of his lip.
“And I was eccentric. And frivolous. And feminine. And maybe a bit silly or daft.” He stops,
bringing his gaze back to Louis. He looks surrendered and very, very tired. “I don’t know, I’m not
exactly sure. But they tried to 'fix' me.”
“You don’t need to be fixed,” Louis says firmly, grip tightening on Harry’s wrist, his blood
beginning to thicken in its lively indignation. He always feels so much when it comes to Harry.
Only Harry.
“I can’t change, even if they want me to,” Harry replies, languid and gliding, and he’s separate
from his words, refusing to let his emotions spill into the syllables and the consonants, instead
making them appear to be casual and indifferent.
But fuck casual and indifferent because Louis’ throat is thick and his expression is outraged,
holding onto Harry for dear life.
“Nobody should want you to change. The way you are already is—“ He swallows back a
‘perfect.’ No. That’s not…no. Come on now, Louis. Get it together. “The way you are already is
just fine.” He lifts Harry’s wrist into the air. “You should be proud of this, Harry. Flaunt it. Shove
it awkwardly in peoples’ faces when you meet them. Or hell, even if you’re just passing them in
the street, I don’t give a fuck.”
Harry laughs.
Louis grins. “Point is, you don’t need to change. And I…” he trails off, spreading his hand over
the words, letting the pads of his fingers soak up the ink. “I love it. I think it’s beautiful. Even if
others don’t.”
And then suddenly there’s a suffocating sort of pressure in the air, and Louis’ ears sound like
they’re ringing as Harry’s eyes lose any sense of posed nonchalance and focus on Louis. Where
they had been fuzzy and distant, carefully avoiding revealing anything too deep within, they are
now clear and open, like a cloudless fucking sky in June, and Louis’ fallen into the sky. It’s a bit
like watching a camera focus—first fuzzy and shaky, and then suddenly so clear and bright.
It’s almost staggering, really.
He watches Louis, closely and clearly, seemingly on the verge of being overwhelmed, and Louis
is so lost in everything that comes with ‘direct eye contact from Harry Styles’ that he almost
misses the nearly phantom feeling of Harry’s thumb pulling back to press against the hand that