young and beautiful || larry s.

chapter 20

And, okay. Yeah. Maybe that makes some sense.

**

Abso-fucking-lutely nothing changes between Harry and Louis in the weeks that follow Halloween.

Nothing positive, anyway.

See, naively, Louis had thought that, maybe, after that very peaceful and-dare he say-enjoyable tutoring session the day before Halloween, that things would have picked up between the two of them.

False.

Things have gone a bit south, actually.

It's not that Harry's mean or anything. He's not cruel or condescending like before. Well. Not as condescending. It's just that...Harry seems to have retreated back inside of himself, and Louis thinks it may be because things had gone too well. It was too much, too fast, and Louis had scared the timid squirrel. And now the squirrel is hiding in a fucking tree, nowhere to be seen, occasionally throwing a nut or two down and cracking Louis on the goddamn head and leaving him baffled and aching. And normally such things would cause complete and inner panic and frustration within Louis. Because he feels like he's running in circles with Harry fucking Styles.

But Niall's advice keeps popping into his head.

So he doesn't fall apart whenever Harry remains silent after he tries to make conversation.

He doesn't fall apart whenever Harry brings guests to their tutoring sessions.

He doesn't fall apart over the fact that Harry hasn't "smiled," or "laughed," or done or said much of anything other than his public cordialities or his typical scowling greetings and occasional glances up from the textbooks.

He doesn't fall apart, he doesn't screech his annoyances at Niall, and he doesn't map out plans of attack. He just breathes and pushes his frustrations, his screamed questions, his guilt, his empathy, and his discomfort to the back of his mind for another day. Or month. Or year. Or decade.

And he continues on with his present life.

Still though, he mentions it briefly to Zayn one day, when they're studying in the library and have only a few minutes before they need to pack up so they can make their dinner reservation.

Liam and Niall are sharing a laptop in the corner, giggling like buffoons at some video-the only time Liam's laughed in awhile, the stress of the latter half of the fall term putting his over achiever-ness into overdrive-while Harry is charming some beautiful boy over by the large windows near the front desk.

And, no, Louis isn't watching the display. Not watching like a hawk. Because he's not curious, and he's not fascinated, and he's not a little bit irked in the dark recesses of his soul.

"So. Harry," he mutters to Zayn, who's on his right, quietly reading a large, dusty novel with chipped pages and endless sentences.

He glances up, his entrancing hazel eyes smacking Louis in the face like they always do. "Harry?" he murmurs questioningly.

"Yes. Harold," Louis says wryly, and Zayn smiles. "About him. I, er, don't know how well things are going." He glances over to the subject in question, who is now grinning winningly, his curls dusting the frame of his face as he laughs pleasantly, pressing soft, purposeful hands to the boy's wrist. His face is feral.

Louis resists the urge to grimace.

"What do you mean?" Zayn asks, attention caught, and softly closes his book, peering at Louis intently.

"I just...I don't know what's wrong. Everything was going really well the one day. Then the next...I dunno, mate." He considers sharing the quotes Harry gave him, is about to, then something stops him. A quiet, possessive, discomforted pang that already regrets having shown them to Niall, even. "I don't know what to do," he simply says instead, and Zayn nods to himself, now also looking at Harry.