A Piece of His Heart / larry uni AU

chapter twelve

It rains the morning of Christmas Eve.

 

Racking over the rooftop, it wakes Louis up. Surging down the windows, it keeps Louis up. He can feel the cold air radiating up from the floorboards, hear the thunder rolling in from far away, and as he stares up at the ceiling, Louis knows this should be the start of a bad day.

 

Whether it's hopping up the theatre steps with a wet fringe in his eyes, seeking refuge under a tree during a footie match, or jogging toward the bus with waterlogged trainers, no good day has ever started with a downpour.

 

But today—today feels different. It's merely the kind of downpour that gets Louis up, strolling aimlessly into the kitchen before the next clap of thunder.

 

Louis stops.

 

The island is clean, the television screen is black, and the sofa is undented. There are no dishes in the sink, no music coming from upstairs, and no one in sight—the flat is empty.

 

Thunder claps.

 

And Louis has already moved on, "Right," he mumbles to himself lazily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he rounds the island, "Black or herbal..." he lets his fingers graze the top of the granite, stepping up to the electric kettle.

 

Louis stops again.

 

The electric kettle isn't plugged in. In fact, there isn't even any water in it at all. Louis doesn't move on this time.

 

Don't get him wrong, he knows how to fill the pot and plug it in, it's just... every morning, without fail, Louis is the last one up. And as such, it's been a year and a half of Zayn being long gone before Louis even rolls over, a prepped kettle waiting for him when he finally decides to wander into the kitchen.

 

That, until today.

 

Today, its cold and lifeless body lies forgotten like it was never used at all.

 

Louis eyes the kettle for a moment longer.

 

 

☆

 

 

 

"Anyway," Louis takes another sip of his tea, the Arch logo just barely hidden behind his gloved fingers, "I'm just walking up the theatre now, give me a ring when you're coming by."

 

Letting his mobile fall from his ear, Louis makes sure he's ended the call before what comes next, "Or don't. It's fine."

 

He'd texted Zayn too many times since he left the flat, even tried ringing his mobile a few times, but to no avail. He's just tried Harry too, as the boy wouldn't miss the last rehearsal for the world, but he was met with the same radio silence. Every time, no matter how many curse words or emojis Louis'd sent, he'd been left on read, his calls sent to voicemail, his pleas ignored, his confusion disregarded—he even shot Niall a text.