young and beautiful || larry s.

chapter 17

Zayn remains silent, impassive. Louis isn't sure if that's a 'yes' or a 'no'-Zayn's always been hard to read-so he doesn't waste any time in wondering, merely plows on as he scrunches his sweater paws.

"I feel badly," he continues, and he knows his voice sounds so unlike him, all serious and trepid, so he clears his throat and attempts a stronger tone. But it just comes out more disquieted. "I thought, maybe, if I knew more about him, I could...understand him better? I don't know, Zayn. I just..." He bounces his paws together, flicks his hair out of his eyes, smoothes out his features. "I think we could be mates, yeah? But I need to know what's...wrong."

He glances upward as he says the last word, and Zayn nods, just barely, eyes focused, listening, and understanding.

"So, I was wondering." Louis stares at him, dropping his paws to his sides, letting his hands break through the sleeves. "Could you tell me everything you know about Harry. In regards to you. What's your story, that sort of thing."

Hopefully that was in the realm of safe questioning.

Louis waits.

And Zayn smiles. "Good question." Louis relaxes. "We went to school together, me and Harry. Since young lads."

"All right. Were you friends?"

"Yeah, of course. Good friends. We'd grown up a bit together, cuz we were in the same social circle, our parents. Des' wife when Harry was a kid was a model, so they were always at all the banquets and gatherings that my mum went to. Then we started going to school together."

"So you're childhood friends," Louis restates conclusively, and Zayn nods, flicking paint onto the canvas in splatters.

"We kicked about at school. Harry was always popular, always got attention, always was first in everything."

"I reckon you weren't much different," Louis smiles.

Zayn shrugs. "Yes and no. I didn't like the attention, see. But Harry loved it. It wasn't the same at home, like, so he loved everything about it. He was a sweet, charming lad."

"Was he. What happened?" Louis scoffs.

There's a moment's silence, where Zayn sets down his pallet and picks up a moist rag, beginning to clean his brush. His face is calm and emotionless, but it doesn't quiet Louis' intrigue any, instead setting him even more on the edge.

"It's common knowledge that Harry's mum died when he was 9."

No it's not. But Louis nods.

"People said he weren't upset about it. And he wasn't on the outside-not really. But-" Zayn suddenly stops, his motions stilling as his eyes get lost somewhere on the ground, his mind far. And then suddenly his movements continue, the cloth dragging over the brush, and he's back. "Well, that's his story to tell. He'd had a time of it though, Harry, and just because nobody else could tell by the way he acted, doesn't mean there wasn't shit happening to him."

Brush now clean, Zayn sets his tools down before gliding towards the large table that sits in the middle of the room, picking up a slim, guilt case. He opens it, extracts a cigarette, then offers one to Louis, who takes it without hesitation, as he waits for Zayn to continue.

Zayn places the cigarette between his perfect lips, the white contrasting against the warm hues of his flesh, and he fumbles for a lighter in his pocket. "He's had quite a few mums. None of them stuck around. And then Des started dating my mum." The lighter flicks into life and licks at the cigarette as Zayn inhales, deep and beautifully, long, dark eyelashes draped over his cheeks. "We were about fifteen at the time," he exhales through smoke, the words curling into wisps. "Then they got married, we all moved in." He pauses, reflecting, pinching his cigarette between paint stained fingers. "He was happier then, Harry. He still had his demons, but he weren't... He had fun, yeah, but he cared. We got into so much trouble." Zayn smirks at the memory.