Burn to ash

Chapter 5

Louis parks about three blocks away from his house, and switches his jean jacket for a leftover hoody he'd had stashed in the backseat of his car, zipping it up and pulling up the hood over his eyes. It's definitely not very subtle, considering it's July, but he can't exactly walk down the street as himself anymore.

He keeps his head down, not even looking up as he skirts around the block behind his house, dodging through someone's garden and to his back fence. Resting a hand on the edge, he vaults over it and is safely in his own backyard.

It's a path that both Louis and Harry have taken many, many times when paparazzi often surrounded the house, and Louis knows it like the back of his hand, still.

He finds the hide-a-key in one of the planters that Harry b ought so long ago, but while it once held bright flowers, now it's full of dirt and weeds. Really, Louis thinks, glancing out at the garden and taking in how shitty it looks now, weeds and brush everywhere, it could all use some work. He's kept the lawn mowed, mostly so he can still kick a ball around sometimes, but that's about it. The yard really needs some tender loving care with someone who doesn't have a black thumb. Someone the opposite of himself.

He'll have to ring someone and have them come take care of it, maybe while he's on tour.

Unlocking the back door, Louis drops the hide-a-key back where he'd found it and surveys his house as he walks into the living room. Tries to look at it as the others might.

Okay, as Harry might.

Frankly Louis has never been very domestic. He's even worse at keeping the inside neat and tidy than he is at the yard. There's clutter and dust everywhere, empty cereal bowls probably growing mold on the coffee table in front of the TV. Louis tends to clean up only when he's out of bowls for his cornflakes and he realizes the house is a bloody fucking mess.

It's a bloody fucking mess today, and Louis hates the pulse of shame he feels at the thought Harry might see this. He's not going to see it, Lou decides in a split second. He's got a few hours before everyone will show up and that's plenty of time to tidy up a bit.

Because he's clearly masochistic, he even goes back into the room with all the memories and roots around in another box for a few minutes until he finds what he's looking for.

A copy of their last CD, Midnight Memories.

Before Louis can second guess his own decision, he bends down in front of his stereo and inserts the CD in.

He remembers when they made this album and how fucking happy they were, how thrilled he was that he'd written so much of it. How they really felt their sound was evolving and changing and that maybe in a few albums, they'd actually be taken fucking seriously by people who knew something about music.

There are still one or two cheesy ballads, but as Louis cleans and listens, letting himself scoot around the house, booty shaking just a bit to the rhythm, he's pretty proud of how well the songs stand up over time.

He's doing the dishes when the song comes on.

He knows the opening chords like he knows his own name and his hands go numb and a bowl slips from them and shatters against the hard porcelain of the sink.

He only narrowly avoids slicing his hands open because he jerks at the last possible second as shards of the bowl go everywhere.

His very first instinct is to run into the living room and turn the music off. He can't listen to this song, he just can't. It's only then he remembers their songs are nestled together, like he and Harry once were, and that the next track on the album will be even worse.