you're cold and I burn (on hold)

His <strong>and</strong> Harry’s flat comes into view a short distance away, <strong>and</strong> Louis’ really looking forward to
cranking the heat, curling into the couch with a thick comforter <strong>and</strong> watching stupid movies he’s
probably seen about a hundred times already.
But there’s still a car in the driveway, Harry’s car, <strong>and</strong> his bike parked directly next to it.
And that’s… odd? He’s still here, which Louis was wholly not expecting. And he’s not upset
about it, but it’s catching him off guard. He was planning to be out a little later, but he didn’t have
the heart to hang around the museum longer just in case they had decided against the job <strong>and</strong> said
something to him about it right then <strong>and</strong> there. Which is likely ridiculous <strong>and</strong> wouldn’t happen,
but paranoia is sometimes persistent on Louis’ mind <strong>and</strong> he’s not feeling the need to test his
anxiety out today.
The sun dips behind a light grey cloud, making the only heat source dissipate <strong>and</strong> Louis’ walking
speeds because shit, it’s fucking <strong>cold</strong> now.
His h<strong>and</strong> is aching from being tucked into his tight pockets, shielding from the breeze. His fingers
stretch <strong>and</strong> pop once before he can get the key into the lock, opening the door quietly. Half of him
expects to see people over, the other half looking for Harry to be in the kitchen. The kid eats like
fucking crazy, <strong>and</strong> even after buying out eighty percent of the small grocery store, it’s about time
to go back again. But, Harry’s going this time, Louis’ not taking the chances of ab<strong>and</strong>onment.
The flat is dead silent, no noise in the kitchen, no voices, no sleeping body on the couch. Harry’s
door is open, but the light’s off. Maybe a friend came <strong>and</strong> picked Harry up? That’d explain his car
<strong>and</strong> bike still being in the driveway despite him not being here.
Louis kicks off his shoes, pulling his sleeves over his h<strong>and</strong>s to hopefully warm them just a bit as
he strolls into the kitchen to grab a lighter. It’s not as easy to flick the Bic when your fingers <strong>and</strong>
covered in a flammable fabric, but Louis’ become at expert at maneuvering with a case of ‘sweater
paws’ or whatever the fuck they’re supposed to be called.
He lights about four c<strong>and</strong>les, before reaching for the remote with all the intent to flop down on the
couch. The flat is always pretty warm, but he’s freezing so he’s grabbing a comforter anyway,
because he can.
Rubbing his covered h<strong>and</strong>s together, he goes towards his bedroom, stopping just in front of the
closed door. There’s a sound coming from inside, his television on, <strong>and</strong> Louis knows for a fact he
didn’t forget to switch it off. It’s not a scary feeling, considering any robber-slash-murderer would
likely not be hanging out in the homeowner’s bedroom, watching TV like it was the most leisurely
thing.
He turns the h<strong>and</strong>le, being as quiet as possible.
Once he peeks his head in, he can see his previous assumption was right, the television is on,
volume turned down low. The light’s on, bed is still made, but there’s no one in immediate sight.
So he continues on, hearing a faint humming sound, it’s coming from his open closet. The light is
on in there too (how awesome are walk in closets? Lights <strong>and</strong> all) <strong>and</strong> Louis decides the culprit is
most definitely hanging out in his closet, he doesn’t really blame them, his taste in attire is pretty
fucking great.
He pokes his head around the corner <strong>and</strong> what catches his eye is enough to make his heart flip
over in his chest, his face immediately beaming with the widest smile.