Young & Beautiful

existence, Louis can’t help but notice that he isn’t arriving. And it’s nearing evening. Which
means he may not arrive. Which means…Louis spends the night alone. Bored. Without friends or
distractions. And how the hell is he supposed to cope with that when he feels like being
entertained?
Not checking the time because that would insinuate he cares, he resolutely decides that he will
leave the flat. He will leave, he will explore, and he will have dinner at a quaint café so that he can
send Stan artsy pictures of himself sipping tea in the sunset in order to make him jealous for not
having come along with him. Because goddammit, somebody better be jealous of him when he’s
feeling this shitty.
Grabbing keys and scarf, Louis exits stage right and, avoiding the increasingly dense clusters of
rich-bitch drones scattered about the grounds, he ducks out of the gates and sneaks off down the
cobbled street.
All the while decidedly not wondering about the whereabouts of his flatmate.
*
He’s certainly not over-thinking anything. He’s not.
It’s just that that age-old question keeps popping back up, settling in his bones and gnawing at his
brain: "Do I take this incredible opportunity given by Charles and build a future for myself and
my family? Or do I shit all over it, smear it on the walls, and waste the fuck out of every last
pound?"
Like he said—the age-old question.
And while it claws at the back of his mind—and he really probably should address the situation at
some point in the near future because term is starting in three days—Louis actively forces his mind
to remain blank and neutral, instead focusing on the tea at his lips. Somehow it manages to slosh
out the sides and spills on his trousers because of course, but he disregards it, instead absorbing the
quaintness of the café that’s located surprisingly far from the school, farther than he realized upon
first walking here; he regrets not wearing better shoes.
But the quaintness can only last for so long and after checking his Facebook for the seventh and a
half time in seven consecutive minutes, and two failed attempts at people-watching (where are all
the fit men in this town?), Louis leaves with nothing to show but a cat-shaped tea stain on his
thigh and a bored scowl .
He’d originally planned to walk home directly, content to just listen to his iPod, separate from the
world and the tragic circumstances that plague him—no, he’s not being dramatic—but boredom
seemed to have gotten the best of him because before he can fully comprehend the situation…
He’s taking vintage-tinted selfies on the road outside the parameters of his school.
And while, yes, some of the purpose for these photos is to brag to Stan, there is also a slow,
creeping fondness blooming in the root of Louis’ stomach as he observes the quietly busy street
with its ornate lampposts and flower baskets, the tall, ancient walls of the university standing
boldly all around him, bathed in amber light.
Maybe this place isn’t so bad, with its smells of coffee, blossoms, and warm bread. It’s certainly a
good backdrop for pictures.
Not that he’s admitting anything.