Young & Beautiful

“So it’s decided, then?” he asks, and what is he saying? What is he asking? What is he doing?
What about the rejection? What about Liam? What about what he did? What about Niall and Zayn
and what about, what about, what about??
He’s spinning out of control. But he can’t think about any of that, any of it, because he’s
drowning in right now and trapped by Harry’s eyes.
At Louis’ words, Harry’s trace of a smile vanishes, leaving only darkness.
“I could never do that to you,” he says, low. “I could never take you with me. You don’t deserve
that. You deserve—“ His voice cracks, stops, a ripple of a grimace shadows his face. Louis
watches the lines of his throat as he swallows.
“Then stay,” Louis insists, gripping his arm. “I won’t—I won’t kiss you again, all right? I won’t—
I’m your friend, first and foremost, okay? I won’t and—and the lads will come around, Zayn will
come around. He’s just upset. He’s…”
He falls silent as Harry shakes his head, his eyes intent on Louis’ lips. His breathing is harsh
through his nose. He remains perfectly still, face tense, chest heavy.
Pinpricks of seconds pass by, Harry’s eyes still locked on Louis’ mouth, Louis’ mind whirring,
and there they stand, alone together, surrounded by open suitcases and wind and flickering
candles and a moon that’s begun to descend on the horizon.
Louis’ mind is fucking whirring.
“Why did you do it, Harry?” he needs to ask after a stretch of silence, voice in a whisper. The
mood shifts immediately. “What did you give him? Why? What happened tonight?”
Again, Harry grimaces, but he remains silent, eyes flicking away from his lips and up to Louis’
eyes. The glassiness of his gaze intensifies, but the tears never fall.
“Zayn’s my best mate,” he eventually says, cracked. He doesn’t answer the question. “They’re my
only mates. I don’t want to them to look at me like that again. I can’t stay here, not when Zayn
looks at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Harry’s voice comes out even quieter, weaker, face threatening to crumple. “He hates me, Louis.
He hates me and I can’t stay here. I don’t want to.”
Louis ignores the pang at that.
He doesn’t want to stay? Even if Louis’ here?
Louis couldn’t leave Harry if he tried.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, pushing his thoughts away because no. This isn’t about his heart—this
is about Harry’s. “I don’t hate you at all—I just don’t understand you. You never let me
understand you. I want—“ He stops himself, unsure of what he was about to say.
The wind whistles low as it slides past the windowpanes.
With a deep-set frown, Harry lifts his hand, cautiously, shakily, to Louis’ cheek. It’s electric,
almost too much, as it touches Louis’ cheek, just barely. “You don’t deserve—“ he begins, eyes