Young & Beautiful

Zayn lighting cigarette after cigarette as the crowds push around them, and suddenly, before Louis
knows what’s happening—because he might have been admiring the way the parasol flecks bits
of sun over Harry’s delicate cheeks, shading the rest of him in gray—the race has begun.
“GO LIAM!” Zayn shouts, cupping hands around his mouth, and it may be the only time Louis’
ever heard him shout.
“GO LADS! SHOW ‘EM WHO’S BOSS!” Louis bellows, pumping a fist in the air, doing his
best to appear enthusiastic.
Rowing was never really his thing.
Neither, it appears, is it Harry’s, because rather than at least feigning excitement like Louis, he’s
begun to just meander along the riverside, twirling his parasol and smiling brilliantly at everyone
who approaches him.
And Louis tries not to watch because he has no claim over Harry and absolutely no right to be
jealous, but he can’t help but at least keep his peripherals on him as Zayn sidles through the crowd
to get a better view.
Body after body approaches Harry, squealing and laughing and flirting and just…pissing Louis
the fuck off.
But each time, Harry only smiles like the Rembrandt painting that he is before bowing graciously
and meandering forwards, the smile never leaving his face.
It settles Louis a bit, gives him a creeping warmth because Harry really has been so happy lately,
hasn’t he? Just happy. Plain and simple.
“I take it you’re not here for the Boat Race, then,” a voice says beside Louis says and he jumps,
whirling around and meeting with a vaguely familiar handsome face.
“Well,” Louis says, assessing the boy’s grey eyes and windswept chestnut hair and very nice
shoulders, “let’s just say watching ‘Titanic’ will probably be the closest thing to water sports I’ll
ever attempt. And even that has disastrous results.”
The boy laughs, a little cuttingly. Familiar.
“Are you one of those who cries as soon as Jack gets deposited in the ocean bed?”
“Yes, I am one of those who empathizes with the vast plethora of emotions surrounding the scene
where Jack is tragically lost to the sea, yes,” Louis sniffs, and the boy laughs again.
“Louis, right?” he asks, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
Okay. So he must be more familiar than Louis realizes.
“Very right,” he responds, forcing his brain to work because who is this?
“The look you’re giving me suggests you don’t remember me,” the guy says with a half-smile.
Correct.
“Erm—“
“No, it’s fine,” he laughs, holding up his hands. “We weren’t exactly in the most, shall we say,
aware state of mind, when we met. I can forgive you for forgetting a few things. Or everything,