Young & Beautiful

words. Can only register the shock in Charles’ speechless face.
“He understands people and he’s honest and brilliant and good and he just—just knows. He
knows everything.” Louis might die. Harry’s voice has become more shaky, his stance weaker.
And in that moment, Louis knows it isn’t merely enraged passion that has consumed Harry—it’s
terror. Harry is terrified. The fear has crystallized in his eyes. “He’s not like everybody else—
everybody else is boring, they’re empty,” he practically gasps, his words breathless and jagged.
His hands are quivering. “He’s different. Good. And he’s your son. You should be so bloody
proud of him. You should—“ Harry cuts off, shaking his head, his fists clenched tight, chest
heaving. “The fact that you could say that to your own family… To your son. To Louis. When…
when you should be honored. When you should be thankful.” He takes a deep, shaky breath,
gathering himself. “So don’t you dare tell him that he has nothing.” There’s a brief pause, Harry’s
face calming into…something. Something gently painful and open and just beyond recognition.
Louis’ breath hitches as Harry continues. “Not when he’s everything.”
His voice breaks on the last word.
The room falls silent, save for Harry’s impassioned breathing. And Louis’pounding heart.
The words echo within his skull and body, bouncing around his ribcage and imbedding
themselves in his eardrums, probably permanently. Because….wow.
Just…..wow.
Was it ten hours ago that he thought Harry was rid of him? Harry, whose just stood up to his
father, basically told him to fuck off, and said…said all those things, those beautiful, gorgeous
things about Louis?
It’s all too much. Louis hasn’t even changed out of his clothes. He hasn’t even showered.
It’s all too much.
“You are very insolent for your age,” Charles finally says, calm and quiet, each word pointed
subtly as he observes Harry with thinly veiled distaste. “This conversation has nothing to do with
you.”
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t help but overhear your fucking mess of words and just walk away from
them, sir,” Harry snaps, and this isn’t the Harry that Louis has seen in front of strangers. This isn’t
the peacock that smiles wide and crooked because he can, the golden boy who quips witty
comments and lures everyone in with a mere flick of the wrist. This isn’t the empty-eyed walking
corpse.
This is bright, alive Harry. Fighting for Louis. Genuinely. Electrically. This is Harry. Alive. The
most alive he’s ever been perhaps. Louis wants to cry.
Face hard, Charles turns back to Louis.
“I’ll go to the school’s office. I think I’ve seen enough here. You were right. I shouldn’t have
come.” He begins making his way toward the door where Harry stands, tall and alight, breathing
heavy, his fists finally unclenching.
Louis narrows his eyes as he watches him leave, something unexpected and painful blooming in
his chest that he refuses to label. “You’ve seen nothing. You’ve come here, you’ve assumed, and
you still know nothing about me,” he says loudly, voice hard.
This makes Charles halt. He inclines his head ever so slightly, eye barely visible over his firmly