homeless [l.s.]

35

louis knew where he was going. step after step, he grew more and more anxious until he pushed open the gates, ignoring the giant beaming sign flashing in his eyes:

closed for ceremony
3:00pm - 6:00pm

he couldn't care less at this point.

"excuse me?" a fair, old man, dressed in all black with his white, frail hair combed back neatly stopped him, "are you here for zayn's ceremony?"

louis nearly had a stroke, "who's?"

"zayn. zayn walters, sir, are you meant to be here?" he shot a a slightly disgusted look down at louis' attire - perhaps it wasn't the most formal thing ever.

"yes, i'm here for zayn. so, so sorry." he coughed, shooting a sympathetic look onto his face.

"what's your name?"

"my name?"

"yes. for the ceremony."

"oh.. uh.." louis blinked, thinking of a random old man name that he could use, "kevin."

"kevin? kevin.. kevin- ah! kevin, nice to see you, kevin." the man tutted on his notepad. "the ceremony is starting soon, walk down there and take a left."

"cool, cool, thank you, and once again, sorry."

louis inhaled a sharp breath, fast-walking down the path, and taking a right.

he shut his eyes, stepping towards the familiar grave, and it almost felt as if he was still there, talking to him.

"i figured you'd come here."

"god, zayn.. i- what happened to coming to my wedding?"

"'s not my fault, lou. you could have a cardboard cutout of me."

louis chuckled lightly, a hint of sadness forming in his eyes, "shut up."

he sighed, holding back his tears, "stupid, stupid, what's wrong with me, zayn?"

"you're in grief. still."

"why? my own mother died and i wasn't sad after four years."

zayn lent forward, his ghostly hand touching louis on the shoulder, "of course you are, babe. you'll always be sad about it, yeah, you might not show it, but you'll always be sad."

louis raised his clammy hands out of his pockets and fell forward into what he thought was zayn, but instead he fell right through the hologram and face-planted in the grass.

"aw.." he sobbed, gripping the grass lightly and digging his crumpled face into the ground.

---

"is he alright?"

"maybe he's dead."

"he's not dead, he's breathing, you idiot."

"shut up, whore."

louis opened his eyes. first, he was greeted with the lovely, blurry image of grass, until he lifted his head, and saw three kids, about twelve or thirteen, standing above him, one prodding him with a stick.