Things Have Gotten Closer To The Sun -starseas on ao3

Six

The house is warm.

That's the first thing Harry notices when he steps inside, slipping out of his boots at the doormat and looking around the circular foyer at the walls panelled half-way with dark wood and the rest with a stretch of flat stone. It seems fitting, too, that the one warm place in the middle of winter is Louis' home, with its high ceilings of glass and wooden beams, with its softly lit chandelier casting pale shadows across the dark wood of the walls.

There's a staircase leading upstairs and two doorways—one leading into a kitchen and the other leading into a room that has the lights turned off, all of the details unclear.

"Louis, I'm telling ya, mate—" Niall starts with a smile, shrugging out of his parka and hooking it over the coat stand beside the door. "This place is a bloody ski resort."

Louis rolls his eyes, but Harry can tell that he's pleased. "You say that like you've never seen it."

And it isn't until Harry notices the way that Liam and Zayn have both taken off their jackets, tossing them messily over the coat rack with their scarves and mitts, that he realizes he's the only one of them who actually hasn't seen the place before.

Harry keeps his jacket on, hands shoved deep into the pockets.

"I suppose you lot might be a bit hungry by now, yeah?" Louis asks, looking around at the group, his blue eyes landing on Harry's, just for a moment, before looking away again. "Um. I could order in?"

"I personally think that'd be great." Liam answers, still managing to sound unsure as he checks around the room for confirmation, thick eyebrows raised.

Zayn grins, and then he nods towards Louis. "Yeah, mate. Thanks."

"You can count me in." Niall says, voice strained as he steps out of his boots. "Oh, and can we have some hot cocoa, too? I'll make it."

Louis smiles, running a hand through is hair. "Sure, Niall. The television's just in the next room, so if you lads want to wait in there while I ring up the place—"

Harry clears his throat, cutting Louis off and blinking against the feeling of everything moving in around him. He's panicking and he's not sure why, but his jacket suddenly feels tight and he just needs to get away from this, just for tonight. "I'm actually feeling quite—ill," he says, looking at Louis. "So if I could just—I'd like to lay down, if that's okay?"

He feels sort of out of place asking to lay down in a home that doesn't belong to him, a place he isn't even sure that he's welcome, but he feels even more out of place standing in a foyer with the one person that he used to know as well as his own voice, the one person that he doesn't know like that anymore.

Louis is quiet, watching Harry with eyes as blue and empty as stained glass, and Harry can't understand what Louis' trying to tell him. He might have understood once, but that time is gone now and so the silence just sits between them, filling the empty space.

And then Louis sighs—he just sighs, but Harry feels it in his gut.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't it be okay?" Louis says easily, gesturing towards the wooden staircase behind him. His voice sounds distant, faraway. "There's an empty room at the end of the hall so you can rest in there. Blankets are in the closet if you need them."

"Thanks." Harry says, doesn't know what else he can say.

"You sure you don't want something to eat, mate?" Zayn asks slowly, watching him with a question in his eye—a question nothing like the one he just asked.

Harry shakes his head, not making eye contact. "'M not very hungry, to be honest. I'll see you in the morning."
Zayn nods, and Harry moves past him and Liam and Niall, making his way towards the steps that lead upstairs. He passes Louis, who says nothing, who just steps aside stiffly and lets him pass—and he realizes again that the world is ending in nine days, and he realizes again that he's made a huge mistake.

Upstairs, the room is dark and moonlight slants in through the open blinds that cover the window, washing the room in a pale silver light.

Harry is too worn down to pay attention to anything other than stripping out of his jacket and climbing into the empty bed, closing his eyes against the sound of his own breathing and the snowstorm moving like static outside. He's not in love, he thinks. He can't be. He was being honest when he said that to Liam, it's just—seeing Louis has fucked that all up, hasn't it? Just seeing him, that's all it took. Just remembering.

And Harry remembers everything.

He remembers the love and the warmth that Louis used to have for him, all for him. His mum and Liam were right. Even when Harry was sixteen years old with legs too big for his body, Louis loved him, he absolutely loved him, pressing kisses along the insides of his thighs like he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"What are you doing?" Harry had laughed one night, years ago, spread out on a hotel bed with Louis kissing up his chest, small kisses that felt much bigger. They were on tour and he'd had his fingers tangled in up Louis' hair, just resting there. "That tickles, Lou."

Louis had laughed at that, his breath falling warm onto Harry's belly. Harry loved to make him laugh. It always felt good, considering it was always going the other way around.

"Shut up." Louis said, kissing over Harry's hipbone. There was a bruise there the next day. "I'm trying to be romantic down here."

Harry shifts, pushing the memory away as he presses his face down into the pillow, arms wrapped tightly around the back of it like he can't live without it. He tells himself not to cry, and he doesn't.

He dreams of blue eyes and a sun that sets everything on fire.