Young & Beautiful

And it’s sweet, it really is, because Zayn is Harry’s best friend.
It’s sweet.
But.
Louis knows their past, knows Zayn was head-over-heels in love with Harry, knows he only
stopped loving him because he had to, because he found someone else he loved more, but…did
that love go away? Did it?
These are the questions drunk Louis needs to know.
The endless whiskey and coke’s that Niall shoves into his hand keep asking it, and as much as he
tries to ignore it and laugh with the others, allow himself to float on the waves of his inebriation,
he can’t not see the way Zayn watches Harry and leans over to brush his hand across Harry’s
beaming cheeks. Can’t not see the tender smiles and the unnecessary touches. Or the blinding
fucking adoration.
He thinks Liam sees it, too, his eyes warm and brown and very carefully watching the pair, his
hand never leaving Zayn’s leg.
And then Niall toasts his own drumming skills again, loud and drunken and sloshing his drink on
himself before pressing a kiss to Harry and then that bothers Louis and then it only gets worse
when Zayn laughs, laughs and leans forward to kiss Harry as well, a cigarette burning out
between his fingers and his fucking cheekbones stopping the world from turning and his hair is so
goddamn perfect that of course Harry is probably attracted to him, is probably secretly in love with
him, and Zayn leans still closer and he just…
Louis needs to stop drinking.
“Moving on, lads?” he announces loudly, shooting up out of his chair as Zayn’s lips find Harry’s.
It’s platonic, of course it’s platonic, and Liam’s laughing now, surprised eyes seeking out Louis as
all heads turn towards him.
“Are you quite all right, Louis?” Liam asks, curiously, smile still painting his lips.
Zayn’s peering at him through the wisps of smoke he always seems to have around him. Beside
him, Harry’s looking closely at Louis, bright and concentrated, flecks of surprise marring his eyes.
Niall’s finishing the dregs of his whiskey.
“Gonna vomit?” Niall asks with a burp, wiping his mouth. Such a prince.
“No,” Louis says, feeling the alcohol swim within him, his emotions pushing harshly against his
flesh, his eyelids, his throat, all threatening to rip him open. He’s just had too much to drink. “I’m
just…over this place. Want to go back for some casual drinking. At a place I can take off my
shoes.”
“Mine then?” Harry asks, cheeks pink, lips pinker. He’s asking Louis. He’s surrounded by the
lads but he’s asking Louis. Louis only.
The world feels so warm when Harry says his name. Nice and warm.
“Yeah,” Louis nods, smiling brightly. So much alcohol, so bright, so warm. “Brilliant. I’ll use my
teacup, yes? Do you have vodka, my dear boy?”
“I do,” Zayn breathes, watching Louis closely.