all our younger years (l.s.)

7: 1 week until the end pt 2

Niall Horan was the lad's name, and he was very, very, unabashedly Irish.

He offered them a cup of black coffee upon their arrival, despite the sweltering heat outside, which Louis accepted gratefully, laughing and smiling and happy, and which Harry accepted reluctantly. Louis' mug was now empty, and Harry's was lukewarm and untouched at its place on the coffee table.

The setup of the flat was quite strange. There were two loveseats and a tattered armchair that Niall himself had reclined in. The coffee table was painted bright blue, and practically every inch of the walls were covered in photos, pictures, drawings. Harry had been taken aback when he entered, because each and every photograph was beyond gorgeous, not black and white, all full of bursting, vibrant color. A little girl going down a slide, giddy smile on her face. A young boy in a dance class, standing proud next to his female peers. A group of teenagers lounging in the grass. And the drawings; all scenery, muted colors, oceans and sunsets and forests.

"I did the drawings," Niall said, when he saw Harry inspecting them. "Liam and I, we're art majors. He likes to focus on what's real, yeah, that's why he chose photography. I like pretty things." He quirked his eyebrows comically in Harry's direction.

"Ignore him, H," Louis laughed softly. "Niall's about as straight as a wooden plank."

"Who is this...Liam guy, again?" Harry asked reluctantly, finally sitting down next to Louis and inching closer by the second. He wasn't sure why he expected an arm to wrap around his waist or rest on top of his shoulders.

"You'll--" Momentarily, they all spun around to face the sound of a key in the door, and in walked a young man, near Louis' age, wearing a band tee, flannel shirt tied around his waist, paint splattered jeans.

He smiled brightly at the trio. "Louis!" he exclaimed, who stood up instantly, and they pulled each other into a friendly hug. Harry felt a bit out of place.

"You must be Harry," Liam greeted cheerfully, glancing down at where he was sitting on the couch, mildly uncomfortable. "I've heard a lot about you." He held out a big paw, gave him a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle, and somehow Harry felt the knots in his stomach uncoil a little bit.

"Yeah," he said, tentatively shaking Liam's hand. "Cheers."

"'lright!" Niall burst out after a few long seconds of heavy silence. "Let's get you folks sorted, set up your room and all that, and then we'll take you to dinner, how's that?"

"Thanks, Nialler." Louis rested his hand on the small of Harry's back as Niall led them down the hallway to a relatively small spare room with one queen bed, a yellow shag rug, and a tiny, obsolete cube-shaped television on top of a sun colored coffee table.

"I decorated this one," Niall said proudly, glancing around the room and nodding happily. "See them pictures?" He gestured wildly to the paintings on the wall. "Some of my older works. Also...we only have the one bed, sorry, so either you'll share or sleep on the floor." He gave the two of them an unidentifiable look. "Yeah, I'll let you both settle in." He left.

Harry watched as Louis discarded his backpack on the bed, sat for a moment and glanced around the room. Harry slid his own duffel off his shoulder, gingerly sat beside him. They were both silent for a moment.

"How do you know them?" Harry murmured.

"They went to our school, H," he responded wearily. "Left around the same time as me to some fancy arts uni in the city. Both my age, both...incredibly talented. What do you think of them?"

"I think...they're very nice," Harry contemplated. Louis nodded, sighed, stared steadfastly at the wall.

"When are we gonna talk about this?"