Young & Beautiful

his forehead against Louis’ fucking forehead, and the cosmos might have just imploded, the stars
might have just collided and shattered galaxies.
His eyes still aren’t open but Louis is somewhat thankful now because he doesn’t think he could
take it if they were. This moment is just…too much. Too much and too unexpected. Too fast.
But Harry’s forehead is still against Louis’ and as Louis continues to murmur Harry’s name—
imploringly, questioningly, comfortingly—their faces seem to meld together. They just gently drift
towards each other until warm breath is against warm breath, nose against nose and fuck fuck
fuck, Louis suddenly feels the urge to cough or laugh or hiccup because this is all so fragile and
sudden and terrifying and what is happening??
Harry’s eyes are still closed, but the stress of the lines is easing. They’re no longer squeezed tight,
but relaxing into smoothness as Louis’ nose bumps his cheek, and he’s not really sure but they
may or may not be fucking nuzzling? Like bear cubs? Is that what this is? He’s never nuzzled
before—fucking never—but this might be what’s happening and it makes him want to be sick
because he never expected something so completely random and simple to be so fucking poetic
and monumental.
And then, without any warning or intention, their lips are just brushing together, feather-soft, and
it’s probably by accident because Harry’s so lost inside of himself and inebriated and Louis is just
trying to stay upright (this is not how he expected this to go down) but only one second passes.
One second of their lips warm and dry against each other, Louis’ hands on either side of Harry’s
head, buried in his hair, Harry’s hands buried within the fabric of Louis’ jumper, near his stomach,
and they freeze. They both freeze and Louis’ shocked mind is screaming at him, startled and
panicked because Harry is drunk right now.
But he doesn’t need to worry, doesn’t need to push him away because Harry jumps back as if
struck by lightning, and then Harry opens his eyes, red, glossy, and sad. Louis’ heart is pounding
in his throat as he tries to breathe, tries to cling to reality. He removes his hands from Harry’s hair,
Harry removes his fists from Louis’ jumper.
Harry stares at him, swaying on the spot, unshed tears settled in his eyes.
Louis stares back, his whole body electric.
“He’s so mad,” is what Harry slurs.
Louis blinks. What?
“Who’s mad?” Louis asks, startled, and Harry bows his head, hides his face within his hands.
“My father,” Harry mumbles, nearly falling backwards as he goes to sit on his heels.
Louis steadies him.
Fuck.
“Why is he mad at you?” is the only thing he can think to ask.
“He’s not any better. Why isn’t he better?” Harry asks, maybe not even hearing Louis. Just lost
and sad, helpless. And very drunk. “The song. I thought the song would make him better.
Happier. Sometimes it works, that’s why I keep writing them. They’re for him. All for him.”
Louis stares.