Work Text:
He misses him.
That’s always the first thought filtering through the post-sleep haze when Niall wakes up every morning. When he’s sort of floating, sort of wading in a fuzzy blur of almost-awareness, his first notion is always to check the space beside him, but when he comes up empty - which he always does - then he starts to think, I miss him.
And it’s not the kind of missing like when he goes downstairs with a craving for orange juice only to find none in the refrigerator, or when he’s heading to the store and passes someone walking their dog and remembers nostalgically the basset hound he used to have when he was a child (he swears the dog’s name was Betsy, despite everyone arguing that she was definitely named Jessie), or even when his mum calls him up to tell him news and he’s struck with how much he longs to be back with his family in Ireland.
No, this is a different type of missing. This is the missing that a painter feels when he goes blind, the missing that a musician feels when he becomes deaf, the missing that a young man feels when the greatest love to ever touch him is ripped right out of his grasp.
It’s been eleven months now, nearly twelve. Almost a year has passed since the last time he saw Louis, and it never stops being so fucking hard. The nights get lonelier, the days get longer, time passes slower, the tears feel colder, and his heart hurts worse than anything else. It never gets easier to just fucking breathe.
It’s just as hard to get out of bed this morning as it is every day. He takes no less than twenty minutes to even motivate himself to get up and get dressed in something almost-suitable for public. He’s not fit to go out, never is, might never be, but he drags himself out of the chilly flat without even the briefest glance at his scraggly appearance in the reflection of the mirror he passes in the hall. He can’t really bring himself to care.
The silent walk to the cemetery doesn’t make things any better, doesn’t do anything to distract him from the ghost haunting him. He sees Louis everywhere. He sees him in the cotton candy blue of the sky, like his eyes are following him everywhere he goes. He sees him in the soft sway of the willow trees, reminiscent of the way Louis used to rock him gently in his arms to bring him down from a bout of anxiety or anger. He sees him in the striped awning above a bakery, in the lonely street musician outside a bookstore, and in the layer of rich caramel coating a ripe green apple at a merchant’s stand on the corner of Carrell Boulevard and Redd Street.
And when he finally arrives, he sees him in the letters etched into a slate gray tombstone headstone.
And he remembers.
He remembers the taste of Louis’s breath at four o’clock in the afternoon after he’d consumed his daily cup of tea and was giving Niall a soft hello kiss.
He remembers how he sounded in the middle of the night right before he fell asleep, and how he sounded at the crack of dawn when he woke up every morning.
He remembers the way he used to blast loud, upbeat music from the sixties throughout the whole flat while he did housework and dance through the hallway with the broom, twirling Niall around whenever he’d come across him.
He remembers the shy smile on Louis’s face when he’d surprised Niall after a tiring week of work by baking him sugar cookies with blue sprinkles.
He remembers the pout on Louis’s face when Niall bought him a pair of red socks because his feet were getting too smelly.
He also remembers finding the socks in the trash bin not a week later.
He remembers how soft and feathery Louis’s hair felt after it finished drying from a warm shower, which - nine times out of ten - the two had probably shared.
He remembers waking up before Louis did and turning to watch the boy sleep, wishing he could see those beautiful blue eyes that held all the stars and moons, but instead he’d just trail his fingers over the boy’s tan skin and relish the warmth his half-naked body emanated, exploring his sweet curves.
He remembers crying when he found out his brother Greg had gotten into a serious car crash and he wasn’t able to fly out to visit him in the hospital for another two weeks.
He remembers Louis holding him and hushing his cries and letting him wet his collarbone with tears, murmuring soft you’re so strong’s and gentle I love you’s.
He remembers and he cries because he’s not strong like Louis told him. He’s weak, and it’s seeping out of every pore like a monster trying to escape its confines.
He cries until his eyes hurt and the only thing he can hear is the wind threading itself through the trees and his own pathetic sobs, the tears blurring his image of the grave in front of him.
Because yeah - he fucking misses him.