Young & Beautiful

“Don’t fuck it up!” Louis had sung happily as he raised his glass, frothy liquid sloshing down his
hand, and Harry laughed and it sounded like music.
They guzzled glass after glass, smiling and laughing because they could, Zayn pressing smiles and
kisses into a giddy Liam’s neck, Niall thundering down upon the piano, shouting every word he
spoke, and Harry pouting in Louis’ ear about how they absolutely must wear matching outfits for
the occasion.
“But Louis,” he whined, holding onto Louis’ arm, face ornery and spoilt, “It’s the biggest match
of the year! They can’t possibly compete well if they feel we haven’t dressed our best.”
“Curly, I’m not wearing a onesie,” Louis repeated, sighing and pushing his fringe away, fighting
off the blinding smile that was threatening to emerge with every last bit of strength left within him.
“That doesn’t make sense. Nobody says that. How could somebody say that?” Harry was full on
pouting. Lip jutted and everything.
Louis crumbled instantly.
But only on the inside.
“Because I don’t want to look like I’m 9 months old. I’ll coordinate whatever else with you, but
I’m not going to wear what is, essentially, a sleeping bag with feet.”
“There are arms, too.”
“Not the point.”
“Can we at least wear yellow? Because it’s spring. Yellow is the best color for spring.”
“Green is a nice color for spring.”
“Don’t be tacky, Louis. We’re going to wear yellow.”
“I never agreed to this.”
“Louis!” Harry whined again, and Louis laughed as Harry tugged on his jumper with frustration.
“All right, you sap. We’ll wear yellow. But only because it compliments my skin tone so nicely.”
Harry smiled, eyes bright and eyelashes soft and clustered.
“Of course it does. You were made for yellow. Now, sit with me. I want to hear Zayn sing.”
And so they did.
Afterward, when the rest had retired and Harry was still bouncing on his heels, wide awake and
eager, they embarked on a night walk. Just around the school grounds. Just for a little while.
“My father’s probably not going to go to the awards tomorrow night,” Harry said, budding grass
crunching beneath his gray, sparkling boots that glimmered in the moonlight. “He’s not doing so
well lately. Won’t leave the house. Barely eats. Breaks a lot of furniture.” A wry smile appears on
Harry’s lips. “His table manners aren’t exactly in check.”
“Doesn’t he have to, though? I thought the song was being performed,” Louis said with a frown,
studying Harry closely.