Apocalypse | L.S [Completed]

XV

"You did this to me."

The soul sucking voice rings through Louis' head the instant he tries to rest his eyes after the tiresome day, sleep vanishing straight off. He can't sleep, not with the flashes of his past tormenting him. Louis thinks, that if he listens closely, he can hear the thousand ghosts weeping beside him, the ghosts he has created, the ones he can never escape.

At least, he's not completely alone after all.

Sleep being off the table, Louis' wandering mind strolls back to his office, room occupied by Zayn, Adam Phoenix and Louis himself. His thoughts rush to the words Phoenix uttered, every word pronounced to perfection, tongue un-staggering and tone heavy. His cold tone, and even colder words, lingering through Louis' head.

"It's meant to be shattered."

Did this mean the beginning of the end? Did this mean war? Did this mean history repeating itself? Was Louis' constant struggle of escaping his past nothing, but, a sweet lie? Will he lose everything he has? But then again, he doesn't have anything personal to lose this time, but himself.

With the violent flow of anxiety and uncertainty of the time ahead, Louis forgets to breathe in between.

The lightless room and its agonising silence do not help him, at all. All he wants is his mum, at the moment, even after all these years, all he wants is his mum to rock him back to sleep, sing him a lullaby in her warm voice and run her soft hand through his hair. He wants her to scare away all the ghosts, and just love him.

But, he realises that she's one of the ghosts herself now, a guilt he can never get over, a scream he can never silence.

Louis can not process a thing, he doesn't remember thinking before leaving his room, doesn't remember frantically fisting his car keys and doesn't remember driving to St. Vincent's at two in the morning.

He doesn't realise what he's doing until a frosty swoosh kisses his exposed skin. He didn't even get himself a jacket. He stands there without a clue, fingers freezing with the pre-winter winds and mind clouded with a million emotions, but mostly fear.

Absolute fear.

The park's lonesome leaving a somewhat relaxing effect on the blue-eyed man as he rests himself on a bench, eyes stuck on the French house standing opposite, unforgiving winds driving him numb. The same house, in which, rests a curly-haired boy with the greenest eyes, an unlabelled source of mirth in Louis' dull life, his somewhat companion and maybe his friend.

He'll never tell.

Going with the night's flow, making no sense at all, thoughtlessly, Louis dials Harry, realisation dawning once the groggy voice answers the abrupt call.

"Mr. Tomlinson?" Harry answers in a sleep hazed voice, guilt creeping through Louis when he recalls how tired the younger boy was when he dropped him off a few hours prior.

"Eh-erm, forget that I called-"

"Wait! Talk to me, please don't hang up,"

There is plead in Harry's voice, lined with a pinch of concern and maybe that's what makes Louis stop, not hang up and block the boy out for the rest of his being.

Because his voice has concern.

"Are you okay?" Harry asks, voice a bit focused now, indicating Louis has successfully ruined his peaceful slumber.

"No."

Louis finds himself answering truthfully, internally battling letting his guard down. He shouldn't, all his life, they've told him to mask himself, not let emotions control him but he's weak and scared and human, he feels too. "Where are you?" Harry asks further in a shaky tone; he's scared.