Things Have Gotten Closer To The Sun -starseas on ao3

Seven

When Harry wakes up, he's lost.

It's just for a moment, but the moment is still there.

He's confused, really, thinking that maybe he's still asleep, that maybe he's still sixteen-but then the room swims into focus, pale morning light slanting in through the window and striking at the dust in the air, and he remembers where he is.

He also remembers that the world is ending, that everything is going to be gone soon, and that it's been years since he's had a good year.

Rubbing at his eyes, Harry keeps his gaze on the white stucco of the ceiling, watching the watery lines of light that stretch across it. Noise floats up from somewhere downstairs, but Harry stays still, trying to remember the point of all this.

The room looks different in the morning. Warmer, somehow.

The walls are panelled in wood and there's a window opposite the bed, curtains opened up wide to let the light in. Outside, the world is white with snow. There are frosted pine trees and in the distance, Harry can make out the hints of a pond, pale blue and frozen over from the cold.

Sitting up slowly, he lets the sheets fall away from his chest as he scrubs a hand down his face, yawning.

"Morning." Someone says, and Harry turns to see Zayn standing in the doorway, arms crossed as he rests against the frame. His hair is tousled with sleep and he watches Harry, grinning. "You look terrible, mate."

Harry laughs, a one-syllable sound. "Thanks."

Zayn is quiet for a moment, smile fading. "Did you sleep alright, then?"

"Like a baby." Harry replies sleepily, kicking off his sheets and moving to sit on the edge of the bed, feeling cold in only his boxers.

Zayn nods, but doesn't say anything.

He just stands across from Harry in the doorway, and his eyes have a question in them. It burns there, too dim for Harry to read it. It doesn't feel strange or anything, the silence, it's just-well, Harry can tell that Zayn wants to say something. He's just not sure if he wants to hear it.

"You came up early last night." Zayn says finally, and it's not really a question, except that it is.
Harry smiles. "I'm okay, Zayn."

Zayn makes a face at that, licking his lips like he can't quite word what he wants to say. He's dressed in all black, the bottom of his sweat pants bunched into his socks, and he looks cozy. "No, you're not. And I mean with Louis."

Harry pretends to think about it for a second, but he doesn't think about it at all. "Why wouldn't I be okay with Louis?"

There's a noise downstairs, the clashing of plates and silverware, and Zayn watches Harry for a second before stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. His voice is slow like honey when he speaks. It's careful. "We only have eight days left, you know."

Harry nods. "I've heard, yeah."

"Yeah." Zayn repeats, and then: "Listen, mate. I know I don't really ever, like, give advice to you and stuff, so I'm not expecting you to listen or anything, but-"

"-Zayn." Harry cuts him off, running a hand through his hair. "Please."

"Alright." Zayn sighs slowly, hands raising in defense. "But you should think about it. And I mean really think about it."

"I don't think I should, actually." Harry responds with a small laugh, standing up and picking his duffle bag off of the floor. He tosses it onto the unmade bed with a thud, zipping it open with his back to Zayn. "I think that's a terrible idea."

Zayn is quiet as Harry rummages through his stuff, grabbing a white long sleeve shirt and pulling it over his head before hopping into a pair of gray long-johns. He'll shower later, he thinks, sitting back on the edge of the bed. Zayn still hasn't said anything.

"The lads are up, then?" Harry asks.

"They're downstairs making breakfast. Niall's still sleeping, though." Zayn says as he walks towards the bed slowly. Harry thinks he looks like someone approaching a wide eyed deer.

The light coming in through the window brightens the one side of Zayn's face, and Harry notices for the first time how much Zayn has grown. Grown up, grown sad, and maybe a little distant, Zayn has changed. But he's still around, he's still trying, and that's more than Harry's been able to give to anyone.

"I'm sorry." Harry breathes out suddenly, just as Zayn sits down beside him on the bed. The mattress groans, dipping gently beneath his weight.

"And why are you sorry?" Zayn asks, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulders.

The feeling is warm and familiar, bringing Harry back to a day that feels like it was lifetimes ago-the day that they were kicked off of the X-Factor, eyes bright with sadness as they stood beneath the burning weight of the cameras. Harry remembers trying not to cry.

There were cameras watching and people were everywhere.

Hasn't that always been the problem?

"Because I did this." Harry says finally, his voice thick with feeling. The words seem to slip between them like water, flooding the empty space. When Zayn doesn't speak, Harry rubs at his eyes. "I mean, look at us, Zayn. Just look. We used to be best mates, the five of us, and now-Jesus, I don't even know what we are now."

"We're best mates." Zayn says. "It's that simple."

Harry shakes his head at that, smiling but not happy about anything. "No, it's not. You know it's not."

"Why can't it be?" Zayn asks, almost upset as he brings his legs up onto the bed. He sits cross-legged, dark eyes heavy on the side of Harry's face. "Look, mate. All I know is that the world is ending-"

"-Yeah, you've told me." Harry mumbles, watching his own feet. The pale gray of them stand out against the deeper gray of the carpet.

Light against dark. Light swallowed up. Harry wonders what that means.

"No, just listen." Zayn groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Just-all I know is that the world is ending. And the five of us haven't been in the same place for how many years, but now the world is ending and we're here. Together."

Harry's not understanding. "What does that mean?"

"It means that we're best mates." Zayn answers.

And then Harry does understand, because it really is that simple.

Zayn doesn't explain it, he doesn't write it down in pen-it's just his words, his reasoning, and Harry finds something comforting about that, so he takes the words out of the air and tucks them into his pocket, safe.

"Thanks." He says, glancing over at Zayn.

Zayn chuckles, and the lines of his body are blurred out by the morning light that trickles in through the window, soft and slow.

His eyes look like liquid gold.

"Come 'ere." Zayn says, and then he pulls Harry in towards him, his soft mouth brushing over Harry's temple. The words are muffled, but Harry hears them. "You've got to stop blaming yourself, alright?"

The words are quiet, but they ring out, loud as hell in his ears.

Harry nods, his throat feeling thick again. "I'll try."

"Good." Zayn says, "good." He kisses Harry's temple again, small and chaste, and then he stands up and moves towards the door, opening it up again before turning to look at Harry. "Come on, mate. You hungry?"