Young & Beautiful

But it’s while he’s having this tumultuous inner battle that he receives two more texts, buzzing his
phone and shocking him out of his zone.
One’s from Niall: ‘Good luck, mate! Get it in!’ Classy.
And another’s from Harry: ‘Louis’
That’s all it says. Just…Louis. It just says Louis. But for reasons unknown to him, Louis suddenly
has the incredible and terrible urge to clutch his phone to his chest like a teenager would a picture
of their heartthrob. Which is horrific on so many accounts, number one being that he is in fact in
public, surrounded by students swarming to their next lecture, laughing brightly and smoking
cigarettes.
Refusing to attempt to sort out that mess of a thought process, he stuffs his phone in his pocket
before practically jogging ahead, nerves going from simmering to boiling as he makes his way to
Harry’s rooms, wondering how the fuck he’s going to manage spilling his undying love.
And, maybe, possibly, sort of wondering if Harry could be planning on doing the same.
**
He walks in without knocking, his heart pounding in his throat in the most uncomfortable and
pressing manner imaginable.
“Harry?” he finds himself almost shouting eagerly, breathlessly, as he enters, dropping his bag in
his chair and searching the room with bright eyes until he comes across—
Harry. At his desk. Wearing a satin suit and polka dotted bow tie, a powder blue flower pinned to
his lapel. Bottle of wine sat next to him. And his head in his hands. Looking…obliterated out of
his mind.
Louis’ lights immediately go out.
Oh. So it’s this kind of talk.
“Harry?” he repeats, this time more tentatively, and Harry looks up, mussed and teary and bleary
and…very drunk. Louis grimaces. “Oh, Harry,” he says sadly, walking forward.
“Louis,” Harry says, closing his eyes and burrowing his face in his hands. “Louis, Louis, Louis.”
He’s so incredibly drunk.
“How about we just set this over here, yeah?” he says delicately, placing the wine bottle at a safe
distance from Harry who looks rumpled and small. He crouches down so that they’re nearly eye
level , hand on Harry’s arm, their knees brushing together. “What’s wrong?” He swallows.
Harry shakes his head, remaining silent, before dragging away his hands, eyes still closed. He
shakes his head again, his face crumpling, eyes squeezing shut. In some indescribable way, it
destroys Louis.
“Harry,” Louis breathes, heartbroken instantly as he surveys the boy’s pained face. And he feels it
then, feels that surge of ‘in love’ shit that’s just so new to him. He feels it pushing his limbs and
it’s like he’s drunk, unable to coherently consider his actions and just plunging into what feels
right. He crowds closer, wanting to touch and pet and soothe, one hand gently trying to tilt
Harry’s face fully towards him, the other petting at his arm, his knee, his jacket.