Young & Beautiful

“To us!” he sings, thrusting the champagne into the air.
“To us!” they chorus in return, and the cold, jolting sweetness of the champagne fizzes and slides
down Louis’ throat with a pleasantness he never knew he adored so much.
**
The evening progresses into night, and the lights are dimmed, the music increases in volume, and
the guests become messier and more vibrant.
Occasionally, Louis spots Harry.
He’s completely rid of the falcon now, probably due to the sheer noise in the place and the fact
that he’s begun to stumble over his own feet a bit.
Still, despite his apparent intoxication, he’s the perfect host. He preens and poses and laughs at the
right times and urges everyone to try the oysters and snaps his fingers whenever there’s an empty
glass and lightly touches the tips of his guests’ elbows as he laughs at their jokes and smiles into
their eyes.
He’s full of shit, that’s what he is.
And people follow him. He looks like a ring master, his subjects surrounding him and hopping
through hoops. The room tinkles with laughter and the splash of water, and all the while Harry
Styles is in the middle of it, posing for flashing photographs and shouting out celebrations into the
air as he twirls around like a loud, drunken, reckless ballerina on top of the world.
But how does nobody else see it? How does nobody else spot the shallowness, the fake childhood
innocence, the cold hands and his unnerving ability to switch from emotionless to grinning in
milliseconds?
How does nobody see what Louis sees?
It fills him with anger, almost blinding anger, and more frustration than he knows how to handle.
“I really hate him,” Louis shouts openly to Liam (thanks to all the alcohol) as the music picks up
around them, voices from all directions screaming and laughing.
Liam laughs, unfazed. “Harry’s complex, yeah. But it’s hard not to like someone that charming!”
he shouts back, before being swallowed in Zayn’s embrace and jumping back into the fray. Niall
wasn’t lying. Liam really is a bit of an adrenaline junky. In the daylight he’s all sensibility and
polished sentences; at night, he’s loud and laughing, pumping fists into the air and swinging Zayn
around through a never ending haze of liquor.
Louis continues to glare at Harry from across the room as he struts around in front of a group with
flowers he’d plucked from the surrounding plants tucked into his curls, smiling and laughing and
throwing his arms out exaggeratedly. He remains that way for awhile, the center of attention,
before eventually slinking off, alone.
He stops near a window, picking up a few stray glasses and holding them up to the light, staring at
them with am impassive expression on his face, rotating them in his grip.
He’s probably high off of his ass.
Beams of moonlight catch on his face, illuminating his pallid skin, crimson lips, and the soft petals
of the blossoms tucked in his hair. And though the party swirls around him (and yeah, it’s a damn