Young & Beautiful

He retraces his steps from that very first luncheon, finding his way to the tower and winding his
way up the steps until he meets with that familiar oak door, stood ajar in the exact same fashion as
it had been only a few short days ago.
“The party’s started, I’m here!” Louis calls, pushing the door open.
Liam is standing by the window bedecked in a sky blue waistcoat, pristine white button-up
underneath, and sky blue slacks, efficiently texting on his Blackberry, the light from the window
illuminating his right side, before he looks up with a happy grin at Louis’ arrival.
“Louis!” he exclaims, sounding genuinely excited.
Louis categorizes Liam as a puppy. Niall’s the dragon, Zayn’s the snake, and Liam’s the puppy.
And considering the puppy’s in love with the snake, it all makes for a very interesting scenario.
Speaking of the snake, Zayn stands on the other side of the room in front of the mirror above the
fireplace, carefully fixing any and all hairs that are out of place, face serious and full of
concentration. He looks as if he’s been ripped out of a fashion mag, the spitting image of
perfection in his cornflower suit, sapphire cufflinks, and white leather shoes (that Louis may or
may not be salivating over). His signature fedora rests on the mantle.
“Hey mate,” he deadpans as he fusses with a particularly stubborn strand. “Glad you could come.”
He doesn’t exactly sound excited, he never does, but the boyishness in his tone is warm and at
ease, and Louis smiles, wondering how he could have questioned his character.
Of course Zayn Malik wouldn’t hire hitmen. What even were these rumors?
He’s not the kind of snake that wraps around unsuspecting throats and strangles the life out of
helpless victims. He’s the kind that lies in the sun and winds down garden paths, peering curiously
at you from the thistles.
“SO glad you came,” Liam emphasizes, walking up to Louis and shaking his hand.
Louis looks down at their hands. “Do we have to do this every time we greet each other? Cuz I
gotta be honest—I’m not a fan.”
Zayn chuckles.
“Oh,” Liam says in surprise, and immediately lets go of Louis’ hand. “My apologies. Habit, I
suppose,” he reasons with a smile, before his eyes return to their squinted glee. “Well, shall we?
Zayn, darling, are you ready?”
“My hair’s shit today,” Zayn mumbles in answer, adorning his fedora in defeat.
Liam smiles fondly, immediately walking over and standing behind him, hands on his shoulders.
They lock eyes through the mirror and Liam’s grin widens as he rests his chin on his shoulder.
“Your hair is never shit! I think you’re perfect. But we should go before the flowers wilt.”
With a reassuring press of lips to Zayn’s neck, Liam guides Zayn over to Louis who watches the
pair with a stubborn fondness in his chest. He’s not a sap, never was, but even a block of ice
would admit that they’re cute.
“Off we go then, lads,” Louis smiles, allowing them to walk ahead, before following closely
behind and smiling contentedly at the thought that Harry Styles is nowhere to be seen.
**