Young & Beautiful

Harry stares at the note, his face…torn. But then he looks back up at Louis and his face is clear
again, a cloudless sky.
“Of course. Excellent timing, then. Shall we?” he asks, gesturing for Louis to walk forth.
“We shall,” Louis smiles, and hops into step beside him as they walk.
“I thought the café around the corner would be nice,” Harry says, eyes glinting with sunlight,
hands behind his back, as he walks. He’s staring straight ahead of him, eyebrows creased.
It’s all very…formal.
“Well, you’re very serious today,” Louis teases with a smile, bumping his shoulder into Harry’s.
Harry blinks, darts his eyes in Louis’ direction, but doesn’t falter. “Am I? I should hate to be
serious.”
“I love being serious. Serious is important. I abhor humor and fun. Especially happiness,” Louis
says conversationally, also placing his hands behind his back.
He can feel Harry roll his eyes.
“You’re never serious.”
Louis chuckles. “I can be.” He looks at Harry sidelong. “I’ve been serious with you.”
Harry bites his lip but remains silent, eyes straining ahead of him.
It doesn’t take long before they’re at the café, Harry pulling out the chair for Louis and assuring
him to “Get whatever you want, it’s my treat.” They order their drinks—Louis gets tea and Harry
gets sparkling water (which is disgusting and Louis pointedly judges him for it)—and then they
settle into silence, Harry lighting a cigarette.
“Can you smoke in here?” Louis asks, eyebrows raised.
Harry smirks. “The owner’s a good friend. I assure you, we won’t have any problems.” He cups
his hands around the flame before it alights, then inhales, deep and slow, then exhales. Beautifully.
Elegantly.
Louis is a bit mesmerized.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Lunch at a cafe? Any particular reason we’re doing this or am I
just that good of company?” He smiles, wide and sweet, taking a sip of his tea.
“Ah. Well, actually Louis. There is a reason,” he says delicately, tapping the ash off the end of his
cigarette into a tiny ornate tray at his side. He glances up at him, eyes calm and slitted, his
eyelashes long enough to tickle the clouds in the sky. He motions for Louis to eat as a tray of
breads and jams is brought to the table, followed by a large bowl of fruit and petite fours.
It’s a bizarre lunch. But it’s all very Harry.
Louis bites into a petite four, double fists a banana and an orange.
“I’m not quite sure how to say this,” he says, velvet soft, low and deep and flowing like the ocean.
He watches Louis eat, cigarette poised between his fingers, face neutral.