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The sky is mocking him.
It's a beautiful day, warm but not to the point of sweating. The sky is a strong, forget me not blue, utterly cloudless with the sun shining brightly and warming you up.
Under any other circumstances, he would've been laughing happily under the sunlight, running through their field of wildflowers as Harry chased him, laughing deeply at Louis' happy shriek once he caught him.
They would've layed side by side, soaking up the sun and talking and touching and loving. They'd stay until the sun set, and watch it's beauty together, before they went back.
Back home.
He's never going to be able to step foot in that house again.
Under these circumstances, though, the sky should be with him. It should be crying for the loss, the agony, and the pain that's killing him from the inside out.
Under these circumstances, the sky should be mourning the most beautiful soul to ever leave the earth.
It shouldn't be mocking him with the sunshine that's lost it's beauty.
He'd cried for days and days and days on end, begging and sobbing and screaming in agony to everyone, to anyone, for his Harry back.
For God to give him back.
God was punishing him...for every bad deed he'd ever done.
At first, he'd thought it was a nightmare. He'd woken with a jolt, barely awake but still expecting to feel Harry's strong arm wrap around his waist, to feel him nuzzle Louis' face and whisper comforts into his cheek.
He hasn't realized he was alone until none of that happened. That's when he realized hr wasn't in their bed, either.
It was too sterile, too clean. It stung his sensitive nose.
He'd been waking up fully when he'd finally understood what was wrong. What the ton of cement in his chest was. What the agony in his neck was.
He'd started screaming at the very top of his lungs, crying so hard he couldn't breathe. He tried to claw at himself, trying to find away to escape the terrible, crushing pain of his mate's death.
The problem was...there wasn't one.
Now, he's standing in front of Harry's open casket, sobbing, trying to wake him up. He's sleeping. He HAS to be sleeping. He just HAS to be.
Any second, he'll hear Louis. His eyes will open, to show that rich, deep green that Louis' longing to see. He'll demand for Louis to be set on the ground, climbing out of the casket to hug him, and tell him he's sorry, and that he'll miss him...
Please let him be sleeping.
Louis sobs as he's pulled away, but he hears screaming. It's loud, but kind of muffled and tortured and it's agonized.
He doesn't realize it's him until the loudest, highest pitched one yet pierces sharply through his head, and he holds hands over his ears, just as he falls to the ground, screaming into it.
'If you close your eyes, does it almost feel like nothing's changed at all?'
The sky is mocking him.
Why is the sky mocking him?