Things Have Gotten Closer To The Sun -starseas on ao3

Seventeen

Louis' side of the bed is empty.

This is the first thing that Harry notices when he wakes up naked in the middle of the sun, white cotton sheets draped over his legs like an afterthought. His bum is sore. Squinting against the light, he rubs sleep from his eyes and lets the room come into focus in degrees.

Now that it's daytime, the place is a lot easier to make out.

The walls are warm and panelled in wood, and the carpets are dark gray. Harry notices a fire-place that he didn't notice last night, right across the bed beside a door that's shut. He assumes it leads into a bathroom or a closet or whatever, because the door on the other wall is half open and it leads out into the hallway. When Harry looks through it, he can see the top of the staircase and a slice of the foyer chandelier, all lit up with candles that glow.

Voices, laughter, and the clinking of silverware float up from the kitchen downstairs, but it all sounds distant and faraway, like it has to travel for miles before reaching him. Harry likes that.

Once he gets out of bed, it's like clockwork, and he ends up at the window again.

The glass is frosted and cold but he presses his forehead against it anyways, shivering at the draft that makes goose bumps rise on his skin. Jesus. It's bloody freezing, but outside, the world seems soft. It's all white and gold, lit up by the winter sun.

Harry blinks as he notices that down on the front lawn, Louis is sitting on the hood of his car, wearing nothing but sweat-pants and a long sleeved shirt. The car is blanketed in snow and Louis must be fucking freezing, especially his ass, and Harry almost laughs to himself, because, yeah- he thinks he knows how he could warm Louis up.

He's about to crack open the window, but that's when Louis throws the first stone.

Aimed at the sun, it flies up and arches into the sky, a gray speck of nothing against the white milk of the world. It falls down, spinning, landing somewhere further down on the drive, and Harry's not quite sure what this means or if it means anything at all.

He keeps his eye on Louis, wishing that he would turn around and look up at the window-wishing that he could see the details of his face.

But Louis keeps throwing stones and Harry wonders why.

There are five days left until the end of the world and Louis is throwing stones at the sun. The sun that, in less than a week, is going to consume the entire planet. The sun that is going to swallow them whole. Harry's been trying not to think about it too much, but when he looks at it like that, he thinks that what Louis' doing must mean something. It must mean love. It must comfort. It could mean fear, if you look close enough. Harry doesn't want to look that close.

Sighing, he moves away from the window, and his bare feet whisper over the carpet as he makes his way out of Louis' bedroom and down the hall, quiet enough that the boys downstairs won't hear him. He reaches the guest bathroom and steps inside, locking the door behind him.

When Harry showers, he keeps the lights off, and the room is all steam.

The water pounds down on his back, hot needles drumming over his skull, the nape of his neck, and he sinks into the warmth. But morning sunlight trickles in through the square window, lighting up the dark, and Harry realizes that this is something that he can't get away from.

He really doesn't want to think that Louis could be terrified.

He doesn't want to think it, because the thought of it would make him so sad that he could barely stand it. Louis, the careless. Louis, the brave. Breaking down. It's so fucked up. He just seems so much bigger than the sun.

Harry exhales slow, his forehead resting against the cold shower tiles.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. We all fall down.