Young & Beautiful

“Yeah, ‘course we can,” Louis says, feeling jumbled inside as he tries to catch glimpses of Harry’s
face.
What is happening?
What just happened?
Could Harry be jealous? Surely he couldn’t actually be jealous? Not when it was he himself that
desired a friend in Louis and nothing more. Is he taking him to get ready for the Brits tonight?
Does he need help picking out an outfit?
Fuck.
Harry’s totally jealous. Isn’t he?
Louis’ mind pelts question after question at itself as Harry drags Louis up the stairs and to the door
to his rooms, pushing it open as soon as they reach it (Louis makes a note to scold Harry for once
again forgetting to lock it) and clambering inside, finally letting go of Louis’ hand as he shuts the
door.
“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, following Harry with his eyes as he stalks around the room,
dissembling his outfit and dropping the parasol to the floor harshly. Frustration pushes against his
teeth. “Harry.” His voice his hard, insistent.
At that, Harry stills, hands dropping from where they’d tossed the daffodil onto the mantle. He
heaves a long sigh, his shoulders loosening, eyes fluttering before they close. Standing in the
middle of the room, he brings his hands up to his face, palms pressed against eye sockets.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says, voice odd, keeping his hands over his eyes. “I’m not sure why—I
don’t know what’s wrong.” He sighs again, letting his hands fall, and the fair skin around his eyes
is mottled, pink and blotchy.
Louis softens.
Harry is obviously out of his realm of comfort and understanding.
Louis can understand that, can sympathize with it.
Without a word he walks up to Harry, placing a hand on his back and rubbing soothing circles.
“You all right?” he asks, tilting his head to inspect his face.
Harry doesn’t look at him, instead focuses on the ground.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
A moment passes, one where Louis’ hand keeps up its ministrations and Harry’s eyelids begin to
droop.
“I do…” Harry’s soft, cracked voice suddenly begins, “I do want to talk to you about something,
though. Something I’ve been thinking about. Last night and this morning.”
Louis’ hand stills.
Oh god.
Could it be?