Things Have Gotten Closer To The Sun -starseas on ao3

Thirty

The sky is dark when people begin to arrive.

They trickle in slowly, filling up the kitchen and the living room and the foyer all at once, packed together in the space like fish in a too small pond. Harry doesn't see anyone he knows, and thinks that a lot of people caught wind of the party and just decided to show up-because the world is ending, and because there's nothing else to do.

But Harry's always loved that feeling at the beginning of a party.

It's like he's standing at the edge of a precipice, high above everything else, just waiting for something to happen. Waiting for whatever will push him over the edge of it all until he's falling, falling, falling, until he's hurtling downwards, until he's flying back up.

Most of the time, nothing happens. Nothing much, anyways.

The parties end and then he wakes up the next morning and goes to sleep the same night, the sun rising and falling until it's all a blur of day and night, of then and now, of what could have been and what really is.

Louis' house seems bigger tonight.

Even with the all the people and the music playing so loud that Harry feels it in his bones, every room seems to lead off somewhere else, into darkness or into colored lights and laughter, and it all feels new and unfamiliar even though Harry's been here for over a week.

When he gets to the kitchen, he finds people clustered around a keg. Niall's there, with a bunch of people that Harry doesn't recognize. They're all laughing and talking and shouting, but the noises bleed together until they're just one sound-until it's all just background noise, something that Harry can sink back into. Red cups are littered all over the floor, along with beer cans and potato chips, and Harry's glad that he won't have to clean up the mess.

Through the glass of the balcony door, he can make out the shapes of people standing outside, talking and smoking, bundled up in winter jackets, the orange tips of their cigarettes glowing bright against the pitch black sky. No one is familiar and everyone seems a little hollow around the eyes, but Harry's happy. He really fucking is. His whole body is buzzing as the music pulses and stirs around him, shaking the floors and the ceilings, and he's smiling for no reason now, staying in the kitchen long enough to fill his cup up with something fizzy and strong before taking off, pushing through the crowd.

Things move past him in a quick blur as he makes his way through the house-pieces of conversation and laughter, the feel of coats and winter jackets brushing up against his skin, the smell of beer and smoke, heady and hazy, all spinning and whirling together, making him dizzy.

When he reaches the living room, he stops in the doorway and stands up on his toes, searching for anyone familiar. People glance back at him with hooded stares before looking away again, their bodies strung in time with the music. The ceiling is high and there's a disco ball spinning there, one of those cheap black ones that Niall picked up from the dollar store the other day-it pours patterns of colors all over the room, beams of red and blue light that hit against bodies and bounce back, pooling against the walls, turning everything into a maze of color and darkness.

He peers into the darkness, noticing that the chairs have been pushed up against the far wall, and that the coffee table is there too, already covered in empty shot glasses and plastic cups.

The light shifts and Harry catches sight of Liam and Zayn in the crowd. Their silhouettes are edged in red light, foreheads pressed together as they dance, fast and pulsing, surrounded by people on every side. Zayn has a cigarette between his teeth, but his eyes seem heavy as he watches Liam, taking his cigarette away just a moment before he's ducking in, their mouths meeting in a slow kiss.