Young & Beautiful

Feeling pins and needles pricking his entire body, he sighs, making his way back to the window
as the lads settle onto the couches and chairs, Niall already pouring them glasses of probablywhiskey
and offering them croissants and weed. Louis stands close to the windowpanes, needing
the warmth of the sun. Wants to watch the courtyard as students mill about and scuttle to their next
class, some wearing robes, some wearing YSL. All with their simple smiles and simple lives…
Louis sighs, bowing his head.
“You want anything to drink, Tommo?” Niall’s asking just as there’s another knock at the door.
And the entire room quiets.
“Fuck,” Louis breathes, eyes going blank as he lifts his head, gazing out the clean glass windows.
“Fuck,” Niall agrees in a low whistle, sounding absolutely terrified.
There’s a moment of silence, just one moment, and then he hears Niall stand, shuffle to the door,
open it, and then…
“Hello,” a distantly familiar voice greets.
Charles.
It’s him.
It’s actually…him.
Louis’ mouth is sour. His whole body is sour, smelling of last night and drenched in despair.
Goddammit.
“Hello, sir,” Niall’s business-voice smiles. “Can I help you?”
The room feels frigid, frighteningly tense.
“Yes. Does Louis Tomlinson live here?”
The voice is deep, almost gruff, and strong. It brings back little, watery memories. Of Charles
asking Louis to leave the room. Of Charles asking Louis why he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Of
Charles always on the phone with a client, brushing everybody else away with a careless flick of
the hand.
Louis’ eyes shut as his fist clenches so tight, he’s almost convinced he’s produced a diamond,
nails slicing the cushion of his palm.
“Yes, sir. He’s me flatmate,” Niall replies, so sunny and open and everything opposite of the man
standing before him.
“Flatmate, you say?” Charles asks, serious and calm. “And you are?”
“Niall Horan.”
Louis can almost hear them shaking hands.
“Son of Jonathan Horan?”
“The one and only, sir.”