petal [book 1] ❊ l.s.

five - back to you

His apartment felt different when he returned. Everything was untouched, though, just as he left it. The living room was inarguably warm, but it seemed empty somehow. Louis clicked the door shut softly behind him, not slamming it carelessly like he normally would.

Something was missing. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The day passed in the blink of an eye. By the time the sun rose over the horizon, it was already setting again. When Louis came home from work, where he essentially sleep-walked through his responsibilities, the yellow-orange light from the sunset cast his apartment in a warm glow.

He huffed, frustrated. He still couldn't put his finger on it -- the emptiness.

In a useless attempt to fill the newfound void in his apartment, Louis busied himself with a few boring tasks he had been putting off. He sorted through his mail absentmindedly, tossing ad after ad into the trash until he saw it -- a funeral invitation. He cursed mentally, unable to believe he could have forgotten about the unexpected passing of one of his employees.

His chest tightened, and he dropped the invitation on the counter, watching the thin paper skid across the slick surface. He gripped the edge of the granite, supporting himself as his mind flew back to memories he wanted to forget -- fuck, he thought he had put the past behind him.

Louis fumbled for his phone, searching for a better distraction for his scattered mind -- first, the apartment, and now this stupid invitation. He needed some serious sense knocked into him.

The line connected after just two rings. "Lou? What's up, mate?"

"Hey, Li," he said, balancing the phone precariously between his cheek and his shoulder. His knees still felt a bit wobbly, and his sagging couch seemed to stare at him with a judgemental glare. "I did something a bit silly last night. Just wanted to get your opinion on my stupidity."

Liam and Niall had invaded his apartment not even half an hour later. "Seriously, Louis, you could have died!" Liam was lecturing him. "The temperature was so low last night, and not to mention the wind chill --"

"Christ, Liam. You're giving me a fucking headache." Louis had two fingers pressed to his temples, and he was already regretting bringing his friends into this.

"No, you have a headache because you probably have frostbite," Liam retorted. He raised his eyebrows at Niall. "What are the symptoms, Mr. Grad School?"

Niall looked offended. "I'm studying American history."

"It wasn't even that cold," Louis added as an afterthought. He thought of Harry's shivering body pressed against his chest, warm and comforting despite the boy's icy skin.

"You're delusional. He's losing it, Ni."

"He's not losing it," Niall snorted, wiggling his eyebrows at Louis with a suggestive smirk. "He's in love."

Liam's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the joke, an incredulous expression flashing across his face. "There's no way. Please, tell me you don't . . . oh, no --"

"Don't even," Louis interrupted, but the other boy paid him no mind.

"For god's sake, Louis. You don't really love him, do you?"

Louis frowned, his brows knitted together. He shot Liam a levelling glare, his blue eyes icy and intense. "Of course I don't fucking love him."

Niall crossed his arms over his chest, observing the other two boys with a slight pout. Liam was much too practical sometimes, and he sometimes seemed to take advantage of Louis's obvious fear of his own emotions.