Young & Beautiful

“Niall, I’m going to set him on fire! I am! Honestly, I’m not even sure how I’m going to manage
existing around this wanking, piece of shit, ponce-assed, fucking—“
“Whoah, whoah,” Niall interrupts, holding up his hands in what Louis assumes is supposed to be
a soothing action. “He can’t be as bad as you say. You’ve only been gone for a few hours!”
“A few hours too many, let me tell you!”
“Well, what happened? What did he say?”
“What did he say? WHAT DID HE SAY?? He said everything! He talked about himself, he
talked about his conquests, he talked about his money and his—“
“He talked that much?” Niall blinks, standing up and making his way to Louis (who is now sitting
at the table with his fists clenched). “He always seemed so quiet.”
“Is that a joke? You trying to be funny again? No, he’s not fucking quiet. He yaps and yaps and
yaps like a little curly fucking…poodle,” Louis finishes with angered triumph, and he glares his
frustration at Niall for good measure, thumping the table.
“Zayn? Zayn Malik. Zayn Malik yaps like a poodle,” Niall reconfirms as he leans over the table
across from Louis, arms braced.
Louis starts. “Who—what—Zayn? No. No! God, Niall, no, not fucking Zayn Malik! He’s all
right, seems like a good enough lad. No, Harry Styles! And, oh God”—Louis brings his hand up
to his mouth—“I can’t even say the name. I’m going to be sick from just the sound.”
“Oh, Harry?” Niall says, surprised. He stares at Louis for a moment before a small laugh escapes
him, his features set in sunny amusement. “Yeah, I figured he’d be there. You don’t like him?”
Louis stares. “Is that a fucking joke?”
Niall grins. “But everybody likes Harry Styles,” he mocks, and thumps down into the chair
opposite Louis.
“Yes, well, then everybody has a personality disorder. Niall,” Louis says, eyes wide with distress
as he touches his chest, “I sincerely think he’s evil. There is something seriously wrong with him.
He’s cruel, heartless, cold—“
“Those are not words I have ever heard used to describe Harry Styles,” Niall interrupts, eyebrows
raised. “Are you sure you’re talking about the right guy?”
“Oh, I’m sure. Harry, ‘Harold,’ Styles, right? He’s not right, mate. When he spoke it was like he
was reading lines from a playbook. He said what everyone wanted him to say without meaning a
word of it. He acted like he was the life of the party, like everybody wants him—“
“That’s probably true though, mate.”
“I don’t care if that’s true. Which, if that’s true—if that’s true—I refuse to believe that that’s true—
what kind of world do we live in?!” Louis’ aware that he’s close to shouting, but he doesn’t care,
his cheeks flushed and hair wilting as he bangs fists on the table.
Niall chuckles at his indignation. “Well, he’s definitely a bit off. I mean, I’ve never had a problem
with him myself—he’s always shown me a good fuckin’ time. But there is something I don’t trust
about him.”