Young & Beautiful

thoughts in twelve different directions, all of them slobbering and love-stricken.
“And this is why I love you,” Louis replies, body humming and warm in all the places it’s
connected to Harry’s.
Another smile smoothes Harry’s face as he pulls away to look at Louis, gaze fuzzy and soft like
hot summer air.
Louis warms even more under the scrutiny, feels an insistent sort of pounding in his limbs because
fuck, Harry is just completely beautiful, isn’t he? And he’s looking at Louis like that—like Louis
is the beautiful one.
Fuck.
But before Louis’ knees weaken (yes that can happen and yes that’s already happened—but
nobody can prove anything so no, he doesn’t want to talk about it), Harry steps back, releasing
Louis from his hold and walking over to the pastry boxes, the sparkly velvet of his blazer
crystallizing the room.
And Louis doesn’t feel a ping at that—he really doesn’t.
He knows why Harry hasn’t said…it back yet. He knows that this is all still so new, so fresh and
unchartered for him, that he’s only just following what feels right—and saying ‘I love you’ is a
foreign concept entirely. It’s very understandable and, if asked, Louis could absolutely write an
essay explaining the rationale in detail.
Having said that.
It’s still a bit…anticlimactic.
But no matter.
“We’ll have to give Rory a call,” Harry says, lifting the lids of the boxes and peering inside.
“Rory?” Louis asks, surprised. He walks up to Harry’s back, tucks his chin onto his shoulder.
“What for?”
“To set up the pastries, of course.”
Louis stares.
“You can’t…put them on trays yourself?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
Harry stares.
“Are you being serious right now?” Louis continues, absolutely refusing to laugh, placing his
hands on Harry’s hips as he peers up at him. “You set the damn table so why can’t you just—“
He stops, taking in Harry’s bite of the lip and his overly—innocent expression as he averts his
eyes to the ceiling. “Harry,” he says, suspicion lowering his voice. “Did you set the table?”
Harry clears his throat, glances at him. “Uhm. Technically?” A pause. “No.”
Oh wow.
Louis rubs at his eyes.
“But,” Harry continues, peeling Louis’ hand away from his eyes. He turns to face him, forming