Chapter Text
Louis had never planned to spent his time at age 28 renovating a shoddy victorian house however it had fallen into his lap through some distant uncle he could hardly remember he even had. He was planning to just sell it on, not his problem, however the estate agent basically had the audacity to let him know the selling fees would cost him more than the dilapidated building would sell for. When he told his mates about it they all came to the unanimous decision to renovate it together, i mean they all had savings and could sell it on splitting the funds or perhaps just all live there since they're already all roomates. They all booked the summer off their boring big boy jobs to head to the small town of Ealdhurst. Five friends one creepy house what could possibly go wrong.
Louis stepped carefully over the threshold, grimacing as the floorboards groaned under his weight. The house smelled of damp wood and old plaster, the sort of smell that made him want to sneeze and cry at the same time. “So this is ours?” he asked, voice uneven.
Harry was crouched by a crack in the wall, running a finger along the faded wallpaper. He looked up slowly, that infuriating calm in his green eyes. “Yup,” he said, tilting his head, “all ours. Congratulations?”
Louis huffed, trying not to notice how close Harry’s shoulder was when he straightened. “Congratulations? For inheriting a building that could probably collapse if I blink too hard?”
Louis had never even met the distant uncle who left him a house, and for all he knew, the man hadn’t even liked him. Actually, Louis was almost certain this uncle hadn’t liked him. This house was a curse not a blessing.
“You worry too much,” Harry said, brushing a strand of Louis’s hair off the dust on his shoulder. Louis blinked. Was that a brush or just the wind?
His eyes scanned the shabby enteryway. Decent size really but size is quickly unimpressive when he scans the rest. Creaky mahogany wooden floor boards, one was missing the rest had years of yunk mail scattered covered in a thick layer of dust nobody had lived here for years that much was clear. The window next to the door had been shattered and boarded up. Perhaps the wind or rebellious teenagers having a nosey. The floral wallpaper was peeling. Louis wasn’t even sure he wanted to deal with this place. Too much hassle as far as he was concerned.
However when he had told the group about the house he was getting in some uncles will it became a unanimous decision to renovate it. For fun. For business. To pass the time. Who knows.
From the hallway, Liam’s voice called out, “I still don’t see why Zayn had to bring power tools. It’s not even-” He trailed off as Zayn tripped over a loose floorboard and caught himself on the wall, shooting Liam a mock glare.
Louis shook his head. “And Niall’s not even here. Of course he isn’t.”
Harry chuckled softly, watching Louis circle the room like he was inspecting it for traps. “You know,” he said, voice low, “it’s not the walls you have to worry about.”
Louis froze, halfway to the staircase, eyes narrowing. “Oh really? And what am I supposed to be worried about, then?”
Harry leaned closer than necessary, almost brushing his arm against Louis’s. “Me,” he said quietly, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips before he stepped back.
“Stop messing about you little shit.” Louis retorted dismissing the warmth he felt from Harry’s close proximity.
The group split up to explore. Zayn and Liam staying downstairs while Harry followed Louis up the stairs admiring the delicate carvings on the handrail he looked forward to the opportunity to restore. Harry loved this sort of thing: history, restoring, preserving. He loved any opportunity to find out the history of a place, this place felt special there was a lot of history he could feel it.
The stairs were wooden and steep, creaking and cracking loudly under his weight. When he reached the top step number 13. “13 of course because it had to be creepy.” Harry spoke mostly to himself then headed down the hallway to find whichever room Louis had disappeared into.
He found Louis in one of the upstairs bedrooms, staring at himself in a mirror that had been haphazardly perched atop a ransacked dresser. The room had clearly seen better days, but compared to the entrance hall and stairs, it was practically a sanctuary. An ironwork bedframe stood in the center of the floor, perched atop a large, frayed oriental rug whose colors had dulled over time. Dust motes danced in the slanted sunlight that managed to sneak through grimy windows, catching Louis’s tousled hair in golden highlights.
Harry’s gaze swept over the room, cataloguing what could be salvaged and what would need to be thrown out entirely. The dresser was missing a drawer, one corner of the rug was fraying dangerously, but the structure of the bedframe looked solid. Restoration was possible.
“You alright, Lou?” Harry broke the silence after a couple of minutes, his voice soft but carrying just enough curiosity to make Louis flinch slightly. He turned, realizing that Louis was still staring into the mirror, expression unreadable.
“Yeah, mate. It’s just.. this shithole makes me a bit uneasy, not gonna lie.” Louis gestured vaguely at the room, at the cracked plaster, the faded wallpaper, the subtle ghost of a life that had once filled the space. “You can see the signs of someone having lived here and now somehow, it’s mine.”
Harry frowned, moving closer, brushing his hand along the back of a chair as if to anchor himself in the room. “Why? I think it’s lovely. Sure, it needs a bit of work a lick of paint, some sanding but I really think we could restore this place. Turn it into something great that still keeps its history.” His eyes flicked to Louis’s reflection in the mirror, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped lightly against the dresser.
Louis finally tore his gaze away from his own reflection, meeting Harry’s eyes. “It’s not just about it being a wreck,” he admitted, voice low, almost whispering. “It feels creepy. Knowing people lived here and then abandoned it, and then somehow I get it? It’s just a lot. Makes you think about all the things people leave behind, all the little pieces of their lives. And now it’s mine.”
Harry took a step closer, a hint of caution in his stance, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe that’s the point,” he said gently. “We can take all the pieces left behind and make them ours. Maybe it won’t feel so heavy if we do it together.”
Louis’s chest tightened part disbelief, part something he wasn’t ready to name. He wanted to argue, to brush it off, but there was something in Harry’s calm certainty that made it impossible. Instead, he nodded, just slightly, and allowed himself to take another look around the room. Perhaps this shithole wasn’t entirely hopeless.
Louis sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, stepping away from the mirror. “Fine then, restoration master, what’s the first thing you’d fix?”
Harry’s eyes lit up with that quiet, infuriating enthusiasm Louis knew too well. He crouched by the rug, running his hand over the faded fabric. “This, maybe. It’s worn, but it’s still beautiful. Could be worth saving if we cleaned it up.”
Louis leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching him. “Or it could be full of moths and lead us all to an early death. Very heroic of you, Styles.”
Harry grinned, not looking up. “You’re just scared of a little dust.”
“I’m not scared,” Louis shot back quickly, a little too quickly. “I just don’t fancy dying of tetanus because you decided an old carpet has character.”
Finally, Harry looked up at him, smirk tugging at his lips, eyes shining with mischief. “Character is important. You of all people should appreciate that.”
Louis sighed. “Can’t we just paint it white and put some laminate flooring down?” Harry instantly scoffed offended.
“Definitely not. This house has character Louis. You can’t just modernise it that’s a crime. You’re gonna offend the ghosts.” He wasn’t really upset but he was very passionate on his points. This house was to be restored not turn into a new build.
Louis narrowed his eyes but couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching. He pushed off the dresser and moved closer, toeing the rug with the edge of his shoe. “If this thing comes alive and eats us, I’m blaming you.”
Harry straightened, brushing his palms on his jeans, and when he did, their shoulders brushed. Just lightly. Just enough. Louis froze for half a second, then stepped sideways to put an inch more space between them, though the warmth lingered.
Harry didn’t comment didn’t need to. Instead, he turned his attention to the iron bedframe, giving it an experimental shake. “Solid,” he murmured. “Stronger than it looks.” His voice was casual, but Louis couldn’t help the way the words landed differently in his chest.
Louis scoffed, forcing out a laugh. “Great, so when the roof caves in, at least the bed’ll still be standing. That’s comforting.”
Harry’s smile widened, playful and knowing. “Don’t worry. If the roof caves in, I’ll make sure you’ve got the safest spot.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the flush creeping up his neck. He pretended to examine the peeling wallpaper instead.
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, but charged. The house around them was broken, yes but Louis was starting to think Harry was right. Maybe it wasn’t beyond saving. Maybe neither of them were.
Downstairs, Zayn had wandered into what must have once been the living room. The walls were plastered with graffiti bright streaks of spray paint in blues, reds, and oranges, layered over each other like a chaotic mural. Some of it was crude tags, others intricate designs curling into one another, and right in the middle was a half faded, stylized heart. Zayn stood with his hands in his pockets, head tilted, studying it as if he’d stepped into a gallery rather than a derelict house.
“Not bad,” he murmured, half to himself.
Behind him, Liam appeared in the doorway holding a battered notebook he’d dug out of his backpack. He had a pen tucked behind his ear and already looked like he was carrying the weight of the whole house on his shoulders. “Not bad?” he echoed, frowning at the graffiti. “Zayn, it’s vandalism. The plaster’s ruined. We’ll have to sand it down and paint over it.”
Zayn chuckled softly, not looking away from the wall. “Nah, mate. It’s character. Gives the place some edge. Look at this line work someone actually cared about this.” He reached out, tracing one of the shapes without touching it. “Feels alive. More alive than those bare walls in the hall, anyway.”
Liam sighed, flipping his notebook open and scribbling furiously. “Walls: strip, sand, paint. Probably two coats. Might have to replaster if it’s too deep.” He muttered as he wrote, already three steps ahead. “And the windows down here are a nightmare. Glass cracked, frames rotted. Don’t even get me started on the floorboards.”
“Christ, Payno,” Zayn said, finally turning to glance at him. “You’ve been here half an hour and you’re writing a bloody dissertation.”
Liam raised his eyebrows, defensive but amused. “Somebody has to think practically, Zed. This place isn’t going to fix itself.”
Zayn smirked and leaned against the graffitied wall, crossing his arms. “Yeah, but you’re sucking all the joy out of it. Don’t you ever just look?” He gestured at the colors sprawling across the plaster, the way the sunlight from the grimy window caught the edges. “Someone stood right here with a can of paint and thought, ‘I’m gonna leave my mark.’ There’s something kind of beautiful about that.”
For a moment, Liam’s pen stilled. He looked up at the wall, then back at Zayn, who was watching him with that familiar half smile that was equal parts lazy and knowing. Liam cleared his throat and looked back at his notebook, though his voice softened. “It’s not ugly, I guess. But we can’t exactly keep it if Louis wants to make this place livable.”
Zayn shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe Louis doesn’t know what he wants yet.” His tone was casual, but his eyes lingered on Liam’s, like he was testing something heavier in the silence between them.
Liam shifted, the tips of his ears turning pink as he bent over his notebook again. “Alright, fine. I’ll put it on the ‘consider’ list.” He scribbled down Graffiti: evaluate restore vs. cover? and gave Zayn a pointed look. “Happy?”
Zayn’s grin widened, slow and satisfied. “Ecstatic.”
The floor above them groaned, followed by faint laughter Louis’s sharp, Harry’s softer, blending together like the house itself was trying to remember what it felt like to hold joy. Zayn tilted his head toward the ceiling. “Sounds like they’re already making themselves at home.”
“Yeah,” Liam murmured, eyes flicking back to the wall before he caught himself and turned a page in his notebook. “Guess we’d better do the same.”
The quiet rhythm of Zayn’s teasing and Liam’s scribbling was shattered by a crash and the sound of rapid footsteps in the hall. A moment later, Niall burst through the doorway, nearly tripping over the warped threshold. His face was pale, his eyes wide, and his hair stood on end as if he’d been electrocuted.
“Lads! Lads, I swear to God this place is haunted!” he shouted, breathless, grabbing onto the edge of Liam’s notebook as though it might anchor him.
Liam blinked, startled, his pen nearly flying out of his hand. “Jesus, Niall what the hell? Calm down, you’re gonna give someone a heart attack.”
Zayn leaned lazily against the graffiti wall, completely unfazed, one eyebrow arched in amusement. “Haunted, yeah? What’d you see, Casper?”
“I’m not messing!” Niall insisted, jabbing a finger toward the hallway. “I was out in the garden, right? Having a little nose about, and I heard something. Like whispering. Proper creepy, I swear it. And then the swing there’s this old swing hanging from a tree out back—l started moving. On its own.” His voice cracked a little, making him sound younger than usual.
Zayn smirked. “Or maybe it was the wind, genius.”
“It wasn’t the fucking wind, Zayn! There was no wind!” Niall threw his arms up dramatically, then pointed an accusing finger toward the ceiling. “And don’t even get me started on the upstairs—l tell me you didn’t hear that bang just now? Something moved. I swear it. This place doesn’t want us here.”
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh. “Niall, you’ve been watching too many horror films. It’s an old house. Old houses make noises. Floorboards creak, windows rattle. Doesn’t mean it’s haunted.”
Zayn, still smirking, tilted his head toward Niall. “You’re looking pretty haunted yourself, though. Want me to draw you a protective circle? Get some sage?”
“Take the piss all you want,” Niall shot back, his voice pitching high, “but when some Victorian ghost drags me down into the cellar, don’t come crying to me.” He turned to Liam, desperate. “You believe me, don’t you?”
Liam hesitated, caught between reason and the nervous energy radiating off Niall. He opened his mouth to give some rational explanation, but before he could, another sharp creak echoed above them, followed by what sounded distinctly like a thud.
The three of them froze.
Niall’s eyes went impossibly wider. “See?! SEE! I’m not bloody making it up!”
Zayn chuckled low, though his gaze flicked to the ceiling with the faintest flicker of unease. “Alright maybe it’s a little creepy.”
“Little?” Niall yelped, practically hopping from foot to foot. “That’s it, I’m not going upstairs. You can all die up there if you want I’m staying where the doors are!”
Liam sighed, snapping his notebook shut but fighting back a smile. “Brilliant. We’ve had the place for less than a day, and Niall’s already staging a ghost strike.”
Zayn slung an arm casually around Niall’s shoulders, steering him toward the kitchen. “C’mon, mate. Let’s get you a pint of water before you combust. If we’re gonna get haunted, at least let’s face it hydrated.”
Niall swatted at him, but didn’t shake him off. “I’m telling you, there’s something off about this place. And when I’m right, I expect a full apology.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn said with a grin, catching Liam’s amused glance over Niall’s head. “When the ghost shows up, we’ll let you say ‘I told you so.’”
Upstairs, the thud reverberated through the bedroom floorboards just as Louis was about to make another sarcastic jab about Harry’s optimism. He jumped a little, the sound sharper than he expected, and his head whipped toward the door.
Harry, crouched by the bedframe again, looked up slowly. “That was me,” he said quickly, brushing his dusty hands on his thighs. “Just dropped something.”
Louis narrowed his eyes. “Dropped what, exactly? Your entire body?”
Harry smirked faintly, but there was something about the way his gaze flicked back toward the hall that made Louis pause. “I said it was me, didn’t I? Stop being paranoid.”
Louis wasn’t convinced. He moved closer to the door, peering into the dim hallway. The wallpaper there was curling at the seams, revealing dark, splintering plaster beneath. The air felt cooler, heavier, as though the house was holding its breath. He told himself it was just a draft sneaking in through broken windows. Still, he stayed in the doorway a moment longer than he meant to.
Behind him, Harry chuckled low. “You look like you’re about to leg it.”
Louis shot him a look over his shoulder. “If I was, you’d be running right behind me.”
“Maybe,” Harry said, grinning as he leaned against the bedframe. “But only because I’d hate to see you face a ghost alone.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but the teasing only half covered the way his chest tightened. He pushed away from the door and back into the room, trying to ignore how the mirror on the dresser seemed to catch his movement differently than it should, reflecting him a fraction out of step.
He avoided looking at it.
“So,” he said briskly, clapping his hands together. “We’ve got a haunted rug, a creepy mirror, and a bedframe you’re convinced is immortal. Anything else worth saving in here, Styles?”
Harry tilted his head, his eyes glinting with something unreadable as he gestured around them. “The windows. Good bones. Just need a proper scrub and some new panes. And the light fixture bet it’d shine nice if we cleaned it up.” He looked back at Louis then, softer. “And the room itself. It’ll feel different once it’s ours.”
Louis scoffed, though his voice faltered on the last word. “Ours? You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”
Harry shrugged easily, stepping closer, so close Louis could feel the brush of his sleeve. “You don’t think so?”
Louis swallowed, forcing his gaze away, fixing it on the peeling wallpaper as if it was suddenly fascinating. “I think this place is one bad gust of wind away from falling on our heads.”
Another creak echoed faintly in the hall lighter than the first thud, but there all the same. Louis stilled. Harry did too this time, his joking expression flickering just slightly.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Then, from downstairs, Niall’s muffled voice rose in a panicked shout: “SEE? I TOLD YOU THERE’S SOMETHING UP THERE!”
Louis pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh despite the prickling at the back of his neck. Harry huffed, running a hand through his curls. “Brilliant. We’ve lost Niall to the spirits already.”
Louis finally let out a snort. “If there’s a ghost, it’s probably already packed its bags. One afternoon with this lot and it’ll be begging to haunt somewhere quieter.”
Harry grinned, relief flickering behind it, and brushed past Louis toward the hall. “C’mon. Before Niall locks himself in the car.”
Louis lingered for just a second, eyes catching on the mirror again. His reflection stared back at him but for one dizzying moment, it felt like it didn’t move quite in time with him.
With a shake of his head, he followed Harry out into the hallway.
By the time Louis and Harry made it back downstairs, Niall was pacing the length of the dusty front hall like a caged animal, muttering furiously under his breath. Zayn had perched himself on the windowsill, lazily blowing dust off the graffiti-covered sketch he’d just snapped on his phone, while Liam stood planted in the middle of the room with his notebook tucked under his arm, looking like he’d been dropped into the middle of a family squabble he hadn’t signed up for.
“There you are!” Niall spun on Louis and Harry as though they’d taken years to appear. “You heard it, didn’t you? That bloody bang! Tell me you heard it, because Liam here thinks I’m losing it.”
Harry brushed past Louis, calm as ever, and leaned against the banister like he had all the time in the world. “Relax, Niall. I dropped something upstairs, that’s all. Nothing to panic about.”
“Dropped something?” Niall repeated, incredulous. “What, a cannonball? It shook the bloody floor!”
Louis barked a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “Calm down, Houdini. The only thing haunting this place is the mold.” He said it lightly, but his eyes flicked to Harry’s for just a second searching, questioning if he really had dropped anything at all. Harry’s calm expression gave nothing away.
Zayn finally piped up from his seat, smirk curling across his lips. “If there is a ghost, it’s already sick of your voice, mate. Probably the first spirit in history to haunt someone just to shut them up.”
“Ha ha, hilarious,” Niall snapped, though his face was flushed enough to betray how rattled he still was. “You’ll be sorry when you’re the first one dragged off.”
“Dragged off where?” Zayn asked lazily, twirling his phone between his fingers. “Ghost IKEA?”
“Alright, enough.” Liam’s voice cut through the bickering, sharp but not unkind. He tucked his pen behind his ear, rubbing his temple with the other hand. “We’ve got enough to deal with without arguing about ghosts. The wiring’s shot, the plumbing’s probably worse, and-” he held up his notebook like a teacher waving homework at unruly students, “there’s a long list of actual problems that are going to kill us long before anything supernatural does.”
Louis smirked. “Spoken like a true ray of sunshine.”
Harry’s mouth twitched into a smile, watching them with that frustrating calm that made it seem like he’d already figured the house out, figured Louis out. “Liam’s right. Place needs work. But we’ll manage.”
“We?” Louis echoed, quirking a brow.
“Yeah,” Harry said simply, holding Louis’s gaze a moment longer than necessary. “All of us.”
Niall groaned loudly, breaking the tension as he flung his arms wide. “You lot are mental. One creepy whisper in the garden and you’re all acting like it’s normal! I’m telling you, this place has bad vibes.”
Zayn hopped off the windowsill and stretched, brushing dust from his jeans. “Bad vibes build character.” He gave Niall a grin, then added, “Besides, haunted or not, it’s still your turn to grab dinner. Pub’s only a twenty-minute walk.”
Niall gawked at him. “You want me to walk down a pitch black road, through a field, after nearly being possessed? Absolutely not!”
Louis chuckled, finally relaxing as the room filled with bickering again. For a second, the creaks and whispers of the house faded into the background, drowned out by the sound of his friends loud, chaotic, familiar.
But then his eyes caught on the cracked mirror propped against the wall by the staircase, and he could’ve sworn just for the briefest flicker that there was one too many figures reflected in the glass.
He blinked, and it was gone.
The sun had all but disappeared by the time they dragged their bags into what had once been the dining room. None of them had fancied splitting up just yet not after Niall’s dramatics and the weird noises so they decided to camp out together for the first night. Someone had dragged in a stack of dusty armchairs from the lounge, a sagging sofa that looked like it had seen better decades, and a couple of moth eaten rugs to make the space feel less like the set of a horror film.
The single working lantern flickered on the table in the center of the room, its light casting long shadows that crawled across the cracked plaster walls. It smelled of damp wood, rust, and faintly of smoke, as though the house still remembered a fire long since burned out.
Zayn sprawled on the sofa with his sketchbook open on his knees, pencil scratching idly. Liam sat cross legged on the floor, notebook propped against his thigh as he muttered through a half organized task list. Harry had busied himself hanging a string of fairy lights he’d inexplicably packed (“for atmosphere,” he’d said with a shrug), while Louis sat nearby, pretending to help untangle them but mostly just watching him with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and fond irritation.
Niall, meanwhile, was perched on the arm of a chair, jittery as ever, unwrapping his third packet of crisps. He kept darting glances toward the dark doorway that led to the hall.
“I’m just saying,” Niall spoke up suddenly, his voice cutting through the hum of pencil scratches and Harry’s low humming, “there’s no way I’m sleeping near that bloody staircase. Every horror film in history starts with someone being dragged down stairs.”
“You’ve got issues, mate,” Louis muttered, though there was no real bite to it.
“I’ve got survival instincts,” Niall shot back, crunching loudly. “Big difference. If a ghost steals my crisps I’m charging rent.”
Zayn smirked without looking up from his sketchbook. “If anything drags you, it’s not wasting energy carrying you down stairs. Straight out the window, mate. Easier.”
Niall gasped. “That’s not helping!”
Harry chuckled from his spot by the wall, fiddling with the lights. “Relax, Niall. We’ll keep you safe. We’ll put you in the middle like a marshmallow in a s’more.”
“Ha ha,” Niall muttered, but his shoulders eased slightly at the teasing.
Liam shook his head, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “We need an actual plan for tomorrow. Cleaning supplies, wood for the windows, maybe even a generator if the power doesn’t come back properly. Can’t rely on one dodgy lantern forever.”
Louis leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Christ, Payno. You’re like a walking checklist. We’ve only been here a few hours.”
“And the place is falling apart already,” Liam countered. “Better a checklist than someone breaking their neck through a rotten floorboard.”
Louis opened his mouth for a retort, but Harry cut in smoothly, glancing over his shoulder with that easy smile. “He’s right, you know. We’ll thank Liam later when the roof isn’t caving in.”
Louis huffed, but his lips twitched like he couldn’t help agreeing with Harry just a little.
The fairy lights finally blinked on, casting a soft golden glow across the room. For a moment, it almost felt warm. Safe.
Almost.
Because just as Zayn reached for his lighter to spark the candle stub he’d found, a loud slam echoed through the house. The sound ricocheted from the hall and into the room, sharp enough to rattle the lantern’s glass.
Everyone froze.
“The wind,” Liam said quickly, though his voice was tight. “Had to be the wind.”
“There is no wind,” Niall hissed, eyes wide. “I told you! This place is cursed.” He practically leapt off the chair arm and pressed himself closer to the group.
Harry’s gaze flicked to Louis, steady but questioning. Louis stared back, his heart pounding harder than he wanted to admit. His mouth went dry, but he forced a scoff. “Loose door. Old house. Not that deep.”
But Zayn was already standing, moving toward the hall with the kind of calm curiosity that drove Niall up the wall. “Don’t… don’t you dare,” Niall hissed, clutching his crisp packet like it might ward off spirits. “Zayn, sit down!”
Zayn just smirked over his shoulder. “What? Gotta introduce ourselves to the neighbors, yeah?”
Louis groaned and stood too, because there was no way he was letting Zayn wander into a pitch black corridor alone. Harry followed without hesitation, the fairy lights’ soft glow casting them in shadow as they moved.
Liam lingered just long enough to snap his notebook shut, then muttered, “This is a terrible idea,” and joined them.
Niall cursed loudly but stumbled after them, because the only thing worse than being in a haunted house was being left behind in one.
When they reached the hallway, the silence was so thick it felt alive. Dust motes floated lazily in the glow from the dining room, and every creak of the floorboards under their feet sounded amplified. The front door was still shut, though its frame had shuddered in the slam.
No one spoke for a long moment.
Finally, Harry tilted his head, curls falling into his eyes. “Maybe the house just wanted to remind us it’s here.”
Niall groaned. “I hate you. I actually hate you.”
Louis swallowed hard, forcing out a laugh to keep the knot in his stomach at bay. “Brilliant. Haunted and dramatic. Just our luck.”
Zayn smirked again, but when his eyes flicked toward the cracked mirror by the staircase, his grin faltered just for a second.
Morning crept in through the broken shutters, spilling thin stripes of light across the makeshift camp. The air was colder than expected, the kind of damp chill that seeped into bones and made blankets feel useless. Louis stirred first, blinking blearily at the cracked ceiling. It took him a moment to register the weight pressed against him the warmth curled into his side, an arm slung loosely across his stomach.
His heart skipped.
Harry.
Louis went rigid, brain scrambling to replay the night. They’d all crashed in the dining room, bodies half buried under blankets and coats, Harry somewhere on the sofa, Louis on the floor nearby. But somewhere between exhaustion and creaking floorboards, they’d shifted.
He glanced down. Harry’s curls were spilling across his chest, his slow, even breaths ghosting against Louis’s shirt. The lad looked perfectly at peace, utterly unaware of the way Louis’s pulse was hammering in his throat.
Louis swallowed hard. Not a big deal. People roll around in their sleep. It doesn’t mean anything.
Except it did, and Louis knew it, and the thought made his face heat in a way he definitely didn’t want anyone else noticing.
Before he could gently shift Harry off, Liam’s voice cut through the silence. “Right. Who’s missing?”
Louis’s head shot up. The others were stirring Niall groaning and rubbing his eyes, Liam already sitting upright and scanning the room. Zayn’s spot was empty, blanket tossed carelessly aside.