Young & Beautiful

“A lot of things.” He turns to Louis, face unreadable. “But nothing fun.”
“Your thoughts are always fun,” Louis slurs because he’s drunk, and reaches out a hand to tap his
finger against Harry’s temple.
Harry watches, eyes fluttering instinctually, a small smirk on his lips.
“Only you think so,” he says, so, so slow. Slow enough to stop time.
“Thank the fuckin’ stars then because I’m the only one who matters,” Louis yawns happily,
bringing his hand back to rest in his lap. It feels so empty. It feels empty and Louis is drunk.
“My birthday is in a week,” Harry says after a pause, his eyes back on the window.
Louis perks. “Is it?” he asks, turning to face him fully. “Well, fuck, Curly, that’s splendid! We’ll
celebrate! Throw a proper bash!”
Harry’s mouth twists. “I don’t want to be nineteen.”
At that, Louis can’t help but laugh, sending Harry into a scowl.
“What?” he demands.
“I’m twenty-one. I hardly feel bad for you,” he says, laughing some more because it feels easy.
Because it makes Harry’s lips quirk and twitch.
“I want to be young forever,” Harry says quietly, but he’s smiling, watching Louis’ giggles, eyes
traveling across his face.
“You can be. Age is nothing important. I’m five, you know.”
“I know,” Harry deadpans immediately, dry as cracked paper, and that sends Louis into another fit
of giggles.
“Ohhh, that’s it, you know. That’s it. You can be as sad about being nineteen as you want, young
Harold, but I’m going to shower you in lavish presents and hugs and cuddles and all the things a
proper mate would do”—Louis carefully avoids letting himself question that line of rational—“and
we’re going to get spectacularly drunk because I’m spectacularly drunk right now and, I must say,
this is quite a pleasant feeling.”
Harry smiles, his hands in his lap. “You are quite drunk, aren’t you?” He bops Louis on the nose.
Which is fucking cute, to be quite fucking honest. Just really nice and so cute.
Louis leans his head back against the walls, smiles at Harry. Because Harry is beautiful. Harry is
special. Harry…
Harry means so much to him. With his smiles and his quirks and the way he looks at Louis. Harry
is the world, Harry is everything, Harry is the oxygen that fills Louis' lungs and blood cells and is
created by plants and leaves.
And Louis is drunk.
“You’re so nice, Harry,” he says, still smiling. “You seemed like such a dick, I absolutely
despised you when I met you. But you’re so nice, Harry. You’re my best mate.”
Oops. Strong words.