Things Have Gotten Closer To The Sun -starseas on ao3

Eight

The kitchen is empty.

It's the first thing Harry notices when he follows Zayn inside, their socked feet padding over the dark wood of the floorboards, and he tries not to think too much about it, but the kitchen is empty.

Even so, he stays by the doorway as Zayn walks further in, the frame of his body lit up by the pale sunlight that washes in through the sliding door. The glass is frosted, but Harry can still make out a snow-covered balcony, the whiteness of the backyard, and a sky like milk-a sky that's pale, that pours itself over everything.

The kitchen, on the other hand, is all warm colors.

The walls are tiled in a flat mosaic of stones and there's a glass bowl of lemons and limes sitting on the island in the center of the room, a splash of color against the nothingness of it all.

It doesn't seem like the kind of kitchen that Louis would own. Back when they shared a flat, Louis forced Harry to paint an entire wall red. It's a sad sort of thought, but Harry thinks it. And he thinks about the nights that they spent pressed together against that wall-he thinks about those nights until he makes himself stop.
In Louis' kitchen, there are wooden beams on the ceiling. Five lights hang from them, and they're all turned off. Harry thinks about that, about the unintentional irony of everything.

"It's kind of bullshit, isn't it?" He asks after a moment, moving further into the kitchen. "That the world is ending."

Zayn shrugs, laughing a little bit. "Yeah, I suppose it is." He says, making his way around the kitchen island to the counter on the far side of the room. Opening up a cupboard, he reaches in to grab a mug, glancing over his shoulder at Harry. "Coffee?"

"Tea, thanks." Harry says.

Zayn rummages around to fill the kettle, and Harry walks slowly towards the sliding door, he keeps walking until his forehead is pressed up against the cold stretch of the glass, breath painting white patterns on every exhale.

He wipes the frost away, and he still has to squint against the sun even though the light is weak and pale, watered down by winter.

Strange how something so far away can still reach you, still burn you.

Watching it for a moment, the dim sphere of it, Harry thinks again that it's all bullshit. His hands raise up to touch the glass, and the sun just seems so small from where he is, but it's there. That's it. Right there.

The end of the world.

It's right there, and he can't do anything about it.

So, yeah, like he said before-it's bullshit.

Sighing, his eyes begin to wander around the frozen backyard. There's a patio set sitting on the balcony, hidden beneath a layer of snow, and below the balcony, there's a yard that stretches out into a forest, tall pine trees covered in frost.

A movement catches Harry's eye-sudden, coming up out of nowhere-and his breath stutters as he notices two figures below, circling each other in the snow, their heads bent back with laughter that Harry can't hear.
Liam is dressed in white, almost blending in with winter as he moves.

But Louis-Louis' jacket is a bright red and Harry can't look away.

Not because of the red, but because of the Louis. He's a flame against the bleak dust of snow, spinning wildly and looking like a bird on fire, like a destination. That's it, Harry thinks. Right there. The end of the world.

And there's nothing that he can do.

"Damn it." He breathes, cold fingers curling up against the glass.

He's here, and Louis' there. Is that what this is? Is that how this works?

Harry keeps watching, he just watches for a moment-and then the moment snaps in half, it just breaks completely, because Louis isn't spinning anymore-he's looking straight up at the place where Harry is standing behind the glass door, blue eyes blurred out by the distance.

Harry freezes in place, but his heart goes on stuttering.

Can Louis see him? Can Louis see past all the frost?

Breathing slow, Harry lets one of his hands fall away from the glass, and then it's almost like he's waving, but not quite, and Louis' still looking, his head tilted upwards, red jacket shining like a beacon.

Any regrets? Anything that you would've done differently?

"Damn it." Harry says again, because he misses him.

He's suddenly so aware of the distance between them, and it's hard, it's hard because the world is ending and because it already has-it ended five years ago and every day since, again and again and again.

Harry has become the master of repetition.

Louis stares for just a moment longer and then he turns away, still bright against the muted stretch of snow.
Liam is making a snow angel and Harry watches as Louis lays down beside him, his head turned so that he's looking at the side of Liam's face.

"Drink up, mate." Zayn says, suddenly standing beside Harry.

He passes him a steaming cup of tea and Harry takes it, glancing over and noticing the way that Zayn's dark eyes have settled on the two people in the distance, on the figures making shapes in the snow.

They're both quiet for a while, watching, and Harry catches the sound of a shower running upstairs.

"I like him." Zayn says casually, breaking up the silence.

Harry frowns, taking a small sip of his tea and cringing slightly at the sweet taste. "Who?"

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Liam, you twat."

Harry laughs. "I like him too."

For a moment, it almost seems like Zayn is about to say something else, but then he sighs, the sound muffled around the lip of his mug. "I need a shower. See you in a bit."

"See you." Harry smiles, watching as Zayn walks back out of the kitchen, footsteps echoing as he makes his way upstairs.

Harry is still for a second, and then he turns back towards the glass door, stomach dropping when he takes in the empty backyard. It's just a stretch of trees and snow, a pale sun shining like a reminder.

Harry sighs, his forehead falling down against the cold glass with a thud, fingers grasping at the place where Louis used to be.