Young & Beautiful

At that, Harry smiles wider, before his eyes flick down to the box, opening it carefully and filling
the room with its tinkling song.
“It’s perfect,” he says, his baritone echoing off the delicate notes. “Thank you, Louis. Thank you
so much.” He’s beaming now, beaming so wide and Louis is beaming right back.
Louis really loves Harry.
“Well, c’mon then,” Louis says eventually, after Harry’s pressed enough simpering kisses to his
face and cooed and played the song over and over and over (it’s not annoying, nope, it’s not).
“Let’s go grab some dinner with the other idiots. Zayn’s been so stroppy ever since Liam’s left. I
can only imagine what Niall’s putting up with.”
Harry cocks an eyebrow, tucking the music box beneath his arm.
“Knowing Niall, Zayn’s probably piss drunk and in love with the world. Not even the harsh wind
that is Zayn Malik can resist the eternal sunshine that is Niall Horan,” he says, donning a hat with
a large blossom tucked in the ribbon.
“Poetic,” Louis comments with a half-smile, then glances down at the music box as he makes to
open the door. “Surely you’re not bringing that with you?”
“Of course I am,” Harry comments, offended at the very idea that he wouldn’t. “It’s my new
thing. And don’t call me ‘Shirley.’” He grins like he’s clever and Louis fights a laugh because he
wishes Harry wasn’t able to pull stupid shit like that off.
That boy.
“Right. Well, sir. Off we go?” he says, offering his arm.
Harry grins, tipping back his hat, hoisting up his music box.
“Off we go,” he agrees, taking Louis arm.
**
It’s nearing the end of term so, naturally, there’s a school banquet.
It’s held at some posh hotel of some sort—Louis never caught the name as it just sounds like a
bunch of consonants shoved together whenever somebody repeats it to him—and it’s everything
that the university is: beautiful, tasteful, intimidating…and a bit stuffy.
But there’s free food and free drinks and it’s pleasant enough, chatting with professors and
laughing at clever jokes, even if Louis does feel a bit out of his realm.
Niall’s having a grand old time, slinging back whiskey and surrounded by a group of whitehaired,
pink-cheeked jolly looking men wearing pocket watches, and Louis can’t tell who’s
laughing loudest, their boisterous baritones overlapping each other and speaking a language Louis
can’t be bothered to decipher.