Young & Beautiful

“Say it quickly then,” Louis suggests, offering a bit of orange to Harry, who declines.
He purses his lips.
“You know how I…go through phases?” he asks, and his eyes flash up to Louis who blinks,
confused.
“Like the strawberries and the gingerbread?”
“Exactly,” Harry smiles. “Like those. Well, I’ve always been that way, you see. I become
fascinated by something, immerse myself in it…and then I’m done with it. Because, you see, once
I’ve adored something, once I’ve found something perfectly beautiful, it is fleeting. It will never be
perfect or wonderful to me again because I’ve already experienced it, already taken everything
from it that I could.”
Louis nods. That’s, maybe, the worst way in the world to think about things, but he nods. Because
Harry’s not finished, and this all suddenly feels…very odd. He swallows his last mouthful and sets
down his food, waiting for Harry to continue, skin beginning to prickle.
“However,” Harry continues calmly, stubbing out his cigarette and setting full eyes on Louis. Full,
empty eyes. Shit. “It’s not just objects that I feel that way about. I’m like that with people as well.”
Louis shifts under Harry’s gaze, feeling a cold sense of dread spread from the center of his body to
every extremity and crevice.
“I find people who fascinate me. I play with them. I have fun. I enjoy them. And then?” Harry
takes a sip of his sparkling water. “Then I’m done with them. I become bored. And I don’t want
them around anymore.”
His eyes bore into Louis’ as he sets down his glass.
“Last night made me realize, Louis. You’re one of those people.”
Bang.
The world becomes dark.
Louis swallows. “Meaning…?” he trails off, his skin stinging. He can’t move, can’t blink. Is this
seriously fucking happening?
“Meaning I’m done with you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, calmly, efficiently, as if prattling off
the day’s homework.
“You’re done with me,” Louis repeats flatly, feeling like all the air’s been drained out of him.
“I just wanted to inform you. I know we became friends—“
“You always fucking do this,” Louis grits, plucking his napkin off of his lap and flinging it
harshly down on the table’s surface.
“Louis.”
“Why are you always trying to get rid of me?” he hisses, leaning forward. "Pushing me away and
the sort?"
“Louis,” Harry repeats calmly. “I know what this looks like. But this isn’t me ‘pushing you away,’
this isn’t me being…whatever it is you think I am. All right? I just work differently. I’m not made